by S. C. Stokes
“Yes, of course,” Kasey said. “Sorry, I was just deep in thought. It's been a crazy few days.”
“Let's get to it,” Vida said pointing to the wall of refrigerated drawers lining the morgue’s wall. " You’re up first, Kasey. Pick a number between one and twenty-two."
"It's going to be a long day, isn't it?" Kasey asked as she hung up her jacket and pulled on her fluid-resistant jumpsuit.
"You bet," Vida answered, reaching for his own.
"Then I guess number one," Kasey replied.
"How boring,” Vida answered. “I'd have gone with number seventeen."
"Then perhaps you shouldn't have asked,” Kasey said. “You know what they say about starting at the very beginning."
"Yes," Vida replied, unimpressed. "It is a very good place to start. It is also the worst musical of all time."
"Darn, you have seen it. I was hoping to stump you with that one."
"Never," Vida answered. "I had a childhood too, once. Fortunately, now I have far more choice in the movies I watch."
"I'm sure you loved it,” Kasey insisted, doing her best impression of Julie Andrews. "Do re mi..."
Vida shook his finger at Kasey. "I will sack you if you so much as finish that sentence." His smile robbed the threat of any malice. "Now get over here and help me with the body."
Kasey followed Vida over to the steel drawers that lined the wall. The refrigeration unit allowed the morgue to preserve the bodies of the fallen until they had the opportunity to examine them properly. Rarely were so many needed at a single time, but the evening's tragedy had them filled to capacity.
Vida opened the top, leftmost draw, and pulled it out Kasey pushed a gurney over until it rested beside the drawer.
“You’re going to need to put your back into it, Kasey, help me get him down. This is one heavy nob.”
She reached up and together, she and Vida struggled under the weight of the body as they lifted it on to the gurney.
Vida took a deep breath. "Honestly, Kasey, of all the bodies, you had to pick the most out of shape of the lot of them."
"Well, best we got him down now while it's early and we’re still fresh.” Kasey replied. "There is no way I’d be lugging him around at four thirty. Who is he, anyway?”
Vida wheeled the gurney into the center of the room and together they heaved the body onto the autopsy station. Picking a file off the table, Vida introduced the victim.
"This, Kasey, is the body of one Reginald Mornington. Until his untimely death last night, Mr. Mornington was the third richest man in the continental United States. He spent his life in the coal mining game and was well known both for his poor luck at the gambling table and for his love of fine cuisine."
Kasey examined the man. Heavily overweight and in his sixties, it seemed a miracle that he had not suffered a heart attack years earlier.
"Well, unfortunately for Mr. Mornington, his luck hasn’t changed. Bullets don't really care what your net worth is," Kasey answered
Vida nodded as he counted the man’s wounds. "Indeed they do not, Kasey. Mr. Mornington, he managed to find three of them. Not at all surprising, really. I imagine he was an easy target."
"Come on Vida, that's just cruel," Kasey replied.
"Cruel, but true,” Vida replied, holding up a finger. “It appears he took two in the stomach, before the third bullet struck him near his heart. We won't know until we open him up, but I suspect it will have nicked his left coronary artery, resulting in his death."
"Well, Vida, where would you like to begin?"
"As the cause of death is readily apparent, we will focus our energy and efforts on gathering evidence that will help us bring these men to justice. We can perform a more complete autopsy later if need be, but for the time being, let us remove the bullets so that Forensics can run ballistics tests on them.
“We have three entry points and no exit wounds, so it is safe to say all three of them are still lodged inside Mr. Mornington. It’s time to get them out. Scalpel, please."
"I'm not your nurse,” Kasey answered. “Get it yourself."
“Very well,” Vida replied, fetching a scalpel off the tray. “I'll start on the one near his heart. You can take the two in his belly.”
Kasey lifted a second scalpel and set to work.
She had always had a strong stomach, and the wonders of the human body never ceased to amaze her. In spite of its frail appearance, the human body was surprisingly resilient. Unfortunately, even resilience has a limit, and three nine-millimeter rounds usually found that limit pretty quickly.
