With a Vengeance (3 page)

The weight of her empty wallet bore down on her. “That’s what Bud told me when he phoned.” The original work order called for repairing the muffler and checking the brakes. “It turned into a lot more than I’d planned.”

The worry lines returned. “Once I got in there, I found the tailpipe was completely rotted away. And your brakes were down to metal. The boss explained all that, right?”

“Yeah.” But knowing in advance didn’t make it hurt any less. Zoe ran her expenses versus income through her mental calculator and came up with flashing red sub-zero balances. “You guys take credit cards, don’t you?”

“Oh, sure thing.”

Zoe heaved a loud sigh. “It’s cheaper than a new car payment, I guess. And it should be as good as new now, right?” she offered, with more enthusiasm than she felt.

Gabe’s expression didn’t elicit much confidence. “I ran into another problem. When I tried to start it, it took a few tries.”

“The click, click, click thing? Yeah, it’s been doing that for a couple of weeks now. I just keep fussing with it until it starts.”

The mechanic winced. “Except one of these days it ain’t gonna. Sooner than later, most likely. You need a new starter.”

Zoe struggled to pull her credit card from her wallet, as if the plastic was resisting the added burden too. “How much will
that
cost?”

“With an old truck like this, the parts shouldn’t be more than a hundred dollars. Labor will only be another hundred. Maybe a little less.”

Only?
She choked. “Really?”

He nodded glumly, as if the money for the needed repairs was coming out of instead of going into his pocket.

“But that can wait a while, right?”

Gabe shrugged. “When it goes, she ain’t gonna start for you.”

“Great.” Zoe contemplated asking if there was anything else, but was afraid of his answer.

The mechanic disappeared while Zoe handed her credit card through the cashier’s window to Bud Kramer, the wheelchair-bound owner of the garage who no longer tackled the hands-on part of the business. “Sorry to hear about Barry Dickson,” he said as she signed away money she hadn’t earned yet. “He was a real decent guy.”

“Yeah, he was.” She didn’t mention that she was on her way to his autopsy.

As she crossed the gravel parking lot, she heard someone call her name and turned to see Gabe jogging after her. He caught up, huffing. “I didn’t wanna say anything in front of the boss, but I’ll keep an eye out for a used starter for your Chevy. I should be able to pick one up for you lots cheaper than what we charge. And I’ll install it for half of what Kramer’ll gouge you.” He shoved a business card into her hand. “Call me at home. I’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks,” she said, stunned.

He gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder as he shuffled back to the garage.

She pocketed the card and studied the rusty tailgate of her beloved old Chevy. Today’s repairs already had her in the hole. The additional ones, cut price or not, weren’t even in the ballpark of her current budget.

But going into debt might be the high point of her day, considering her next stop.

Three

“You’re getting better at these.” Only Franklin Marshall’s eyes were visible above the mask.

Not enough of his face for Zoe to determine the degree of sarcasm in his words. “Am I?”

The stench of an autopsy played havoc with her every time. The sight of a body opened up on the stainless steel table didn’t faze her. Nor did the pop of ribs being cut with clippers that looked like something a landscaper should be using to trim trees.

Not even the grayish face of a man she’d known for much of her life was enough to send her running. No, it was the smell that drove her out of the morgue on more than one occasion since she’d taken on the deputy coroner role.

The stupid surgical masks, worn to protect the living from whatever contagions the deceased might carry, did little to block the odors.

Franklin chuckled. “You’re still in here, aren’t you?”

For the moment.

Forensic Pathologist Lyle “Doc” Abercrombie straightened from leaning over the body, holding a mound the size of a fist in his gloved hands. Barry’s heart.

Doc carried it to a nearby table, setting the organ down as gently as if it were still beating. “Zoe. Photos please.”

Swallowing the rising nausea, she stepped forward, camera in hand. Doc pointed out the damage he wanted her to document.

Behind her, Franklin moved closer to the body, bending over to peer into the chest cavity. “This sniper is a helluva shot.”

Doc left Zoe to her photography. “Not that he needed to be. He used a high-powered rifle. The bullet shattered a rib and shredded the aorta, his lungs, and everything else in its path. The victim never stood a chance.”

She snapped the needed pictures and lowered the camera. She’d already photographed Barry while he was still wearing his paramedic’s uniform, the same as hers only much larger, as well as after he’d been stripped. The entrance wound—small, round, and pink—exhibited very little blood, but some fibers from his shirt clung to it. On the other hand, the bullet had ripped a huge, jagged hole upon exiting.

Zoe flashed back to the night before, when she and Franklin had processed Barry’s body at the scene. He’d clearly bled out in less than a minute. Died in a pond of his own blood.

She wondered who had been shot first. Barry or Curtis? What had it been like for the second victim? Seeing his partner gunned down, only then to be shot as well.

Barry had been a big, loveable lug, but he’d also made an enemy or two in his day. Simply on the basis of his size, he often acted as the protector of the weak.

