Fatal

CHAPTER 25

Matt and Nikki had breakfast at Pancakes on Parade on the banks of the Susquehanna. If it was possible for a family restaurant to be romantic, this one, with a broad porch set on tall stilts out over the river, surely was. But then again, on this particular morning, the two of them would have found any McDonald's or Burger King atmospheric. For over an hour, not a word was spoken about Bill Grimes or spongiform encephalopathy or Belinda Coal and Coke. Instead, they touched fingertips and thumb wrestled, laughed to tears at the silly or embarrassing stories of each other's lives, and commiserated with the sad ones. Grace, their husky, gum-chewing waitress, called Matt "Slugger" and Nikki "Dearie." After the third time she found they weren't ready to order because they hadn't looked at the menu, she brought them heart-shaped lollypops and a bill for two dollars for mooning at each other in pub-lie.

"It's been a long, long time since I mooned," Matt said. " 'Cept maybe for the time a couple of years ago when my shorts ripped while I was playing basketball."

"Boston men are too sophisticated to moon," Nikki said. "Instead, they discuss lunar landings and the Hubble telescope."

There was a pay phone in an alcove by the rest rooms. Before their order arrived, Matt called his uncle at the hospital.

"Hey, Unk, it's Matt."

"Hey," Hal said, "how goes it? Any word about that patient of yours?"

"It goes not too well, actually. And yes, Nikki Solari is safe. She's with me in Pennsylvania. Hal, something really weird and really dangerous is going on. It has to do with those odd cases."

"The miners?"

"Them and the girl who died, Kathy Wilson. And Bill Grimes is right in the middle of it."

"My read on Grimes is that he's slick and power hungry," Hal said, "but he's not evil."

"Unk, he's evil. Believe me, he is."

Hal Sawyer listened patiently as Matt recounted the story of Nikki's abduction and subsequent rescue, and this morning's revelation regarding the microscopic findings in Kathy Wilson's brain.

"Spongiform encephalopathy" Hal said when Matt had finished. "Now, doesn't missing something like that make me feel a bit sheepish."

"There's no reason. The Wilson woman's brain looked normal, just as I'm sure our two cases' did. You wouldn't be expected to do a microscopic on their brains. This guy in Boston only did it because Nikki Solari insisted."

"You still think the mine's at fault?"

"I'm sure of it. I don't know the precise connection between what they've done and spongiform disease, but I do know that somehow they're the cause of this, and Grimes is on the take from them. Any ideas what we should do?"

Hal thought for a time.

"It seems showing someone in authority that toxic dump you found is the place to start."

"I agree."

"There is a man, Fred Carabetta, at the Occupational Safety and Health Administration in Washington, who owes me a favor for some expert witness work I did for him a few years back. Maybe the way to go is to see if I can call in my marker and get him to come with us and view that dump. Once we've got an OSHA official believing, we can bring some legitimate pressure to bear against BC and C."

"If the dump is still there."

"Now, nephew, you know we can't control that. That's rule number two in your Godfather's Lexicon — "

" — of Youth. I know, I know. Rule number one: There's no such word as 'can't.' Rule number two: If you can't control it, don't let it control you."

"Excellent. I'm proud that you haven't forgotten the Lexicon rules after all these years."

"That's 'cause you still spout them at me every chance you get."

"In that case, I'm glad you've been paying attention. Listen, Matt, I'll see what I can do with Fred Carabetta. How can I get ahold of you?"

"Just call the house and leave a message on my machine. I'll check it frequently and get back to you."

"And I'll call that coroner in Boston, too. See if he can tell me about that special stain he used."

"Do you have any tissue left from those two miners?"

"I suspect I do."

"Please don't speak with anyone about Grimes until you and I have a chance to talk, okay? He's more dangerous than you think."

"If you're that certain about him, why don't you just go to the police somewhere and file a complaint?"

"Nikki wants to, but I've talked her out of it for now. From what I've heard, the police are a pretty tight fraternity. There's no cop who's going to listen to us and run right down to Belinda to make Grimes assume the pat-down position. And once we come out into the open, he'll have us between his crosshairs regardless of what we allege he did. For the time being, I'd rather wait."

"Okay, whatever you say. Just be careful. I'll call you later today. By the way, I visited with your mother this morning. She's really slipping."

"I know. I saw her for a few minutes yesterday. It won't be long now before she'll need some sort of comprehensive care. I'll look into it when I get this business settled. Listen, Hal, thanks for your help — with her and with this."

