Forced to Kill

Chapter 24

For the second time in as many days Nathan awoke feeling disoriented and parched.

Quickly he got his bearings. His La Jolla home. On the floor. In his bedroom. Grant and Sherman at his side.

He reached up to his nightstand and grabbed the bottled water. The clock indicated 1910 hours. He thought about Nichole Dalton’s daughters. Too much time was passing. He needed to get moving. He sat up too quickly and the room spun.

“Easy, partner.”

Harv. He focused on the chair near the closet. “How long?”

“A few hours.”

“You been sitting there the entire time?”

“I’ve been catching up on some reading. You know, you could’ve slept in your bed. No one would hold it against you. You were shot in the head.”

“Don’t remind me. Is that a pistol in your lap?”

“Don’t get excited.”

“Are the SWAT guys still here?”

“Yes. Apparently, they’re not going anywhere. I guess our reputation precedes us. Holly said they had more volunteers than they could handle from the San Diego field office alone once the word got out that the Lone Ranger had been shot. You could’ve ducked, you know?”

Nathan stood, feeling stiff and sore.

“Do you feel nauseous at all?”

“I’m fine.” He squinted in thought.

“What?”

“The dead mercs from last night.”

“What about them?”

“I want to see the bodies.”

“Why?”

“We might be able to confirm they were Montez’s men.”

“You have doubts about that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What you need is more bed rest. That bullet rang your bell pretty good. You look like shit.”

“Quit mincing words.”

“Okay, you look like hammered shit on a cold lawn.”

“Let’s get serious,” Nathan said.

“I am serious.”

Nathan shook his head. “Three words. Nichole Dalton’s daughters.”

Harv’s grin vanished. “Right. I’ll call the ME.”

“Just like that? And he’ll see us?”

A trace of a smile returned. “As I recall, we installed a heavily discounted security system in his house last year. I think he’ll take my call.”

Dr. David Phelps didn’t like opening his facility after hours, but softened when Harv explained the situation was “life-and-death urgent.” Harv suggested one of Phelps’s other technicians could meet them, but Phelps thought that would be bad form and said he would handle it personally. They agreed to meet at the front entrance of the new facility. Harv told Phelps they’d be in a blue Mercedes sedan.

“I feel bad about dragging Phelps down here at this hour,” Nathan said.

Harv turned left on Overland Avenue from Clairemont Mesa Boulevard “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t. I feel silly wearing this ball cap. It makes me feel like a redneck.”

Harv said nothing.

“Very funny.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Let’s get this over with. You know how much I love meeting new people.”

“Relax, just be yourself.”

“That’s what scares me.”

They parked and saw Phelps standing near the entrance.

Harv took the lead. “Hi, Doctor, this is Nathan McBride, my business partner.”

“Mr. McBride.”

“Pleasure,” he said, pumping hands. At least the man didn’t stare at his face. “Please call me Nathan. Sorry to drag you down here in the middle of the night.”

“It’s okay, I know how these things go.”

Harvey asked, “How’s the new security system working out for you?”

“Great. It’s super easy to use. I really like the cell phone link. I can scroll through all the cameras right on my BlackBerry. It’s amazing.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“We promise to make this brief,” Harv said.

“May I ask why you’re viewing the bodies?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“I see.”

From Phelps’s tone, Nathan knew he didn’t like being in the dark. “We don’t like being secretive. Sorry.”

“You guys don’t owe me an apology or an explanation. I agreed to this with no strings attached. As far as I’m concerned, your business is your business.”

“Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

The main autopsy room looked and smelled similar to Salt Lake City’s, only bigger and more modern. Stainless-steel tables. Sinks. Glass cabinets. Rolling workstations Desks with computers, and cool air. Nathan again wondered how they did it-worked with dead bodies for a living.

Phelps led them into a large walk-in cooler, turned on the lights, and closed the door. Modular stainless-steel shelving units lined the walls. A few black body bags occupied several slots.

“These three,” Phelps said. He unzipped the bags enough to expose ashen Hispanic faces.

Nathan stepped forward for a closer look. “May I?”

Phelps backed up a step. “If you’re planning anything more than just viewing, I’ll have to log it.”

“No, nothing like that. I’d just want to see if they have any tattoos or other distinguishing marks.” He unzipped the bags. “Harv, take a look.” He pointed at one of the bodies, specifically at a tattoo on a shoulder. The letter S was written across the outline of a dagger.

“Does that tattoo mean something to you?” Phelps asked.

“Yes,” Nathan said. “Can you tell us what you know about this case?”

“At this point we don’t have much, but it seems to have the attention of some very important people. The director of the FBI called me last night just after the bodies arrived. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that as far as the media are concerned, this shooting is nothing more than a random armed robbery attempt.”

“Interesting,” Harv said.

“Would either of you care to enlighten me?”

Nathan removed his ball cap and turned his head to the side.

“Is that what I think it is? That was your house? You were there with Sacramento’s SAC?”

“Look, David,” Harv said, “like the FBI director, we need to keep this under wraps. A very dangerous person tried to kill Nathan last night. We think he’ll try again.”

Phelps frowned, his body tightening.

“We weren’t followed.”