What Hides Within (25 page)

"Good, good. Do you have anything on the Mayor's death?"

"The guys from Boston are looking into that one. I've been out of the loop for quite some time."

"Boston? You mean, FBI? It's big, then? I knew it was related to all those other explosions. Do you think he's some kind of political terrorist?"

"I have no idea."

Reilly was beginning to lose her patience. She hadn't come down there to be interrogated. She didn't want to be there any longer than necessary. Mayor Sousa's death was public information. People across the country knew about it and the explosions, it being an otherwise slow month for national news. Of course, Reilly was smack dab in the middle of all the shit. Fall River was once again newsworthy. If Dr. Hawthorne wanted to know about it, all she had to do was pick up a newspaper.

"Why'd you call me down here, Dr. Hawthorne?"

"Do you know him?" the mortician smiled.

"Should I? If his dick weren't hanging out like that, I wouldn't even have known it was a 'him.' Where's the rest of him? I don't recall any acid accidents coming through our precinct."

"Take a look." Dr. Hawthorne handed Reilly a case folder. "Derek LeRoux" was written on its tab. The autopsy was finished. Dr. Hawthorne's report was complete, but Reilly was perplexed by its abnormal conclusions.

"LeRoux was brought in Wednesday," Hawthorne said, seemingly eager to explain her results. "He was found like this in his bed that morning, much more intact, mind you. His time of death was estimated at around 4:40 a.m., Sunday morning."

"Yeah, I remember him. But he looked less decomposed when we brought him in. What happened to his skin? Bad reaction to formaldehyde or something?"

"I didn't do this to him, Detective. We initially determined his cause of death to be asphyxiation. All signs seemed to suggest it, although we weren't sure how or why. By the time I got to him, though, his flesh had already been decomposing, much like you see here. Only, his rate of decomposition is at least thirty times faster than normal. On closer examination, one can easily see that his flesh isn't decomposing at all. It's liquefying."

"Excuse me?"

"When I cut into him, large portions of his body, his epidermal cells, his internal organs . . . basically everything in him except bone had turned to mush. On top of that, his body temperature has actually increased. It's grotesquely high for a living person, never mind a dead man. Trying to do an autopsy on him was like cutting into warm pudding."

"Sounds appetizing. I'm assuming you're coming to some point?"

"Yes, after some initial testing, I thought that some chemical compound must be causing this drastic breakdown in tissue structure. With that in mind, I ran more tests. Believe me, even with the effects of its presence being so drastic, it wasn't easy to discover his ailment."

"And that would be? Other than death, of course."

"It turns out that his body has been taken over by a trace amount of a complex protein polypeptide, alpha-Latrotoxin combined with Guanosine, Adenosine--"

"Doctor, please. In English, if you would?"

"Basically, our victim here is loaded with a neurotoxin
and
some sort of digestive enzyme. The neurotoxin seems the most probable cause of death, binding to his presynaptic cholinergic receptors and causing permanent blockage of the nerve synapse."

"Doctor--"

"Sorry. The end result of the neurotoxin's imposition into the body was complete paralysis of the victim's diaphragm, making it impossible for him to breathe."

"So if I understand you correctly, you're saying this man was poisoned?"

"Not poison. Venom. The strongest venom I've ever seen or read about. And what's worse, now he's being digested."

Reilly's fear of flesh-eating parasites now hit too close to home. She took a step back, covering her mouth and nose with her hand.

"Don't worry, Detective. You won't contract anything from him, although I would recommend that you don't touch him."

"That won't be a problem."

Reilly relaxed but maintained her distance. "Is it your conclusion that this man was murdered?"

"All I can do is give you the facts. I've cross-referenced the neurotoxin against known venoms from all animals found in our database. Its chemical make-up, together with the digestive enzymes and the fact that so little of the substance is actually present in the body, correlate this man's symptoms with those bitten by black widow spiders. You see, when widow spiders feed, they paralyze their prey with their venom and liquefy its flesh with digestive enzymes spit up from their intestinal track. Basically it dissolves the food source like battery acid on skin."

"You called me down here for a spider bite? Why don't you just alert the CDC or whoever deals with that crap and be done with it?"

