They watched Zed amble down the pier, appearing slightly uncomfortable. He stopped at a kiosk festooned with brightly colored beads and after inspecting them, made a purchase. As he progressed along the route, other purchases joined the first. A coloring book. A hand-painted silk scarf.
“Guys. I’ve got something,” Grant said.
The video of the Crown Vic showed two gentlemen in dark clothing approaching. One carried a duffel bag. They stopped and opened the trunk. The man without the bag took up a stance, his back to his friend and the car, apparently on lookout.
The second man leaned deep into the trunk spending long minutes before emerging. He swung the bag over his shoulder, slammed the trunk lid and leaned against it. After a few minutes, the two sauntered off.
Grant tapped a few keys and the drone zipped ahead of the men, turning, and zeroing its focus in to capture their faces. Seconds later, Grant had put the images into a facial recognition program. “We’ll know soon if they’re in the database.”
Meanwhile, Zed continued his slow walk down the pier, checking his watch periodically. When he stopped and took his phone from a pocket, Matthew pushed a button on the console. Audio filtered through speakers.
“What language—”
Matthew held up a hand to cut her off and leaned in, his brow furrowed in concentration. A few minutes later, the call ended, and Zed put his phone away. Matthew turned the speaker volume down, but not off.
“Mandarin,” he said. “My Chinese language skills are rusty, but it sounded like praise for a job well done and instructions to hurry home. His handlers don’t like having his family in the custody of Americans. For the record, Zed agreed that we’re all lying scum of the earth and that he wanted to be home. Or at least that’s what I think he said.”
Beside them, Grant stood and stretched, rotating his neck, and reaching for the ceiling. “Man, sitting at the computer kinks up every muscle in my body.”
“Get used to it,” Matthew replied. “The older you get, the longer it takes to unkink.”
“I’m a long way from where you are, old man.” At Matthew’s frown, Grant backpedaled. “Not that you’re old, boss. Like I said before, you’ve got some mad board skills. I’ve seen you back-door a wave with the best of them. But you’re the one who said it first.”
“I did. I’m also old enough to know my limitations. Run that audio through a translator for me so I can get a check on what he actually said.”
Grant turned back to the computer while Matthew continued to watch Zed, now moving back up the pier and heading toward the parking lot.
An alarm, accompanied by a flashing yellow light sounded in the Tech Ops center, indicating someone without prior clearance had accessed the private elevator. A second later, it cut off and a single green light shone above the elevator door. The someone, who had apparently entered a private security code into the elevator, was about to join them.
Bree’s gaze snapped to the elevator. “Who—”
“Grant, go dark,” Matthew ordered, cutting her off. “But keep monitoring.”
Grant executed a series of moves that hid half of his equipment behind specially designed panels and turned the remaining screens to views of the science conglomerate’s corporate campus.
He donned a pair of what looked like virtual reality glasses and lounged on the couch in the sitting area, gaming console in hand. Bree knew the VR glasses and handset were miniaturized monitors and controllers, allowing Grant to surreptitiously follow and control the drones.
A chime drew her eyes to the elevator door. Nathanial Morris Rayburn, better known as Nate to Bree and his other friends, stepped into the Tech Ops center. His white hair stood on end as if he’d run his fingers through it. His eyes gleamed with excitement. Nate’s bushy eyebrows dipped as he frowned in Grant’s direction. “Does that kid do anything besides lounge around?”
“I can hear you, dude.”
Nate chuckled. “Where’s the VR taking you today? Mountain climbing? Hang gliding? Bar hopping?”
“Nope. Tripping on LSD, man. But not trouble bound.”
“Humph. You’d better be referring to sight-seeing on Lake Shore Drive or the boss, here, will have me drug test you.”
Grant ignored the goad, focusing instead on his monitors. Bree caught his reference, indicating Zed had left Navy Pier and was headed back to the suburbs, taking a circuitous route along Chicago’s famous Lake Shore Drive, without incident.
