by Rita Herron
Unfortunately he couldn’t assuage the ache.
He had to spend all his time and energy on getting better. Returning to his job was all that mattered.
HE CHECKED the toe tags on the stiffs in the crypt, choosing the one that had been preordained for his mission, a John Doe. It was past midnight, the place was deserted, and although corpses didn’t faze him, being inside the cold room alone at night reminded him of the chilling stories his grandmother told about ghosts rising from the dead.
The heavy scent of formaldehyde and other chemicals blended into the icy air, the shadows casting ominous shades of gray across the chalky-white pallor of the deceased. Sometimes he thought he heard their voices calling from the steel tables, heard whispers of lost ones trying to rise again.
Dressed in surgical scrubs, he blended in with the other staff members as he zipped up the body bag and pushed the gurney through the side door for transport by the body movers.
There would be no rest for him tonight, though. He had work to do and only hours to perform his tasks. He’d better get started.
Chapter Four
Parker sucked in a sharp breath and walked toward Grace, proud of his progress, that he could stand upright instead of having to look up at her from a hospital bed. He’d also asked Bradford Welsh, his partner, to get him Bruno’s file so he could study it while he was recuperating.
“You look amazing,” Grace said.
He nodded, pride filling him. “The leg is feeling better.”
“Obviously the healthy tissue made a huge difference.”
Something about her tone disturbed him. “Yes. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.”
She frowned. “You heard about some of the other patients?”
He nodded. “One dead of infection, and three lost limbs.”
Her eyes flickered with worry. “That never should have happened.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong, Grace?”
She glanced around the nurses’ station, then lowered her voice. “Are you up for a walk to the coffee machine?”
He’d pushed himself to the limit with his therapy this morning, and his leg was throbbing, but damned if he’d admit it. “Sure.”
She began walking down the hall, obviously slowing her gait to match his. Irritation nagged at him, but he wrestled it under control. “Okay, what’s on your mind?” he asked as they settled in a deserted corner with coffee.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything. The hospital staff doesn’t want gossip.”
“Did someone ask you to keep quiet?”
“Not exactly. But I can’t help but wonder if someone here knew the tissue was faulty and used it anyway.”
He sighed. Hadn’t he wondered the same thing? “You have a name?”
She shook her head. “Nothing definite, just hints here and there. Everyone is very hush-hush.”
“That’s no surprise. They’re probably concerned about lawsuits.”
“And criminal charges now with this man’s death,” she murmured.
“What do you think happened, Grace?” he asked bluntly.
Her troubled gaze met his, then she took a long sip of her coffee. “I’m not sure. We get the tissue from tissue banks. One of the physicians said he thinks that’s where the breakdown occurred. It was processed improperly, probably by a technician who didn’t know what he was doing.”
“But you have another theory?”
“His speculation makes perfect sense. But those missing corpses have me perplexed. I know some have been used in pranks for Halloween, but the others…”
His skin prickled. “What about them?”
“Sometimes we have live donors, but often tissue is taken from the deceased.”
Suspicion twitched at him. “You think the missing corpses are being used to extract tissue?”
“I don’t know, Parker, it’s just a thought.” She chewed her bottom lip. “There’s something else. When my brother was killed, his body went missing for two days. Eventually it turned up at a different morgue. The coroner said that it was a clerical error, but now I’m wondering…”
“Wouldn’t the autopsies show if tissue was removed?”
“Yes, although some tissue might be removed after the autopsy.”
“Didn’t the ME check the bodies after they were recovered?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I guess I’m just going off on a tangent. Trying to find something that isn’t there.”
“Like the fact that you don’t believe your brother killed himself?”
She gave him a withering look. “I know Bruno wouldn’t take his own life. The bullet in the head sounds like a professional hit to me. Maybe he was investigating some kind of mob crime.”
“Grace, I saw Bruno’s file. He left a suicide note. They analyzed the handwriting and it matched your brother’s—”
“Someone could have forced him to write that, and you know it.” She knotted her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white. “And then for his body to go missing…”
“What did the coroner say after they recovered his body? Had it been mishandled?”
She reluctantly shook her head. “They said it hadn’t.”
Parker twisted his mouth in thought. Unless the police hadn’t told her. Sometimes they withheld details of a crime from the family and press to use later in case of an arrest.
Besides, if she was right and her brother hadn’t committed suicide, then she might also be correct about the hit.
“My partner thinks there’s a group of teens stealing the bodies,” Parker said. “He found a pentagram painted on the lawn of a local church, and dead animals left around it. They may be using the corpses in some kind of ritualistic ceremony.”
“I read something about that in the paper,” she admitted. “Sounds feasible.”
Parker wanted to console her, but didn’t know how. Not unless he found the truth. “I’ve requested the police reports on your brother’s death.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “Did you find anything?”
“Not yet,” he said quietly. “But I’ll find out what happened to him, Grace. I promise.”
