by Elle James
I stuck my foot in before the door closed behind her, and Blaise and I entered the building. As we climbed the stairs to apartment 4C, my hackles rose. I noticed the door wasn’t closed all the way. It stood ajar, no indication of forced entry.
Blaise touched my arm, motioning me to the side.
I frowned, shook my head and drew my weapon from the holster. Then I nudged the door open with my toe, standing to the side in case someone decided to take a shot at me. Nothing moved in the shadowy interior.
I ducked low and entered, dodging to one side as soon as I cleared the doorway.
Blaise entered and moved the opposite direction.
Nothing looked amiss until I noticed the man lying on the couch.
“Mr. Stewart?” I called out.
The man didn’t budge, twitch or give any indication that he was merely asleep. I sniffed the air, that scent of death making my nostrils twitch. Reaching out to my side, I flipped on the light beside the door. That’s when I saw the blood. My breath caught in my throat and I automatically rushed forward.
An arm across my chest stopped me. Blaise lifted a finger to his lips.
I gathered my senses and held fast to where I was, self-preservation instincts kicking in.
Blaise circled around the living room and entered the darkened doorway of the bedroom.
I held my Glock in front of me as I entered the tiny kitchen, checking behind the bar for any intruders.
When Blaise emerged from the bedroom, he shook his head. “All clear.”
I crossed the floor to the man on the couch. Without touching him, I knew he was dead. The blood had dropped from his nose and the corner of his mouth onto the floor beside him, leaving a small pool of congealing liquid. No signs of a bullet or knife entries. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to have fallen to sleep on the couch and died of internal bleeding. The M.E. would have to perform an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Detective Thomas. “Victor Stewart is dead.” I gave our boss the details, while Blaise moved around the room, careful not to disturb anything that could be evidence.
By the time I hung up, Blaise had made it to the kitchen. “There’s a wine glass in the sink but no wine bottle in the refrigerator or trash.”
I frowned. “You think he was drinking with someone who took the bottle and their own glass with them when they left?”
“Looks that way. Leaving no prints or DNA.”
I walked to the door and nudged it with my foot, closing it gently. The lock didn’t click into place and after a moment, the door slid open. “Whoever left was in a hurry and didn’t close the door securely.” I glanced across at Blaise. “But it definitely wasn’t tampered with to let the person in. Whoever did this, Stewart invited them in, had a glass of wine with them. You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
He nodded. “Stewart was murdered by someone he knew and trusted.”
Instead of clinching this case, we had another murder on our hands and no clue as to who might have done it.
Within minutes of my call to Detective Thomas, street cops had the place cordoned off and the forensics team had arrived. We gave them what information we could and stepped out of the way.
“Come on.” Blaise hooked my arm, sending a fresh wave of adrenaline and desire bolting through my body. “We have four more scientists to interview.”
“And a case to conclude.” Before I get too involved with a paranorm.
“Admit it, you already are too involved.” He dropped his hold on my arm and grinned, stepping out of the building into the light rain that had begun to fall.
Yeah, I couldn’t deny it. The demon had me on the edge just being near him. When he touched me…damn the man! All the more reason to get this investigation over with and even move back to Chicago if I had to in order to get away from him.
“New York has so much more to offer. You know you like it here better than Chicago.”
“Blaise….”
“I know. Get out of your head.” He chuckled. “You’re too easy to tease.”
I gritted my teeth to keep from blasting him with another line he probably already knew was going to come out of my mouth. I climbed into our unmarked car and twisted the key in the ignition. If I could have taken off, leaving him behind, I would have. But Blaise slid into the passenger seat before I could shift into gear.
We left Victor’s apartment and headed for the next closest scientist’s place. Again, I called to make sure she was home. Rachel Trent lived in the basement level of a quaint, old four-story building. When we knocked on her door, she pulled the door open, leaving the chain in place. “May I help you?” Medium brown hair, approximately five feet four inches and rather plain, Rachel pushed her wire-framed glasses up her nose.
I flashed my badge. “Rachel Trent?”
The woman nodded. “That’s me.”
“We’d like to speak with you about your work at F&L and your relationships with Victor Stewart and Gordon Felding.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
Blaise stepped into view, his killer smile in place. “There’s been a string of unusual incidents that might be related to the work you and others at F&L have been engaged in.”
Rachel blushed, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I see. Won’t you come in?” She closed the door, slid the chain free and opened the door, motioning for us to enter. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’ve been out of town for the past week, visiting my folks in Eerie, Pennsylvania. I just got back last night.”
If her story checked out, Rachel was off our lists of suspects. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t shed light on what was going in the F&L labs. “When was the last time you saw or spoke with Victor?”
“We worked the day shift a week ago. I spoke to him then. I haven’t seen or talked to him since.” She clasped her hands together. “Why? Is anything wrong? Is Victor okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry to inform you that we found Victor dead in his apartment an hour ago.”
