[Kate Lange 01.0] Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  She couldn’t let him know what she was doing.

  * * *

  “Craig.” His employer stood in front of him, blocking his path from the fridge to the workstation.

  Craig looked up from the tray he was carrying.

  Dr. Gill held his gaze. “This has got to stop. Now.”

  “It’s t-t-too late.” Craig gave him a little smile.

  “It’s never too late, Craig.” Dr. Gill softened his voice. “You could just stop. Right now. The police have no evidence. No one would ever know.”

  “Y-You can’t tell me wh-wh-what to do,” Craig said, pushing around him. “Dr. K,” he added for good measure. Dr. K. His employer hated that nickname. Every time he used it, Dr. Gill turned ashen. It was amazing what guilt and shame could do to a man.

  This time, his employer stiffened, his head jerking back in that irritating birdlike movement. Just as Craig knew it would. He could predict everything.

  Every. Fucking. Thing.

  “No.” The Esteemed Doctor turned and faced him. His hands were actually trembling. Trembling. “Please.” Dr. Gill’s voice was hoarse. “I’m begging you. Don’t do it anymore.”

  Power surged through him, breaking in a frenzied wave through his body. The Esteemed Doctor was actually shaking in his fucking sandals.

  He smiled. “You n-n-never complained before.” He leaned against the counter. “You l-l-liked it when I killed them quietly and you got the limbs on the s-s-side.”

  “No,” Dr. Gill whispered. “No, that’s not true.”

  “You just didn’t like it when I st-st-started leaving the bodies out. R-Right, Dr. Kill?” The flash of guilt in Dr. Gill’s eyes confirmed it.

  At first, dissecting Anna Keane’s dead bodies had filled the emptiness inside him. But then the emptiness got bigger. He needed the bodies to be alive first.

  Then it hadn’t been enough to dispose of their remains in the crematorium. He wanted people to know.

  Craig Peters was having the last laugh.

  “Why did you?” Dr. Gill looked almost afraid to know the answer.

  “I f-f-felt like it.” Craig would never justify his actions to this man. This puny man. He had no idea of the power Craig had over his victims. The begging. The pleading. The absolute fucking terror.

  White spots appeared around the edges of his left eye. Flecks of spume. Jumping randomly back and forth.

  He shook his head. They careered wildly. It was happening almost all the time now. Keeping pace with the steady pulse of the urge.

  “You’ve got to stop.” Dr. Gill’s voice was low, pleading. “They are just young girls.”

  Craig’s body tensed. He was a rubber band. Tight, tight, stretching to burst. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes rolled wildly upward.

  The elastic snapped.

  His limbs jerked.

  He swallowed. “It’s t-t-too late.”

  He dumped the tray on the counter and pushed by Dr. Gill.

  He’d go home, get his briefcase and wait until darkness fell. That’s when the whores sold their bodies. They just didn’t realize it was a final sale.

  * * *

  Kate parked her car on a side street by Hollis U. Slightly calmer, she forced herself to walk slowly into the 1960s brick science building which housed Dr. Gill’s lab. It reminded Kate of her old high school, down to the musty smell that the forty-year-old linoleum expunged whenever she stepped on it. Funny how a certain smell could resuscitate memories she had long thought buried. The familiar feeling of isolation rushed through her. Of trying to pretend the awkward silences and covert glances of her classmates didn’t bother her. She almost expected to see clusters of kids hanging around battered metal lockers.

  She walked down the hall, straightening her body out of the hunched posture she had somehow fallen into, and scanned the small plastic plaques. A blond man brushed by her. His face was pale, shiny with sweat.

  She’d seen that guy before.

  Lisa MacAdam’s funeral.

  The man in the gray suit.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, although he’d been the one to bump her.

  He looked at her. He didn’t appear to recognize her.

  He walked by her without a word. Then stopped. Turned slowly toward her. She felt his eyes on her back.

  Kate’s stomach tightened. She hurried down the hall. A door opened. An older man dressed in a lab coat carrying a tray of beakers headed down the hall.

  The blond man from the funeral began walking again, toward the elevator. She heard it open for him. And let out a deep breath.

  He’d had a weird vibe.

