The Corpse Whisperer

by H. R. Boldwood

“What’re you doing here?” he asked Jade. “And how’d you get here so fast? We just hung up.”

  “Actually,” Jade said, “I’m looking for Nighthawk, to get her thoughts on the Z-virus mutation. But that can keep. Who’s in the bed?” Her eyes lit up. “Does he have anything to do with the virus mutation?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “How’d you know I was here? And don’t say you’re a reporter. You couldn’t follow a clue if it left a trail of bread crumbs.”

  Jade flashed a triumphant grin. “Well, Nonnie told me, of course. She’s a chatty little minx, isn’t she?”

  Sweet Jesus. What had Nonnie told her?

  “Honey, you can’t be here,” Rico said, whisking Jade out of the room and closing the door behind them.

  Her voice filtered in from the hall. “But why? Who’s that in the bed? What aren’t you telling me, baby?”

  Baby? Now, there was a bell I couldn’t unring.

  While I waited for Rico to give her the boot, I leaned over Leo’s sink and splashed some water on my face, instantly regretting it. My head began to spin.

  I copped a squat on the edge of Leo’s bed and heard a knock at the door. It was Weston.

  “What are you doing here?” I growled.

  “I’m here to watch Leo while you guys meet with Cap and the Director.”

  I looked at my watch. Three-ten. We needed to get a move on or we’d be late. The door opened again. I assumed it would be Rico coming back to collect me, but it was Frank, sweating like he’d just run the 800.

  “She’s gone,” he said, panting. “I’ll confiscate the security footage. Grab a still shot, see where she went. Maybe get a plate number from the parking lot, if we’re lucky.”

  Weston eyed Frank. “Who the hell are you? Somebody want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Frank, Bill. Bill, Frank,” I said, making introductions. “Frank, why don’t you bring Bill up to speed on today’s events?”

  I slowly rose from the bed, steadying myself against the nightstand, and grinned at Leo.

  “Gotta run, buddy. Rico and I have a meeting. But first, I need to rescue him from that two-legged black widow of his, before she eats him alive.”

  Leo eyeballed Weston and Frank. “You’re not leaving me here with these schmoes? No offense, guys, but I don’t know you from Adam. My own nurse just tried to kill me. My, whatchamacallit, circle of trust, is shriveling up faster than balls in ice water.”

  Leo turned and pointed at me. “Just so’s you know, when I get sprung from here, screw safe houses. Fucking unsafe houses, that’s what they should be called. So many dead bodies, you need a score card to keep up. No, I’m going home with you, Nighthawk. You and Nonnie. She’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

  Weston shook his head. “She’s a civilian, Leo. Bad ide—”

  “My life. My rules. Either I go to Nighthawk’s or the D.A. can kiss my testimony goodbye.” Leo set his jaw and turned away, signaling the conversation had ended.

  Freaking Leo. The smug bastard had us all over a barrel.

  25

  The Best Laid Plans

  Rico and I drove separately to the precinct. It was just as well. After I left the hospital room to rescue him from Jade, I found them playing tonsil hockey in the vending area. Rico might have been entitled to fall for that manipulating she-shrew, but the last thing I wanted was a front row seat to the main event. Riding to the meeting on my Harley gave me a chance to process the situation.

  Rico knew how I felt about Jade and it didn’t make any difference. I told myself it wasn’t his fault that he was too boneheaded to realize she was a man-eating succubus. She had all the blood in his body going to his little head, instead of his big head.

  No wonder he was a moron.

  By the time we reached the precinct, I’d filed the memory of their kiss into my Things I Can Never Unsee file and locked the door. That’s not to say the brain bitch wouldn’t haul that sucker back out and throw it in my face, when the mood suited her. She’s devious that way.

  It was standing room only in Cap’s office, with Jerry Armitage from the fire department, Craig Stovall from SWAT, along with Dickhead, Rico and me. The same crowd that had planned the warehouse raid. Good. I reached into my pocket and fingered Dom’s phone, the perfect bait for catching our snitch.

