“So the killer was watching Concetta and Damien,” Lex said, “already knowing that Damien was going to collapse. And when he—or she—sees Concetta running out of the cage limping, the killer grabs the opportunity to cover up the real cause of death by whacking Damien in the head.” She smiled brightly. Then the smiled faded. “Does that make any sense?”
“Actually, it does. Sort of.” Park resumed her pacing. “But that still leaves us without a cause of death. Did someone shoot Damien from the rafters, for God’s sake? Was that a bullet wound? What is it? I just don’t get it.”
“But…” Madison clamped her mouth shut and looked away.
“But what?” Park asked.
Madison sighed. “I mean, the autopsy would’ve been completed by now, right?”
“Right.”
“So an official cause of death has been issued—we just don’t know it. And if the cause of death is blunt impact trauma from the shoe, then Damien’s body would be released to the family, right?”
Park nodded. “I assume so. Why?”
“Theo told me that his mom spoke to Damien’s mom this afternoon,” Madison said. “And Mrs. Kittle told Theo’s mom that Damien’s body isn’t being released. The medical examiner is, like, holding it.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Lex scratched her head. “Especially because Damien is English royalty. They would want that body flown back to England as soon as possible.”
“If that’s the case—that Damien’s body isn’t being released—then I’d bet anything it’s because we’re on the right track,” Park said. “The autopsy probably revealed that the stiletto couldn’t have killed him—or something else.”
“Like what?” Lex sat back down again.
“Like another cause of death,” Park explained. She walked to the windows at the far end of the room and stared outside. “And here’s the really big question. With what we know so far, Julian Simmons is a total suspect—but did he kill Damien because Damien knew about the steroids? Is that really enough of a reason? Is that Julian’s motive?”
“Look, we know Damien wanted out of the club,” Madison said. “That’s probably reason enough for someone to kill him.”
“Yeah, but why did Damien want out of the club?” Park asked, frustrated. “And what the hell does this club do behind closed doors that’s worth killing for?”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Madison whispered.
“Maybe not,” Lex said. “I mean, if I witnessed Julian buying explosives today, should we really be going to the Chamber tomorrow?”
“Of course!” Park nodded. “How else will we know what’s really going on?”
“But what if he tries to blow us all up?” Madison asked. “What if that’s his plan?”
“It’s not,” Park said calmly, firmly. “We have to find out what this is really all about, and that means taking risks. We’ve come this far, and we’re not turning back.”
Lex flipped open her cell phone and punched in a number. “Hello, Donnie? I know you’re supposed to be off duty in about ten minutes, but I might have to ask you to do a little overtime. Can you come upstairs? Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” Madison asked.
Lex got up and slipped into a comfortable pair of shoes. She went to the mirror and checked her makeup, adding more blush to her cheeks. “There’s only one way to settle this,” she said.
“And what’s that?” Park cut her a suspicious stare.
Three minutes later, they all heard Lupe open the front door. There was a bit of mumbled conversation, and then Donnie appeared at Lex’s bedroom door.
He stood on the threshold with his head bent and his eyes cast downward. “Uh, hello?” he said in his typically shy voice.
“Come on in, Donnie,” Lex replied cheerfully.
He stepped into the bedroom, smiling vaguely at Madison and Park. But he wouldn’t move five feet beyond the door. He stood there looking like a guilty schoolboy.
“Lex, are you going to tell us what this is all about?” Park demanded.
Lex walked over to Donnie and threw her arms around him. “You’ve been so good to us!” she said. “And I want you to know how much we all appreciate your hard work. You’re always there when we need you.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Donnie turned redder than a tomato. He gulped and cracked a grin. “Thanks.”
“But now I need to ask you for a really big favor,” Lex said. She reached for the magic purse and flung it over her shoulder. “You’re probably the best former medical student in the whole city, and I know you still have some nice connections.”
Donnie smirked. “A few.”
