Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

by Stephanie Bond

  “Wonder why she’s wearing a wig,” Carlotta murmured.

  Coop crouched for a closer look. “Didn’t realize she was.”

  “It’s a good one,” she said, crouching with him. “Real human hair, expensive.”

  He pulled on latex gloves, then tugged the blond wig a half inch to reveal dark hair underneath. “Hmm, her driver’s license lists her hair color as blond.”

  “Maybe she used to be…or maybe that’s not her real driver’s license. Did the cop find anything else around here with her name on it?”

  “He wouldn’t have had a reason to look for anything else.”

  Carlotta stood and scanned the garments hanging on pegs in the entryway. “Do you have another set of gloves?”

  Coop handed her a pair, no questions asked, while Wesley and Hannah stood back and watched. She snapped on the gloves, then picked up the edge of a red silk scarf with the letters TW monogrammed on the edge. “I thought you said her name was Jennifer Stevenson.”

  “That’s what it says. That scarf could belong to someone else.”

  “You said she lived alone.”

  “Maybe someone left it here.”

  She fingered through the garments and found a blue scarf, this one with the initials JS.

  “That one must be hers,” Coop offered.

  But then Carlotta found a black one with the initials PB, and an ivory-colored scarf with the initials BT. She held it out. “Those are the vic’s real initials—BT.”

  Coop frowned. “How can you tell?”

  She turned over the corner to expose the tag. “It’s Hermes. The other scarves are discount store quality.” On the table beneath the hooks was a ball of plastic bags—probably for the dog walker. Then she spied a small drawer.

  “Carlotta,” Coop warned.

  But she slid the drawer open a few inches. Inside were four wallets monogrammed respectively with the initials TW, JS, PB and BT. She removed them one by one and opened them to reveal four driver’s licenses of women with names matching the initials, all of whom resembled the dead woman except for hair color and style.

  She raised her eyebrows at Coop, who pursed his mouth. “Maybe we should give Jack a call.”

  Carlotta peered into the bowl of keys sitting on the table and used forefinger and thumb to pull out a keychain that was the same as the one she’d seen in Barbara Rook’s personal effects. “Yes, I think you should call Jack.”

  38

  Carlotta followed Jack to his car when he went to get evidence bags from the trunk. “So do you think the woman is connected to Barbara Rook, that they both were identity thieves and that they were both murdered?”

  He wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m not talking to you.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “That’s pretty childish, don’t you think?”

  “No, it’s self-preservation. The more you talk, the more trouble you cause me.”

  “But a woman named Jennifer Stevenson used to work at Neiman’s. There has to be a connection to the mall.”

  “I already told you that most of the identity theft victims worked or shopped at the mall. Stop trying to do my job.”

  “But this means that Barbara Rook was killed because she was messed up in something bad—like this woman—not because someone thought Barbara was me.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything for sure.”

  “Which absolves my father—not that I really thought he was involved in the first place. So honestly, Jack, you can forget all about that phone call.”

  Jack slammed the trunk lid. “Stop. Talking.” He pointed. “Go sit in the van until Coop is ready to leave.” His nostrils flared in anger, his eyes glittering like metal.

  Carlotta put up her hands. “Okay.”

  She went to sit in the van with Hannah, who had long ago been banished there by Coop.

  “This isn’t fair,” Hannah complained. “You were brilliant in there. They should give you a damn badge instead of making you sit at the little kids’ table.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Carlotta said, leaning her head back. “I got lucky is all. Right place, right time, right training in designer accessories.”

  Hannah turned her head. “Life is all about timing, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so. Where you are, and when, determines what you’re doing.”

  “And who you’re doing it with.”

  She thought about Jack and wondered how much of the fact that they’d slept together could be attributed to being in proximity to each other and being alone. If she’d spent that much time with another man—Peter, for instance or Coop—would they have wound up in her bed instead?

  She frowned. And shouldn’t love be about more than just good timing?

  “There they come with the body,” Hannah said morosely. “Without us.”

  “We can at least get the doors for them.”

  They scrambled out, opened the back doors and waited until Coop and Wesley wheeled the sheeted body around. The men lowered the gurney, then picked it up by the handles and slid the body inside. When the doors were closed, Coop rolled off his gloves.

  “How strong do you have to be to do this job?” Carlotta asked.

  Coop raised his eyebrows. “It’s a two-person job and one of the two had better be able to dead lift about two-hundred pounds.”

  “Check this out,” Hannah said, flexing her arm until a baseball-sized biceps popped up. “I could bench press you, Coop.”

  His smile was tight. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They all climbed inside the van. “I’ll take you girls home before we make the drop-off.”

  “No,” Hannah whined. “I want to go to the morgue!”

  “We’ll stay in the van,” Carlotta promised Coop. “Did they find her real identification?”

  “Beverly Tucker,” Coop said. “And that’s all I’m allowed to tell you.”

  Carlotta frowned. Blast Jack!

  When they arrived at the morgue, Coop avoided Hannah’s eyes. “Wesley, why don’t you stay here with Hannah? I think Carlotta and I can handle this one.”