Kasey made an incision over the wound to allow for easier retrieval of the bullet. She drew a set of medical forceps off the table and set to work, searching for the first bullet.
Her hands worked on autopilot while she went over the case in her mind. It just didn't make sense to hit the gala, even with a getaway plan and the dummy explosives to deter a response. It was still a risky move. Such a high-profile event was certain to have private security by the boatload.
There are less heavily defended banks in New York, Kasey thought as she found the first bullet. Working the forceps, she drew it out and dropped the bullet into a steel pan. The round clanged around the base of the tray before coming to rest.
"Come on, slow poke," she said as Vida continued searching for the bullet lodged near Mornington’s heart.
Vida didn't look up from his work. "There's still one more down there. Grab that one too while you're at it."
"As you wish," Kasey replied, returning to work.
Her mind wandered to the waiter. Cyrus had not been a random target. What she had witnessed in her vision was an execution. Whoever this Ben was, he had a grudge to bear out with Cyrus, or possibly the ADI. Of the twenty-two victims, Cyrus stood apart.
He was the only one who had been killed with any degree of forethought.
How had the Arcane Council wronged you, Ben?
She replayed the incident in her mind. Her vision was not ambiguous at all. Cyrus’ death had been cool, calculated murder. If the robbery had been allowed to run its course, the thieves would have escaped, and the gala would have been investigated as a robbery rather than a massacre.
Had that happened the waiter would have still been there seeking for an opportunity to kill Cyrus. While the two crimes had taken place together, Kasey could see they were independent of one another.
Anyone who has a problem with the ADI and Cyrus could also prove a danger to other members of the magical community.
I have to find out who he is and where he is now.
It would be difficult to divert resources away from the manhunt for the missing thieves, but Kasey knew the waiter was important. The man hadn’t thought twice about taking a shot at her. If it hadn't been for her dress and Ernesto's foresight, she would also be dead.
Thinking about the encounter, Kasey began to wonder why the waiter had loitered in the museum. Surely after killing Cyrus it would have been in his best interest to stash his weapon and flee the museum in the ensuing chaos.
What had he been waiting for?
Clang.
The sound of another bullet striking the steel pan drew Kasey from her thoughts.
"Oh, come now, Kasey, with that much padding, the bullet couldn't have made it very far. Mine was buried beside his heart and I still managed to get it out. Chop, chop, we need to keep this moving."
Kasey focused on her task. Within minutes, she located her bullet and drew it out before setting it in the pan.
"Well that's two Vida, to your one. By any account, I'm winning."
"I wasn't aware we were racing,” Vida replied. “Don't burn all your energy now, there are still twenty-one to go. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
"You really think you'll do any better at a marathon, Vida? I think I clock more hours in the gym than you even think about exercise. You don't stand a chance."
"We'll see about that, Kasey. Bag those bullets, we’ll see what our friends in forensics
can come up with."
Kasey pulled out an evidence bag and proceeded to pour the three bullets into it. Then, she labeled the bag and set it aside. "There we go."
“Very well, Mr. Mornington. Let's get you back into cooler climates while we take a look at Mrs. Mornington. More precisely, the third Mrs. Mornington."
"The third?" Kasey asked
"Yes, apparently Mr. Mornington was far more adept at finding wives than keeping them. According to his records, he was married to Mrs. Mornington eighteen months ago in a lovely ceremony on Long Island.”
Kasey and Vida struggled to get Mr. Mornington back into the drawer. When the latch finally clicked shut, Vida opened the second drawer and drew out Mrs. Mornington. Kasey found herself looking down at a woman who couldn't have been much older than she was. The slender blonde was well toned, a stark contrast to her husband.
"As you can see Kasey, they married for love," Vida taunted.
"Very funny," Kasey replied.
"What's funny?" a voice called from the door.
