Chapter 19 Minka #2
“Because he’s an undocumented John Doe! Because you demanded discretion, but for every minute he remains in this building, we risk discovery.
Because,” I exclaim, huffing. “Although I probably won’t get hit by a bus on the way home from work today, it’s possible I could be.
And if I am, the new chief will find him, and your jig will be over.
Come get your man, and while you’re here, take your guards, too.
All four of them. They’re making everything smell like Axe body spray, and they’re creeping out my staff. ”
“I don’t think you understand, Chief Mayet.” Cordoza is not a man accustomed to being dictated to. But he’s a man who knows emotional regulation. He knows politics and fake niceties for the sake of a business deal. “I have nowhere else to put him.”
“That’s not my—”
“Short of tossing the man into an industrial freezer down at the docks, I feel it would be best to keep him exactly where he is.”
“Cute. I feel it would be best if you got him the hell away from me, my staff, my workplace, and most importantly, my family. Put him in a freezer, Estefan. Put him in the ocean. I truly don’t care.”
“Speaking of your family, Doctor…”
An icy chill tickles the base of my neck and sets my nerves on end. Because Estefan Cordoza knows how to reclaim control of a meeting with just a sentence. With a simple tweak in his tone.
“What about my family?” I grit out.
“Your dear husband’s workload took an interesting turn today. Did you know that?”
Adrenaline pounds in my veins as I abandon my sutures and sling my eyes back to my phone. “What interesting turn? What happened?”
“You haven’t spoken to Archer today?”
“No! I’ve been busy autopsying a body, risking my career, and hosting your clowns. What the hell is going on with Archer?”
“It’s on the news.” His voice turns impossibly relaxed. Nonchalant to the nth degree. “You’ve neglected the news, too?”
“I neglect the news as often as possible. They tend toward entertainment, not truth.” I jiggle my computer mouse and fire up the screen, then I head to a news website. Any site. I don’t care. “What case did Archer land today?”
“A significant number of women, varying in age from eight to their early twenties, were discovered today, holed up in a cramped hotel room. They’re in rough shape.”
My throat and tongue turn dry. “Are they okay?”
“The good news is they’ll survive. The bad news is they’ll live long lives, remembering and replaying the trauma that led to this moment. Your husband was assigned this case of trafficking gone wrong. Seems they’ve been abandoned.”
I look at Two and narrow my eyes. “Anthony put them there?”
“It would appear so. Archer didn’t call and tell you about it?”
“No, I…” I swallow and bring my focus back to my computer screen. “We haven’t talked today. I was busy.”
“Apparently so. What are your autopsy findings, Chief Mayet?”
“I’ll write up a report and send it over as soon as I’m—”
“No, you’ll tell me right now.” His voice takes on a dark, dangerous tone. “Report.”
I draw a deep breath, filling my lungs and stretching my chest. Then I exhale again and shake my head. “Death by suicide, as first suspected.”
“Chief—”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you!
It’s my professional opinion that he died from blood loss.
I can have a list of possible knives sent over for your perusal by the end of tomorrow.
From my measurements, the knife that severed both his radial and ulnar arteries was approximately seven inches long, full tang, with what I could guess, but can’t be a hundred percent certain, comes with a wooden handle.
This knife was sharp; the first slice was sure. The second, less so.”
“How so?”
“First was quick and relatively painless. Second, he was already losing blood, and the shock might’ve kicked in.
Left wrist first, right wrist second. The latter wasn’t as smooth, which means it didn’t go as deep, and the edges were not as perfect.
He was probably shaking by that point. I can estimate he bled out in approximately four to five minutes, though external factors may change that.
You say he was in the bathtub—if the water was warm at the time of death, he would’ve bled faster. ”
“I don’t believe this man was suicidal,” Cordoza presses. “I’ve already explained why. Add in the women discovered today, and my certainty only grows.”
“Did you know about them? The girls,” I clarify, my stomach swirling with nerves that twist and knot everything inside. “Were you set to profit from this shipment?”
“No. And his death robs me of the chance to deal with his behavior the way I see fit. Regardless, these women promise a significant payday for whoever is managing the shipment. Why would he end his life so close to delivery?”