"You're on the right track, Matt. I'm certain of it."

"Me, too, Unk," Matt said. "Me, too."

Nikki gave the pancakes a solid eight. Matt claimed to have wolfed down his Spanish omelet too rapidly to grade it for taste. He left Grace a tip that was twice the cost of their meal, along with a note that thanked her for presiding over their morning mooning.

"You know what I'm really relieved about?" he asked as they headed out to the Harley. "I'm really relieved those guys didn't kill you."

"Aw, gee. You certainly know just what to say to a girl, you romantic devil you. It's good to know we actually have something in common. I'm relieved they didn't kill me, too."

She reached across the bike and kissed him intensely enough to get a honk from a passing trucker. She had just let up when they felt some tentative raindrops. Fifteen minutes later, it was drizzling steadily. Matt found a Wal-Mart outside of York and VISAed some rain gear for each of them, but for the next five hours the going was slow and not pleasant. They gave passing thought to stopping until the next morning, but Nikki was too anxious to get home. By the time the clouds broke, they were still several hours from Boston, having inched through rush-hour traffic around New York City. At nine Nikki called the office to tell Joe Keller they were running late and might not be there until eleven, but there was no answer.

"He's either doing a late case or out to dinner," she said. "I shouldn't have told him when we were arriving, so he wouldn't wait, but now that I did, I'm sure he'll be there."

Matt used the break to call his machine. There were two messages. The first was from Mae reporting that as far as she knew, there was no word about his patient, Dr. Solari, and that she was worried about not having heard from him all day, and hoped he was all right and that his absence was due to nothing more serious than the erratic behavior he had been exhibiting so much of lately. The second message was from Hal.

"Good news, Matt. Not great, but good. Fred Carabetta won't commit to any action regarding the mine, but he will meet with us his office. Tomorrow at three. Two Hundred Constitution Avenue. Wherever you are, I hope you can make it. Call and confirm."

Matt left a message on both his uncle's office and home machines that he would be there, and then dictated a message on his own office machine telling Mae he was all right and would be in touch. After he set the receiver down, he shared Hal's breakthrough with Nikki.

"I'm going to take the bike back to D.C. tomorrow," he said. "Wanna come?"

"Do you get frequent flyer miles on this thing?"

"Double miles to D.C. It's the shuttle."

"Well, thanks. I really want to be with you, but for the moment I think I need to stay here. For one thing, I feel like my body can't take too much more, and for another, I have this job cutting up dead people that I get paid pretty well for doing, but only if I show up. It says so in my contract."

"I understand. I'll be back up as soon as I deal with this mine thing."

It was nearing eleven by the time they cruised up the Southeast Expressway toward the shimmering lights of Boston. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and fresh.

"Have you been back here since your residency?" Nikki asked.

"Nope," he called back over his shoulder. "In the beginning, after I returned to Belinda, I was working like hell in the ER, then to set up a private practice. Ginny got sick soon after that, and never really had much of a remission. Since she died, it's been hard enough much of the time just to get up and go to the office, much less embark on a nostalgic journey to Boston. I did like the place, though. Lots."

The medical examiner's office was located just off the highway. Except for some low nighttime lighting, the three-story building was dark. Nikki rang the front buzzer half a dozen times. They could hear the sound of it echoing through the empty reception area, but there was no movement inside.

"Strange," she said, "there's usually a maintenance man here all night. Even if he's not, Joe often works past midnight. Knowing we're coming, I have trouble believing he went home."

"Maybe he wasn't feeling well," Matt offered.

"Maybe. The front door opens with a swipe card that is back in West Virginia with my things. But there's a security door in the back that has a keypad. Joe's office is toward the back anyhow. Maybe he can't hear the buzzer."

Matt followed her through a dimly lit alley to the rear of the building.

"See," she said. "That's Joe's office, that light right there on the second floor. I knew he was here."

"I think you're right about him not hearing us. This is a long building — sort of like an aircraft carrier."

Nikki punched in the code and they stepped into the concrete rear stairway, eerily illuminated by a red EXIT sign. The air was imbued with the distinctive, though not overpowering, aroma of formaldehyde. With Matt following, Nikki quickly ascended to the second floor and opened the door onto a carpeted corridor with offices on either side.

"Joe, it's us," she called out.

She knocked on the door marked JOSEF KELLER, M.D. CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER, then pushed it open. The office was brightly lit by an overhead fluorescent fixture and a desk lamp. Joe Keller was at his desk, his back to them.