"That's just it, Detective. Let's assume he was bitten by a black widow. Normally, a healthy adult wouldn't die from it. The spider's venom is toxic, but one bite injects so little of it that only young children, the infirm or the elderly are susceptible to serious harm. This man has the toxicity of a victim of fifty or more simultaneous widow bites . . . or one giant spider, whose stomach acids are unprecedentedly strong enough to digest human prey."

"That kind of thing only happens in science fiction movies," Reilly scoffed. She didn't appreciate her time wasted with ridiculous theories. She let her skepticism be known. But Dr. Hawthorne seemed equally skeptical.

"My thoughts, exactly. That's why I called you, Detective. I've examined every inch of the body. There are no spider bites on this man. Had it been some enormous movie spider or even lots of little ones, we'd certainly find a bite. The point of injection of the venom in this man was likely around the head or neck. It's impossible to pinpoint exactly where since his head has largely been digested. When I opened his skull, his brain poured out like soup."

Reilly could see the delight on Dr. Hawthorne's face as she relayed her corpse-cutting stories to her captive and captivated, though disgusted, audience.
This is why I hate morticians
, she thought.

"Anyway," the doctor continued, "the toxicity of the substance and the nature of its imposition into the body suggest this man's death was, at the least, suicide. No spider venom is this potent without human tampering. And unless this man was some sort of advanced chemistry major with access to insane amounts of spider venom, he was probably murdered, perhaps by needle injection directly into the brain through the nostril."

"And if he didn't have his advanced chemistry degree, I'm looking for some pharmaceutical madman who works with antivenin on a daily basis?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes. Should be easy enough to find. You're welcome, Detective."

"Nothing's ever that easy, doctor. And unless you can provide me something more solid than what seems like a lot of conjecture on your part, or at least name me someone that can replicate this so-called venom in a lab, find someone else to entertain your theories. As for me, I'm sticking with allergic reaction as the most likely cause of Mr. Pudding Pop here."

"Ouch!"

"Hold still," Morgan berated, "and you won't get stuck. You're such a baby sometimes."

"Are you even supposed to be in here?" Clive laughed. "I'm down to my boxers."

"Nothing I haven't seen before."

Morgan's cheeks flushed red. The tailor stared at her as though he were trying to silently let her know he was still there.

"I guess I'll let you two boys finish up. I'll be outside." Morgan giggled and exited the Macy's fitting room. Clive smiled, thinking about how far he and Morgan had come in a short time. Derek had been dead less than a week. They had known about it for less than that. Yet, Clive was happy. He'd started the week as Morgan's friend and ended it as her lover. He was surprised to realize it was what she always wanted.

He was more surprised to realize it was what he wanted. Clive let his affection for Morgan out of its protective casing. If Derek's death was affecting him, it wasn't consciously.

"How do I look?"

Clive jumped out of the fitting area looking dapper. His black, pinstriped suit was by no means Armani, but he allowed himself to splurge a bit. He figured he had stopped growing a long time ago, and the one, all-purpose suit he had was worn and out of style. It was time to get a new one, even if he'd only wear it once and be done with it.

"You look fantastic! I've never seen you in a suit. You clean up nicely."

"Thanks, Beautiful. You ain't too bad yourself. Keep it up with those compliments, and I'll let you take this thing off me later."

"Sounds like a deal."

Clive looked at the $320.00 price tag sticking out his sleeve. With shoes, a tie, socks and a shirt, he'd easily spend over four hundred. He didn't have the money. He'd have to charge it, but it didn't matter. After all, he looked good. It wasn't like he spent money on suits every day.

After settling the bill with the cashier and forgetting to tip the tailor, he and Morgan decided to walk the mall. It wasn't often that Clive got up to Providence Place. Most of the shops sucked, but the restaurants were adequate. Morgan loved the Cheesecake Factory, though, so he knew he'd be dropping another sixty dollars, minimum, on an overpriced dinner for two.

Saturday at the mall was packed. The two strolled from store to store. Clive held the bag containing his suit and the four bags of clothing Morgan had bought. He looked like he was balancing the scales of justice. One more bag on either arm, and he'd tip. He needed a break.

