Personal Demon
Page 87
I walked back and crouched by the note. Someone must have planted it and made it look like it came from Guy.
The wording was perfect. “Party time.” The joke about letting them have the “good stuff.” Even the brand—the same kind Sonny had swiped from the stock at Easy Rider the night of the sweet sixteen heist.
After the rest of the team poured in and secured the building, Paige and Lucas joined us. Karl quietly asked whether I wanted to step out, but didn’t argue when I refused. There was no chaos here to upset me, and I felt better staying with Max and Tony, so I could ensure they were treated as people, not anonymous casualties.
I couldn’t cling to my naiveté any longer. Guy knew how to convince his people that he had their best interests in mind, but as much as I’d liked him he was, at heart, as power-hungry and ruthless as any Cabal sorcerer.
He’d killed Rodriguez, Tony and Max, and maybe Jaz and Sonny.
Lucas must think Carlos was behind this, which would explain how the killer got easy access to his father’s and Hector’s homes, and lured William at the office. But he’d have needed help. He’d chosen Guy, a shrewd and ambitious gang leader with a reputation for discretion and caution, everything Carlos was not.
They’d hatched a plan, probably recruiting the Cabal security guards I’d seen. They’d used the guards to rob and beat Jaz and Sonny, planting the seeds. Then, with Jaz and Sonny gone and Bianca dead at the hands of the Cabal guard, Guy could whip the rest of the gang into full revenge mode. Having me disappear—presumably kidnapped—was a bonus he hadn’t counted on, but had undoubtedly used to full effect.
The gang would help Carlos and provide him with an alibi—he’d been with a woman, and narrowly escaped death himself. But then these witnesses needed to be silenced. That’s all Rodriquez, Tony and Max had been to Guy, despite his talk of brotherhood—tools to be used and discarded.
And Jaz and Sonny? Were they dead too? If so, why not display their bodies? Was Guy holding them somewhere, in case they still proved useful?
If we could find them, we might have our witnesses.
LUCAS’S PHONE RANG almost nonstop as he supervised the crime scene, and he was getting frustrated.
With two brothers dead, the third in custody, his father in mourning and the entire Cabal in upheaval, the only man they could turn to was the one who didn’t want the job.
I was shocked at how well he handled the pressure, especially under the circumstances and with no sleep.
He might have never worked for his father, but he knew the organization and, it seemed, how to direct it.
Three calls came in succession as Lucas tried to supervise the removal of Max and Tony’s bodies. Paige took the last for him.
As she listened, she frowned. “Are you sure about the time of death?”
Lucas glanced over sharply. She motioned for him to keep working.
“Yes, I understand,” she said. “It’s not an exact science, but it’s definitely been more than twenty-four hours?”
A pause, then she looked my way. “I think I have someone who can make a positive ID.”
I froze.
“I’ll bring her down.” She hung up and came over to me. “They found someone from the gang.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “Better wait until you see. Just to be sure.”
DID THE BODY belong to Jaz or Sonny?
The question looped through my mind all the way to the Cabal morgue. I could have pushed Paige for an answer, but then Karl would see how important it was to me and I didn’t want that.
Either way—Jaz or Sonny—this was going to hurt.
HOPE: POSITIVE ID
A young man in a suit that screamed “security detail” met Paige, Karl and me in the Cortez Corporation lobby and explained the situation as he led us to the basement, where the morgue and lab were located. The body had come from a contact in the city morgue.
“How does that work?” I asked.
“Mr. Cortez has friends everywhere and systems for everything. No one’s ever going to come looking for this guy.”
“The coroner said it was murder?” Paige prompted.
“Gunshot to the back of the skull. Right through the CNS. That’s the central nervous system.”
“Right.”
“And it was a professional body dump too.” He glanced at Paige uneasily, as if she might be shocked at the thought that someone could be a professional in such a thing. “It was pure luck that he was found so quickly. They ran his prints through their system, but he wasn’t in it. He was in ours, though.”
“So that’s how you flag them,” I said.
He deflated a little, as if I’d figured out the secret behind an illusion.
“But if his prints match the ones on file, he’s already been ID’d,” Karl said. “I don’t understand why you need Hope.”
“We have a name,” Paige said. “Whether it matches this man is another question.” She lowered her voice.
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”
The officer pushed open a set of swinging doors into the morgue. I’ve been in morgues before. Quite a few.
One of Philadelphia’s coroners was a past beau of my mother’s, and when I’m on a story where a body is involved, he can usually make a few calls and get me in. He says it’s because he trusts me to do a fair job, but I suspect he’s still trying to earn brownie points with my mom.
A city morgue is usually pretty shabby. This one looked more like a slick TV show. No peeling paint or old textbooks propping up broken equipment tables. Everything gleamed and blipped and beeped. It was so state of the art that I wasn’t sure what half the machines did.
I couldn’t help but think we had indeed walked onto a set, that this was a fake morgue constructed to trick visitors and dispel the rumors I’d heard about how the Cabal really investigated suspicious deaths—by tossing the body into an incinerator and faking the reports.
A woman in a lab coat introduced herself as Dr. Aberquero. Late thirties, with a pinched face, no makeup and her black hair tightly drawn back. When she turned to shake Karl’s hand though, a flash of consternation clouded her face as she stammered an introduction, probably regretting that decision to show up for work without makeup.