  She began reading the plaques again. At the end of the corridor she found a sign announcing Dr. Gill’s lab. She peered through the oblong window in the door and knocked. A very tall man in the back of the room jerked at the sound. He whirled around, his expression panicked. He collected himself and walked toward her. He opened the door. But blocked the entry.

  Kate tilted her head back to meet his eyes, pale blue behind rimless glasses.

  “Dr. Gill?”

  “Yes.” His gaze darted over her face.

  She held out her hand. “My name is Kate Lange.”

  “How can I help you?” His cheeks were flushed. A fine sheen of sweat gleamed on his high forehead.

  “I’m here on behalf of my aunt. She is interested in donating her body to your research. But she’s too sick to come herself.”

  “Oh?” He looked down his beaky nose at her. He reminded her of a heron.

  “She’s really interested in your research. She would like to know more about it.” She was hoping he’d relax at her flattering tone and invite her in.

  She seemed to have lost her touch. He remained fixed in the doorway. “In a nutshell, Ms. Lange, I am trying to regenerate nerves and their nerve paths,” he said, his voice clipped.

  “So if you damaged a nerve, it would grow again?” She furrowed her brow, hoping he would respond to her interest.

  “Yes. Say, for instance, a nerve in your arm was crushed from a car accident. It would grow back, but at a rate of one millimeter per month, and most likely not following the same nerve path.” He recited this quickly, obviously unable to resist speaking about his research, but his hand remained ready to close the door on her. “By regenerating that nerve quickly, and in the same old nerve path, you would regain the function of your hand within weeks.”

  From the intensity and passion in his voice, Kate had the sudden conviction he would be successful in his research.

  But at what cost? She remembered Enid tucking Muriel’s coat around her. Tell Dr. Gill that he cannot save mankind at the expense of people like us.

  “So you use cadavers to conduct your research?” She almost said experiments, but she stopped herself just in time. It sounded a bit too Dr. Jekyll-ish.

  “Yes.”

  “But you wouldn’t need to use the whole body, would you?”

  “Why do you need to know this?” Suspicion narrowed his eyes.

  “My aunt would like to know what exactly her body would be used for.”

  “We use limbs,” he said curtly.

  “What happens to the rest of the body?”

  He straightened his glasses. “It is cremated.”

  “By whom?”

  His eyes searched hers. His struggle was plain on his face; he wanted to share the glory of his research, wanted to recruit more donations to his cause, but didn’t like the direction the questions were heading.

  Kate gave a little smile and shrugged. “My aunt has certain…foibles. A lot of her friends have died recently and she is picky about which funeral home she’d like to handle her remains.”

  He paused. “We use Keane’s.”

  She smiled. “Perfect. They are exactly who she hoped for.”

  Dr. Gill put his hand on the doorknob. “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Lange, I need to return to my work…”

  “Of course.” She tried to see past the researcher, to get one f
inal look at the lab, but Dr. Gill wasn’t budging.

  “Goodbye.” His eyes revealed what he really meant: go away.

  “Goodbye.” She darted one final peek past Dr. Gill’s shoulder. She thought the blond guy had come from his lab. But she could see nothing.

  Once she was outside, she took deep breaths of the cool, damp air. Clouds had filled the sky until it was gray and thick.

  Dr. Gill’s nervousness had infected her. Her own nerves were churning her stomach into a pit of apprehension.

  The pit sank deeper when she thought about the implications of what he had told her. She believed him when he said that he sent donor bodies to Keane’s Funeral Home for cremation. What she didn’t know was whether Anna Keane was cremating them right away.

  Was Anna Keane merely an astute businesswoman who was leveraging her funeral home to solicit bodies for medical research and for much-needed tissue transplants?

  Or was she a body snatcher?

  Her gut was screaming body snatcher. The sum of the whole was not greater than the parts in the body brokering business.

  How much did Dr. Gill know of this?

  Her legal mind stacked the evidence. So far, it was nonexistent. She had no evidence of Anna stealing the parts from any bodies; she had no evidence of Anna stealing bodies period. She didn’t even have any evidence of Anna illegally soliciting bodies. The donor form Enid took was blank.

