“Cuz I can do it, you know. Had many a conversation with your ex-wife.”
“Low blow, Theo. There was a guy who flew out of Opa-locka with Sydney. You got any contacts over there?”
“Opa-locka,” Theo said, searching. “A buddy of mine got arrested flying in there from the Bahamas with about two kilos of-”
“That’s not the kind of contact I’m talking about.”
“Actually, it is, dude. Lobo-that’s what we call him. It means ‘wolf.’”
“I know what it means. I speak some Spanish.”
“Not according to your grandmother.”
“Will you back off, please?”
“Anyway, Lobo took the rap himself, refused to cut a deal and testify against a half dozen dudes who worked in baggage. They love him. Even better, they owe him.”
“Could be promising,” said Jack. “See what you can find out.”
“No problem.”
Jack checked his watch. Ten minutes past two. “Hope I’m not being stood up.”
Theo was actually quiet for a minute or two, which Jack savored. Until his cell rang. It was his new iPhone-he’d cut himself loose from the old one and its spyware over the lunch hour-so he almost didn’t recognize the ring tone. But he did immediately recognize the incoming number. It wasn’t entirely rational, but the mere sight of it made Jack feel like a cheater.
“It’s Andie,” he said.
Theo snorted so hard he nearly coughed up his espresso.
“Quiet,” Jack said, and he answered. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Thank God you answered,” she said, her voice filled with urgency. “Where are you?”
“Little Havana. Having coffee. Just me and Theo.” Literally true, but the obvious omission made him feel even more like a cheater.
“Get in the car and meet me at the medical examiner’s office.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me. Don’t stop anywhere or for anyone on the way.”
“Did something happen to Celeste?”
“Don’t even stop at traffic lights if you can avoid them.”
“Damn it! I didn’t think she needed a guard so long as she was in the ICU.”
“Jack, I don’t care if this is your new phone, that’s all I can say on your line.”
Of course it was. Nothing short of surrendering his privacy to the FBI would make an FBI agent trust the security of his phone lines.
“Just go!” said Andie.
“Right,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter Twenty
The medical examiner’s office is in the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensic Pathology, a three-building complex on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical Center campus and Jackson Memorial Hospital. Typical for midafternoon, the campus was bustling with activity, people headed to the spine institute, the eye institute, and other world-class specialists. Theo nearly flattened a line of them as his car sped through the crosswalk and into the parking lot, only to lose a race with an SUV for what seemed like the last remaining parking spot in Miami-Dade County. Theo jumped out of his car and threatened to pick up and physically remove the two-thousand-pound intruder that had taken the parking space that was rightfully his. Jack didn’t have time to mediate the argument. He jumped out and ran to the main entrance. The guard buzzed him in, and Jack hurried across the lobby to reception.
“I’m here to meet Agent Andie Henning,” he said, winded from the run. “Jack Swyteck’s my name.”
“Wait here, please. I’ll let the doctor know.”
Jack was tempted to burst through the locked door to find Andie himself, but he didn’t need B amp;E charges added to his list of troubles. There was a couch in the waiting room, but he was too wired to sit. He dug his cell phone from his pocket. He’d been trying to reach Ben Laramore since leaving the coffee shop. He dialed again. Same result. No answer. It probably didn’t help that the phone number flashing on Laramore’s display screen was Jack’s new number, as yet unknown to Ben. Jack had told him not to answer any calls from strange numbers, as it might be the media-or worse.
Jack took a seat and caught his breath. A trip to the medical examiner’s office wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence for a criminal defense lawyer, not even for one who defended death row inmates. It had nonetheless been only a matter of weeks since Jack’s most recent visit; it was on the eve of Sydney Bennett’s trial.
Jack had vehemently opposed the disinterment of Emma Bennett’s remains, but the prosecution had convinced the judge to overrule his objection. It was “regrettable but necessary,” the judge had stated in his ruling. As of that pretrial stage of the case, the defense had offered nothing in the way of scientific evidence to counter the prosecution’s theory: that Emma Bennett’s late-night crying was simply too much for a party-minded mother who didn’t get home from the clubs until after one A.M.; that Emma’s grandmother had refused to babysit past two A.M.; and that in a drunken fit of rage, Sydney Bennett had snapped sometime before dawn, yanked her crying two-year-old child out of bed, and slapped or suffocated her into a state of unconsciousness, only to wake the next morning and find Emma not breathing. In the judge’s view, the state had demonstrated a “compelling need” to reexamine the body in order to counter the defendant’s eleventh-hour change of position-Sydney’s newly minted claim as to the “real” cause and manner of Emma’s death.
Jack’s ensuing visit to the medical examiner’s office was one that he would never forget.
Torrents of icy air gushed from the air-conditioning vents in the ceiling, making the autopsy room so cold that Jack almost had to remind himself that he was still in Florida. Bright lights glistened off the white sterile walls and buffed tile floors. Jack watched through the discerning eyes of a criminal defense lawyer as an assistant medical examiner led him to the small mound beneath a white sheet on a stainless steel table. Dr. Hugo Flynn, a pathologist, was waiting beside the table. Flynn was the expert witness for the defense.
“I think you’ll find this very interesting,” said Dr. Flynn.
The assistant stepped aside to observe from a distance, far enough away so that Jack and Dr. Flynn could talk without being overheard by a government employee. Flynn adjusted the spotlight and took hold of the corner of the sheet.
“Now, be forewarned,” he told Jack. “As you know, the body was hidden in the Everglades before it was discovered and given a proper burial. According to the autopsy report, there were no internal organs, very little of the shell of the torso remaining. Much of that was lost to predators. We are now adding to that the natural effects of almost three years of decomposition in the grave.”
“So. . what remains?”
“Bones. Hair. Teeth.”
He pulled back the lower corner of the sheet. Dr. Flynn’s powers of concentration were such that his bushy gray eyebrows had pinched together and formed one continuous caterpillar that stretched across his brow. Whatever he was examining did not even resemble a human body part to Jack, which made him uneasy. The fact that these remains were those of a child made it that much worse.
“What do you see?” asked Jack.
The doctor took a step back and sighed deeply. “The first thing you have to understand,” said Dr. Flynn, “is that even when the corpse is fresh, drowning cannot be proven by autopsy. It is a diagnosis of exclusion, based on the circumstances of death.”
“Emma Bennett’s death has some pretty vague circumstances.”
“Yes, it does. And her remains are indeed minimal.”
“So in your process of diagnosis by exclusion, what does that tell you, Doctor?”
“Not much. There is really not enough for me to rule out every other possible cause of death. But we do have something to hang our hat on.”
The doctor laid his iPad on the table and motioned Jack toward him. The image on the screen was right next to the actual remains-to what appeared to be the bones of a small foot.
“This photograph is from the autopsy report,” said Flynn. “It’s the right foot, the remains of which you see here on the table. Do you see this?” asked Flynn, adjusting the size of the image on the screen.