Six Killer Bodies (20 page)

been asked to put in some extra hours.”

Mouse pursed his mouth. “Yeah, that’s okay. It’l give me a

chance to do some things around the house my wife has

been bitching about.”

“Pick me up after my probation meeting Wednesday?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, I keep meaning to ask you about

something.”

Wes’s pulse hammered. “What?”

“There was something in the paper over the weekend

about a tip on the identity of the guy you de-toothed. Do

you know anything about that?”

Wes blinked, not sure what surprised him more—the fact

that Mouse thought he was the tipster, or the fact that

Mouse read the newspaper. “How could it be me? I don’t

even know who the guy is—er, was.”

“Right.” The big man chewed his lip, nodding. “Okay, see

you Wednesday. And hey, don’t worry about letting Jett

Logan get away from you. I’l fix things with the boss.”

Wes swallowed. “Thanks.”

He retrieved his bike from the trunk, then watched the

black Town Car rol away. His knees felt rubbery as he

locked up his bike. A cannon was going off in his head. He

had promised himself he’d start weaning himself off the

Oxy today, but there was just too much going on.

Tomorrow, he promised as he tossed another capsule into

his mouth. Tomorrow he would kick the O for good.

He made his way into the morgue and stopped at the front

desk to sign in. He had offered to meet Kendall Abrams to

help clean the vans and do some routine pickups. And he

was stil trol ing for information. On the way down the hall,

he passed M.E. Pennyman, who had worked at the morgue

for a while.

“Hey, Wes. Haven’t seen you around here lately.”

“I’m holding down two other jobs. And I worked primarily

with Coop.”

“Oh. Right. Did you hear the news?”

“I guess not. What’s going on?”

“The judge granted Coop bail.”

Wes blinked. “Really? Did the D.A. reduce the charges?”

“It’s stil murder, but only one count, in the case where

DNA was recovered. I guess the D.A. is waiting for more

evidence to link the other kil ings.”

“What kind of DNA was recovered in the one case?”

“I can’t be specific, but the kil er left items at the scene.”

“Which victim?”

“Wanda Alderman.”

Inside his pockets, Wes fisted his hands. “That was a bad

scene.”

“I remember,” Pennyman said, nodding. “Didn’t the

woman’s son find her?”

“Yeah.” In his mind, Wesley could stil see the stricken look

on the kid’s face. It was similar to the way he’d felt when

he realized his parents weren’t coming home. But at least

he’d had Carlotta. Suddenly, like a big sissy, moisture

pooled in his eyes.

“You okay, man?” Pennyman asked.

Wes lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. “This new lens

prescription is going to take some getting used to. So,

Coop is out of jail?”

“Not yet. The bail was like a mil ion dol ars. And he has to

wear a GPS ankle bracelet, so I guess that’l take a day or

two to get worked out. But a lot of people aren’t happy

about it.”

“I can imagine,” Wes said. After all, even he was starting to

believe he’d been all wrong about Coop. “Dude, has the

burnt body been identified?”

“Not yet. We’re still waiting for results from the state

crime lab.”

“There was another Doe in the crypt, a John Doe, no head.

Has that body been ID’d yet?”

“Not yet, but the APD passed us a tip on the man’s name.”

Pennyman made a rueful noise. “The kicker is that Coop

was working on the case. Now, it could sit for months.”

With a sinking sensation, Wes watched Pennyman walk

away. At this rate, the headless man would never be

identified. The man’s family would never know what had

happened to him.

Wes caught up with Kendall Abrams in the garage,

spraying down the morgue vans. Kendall was intent on his

job, his thick brows furrowed. Once again, Wesley

wondered whether the guy could live up to his uncle’s

expectations. Kendall was studying to be an M.E., but so

far he’d demonstrated an incredible insensitivity to the

deceased, treating them much like the roadkil he’d

cleaned up in his previous job with the Department of

Transportation. Stil , Kendall seemed eager to learn, and

even more eager to please his overworked uncle.

