We listen as Michael explains how Isabella had fallen off the wagon and fed from a human. The shame drove her into isolation. “She just needed to get her head on straight. Do some soul searching.”
“That’s wonderful.” I pause. “How are you feeling?”
I can hear his breathing through the phone. “Better, now. But we had a bit of a scare last night. You know I’d been working really hard on that piece so it would be ready for the auction? I guess it all finally caught up with me. Alan says I literally passed out on him once we got home. I scared you to death, didn’t I?”
There’s a murmur of response in the background.
I look up at Zack. Alan’s with Dexter?
Zack moves closer, listening.
“I remember him pouring us both a nightcap,” he continues. “I must have gone out like a light. But damned if I don’t feel better than I have in weeks. I slept for an unbelievably long time. I feel like a new man.”
Thanks to Kallistos.
I feel a hitch in my chest. Alan is alive. I take a breath. “I’m so glad Isabella is home safe and sound. Take care of each other.”
“We will. Thank you. For everything.”
We say good-bye and disconnect. I look up at Zack. His mouth is pressed in a thin, hard line. “What’s wrong? Alan is home and evidently none the worse for wear. Michael doesn’t even remember how sick he was. I’d say that’s some good news at least.”
“Kallistos surprised me.” His tone is grudging. “I’m not easily surprised.”
“Or often wrong?”
“I didn’t say that,” Zack says. “Amy will be home shortly. In fact, she could already be there. Are you sure Dexter’s all right?”
“Better than all right. He’ll get a surprise at his next checkup. Kallistos cured him. I’m certain of it.”
“Be careful.” Zack’s expression hardens. “Don’t make Kallistos out to be a hero. He still blew up a building, almost killed that security guard, and endangered God knows how many others.” He passes a hand over his face, a gesture of resignation and weariness. “Enough about him. We’ve got a shitload of paperwork and Johnson waiting for us at headquarters.”
He reaches into his pocket for his car keys. When he pulls them out, the talisman falls to the floor.
“Still want to get it checked out?”
He sticks it back into his pocket. “With you as my partner, I’d better.”
I smile. “I’ll give you Liz’s number.”
• • •
Johnson is waiting for us when we get back to headquarters. He motions us into his office. He has a grin on his face and a note in his hand. “Message from the DA. Bernadette Haskell called him to say Amy Patterson is home. She’ll hold a press conference tomorrow in New York explaining her absence and apologizing for causing so much worry. Looks like case closed.”
Zack and I exchange looks. Johnson thinks the case is over.
He closes the door, then crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Now, what the hell were you doing in that building downtown?”
Or maybe not.
“We uncovered something unexpected there,” Zack begins. “It’s big.”
Johnson motions for us to take seats. He walks around his desk and does the same. “I’m listening.”
“A direct link between Dr. Barbara Pierce and the murder of several homeless people used as donors in a black market cash-for-organs scheme,” Zack explains, taking the lead. “She confessed it all to us before setting off the blast and committing suicide.”
Johnson holds up a hand. “Stop. You’re telling me this Dr. Pierce died in the lab that blew up today?”
I nod. “Yes. That’s where she’d been doing the transplants.”
“Why confess and then destroy all of the evidence?” he asks.
Zack blows out a breath. “She wasn’t doing the transplants voluntarily. She was being blackmailed. And she wasn’t the only one. These operations were far too complicated for her to do alone. There were other medical personnel, not to mention organ recipients who had no idea they were involved in anything illegal—some of them children. She was trying, in her own way, to minimize the damage.”
“Christ.” Johnson leans back in his chair and waves encouragement. “Let’s hear all of it.”
Zack relays the story—the concocted story. How, while we were following up on a lead for the Patterson case last night, Dr. Pierce approached us. She was nervous, seemed off. She knew we were from the FBI and insisted we come to her office today, that she had something important to tell us, to give to us. How when we tracked her down this morning she was waiting for us. Said she was tired of the deception. Ashamed of what she’d done. Couldn’t live with the guilt. How she took her own life and very nearly took ours.
Finally he pauses.
Johnson shakes his head. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“That wasn’t her intention,” I say. “She wanted to give us this.” I hand him the spreadsheet. “She slipped it under the door to the lab after locking herself inside.”
He takes the sheet of paper in hand. “A list of the recipients and donors?”
Zack leans forward. “More than that, sir. She also gave us a name, Davis Mager. The man supplying the organs. My guess is that Mager is just the beginning, a small cog in a very large illegal transplant scheme.”
“A donated organ always reflects the DNA of the donor,” I add. “Pierce said most of Mager’s ‘donors’ were homeless. Forensics should be able to match up the transplanted organs to that string of missing homeless cases Garner’s been working on.”
“Right,” Zack agrees, then connects the last dot. “Garner builds a case against Mager for the string of murders
Johnson jumps up and makes a beeline for the door. “Garner?” he shouts.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get your ass in here. Armstrong and Monroe are about to make your day.”
• • •
It’s three hours before the paperwork is complete and we’ve finished briefing Johnson and Garner, who was more than happy to take over the investigation. A BOLO is issued for Davis Mager. Turns out he has a vast and colorful criminal record. The only thing Zack and I fear is that the weasel might try to cut himself a deal to get out of doing significant time. On the other hand, if he manages to elude the law, he certainly won’t elude Kallistos.
“Are you ready to get out of here?” Zack asks once Johnson’s dismissed us.
I nod, gathering my bag and jacket. “Hell of a first case, huh?”
Zack smiles but doesn’t say anything until we’re outside and approaching his car. Then he reaches out. The back of his hand barely brushes mine, a feather touch. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours. I could use a walk on the beach.” I climb inside and rest my head back on the seat. “But let’s swing by Evan’s first, so I can get my car.”
He pulls out of the office parking lot and heads for the freeway. I close my eyes. I know Barbara Pierce’s death was justified. Thanks to her notes, Davis Mager will be made to answer for his crimes, too. And a dozen cold cases solved. But all the same, I don’t have the feeling of satisfaction I usually have at the end of a case. We’ve saved four kidnap victims whose stories will never be told. We lost two vampires whose names we never knew. Someone may be searching for them, too. And then there are the patients whose lives were saved by Pierce. Others, like Mager’s daughter and Michael Dexter, were likely unsuspecting and as much victims of Mager and Pierce as the homeless who lost their lives.
I glance over at Zack. His expression is once again calm, composed. He’s a good partner. This was a bad case.
“Sorry you transferred?” I ask.
A smile tips the corners of his mouth. “Are you kidding? How could I be sorry? What kind of man would pass up the opportunity to work with a real honest-to-God Siren?”
I turn away from him and stare out the side window. His attempt to bring some levity to the situation just