The wording was perfect. “Party time.” The joke about letting them have the “good stuff.” Even the brand—the same kind Sonny had swiped from the stock at Easy Rider the night of the sweet sixteen heist.
After the rest of the team poured in and secured the building, Paige and Lucas joined us. Karl quietly asked whether I wanted to step out, but didn’t argue when I refused. There was no chaos here to upset me, and I felt better staying with Max and Tony, so I could ensure they were treated as people, not anonymous casualties.
I couldn’t cling to my naiveté any longer. Guy knew how to convince his people that he had their best interests in mind, but as much as I’d liked him he was, at heart, as power-hungry and ruthless as any Cabal sorcerer.
He’d killed Rodriguez, Tony and Max, and maybe Jaz and Sonny.
Lucas must think Carlos was behind this, which would explain how the killer got easy access to his father’s and Hector’s homes, and lured William at the office. But he’d have needed help. He’d chosen Guy, a shrewd and ambitious gang leader with a reputation for discretion and caution, everything Carlos was not.
They’d hatched a plan, probably recruiting the Cabal security guards I’d seen. They’d used the guards to rob and beat Jaz and Sonny, planting the seeds. Then, with Jaz and Sonny gone and Bianca dead at the hands of the Cabal guard, Guy could whip the rest of the gang into full revenge mode. Having me disappear—presumably kidnapped—was a bonus he hadn’t counted on, but had undoubtedly used to full effect.
The gang would help Carlos and provide him with an alibi—he’d been with a woman, and narrowly escaped death himself. But then these witnesses needed to be silenced. That’s all Rodriquez, Tony and Max had been to Guy, despite his talk of brotherhood—tools to be used and discarded.
And Jaz and Sonny? Were they dead too? If so, why not display their bodies? Was Guy holding them somewhere, in case they still proved useful?
If we could find them, we might have our witnesses.
LUCAS’S PHONE RANG almost nonstop as he supervised the crime scene, and he was getting frustrated.
With two brothers dead, the third in custody, his father in mourning and the entire Cabal in upheaval, the only man they could turn to was the one who didn’t want the job.
I was shocked at how well he handled the pressure, especially under the circumstances and with no sleep.
He might have never worked for his father, but he knew the organization and, it seemed, how to direct it.
Three calls came in succession as Lucas tried to supervise the removal of Max and Tony’s bodies. Paige took the last for him.
As she listened, she frowned. “Are you sure about the time of death?”
Lucas glanced over sharply. She motioned for him to keep working.
“Yes, I understand,” she said. “It’s not an exact science, but it’s definitely been more than twenty-four hours?”
A pause, then she looked my way. “I think I have someone who can make a positive ID.”
I froze.
“I’ll bring her down.” She hung up and came over to me. “They found someone from the gang.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “Better wait until you see. Just to be sure.”
DID THE BODY belong to Jaz or Sonny?
The question looped through my mind all the way to the Cabal morgue. I could have pushed Paige for an answer, but then Karl would see how important it was to me and I didn’t want that.
Either way—Jaz or Sonny—this was going to hurt.
HOPE: POSITIVE ID
A young man in a suit that screamed “security detail” met Paige, Karl and me in the Cortez Corporation lobby and explained the situation as he led us to the basement, where the morgue and lab were located. The body had come from a contact in the city morgue.
“How does that work?” I asked.
“Mr. Cortez has friends everywhere and systems for everything. No one’s ever going to come looking for this guy.”
“The coroner said it was murder?” Paige prompted.
“Gunshot to the back of the skull. Right through the CNS. That’s the central nervous system.”
“Right.”
“And it was a professional body dump too.” He glanced at Paige uneasily, as if she might be shocked at the thought that someone could be a professional in such a thing. “It was pure luck that he was found so quickly. They ran his prints through their system, but he wasn’t in it. He was in ours, though.”
“So that’s how you flag them,” I said.
He deflated a little, as if I’d figured out the secret behind an illusion.
“But if his prints match the ones on file, he’s already been ID’d,” Karl said. “I don’t understand why you need Hope.”
“We have a name,” Paige said. “Whether it matches this man is another question.” She lowered her voice.
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”
The officer pushed open a set of swinging doors into the morgue. I’ve been in morgues before. Quite a few.
One of Philadelphia’s coroners was a past beau of my mother’s, and when I’m on a story where a body is involved, he can usually make a few calls and get me in. He says it’s because he trusts me to do a fair job, but I suspect he’s still trying to earn brownie points with my mom.
A city morgue is usually pretty shabby. This one looked more like a slick TV show. No peeling paint or old textbooks propping up broken equipment tables. Everything gleamed and blipped and beeped. It was so state of the art that I wasn’t sure what half the machines did.
I couldn’t help but think we had indeed walked onto a set, that this was a fake morgue constructed to trick visitors and dispel the rumors I’d heard about how the Cabal really investigated suspicious deaths—by tossing the body into an incinerator and faking the reports.
A woman in a lab coat introduced herself as Dr. Aberquero. Late thirties, with a pinched face, no makeup and her black hair tightly drawn back. When she turned to shake Karl’s hand though, a flash of consternation clouded her face as she stammered an introduction, probably regretting that decision to show up for work without makeup.