“What’s on the schedule today?” Wes yel ed over the

noise.

“Hey,” Kendall shouted, then turned off the water hose.

“Boring stuff—hospital pickups.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Wes climbed into the passenger seat. “Where to first?”

Kendal checked a clipboard. “Piedmont Hospital. They got

five bodies waitin’ for us.”

Wes’s mind jumped ahead. The last time he was at

Piedmont Hospital was when he’d pretended to be a

doctor and crashed Meg’s father’s lecture. It was also the

day he’d fol owed Coop to the neurologist’s office. Maybe

he could snoop around for answers while he was there.

Kendall yammered on like a yodel-head—the guy was a

total redneck. “…and iffen the animal happened to be in

pretty good shape, I’d put it in a cooler and take it to my

friend Danny, who’s a taxidermist, and he’d stuff it for

me…got a whole wall ful of deer head…course they all

look a little startled…”

When they arrived at the hospital morgue entrance,

Wesley climbed out and coordinated the transfer of the

five bodies from the crypt drawers to the shelves in the

van that resembled bunks. Kendall seemed happy to do

what he was told.

When they were finished, Wes said, “Do me a favor, man,

and hang out here for a few minutes. I need to look in on a

friend who’s recuperating.”

“Okay, sure.” Kendall pul ed a half-eaten sandwich out of

his pocket and settled on a stool in front of a monitor

showing an autopsy in progress.

Wes left the morgue and entered the main part of the

hospital. From there, he rode the elevator to the floor

where he’d fol owed Coop. After he stepped off the

elevator, it took him a while to get his bearings, but he

managed to retrace his steps back to the neurologist’s

office where he’d seen Coop sitting in the waiting room.

The place was studded with patients, a few of them clearly

in some stage of radiation or chemotherapy. His throat

convulsed. Some people got dealt a shitty hand.

He walked up to the receptionist’s desk and gave the

young woman there his best sad smile. “Hi. My last name

is Craft. I’ve forgotten when my next appointment is. I was

hoping you could look it up for me?”

She smiled. “No problem. Who’s your doctor?”

Wesley glanced down at the stack of business cards on the

counter, but the names of at least five doctors were listed

for the practice.

He touched his forehead and squinted. “I’m sorry—this is

so embarrassing. My memory is completely shot. I guess

that’s why I forgot my appointment.”

“That’s okay, sir. What’s your date of birth?”

He could guess at the year Coop was born, but didn’t have

a clue about the date. “Uh…I don’t know.”

“It would be on your driver’s license,” said a male voice

behind him.

Wesley turned to see Meg’s father, Dr. Harold Vincent,

standing a few feet away. Wes almost swallowed his

tongue. “Um…I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Mr. Craft forgot the date of his next appointment,” the

young woman told the older man, then tapped her

forehead in what Wesley presumed was supposed to be a

discreet gesture.

Dr. Vincent stepped forward to pass the receptionist a

thick stack of files, then looked back to Wesley with a

smirk. “So today it’s Mr. Craft?”

“I, uh…actually was asking for a friend. How are you, Dr.

Vincent?”

The man ignored his greeting. “This hospital doesn’t give

out personal information on any of its patients. So unless

you have business of your own here, you should leave.”

Wesley frowned. “I’m at the hospital on business for the

county morgue.”

“Oh, yes…the body moving. I believe I saw that on a

resume.”

“You mean on a background check, don’t you?”

The man’s mouth pinched. “The last time I looked, Wren,

the morgue was in the basement. If I see you around here

again trying to pul another con, I’l cal the police.”

“You’re just trying to keep me away from Meg.”

The doctor squinted, then looked into Wes’s eyes. “Oh,

and you’re high on something, too. Figures.”

Wes pul ed back, assuming his pupils were dilated. “I took

a couple of pain pil s for a migraine.”