Looking over her shoulder, Kasey spotted Bishop standing in the doorway of the morgue.
“Hey, Bishop, what brings you down to our neck of the woods?” Vida asked as he retrieved the gurney.
"I wanted to see what progress you are making here," Bishop replied strolling into the morgue. “Find me anything I can use?”
"I hate to disappoint you, Bishop, but we've only just started and it's early days yet. We have hours of work ahead of us just to process these bodies, "Vida answered. “Forensics hasn’t even started on the bullets yet. I doubt we’ll have anything for you before this afternoon.”
“Not to worry, Vida. I'm sure you'll get through it. Unfortunately, I am going to have to deprive you of your assistant. I need Kasey's help upstairs."
Kasey sighed in relief. The thought of even a temporary reprieve from the pile of work ahead of her was a welcome interruption.
“Upstairs? What for?” Vida demanded.
"We’re going to interrogate a prisoner and I need Kasey's help. After all, she was there. By all accounts, she was the one that choked him out. Without her, we would have nothing."
"You choked him out?" Vida asked, his mouth agape. "Thieves armed with submachine guns, and your idea was to strangle one of them into submission?"
Kasey held up her hands to cut them off. "That's not the whole story, Bishop, and you know it. Besides, the security detail dropped one of the other thieves, as well, so we would still have someone to question."
Bishop's face fell a little.
"What, Bishop? What's wrong? What aren’t you telling me?"
"The other thief died in hospital this morning, Kasey. The trauma from his wounds was too severe. The doctor went to check on him and found that he had died in his sleep. Now the thief left in holding is all we have. We need to shake him and see what we can get out of him.”
Kasey nodded. She had seen the wounded thief go down, but she’d passed him by, when tending to the wounded. She had focused her efforts on the innocent victims, rather than those who had brought misery to the gala in the first place.
Based on what she had witnessed in the shootout, she had figured his wounds were superficial. His death came as a complete surprise.
"Well, what are you waiting for, Kasey? Are you in or out?" Bishop gesturing to the door.
"In, of course,” Kasey replied, tearing off her jumpsuit. “What's the plan?"
Bishop was all business. The vulnerable partner Kasey had seen the night before was gone. In measured tones, she replied, "He's facing twenty-two consecutive life sentences. We are going to scare the hell out of him, and then we're going to shake him until he gives us something we can use.”
Chapter Ten
The interrogation room was a small, square chamber. Its concrete walls were purposely painted a lifeless grey, designed to imitate a jail cell it sent a clear message. Those who found themselves here were simply a step away from charges that would see them behind bars. The only noteworthy features were a large one-way mirror allowing interrogations to be observed. The second was the security camera situated over the door to keep a record of proceedings.
Opposite them sat their prisoner. Deprived of his Elvis mask he presented a different image. His dark beady eyes studied Kasey as she in turn examined him. Slight swelling indicated his nose may have been broken recently.
Detective Bishop gently placed a manila folder on the table. "Tyson Kovacs, I am Detective Bishop. I trust you have had a pleasant evening. I don't imagine this is how you expected it would end."
"I want my lawyer,” Kovacs replied. “I have rights, you know. I want my phone call, and I want my lawyer here now."
Bishop leaned forward. "Afraid to disappoint you, Mr. Kovacs, but both your phone call and your lawyer will have to wait. We have some important questions for you and time is of the essence."
"You can't question me without a lawyer present. I understand my rights, you know."
"Of course you do, Mr. Kovacs. This isn't your first time in the system, is it? In fact, you have more than a dozen misdemeanors on your record. Granted, nothing as grandiose as last night but certainly nothing to be ashamed of.
“Mr. Kovacs, in the past, your crimes have been at the petty end of the spectrum. Unfortunately for you, when you strode into the museum armed with automatic weapons and explosive vests, your rap sheet became all the more impressive. You're not being held for armed robbery or even murder, Mr. Kovacs. You're being held as a terror suspect."