Matthew turned to Nate and, with him in tow, walked away from the hidden computer banks, heading to the small kitchen adjacent to the elevators in the Tech Ops center. “What brings you up here? You don’t usually come into his section of the building.”
“I don’t like shedding a perfectly good lab coat just so I can saunter through the business offices,” Nate replied. “But in this case, I have some information you should know.” He lowered his voice. “About the samples you gave me.”
“Why not meet us at the mobile lab?”
“Because you and Dr. Mayfield-Watson are here, of course.” He grinned. “Besides, I wanted to cross reference these to see if any samples from the PD were submitted to our forensics queue.”
“It would make our lives easier if they did contract our services,” Bree said. “I wish I could talk them into it.”
Nate waved the comment aside. “You can’t. The city has it set up so multiple contract labs test samples. Kind of like a double-blind pharmaceutical study, where neither the researchers nor the PD knows which lab is which. That’s in theory. When the gaming tech developer you hired started messing with our sample processing system, he slipped up and left a wide-open back door to the data.”
Nate shook his head in disgust, but Bree doubted the back door was accidental. Grant had given them access the spy team could use.
“I’ll talk to him about it. In the meantime, do you think the software he’s developing for you will help streamline the lab processes and take the pressure off for the increased sample load?”
“Likely. But I’ll have to see.” Nate gave Bree an intense look. “But the back door was a bone-headed mistake. If it was an oversight on his part, I’ll eat my hat.”
“Good thing you aren’t wearing one.”
Nate grinned. “Agreed,” he said, lowering his voice as he glanced to the adjacent room where Grant was working. “I don’t much like the taste of hats. Seriously, the kid’s good, he hid the backdoor well. But good or not, I intend to razz him every chance I get. Can’t let the young ones get cocky.”
Bree shook her head at Nate’s gruff humor and rose and walked to the fridge for a can of Diet Coke. Instinct told her tonight was going to be another long night. “You want anything? Nate? Matthew?”
“I want a cold beer, but the boss doesn’t cotton to drinking on the job, so I’ll settle for coffee. Cold if that’s all you’ve got.”
Bree poured a cup of tepid coffee for Nate and returned to the table. “So, your news?” she prompted.
“I started on the most interesting piece of evidence you gave me. Those candy bears.”
“Oh for goodness sake. Matthew’s bears were the most interesting part?”
“Turns out they’re mighty interestin’.” Nate’s southern drawl, one that he’d cultivated rather than lost during his years in the Chicago suburbs, thickened. “A country boy like me knows a thing or two about distilling. And a sealed bag with gummy candy that smells like a brewery when opened interests me. It surely does.”
Bree settled in, willing to let Nate tell his news in his own way. Across the table, Matthew smothered a grin for as long as it took for him to rise and head to the coffee pot. Over Nate’s head, he smiled and winked at Bree.
“Now the other tip off was that the candies were a bit swollen, although not too badly. But not quite normal. Anyways, I did a quick check with an assay kit, then followed up with GC-Mass spec,” Nate said, referring to various analytical chemistry techniques. “As
best as I can tell, they’re near 50 percent alcohol. Which means they were probably soaked in high-proof booze like a prime vodka or even Everclear.”
“Like a Jell-O shot on steroids,” asked Matthew, joining them at the table once again.
“Something like that. A solid form of booze that could raise blood alcohol content faster than binge drinking.”
An image flashed through Bree’s head. “Billy did that too. And he seemed to snack on gummies all the time, at least after hours. Between the candy and the Jack Daniels, he was probably pretty buzzed every night.”
“Likely so. What with the candy and all, he might-could have gotten drunk faster than green grass through a goose.”
“Been there, stepped in that,” agreed Bree. “I wonder what the tox screen will tell us.”