“Good.” Lex motioned her head at Park, then stared up at Donnie. “I need you to break us into the morgue.”
“What?” Madison screeched. “Eeeewwww.”
“Lex…” Park said.
“Uh…I don’t know if I can do that.” It was one of the longest sentences Donnie had ever spoken. He said the words quietly, apologetically…but not altogether firmly.
“Of course you can’t!” Madison shrieked. “It’s too disgusting!”
Lex rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a baby, Madison. How else are we going to find out what we need to find out?”
“How about waiting for the media to release Damien’s cause of death?” Madison shot back. “It’ll be in the papers eventually.”
“Eventually might be too late.” Park suddenly sounded intrigued. She stared at Donnie, her eyes asking the obvious question: Can you do it? Can you break us into the morgue?
He cleared his throat nervously. “I mean…it’s not gonna be easy,” he said. “And if we get caught, your…um…your dad would have to pay a really big fine, ’cause I sure as hell won’t be able to pay it.”
“I’ll give you a blank check drawn on my own bank account,” Park said seriously. “That way, if we do get caught, you won’t have to worry about paying for a thing.”
“But how the hell are you going to do this, Donnie?” Madison’s voice cracked. Her cheeks flushed in the heat of her fear. “You’re talking about the office of the chief medical examiner. Isn’t there, like, security everywhere?”
“Yeah,” Donnie replied. “But I got a friend who works there. All I’m saying is that we could try, if you really want to.”
“We want to!” Lex reached into the magic purse, pulled out five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, and slipped them into Donnie’s shirt pocket.
“You’re all crazy!” Madison shrieked. “I’m not going to any morgue! Forget it!”
“You don’t have to,” Park said calmly, patting Madison’s shoulder. “But if Lex and I aren’t back in two hours, call our attorneys, ’cause it probably means we got arrested.”
16
The Body
In the back of the limo, Park and Lex changed into fresh blue surgical scrubs Donnie had pulled from his backpack; cheap, flimsy, and just a wee bit stinky, the scrubs were a necessary disguise—you couldn’t break into a morgue dressed in Triple Threat daywear. Thankfully, Donnie still had a small stash of them from his medical school days.
Park finished first. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she cinched the drawstring into a bow and tied it as tightly as possible. Then she pulled the plastic mask over her head and let it hang around her neck. The little surgical cap didn’t quite fit over the bun she had fashioned with hairpins, but it hid most of her dark locks. “There,” she said, “that’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” Lex shrieked. “Are you kidding me?” She was struggling to roll up the oversized scrub pants so that they wouldn’t drag when she walked. The shirt hung on her lean frame like a poncho; she couldn’t imagine stepping outside like that, so she tied it in a knot just above her waist. “These things are hideous!”
“Well, what did you expect? Designer scrubs?” Park chuckled.
“It’d be a start! I mean, how do people walk around in these things—they’re so ugly, and so p
oorly made.” Lex pointed to the bunchy pants. “Look—there’s not even a seam!”
“Doctors and nurses need to be able to move around,” Park explained. “These do the job, I guess. But they really are kind of itchy.”
“They’re more than just itchy,” Lex snapped. “They happen to smell.”
“Sorry about that,” Donnie called from the driver’s seat. “That smell is what you call cheap detergent. The no-frills kind.”
Lex shook her head to keep from fainting. “How low have we stooped?” she whispered to Park. “If I’m ever photographed wearing these, it’s all over.”
“It could be a fashion statement, ya know.” Park pointed to her own scrubs. “Someone might think it’s cool.”
“As if.” When the limo slowed to a crawl, nearing the corner of First Avenue and Thirty-first Street, Lex reached into the magic purse and pulled out several items. She opened her compact and checked her reflection; she winced, horrified by the pale blue color of the scrubs. She swept her long hair up in a leopard-print clip, then tied the surgical cap over it. She didn’t care how plain the uniform was supposed to look—it needed accessories. She fastened a smallish Cartier diamond brooch to the left side of the shirt and knotted a black silk scarf around her waist to hold up her pants better. She yanked two thick strands of hair out from under the cap and let them dangle along the sides of her face.