  Wesley shrugged and looked at his watch; he’d been antsy all afternoon, Carlotta had noticed. “Sure.”

  Coop met her gaze in the mirror. “Okay with you?”

  She nodded because she was afraid she would lose her nerve if she spoke.

  He smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  Carlotta had always assumed that when a young, buff, handsome guy said, “Let’s do it,” he would be referring to something other than moving a body.

  Her life was officially weird.

  She followed Coop’s lead and as long as she didn’t think too much about their cargo, she could concentrate on moving the gurney safely. When they reached the door, Coop used an intercom to give his name and the name of the deceased. A buzzer sounded and they were allowed entry.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “In this case, we’re taking the body straight to autopsy. Normally we’d deliver to the crypt.”

  “Why straight to autopsy on this body?”

  A small smile curved his mouth. “Because of your observations, the M.E. had to return to the scene and change his ruling from accidental death to homicide. Abrams doesn’t like it when his M.E.s miss things. He wants to do the autopsy himself.”

  “Is someone in trouble?”

  “No. But congratulations, you made a difference.”

  Satisfaction surged in her chest. Coop had once told her that she was smarter than she wanted people to believe. At the time she’d thought he was simply flirting with her, but now she wondered if he saw something in her that even she couldn’t see.

  After they delivered the body, they wheeled the empty gurney back to the van. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Not with you,” she conceded and he smiled.

  When they arrived at the town house, Wesley jumped out and jogged toward the garage. A couple of minutes later, he zoomed by on his bike. “Later, sis.”
<
br />   She frowned and yelled, “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t wait up,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “I have to go, too,” Hannah said miserably. “A catering gig in Vinings.” Then she smiled up at Coop. “When can we do this again?”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “You’d better,” she said, dead serious. She waved to Carlotta, then climbed into her graffiti-covered van and left.

  He whistled low. “She’s…intense.”

  “I know, it’s part of her charm.”

  “What about you? What’s the sudden interest in body moving?”

  She shrugged. “Well, it’s no secret that my finances are a wreck. I’ve been thinking about getting a part-time job around my hours at Neiman’s.”

  His eyebrows climbed. “And you’re interested in helping me?”

  “I know that Wesley will be starting his community service soon. I just thought if you needed someone temporarily—and on the more tame pickups—that you could give me a call.”

  Coop scratched his head. “I could certainly get used to your company, Carlotta, but this isn’t what I had in mind in order to get to know each other. Body moving isn’t the most romantic way to pass the time.”

  “Okay. Well, you can always call Hannah.”

  “Do you work weekends?”

  Carlotta laughed. “I can let you know my work schedule a week ahead of time.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  She lifted her hand in a wave and began to walk toward the town house.

  At the sound of car tires squealing, she jerked her head around. A darkish vehicle was tearing down the residential road at a terrific speed.

  “Carlotta,” Coop yelled and something about the tone of his voice made her muscles seize in terror. A popping noise sounded and she heard the crash of glass breaking before being tackled from behind. She landed hard, with Coop on top of her. The air was forced out of her lungs, leaving her paralyzed and sucking wind like a beached guppy.

  “Stay down,” he said in her ear, and seemed to be fumbling in his pocket.

  Her lungs finally expanded and she gasped to fill them with oxygen—sweet, sweet oxygen. Her mouth was full of grass and her tongue stung from where she’d bitten it when she landed. Her mind was still trying to process what happened.

  “This is an emergency,” Coop said, and Carlotta realized he was talking into his phone. He rattled off the address. “Shots fired from a dark vehicle in a drive-by shooting, send the police. And notify Detective Jack Terry of the APD.”

  39

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Carlotta said, cradling a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. The town house was full of police officers. Jack was barking at someone to get the broken window secured and sealed. It was dark outside but with all the police lights in the yard, it was as bright as day.

  “Are you sure?” Coop asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did you call Wesley?”

  “Yeah, I left him a message on his cell phone.”

  “You don’t know where he went?”

  “No, but I’m afraid he’s out gambling.”

  Coop frowned. “I’ve been trying to counsel him.”

  “I know and I appreciate it. But I’m not sure there’s anything worse than the judgment of a nineteen-year-old boy.”

  “Man,” Coop corrected gently.

  She nodded, then gave a dry laugh. “He’s going to be upset that his TV took a bullet.” She winced at the goo that had oozed onto the floor.

  “I’m sure he’ll just be relieved that you’re safe.”

  She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Thanks to you.”

  Jack strode into the kitchen. When his gaze darted to their hands, Carlotta pulled hers back and lifted her cup. “Are you finished, Detective?”

  “For now.” He looked at Coop. “Did you think of any more details about the car?”

  “No, sorry. I really only got a look at the wheels—maybe a BMW or a Mercedes.”

  Jack frowned. “Where have we heard that before?”

  “Do you think this is related to the two murders?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see the connection, but it’s awfully coincidental not to be.”

  The front door burst open and Wesley came charging inside. “What happened?”

  His shirt was misbuttoned, leaving one shirttail hanging low. She caught a whiff of a noxious perfume wafting off him. From the way Jack stepped back, he must have smelled it too. Here she was afraid he’d been gambling and it appeared that her brother finally had a girlfriend.