“Dunno. That’s up to you two to find out. As for me, I’ve got fingernail scrapings and hair to analyze. Alcohol ain’t the only thing that can kill a man, but it’s at the top of my list tonight.”
He finished his coffee and rose. “I’ll likely work out of my lab here for a bit then mosey down to the mobile van. Don’t sleep as much as I used to, and I might as well put my time to good use.” With that, he left the Tech Ops center.
By the time Matthew and Bree finished their drinks and returned to the computer center, Grant was back up and running in the normal mode.
“Any news?”
Grant shook his head. “Your man made it back to his rooms without any other contact. He called the wife and girl from the clean phone you left for him and verified they were okay. I’ll keep watch from home, if you don’t mind, and ping you if anything needs your attention.”
Grant packed a bag of equipment and headed out. At the elevator entrance, he turned back to Matthew. “A printout of the conversation you translated is on the console. The translation software jives with your version. G’nite.” He raised a hand in farewell and boarded the elevator.
Matthew pocketed the paper Grant had left for him. “Watson, you look dead on your feet. Time for us to call it a night too. You did good work today.” He matched his words by steering her to the elevator and pressing the button. He waved away her concerns when she told him she didn’t think the day was over yet.
The elevator arrived and they stepped inside, just as Bree’s phone rang. By the time they reached the garage, she’d finished the call. “No time to rest tonight, boss,” she said, giving Matthew an I-told-you-so look.
“Detective O’Neil has news. He wants to meet us at the mobile lab ASAP.”
Chapter 18
James did a double take when Bree and Matthew pulled up together. “Too many cars around the camper can look suspicious,” she said as she gave him a hug and kiss. Behind her, Matthew grunted and climbed the stairs to open the door.
“That's why I came in my own car and not a PD cruiser,” James agreed, walking with Bree into the RV-turned-mobile-lab. “Thanks for calling me to let me know you were safe today.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” Matthew flicked on a light and faced James, frowning.
“Not if it was under your control,” James replied smoothly. “But not all circumstances are under your control. Or even influence.” He squared off facing Matthew.
“Enough.” Bree stepped between the two men. “We’ve had a long, trying day. But we are supposed to be working together. I, for one, am willing to chalk your verbal sparring up to being tired and hungry, but don’t push me.” She glared at each man in turn. “Either of you.”
“Right.” Matthew opened the refrigerator and peered inside while James stomped outside. Seconds later, his car door slammed, and he returned, a plastic bag in hand.
“I forgot,” he said, dumping the contents on the table. “I figured we’d all be hungry and picked up something on the way.” He pushed a wrapped sandwich toward Bree. “Turkey bacon club on cheese bread with veggies. No olives. No onions.”
“You remembered.” She gave him a warm smile.
“Tugood,” he said, his voice gruff, “I don’t know what you like. I’ve got roast beef on rye or tuna salad on whole wheat. Your pick.”
Matthew shut the fridge and stepped to the table. “Thanks, O’Neil. I appreciate it.” He grabbed the roast beef and sat to unwrap it.
Bree fetched drinks, noting that neither man had resorted to the name calling that usually ensued when the three of them were together. Several minutes passed in silence while they ate.
“Did you get your terrorist settled?” James asked as he wrapped up half of his sandwich and put it in the bag. “Or did he refuse to cooperate?”
“Seems cooperative for now. If it’s just for show or if we’ve been duped, we’ll know soon enough.” Matthew took another bite of his sandwich, the tension easing from his face as he ate.
“It occurred to me that he could be involved with the death of my victim.”
Matthew shook his head. “Not directly. My team and the Homeland guys verified his locations since before your victim died. He was either out of our country or en route during the entire time frame of interest to you.”
“And his associates?”
Matthew shrugged and snagged a chip from a pile in the center of the table. “That’s why I’m working with both you and the Homeland people. Determining if there is any relationship between the two cases is critical.”
“With that in mind, I have a couple of pieces of information to share with you. First, we got a good look at the Mustang where Billy was found. It had been hotwired.”