  Cap had called this debriefing meeting, but Dickhead let us know up front who was running the show. He sat on the corner of Cap’s desk, sporting raccoon circles beneath his eyes and Einstein hair that defied gravity. Yesterday’s five o’clock shadow had morphed into an eclipse, and he wore the same frumpy Fed clothes he’d worn the night before.

  Although his voice was soft, his words were anything but. “I don’t know what happened at that warehouse last night, but make no mistake. Before this meeting is over, I will. Six law enforcement officers, two SWAT team members and four federal agents died fighting those…those…creatures. That makes the investigation into their deaths a Federal operation. Now, I don’t believe in Hoodoo, or Voodoo, or any of that Serpent and the Rainbow bullshit, so somebody’s going to have to tell me what really happened in that warehouse—the science of it. How it’s possible. Much as it galls me, I suspect that person is you, Nighthawk. So why don’t you keep that tongue of yours in check and bring us all up to speed.”

  What a spoil sport.

  “Fine. You want a crash course?” I asked, looking around the room. “Then listen up, guys. What I’m about to say may save your lives.”

  Their eyes instantly fixed on me. Good. Maybe they were listening.

  “Carovescology is a newer bio-science dedicated to the study of zombieism. The biter population, which had remained fairly static for decades, has increased world-wide. And in the last several weeks, the increase has been unprecedented. In Cincinnati alone, the biter population is greater now than it was for the entirety of last year. The ‘zombie’ disease, Carovescitis, is spread by the Z-virus.

  “Up until now, there were only two ways of contracting the Z-virus: being raised from the dead by a whisperer like me, or being bitten by a raised corpse—and then, only if the victim had a certain genetic marker that predisposed him to turning. That’s why only some bite victims turned, while others got sick or died, depending on the severity of the bite. That’s also how, over time, the zombie population remained relatively static.

  “When Leo was bitten, he turned because he had that genetic marker. While we do not have a vaccine against the virus, we do have a drug named Nacarotoxin that can slow the onset of the disease. Leo is taking that drug, and hopefully, with its help, he will be able to testify before the grand jury as planned.

  “If you take away nothing else from today’s Zombie 101 class, remember this: There is no cure for Carovescitis. If you are bitten, the odds are you are either going to die or turn. When you shoot to kill a biter, or use hand-to-hand, whatever the situation calls for, you go for the brain. Center mass hits are useless. Those officers who died, died because they aimed for center mass. Are you clear on that?”

  The somber faces staring back at me suggested I’d hit a nerve.

  “Since Rico and I were put in charge of Leo Abruzzi’s witness protection, we’ve encountered cases of the disease that spontaneously occurred in people who were not raised or bitten, namely Miriam, Cap’s secretary, and BOLO Guy, her as yet unidentified murderer. Studies have proven that these changes were not caused by a biological mutation of the virus, which only leaves one option. The virus was manually manipulated. In other words, some lunatic out there is altering the virus to make it spread more easily.”

  I shot daggers toward Dickhead and went for broke. “You’ve completely separated the Z-virus manipulation issue from Leo, but the truth is that zombies have been swarming around him ever since he arrived here. We need to find the connection between Leo and the zombies.”

  Rico joined in. “The mob’s primary function is to make money. Leo was the Giordano Family’s money launderer. Sometimes, the
mob buries money in a pyramid of shell companies. Sometimes, they funnel it through legitimate businesses. And sometimes, they finance black-market operations. What if someone is borrowing money from the mob and paying off the loan with biters, in lieu of cash?”

  Dickhead sprang to his feet. “That’s ridiculous. Who the hell would want those walking puss-bags?”

  “You’re asking the wrong question,” I said. “You should be asking who would want disposable soldiers to do their bidding. That brings us back to the mob and money laundering again, doesn’t it, Director? When Leo was taken into custody, he had a set of books with him. I want those books. They should tell us who’s into the mob for big money.”

  Dickhead dug his heels in. “Absolutely not. We’re not corrupting the chain of evidence, so you can go off on some wild goose chase. Those books are in the custody of the prosecutor’s office and that’s where they’ll stay.”