  “Carlotta and I were outside,” Coop said, “and someone drove by and fired two shots.”

  “One bullet imbedded in the siding,” Jack explained. “The other one shattered the window and struck the television.”

  “The TV?” Wesley looked stricken.

  “Sorry,” Carlotta said dryly.

  Wesley turned his back and wiped his fist across his face.

  “Wes man, it’s just a TV,” Coop said.

  Wesley turned back to Carlotta. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He looked relieved but a little desperate around the edges. “Coop, can you take Carlotta home with you or spend the night?”

  She frowned. What was her brother up to?

  “Sure—” Coop began.

  “I’m staying.” Jack’s voice brooked no argument. “And I’ll have an officer posted at the curb for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Wesley seemed to mull Jack’s words. “Okay. I’m going to crash at Chance’s,” he said, backing out of the room. “See you tomorrow, sis.”

  Carlotta nodded, a little hurt that he’d leave her alone at a time like this but she couldn’t pretend to understand how his mind worked.

  While Jack cleared the cops out of the house, Coop stood. “I guess that’s my cue.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you again.”

  “Being around you is the most excitement I’ve had in a while.”

  Jack returned in time to overhear the remark. He gave her a disparaging frown. “She can’t seem to help herself.”

  Coop stuck out his hand. “Take care of her, Jack,” he said in a mild tone that contradicted the way he squeezed Jack’s hand.

  Jack looked him directly in the eye. “I intend to. Thanks for your help.”

  The handshake lasted a few seconds longer before Coop retreated.

  Carlotta walked him to the door and waved goodbye, postponing the moment when she’d have to face Jack’s wrath. He would, no doubt, lecture her on withholding information and sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and generally making his job harder than it already was.

  When she turned, it was worse than she’d expected. The big man looked like he was on the verge of flying apart—hair ruffled, suit rumpled, pilled orange tie hanging loose. And the look on his face was a barely contained rage—directed toward her.

  “Jack—”

  “Can’t you stay out of trouble?” he bellowed. “In the space of a few days, you’ve taken ten years off my life!”

  She crossed her arms. “I didn’t do anything.”

  He pulled his hand down his face, seeming to grapple for control. Then he shook his head. “How many lives do you have, woman?”

  Carlotta shrugged, then smiled.

  Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down with him to lie on the couch. He cradled her head to his warm shoulder and released a long, shuddering breath.

  “Jack—”

  “Shhh,” he murmured against her hair. “Don’t talk. Just let me hear you breathe.”

  40

  “What did I tell you.” Chance pointed to a red Ferrari in the valet parking lot of the Golden Glove. “The Carver is here almost every night of the week.”

  “You know your strip clubs,” Wesley admitted.

  A whimper sounded in the backseat. “I’m not so sure about this
,” Cherry said in a whispery voice.

  “Shut up, drag dude,” Chance said over his shoulder. “This is more money than you’ll make in a month turning tricks in Piedmont Park, so find your balls, okay?”

  “You’re so mean.” Cherry sighed wistfully.

  But Wesley too, was beginning to doubt that they could pull this off. A skinny computer geek, a chubby small-time drug dealer and a drag queen—it sounded like the setup for a bad joke.

  And if things went bad, they could all wind up hurt—or worse.

  Still, he kept the picture of Carlotta dodging bullets in his mind as they drove Chance’s SUV past the valet stand in favor of a pay-and-park lot. Chance pulled into the back where there were almost no cars. Only a swag of chain hung between posts separated them from a side road. Wesley cut through the links with a folding pocket saw in less than a minute, then he reconnected the broken chain by wrapping it with a clear piece of packing tape. Meanwhile Chance had removed his license plate and tossed it onto the floor board.

  “What are you guys, some kind of cat-burglar team?” Cherry asked, giggling. “This is so exciting.”

  The prostitute was dressed in a short skirt and halter top, with big hair and high heels. Other than having a flat ass, Cherry was pretty believable as a woman. Scarily so.

  Chance looked Cherry up and down. “Are you sure you’re a dude?”

  “Why don’t you check me out?”

  It was just the kind of dare that Chance lived for. He grabbed Cherry in the crotch and Cherry squealed.

  Chance frowned. “Okay, he’s legit.”

  “Do it again,” Cherry said.

  “Look, woman dude, I only yank mine as a last resort, why would I want to yank yours?”

  “I can do things to you that a woman can’t,” Cherry purred.

  “Couldn’t be less interested.” Chance shook his head. “But I like your initiative. How much do you pay your pimp?”

  “Dude,” Wesley broke in. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Okay. Everyone knows what to do,” Chance said. “Let’s go even a score.”

  Cherry put her arms around their shoulders and after paying a cover, they walked in like a threesome. Almost immediately, Wesley spotted The Carver sitting in a corner booth with five women—three of them completely nude—draped over him or lounging within reach. A gorgeous black woman with enormous tits danced on his table. The man looked like he’d been eating and drinking for hours, which boded well for their plan.