Part 18 (1/2)

”My original guess was some kind of drug. PCP, bath salts, or another drug like that. His tox screen hasn't come back yet, so I don't know for sure that he wasn't on anything. However, with what happened at the hospital, it's pretty safe to say drugs are off the table.”

”So, if he did this to her,” Schilling contemplated aloud as he flipped through the photos of Monica's mangled face, ”there's no way she could have retaliated, attacked him, and caused all of that.” He pulled out Tyson's picture and tossed it on top of the pile.

”No fist fight, no matter how intense, would produce those effects,” Pierce said.

”Since you're pretty positive this isn't drug related, what do you think it is?” James asked, pulling as much information from her as he could without arousing suspicion.

Pierce shrugged. ”Some of the aspects hint at rabies, but others I've never seen before. At least, not all together like this. Also, I'm having a hard time with cause of death. Tyson's lungs were almost completely liquefied, and his trachea was practically torn to bits. Not to mention the obvious trauma to his face.”

”That's putting it mildly,” Schilling mumbled.

”And he's not the only one it happened to. The only way I can explain it is that something got into his lungs and each of the other victims', and then forced its way out again.”

The scarlet cloud cloaked James's thoughts, and the memory of their pulsing buzz tickled his eardrums.

”I'm not following,” Schilling said.

”It's like when you shake up a bottle of pop then unscrew the cap. It shoots out everywhere,” James tried to explain.

”Something shook this guy until he exploded? I thought he died from going splat on the patio.” Schilling's brow furrowed.

”No. Well, maybe. The two happened within such a close timeframe, it's a toss up as to which actually killed him. But whatever he inhaled rushed out of his lungs with a ma.s.sive amount of force. It not only tore apart the soft tissue, it also dislocated his mandible and lacerated the flesh around his mouth. Which is exactly what happened to these other victims.” She plopped down a file onto the empty exam table and spread out its contents.

James grimaced as Pierce lined up pictures of the hospital victims.

”Ugh,” Schilling grunted. ”Same facial....”

”Explosion,” James whispered.

He nodded his head in agreement. ”Yep, sounds about right.”

”At first glance, yes, which is how I knew the cases were connected. But there are a few slight differences. Their lung tissue and trachea aren't nearly as destroyed, and the damage to each of their oral cavities is much less severe. But the jury's still out on cause of death.”

”But the jaws, they're all still....” James lost his words as his eyes locked on one of the photographs.

”Dislocated? Yes.”

”Well, this is a f.u.c.king mess if I've ever seen one.” Schilling scratched his rotund midsection. ”Okay, we have to start at the beginning, with Tyson George. We're not taking the drug idea off the table. At least not until we hear about the test results. We'll start looking into anyone dealing higher-level drugs. There's also this new synthetic one making the rounds that I've been reading about. Flakka, or something. I didn't think it had gotten here yet, but looking at this makes me think I might be wrong about that. Graham, send a note to Winslow. Tell him to pull the list of top dealers operating in the area, as well as George and Carroll's financial records. We need to see if either of them made any big deposits or withdrawals, or has any outstanding debts.”

Schilling's voice faded into the distance as James stared at the unnatural facial shapes in each picture.

”Dammit Graham, pull your head out of your a.s.s,” Schilling bellowed.

James blinked a few times and looked around the room as if he'd just woken up. ”Yeah, I'm on it.” He pulled out his phone. ”E-mailing Winslow now.”

Schilling cleared his throat and turned his attention back toward Catherine. ”Pierce, thanks for calling us down and sharing this with us. The chain of command might be changing here soon, and we'd appreciate it if you'd keep us in the loop.”

”Don't mention it. If everything wasn't being locked up so tight, I would've called you while I was at the scene. But I was instructed not to say a word. I'm sticking my neck out telling you now.”

”We both owe you for this, and for whatever you decide to share with us later on,” James said.

”A lot of the big hush-hush is because of legal and medical s.h.i.+t I want nothing to do with, but it sure doesn't help that this case is coming right on the heels of the Kostas debacle. A lot of unanswered questions with that one, let me tell you.”

”Winslow's on it,” James interrupted before Schilling had a chance to question him again about Mohawk Park. ”We'd best get back. I'm sure there are a lot of names we need to go through. Oh, Pierce, one more thing. You think the CDC will be brought in on this?”

”I'd be surprised if they weren't already called. It's just a matter of time when dealing with a potential outbreak like this one.”

James's stomach flip-flopped. ”Good to know.”

”We'll get out of your hair then Pierce. Give Vee a kiss for me, and two from puppy dog eyes over there,” Schilling chuckled, and pointed to James.

”Don't tempt me, Schilling.” Pierce's blue eyes glinted as a smirk curled her lips.

”We are not starting this again. I'm outta here. I'll be at the car.” James waved goodbye over his shoulder and pushed open the door. Luckily, Veronica's back was turned and she was too preoccupied cackling on the phone to notice James tiptoeing out the front door.

”That was a nightmare. And the CDC. Jesus Christ.” He sighed and leaned against the trunk of Schilling's Buick. Fall was in the air, cooling the breeze as it swirled around him.

”I see you dodged Vee on your way out,” Schilling tw.a.n.ged. ”She told me to let you know that she has an extra ticket to the movies this weekend. Guess her sister's bailing on her or something. She's hard to understand sometimes, but, woowee, is that accent something else.” Schilling started the car and maneuvered out onto the busy street.

”Hey, Schilling, the station's back that way.” James pointed as Schilling pulled through the next intersection.

”We're not going to the station just yet. We're going to my house for an early lunch. And just in time, too. I could reach up a hog's a.s.s and pull out a ham sandwich I'm so hungry. I wrote you a text yesterday about coming over, remember?”

James thought back. ”No, but I left my phone in my car, and I just got it back when I came in this morning.”

”Well, I sent it. You didn't say anything back, but it was sent out either way.”

”If someone doesn't respond to your text, you can't take that as a yes,” James said.

”Oh, so sorry. That's my fault. I didn't realize your schedule was so demanding. Tell me, what exactly were your plans this afternoon? Because I thought eating some good home cooking would be loads better than staring at dead bodies or sifting through files all day, but that may just be my old age talking.”

James remained silent.

”You're quiet again, and I'm taking it as you being compliant,” Schilling said.

”Yeah, well, I do owe you. I just didn't think you'd be collecting so soon.”

”How about we keep that fact between the two of us. My wife won't take too kindly to being a bartering chip.” Schilling's phone blared, and he swerved into oncoming traffic as he s.h.i.+fted his body to dig it out of his back pocket. ”This is Schilling,” he grumbled, and held the phone over the center console.

”Detective, it's Winslow.” The young man's chipper tone grated against James's increasingly frayed nerves. ”I've got a witness for you. He's in pretty bad shape up at St. Francis Hospital, and has a few screws loose from what I've heard, but he's ready to talk.”

James's forehead pinched. ”A witness?”

”Yeah, I guess someone made it out of St. John's last night and headed over to a bar on Brookside,” Winslow answered. ”Apparently this guy was the only one left standing after he got through.”

”And why are we just now hearing about this?” Schilling questioned.