Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Del’s assistant came out of the morgue and greeted them with a smile. “Good morning. If you’re after Del, he’s just finishing up. He won’t be long. Shall I tell him you’re here?”
“No, that’s fine.” Gary waited until he was out of sight, then turned to Dan. “I know you’ve seen a dead body before, but have you ever attended an autopsy?”
“No, but I’m not squeamish.” His eyes twinkled. “And I grew up watching reruns of Quincy, M.E. Does that help?”
Gary snorted. “Trust me, what you saw on TV back then is nothing like the real thing.”
Dan arched his eyebrows. “We’re not waiting for Del to come out, are we?”
“Nope.” He pushed the door open, and they went inside.
As always the room was spotless, with uncluttered surfaces and gleaming stainless steel. Del stood at his autopsy table. The body of a deceased middle-aged male lay in front of him, and Del was closing up the incision, putting the last stitches in place using a curved needle.
Gary watched him for a moment before clearing his throat, and Del jerked his head in their direction.
“I guess you have to be strong to do that,” Gary observed, pointing to the Y-shaped incision all neatly sewn back together. “That looks as if it requires a bit of force.”
“It does. So yes, you need strength, plus a strong industrial needle. This is also called a sailmaker’s needle.” The mask muffled Del’s voice. He gave a nod toward Dan before returning his attention back to Gary, frowning. “This isn’t your case, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
Del cut through the reinforced twine, dropped the needle into the tray on top of the Mayo stand, along with the remaining twine.
“And we are done.” He peeled off his mask, blue plastic scrubs, and cap, dumped them into a receptacle, then turned his back on Gary and Dan to wash his hands at the sink behind him.
“So if you’re not here to inquire about the late Mr. Matthews, what can I do for you? ”
Gary leaned against the wall near the door. “We’re here to ask you about a recent autopsy you performed.”
“Oh? Who was the client?”
“Dr. Samantha Phillips.”
Del’s back went rigid for a second; then he relaxed. “Ah yes. The car crash victim. What about her? I thought I’d given you all the information—well, all the information I could give out before I write the report.”
“We’re a little confused. Can you tell us again how you identified the body?”
“Aren’t you a little young to be suffering from memory loss?” Del chuckled. “The same way I usually identify a body. Dental records in her case. There was also a fracture she’d received years ago.” He continued washing his hands.
“See, that’s what’s confusing us—seeing as we spent yesterday in conversation with the corpse.”
Del froze. “Aw crap.” He turned slowly to face them. “Lock the door.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want anyone walking in on us while we have this conversation.” He peered at them. “Unless you want to talk about this some other time?” The hopeful note in his voice was unexpected.
Gary shook his head. “Now, Del.” He clicked the lock.
Del dried his hands. “I should return my client to his fridge.”
“It can wait a minute. He’s not about to complain. Talk first.”
“Why did you falsify the autopsy?” Dan asked.
Del turned and leaned against the sink. “When did I start working as a forensic pathologist in Boston?”
“In 2006,” Gary replied. “The tunnel collapse. I met you your first day on the job, remember?”
“So you did. But before I came to Boston, I had another life. A… secret kind of life. The kind you don’t easily walk away from. Or if you do, sometimes you’re unlucky enough that it follows you, especially when the people you used to work for want a favor done.”
Gary fought hard not to react. Whatever response he’d anticipated, this wasn’t it.
Dan’s mouth fell open. “You were in intelligence?”
Del let out a derisive snort. “That makes it sound so much more glamorous that it was, but yes.”
“For how long?” Gary asked.
“Five years. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. I got out of that environment for a reason, okay?” Del’s face tightened. “Not that it mattered when they came calling. I wasn’t in a position to say no.”
“So who was the dead body in the car?” Dan inquired.
“A Jane Doe. A homeless person. No one had claimed her, and she was about to be cremated.” He scowled. “I swear, they engineered this to fall into my lap. I was told to conduct a cursory autopsy and declare the body to be that of Samantha Phillips.” He met Gary’s gaze. “So she is alive?”
“Very much so.”
“I’m glad about that. One doesn’t ask too many questions of these guys.”
Gary cleared his throat. “You need to keep that last part secret, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” He locked gazes with Del. “You’re good at keeping secrets.”
Del flinched, but recovered quickly. “So what’s the story? Why does the intel community want the world to believe she’s dead?”
“We can’t tell you that.”
Del stilled. “But you do know, don’t you?”
Gary nodded. “And the reason we can’t tell you is… those people you walked away from?” He fell silent, waiting for Del to catch on.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Del’s eyes widened. “Be careful, boys, okay? Getting into bed with those kinds of people is one thing—just make sure you can get out of it when you’re done.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Gary told him. “We’re only in on this until we get the answers we need. Then we’ll be out of that bed in a heartbeat.”
That made the situation sound a whole lot simpler than it was.
“So that’s it? We’re on vacation?” Dan opened the passenger door. “This has to be the weirdest vacation I’ve ever taken. All packed up and nowhere to go—yet.”
Gary’s phone rang. “Maybe that’s all about to change.” He held the phone to his ear. “Mitchell.”
Dan noted the fixed look of concentration as Gary listened in silence.
Something was happening, at least.
“But you don’t know.” Gary frowned. “Okay. Send me the address.” He finished the call.
“Who was that?”
“Nathan. He’s arranged for us both to get vaccinated against smallpox.”
Shit. He’d known it had to happen, of course. It did little to quell the rampaging butterflies in his belly.
“When? Where?”
“There’s a clinic on Tremont Street. Four thirty. He said prevention is better than a cure.”
Dan shivered. “They’re not taking any chances, are they? Any other news?”
Gary got into the car. “Nathan thinks they’re waiting for something.”
“Waiting for what?”
Gary regarded him with troubled eyes. “That’s what’s worrying him. He doesn’t know. He said he hates being in the dark.”
“He hates it? He should try being in our shoes. So we still have no idea when they’re going to make a move—or if they even are.”
“That’s the way it sounds.”
Dan was getting fed up with a constantly churning stomach and a tight chest. He wasn’t about to sit around the apartment, waiting for the phone to ring.
He fastened his seat belt. “When we get home—and after we’ve had our shots—there’s something we need to do.”
“Oh?” The gleam in Gary’s eyes spoke volumes.
Dan rolled his eyes. “And no, it doesn’t involve the bedroom. We’re each going to pack a bag.”
Gary arched his eyebrows. “Are we going somewhere?”
Dan nodded. “As soon as I can find us a place to stay.”
He needed a distraction. Hell, they both did. Because this waiting around was going to kill him.