by Gregory Colt
He handed them both back.
“Follow me, please,” he said rather put out.
“I have a badge, too,” I whispered to Claire.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
The little guy led us through a maze of empty hallways. He stopped at an unmarked door in a line of unmarked doors, opened it, and gestured for us to enter.
“Dr. Page will be with you in a moment,” he said, shutting the door behind us.
The chemical smell of powerful cleaner had grown strong the deeper inside we went. It hadn’t lessened in the small office we found ourselves in. No windows. We were in the center of the building. The room was stark and the desk barren, but fake plants were in abundance among the chairs.
We sat down to wait and I turned to Claire.
“Listen, about Dr. Page—” I started before the prettiest girl I’d ever known walked in, chewing gum.
Irish Page. Seven years had taken her beauty and, I don’t know, made it more. She was shorter than average, medium length red hair so dark it was almost purple, no makeup, wearing slacks and a green t-shirt with a shamrock on it that said Kiss me I’m Irish. She’d always kept one of those in her closet for as far back as I could remember.
“You’re Claire Spurling?” Irish asked Claire, completely ignoring me.
“Dr. Spurling, yes,” Claire replied, standing.
“I apologize, Doctor. Detective Harris didn’t mention that,” Irish said.
“No, I suspect he didn’t. He does that. Mostly because he’s a jerk,” said Claire.
Irish giggled and her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment just like I remembered. Maybe she was happy again.
“Yeah, I picked up on that. He was adamant that neither one of you have anything to do with this and to call him if anyone matching your descriptions started poking around,” Irish said before turning to me. “Even a description of Djimon. Looks like he’s done his homework G—” she stopped herself. “Adrian. Does she…does she know?” Irish asked with a glance at Claire.
I shook my head no.
“Claire, allow me to introduce my friend,” I glanced at Irish and didn’t get any look in response. “Dr. Page. Dr. Irish Page. Irish, this is Dr. Claire Spurling.”
“It’s very nice to meet—wait. Irish?” Claire asked.
Irish nodded.
“I saw a picture of you. In Nick Roarke’s office,” Claire said. “You were riding an elephant.”
Irish laughed out loud. “Oh geez, he still has that? I had forgotten,” Irish said. “You and Michael having that stupid jousting tournament,” she said, shaking her head smiling, but then covered her face with her hands. I was pretty sure she wasn’t smiling anymore.
I took a step closer to her, but she stopped me with a hand to the chest.
“No. Don’t,” Irish said.
“Maybe I should wait outside for a minute,” said Claire.
“No. Nonsense, I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. You need to see this. Both of you,” said Irish, turning back and opening the door behind her. “Follow me, please.”
Claire gave me a look so curious I hopped in front of her and went in next to get away from it.
“One more thing you’re going to have to explain to me one day, Mr. Knight,” Claire whispered behind me.
“Start keeping a list,” I whispered back.
She kicked my heel and I had to double hop to keep from tripping.
Irish led us through a short hall with various rooms to each side. Frosted glass windows obscured mostly stainless steel rooms behind them. She opened one near the end of the hall and let us in.
“I could get in major trouble for this if either of you mention it. So don’t,” Irish said, walking to the other side of the room where there was a wall of small stainless steel doors. Refrigerated doors. How exciting.
“Is that what I think it is?” Claire asked.
“If you think it’s a refrigerator full of dead people then yes, yes it is,” I said helpfully.
I got two sets of glares.
“Yes, Dr. Spurling. This is one of the labs we have with its own morgue. And my least favorite place in the whole building,” Irish said, opening one of the doors and sliding a table out.
“No, I can’t imagine it would be,” Claire said. “But you chose a rather odd profession if it bothers you.”
“Oh, it doesn’t bother me. Not most of it. Just this part,” Irish said, gesturing toward the freezer full of bodies and looking over at me. I gave her the most sincere half grin I could and closed my eyes nodding. I understood.
Claire gave me a look that said she knew something had just passed between me and Irish. One more thing added to her list. The woman could hold an entire conversation with facial expressions.
Irish pulled the white sheet off the body underneath down to the waist. It was a man. Caucasian. Maybe in his late thirties. Fit. Huge. Who am I kidding, you put an axe in his hand and he’d be a Viking. And half his throat was missing.
Irish pulled the body up off of one shoulder. Another chunk of flesh was gone behind the shoulder.
“I have two more bodies here. From the museum yesterday. They’re both in worse condition than this, but many of the injuries are identical. Harris seemed to imply that you two were working a separate angle on the case that he didn’t want interfering, and I thought you could use all the information you could get,” said Irish.
Claire had her eyes closed. She looked sick.
“Are you all right?” Irish asked.
Claire shook her head.
“She was the one that found them, Henry and George, yesterday morning in the museum. They’re friends,” I put my hand on Claire’s shoulder. I was surprised when she grabbed it and kept it there.
“I am so sorry,” Irish said, covering the body and sliding it back into the door. “I cannot believe he didn’t tell me. I would never have…I’m sorry,” Irish said again.
