Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (40 page)

floorboard by his own feet.

“Dude…is that a head?” Wesley jerked back.

“Yeah,” Mouse said. “Special project today, I need you to

pul out the teeth.”

Wesley gaped. “What? I don’t think so.”

Mouse gave a little laugh. “You know, one of the reasons

The Carver agreed to let you have this job is because of

your expertise with dead people.”

“I move bodies to the morgue, I don’t disassemble them.”

“I got you covered—chisel and hammer, pliers and gloves.

Oh, and a safety mask ’cause it’l be kind of messy and a

flying tooth could put your eye out.”

Wes retched, then covered his mouth and pul ed his feet

back from the bag. “I don’t think I have the stomach for

it.”

Mouse sighed. “Okay, Little Man, here’s the deal—the low

man on the totem pole gets the shit work. That would be

you. Unfortunately, young people don’t have the work

ethic my generation had, so sometimes we have to store

up a little col ateral to get jobs done.”

Wesley squinted through the haze of the Oxy, trying to

fol ow what the man was saying. “Col ateral? What do you

have on me?”

“Your nice dress jacket soaked in that guy’s blood right

there.”

Wesley blanched.

“Classy jacket, by the way. The monogram on the inside

pocket is a nice touch.”

“That’s my sister’s doing,” he mumbled.

“Your sister has good taste. Anyway, just so you know, we

wouldn’t be turning the jacket over to the police—we’d be

turning it over to this guy’s friends, capiche?”

Wesley nodded miserably.

“So, I’m gonna give you a few minutes to think things

over.”

Wesley tried to swallow past the bile that had backed up

in his throat. Jack had told him to call if he needed the

cavalry, but Wesley hadn’t yet turned in the phone to get

the GPS chip installed.

And when it came right down to it, it wasn’t life or death—

it was just teeth. If he were a dentist, if wouldn’t even be

il egal.

“Okay,” he managed to say. “I’l do it.”

Mouse smiled. “Good decision.”

29

Carlotta looked around at the crowd of somber faces at

the memorial service for Cheryl Meriwether, and knew her

own expression was equally tense. The Charmed Kil er was

slaying victims at a frightening pace, and his indiscriminate

choice of target, M.O. and venue was frightening in its

scope alone. Only his signature remained the same—

always the charm, always in the mouth.

She stood in the back of the Cathedral of Christ the King

with hundreds of other mourners, many of whom, like her,

hadn’t known Cheryl Meriwether personally, but had been

so moved by the senselessness of her death that they’d

felt compel ed to attend.

There were lots of cops in attendance, some in uniform,

most not. Jack was in her line of sight, standing on the left

side of the church, surreptitiously scanning every single

face in his vision. Maria was on the opposite side of the

church, wearing a modest scarf over her hair, performing

the same methodical exercise. Carlotta knew it wasn’t

unusual for kil ers to attend the services of their victims. It

completed their compulsive circle.

In deference to his height, Coop stood in the back. She

glanced in his direction a few times, but she didn’t think he

knew she was there. Behind his glasses, his eyes were

sunken and dark-rimmed, lined with sadness. He appeared

to be listening to the priest, but didn’t participate when it

was time for the audience to respond with affirmations.

Coop struck her as a very spiritual man. Perhaps he wasn’t

Catholic. Or maybe he was experiencing a crisis of faith?

Peter hadn’t attended, not that she’d expected him to.

And he’d seemed surprised she was going. Carlotta bit

down on the inside of her cheek when she realized she

was playing right into Maria’s profile of her, attending a

memorial service simply because it was a case in which she

felt invested.

She kept glancing toward the door looking for Wesley—

he’d said he would attend if he didn’t have a delivery to

make. Apparently he’d met the Meriwether woman a few

times during this last round with the D.A.’s office. Wesley

had said the woman hadn’t been anything special, but

he’d used a tone of respect that said she hadn’t been

phony, either. Wesley appreciated people who didn’t try

too hard.

Carlotta tried not to let her mind wander too much during

the service, tried not to think about secular

things…material things. But never too far from her

thoughts these days was what they were going to do with

Wesley’s recent windfal .

She’d love some new living room furniture, but she knew a

TV would be high on Wesley’s list ever since his beloved

big-screen plasma TV had taken a bul et to the electronic

brain during a drive-by shooting into their house. And she

wanted him to be able to enjoy whatever they bought.

He’d been so great lately about pitching in to take care of

the household chores. She needed to remember to make

more of an effort to thank him when she noticed that little

things had been done.

“Amen,” said the minister. “God be with you.”

“And also with you,” the mourners responded.

She filed out of the cathedral with the others into a

muggy, overcast day, looking for familiar faces. She ran

into Coop first and noticed little changes about him—his

appearance seemed less polished than usual, but he had a

ready smile for her.

“How’s the library diorama coming along?” she asked.

“Slowly.”

“You haven’t called me or Wes lately for a pickup.” She

grinned. “Fess up—are you secretly working with

Hannah?”

He laughed. “I’m working with a new guy—he’s Abrams’s

nephew. He doesn’t strike me as being very smart, but

he’s wil ing enough.” Then he shrugged. “Besides, I don’t

like the idea of you working so close to the periphery of

this case. It’s just too dangerous.”

“It’s scary, not knowing when or where he’s going to strike

next,” she agreed.

“Personally, I think he sees something he likes and he goes

after it. If I had a wife or a daughter right now, I wouldn’t

want her outside.”

Carlotta gave a little laugh. “That’s not very practical.”

“I know. I don’t mean to be morose.”

“How are things with you?” she asked.

“I can’t complain,” he said, but didn’t make eye contact.

