Fatal

'So we can wait to call the police.'

'And maybe do it from a pay phone.'

'In that case,' Matt said, 'come back to the bike with me.'

'Don't you want to look around and try to find out why they did this?'

'Oh, I do. But there's something in my saddlebag I want to get first, on the chance they're still around.'

Minutes later, with Matt cradling Larry's snub-nosed revolver, the two of them began a systematic search of the building.

'Assuming this has to do with Kathy,' he asked, 'what do you think they could have wanted?'

'I don't know. Let's start with our files. They're in a locked room right behind the autopsy suite.' Covering her fingertip with her shirt, Nikki punched in her code on a keypad and they entered the long, narrow file room. 'The charts on the shelves are arranged by case number,' she said as she crossed to a narrow six-drawer cabinet. 'This card file is alphabetical.'

'And?'

'I can't find her card. There are seven Katherine Wilsons, but none is the right one.'

'Look,' Matt said, pointing to a dark smear on the corner of the long table in the center of the room.

Nikki peered at the stain. 'They had Joe in here.'

She flipped through the cards again, then took out all the Wilsons and set them on the table. Matt went through them, and shook his head.

'Nada.'

'We have the cards backed up.'

Nikki sat down at a computer terminal and after a few maneuvers wrote down a number.

Kathy Wilson's chart was missing, too, and with it, all the autopsy data.

'Do you use a transcription service for your dictations?'

Nikki was already back at the terminal.

'We have our own in-house. The record's been deleted from the database. They thought of everything except the backup chart list. Joe somehow managed not to tell them about that. Let's go down to Histology. It's right below the autopsy suite.'

They carefully closed the file room and entered the large, open autopsy suite with three stainless-steel tables. The center table was occupied. A copper-skinned man, garbed in work boots and stained chino overalls, lay peacefully, thumbs hooked under his suspenders, staring unseeingly up at the drop ceiling. There was a thick smear of clotted blood and tissue where his left eye had been. Beneath the gore, they were certain, was a bullet hole.

'Oh, Christ,' Nikki said, turning away.

'The maintenance man?'

She nodded. 'Santiago.'

'Cute touch hooking his thumbs in like that.'

'The stairs to Histology are over there.'

To the surprise of neither, the slides for Kathy Wilson and all un-sectioned tissue specimens were gone.

'Nothing,' Nikki said after she had checked the last possible place where any of Kathy's tissue might be.

'Two men died so someone could be certain of that.'

'Matt,' Nikki blurted out, 'let's get out of here. I want to go to my place right now.'

'I'm not sure that's wise.'

'I don't care. You've got a gun. If you're not comfortable using it, I promise you I just became totally ready. I want to go home. I want to sit down and have a cup of tea in my own chair and figure out what to do next.'

'Okay, okay. Show me the way.'

'Thanks.'

'And Nikki?'

'Yes?'

'I'm really sick about Joe.'

'I know you are.'

In silence, through largely empty streets, they rode the few miles to South Boston and parked a block away from Nikki's apartment. Matt secured the revolver in his belt and pulled his shirt over it, keeping his hand in touch with the grip. Warily, they made their way along the colorful row of tightly packed duplexes and triplexes, keeping an eye out for movement in any of the cars parked along the street.

'How are we going to get in?' he asked.

'We keep a spare key wedged in a little magnet box behind the drainpipe. Kathy started losing hers all the time.'

The key was right where she expected it to be. Cautiously, they made their way up to the second floor. Matt slipped the gun out and held it ready as Nikki slid the key in the lock, turned it silently, and eased the door open.

'Oh, no.'

Her flat was in shambles. Books were strewn everywhere, shelves stripped bare. Lamps were knocked over. Every drawer was pulled out and emptied, every cushion and framed painting thrown in the middle of the floor. Figurines and candy dishes were smashed. Mindless of the possibility that men were still in the apartment, Nikki dropped to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Matt knelt beside her and did the only thing that felt right — he kicked the door closed, set his arm around her shoulders, and let her cry.

Fifteen minutes later they were still in the same spot. Finally, numbly, Nikki rose and shuffled into her bedroom. She emerged with a medium-sized backpack filled with clothes.

'Let's get out of here and out of Boston,' she said flatly. 'I feel as if I've been raped.'

Matt followed her out of the ransacked apartment, down the stairs, and around to the bike.

'They're not going to get away with this,' he said. 'I promise you they aren't.'

'We're going to the police,' she said firmly, turning suddenly to face him, her expression an unsettling mix of fury and bewilderment. 'I'm not going to let you talk me out of doing it this time. If we had gone when I said, maybe Joe would still be alive.'

'Nikki, that's — '

'Don't tell me that's nonsense!' she snapped. 'Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. I just want to go to the police.'

Matt checked around quickly to see if anyone had been roused by her outburst.

'Go now?' he said. 'But — '

'Dammit, Matt, my dear friend is dead, and Grimes killed him! I don't care about your fucking coal mine or… or your theories about toxic waste, or your goddamn insane town. Joe Keller was the gentlest man on earth. Why in the hell would they do this? Why?'

Sobbing wretchedly again, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

Matt held her tightly. Going to the police was asking for trouble. He still felt certain of that. Joe Keller had already been dead for a couple of hours when they found him, and those who had killed him and destroyed her apartment were not going to be any easier to catch up with this minute than they would be after an anonymous call an hour from now. Reporting Nikki's kidnapping would be their word against Grimes's, and they would be exposing themselves at a time when freedom and mobility were just about the only elements on their side.

'Look,' he said, 'let's get on the road. We'll stop at a pay phone in a little while and call the Boston police. I hope I can talk you out of actually showing up in an FBI office or police station, but that'll ultimately be up to you.'

Nikki's racking sobs gradually diminished. Finally, without a word, she mounted the Harley and waited for him to step on.

Matt stuffed the revolver back into his jacket pocket, took his spot in front of her, and fired up the bike. If going to the police was what she needed, the police she would get. She had been through so much. He drove off, sensing her sitting rigidly behind him, staring off into the night. He was grateful she had gone into her bedroom to gather her things, grateful he had had time to pace around her living room before she returned, grateful he had happened to look over at the mantel. Somewhere in the next half hour or so, he would ease the Harley toward the soft shoulder, and when he was certain she wasn't paying attention, he would flip what he had found on her mantel