“No. He’s dead.” Her voice broke. “Joel is dead.”
Eric felt the air leave his lungs. Wow. Albert worked fast. “How?” he asked.
“He was in his car, on his way to school.” She was sobbing now. “He ran off the road, hit a tree. He went through the windshield. He bled to death.”
“Hell.” He’d told Albert to make it so that it wasn’t painful. That sounded pretty damn painful. But it was done. And they’d have to live with that, too.
Better a guilty conscience than life behind bars.
But now Joel wouldn’t be available tonight. All of them had to participate or the video would be leaked. I should have told Albert, he thought grimly. We needed Joel.
Maybe the texter would accept a note. Please excuse Joel from any extortion-related arsons, as he is dead. Eric closed his eyes. Frickin’ unbelievable.
“Who told you?” he asked.
“His sister called me. His… his parents didn’t know about us. Joel said they wouldn’t have approved. But his sister knew about me and knew I needed to know. But don’t say anything to the Fischers. I don’t want to get his sister in trouble.”
Joel’s parents were Orthodox Jews. Mary was Irish Catholic. That they wouldn’t approve was expected. That Joel hid his and Mary’s relationship… well, Eric had known Joel since kindergarten, and that wasn’t surprising either. I should be crying, too, he thought. I should feel something. But all he felt was weary dread. This whole mess was Joel’s idea. So in a way, it was kind of his fault.
“We need to meet. The three of us. Library. Noon.”
“I can’t,” she said numbly. “I’ve got class.”
“Skip it,” he snapped. “This is important.” He hung up. He had choices to make. Hard ones. To torch a stranger’s warehouse or risk prison? To tell the others or not?
They could flee. Leave the country. They could be in Canada in less than three hours. From there… wherever people go who are fleeing the cops. To whatever country doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. He needed money. He needed new ID. He needed to buy some more time. But he had only thirteen hours.
Maybe the texter wouldn’t follow through. Why wouldn’t he? He had nothing to lose. And I have everything to lose.
Eric dug into his pants pocket and flipped open the disposable cell, checking the warehouse address again, even though he remembered it perfectly.
Who owned it? Were they good or bad? Maybe the owner had done something horrible. So horrible that taking out his warehouse might be doing a public service.
And I am lying to myself. I need to buy some time. Torching the stranger’s warehouse would buy him that time. As long as no more people got hurt, it was just stuff. Stuff could be replaced. That’s what insurance was for.
Hadn’t he said that himself just yesterday? Yesterday when they were still environmental avengers? God. How had things gone so wrong?
He couldn’t think about that. Now he needed information about the stranger whose warehouse would be ashes by midnight tonight. He needed to find a way to convince Albert and Mary that they were doing the right thing. He needed to buy some time.
Monday, September 20, 10:55 a.m.
Olivia was steady by the time she and Kane walked into the morgue, but David’s voice still filled her head. I need to talk to you. About what? Why he’d been hiding for seven months? Or would he go for the tried-and-true It’s not you, Olivia, it’s me?
She’d kept it together in that bucket. Having him that close was a dream and a nightmare, all rolled into one. But she hadn’t turned to goo, even when he’d put his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear. Even when he’d said her name, all husky and sexy. The man exuded sex. So considering, she’d done okay. Held her own.
“Liv?” Kane was regarding her with an amused, if pained, expression. “Either put him out of your mind or go home and take a cold shower. You’re making me think about going home for a very long lunch break with my wife.”
Her cheeks heated. “Sorry.”
He patted her shoulder. “Have Ian take you into the freezer. That’ll cool your jets.”
“Who needs to go in the freezer?” ME Ian Gilles came out of his office.
“Nobody,” Olivia said firmly. “So, what do you have?”
“Gold,” Ian said. “Come on, have a look.” He led them to the light board, where an X-ray was mounted. “The girl’s skull.”
Olivia’s heart started to beat faster as a puzzle piece fell into place. There was a distinctive dark, tombstone-shaped patch about the size of a half-dollar, just behind the girl’s ear. “Is that what I think it is?”
Ian looked a little disappointed. “Depends on what you think it is.”
She looked up at Kane. “David Hunter and his partner didn’t find a hearing aid. Not exactly anyway. Our girl had a cochlear implant. What he saw was the processor.”
“What’s a processor?” Kane asked.
“It’s a… device…” Olivia groped for the words. “It converts sounds… Explain, Ian.”
Ian perked up, his disappointment dissipating. “The processor is worn behind the ear and converts sound into electrical signals. The signals are passed to the implant, here.” He tapped the bone behind his ear. “The implant bypasses the normal auditory systems, stimulating the aural nerves. It’s pretty cool. How do you know about it, Liv?”
“My friend has one. You know her, Kane. Brie Franconi. We just talked about her.”
“The lady who runs the doggy day care?” Kane asked.
“She used to be a cop, but lost her hearing. Ended up having to quit the force, start another career. She got the implant about two years ago.” She turned to Ian. “So there will be a serial number on the implant part, right? Because the processor was so melted, it was almost unidentifiable.”
“Here it is.” Ian handed her a sticky note with the name of a manufacturer and the serial number written on it. “I had this big buildup planned. Gee, thanks.”
Olivia patted his arm. “I’m sorry. But this is really great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t run off,” he said when they started to. “There’s more.”
They followed him into the autopsy suite. The bodies here didn’t bother her like they did in the field. By the time they got here, she’d gone through the panic.
The girl lay on the table, a sheet covering her from neck to knees. The soot had been washed from her hair and her face was ghastly white under the glaring lights.
“So young,” Kane murmured.
“Probably sixteen,” Ian said. “Cause of death was smoke inhalation. Londo said he pointed out what appeared to be recent abuse trauma. Her X-rays showed fractures to her right arm and some damage to her left hand. She’d also been drinking last night. Her blood alcohol was point-oh-nine. She’d eaten tacos very shortly before the fire.”
“If she got food locally,” Olivia said, “we might track her last hours.”
“Or her partner’s,” Ian said. “She’d had sex very shortly before death. Within an hour, quite probably less.”
Olivia frowned. “Somebody was in there with her?” she said. “Having sex?”
“I take it you haven’t found another body,” Ian said.
“Not yet, but the first two floors are still a mess,” Kane said. Then he winced. “What about the guard?”
Ian shook his head and both Olivia and Kane breathed fast sighs of relief. “Wrong blood type. Plus, Henry Weems had a vasectomy ten years ago. Came through on his chart. The girl didn’t use a condom, and her partner had a very high sperm count.”
“Oh, good,” Olivia said. “I’d hate to have to break that to Mrs. Weems.”
“On the other hand,” Kane said, “we’re either looking for another body or…”
“Or her partner got away.” Olivia’s pulse kicked up. “If he got out, we could have an eyewitness out there.”
“When she fell, she hit her knees.” Ian pulled the sheet back, revealing bruises on the girl’s knees. “She also has a slightly sprained ankle. She could have fallen and gotten separated from this other person.”