The Chemistry of Death

Chapter 53

Vivian wheeled Tesla toward the door that led into Celeste’s house. She and Parker had done a number on the door with a portable battering ram. The damn door was steel that had been painted to look like wood. It was much harder than they expected, but they’d broken through eventually.

After she’d told Dirk that she thought Leandro might have taken Joe to Celeste’s apartment instead of his own, Dirk had called ahead to have cops with gas masks and a ram meet them in front of Celeste’s building. The man in charge had let her and Parker break down the door. Nobody wanted to argue with Parker, and she’d coasted along next to him.

She pushed Tesla into a living room that was bigger than her whole apartment. She bet that the custom-designed leather sofa cost more than she made in a year. She headed for the darkest part of the room and parked Tesla facing the corner.

He was sitting up straight in the chair, sucking on the gas mask. His coughing sounded better. Vivian pushed her mask up to the top of her head and looked around for a paramedic.

Two uniforms walked Leandro past. His golden head was sunk against his chest, and he shambled along with his eyes half-closed. A long bruise on his neck showed where Tesla had nearly killed him. Tesla had been pretty intent on finishing the guy off when she got to him.

“Sir?” She knelt. “Are you OK?”

He gave her a weak thumbs-up, but she raised her hand to call a paramedic over.

The paramedic was a beefy young guy who looked like he spent all his off time working out. He had black hair cut into a buzz and dark eyes. His nametag said his name was Buster.

“Can we get some oxygen over here, Buster?” Vivian called.

Buster fitted an oxygen mask over Tesla’s head and turned it on. Vivian wouldn’t have minded some of that oxygen herself. Her lungs felt irritated, but not enough that she had to cough. Tesla definitely needed it more.

“Celeste?” Tesla asked through the greenish oxygen mask.

“She’s fine.” Vivian looked across the living room to where two paramedics clustered around Celeste’s wheelchair. She was probably fine.

“I want to see her.” Tesla tried to stand, but both Vivian and Buster held him down.

“Let’s just do a quick exam,” Buster said. “Then you can go.”

Vivian liked this brawny young man.

“What’s wrong with your ankle?” Buster asked.

“He broke it the day before yesterday,” Vivian said when Tesla didn’t answer. The woman on the tracks had died only two days ago, but it seemed as if years had passed.

Buster smiled at Tesla. “We’ll get you down to the ambulance and get it looked at. Your shoulder, too.”

Tesla’s eyes went wide with panic.

“He has a private doctor.” Celeste spoke from behind Vivian. Someone had pushed her wheelchair over to their wall. “He’ll be treated here.”

She wore an oxygen mask, too. She had a small cut on her forehead, but otherwise she looked unharmed. Vivian hadn’t expected her to be so frail. She’d always sounded so tough on the phone.

“Can we give them a little privacy?” Vivian asked. “I think they have some things to talk about.”