  “Jesus,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Don’t you see? Those books could tell us who we’re after. Those walking puss bags were either directed to attack those agents, or they did it on their own.”

  That reminded me of my conversation earlier in the day with Dr. Christian.

  “Let’s find out which,” I said. “Cap, can you pull up the autopsies of the biters we put down in the warehouse?”

  Cap glanced at me, hesitating, like he was trying to figure out my angle, but he did as I asked.

  He stared at the files on his computer. “What am I looking for?”

  “Check to see if there were any earbuds or microphones in their ears, something that could be used to control or direct the biters.”

  “Surely, Doc would have pointed that out,” Cap said, scanning the documents. “No. There’s nothing like that mentioned.”

  Damn it. There went Dr. Christian’s theory.

  “Then what we have,” I said, “is another proven change in the zombie virus strain. Those biters attacked us strategically, with no external guidance whatsoever. They demonstrated the ability to problem-solve. That’s new and more frightening than you can even imagine.”

  Dickhead’s eyes were hard to read, but I thought I saw a flicker of apprehension in them. He cleared his throat and stared at his hands, twisting his watch, as though he were debating his next move.

  “All right then,” he said. “From here on, we have a dual focus. The mob and the biters. Armitage, Stovall, thanks for your assistance. I don’t think we’ll be requiring your services from here on. If that changes, I’ll be sure to let you know. The rest of you have your orders. And now,” he said, “I’ll turn the meeting over to Captain Dorsey.”

  Cap sat forward, a pinched expression on his face. “Now that we’ve reviewed our case for the Director’s benefit, I’d like to take this meeting in another direction. I understand you were attacked in Leo’s room today, Nighthawk. What happened?”

  “A woman, posing as a floor nurse named Angie, tried to inject Leo with something. She and I scuffled. Luckily, I managed to empty the contents of the syringe on the floor. She got away, but we confiscated the syringe.”

  “I dusted it for prints,” Rico added. “And sent it to the lab just before our meeting. We’re hoping to identify the residue left inside it.”

  “That reminds me,” I said. “Cap, can you please pull up one more group of autopsy photos for me? I want to look at the pics for BOLO Guy.”

  Dickhead sighed. “How could they possibly be germane to what happened today?”

  I ignored him and waited for Cap to finish pulling up the photos. And there it was. BOLO Guy’s bicep had the same tattoo as Angie, the skeleton with the top hat and cane, Baron Samedi. Whoever was pulling the strings behind the Z-virus manipulation had ties to Voodoo. That narrowed the list of possibles down considerably. Who was on that remaining list, was a discussion I wasn’t ready to have just yet.

  “So what?” Dickhead asked. “So, two perps, who may or may not be connected to each other, have the same tatt? It stands to reason that whoever tried to kill Leo today will try again. The guy has one foot in the grave, anyway. I say we get a deposition from him now. Just in case.”

  I jumped up, nearly knocking Rico over. “No. Leo is recovering. His condition is nearly back to what it was, before he was kidnapped. Just when is this grand jury going to convene anyway?”

  Dickhead snarled. “When the prosecutor has sufficient evidence to make his case.”

  “I’ll get Leo to the damned hearing. Don’t you worry about that,” I said, locking eyes with Dickhead. “In the meantime, when he’s released from the hospital, he wants to go home with me.”

  Dickhead’s face turned seven shades of ugly. “Not happening. I told you, he’s under our watch now. You had your shot and you blew it.”

  I bristled. “Turns out, it doesn’t matter what either one of us wants. Leo said he needed a score card to keep up with all the dead bodies in the so-called safe house. He said we either do it his way now, or, and I quote, ‘the D.A. can kiss his testimony goodbye.’ We can make it work, Director. You can send your guy, Ferris, over. He and Rico can alternate shifts with me.”

  Judging by the color of his face, Dickhead was ready to implode.

  “What are you planning to do?” I asked, “Send Leo to a different safe house and wait for another leak? At least this way, it’ll be easier for me to protect him and keep an eye on his condition.”

  Cap’s door crept open and squirrelly Ottis wandered in as if on cue, looking for trash cans to empty. Before Cap could banish him, I picked up the can, rolled my eyes, and motioned for Ottis to come get it.