  She needed cold, hard evidence.

  A shiver crept up her back. There was only one form cold, hard evidence could take in a funeral home.

  She steered her car into the traffic.

  Chapter 42

  Thursday, May 17, 2:55 p.m.

  It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. After Shonda had told him about the blond dog-walking man, Ethan remembered running regularly past a guy and his pack of dogs in Point Pleasant Park.

  At 2:55 p.m. he pulled into the parking lot. The water was calm today. A hulking container ship inched its way toward the outer harbor. He bought a Fudgsicle from the ice cream shack and leaned against the wall. It gave him a good vantage point of the path.

  Fifty minutes later, his patience paid off. A large black truck slid into a parking spot. On the doors were the words Doggie Do, with paw prints in the Os. A blond man got out and opened the trunk. Ethan eyed the closed bed on the back of the truck. There was a tinted window that had been opened to give the dogs some air. It would hide a victim’s remains perfectly.

  Ethan headed down the path to intercept the man. The dogs whined in excitement as the man attached their leads. They waited until the dog walker gave the word, then they lunged as one toward the path.

  Ethan stared in shock. There were five dogs, mostly large, all different colors. But one stood out. The white husky. Was that Kate’s dog?

  He fell into step beside the man. “Nice dogs.”

  The man glanced at him. He had a friendly, confident air. “Yeah, they’re a good bunch.”

  “Are they all yours?”

  The man shook his head. He was young, in his twenties, obviously in good shape. So far, he fit nicely into Brown’s profile. “No. I run a dog-walking service.”

  Ethan pulled out his badge. “My name is Detective Ethan Drake. I have some questions regarding a homicide investigation. I’d like to talk to you.”

  The man stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I need to see some identification.”

  The man fumbled in his back pocket while holding the leads in one hand. The white husky tried to take advantage and started pulling. “Alaska. Sit!” the man said hoarsely.

  Ethan stared at the dog. It was Kate’s dog. Kate knew this man. Jesus. Did he have a key to her house?

  The dog walker flipped open his wallet and gave Ethan his driver’s license. “Is this about Lisa MacAdam?”

  “Yes.” Ethan read the license. Finn Scott. With an address in the south end of Halifax. He returned the license. Here was the tricky part. He couldn’t arrest the guy without a warrant. Instead, he needed to convince Finn Scott that he’d be helping the police if he came for an “interview.”

  Finn Scott began walking. Three dogs pulled ahead—Alaska, a Great Dane and a rottweiler—while a beagle mix and a Westie with a baby blue satin bow in its bangs straggled behind, sniffing the bushes.

  Ethan fell into step next to the dog walker. He didn’t want him to go too far. “Look, Mr. Scott, we think you could help us in our investigation.”

  Finn Scott shrugged. “I don’t know much, but if you think it would help you guys…” He stopped. The little beagle mix had gotten its leash tangled with the Westie and a large prickly bush. “Whoa, there, Mr. Big,” Finn said.

  Ethan threw him a sharp look. Then realized Finn Scott had been speaking to the beagle. The dog walker turned to Ethan with the leash for the bigger dogs in his hand. “Could you hold this for a sec?”

  “Sure.” Ethan took the leash. The three dogs at the end of it ignored him. He stared at the white head of the husky. Now who’s in charge? It was a childish thought, but he didn’t care. The dog had seriously pissed him off.

  Finn bent down to untangle the beagle and the Westie from the bush. His wrist grazed the bush. “Damn,” he muttered. Blood droplets pricked through a scratch on his forearm. Ethan eyed the wound.

  “Here.” He offered Finn a tissue, holding on to the leash tightly with his other hand. The dogs were getting restless, tugging at their restraints.

  Finn threw him a surprised look. “Nah, it’s just a scratch.”

  Ethan stuffed the tissue back in his pocket. He’d hoped Finn would dab the wound, then dispose of the tissue. Once the dog walker threw it away, he could’ve dug the tissue out of the garbage and run the blood sample through their DNA bank.

  Suddenly, his arm was almost yanked from the socket. Alaska had lunged forward as if channeling his relatives and pulling a sled in the Arctic. The other two dogs joined him.