“Guilt, maybe. A sudden realization that he was a blight on society?” Hardly a convincing argument, I know.
“His heart was failing, Estefan. His lungs were practically made of rock. If he didn’t know he was sick yet, he certainly felt it.
Breathing would have been difficult, and walking up a flight of stairs would’ve hurt.
If this was not suicide, then whoever killed him needed only to wait a matter of months for nature to do the job, anyway.
Ask your goon squad,” I offer, glancing up at the one who stares.
“Two of them stood inside the autopsy suite with me. The other two waited outside. I showed them the plaque in John Doe’s arteries.
I showed them his lungs—inside and out. I pulled samples and sent them to my tox lab, but I don’t expect those to show anything outside of what we already know.
This man’s death was a result of blood loss: that is a fact.
He lost this blood due to severed wrists: this is also a fact.
Unquestionable. The only thing that remains uncertain is who held the blade. And why.”
“Precisely my question.”
“Fortunately for you, this is a subject I’ve studied extensively over the years.
Considering the angle a person would naturally hold a blade, which varies depending on their dominant hand, and how deep the blade went, I can confidently say, and would do so in a court of law, that I believe he held that blade on his own.
He sliced his veins on his own. If someone held him down and did it for him, we wouldn’t expect to see the hesitation on his second wrist. If he was drugged prior, such details would show up in toxicology. ”
“But you don’t have toxicology results yet.”
“Correct. But I do have rapid testing results, none of which gave a positive reading for any such substance. If he was not drugged or incapacitated, then he was held down. Being held down would require multiple killers, and it would have left a significant mess in that bathroom. Whatever these hypothetical, multiple killers used to keep their target still would have marked the body, and these marks would have been discovered in the autopsy.” I look at Two again.
“Ask the goon squad. They watched me work from start to finish, which was your intention. They’ll tell you there were no unusual bruises on this man, nor were there any puncture marks that would indicate chemical incapacitation—which, I repeat, would show up in most rapid tests anyway, and definitely during tox.
I checked his eyes: there were no blown vessels suggesting a physical struggle.
I checked his entire body: no broken bones.
No scrapes, bumps, welts, or damage that would imply anything other than what was already presented to you. ”
“Suicide?” He chews on the word, unimpressed.
“You’d have me believe this man I’ve known since his infancy killed himself?
Even when I don’t believe, from my own personal experiences with him, that he’s the type to do such a thing?
His wife does not believe he would do such a thing.
His colleague, Raphael Barbaro, the closest thing Anthony had to a best friend and brother, doesn’t agree that this is something Anthony would do. ”
“You may be a powerful, business-minded individual, Estefan, and you may be all over the dealings in New York City, but you admit yourself, you were not aware of the women Anthony was trafficking right under your nose. If Raphael knew, I doubt he’d have abandoned such a lucrative shipment.
That tells me neither of you knew Anthony as well as you think you did.
And if that’s true, then you can’t confidently speak on his mental state or declare what he would or wouldn’t do in the face of his own mortality. ”
“Chief Mayet—”
“You came to me, Estefan. You asked for my professional opinion. My work here is complete, and my report will state death by suicide. I certainly can’t force you to accept my findings, but I will request, for the last time, that you remove him from my facility immediately.
I’ve done my best to maintain discretion in a difficult, undocumented situation, but the longer you leave him here, the less control we have over what happens next. ”
“How long until you receive toxicology results?”
I drop my head back and close my eyes. I’m tempted to bash my skull against a brick wall.
But that would be messy, and Archer isn’t likely to approve.
So I breathe instead—one in, one out. Two in, two out—then I open my eyes once more, snatch up my tweezers and scissors, and get back to work.
“Months. There are simply too many cases for my tox lab to process, but more importantly, samples require time. To age… change… grow. Even if my lab prioritized this case, they still need a week or two. You cannot rush science.”
“So you’ll have them prioritize this case, and in the meantime, Agosti stays inside your fridge.”
“Estefan!”
“I’m not asking, Chief. I’m telling. Get me the results. Finish this out.”
