The Soul Collectors

26

At a quarter past eight, Darby stepped through the Boston Police Department's revolving front doors for the first time since her suspension, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. It had been windy as hell out there and she had forgotten to tie her hair behind her head before leaving the condo.

The long, wide lobby of dark brown and yellow marble hummed with activity. The phones at the main desk kept ringing; and crowds of patrolmen and plainclothes detectives, plus a handful of lawyers she knew, had cornered themselves into small groups for private discussion. Lots of familiar faces here, and she caught more than one tired or bloodshot gaze shift her way as she made her way to the security checkpoint set up in front of the bank of elevators.

A pot-bellied blue uniform sat in a stiff chair. His name was Chet Archer, and he had manned the security checkpoint since the beginning of the year. Working this spot was a highly sought-after position for those patrolmen who had been injured on the job and didn't want to go out on disability. Working it this time of night was a cush-gig. Park your duff on a stool and look up every now and then to check the ID of some cop or lab tech, wave them on through and go back to reading a book or magazine — or, as in Chet's case, click the time away on a portable videogame.

'Playing anything good?' she asked.

Chet looked up from his game.

'Blackjack,' he said. 'I'm heading off to Foxwoods this weekend with the missus, need to brush up on my skills.'

Chet leaned forward in his chair, squinting as his gaze shifted to the laminated badge hanging from a cord around her neck. Darby unzipped her leather jacket and placed it on the conveyor belt for the X-ray machine.

Chet got to his feet slowly, wincing in pain.

'How'd the knee replacement go?' she asked.

'I just got the other one done.' He gripped the top of the X-ray machine for balance. 'What brings you by, Darby?'

'I'm coming back to work tomorrow, so I decided to swing by and catch up on a few things, take advantage of the peace and quiet.'

'Nobody told me anything about that.'

'Probably because Leland called me about an hour ago.'

'He's gone for the day.'

Darby had counted on that, since Leland had called her from his cell phone. Leland Pratt, ever the efficient administrator and state employee, always locked his office at 4:30 p.m., the time the lab closed for the day.

Chet said, 'I can't let you up there without his permission.'

'So call him.' She glanced to the phone hanging on the wall behind Chet.

'I don't have his cell number, let alone the one for his home.'

'No problem. I know them by heart. Let me know when you're ready.'

Chet shifted, grimacing. Leland was a pro when it came to kissing ass upwards but not downwards. He virtually ignored people he considered beneath him. People like Chet.

Right now Chet was wondering whether it was worth the risk of placing a call to King Leland's Brookline palace. Chet knew he had a good gig and didn't want any trouble. And a top pencil-pusher like King Leland could make a lot of trouble if he got pissed at being bothered at home.

'I'll call him,' Darby said.

Chet waved a hand. 'No, that's okay, I'll take your word for it. Go on through. And welcome back, Darby.' Walking out of the elevator, Darby removed the cord from around her neck. She held her breath as she waved the laminated badge in front of the keycard reader that guarded the lab's twin steel doors.

The keycard's light turned green. The locks clicked back and she felt the trapped breath nearly explode past her lips, the tightness in her chest drizzling away.

Dim lighting hung over the empty desk where the lab secretary sat. Darby walked past it and then turned and looked down the hall. The doors for the two-person offices were open, all the rooms dark. The door for Serology, where she had spent most of her early adult working life, was dark. No one was here. It didn't surprise her. With the bad state of the economy, the department's budget had been cut, and the first thing to go was overtime. Nobody worked past 4:30 unless it was an emergency, and then the overtime had to be approved by Leland, who was all too willing to say no. Nothing excited the man more than staying under budget.

Darby turned around and walked down the hall to her corner office. Her name plate had already been removed, but the locks hadn't been changed. Her key turned without a problem.

Clicking on the light, she found that the few items she had hung on her wall had been taken down and placed into boxes. The wall behind her desk — her former desk, she reminded herself — was crammed full of Leland's framed diplomas and several pictures of him shaking hands with the mayor, the governor and new Massachusetts senator. There was a picture of him with President Clinton and one with Hillary Clinton. And Leland, through his Rolodex of political connections, had somehow weaseled his way into getting a picture with President Obama. The pricey frames had been strategically positioned on the wall so the person entering the office would know he or she was dealing with a man of great importance.

Of course he'd take over my office. It's slightly bigger than his and has more windows and a much better view. That's how pricks like Leland keep score.

Darby pulled out the chair behind the desk, sat and turned on the computer. Old and slow, it took a long time to boot up.

She entered her name and password and pressed the ENTER key.

ACCESS DENIED.

Shit. She was locked out. No way to access Charlie Rizzo's case file — and now no way to access the lab's fingerprint database. The same password worked on both systems.

Darby leaned back in her chair and stared out of the window, thinking.

The first problem — information on Charlie Rizzo's case — was easy enough to solve. The lead investigator was a Greek guy by the name of Stan Karakas, who had long since retired from the force. The question was whether or not he was still living in the city — or the state.

The Retired Boston Police Officers Association would know. They'd have contact information, address and phone numbers. Their offices were closed now, but she could call them first thing tomorrow morning. Better yet, she could drive over to West Roxbury and talk to someone in person.

Now the second and more pressing problem: what to do with the papers inside her jacket pocket? She could ask one of the lab techs to do it on the sly. Randy Scott would do it, no questions asked… but if Leland found out, the prick would go out of his way to punish Randy. Scratch Randy. Scratch anyone here at the lab, which left her -

Darby leaned forward and grabbed the phone.