  He pitched forward. “Jesus Christ!” It was either run with the dogs or have his arms dislocated. He pulled back on the leash, “Heel…! Sit…! Stay!”

  The dogs ignored him. They were on the hunt. A squirrel ran furiously across the grass toward the safety of a tall pine tree.

  “Stop!” Ethan called again. Under his breath, he added, “You goddamned dogs!”

  Finn came sprinting up behind him, the beagle and Westie running as fast as their stubby legs allowed. “Alaska. Brutus. Marvin,” he called calmly, grabbing the leash from Ethan. “Come.”

  It was like bloody magic. At the sound of Finn Scott’s voice, Alaska slowed down and turned. Brutus and Marvin followed suit. They all looked enormously pleased with themselves, tongues lolling, tails wagging. Alaska and his pair of followers trotted back to Finn and sat by his legs. Brutus, the Great Dane, tried nosing Ethan’s leg but he stepped away, throwing the dogs a disgusted look. The husky, as was his habit, ignored him. But Ethan was sure he saw a glint of satisfaction in his ice blue eyes.

  When the Westie shuffled over and leaned against the husky, Ethan knew he’d been had. The little white dog cocked her head at Ethan. He was glad to see its bow was muddy. He looked into its beady brown eyes. There was no doubt in his mind what the dog was thinking: For a detective you’re not too bright. You fell for it big time, buddy.

  He turned to Finn. “I’d like you to come down to the station now.” His voice was curter than he intended.

  “Now?” Finn Scott flashed him a look of surprise. “What am I supposed to do with the dogs?” They gave Ethan an indignant look.

  Throw them in the harbor was what he wanted to say. He pasted a smile on his face. “Bring them with you. We’ll drop them off on our way.” He had a vision of the back door of the car falling open as he turned a corner, his cargo slipping off the seat…

  Finn shrugged. “All right, then. They’ve had a bit of a walk. Come on, boys.” He turned with the dogs. Ethan led them to his car and opened the back door.

  Alaska stared into the c
ar interior. Then he lay down on the asphalt. The other dogs did the same.

  “Go in,” Ethan said. His impatience was rising by the minute. He wanted Finn Scott, down in the station, now. This guy was their best bet and he wasn’t going to let a pack of mangy mutts stand in his way.

  “It’d be easier if we went in my truck,” Finn said, gazing at the pristine backseat of Ethan’s sedan.

  “I’ll bring you back after our interview.” He needed Finn out of his comfort zone. That meant taking him to the station in his car, not Finn’s truck. Especially if he found, during his “interview,” that there were reasonable and probable grounds to search the dog walker’s truck. He didn’t want to give him a chance to mess around with evidence.

  “Okay, boys, up you go,” Finn said.

  Four of the dogs stood reluctantly, circling one another. Alaska stretched his front legs out and began licking his paw.

  “Alaska,” Finn said firmly. “In.”

  Alaska turned his attention to his other paw and delicately nibbled around his toenail.

  Jesus Christ. He’d had enough. The dog needed to learn who was in charge.

  He reached forward.

  Alaska let out a low growl.

  Without a backward glance, the husky stood and jumped gracefully into the car, his tail swatting Ethan on the cheek. Ethan drew back. He swallowed his frustration. He’d relished the thought of getting his hands around that dog’s neck.

  “In, Marvin,” Finn said, picking up the beagle. The rottweiler leaped obediently into the car. Finn placed Mr. Big on the seat next to it.

  “Okay, Brutus, you next,” Finn said. The Great Dane looked doubtfully at the backseat. Alaska had claimed one side already, and the rottweiler had forced the beagle into the middle.

  Finn took the Great Dane by the collar and urged him forward, while saying cheerfully, “Push over, boys.” Somehow the massive dog managed to get its long legs into the backseat. Finn closed the door carefully. Ethan noted that he locked it and stifled his disappointment.

  “I’ll have to bring Twinkles in the front with me,” Finn said apologetically.

  “Fine,” Ethan managed. He climbed into the driver’s seat. Doggy breath surrounded him. He opened his window while Finn and Twinkles settled into the passenger seat.