“When Bobby Lee was brought in, he was carrying drugs,” Will said as they headed toward the glass door. “Heroin. I thought maybe we’d pick it up and have a look at it.”
“Okay.”
Will opened the door and allowed Remy to enter. “Then we see if we can’t get some leverage.”
“Where are you going to get the leverage?”
Will held up two fingers. “Bobby Lee had two things we can work with regarding our investigation.”
“And what investigation is that exactly?”
“When Bobby Lee attacked our Marine in Jacksonville, he had two buddies.”
“I read the reports.”
Will led the way down the cool hallways and followed the posted signage to the medical examiner’s office. “We’re investigating the identities of the two men who were with Bobby Lee.”
Remy smiled. “You’re hoping that at least one of those men belongs to the Purple Royals.”
“I wouldn’t say hoping.”
“But you wouldn’t be surprised.”
“No,” Will said. “I wouldn’t.”
“If they are, Victor Gant isn’t going to like you putting pressure on him.”
“At the hospital today, he came on our turf and fired a warning shot,” Will said. “We’re going to return the favor.”
“The drugs-” Remy stopped himself. “The heroin Bobby Lee was carrying is part of your leverage.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We’re going to have it couriered to the labs at Camp Lejeune and analyzed under a spectroscope. The tests should be able to identify the trace elements of metals in the heroin. Those are based on geographically related patterns.”
“Gant isn’t growing his heroin empire here.”
“No, he isn’t. But it’s being grown somewhere.”
“If someone could trace the heroin back to its native soil, you’d think it would’ve been done before now.”
“It would’ve been. That’s not what we’re going to do. The mixture of those trace elements-from one crime scene to the next-is as distinguishable as a fingerprint.”
“A lot of guys could have been caught holding a stash Gant or the Purple Royals sold them.”
“I know.” Will turned to Remy and smiled. “All I need to do is find one biker who knows the guys Bobby Lee hung with in his father’s gang.”
Remy smiled and nodded. “I like it. Not exactly gonna make us popular with the FBI.”
“I’m not in a popularity contest. I’m trying to make sure my Marine is safe while he recovers.”
The young woman at the desk looked up from her computer monitor. “Hi.”
“We’re here to see Dr. Greer.” Will held his NCIS ID open for her.
Remy did the same.
The woman lifted the phone and called the doctor.
›› 1406 Hours
The morgue was cold, but Will was too intent to really notice.
Remy seemed a little uncomfortable. The Tar Heels jersey was too lightweight to blunt much of the cold. He stood with his arms folded.
“Which of you is Commander Coburn?” Dr. Allen Greer asked.
“I am,” Will said. “This is Special Agent Gautreau.”
“Okay.” Greer gazed at Will for a moment, then shifted his attention back to the corpse on the table. The medical examiner didn’t seem overly disposed to a friendly personality. He was heavyset and wore thick sideburns that had gone gray with age. He leaned over the open chest cavity of a middle-aged man. “What can I do for you?”
“You’re holding the body of Bobby Lee Gant for us,” Will said.
“You’re here to take custody of the body?”
“No.”
Greer looked at him again. “I was assured that body would be gone before morning.”
“It will be.”
“Then why are you here interrupting my work?”
“I came for Bobby Lee’s personal effects that were on the body.”
“I see.” Greer pulled off his bloody gloves and threw them into a biohazardous materials container. “I heard about the shooting yesterday. It happened in front of several witnesses.”
“Yes.”
“I was told there’d be no problems clearing the man responsible.”
“There won’t be.”
Greer walked over to a wall of small vaults and checked a notebook. Then he searched the vaults till he found the one he wanted. He reached inside and brought out a large plastic Baggie containing the last things Bobby Lee had had with him that day.
“That’s good,” Greer said. “If you ask me, more force should be shown to those motorcycle outlaws. But they’re making good money in the area, which means they can hire the lawyers necessary to keep them in business and out of jail.”
“Maybe we can change that a little,” Will said.
“Just sign the chain of custody book and the contents of that bag are yours.”
›› Office of the Chief of Police
›› Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department
›› 601 East Trade Street
›› Charlotte, North Carolina
›› 1437 Hours
Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Chief Ben Tarlton was a young, energetic, and simple man. In his late thirties, he was one of the youngest police chiefs the city had ever seen.
He was a no-nonsense man with an open and honest face that he kept meticulously shaved. His brown hair was cropped short, and his hazel eyes were sincere. His uniform was neatly pressed with creases that looked sharp enough to slice cheese.
His office was compact, filled with law enforcement manuals as well as pictures of his family. Most of the photographs revolved around Little League sports.
One of the plaques on the wall was a toastmaster award, and others were for coaching and Bible study. There were also pictures of Tarlton in a Marine uniform.
“Commander Coburn, sir,” Tarlton greeted as he stood up behind his desk and offered his hand.
“Chief Tarlton,” Will responded. He introduced Remy, and they shook hands as well. “I appreciate you seeing us on such short notice.”
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure. How is your agent?”
“He’s fine,” Will said. “Thank you.”
“He’s a lucky man.”
“He’s a good man,” Will said. “God seems to take care of those.” Even as he said it, though, Will felt a pang as he thought of Frank Billings.
“More times than not, I’d agree with that assessment.” Tarlton gestured to the chairs in front of the modest metal desk. “Please. Have a seat.”
Will and Remy did.
“So what brings you here?” Tarlton asked.
“We thought we’d share information,” Will said.
Tarlton leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You’ll forgive me my cynicism, but it’s been my experience that federal agencies aren’t in the habit of sharing information with local law enforcement agencies unless they want someone to blame or just to throw their weight around.”