A recent incident, which Zoe had heard from others at the garage, floated to the surface of her mind. A couple of weeks ago, a young, drunk badass had called Barry out. Apparently, he’d popped the thug with one fist after taking as many of the punk’s insults as he could handle. According to the guys, the loudmouth ran away in tears, but had been heard around town making threats about a rematch.

Curtis was physically the polar opposite of his partner. Lean and non-threatening, he avoided altercations at all costs, telling everyone that he was a lover, not a fighter. Everyone at Mon County EMS eagerly awaited Curtis’s upcoming wedding to Lucy Livingston, who some of the guys described as ten-car-pileup gorgeous. Lucy had dumped a jerk of a boyfriend for Curtis, who’d proposed after a whirlwind three-month courtship.

Zoe tried to remember Lucy’s ex-boyfriend’s name to no avail. Could jealousy have driven the jilted lover to try to kill his rival?

“Zoe.”

She snapped out of her reverie and looked up to find Franklin staring at her over his mask. “I’m sorry. What?”

The coroner motioned toward Abercrombie. “Doc asked if you wanted to run the gut.”

As if all the other aromas weren’t disgusting enough, opening and washing the intestines ranked at the top of the Awful Smells List. She’d never lasted through it, even with someone else doing the deed. “Uh. No. I’ll pass.”

Doc snickered, smile lines deepened around Franklin’s eyes, and Zoe realized both men were teasing her.

At least she thought they were teasing. “You’re evil, you know.”

“You make it too easy.” Franklin took the camera from her hands.

“No more photographs?” she asked.

“No. I don’t want you to drop my new Nikon when you pass out.”

Oh, crap. They
weren’t
kidding.

Pete stood in the police station’s conference room, studying the crime scene photos spread across the long table. An overturned ATV. The ambulance with a bullet hole in the fender. Close-ups of the tread marks from the second ATV. Various shots of the body.

Every aspect of the case gnawed at him. The ambush. The victims. The lack of evidence. The lack of a suspect. That one really ate at him.

His cell phone rang for what felt like the twentieth time. Concerned citizens kept phoning, demanding answers he didn’t have. Or offering their thoughts on who might be behind the killings. He’d taken a list of names and would follow up even though he knew most of the accusations were bogus. This time, though, the name and number on his caller ID weren’t local.

Chuck Delano. His former partner from their days with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police currently resided in Hawaii. A couple of months back, Chuck had hounded him relentlessly to accept a job at some swanky resort on Maui. At one point, Pete had been on the verge of taking it too.

Pete answered the phone. “No, I am not moving to Hawaii.”

“Well, why the hell not? Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re in
love
.” The way Chuck said the word made it sound like a high school crush.

“I’m busy. What do you want?”

“No need to get snippy. But I do have another job offer for you. Not quite as good as the last one, at least starting out, but I think you’d make head of security within three months easy.”

“I told you. I’m not moving.”

“Bring the girl with you. One word for you, Petey. Bikinis.”

For a moment, Pete’s mind conjured up an image of Zoe in a skimpy bathing suit. He quickly filed the fantasy away for later, when he had the time to enjoy it. “I have to go.”

“I don’t know how you can still live around there.” Chuck’s tone became more wistful.

The hint of melancholy in his old partner’s voice kept Pete from hanging up. “I like it here. I’ve told you that.”

“I know. But don’t you ever think about…you know?”

Of course he knew. Eleven years ago, he and Chuck had responded to a report of shots fired. A drug deal gone south. One kid lay dead in the street. A second one took a shot at Chuck, hitting him in the leg. Pete had returned fire, ending the life of what turned out to be a fifteen-year-old boy. “Donnie Moreno.” He’d never forget the night or the name.

“To this day I wake up in a cold sweat remembering,” Chuck said. “If I still lived back there, I’d probably have eaten my gun by now. And I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.”

“It’s ancient history. We were doing our jobs. If you still can’t let it go, maybe you need to talk to someone.”

Pete’s suggestion was met with a gruff laugh. “I do. I talk to the pretty barmaids downstairs at the lounge. I’m telling you, you need to come check the place out. Take a vacation. Bring your girl with you.”

Bells jangled on the front door. “I have to go, Chuck.”

“Think about it at least?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.” Pete ended the call.

He couldn’t make out the words in the muffled exchange between the newcomer and Nancy, his secretary, but he heard enough to know the speaker’s identity. A moment later, Baronick swaggered into the room carrying two cups from the new coffee joint in Phillipsburg.

The detective handed one to Pete. “I figured you could use this.”

He mumbled his thanks.

“Do you realize you have a crew of reporters camped outside?”

“Yeah. I told them I’d give a statement as soon as we know something.” Pete inhaled the aromatic steam from the cup. “So do we have anything new?”

“Not yet.” Baronick took a sip. “Your officer’s still overseeing things at the site. We’ve got teams with metal detectors trying to locate the spent bullets. What about the ambulance?”

