Feds will probably turn it over to one of the audio wizards at the Secret Service.'
Woodbury said, 'I'd recommend using the Aerospace Corporation in Los Angeles. They're the ones who worked on the mother's 911 call in the JonBenet Ramsey case. Aerospace had better luck than the Secret Service.'
'Make the call,' Darby said. 'Can you make me a copy of the tape?'
'I can probably make an mp3 file and burn it to a CD.'
'That's fine. What's going on with the unknown makeup sample?'
'I'm still working on it with my friend at MIT,' Woodbury said. 'I was planning on heading there today, but given what's going on, our time and resources are going to be spread pretty thin.'
'Which is probably what Fletcher wants,' Coop said. 'He's burying us in evidence. It's probably going to take us the rest of the week, including overtime, to process what we found inside the hospital.'
'I want our focus on Hannah Givens,' Darby said. 'She's our top priority. Neil Joseph is working on Bryson's case. Fletcher is his responsibility now.'
'Keith and I lifted a partial latent print on Judith Chen's pant pocket,' Coop said. 'It's running through AFIS.'
'What about the thumbprint from her forehead?'
'It didn't find a match. The ballistics report came back. The slug retrieved from Chen's skull was fired from the same gun that killed Hale. What about your end? What's going on?'
Darby told them about the basement level of Instant Karma, an upscale members-only bathhouse where any sexual appetite could be indulged. The man who ran the operation, Noah Eckart, preferred the term 'private gentleman's club'. The yearly fee was $5,000. Malcolm Fletcher had joined the club two days ago, paying in cash, under the name Samuel Dingle. The paperwork listed an address in Saugus. Darby wondered if, during that initial meeting, Fletcher had planted the 'non-lethal' shotgun Watts had described. Had Fletcher planned all along to lure Bryson to his death?
The private club had no security cameras. Members flashed their ID and signed a sheet. The name Sam Dingle was on the list.
Fletcher had specifically requested room 33, which was conveniently located next to the elevator. His companion was an as-yet-unidentified young woman with long dark-red hair.
Eckart had escorted Bryson and Watts to the room, and when he heard the gunshots, he ran away and called security instead of the police – 'I wanted to handle the matter privately, as I'm sure you can understand,' he told Neil Joseph. Thick, grey smoke had started to fill the rooms and Eckart, believing there was a fire, had no choice put to pull the fire alarm.
Witnesses were hard to come by. Neil found two men who, after considerable prodding, reported seeing a man matching Bryson's description being dragged into the private elevator before a smoke grenade and aerosol container laced with a nausea-inducing chemical flooded the hallways.
'The aerosol and smoke grenades are used by SWAT teams in hostage situations,' Darby said. 'Both grenades contain serial numbers. The companies that manufactured them can use the serial numbers to find out which police agency purchased them.'
Malcolm Fletcher, Darby was sure, had most likely obtained the grenades from either a black-market dealer or at a gun show in a state where laws were lax and anything could be purchased for cash.
The blue pellets covering the bathroom floor came from three shell casings which also contained serial numbers. Neil Joseph was saddled with the unfortunate task of having to devote a significant amount of manpower to chasing down these leads which would most likely prove to be worthless.
'You think Fletcher is still lingering around Boston?' Coop asked.
'If he is, he won't be for long. He just killed a cop. Everyone in the state is going to be looking for him.' Darby checked her watch. 'I have to get to the morgue.'
Waiting for the elevator, Darby wondered why Malcolm Fletcher had decided to make a public spectacle of Bryson's death. Doing so ensured intense media coverage. Maybe he wanted Bryson's sins to have a national audience. Chadzynski was probably already meeting with her media advisor, working on spin control.
Darby couldn't blame her. If what Tina Sanders said was true – that Tim Bryson had thrown a critical piece of evidence in exchange for money – what other cases had he contaminated? Had he planted, destroyed or removed evidence on the Emma Hale case?
62
Tim Bryson's body lay on a steel table underneath a blue sheet spotted with blood.
Darby headed to the back of the autopsy suite. Cliff Watts, arms folded across his chest and face swollen from the stitched gash on his forehead, looked over the shoulder of Neil Joseph, who was hunched over one of the benches examining a clear, Ziplock bag smeared with blood. Lying next to the bag was a cell phone with a cracked screen.
'This was inside his jacket pocket,' Neil said to her, tapping his pen against the bag. It held Jennifer Sanders' driver's licence, hospital ID and credit cards. 'I understand you found a purse next to the remains.'
Darby nodded. 'It was empty,' she said.
'Bryson searched the hospital last weekend, right?'
'We split into teams. The basement is a maze.'
'Was Bryson with you?'
'No.'
Neil looked to Watts and said, 'How was the search organized?'
'Three people on each team – two cops and someone from Sinclair security,' Watts said. 'Danvers PD loaned us some people.'
'I talked with Bill Jordan. He said there are several ways to get inside the hospital. Bryson was well aware of them.'
'Meaning?'
'Maybe your partner went back for this evidence here and didn't get around to disposing of it.'
'Cut the shit, Neil, you know as well as I do Fletcher planted this bag before he tossed Tim off the roof.'
'I don't know that. The only thing I know is that this bag here was found inside Tim Bryson's jacket. Maybe there's some truth to what Bryson told Tina Sanders about that piece of missing evidence – what was it again, a belt?'
'You're taking sides with a psychopath?'
'No, Cliff, I'm trying to figure out why Fletcher tossed Bryson off the roof – in a public place, no less. I'm trying to figure out if your partner was dirty.' Neil straightened and looked Watts directly in the eye. 'You two worked together in Saugus, right?'
'I don't have to put up with this shit.' Watts stormed out of the room.
'Don't go too far,' Neil called after him. He caught the expression on Darby's face and said, 'Something you want to add?'
'I was thinking about a quote Fletcher told me, a line from George Bernard Shaw: 'If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.''
'Well, it looks like the son of a bitch is going to get his wish. Bryson's all over the news. How long do you want to bet it will be until his conversation with Tina Sanders gets out? My guess is the end of the week.'
'A cassette was playing when I found the remains,' Darby said. 'If Bryson went back there and cleaned out her purse, why would he leave the cassette?'
'That's a good question. You got an answer for me?'
'Not yet, but if I were you, I'd shitcan the attitude.'
Darby left to change into scrubs. She ran cold water over her face until her skin was numb.
When she came back into the room with her equipment, ID was taking pictures. Tim Bryson's mangled, crushed body lay under the harsh autopsy light, still dressed in his bloody clothing. Bags were tied around his hands.