"Joe," Nikki said, "why didn't you — ?"

Then she saw the blood on the carpet. She raced to the chair, with Matt right behind, and cried out loudly. There was dark, clotted blood all over the desk and splattered across the face and clothes of Joe Keller. His head drooped over his chest. Nikki lifted it gently, exposing a battered face with a bullet hole just above the nose. Keller's eyes were open wide and glazed with death. His wire-rimmed spectacles dangled from one ear.

"Look," Matt said, gesturing to Keller's right hand, which rested in the dead man's lap.

The index finger had been cleanly severed off at the middle knuckle.

"Oh, Jesus!" Nikki cried, stumbling backward, her limbs suddenly in spasm. "Oh, Christ, how could someone do this to him?"

Matt put his arms around her and held her closely.

"Honey, please don't touch anything anymore," he begged.

"Who would do such a thing? Why? He was such a dear, sweet man. Why? Oh, Jesus. Oh, shit! No."

She couldn't stop moving, shifting from one foot to the other, pounding her fists against the sides of her thighs. Matt led her away from the body of her mentor, trying at once to comfort her, evaluate the scene, and stay alert in case the killer was still in the building. He thought about the gun in his saddlebag, and cursed himself for not bringing it along when Keller failed to answer the door. He had an inkling of trouble at that moment, but simply hadn't paid

enough attention to it. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that the ME's torture and murder were somehow connected to Kathy Wilson. Was Grimes nearby — or his stooges?

There was a small, round conference table at one end of the office. Matt helped Nikki into the chair that was facing away from Keller.

"Nikki, I'm really sorry about this — sick and sorry."

"You think it had to do with Grimes?" she sobbed.

"I'm going to try to figure that out, but yes, yes I do."

He chose not to question her again about what she might have said to Grimes either at the memorial service or in the cabin.

"I–I want to help you," she said.

"In a little bit. Nik, can you sit here while I look around?"

"Yes."

"Good. Just keep your hands in your lap. I know there's a logical explanation for your prints being in this building, but I'd rather not have them be the only employee's fresh prints in this office."

"I understand. Matt, they tortured him."

Matt paced around the desk and scanned the rest of the office. No gun, no knife, no finger. He squatted down and examined Keller's contused, distorted face. His nose had certainly been shattered, and there was probably a fracture of the orbit bone above his left eye.

Earlier in the evening they had again discussed calling in the police and had voted unanimously against it for the time being.

"Nikki," Matt asked, "can you estimate when he was murdered?"

"I would need to examine him to be really accurate, but from what I saw I would guess a couple of hours ago."

"So we can wait to call the police."

"And maybe do it from a pay phone."

"In that case," Matt said, "come back to the bike with me."

"Don't you want to look around and try to find out why they did this?"

"Oh, I do. But there's something in my saddlebag I want to get first, on the chance they're still around."

Minutes later, with Matt cradling Larry's snub-nosed revolver, the two of them began a systematic search of the building.

"Assuming this has to do with Kathy," he asked, "what do you think they could have wanted?"

"I don't know. Let's start with our files. They're in a locked room right behind the autopsy suite." Covering her fingertip with her shirt, Nikki punched in her code on a keypad and they entered the long, narrow file room. "The charts on the shelves are arranged by case number," she said as she crossed to a narrow six-drawer cabinet. "This card file is alphabetical."

"And?"

"I can't find her card. There are seven Katherine Wilsons, but none is the right one."

"Look," Matt said, pointing to a dark smear on the corner of the long table in the center of the room.

Nikki peered at the stain. "They had Joe in here."

She flipped through the cards again, then took out all the Wilsons and set them on the table. Matt went through them, and shook his head.

"Nada."

"We have the cards backed up."

Nikki sat down at a computer terminal and after a few maneuvers wrote down a number.

Kathy Wilson's chart was missing, too, and with it, all the autopsy data.

"Do you use a transcription service for your dictations?"

Nikki was already back at the terminal.

"We have our own in-house. The record's been deleted from the database. They thought of everything except the backup chart list. Joe somehow managed not to tell them about that. Let's go down to Histology. It's right below the autopsy suite."

They carefully closed the file room and entered the large, open autopsy suite with three stainless-steel tables. The center table was occupied. A copper-skinned man, garbed in work boots and stained chino overalls, lay peacefully, thumbs hooked under his suspenders, staring unseeingly up at the drop ceiling. There was a thick smear of clotted blood and tissue where his left eye had been. Beneath the gore, they were certain, was a bullet hole.