“I sent Nate Williamson over to Kramer’s to process it. We should hear something from him shortly. And Metzger’s in the back on the phone trying to track down the owner of the bait ATV.” Pete tapped the photo of the tread marks. “Tires aren’t a match, so we’re definitely dealing with two different vehicles.”

Baronick set down his coffee and shook his head. “Quite the elaborate ruse, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Maybe too elaborate, which was one of the many things that bugged Pete about the case.

The bells at the front of the station jingled again. At the same time, Seth Metzger rapped on the open door to the conference room. Pete waved him in.

“I tracked down the owner of the overturned ATV.” The officer handed a sheet of paper with his notes to Pete. “He’s from over near Marsdale. Reported it stolen two days ago. I called Marsdale PD and they confirmed.”

Baronick read Metzger’s scribblings over Pete’s shoulder. “Maybe my guys will be able to pull some fingerprints or fibers off it.”

“Not likely. This guy’s been pretty good about covering his ass.”

Baronick grinned at Pete. “Don’t be so negative. He’s bound to slip up at some point.”

Another knock at the door drew Pete’s attention. Zoe, pale and sporting a matched set of dark circles under her gorgeous baby blues, leaned against the doorframe as if her legs might fail her. He moved toward her. “Are you okay?” But the reason for her pallor hit him before she had a chance to respond. “The autopsy.”

She pushed away from the door and allowed him to guide her to a chair. “I don’t care what anyone tells you, Vicks VapoRub does not cover those smells.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Pete offered a sympathetic smile. “What did Franklin learn?”

She shot a sickly glare at him. “Besides how fast I can run when I need to barf?”

Pete winced. “Yeah. Besides that.”

“Nothing unexpected. The bullet entered the upper left quadrant of the chest, took out the aorta, broke several ribs, and shredded the lung and the liver along the way before exiting just below the posterior right ribcage. Barry died within seconds from massive blood loss.”

“Any bullet fragments?” Baronick asked.

She shook her head.

Pete propped one hip on the edge of the table and leaned toward her, resisting the urge to touch her arm. “Any word on Knox?”

“I called Earl before I left Brunswick. He said Curtis was out of surgery.” She glanced at Baronick. “No fragments there either.” Turning back to Pete, she said, “Earl’s gonna meet me here and we’re driving into the city to see him.”

“He’s conscious?”

“Not yet.”

Pete grunted. “I want to talk to him as soon as he’s up to it. Maybe he can give us something to identify the shooter.”

Zoe leaned back in the chair. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I was thinking about who might’ve wanted to kill Barry. Or Curtis. And I have a couple of ideas.”

Zoe glanced at the display of primitive medical devices inside one of the glass cases lining the hallway to the South Tower of Allegheny General. They looked more like primitive torture devices to her.

“Olivia and I would love to have you stay with us,” Earl said, nudging her on.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes. We would. Your cats could entertain our dog. I know I said your horse could sleep in Lilly’s bedroom, but Olivia did put the kibosh on that idea.”

Zoe bit back a laugh. “My horse still has a barn.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“No, it’s not. Rose is letting me stay in Logan’s room until he comes home. Allison loves the cats, so for now, everything’s good.”

“For now. But the offer stands.”

They reached the end of the tunnel-like hallway and crossed the large waiting area to the information desk. The woman seated behind it punched Curtis’s name into her computer and gave them his room number.

As they waited for an elevator, Earl returned to a topic they’d been discussing on the drive into Pittsburgh. “You mentioned Lucy’s ex-boyfriend.” The elevator doors opened. Earl, Zoe, and three others stepped in. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

Zoe glanced around at the strangers sharing their ride. She didn’t want to discuss her theories about who might carry a grudge against Curtis in their presence, so she answered simply, “No.”

Seconds later, she and Earl stepped off the elevator.

She searched for and found the sign pointing them in the direction of Curtis’s room.

“I only met Lucy one time,” Zoe told Earl as they headed down the hall, “when I sat with her at the picnic this summer. I remember her talking about breaking up with her controlling ex-boyfriend. If she mentioned his name, I don’t recall.”

“I still think it’s crazy.” Earl shook his head incredulously. “Do
you
think she’s worth killing for?”

“Well, of course
I
don’t. But if the guy is as obsessive as she made him out to be, who knows?” Zoe checked the numbers next to each door as they got closer to the one they wanted. “I told Pete. He’ll find out who the guy is and if he might be the shooter.”

“I still think it’s a stretch. Now Snake Sullivan?
Him
I can definitely see ambushing Barry and Curtis.”

“
Snake
Sullivan? That’s his name?”

“The guy Barry flattened with one punch? Yeah. It’s not his given name, of course, but that’s what he calls himself.”

“Is he a biker or something?”

“He wishes. Mostly he just hangs out at Rodeo’s Bar and talks trash. The guys think he’s a big joke.”

Zoe wished she’d known all this when she’d spoken with Pete. But he’d find out once he asked around.

“You know, there’s one big problem with both of these theories,” Earl said.

“Oh? What?”

“How would anyone—Snake or Lucy’s ex—know which crew was gonna take that call?”