“Get the bloodwork ASAP,” Webb said. “We need to know if this was a homicide.”
“Was he on any medications?”
“Pro… pro something or other,” Webb said. He looked at Erin for support.
“Propranolol,” she said. Her dad took it for the same reason Bianchi had. A combination of a stressful career and a little more weight than he ought to carry had left Sean O’Reilly, Senior, with a whole lot of cardiovascular red flags. “It’s a beta blocker,” she explained to Webb. “Pretty commonly prescribed.”
“Correct,” Levine said. “Anything else?”
“Nitro pills,” Erin said.
Levine nodded. She took out a syringe and got ready to draw the first blood sample.
“Excuse me,” said a voice from the doorway. It was polite and pleasantly smooth. Erin and Webb turned to see who it was. Levine, with her usual lack of social awareness, ignored the newcomer completely.
The man at the door was Italian, middle-aged, without a hint of gray in his slicked-back hair. He wore a very expensive suit, perfectly tailored. He smiled the most genuine fake smile Erin could remember seeing.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the deceased gentleman, please,” he said.
“On whose authority?” Webb asked. His own tone was polite enough, but he shifted his feet just a little, angling his body, and eased his right hand back, brushing the flap of his trench coat to clear his access to his revolver. Erin, taking the hint, took two steps to the side, opening the angle between her and the other detective. She didn’t like the look of the guy. He was too polished, too deliberately polite. He was either a lawyer or a gangster, and in either case, she didn’t trust him one bit.
“I have the medical certificate here,” the man said, drawing it out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “And I have the family’s request that the body be cremated. I’ll be taking custody, effective immediately.”
“And who, exactly, are you?” Webb asked. His tone wasn’t so polite anymore.
“Vincenzo Moreno,” he said, giving another of his full, earnest smiles. Erin reflected that he was very handsome in a dark, debonair way. It didn’t make her trust him more. “I assure you, I have all the proper documents here. Feel free to inspect them.” He handed the papers to Webb, who looked through them with a scowl.
“This is an official NYPD investigation,” Erin said. “You can’t just come in here…”
“Detective… O’Reilly, unless I’m mistaken?” Moreno said, turning to her with an elegantly raised eyebrow. “It is truly a pleasure, Detective. I’ve heard so very much about you. You’re quite the celebrity in our city.” He offered his hand.
She didn’t shake it. Rolf interposed himself between his partner and the newcomer. His hackles rose on his neck. He could feel the tension between Erin and the stranger, and he was ready for trouble.
“Mr. Moreno,” she said, “we’re engaged in a homicide investigation. I’m sure you’ll be able to claim Mr. Bianchi’s remains as soon as we’re done here. In the meantime, if you’d like to wait upstairs…”
Moreno’s smile didn’t falter. “I suggest you confer with your senior colleague, Detective,” he said.
Webb was still scowling at the paper, as if he could ignite it with his eyes. “He’s right,” he said softly.
“What?” Erin demanded.
“The medical certificate states cardiac arrest as the official cause of death,” Webb said. He met Moreno’s eyes. “I would love to know how you convinced a doctor to sign off on this before the Medical Examiner had even shown up.”
“That’s not precisely the point, Detective,” Moreno said. “I suppose the real question before us is whether you’re prepared to honor the instructions in this lawfully-procured document. I’m sure you are. I’m certain none of us want any unpleasant confrontation. We’re gentlemen here. Begging your pardon, Detective O’Reilly, Doctor.”
Levine was watching Moreno with detached curiosity. Erin was staring at him, outraged. Every instinct told her this guy was dirty, that he was up to something, but she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Webb drew in a slow, deep breath. His jaw worked as if he was chewing on his words before spitting them out.
“Have it your way, Mr. Moreno,” he said. “Since the hospital’s released the body into your possession, he’s all yours. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of experience handling body removal.”
“Excellent.” If Moreno was bothered by Webb’s obvious hostility, he gave no sign of it. He whistled sharply. Two burly guys immediately came into the room. They’d been waiting right outside. Their suits were cheaper than his, and they looked like they spent a lot of time at the gym. If they weren’t Mob muscle, Erin would eat her own dress blues. At Moreno’s direction, they wheeled in a gurney with an empty body bag. They shifted Lorenzo’s body into the bag, zipped it closed, and rolled it out of the morgue to the elevator.
“Thank you, Detectives,” Moreno said. “And thank you, also, for the very fine work you do for our city. Good day.” He turned and followed his men out, his perfectly-shined shoes clicking on the hard floor.
Chapter 9
“Damn,” Webb said. He said it quietly, almost meditatively.
“There goes our evidence,” Erin said. She pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Judge Ferris. If we get a court order, we can get the body back, at least for a little while.”
“And we can see what we can distill from the ashes,” Webb said. “Forget it, O’Reilly. Did that seem like the kind of guy who goes off half-cocked? His ducks were lined up in a neat little row before he came down here. They had the gurney, the body bag, everything ready to go. Twenty bucks says they’ve already got a guy at the funeral home with the crematorium fired up. It doesn’t matter how fast we move, it won’t be fast enough.”
“So that’s