  Then, I slid Dom’s cell phone out of my pocket and down the side of my leg. With an anxious glance at Rico, I pressed redial. If my hunch was correct, it would ring right there in the room. In Ottis’s pocket to be exact. Because I had pegged Ottis as our snitch, Snowflake.

  But Ottis’s pocket didn’t ring. Maybe he wasn’t the snitch. Or maybe he was the snitch, and he reported up the food chain to the real Snowflake.

  Someone did answer the call, though. Down alongside my calf, I heard a muffled voice say, “Yo.”

  I’d heard that voice before, but I couldn’t place it. I ended the call, watched Ottis mosey out the door, then turned my attention back to Dickhead, who had never stopped babbling.

  “I’m tired of arguing with you, Nighthawk. You know what? You want him. You got him. But you can bet your ass a federal agent will be with you, at all times. It just so happens that the hospital called, right before I walked in here. They’re releasing Leo tonight. I’ll sign the order remanding him into your custody.” His eyes fired liked coals. “You’d better pray he doesn’t get whacked before that grand jury hearing.”

  Dickhead glanced at Cap. “I’ll be assigning one more agent to Leo’s detail, who can alternate shifts with Ferris, and another two to assist with your investigation into the warehouse biters. If we can identify them, or even your BOLO Guy, we might develop a lead. For now, you’re in charge of the task force. Nighthawk, while you’re babysitting, shake the bushes to find out what you can about the increase in cara…carato…whatever you called that disease. See if that ties in somehow to the warehouse biters or BOLO Guy.”

  Having given Cap and me our assignments, Dickhead stomped out of the room, signaling that at least his portion of the meeting had come to an end.

  One by one, the attendees filed out in silence, past Ottis, who was still futzing around outside Cap’s office.

  Rico stepped through the doorway, pulled Ottis back into the room by his collar, and kicked one of the chairs in his direction.

  “Have a seat, Ottis.” Rico said. “We need to have a chat.”

  26

  Trouble in Paradise

  Ottis sagged onto the chair, with an uneasy smile, and swiveled his head when Rico pushed the door closed with his foot.

  I strolled across the room and came to a stop behind Ottis, resting my fingertips on his shoulders.

  He flinched and grabbed the arms of
his chair, squeezing them so hard, his knuckles turned white.

  Cap glanced from me to Rico, Rico to Ottis, and then back to me. “Fine. I’ll bite. Why is Ottis back in here?”

  I held up Dom’s phone and smiled. “Well, look what we’ve got here.”

  “It’s a phone, Nighthawk.” Cap leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  “But not just any phone. It belonged to Dom, the dead mob enforcer, with the ugly yellow sport coat at the warehouse. I…relieved…him of it at the scene.”

  “You stole evidence.”

  “Potatoes, patahtos.”

  “Other than you annihilating the chain of evidence, why do I care about this phone?”

  “Remember when I was hanging off the ledge? This Dom guy’s standing below me, yacking on his phone, saying somebody named Snowflake called and ratted us out.” I swung my eyes to Ottis.

  Cap rubbed his face, then stared at me over the top his hands. “You think Ottis is Snowflake?”

  Ottis’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”

  “Really?” Cap asked, inspecting Ottis as if he were some alien being. “He doesn’t look like a snitch.”

  “A what?” Ottis’s eyebrows squished together, giving him that lost ball in high grass look.

  “Quiet,” I said, smacking the back of his head. “No one asked you.”

  Cap swept his hand in my direction. “Get to the point, Nighthawk.”

  “While we were in the meeting a few minutes ago, I pressed redial on Dom’s phone. The same group of people from today’s meeting were present when we planned the warehouse raid, including Spuds McSquirrel here, when he coincidentally wandered in for your trash can.”

  Ottis’s right leg shimmied. “Bu...but that’s m-my job.”

  “I don’t get it,” Cap said. “I didn’t hear a phone ring.”

  “That’s because it didn’t ring here,” I said. “But it did ring somewhere. A man answered. I’m not sure who, but the voice sounded familiar.”