Rachel clutched her hands to her breasts and sank into a floral armchair, her face blanching white, tears welling. “Oh, my God. Poor Victor. He was only trying to do the right thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Her tears overflowed, trickling down her wan cheeks. “I told him to leave it, not to make waves.”
I stood awkwardly, hating to see a girl cry, knowing I should offer comfort, but useless at it, having spent a lifetime refusing comfort for myself.
Blaise, bless his demonic heart, stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s a terrible tragedy. There, there.” He patted her back, rubbing his hand up and down like a mother would soothe a child.
A stab of jealousy hit me so hard, I staggered back a step before I got a grip. I wanted his hand on my back, rubbing me…. “What do you mean by make waves?” I asked, my voice cutting through the sobs.
Rachel leaned into Blaise’s chest, glancing up at me through her tears. “He thought we should stop the experiments, that the drug could be too dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“What drug?” I knew before I asked, but I wanted to hear Rachel say it.
“The reanimation drug we’d been testing on rats.” She burst into another fit of crying.
Blaise was getting into his role so much I wanted to reach out and slap him and Rachel. “Could you focus a moment and tell me who might have wanted Victor dead?”
She sniffed and blinked at me. “Why, I guess any one of us scientists could have thought it at one point. You see, if they stopped the experiments on the drug, we all stood to lose our jobs. What with the economy being like it is, F&L is looking for reasons to cut staff, especially highly paid scientists.”
“Miss Trent,” I said. “Can anyone verify your whereabouts last night?”
She sat up straight, pushing away from Blaise. “Me? You think I killed poor Victor?” Her eyes widened, more tears threatening to fall.
“
Just for the record, ma’am,” I stated, glad she’d leaned away from Blaise and feeling a little more charity toward the woman I was almost positive didn’t kill Victor Stewart.
“My landlord spoke to me as I carried my bags in yesterday. I didn’t leave after that.”
“You talked about the drug getting into the wrong hands. Anyone in particular?”
Rachel’s breath caught and she glanced down. “I don’t know.”
“If you have any information that can help this case, it would be best to tell us now.”
“If I say anything I could end up like Victor,” she whispered.
“If you don’t say anything, you could still end up like Victor. Do you think anyone is safe at this point?”
She shook her head. “Gordon Felding made a deal before he died. I don’t know all the details, only that he made it with a very dangerous man.”
This time I gripped her arms and forced her to look at me. “Who, Rachel?”
“I heard it was with Rico Mendez.”
A sick feeling filled my gut. “Rico Mendez of the Mendez Familia drug cartel?”
She nodded, more tears welling in her already water-logged eyes. “The first installment went to an account in the Caymans. Rico was to receive the drug this week, but all that went on hold when Mr. Felding suddenly died.”
“Do you know if Felding received any money up front for the drug?”
She nodded. “Victor said he pocketed a huge bribe.”
“And he knew this how?”
“When Victor had gone to talk to him about stopping the experiments, he overheard one of Mr. Felding’s phone conversations. Do you think Mendez killed Victor?”
“I wouldn’t know at this point.” This put a whole new slant on the investigation, one I had to get back to the office to track. “Thank you, Miss Trent, for your cooperation in this investigation.” I gave Blaise a direct stare. “Let’s go. We have more bases to cover.”
Blaise patted Rachel’s back once more and stood. He removed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a business card from inside, handing it to the woman. “If you think of anyone’s actions or anything out of the ordinary that stands out in your mind, feel free to call me. Keep your doors locked.”
The woman took the card from him, holding onto his hand for a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” she said, like he’d thrown her a life preserver.
I rolled my eyes and headed for the door, leaving with or without the demon.
As I climbed into the car, I bit back the smart-ass remark I wanted to make as soon as Blaise got in the vehicle.
Something in his expressions stopped me.
“What?” I barked out.
“Something isn’t right here.”
“You’re telling me.” I flipped my phone open and dialed Detective Thomas, letting him know what we’d just learned. I clicked the off button and sat for a moment in silence.
“Victor was killed by someone he knew and trusted,” Blaise said.
“True. Someone who drank wine.”
“Felding received money under the table for a drug that wasn’t yet ready,” Blaise continued.
“From Rico Mendez,” I added. “One dangerous son of a bitch.”
Blaise nodded. “Mrs. Felding was attacked on her way home last night.”
“From visiting a friend.” My eyes narrowed. “I wonder what friend.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Mrs. Felding,again,” Blaise suggested.
“My thoughts, exactly.” I frowned at him. “I really hate it when you finish my thoughts.”
“Can’t help it. You were headed the same direction I was going.”
I twisted the key in the ignition and pulled out into traffic. “What about interviewing the other scientists?”
“After Mrs. Felding.”
We didn’t make it two blocks before my cell phone rang.
Blaise answered while I negotiated a turn.