Now, at least, she had some semblance of style.
Donnie parked the limo on First Avenue. He pulled on his white lab coat, stepped outside, and opened the back door for Park and Lex. Seeing Lex—the accessories and, most of all, the big purse hanging from her right shoulder—he said, “Um, you might want to leave that in here.”
“My purse?” Lex raised her eyebrows. Had he really uttered those blasphemous words?
“Yeah,” Donnie said. “It just doesn’t look right.”
“I agree,” Park mumbled.
“Well, I hate to disappoint both of you, but I’m not going anywhere without my purse.” Lex held on to the strap. “For God’s sake, we could need something in here!”
“Like what?” Donnie asked quietly.
“Like more things than you can possibly imagine,” Park answered, patting his shoulder. “Let’s just try and do this before I lose my courage, okay?”
With Donnie in the lead, they crossed the street. Park and Lex fixed the surgical masks over their faces as they went up the front steps and into the muggy main lobby of the office of the chief medical examiner.
Lex felt her heart slamming in her chest. In that moment—seeing the tall security guards and the two uniformed police officers at the desk—she almost stopped short and turned around. It was unlike her to lose her cool. It was unlike her to think that the task at hand couldn’t be accomplished. But this was way different from scaling the fire escape and breaking into St. Cecilia’s Prep. The OCME was as serious as things got; a restricted, internationally renowned forensic facility, it was home to scientists, FBI agents, and countless death-challenged corpses. Getting caught tonight would mean riding yet another wave of scandal.
She glanced at Park and felt a twinge of reassurance.
Her head held high, her eyes gleaming above the mask, Park looked completely in her element as she followed Donnie up to the front desk and waited at his side.
Donnie and one of the security guards exchanged words, and then a buzzer sounded and two big double doors swung open.
Lex tried to keep her knees locked as she followed them to the elevator banks. She was impressed by Donnie’s reserve, his professional air. The shy, introverted twenty-seven-year-old definitely looked more like a serious doctor than a chauffeur.
The elevator doors yawned open. Lex and Park followed Donnie inside. They both winced when he hit the down button and they descended into the morgue.
The first blast of foul air hit Lex like a huge fist: it was the smell of formaldehyde and rotting flesh. The cold nearly made her teeth chatter. She shook her head as they walked out of the elevator and into a gleaming white-tiled hallway.
Park, standing rail-straight, coughed and clamped a hand over her mask to further blot out the odor.
Donnie was moving more quickly now. He seemed to know his way around. He ducked into an office, yanked a white lab coat from a wall, and held it out to Park. “Here,” he whispered. “Put this on.”
She slipped into it, relieved that it fit her slim frame perfectly.
They continued down the corridor until they reached another set of double doors. The words AUTOPSY BAY were printed in big block letters on the wall.
Lex felt her stomach flip into her throat. She accepted the packet of latex gloves Donnie handed to her, tearing it open and fitting her fingers into the rubbery texture.
As they neared another door, Donnie paused and scanned the long corkboard mounted to one wall. It was filled with clipboards and sheets of paper, everything classified by a specific code. On the left were the cases marked H for homicide. Donnie grabbed one of the clipboards and scanned it. He found what he was looking for, pointing to the name Damien Kittle.
“What does that mean?” Park asked, her voice a whisper.
“It means Damien was autopsied this morning,” Donnie explained. “And according to these notes, his body is in drawer four-D.”
“Drawer?” Lex put a hand on her stomach.
“Yeah,” Donnie said. “It’s like a freezer.”
“Does it say the cause of death on that clipboard?” Park asked.
Donnie shook his head. “See here?” He pointed again, this time at an empty box beside Damien’s name. “This means Damien’s death was ruled a homicide by the medical examiner, but in order to see the actual cause of death we need to go inside there.” He motioned his head at the closed door.