"Can we eat now?" Clive asked as they approached a Johnny Rockets. The smell of greasy burgers and chopped onion made his stomach speak in non-human tongues.

"Awe, is widdle Clive hungwy?"

"Very funny. But yes, I am hungry."

"Where do you want to eat?"

"There's always Dave & Buster's."

"Nah. Let's go someplace a little nicer."

"Fire and Ice? Uno's?"

Clive knew Morgan's game. He knew where she wanted to go. But if she wanted to go there, she was going to have to say so. He wasn't about to suggest it for her.

"Actually, I was thinking the Cheesecake Factory."

"You were, were you? With all these places around us, you want to walk all the way to the end of the mall, go down three escalators and wait for a table for forty-five minutes?"

"I like the Cheesecake Factory."

"You don't say?"

Clive knew he was venturing into a battle he couldn't win. He decided to retreat.

"Cheesecake Factory it is."

Morgan leaned in to kiss him. "I love you," she whispered, her eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.

A smile breached Clive's face despite his efforts to hold it back. He took her hand in his before he realized he still had all her bags to carry. When the realization came, the smile and the hand-holding left. He picked up their bags and headed across the food court. He plopped down the bags a second time when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

"Is that my roommate?"

Clive stopped short. A few tables away, a young man sat fidgeting and staring intently at his hands. At his feet, he had a green backpack. One of its straps was wrapped around his calf.

"Where?" Morgan chicken-headed her gaze over the mall crowd in the direction Clive was looking. "I don't see him."

"That is him. Looks like he's all by himself."

"Now, Clive, I know what you're thinking--"

"What kind of guy hangs out at the mall all by himself? He's either a pedophile or lonely. We should invite him to have dinner with us."

"God, you're predictable. Can't we have a nice, quiet dinner by ourselves?'

"It's just dinner, Morgan."

"You have no sense of romance. Besides, didn't you tell me the detective thought Kevin might be involved with the bombings? That guy gives me the creeps."

"Look at him, Morgan. He's a puss. I live with the guy, for Christ's sake. I know him well enough to know that he's no bomber."

"You never know."

"It would be the right thing to do, Morgan. He'll probably say, 'no,' anyway."

"I hope so."

"Come on. Let's ask him."

As Clive approached his roommate, Kevin seemed apprehensive. He shifted in his seat, using his leg to drag the backpack farther underneath him. When he saw his approaching company, he looked up at Clive with the sullen eyes of a dog that had been beaten into submission. But his expression quickly changed. Something about Clive made him rabid.

"You! You've been doing this to me? You prick! I'll kill you!"

The unwarranted aggression made Clive equally aggressive. "Slow down, jerkoff. I just came over here to see if you wanted to get dinner with us."

"Cut the crap. I know it's you. I don't know how you found out, but it makes sense. I'm around you more than anyone else. It's not surprising that you might have seen something."

"Clive," Morgan said, stepping between the roommates. "What's going on?"

"Apparently, Kevin has a problem with me."

"Yeah, keep playing dumb in front of your whore girlfriend, asshole. I came here to end this thing, so let's end it."

Clive's irritation grew, sparked by a pseudo-societal sense of honor, the need to defend one's girlfriend from insult. "Kev, I don't know what your fucking problem is, but you'd better lay off, or I'll kick the living shit out of you."

Morgan stepped closer to Clive. "Maybe we should just leave."

Clive shoved her out of his way. He would say his peace.

"No, Morgan. Fuck this guy. I came over here to do something nice, and he insults us. That's the thanks I get. You're fucked up, Kevin. I'm out of here."

Clive turned to leave. "Let's go, Morgan."

"Not again!" Kevin shouted. "You're not going to keep doing this shit to me."

Kevin lunged from his seat. He grabbed the back of Clive's coat and yanked, knocking Clive off balance. Clive stumbled, the bags slinging from his arms as he flailed them. Morgan's new, but no longer secret, Victoria's Secret underwear lay strewn about on the dirty floor. With a shriek, she rushed to gather her belongings.