“The car was cold when we arrived on site,” Bree said. “I specifically touched the hood near the engine in case it had been driven recently.”
“It was hotwired,” James reiterated. “And it was out of fuel.”
“Meaning someone may have tried to asphyxiate Billy?”
“That was my thought.” He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “Labs aren’t back yet, even though I’ve tried to push for faster results. Griffin keeps blocking my efforts.”
Matthew watched the back-and-forth exchange without comment, letting Bree lead this phase of the discussion.
“We have information on potential means of death too,” Bree said. She told him about the alcoholic gummy candy and reiterated that the toxicology screen should search for alcohol poisoning.
James nodded. “That’s all standard. We’ll do a typical drug panel which includes alcohol levels. For my part, I’ll also say there is no shortage of suspects.”
Matthew sat up. “What about physical wounds on the victim?”
“Scrapes, bruises, signs he’d been in a fight. But Bree already heard the fight, so I don’t know if any of those point to a means of death. There are no ligature wounds. He wasn’t tied or strangled. He wasn’t hit in the head. In short, all signs point to him being stuffed in the trunk shortly before he died.”
“Which isn’t consistent with asphyxiation,” Bree added. “Plus, he’d thrown up in the trunk of the car. Probably after he entered it.”
James gave her an undecipherable look. “You know more than you should about him.”
“Not really. I did find the body. And we’ve already established my powers of observation are keen.”
“Right. Because you’re first and foremost a scientist. He could have gotten into the trunk willingly before death or been forced by other means. At gunpoint, for example. In either case, he was in the trunk before rigor mortis began to set in. The ME is having a devil of a time unfolding him for the examination. Last I checked, that is.”
Bree shuddered, remembering she’d nearly gone into the trunk of a car at the garage. Unnerved by her reaction, she moved to her purse to retrieve her crime notebook. She glanced at the list of suspects.
“Any one of these people could have forced him into the car at gunpoint. As for physically lifting him in—and that could have happened if he was passed out drunk—we are more limited. Liza probably isn’t strong enough
to do it easily. The boys in shipping—Samuel and Michael—might be strong enough, but I doubt it.” Namby-pamby-Sammy. Again she wondered if the boy had hidden strength.
“Speaking of suspects,” James continued, “Bill Jr. went out of his way to avoid me yesterday. Today when I questioned him, his first reaction was belligerence. Followed by a grief I strongly suspect is fake.”
“Did he have an alibi?”
“None that he gave me. And he seemed incensed that I’d asked him for one. Kept yelling that he knew his rights and a lawyer would be in touch. But he never asked for one. And he didn’t refuse to talk without one present.”
Matthew made a dismissive sound and pushed away from the table. “He sounds like a new recruit ready to wash out of special ops training. When we’d run prisoner-of-war simulations, the toughest talking recruits were the first ones spilling their guts and crying for their mamas. Take another run at him.”
“Speaking of mamas, I also interviewed Mrs. Bandergas. I doubt any of her grief is real either. She worked too hard to project the image of grieving widow. Worse, she claimed to be having a spa day during the time frame of interest.” He turned to Matthew, his gaze thoughtful. “Much as I hate to ask, if the two of you use your resources to look into her financials, it would be faster than waiting for the PD to do it.”
“Since you asked nicely…” Matthew replied with a snarky grin. “I can have something for you by morning.”
“I do not want to know how you get the information. And I will have to confirm it through official channels. By the way, Margie indicated Billy and his wife didn’t have a good marriage, so that was common knowledge.”
“She told me the same thing. She didn’t have any love lost for Billy. In all honesty, I don’t think she’s trusting of men in general.” Bree told him about Margie’s ideas for getting even with cheating boyfriends. She put a dot next to Margie’s name on her suspect list. “Something about her doesn’t feel right to me.”
Studying Scarlett the Grey Page 13