“A terrorist? Are you kidding me?" Kovacs shouted, his handcuffs jangling as he slammed his fist into the table.
Kasey jumped, but Bishop simply leaned back in her chair.
“I'm not kidding at all, Mr. Kovacs. What you may or may not be aware of, are the differences in the rules governing the treatment of suspected terrorists as opposed to ordinary thieves.
“Even though they might be US citizens like yourself, your rights are not what they once were. Don't worry, this isn’t Hollywood. We can't torture you, but the Miranda rights that you've clearly become accustomed to relying on, won't serve you here now as they have in the past.
"What a load of…"
“I assure you, Mr. Kovacs,” Bishop replied, cutting him off, “that here in New York, we are well-acquainted with our rights and processes when dealing with those suspected of committing terrorist actions on United States soil.
“Moreover, I will inform you that your Miranda rights are able to be waived in the instance that we believe the lives of other citizens may yet be in danger, a position that is more than plausible given the escape of two of your party last night.
“The man known as the Khan and one other of your compatriots managed to escape undetected. While they remain at large, we have every reason to believe that further terrorist incidents may occur and therefore, your Miranda rights are to be waived until such a time as we can ascertain they are no longer a threat."
“We’re thieves, not terrorists," Kovacs replied. "It was a robbery gone wrong. The vests were just to ensure that the private security behaved themselves. you know the type. Those sorts of gun-toting maniacs are always trigger-happy. The threat of a bomb was meant to keep them in check.”
“Shame that wasn't the case last night,” Bishop replied. "If it were, you might only be here dealing with an armed robbery charge rather than twenty-two counts of first degree murder. Not to mention any other charges that may yet be filed.”
"Twenty-two? I didn't shoot anyone.”
"Well, we both know that isn't true,” Kasey said tapping the table, "After all, I was there.”
Kovacs took a closer look at Kasey. “You’re the little wretch that choked me out."
“That is correct, sir,” Kasey replied, motioning with her hand as if she were adding points to a chalk board. "I had a perfect view of you as you fired your weapon into the crowd of guests. When my colleague and I are finished pulling the bullets out of the victims downstairs, I'm sure we'll fi
nd more than enough that match your weapon. After all, with ten thieves and twenty-two victims, the odds are that at least two of them are yours. Maybe more. I guess we'll soon see."
"Yes, and then for any you didn't kill directly, you’ll be treated as an accessory," Bishop added. "So, don't worry, Tyson, this room is likely the biggest one you will see for the rest of your life. Apart from a small stint in a courtroom, of course. But Tyson, if you think a jury of your peers is going to save you, you are dumber than you look, and that's saying something."
Tyson Kovacs sat back in his chair. "Well, obviously you want something. What is it? Make me your best offer."
"Our best offer?" Bishop answered. "Why, you have been here before, haven’t you? Unfortunately, for you, Mr. Kovacs, there is only one offer and it's this.
“We have you and one of your colleagues in custody. Granted he is in a little worse condition than you. It seems he got shot up a little in the fight but nothing terminal. The doctors assure me is out of surgery and will be waking up shortly.
“When he does, we'll go and talk with him and get the information we are looking for. So, my offer is this: either you spill the identity and location of the man known as the Khan, or we can get it from your friend. It doesn't really matter to us which one gives us the information, but rest assured, one of you will give it to us.
“The other will be thrown at the courts. Your choice, Kovacs."
Kasey did her best to hide her surprise. She recognized the brilliance in Bishop's plan. Kovacs had been in custody all night; there was no way he would know the other thief was already dead.
Time was a powerful motivator. The notion that at any moment his comrade might wake up and talk, to save his own skin, was weighing on Kovacs. Kasey could see the defeat in his eyes as he considered his options.
While Kovacs may have been willing to keep a secret on his own, knowing that there was someone else out there ready to rat him out and leave him carrying the bag for the crime was eating away at him.
"Whoever you've got, he won't talk either. We all know better than to cross the Khan," Kovacs answered, folding his arms.