Park nodded. She and Lex followed Donnie into a large square room lined with steel autopsy tables, stainless steel sinks, and bright overhead lamps. The smell was unreal—an entity all its own. Lex nearly gagged and Park had to reposition the mask over her nose and mouth.
Worst of all, though, were the bodies lying on the tables: stiff human shapes beneath white sheets, bare feet sticking out, every big toe tagged and numbered.
“This is so gross,” Lex whispered.
Donnie pointed to the wall at the very end of the autopsy bay, where the drawers were located.
Park followed him. Her arms were straight at her sides, her body movements cautious and rigid. She didn’t want to rub up against anything that would make her barf later on. Or right now. She scanned the rows of closed body drawers slowly.
Lex moved to the far end of the wall. She saw a letter D stamped on one of the drawers and instantly wrapped her fingers around the handle. She turned it; the drawer yawned open with a blast of cold, foul air. A stab of fear made her pause. She didn’t want to see Damien dead. She didn’t want to see his familiar face all blue and frozen and stiff. But I have to, she thought. I can’t be afraid.
Gulping, she looked down.
The dead face staring back at her was that of an elderly black man.
She gasped and jumped to the side, the Cartier pendant shaking where it was pinned to her shirt.
“Lex!”
Park’s low, sharp voice echoed from the other end of the wall. She waved Lex over to where she and Donnie were standing.
Lex realized she had acted too quickly—opening up the first drawer she saw. She stared regretfully at the man. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, and shoved the drawer shut with her hip.
“We found Damien,” Park said quietly.
Lex nodded.
And Donnie yanked the drawer open.
Damien’s face stared back at them, his eyes taped closed, his blue lips parted slightly. The wound on the side of his head was crusted with dried blood. And a single speck of glitter was still shining on a strand of dark hair.
Park pointed down at it. “See? The medical examiner must’ve taken the rest of the glitter we saw as a sample.”
/>
“There was definitely a lot more last night,” Lex said.
Park saw the clipboard hanging off to one side of the drawer. She reached for it, flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the small print. “Listen,” she said quietly, reading from the official autopsy facesheet. “‘The wound on the right side of the victim’s head measures two inches wide and five inches deep, and is consistent with the measurements of the aforementioned weapon, a size-twelve shoe with a stiletto heel, classified as Exhibit A.’”
“Damn, that was a hard hit to his head,” Lex said impatiently, loosening the silk scarf from around her waist and dropping it over her shoulders.
Park continued scanning the document. “‘Victim measured five feet nine inches tall and was…’” She flipped to the second page. “Here. Okay. ‘Further forensic evaluation of Exhibit A is inconsistent with blunt impact trauma, due to Exhibit’s size and point of impact.’” She gasped. “You see—we’re right. It says right here the stiletto couldn’t have killed him!”
“But what did kill him?” Lex asked.
Park read more of the report. “‘Internal examination of the victim revealed pulmonary edema and hemorrhaging, as well as severe dehydration and lesions on both the brain and lungs.’” She paused and looked up.
“Oh my God,” Lex whispered. “That’s horrible.”
“I know.” Park repositioned the mask, giving herself more room to breathe. Then she again lowered her eyes to the sheet. “‘Pending further toxicological analysis, the victim appears to have died as a result of…poisoning.’”
“Jesus Christ!” Lex lowered the mask from around her ears. “I can’t believe it! So Concetta is telling the truth!”
“It appears that way,” Park replied, her voice flat and unemotional. “And right down here, it says Damien looks like he died from…ingestion of abrin. That must be the poison.”
“Abrin? Where’s it come from? What is it?” Lex scanned the report, looking for a clue.
“It doesn’t say anything else about the poison. But look—it says right here that this autopsy was completed at eleven-forty-five this morning. And look—a carbon copy of this report has already been sent to the NYPD, the FBI, the ATF, and New Scotland Yard.”
In the Club Page 19