The relief in her eyes made his chest squeeze, although guilt plagued him. Family members always wanted to deny that one of their loved ones would commit suicide, but it happened. Men, even cops, folded under pressure.
He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he didn’t dare. Because touching her once wouldn’t be enough.
And he had no illusions that she wanted anything from him but answers about her brother’s case. After all, he was weak. A scarred man.
Lying in bed helpless he might have fantasized about having a woman in his life on a permanent basis.
But when he returned to the job, that was not an option.
THUNDER POPPED OUTSIDE, and lightning crackled, streaking the dark sky with jagged lines that jarred Grace from her seat.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, then glanced at Parker and saw him watching her. Good heavens, she must look like a ninny.
Still she moved away from the window. Tried to forget that all week she’d felt as if someone was following her. That she wondered if the man she’d seen in the woods at the graveyard might be after her.
If the person who’d killed her brother might want her dead because she wouldn’t leave the case alone.
She wanted to confide in Parker, but the man had enough on his plate right now. He would probably think she was paranoid if she confessed her fears.
At least he was going to look into her brother’s death.
Not that he could do a lot while recovering, but he could ask questions, maybe convince his partner to help him. She certainly hadn’t gotten anywhere on her own.
Curious about the tissue banks and the possibility of a cover-up, she decided to dig around a little after she walked Parker back to his room. She’d subtly questioned other nurses and Dr. Whitehead again, but he assured her that the hospital administrator was investigating the matter a
nd would inform them of the results when he found the source of the problem.
So why did she sense they were hiding the truth?
Having a cop for a brother and father must have made her suspicious of everything. She didn’t trust anyone.
Parker’s face materialized, but she reminded herself that he was a detective, as well. Cops kept secrets, even from people they cared about. Her brother had. And so had her father.
Those secrets had gotten them killed.
Remembering the body she’d seen in the graveyard and the figure in the woods, she shivered. He’d been painted so grotesquely that he was probably part of a prank, but still the police weren’t sure. And they weren’t telling her anything.
Maybe she could sneak into records and find the man’s autopsy. Maybe she’d find Bruno’s and check it out, as well. She especially wanted to see the report the coroner had filed after Bruno’s body had been recovered.
Unable to rest for the questions needling her, she headed toward the records department. A crowd filled the elevator, so she waited for another. But the power blinked off, then on again, and she panicked. No way she’d get trapped in the elevator, so she darted into the stairwell.
She’d made it to the second-floor landing when the sound of something scraping broke the silence. She froze, her breathing vibrating in the quiet. Was someone in the stairwell with her? Maybe behind her?
She turned to look, but the lights blinked off again, pitching her into darkness. She swallowed hard as thunder roared, and prayed the lights would be restored immediately. But the stairwell remained cloaked in a black fog. The scent of some kind of chemical and stale air permeated the space. Then the sound of a shoe padding softly on cement broke the silence. Someone was in the stairwell with her, and they were coming toward her.
“Who’s there?” she called.
No answer.
The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, and she called out, but again no answer. The footsteps drew closer, louder. Ominous.
Panicking, she gripped the handrail and began to feel her way down the steps. One step, two, three, her heel caught the edge and she stumbled. Her heart pounding, she grabbed the rail and steadied herself, breathing heavy. The footsteps sped up.
She had to hurry. But the whisper of a breath bathed her neck, then someone shoved her from behind.
She screamed, clawing for the railing, but her hands connected only with air.
Then she lost her balance and went careening down the staircase.
Chapter Five
Grace’s questions about the tissue transplants aroused Parker’s curiosity. Although Bradford had informed him about the Coastal Island Research Park and some unethical projects that had taken place, stealing dead bodies to remove tissues seemed far-fetched. Captain Black and Detective Clayton Fox had investigated the center for over a year. Fox had gotten too close to one case and they’d performed a memory transplant on him. For months he’d actually believed he was a guy named Cole.
Police had also exposed another experiment where children had been trained and brainwashed to be spies. A twin identity experiment had taken one of the participant’s lives, and a few months back, someone had poisoned unsuspecting people with a chemical that caused depression, delusions, agoraphobia, and eventually lead to suicide. Bradford’s wife and brother had also been subjects of a study on paranormal abilities.
Then again, the painted corpses definitely read like teenage pranks.
But worry nagged at him. He didn’t like the fact that the paper had printed Grace’s name as a possible witness to a crime. Or that they’d revealed that she was pushing the police to find her brother’s killer.
Besides, a cop would most likely eat his gun versus a bullet to his temple.
He had to know more about Bruno’s cases.
The bullet to the head fit the MO of a professional hit. Or had the killer meant to make it look that way?
Grace’s conviction that her brother had been murdered drove him to pick up the file Bradford had dropped off earlier. He flipped it open and began trying to decipher the man’s handwriting to review his past cases. Someone Bruno had arrested might have harbored a vendetta against him.