“How about you? I saw in the paper this morning that you

single-handedly found Eva McCoy’s infamous charm

bracelet and uncovered a conspiracy against her. Pretty

impressive.”

“Nobody does anything single-handedly,” she said. “You

were a great help. And the reporter might have

exaggerated a tad.”

“I know Rainie,” he said. “She’s honest.”

“And cute,” she said, wondering if Coop could be Rainie’s

source.

“Yeah, she’s cute and bubbly,” he agreed, then nodded to

someone behind her. “Speaking of cute and bubbly.”

She turned around to see Jack and Maria walk up.

The women greeted each other, then Maria smiled. “I’m

surprised to see you here, Carlotta. Did you know the

A.D.A?”

“Only through my brother,” Carlotta said stiffly.

Jack shook hands with Coop, then looked at her and

nodded toward the door. “A word?”

“Sure.” She fol owed him, then realized that Maria was

joining them as wel . Outside the church, he stopped in the

nearest patch of shade. “I just wanted to let you know that

CSI was able to piece together the device that was on your

car. That explosion was no accident.”

She swallowed hard. “So what was it?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. But the more I think of

those knuckleheads involved in that charm bracelet heist,

this just doesn’t fit. It’s too sophisticated for them. I’l keep

working every lead. Meanwhile, promise me you’l be

careful.”

She smiled and nodded down to her purse. “You’l be

happy to know that I’m trying to get into the habit of

having my hand on your baton.”

He grinned, then wiped the smile away, probably for his

partner’s sake.

Maria stepped closer, between Carlotta and Jack. “You

also need to know that the Georgia Bureau of

Investigation is getting involved with The Charmed Kil er

case, so chances are good that they’re going to want to

question you again about your father as a person of

interest.”

Carlotta nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“We’l talk.” Jack waved, then he and Maria strode toward

his car, purpose and teamwork in every step.

With Jack’s warning in mind, she splurged for a taxi home

rather than ride the train. When she checked her phone,

she had several calls from Wesley wanting to know if she’d

moved his money.

Carlotta frowned. Why would she move his money? She

called him back, but he didn’t answer. Imagining him

peddling away, delivering some very important document

across town, she left him a message asking if he was

joking. Of course she hadn’t moved his money.

On the way inside the town house, she suddenly felt

magnanimous and not only stooped to pick a white

dandelion flower to blow, but waved to Mrs. Winningham

as wel . “Hel o!”

“Don’t blow that in the direction of my yard,” the woman

called. “That’s why you have so many weeds, you know!”

Carlotta laughed to herself and went into the house,

pul ing off her dress clothes and shoes as she walked to

her bedroom. In the hall, though, she paused and looked

to the closed door of her parents’ room. So her father was

stil a “person of interest” in The Charmed Kil er case. The

GBI would probably be less gentle with her and Wesley

than Jack had been.

She padded down the hall to the door and pushed it open,

with the intention of examining her father’s cigar box ful

of dried-up stogies.

But when she opened the door, she froze. Things

were…different. Fresher…cleaner, maybe? Wesley had

really gone on a domestic binge.

But then her gaze landed on a green scrubs outfit lying on

the bed, torn and stained but neatly laundered and folded,

and clearly imprinted with Northside Hospital. She’d seen

those scrubs before—Michael Lane had been wearing

them in his infamous on-camera run from the law.

Her gaze flew to the unused door that led out onto the

deck, the door that had been dead-bolted from the inside

for so long…but no longer was.

Terror seized her as realization dawned. The scrubs

belonged to Michael, who was somehow alive…and living

in her parents’ bedroom…doing extra chores around the

house while they were gone…

Watching them at night when they slept.

Oh, God, and she thought she’d been imagining it.

She turned to run and slammed into a man’s body—a man

wearing a mask.

Carlotta didn’t think, she only reacted with her hand that

was already curled around the stun baton in her purse.

She pul ed it out, fumbling with the power switch as she

fel back, trying to push herself away from the stranger,

even as she pushed the electric end of the baton into his

clavicle.

It was a direct hit. The man jerked, then fel to his knees,

sprawled on the floor, his hands twitching. Only when she

looked up to his face did she realize that she’d tasered

Peter, who was wearing the dog mask from Breakfast at

Tiffany’s. Next to him lay the matching cat mask—

presumably hers.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod,” she said, dialing Jack on her

phone, trusting him more than 911.

“Carlotta, what’s up?”

“I just tasered Peter by mistake. Wil he be okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, although she could hear the laughter in

his voice. “Give him about fifteen minutes and he’l be

okay. How did that happen?”

“Wel , I hate to be the one to break it to you, Jack, but

Michael Lane isn’t dead. I came into my parents’ room and

found his clothes—the same ones he was wearing when

he went over the bridge. He’s been living here.”

“That’s beyond creepy. Was he with you last night when I

was there?”

“I don’t know. When I walked into the room, I freaked out

and turned around and thought Peter was Michael so I

zapped him.”

“But you’re sure Lane is gone?”

She put her hand to her head as Wesley’s frantic voice

mail message began suddenly to make sense. “Yeah. In

fact, he has about ten thousand reasons to be gone.”

“Look, I’m swamped with something at the moment, but

I’ll be over in an hour or so to look around. Meanwhile, I’l

put out an APB on Lane and send a uniform over to keep

you company.”

She heard Maria’s laughter in the background and—the

tinkle of glass? Jack didn’t sound as if he was in the

car…maybe in a hotel room?

Peter groaned, a welcome sound to her ears. “He’s coming

around, Jack. Thanks.”

She ended the call, then leaned over Peter as he opened

his eyes and tried to focus. “What happened? Where am