“No. No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to ever see anything like that again,” Claire said.
“I am so sorry. No one should ever have to. But I still think it’s important that you know,” said Irish.
“Know what exactly? That there is another victim. Killed in the exact same way?” I said.
“Not exactly the same way. This man’s cause of death was drowning. He was attacked moments before he was in the water,” Irish said.
“And how long was that? Can you tell?” I asked.
“Yes. Between eighty-four and ninety-six hours. So, at least three days. Not more than four,” she said.
“Where was he found?” Claire asked.
“Newark Bay,” said Irish.
“What caused the injuries?” I asked.
Claire looked at me.
“I just want it confirmed,” I said.
“It was more difficult to tell than you think. We see some strange stuff here. But yes, I found saliva in one of the wounds. It’s a human bite mark,” Irish said.
“Only found in one of the wounds? Wouldn’t it be left in all of them if that’s what caused it?” Claire asked.
“Yes. But after so long in the water we were lucky to find what we did. There are several tests that need performed. Most to filter through all the bacteria and other contaminants there because of the water, and any decomposition. It takes time. We caught a break finding the saliva,” Irish said.
“Any chance there’s a match in one of the police databases?” I asked.
“No. I’m not involved in that part of it. But it doesn’t matter. The detectives at the scene recognized him even after so long in the water. You were looking at Reenan Keller,” Irish said.
“Who is Reenan Keller?” Claire asked.
“I didn’t know either until I asked Detective Harris, and he told me Keller worked for—” Irish said.
“Diamond Jack,” I finished.
“That’s right. From what I hear, he has moved up in the world over the last several years,” Irish said.
“So a local crime boss is doing something that gets his people attacked like this and left for dead in the water,” I thought out loud, refraining from using the word ‘eaten’ for all our sakes. “Wouldn't there be more bodies floating around, so to speak, if there was a shakeup in the underworld?” I asked.
“These aren’t the only three I’ve seen,” said Irish. She looked sick now, too.
Chapter Fourteen
When Irish showed us pictures of the first few victims, I was amused at the idea of organized criminals eating each other. Surely there was a joke about taking a bite out of crime in there. But it wasn’t funny after a half dozen. I felt Claire shiver next to me when Irish pulled out another half dozen. Irish pointed to a stack of manila folders, maybe two dozen more and, to her credit, Claire looked more angry than scared.
I was thinking about that guy in the abandoned building and what Brandon’s friend had said. There would be a file on me in that stack if Brandon hadn’t come back when he did. It was my turn to shiver.
Wait. Why hadn’t I thought of that before now? The men who attacked me and Brandon yesterday, no way they were working for one of the underworld factions. Those men weren’t working for anyone. Including themselves. They were feral and attacked on instinct. Why hadn’t I made that connection sooner? The memory of it was faded, fuzzy.
“How can there be so many? Why have I not heard about this?” Claire asked.
“Several interests collided on this one. When the city gets something they can’t explain, they explain it. However they want. Having unknowns on paper makes people look bad and no one wants that. I’m not saying anyone lies, per se, it’s just the reports get filled out with very reasonable, very generalized answers. For instance, Mr. Keller goes in the report as viciously attacked. Massive physical trauma. Cause of death was drowning. But it’s not only that. The press has had details kept away as well. Not entirely, of course, but enough. Not to mention many of these victims also work for Joe Vitale’s organization, and they don’t exist anyway. Not on paper,” Irish said.
“Right. Everything’s fine. It’s business as usual. Of course there’s not a violent underworld battle increasing throughout the city,” Claire said.
“Exactly. And until it spreads out into the streets, they’ll get away with it. I’m not even sure they’re wrong,” Irish said.
“Of course it’s wrong. People deserve the truth no matter what. How can anyone expect to do anything about it if they don’t know what’s going on?” Claire said.
“I’ve seen people faced with this kind of truth. They over-react and panic. I love this city and don’t doubt they would pull together and get something done. But it doesn’t take that many to make it worse before it gets better. Really, really worse. And there’s more,” Irish said.
“That’s it then? Nothing will happen because no one will ever know until it’s too late?” Claire asked.
“I told you two,” Irish said, looking at me.
“Right,” Claire said. “We’ll add resolving the mob’s dispute to our list of things to do today.”
“Claire she’s not asking us to do anything,” I looked at Irish who blushed. Maybe she did want me to do something about it.
“She’s telling us what we’re about to get into if we keep looking into Henry and George’s murder,” I said.
Claire looked ready to pounce.
“Which we’re going to keep doing,” I said, raising my hands. “We’ll figure this out. Find the artifacts. Find the killers. Get some justice. But Claire, we have precious little to go on, and if we’re getting involved in something bigger, I want to know sooner rather than later. Besides, we have a whole new angle to pursue now.”
“What do you mean?” Claire asked.
“Well, for one, whoever is behind these attacks is linked, or even responsible, for what happened at the museum. And somehow it’s tied in with what’s going on with Diamond Jack and Joe Vitale,” I said.