Parker jotted down the names of three convicted felons Bruno had arrested the previous year for burglary, a handful of others for petty crimes, a gang who’d robbed a bank, a woman who’d poisoned her husband with antifreeze, and a husband who’d killed his wife and kids with a gas leak.
Parker would check each of their whereabouts to see if one of them or a family member had threatened retribution after their arrest or incarceration.
According to Bruno’s notes, the brother of the man convicted of killing his own family had insisted the man was innocent and had gotten violent after the sentencing.
Parker booted up his computer, accessed the police database, and discovered the man still lived in Savannah, and that he had been arrested for carrying a concealed weapon. A .38.
The same type of gun that had killed Bruno.
Surely Captain Black had investigated the man.
He phoned Bradford and asked. “Yeah, we questioned him,” Bradford told him. “But he had an alibi for the night Bruno died. Why are you so interested?”
Good question. “His sister’s my nurse,” he admitted. “She asked me for help.”
“The sister?”
“Yeah. I know she’s talked to the captain, that she insists her brother didn’t kill himself.”
A long tense second stretched between them. “We all want the truth,” Bradford finally said. “But I’m not sure we can trust everything Grace Gardener says.”
Parker chewed the inside of his cheek. “Why not? She seems intelligent, sincere.”
“You don’t know about her past?”
“No.” But his partner’s tone jump-started his suspicions.
“Grace Gardener’s father was a cop. At age seven, she saw her parents gunned down in front of her very eyes.”
Oh, hell. “What about Bruno?”
“He was five, spending the night at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Grace went into shock and had to undergo counseling.”
“What are you saying? That Bruno’s sister is not stable?”
Another pregnant pause. “That she might be in denial. A trauma like that affected both of them. I heard Bruno say that he felt guilty for not being home during the murder.”
And that guilt could have driven the man to suicide.
“Did they find the parents’ killer?”
“No,” Bradford said. “But Bruno insisted he would.”
“Maybe he did,” Parker said. “And the killer murdered Bruno to silence him.”
And if he did, and Grace kept nosing around, the guy might come after her, too.
GRACE TRIED DESPERATELY to regain control, but lost it as she tumbled down the cement steps. She screamed, throwing out her hands, her knees slicing painfully into the sharp concrete edge, but the dark inside of the stairwell blinded her and she couldn’t see the rail. Whoever had pushed her had hit her with such force that she pitched headfirst, unable to stop until she reached the next landing, slamming into the wall.
She panted for a breath, her body trembling with shock as her muscles protested the awkward position, but she fought to rise to her knees.
She had to get up, run, escape…
But suddenly her attacker gripped her by the throat from behind. She tried to scream for help, but his fingers bit into her neck, cutting off her voice. Gasping, and struggling to pry his fingers away, she tried to remember the self-defense moves Bruno had shown her.
Lashing out, she brought one elbow up and slammed it backward into his chest, at the same time clawing at his hands. He grunted and momentarily loosened his hold. She swung backward again with her other elbow and knocked him down.
Her pulse racing, she pushed to her hands and knees, but a sharp pain splintered her ankle as she attempted to put weight on it and she nearly collapsed. Sheer
determination drove her upward, though. He grunted and reached for her, but she lunged forward and stumbled down another step, pawing at the wall to guide her in the dark. The stench of stale air and sweat assailed her, making her break into a sprint. Another step. Another. She had to reach the next landing, make it into the hall…
Behind her, footsteps thudded ominously, making her chest pound with fear. Her ankle throbbed, and she hit the step edge and nearly fell, but managed to connect with the railing. Footsteps grew closer, and self-preservation took hold. She shoved the hair from her face and felt along the wall, heart racing as she stumbled to the door. Frantic, she pushed it open and fell into the corridor, tasting blood as she cried out for help.
The lights suddenly flickered on. She squinted, disoriented for a second as her eyes adjusted to the light. The hall was empty, and she jumped up and barreled around the corner. When she spotted the nurses’ station, she dived toward it.
“Help me!”
Doris, one of the head nurses on the second floor, jerked her head up. “Grace?”
She staggered toward the desk. “Someone attacked me in the stairwell. Call security!”
Doris’s eyes widened in shock, but she immediately catapulted into motion and punched the security alarm. Grace leaned against the desk, trembling and trying to steady her breathing.
Doris raced around the edge of the station. “My God, Grace, are you all right?”
She nodded and wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand.
Doris slid an arm around Grace’s waist. “Come on, honey, you need to sit down. I’ll get a doctor.”
Grace nodded, and Doris helped her to a chair behind the desk, then called one of the ER physicians.
A security guard rushed up. “What’s going on?”
Doris gestured toward Grace. “Someone attacked Grace in the stairwell.”
“He pushed me down the steps,” Grace said.
The guard flipped on his radio and reported the attack. “Secure and check all stairwells.” He turned to Grace. “Did you get a look at your attacker?”