I pull my second-to-last suture away from my knee, snip the thread, and meet Two’s glassy eyes. “Call off my guard dogs. They’re causing issues with my staff and raising a million more questions than we can afford.”
“They’ll stay until Anthony leaves.”
“They can’t stay! They’re the most conspicuous statues I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t think I saw any of them take a bathroom break. They haven’t eaten. They hardly blink.”
“A glowing endorsement. One I’ll remember next time they ask for more money.”
I drag the last suture away from my skin, align my scissors, and snip just loud enough to force Two to gulp. “I’m calling Michelle.”
Cordoza snaps his lips closed, momentarily bested. “What?”
“She’s my friend, and she’d like to know if I was being treated unfairly or was the victim of constant harassment, especially due to matters that have nothing to do with me. It’s my understanding that you care for her.”
“Like my own child.”
“Mmhm. And she’s with child now, right? Stress is not good for her or the fetus.”
“Chief Mayet…”
“It would certainly cause her stress to hear of your current heavy-handedness.”
“A threat, Minka Mayet?”
Two’s spine straightens. His chest puffs wider. His entire demeanor changes.
Perhaps he’s readying to end my life.
“No threats here. It’s not my style. But we didn’t get a lot of time to chat on the weekend. I’m gaga for babies, ya know? And I’d love to catch up with her. If she asks how my day was, which is something friends do, I’m under no obligation to lie.”
The sound of Cordoza’s breathing is all I hear. The rhythmic in, out. In. Out.
Even the people on my end of this call, the techs who pack up for the day and prepare to leave, do so in silence.
“I underestimated you, Chief Mayet.”
“A mistake few make twice. I’m done with this conversation, Estefan.
Frankly, I’m done with this entire subject.
I’ll put a rush on tox results, and you’ll evacuate your guards.
I cannot effectively run this facility, and maintain discretion, while these ghouls shadow my halls.
Get rid of them and rescind your accusation against Archer for a crime he never committed, and I’ll forget to call Michelle.
” I fake a yawn, though it turns into the real thing before I can control it.
“I’m tired. I’d like to go home, shower, and ignore everyone except my husband for the next several hours.
It would be quite simple for me not to use my phone tonight. ”
“I’ll make some changes,” he grits out. “And I’ll send a vehicle for Anthony within the hour.”
“Good. I don’t want to know where you put him. I honestly don’t care.”
“Fine. And I’ll expect those results as soon as possible.”
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” I set my scissors back on my desk and tap the red icon on my phone to end our call.
Then I lift the tweezers and show Two the final suture still pinched at the end.
“That’s how you handle a man accustomed to having his way in all things.
Firm. Friendly. And above all else, you stand your ground.
I’m surprised you volunteered for this post when you have a stomach weaker than a newborn child. ”
“We do not volunteer,” he gulps. “We follow orders.”
“Yeah?” I snag a tissue and press it against my knee, since I have that pesky clotting situation going for me. “And you’ve just been witness to Being A Boss Bitch 101. You should try it out sometime. Next time he orders you to do a job you don’t want, stand up for yourself. See what happens.”
His eyes drop to the tissue, locking onto the rich, deep red soaking through the white. “I die, Chief. That’s what happens.”
“Maybe you should become friends with Michelle Mancino first.” I squish a fresh tissue onto my knee and snag a Band-Aid from my drawer. Tearing the wrapper off with my teeth, I spit the trash into my lap, peel the sticky cover away, lift one hand, and slap the other down with a fast one-two.
“I’m going home now.” I switch my computer screen off and beam at the squeamish mass of disproportionate muscle.
“You should lay off the anabolic steroids, by the way. They trash your liver and shrink your testicles. Add in your compromised respiratory system, and I doubt you’ll live long enough to enjoy your lackluster sex life.
” I snag my phone and bag before stalking across my office and yanking the door open.
And because I’m a nice person, I smile at Cordoza’s remaining three stooges.
“Don’t follow me. I wish you all a nice life.
” I stop in front of One and pat his chest. “Friends don’t let friends do drugs.
Friends, especially don’t let their friends do drugs that mess with their testes. It’s simply not smart.”