"Oh, Christ," Nikki said, turning away.

"The maintenance man?"

She nodded. "Santiago."

"Cute touch hooking his thumbs in like that."

"The stairs to Histology are over there."

To the surprise of neither, the slides for Kathy Wilson and all un-sectioned tissue specimens were gone.

"Nothing," Nikki said after she had checked the last possible place where any of Kathy's tissue might be.

"Two men died so someone could be certain of that."

"Matt," Nikki blurted out, "let's get out of here. I want to go to my place right now."

"I'm not sure that's wise."

"I don't care. You've got a gun. If you're not comfortable using it, I promise you I just became totally ready. I want to go home. I want to sit down and have a cup of tea in my own chair and figure out what to do next."

"Okay, okay. Show me the way."

"Thanks."

"And Nikki?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really sick about Joe."

"I know you are."

In silence, through largely empty streets, they rode the few miles to South Boston and parked a block away from Nikki's apartment. Matt secured the revolver in his belt and pulled his shirt over it, keeping his hand in touch with the grip. Warily, they made their way along the colorful row of tightly packed duplexes and triplexes, keeping an eye out for movement in any of the cars parked along the street.

"How are we going to get in?" he asked.

"We keep a spare key wedged in a little magnet box behind the drainpipe. Kathy started losing hers all the time."

The key was right where she expected it to be. Cautiously, they made their way up to the second floor. Matt slipped the gun out and held it ready as Nikki slid the key in the lock, turned it silently, and eased the door open.

"Oh, no."

Her flat was in shambles. Books were strewn everywhere, shelves stripped bare. Lamps were knocked over. Every drawer was pulled out and emptied, every cushion and framed painting thrown in the middle of the floor. Figurines and candy dishes were smashed. Mindless of the possibility that men were still in the apartment, Nikki dropped to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Matt knelt beside her and did the only thing that felt right — he kicked the door closed, set his arm around her shoulders, and let her cry.

Fifteen minutes later they were still in the same spot. Finally, numbly, Nikki rose and shuffled into her bedroom. She emerged with a medium-sized backpack filled with clothes.

"Let's get out of here and out of Boston," she said flatly. "I feel as if I've been raped."

Matt followed her out of the ransacked apartment, down the stairs, and around to the bike.

"They're not going to get away with this," he said. "I promise you they aren't."

"We're going to the police," she said firmly, turning suddenly to face him, her expression an unsettling mix of fury and bewilderment. "I'm not going to let you talk me out of doing it this time. If we had gone when I said, maybe Joe would still be alive."

"Nikki, that's — "

"Don't tell me that's nonsense!" she snapped. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. I just want to go to the police."

Matt checked around quickly to see if anyone had been roused by her outburst.

"Go now?" he said. "But — "

"Dammit, Matt, my dear friend is dead, and Grimes killed him! I don't care about your fucking coal mine or… or your theories about toxic waste, or your goddamn insane town. Joe Keller was the gentlest man on earth. Why in the hell would they do this? Why?"

Sobbing wretchedly again, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

Matt held her tightly. Going to the police was asking for trouble. He still felt certain of that. Joe Keller had already been dead for a couple of hours when they found him, and those who had killed him and destroyed her apartment were not going to be any easier to catch up with this minute than they would be after an anonymous call an hour from now. Reporting Nikki's kidnapping would be their word against Grimes's, and they would be exposing themselves at a time when freedom and mobility were just about the only elements on their side.

"Look," he said, "let's get on the road. We'll stop at a pay phone in a little while and call the Boston police. I hope I can talk you out of actually showing up in an FBI office or police station, but that'll ultimately be up to you."

Nikki's racking sobs gradually diminished. Finally, without a word, she mounted the Harley and waited for him to step on.

Matt stuffed the revolver back into his jacket pocket, took his spot in front of her, and fired up the bike. If going to the police was what she needed, the police she would get. She had been through so much. He drove off, sensing her sitting rigidly behind him, staring off into the night. He was grateful she had gone into her bedroom to gather her things, grateful he had had time to pace around her living room before she returned, grateful he had happened to look over at the mantel. Somewhere in the next half hour or so, he would ease the Harley toward the soft shoulder, and when he was certain she wasn't paying attention, he would flip what he had found on her mantel into the woods.

And the whereabouts of Joe Keller's missing finger would forever remain a mystery.