“Right.” Dr. Vincent made a rueful noise. “The point is, I

don’t have to do anything to keep you away from Meg.

Punks like you implode on your own. It’s just a matter of

time before my daughter figures you out.”

Dr. Vincent turned to the receptionist and pointed to

Wesley. “He’s leaving now. If he shows his face in here

again, call security.”

Then the man strode away, leaving Wes feeling like

a…punk. If Meg Vincent had ever been within his reach,

she had just slipped a little farther away.

18

Carlotta juggled her cel phone while she pul ed the strap

of the slingback sandal over her heel. “So it looks like Coop

wil be out of jail by morning,” she said to Hannah, the

words tumbling out in a rush. “Technically, he could’ve

been released after the arraignment yesterday except

there was some glitch in the system that monitors the GPS

ankle bracelets.” She hopped across the bedroom into the

bathroom, putting on the other sandal in the process. “But

all that matters is he’s getting out of that horrible place.”

Silence rang across the line.

Carlotta frowned at her phone, then tapped the

microphone. “Hannah, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“What’s wrong with you? This is great news!”

Hannah sighed. “Carlotta, maybe Coop belongs in jail.”

She stopped. “Don’t tel me you actually believe Coop is

The Charmed Kil er.”

“Okay, let’s just put that aside for now. Have you

considered for even a moment that Coop might be in

danger when he’s out—from the public, or

from…himself?”

Carlotta dropped into a vanity chair. “No. I don’t think

Coop would hurt himself. Do you?”

Tension vibrated over the line. “Sweetie, you need to

accept the fact that Coop might’ve undergone some sort

of personality change. Maybe he suffered a nervous

breakdown or some kind of posttraumatic disorder from

all his years of seeing the worst of what can happen to

people. Or maybe he really is sick. Maybe there’s more to

him being at that neurologist’s office than he wants

anyone to know.”

Carlotta pressed her lips together and picked at the hem of

her skirt. “Rainie Stephens said she’d try to find out about

the neurologist. Meanwhile, can’t you let me be

optimistic? The prosecutor’s case isn’t rock solid if Liz

Fischer was able to convince the judge to give Coop bail.

That has to be a good sign.”

“Bail was set at a mil ion bucks. That’s not exactly a vote of

confidence. I’m wondering if the judge assumed that Coop

couldn’t make that kind of bail. Not many people could,”

Hannah added in a suspicious tone.

“He probably put up a property bond,” Carlotta said. “No

doubt his building in Castleberry Hil is worth a nice sum.”

“Stil .”

From downstairs, Peter called her name. Carlotta turned

her head. “I gotta run.”

“Big plans tonight?”

“Peter is taking me to dinner at the new tapas place in

midtown.”

“You mean Morsels?”

“Right. Have you eaten there?”

“Yeah. You might want to take a snack with you. The

portions are minuscule.”

Carlotta laughed. “It’s supposed to be the hottest

restaurant in town. Peter had to pul strings to get us

reservations.”

“I’l add string-pul er to his list of good qualities,” Hannah

muttered.

“Do you and Dough Boy have plans?” Carlotta asked

sweetly.

“Are you and Peter going to have a quickie before you

go?”

Carlotta frowned. “I’m hanging up.”

“Me, too.”

Carlotta stabbed a button to end the call, irritated.

Hannah’s comment reminded her of all the sex she wasn’t

having with Peter, and how awkward things had become

between them in the intimacy department. Both of them

seemed content not to force the issue.

But she knew it was one of the reasons Peter had pushed

for setting a date to go to Vegas. A change of venue would

be good for both of them, to get away from the stress and

ghosts plaguing both of them here.

“Carly,” Peter cal ed up the stairs again. “We need to leave

soon if we’re going to make our reservation.”

“Two minutes,” she called back, then pushed to her feet

and reached for her makeup bag. She added blush to her

cheeks and stroked on red lipstick, then ran a brush

through her hair in broad strokes, opting to leave it loose

around her shoulders.