“Six brothers, sixth sense.” She handed it to him. “I need coffee. You read, I’ll brew.”
“No, don’t.” He caught her wrist before she could move. “Get your coat and boots.”
“You want to go out for coffee?”
“I want to go to the forensics lab.”
She used her forefinger to lower the folder. “Let me guess, there’s no mention of a pregnancy.”
He slapped the file closed. “There’s no autopsy report.”
HE WENT THROUGH THE PAPERS three times. They were all in order. All false, but they’d work. The people who created these things were among the best in the business.
Warren Critch would be a ghost after today. From the ashes of his life would emerge one Willem Cortez, scientist of no particular note, traveling to Venezuela to study the feathered fauna of the Amazon rain forest.
Oh, yes, everything was in order-with one very large exception. Romana Grey and Jacob Knight were still alive.
He stripped mistletoe leaves from a long sprig and let them fall willy-nilly onto the pictures in front of him. With a crimson paint pen, he drew in pools of blood. As a morbid amusement, he made droplets spurt from the holes in their chests.
The order remained the same. Romana would die first, Jacob second. One bullet apiece, fired from a gun exactly like the one that should have killed Jacob six years ago.
He squeezed the pen hard between his fingers, felt laughter surge into his throat. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hope to contain it. It emerged in a watery blast…
That sounded dangerously close to a sob.
“GOOD MORNING, DETECTIVE.”
The morgue attendant Jacob jostled past stared after him in confusion.
“He hasn’t eaten today,” Romana explained. She raised her voice. “Left, Jacob, turn left for Path Lab Records.”
The automatic door clanged shut before she could get inside and, being carded, merely blinked red at her when she turned the handle.
“Always the gentleman.” Setting her elbow high on the frame, she crossed her feet at the ankles, knocked and waited. When the door opened, he pulled her inside, turned her to the right and said simply, “Find the
It was all on computer, of course, but the original hand-signed reports were methodically boxed and filed. As Romana swept her gaze over row upon row of metal containers, a chill rippled across her skin. Were there really this many dead people in the city’s cemeteries?
“God, it’s a creepy world down here.”
Jacob brushed past her, his eyes on the upper shelves. “It’s a quieter one than the world up there.”
“Nothing morbid about that thought.” She skimmed a finger over the labeled fronts. “You need to spend a few hours playing air hockey with my nephews. You’ll crave silence when you’re done, but it won’t be the silence of death.”
“You’re assuming I’m good with kids.”
She smiled, kept skimming. “You would be. It’s all down to exposure and practice. And not minding jam fingers in your hair…
Jacob levered the box down so she could leaf through the files. She paused partway. “Mary Cristleman? I went to high school with her. My God, she died five years ago.”
“Romana…”
“I can read, flick and have a memory at the same time.” She continued to page forward. “Here it is. Critch, Belinda.” Extracting the folder, she opened it and scanned. “Okay, well, Dr. Gorman signed it-or so it would seem.”
“We’ll take it to the police lab for verification. Is there anything down here you know for sure Gorman signed?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She pressed the folder into his stomach. “Connor’s termination papers. I was here when Gorman pink-slipped him. The forms will be in the human resources section.”
Fifteen minutes later, and in possession of both files, they returned to Jacob’s vehicle and headed for the station. Romana held the signatures up side by side in front of her. “They look identical to me, or close enough in terms of pressure points and loops that I can’t see a difference.”
“What, are you a handwriting expert now, Professor Grey?”
“No, just observant. If one was a carbon copy of the other, I’d be suspicious, but these are both similar and different enough to be genuine.”
“Sounds like you’ve done a little forgery in your life.”
Her smile was completely false. “High school physics was a tough subject, and Grandma Grey frowned on anything less than an A.”
“You doctored your report cards?”
“You don’t need to look so shocked. I didn’t touch the originals. I made new ones, and made Grandma Grey very happy. On the down side, I never understood the significance of the ripple tank.”
“Water moves outward in mathematically aligned waves. End of lesson.” He squinted through the windshield at the blowing snow. “What’s the time difference between Connor’s termination and Belinda’s death?”
“I knew you were going to ask that.” She straightened the files on her lap. “Six months. Belinda died first.”
“Who was the assist on the autopsy?”
“I hate you.”
His lips moved, and he reached a hand toward the folder. “Who, Romana?”
Could you hate a man and love him at the same time? Right now it seemed entirely possible.
“You know you’re only postponing the inevitable, don’t you?”
“I know. Still tired here.” But she made herself reopen the file. “Oh.” Surprise washed through her. “Not Connor. That’s good.” She frowned. “I think.”
“Patrick?”
“Well, I see a
“Okay, let’s run with that for a minute.”
“Snow’s getting heavier, Knight. I’ll run, you watch the road.” Bracing a foot on the dash, she studied the signatures. “Let’s say Gorman had begun signing reports without actually reading them-age, apathy, routine. Patrick does the autopsy, Gorman takes a nap. Gorman wakes up, signs off. Second scenario, Gorman does the autopsy, forgets about the pink strip and misses the pregnancy.”
“While Patrick is doing what?”
“Well, being upset about Belinda, I imagine.” Leaning over, she set a hand on his chest. “Think with your heart, Detective.”
“Any other scenario?”
“Barret-Mr. or Mrs.-pays one or both doctors-more likely Patrick-to overlook certain details.”
The trace of a smile appeared. “That’s thinking with your heart.”
“Heart, wallet, how do we know where Patrick’s priorities lie? But I’ll go with the heart for now, because unrequited love has to sting just a little.”
“You’re getting muddled, aren’t you?”
“Very.” A cell phone rang, and Romana glanced around. “You or me?”
A female voice emerged from the dashboard speaker. “Phone’s yours. Radio’s mine.”
She pulled out her cell, read the screen and covered her ear while Jacob fielded the incoming police call beside her. “O’Keefe, hi… Sorry, what? There’s a lot of interference.”
“Where are you?” he shouted from the other end.
She wiped steam from the window. “On Main, a few blocks north of Fountain Square, I think. I can’t read the street signs.”
“Well tell Jacob to hang a right and get over to Hyde Park.” “Mick, we’ve got Belinda’s autopsy report…” But he cut her off. “One of our patrols responded to a call about an injured woman. It’s Fitz, Romana. Your cousin’s been found. She’s alive.”