And what’s going on at night in the Bronx if those guys that attacked me and Brandon wasn’t an isolated incident.
“You said there’s more to it?” Claire asked Irish.
“Yes,” Irish said refocusing. “Yes. I found a link between all the victims.”
“You couldn’t have led with that?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, okay. I’m breaking a million regulations having you here, and defying the police, and trying to help, and I’ve never seen anything like this, and you know very well that’s saying something, Captain Knight,” extra insulting emphasis on Captain. And Knight.
“Irish,” I said.
“What?” she snapped back.
“You’re doing great, kid. The city’s lucky to have you. I mean it. Claire and I are in your debt. This is the only solid information we’ve had since we started. This gives us an advantage we wouldn’t have had otherwise. It could save lives,” I said.
“Adrian’s right,” Claire said. “This is more than we’ve gotten from anyone and I can’t begin to thank you for defying Harris. I apologize for getting upset, it’s just I keep getting held out of the loop all the time, the past couple of days not an exception. Then to hear something so important is being swept under the rug. It’s infuriating, but not your fault and I’m sorry,” Claire said.
“No, I understand. I do. That’s why I had to tell someone,” Irish said.
“We don’t want you getting into any trouble over this. Harris will never find out, but we should get going before people begin to wonder what we’re doing here,” said Claire.
“Yes. Okay. I found something. A chemical compound. It was present in, or on, each of the victims,” Irish said.
“In or on?” I asked.
“I found it in every saliva sample we were able to recover in the wounds. In the others, the bodies not associated with any criminal organization—most were addicts of one kind or another living on the street—I found it in their blood. A significant amount. Some died in the attacks that left the wounds, but almost an equal number died from chemical poisoning before they were…I found remains, in some of their stomachs, and in their teeth. Human tissue,” Irish said.
“You mean some of those were not only the victims, but had attacked others as well?” Claire asked.
“Yes,” Irish said, digging out some photos from the folders. “See these marks here,” she pointed out terrible wounds on the bodies. “These aren’t bites. These are areas where the flesh has rotted while they were still alive. Everyone like that had the same chemical signatures inside them. Most of them had all the signs of being an addict too. Heroine and Meth. Some X. However, there was another drug in their system that I’ve never seen before. I need to do more tests. Maybe even send it to someone more experienced. It’s complex. I identified several of the components, though I’m not sure how they interact with each other. The base is a variation of Scopolamine. A synthetic, maybe. It doesn’t help that the compound appears to be in various stages of decay. It’s breaking down. I have no way of telling its original chemical form.”
Claire shivered again.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“There were stories of scopolamine abuse. Things we heard in Central America. It’s found naturally in some plants south of there,” Claire said.
“Brugmansia genus. Mostly found in the tropical regions of South America. Though several other plants in the solanceae family contain high concentrations of—sorry,” Irish interrupted. “Scopolamine has strong amnesiac properties. Physicians used it to induce twilight sleep a hundred years ago. Sort of a waking sleep for giving birth. It’s a powerful painkiller and sedative, but this is different. Way different. Scopolamine is used, in tiny amounts, for several medical conditions, even motion sickness. And for a powerful high, though based off what I’ve read, not a pretty one. Like hallucinating nothing but your worst nightmares, constantly, for hours. Even days. Self-mutilation is common. Ravenous hunger. Highly suggestive behavior. There
are cases of it causing permanent, severe psychological disorders. The hallucinations might be its purpose in this compound, assuming it’s recreational. But it’s also a powerful sedative, and that presents a problem.”
“What problem?” I asked.
“Do these kinds of attacks look like the work of someone under heavy sedation?” Irish asked. “Something about the compound is triggering a paradoxical reaction. It isn’t random with so many cases in such a short time, and that’s the only thing they have in common. The dead tissue is normal with some of the quick and dirty processes used to synthesize drugs these days. Desomorphine, Krokodil when it’s homemade in Russia, will do it in a hurry. The psychotic hallucinations and hunger aren’t unlike what we’ve seen with the new bath salt trends. However, I’ve also found massive amounts of adrenaline in the bodies with the highest concentrations of the poison in their blood. Most of their hearts look shot from constant overload. They were going to die soon anyway from cardiac failure. I don’t have everything back from the other tests yet to say anything more specific, but I’ll let you know what I find.”
“So, you think what? There’s a new drug on the street and it’s causing users to turn into rotting, flesh eating monsters?” I asked, careful to avoid the z-word.
“I don’t know. Many of these victims are addicts. Several are not. I can’t account for it. But if they wake up in here one night, I’ll be sure to ask,” Irish said.
“That’s not funny,” I said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve mapped out where the bodies were found?” I asked.
Irish shook her head no.
“Would you mind? Just when you have some time,” I said.
“Sure,” she said.
“Thanks kid. For everything,” I said.
“Yes, thank you. I—” Claire gave up and hugged Irish.
Irish opened the door for us and we headed into the hallway to navigate our way back out.
“Knight,” Irish called behind me.
I turned back.
“Be careful,” she said.
“M’lady,” I said bowing.