For a long moment, he listened in silence, his face stone cold, expressionless. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, depending on traffic. In the meantime, could you have a unit go by and collect all video feed over the last week of the front of Mrs. Felding’s apartment building? Looking for any visitors who might work at the F&L lab.” He clicked the off button, flicked the blue strobe light switch on the dash and nodded in my direction. “Take a left at the next corner.”
My pulse leaped as I switched on my turn signal and made that left. “What’s going on?”
“Gordon Felding’s cryogenically frozen body was stolen from the F&L building last night.”
Chapter Eight
When we arrived at the F&L building, it had already been surrounded by no less than a dozen emergency vehicles. I flashed my badge and was granted access without question. Inside we spoke with the security guard on duty, a different guy from the night before, the shift having changed before the theft was discovered.
The police officer in charge gave us the details.
One of the scientists responsible for monitoring the gas and chemical levels of each of the cryogenic chambers noticed one had been emptied between the time he left the chamber for his fifteen-minute break and the time he returned around 5:30 that morning. He’d reported it to his supervisor, who’d searched the database and determined that the missing client was none other than the recently deceased Gordon Felding. The supervisor had immediately called the police.
Blaise moved toward the security room. “We’ll need to see the videos of the room, corridors and any exterior cameras.”
“We started reviewing right away.” A man in a white coat stepped forward and identified himself as the supervisor in charge of the cryogenics chambers. “We discovered several anomalies.” He nodded to the guard seated at the desk in front of half a dozen screens. He clicked on his mouse, running the video of the cryogenics chamber. At one point, the video blinked.
“There.” The supervisor pointed to the screen. “Based on the footage, there are fifteen minutes missing that correlate with the night attendant’s scheduled break, right before shift change.”
“And you questioned the night cryogenics attendant?”
“I did. He didn’t notice anything amiss when he returned, since that particular chamber wasn’t within sight of his office window. It wasn’t until he’d settled in and scanned the computer readings that he discovered one of the chambers operating in the red. He immediately performed the protocol for a breached chamber and notified me. By then it was too late. Mr. Felding’s body was gone.
“What about the corridors and the parking garage?” I asked.
The guard clicked the mouse and the screen played a section of the video around the same timeframe as the fifteen-minute glitch in the cryogenics chambers. This video had the same hiccup, as did the parking garage.
“Are any of the vans missing?” I asked.
“No. Only those on scheduled deliveries.”
“I want to know the destinations of all those vans on deliveries. Do they have GPS tracking devices installed?”
“Yes, all of our vehicles have them, but not all of them have been working consistently. We’ve had a technician running diagnostics on the GPS units over the past two weeks.”
My gaze connected with Blaise’s. The vans’ GPS devices not working coincided with the start of the zombie attacks, though the dead bodies hadn’t, up until this point, originated from the F&L corporate building.
“Who, besides the cryogenics monitoring staff, has access to the chamber?”
The supervisor shook his head. “Just me, my technicians and the research scientists who helped set it up. And Mr. Felding, but he’s dead.”
“Which of your research scientists were involved in the set-up?” Blaise asked.
“Some of the same ones working on the reanimation project. Dr. Stewart,
Dr. Trent and Dr. Henke.” The cryogenics supervisor counted them off on his fingers.
My pulse pounded, making my blood wing through my system. Who needed caffeine when you could have an adrenaline rush on the job? “When did Dr. Henke leave the building?”
The guard clicked the mouse once more and he paged through a list. “He left at 5:35.”
“Which way did he exit the building?” Blaise asked.
“His ID badge scanned through the parking garage exit.”
“What does he drive?”
Again, the guard clicked the mouse and brought up a database. “A black BMW M3.” He scribbled a license number onto a sheet of paper and handed it to us.
“I’ll need a home address while you’re at it.” I pressed my lips together, my gut telling me we’d been chasing the wrong leads. “We may need to pay Dr. Henke a visit.”
The supervisor escorted us through the building to the exit leading out into the multi-level parking garage. It didn’t take long to locate a shiny black BMW M3, parked in a corner, with the license plate that matched the one the guard had given me.
“Come on, partner, we’d better hurry if we want to catch Dr. Henke with the goods.” I grabbed Blaise’s arm, ignoring the tingles spreading quickly through my body. We ran back through the building and out the front to our unmarked car and climbed in.
The address the guard had given me was in an older section of Brooklyn close to the bay where some of the warehouse buildings had been converted to apartments. Though the sun had risen, the sky remained murky and dark, clouds heavy with rain, the air bone-chillingly damp. I stepped out of the car in front of a large, ugly warehouse that occupied a full block. The scent of the polluted bay filled my nostrils along with car exhaust and something else. A few cars were parked along the curb. There was no sign of an F&L delivery van.
One doorway served as the main entrance. An overhead garage door, the kind that needed a remote, was positioned at the other end of street.
I pushed through the front glass door and headed to an old freight elevator. It took us to the subterranean floor as indicated on Henke’s address.
