Kathy Reichs - Break No Bones

"You've been good boys and girls."

"So mussels and clams don't attend the same family reunions," Ryan said, merging onto I-26. "Go figure."

It was after six, and we were on our way back to Charleston. We'd stopped at Maurice's Piggy Park. The man's politics are offensive, but Maurice Bessinger makes primo barbecue sauce.

Exhausted from my all-nighter, and gorged on pork, fries, and sweet tea, I wanted to collapse against the headrest and drift off. Instead, I called to tell Gullet about Lepinsky's ID.

"The snails were the same freshwater species I found buried with Helms."

"You're going to love this."

Did I actually hear a note of something in Gullet's voice? Pleasure? Satisfaction?

"When they finished the clinic, the DA got a second warrant and CSU tossed Marshall's home. The doctor is one fastidious little toad. Place was like a monastery, antiseptically clean, few personal items. But Marshall was a collector."

"Shells!" No question about my tone. Elation.

"Hundreds, all labeled and lined up in neat little boxes."

I heard a voice in the background.

"Hang on." Gullet put me on hold.

While waiting, I told Ryan about Marshall's hobby.

"Hope he didn't put clams and mussels in the same tray."

When Gullet reengaged he had more news.

"Marshall's Bayliner's in Key Largo, Florida."

"That was fast."

"Sent out an APB on the boat's make and registration number. Key Largo cops spotted her about twenty minutes ago. Name's the Flight of Whimsy."

"Flight, yes, whimsy, no. How'd she get to the Keys?"

"Gentleman named Sandy Mann claims to have purchased her in Charleston, made the run south on Sunday. Time line tallies. According to witnesses, the Flight of Whimsy's been docked at the marina since sometime on Monday."

"What's Mann's story?"

"He's on his way in to tell it."

"Rodriguez?"

"The Puerto Vallarta police hit the Abrigo whatever about the time we were busting Marshall. Found pretty much the same setup, though more sophisticated on that end. Spa's a front."

"Rodriguez?"

"Not at the spa, his home, or his club. One vehicle missing. Girlfriend thinks he may have driven to Oaxaca to visit friends."

"He's skipped."

"Most likely."

"Marshall must have tipped him."

"They'll nail him. Though the Mexican cops aren't certain what the charges will be."

"The man sold organs ransacked from murder victims."

"I suspect Dr. Rodriguez's lawyer will paint a different picture. If he has bogus records for the sources of the organs he implanted it may be hard to make a case. We need to show delivery of a victim's organ and knowledge on his part."

"Doctor." I snorted in disgust. "The man is a moral invalid and should be locked up. No one who promotes death deserves to be called doctor. Same goes for Marshall."

"Marshall's not going anywhere. Magistrate's holding him on a charge of murder one."

"What's he saying?"

"'I want a lawyer.'"

"Statute gives him the right to a hearing before a judge within forty-eight hours. Marshall will be out on bond by Friday."

"If so, we'll be on him like white on rice. My deputy's going through clinic files now."

"You've got my spreadsheet?"

"First set of names we checked. Nothing. Marshall probably destroyed all records for patients he killed."

"He still had Montague's file."

"True."

When we'd disconnected, I updated Ryan. Then I leaned back and closed my eyes. Though dog tired, I felt good. Really good.

Marshall was behind bars and evidence was being collected that would nail him for homicide and countless other charges.

We'd shut down an international ring trafficking in human organs. Though Rodriguez had slipped the net for now, I was sure he'd be caught and prosecuted.

I'd fulfilled my vow to help Emma. The man on Dewees, the man in the trees, and the lady in the barrel could now rest in peace.

Gullet was working with the Charleston PD, and I was sure other MPs would eventually be tracked. Maybe Aikman, Teal, and Flynn. If international laws were broken, the FBI would undoubtedly sign on.

When Ryan pulled in at "Sea for Miles," I checked the dash clock: 7:42. We were climbing the steps when my cell phone sounded. I clicked on, hoping it was Gullet with news Rodriguez was in the bag.

"Dr. Brennan." The voice was male, but otherwise, nothing clicked.

"Who's calling, please?"

"Dr. Lester Marshall. I need to see you."

"There is absolutely nothing-"

"Quite the contrary. And perhaps I misspoke." Marshall paused. "It is you who need to see me."

"I doubt that."

"Doubting me would be unwise, Dr. Brennan. Come tomorrow. You know where to find me."

MARSHALL WAS BEING HELD AT THE DETENTION CENTER ON Leeds Avenue in North Charleston. Ryan and I went to see him the next morning. We'd discussed the pros and cons before falling asleep. Ryan was con. I was pro. Gullet and the DA took my side, saying there was nothing to lose.

To be honest, I was curious. Marshall's ego was the size of a planet. Why would he lower himself to call me? Did he want to make a deal? Pointless. Plea bargaining was a matter for the DA.

In addition to curiosity, I had another purpose. I'd seen Ryan interrogate suspects. Given Marshall's arrogance, I felt there was a chance the creep might incriminate himself.

At the detention center, Ryan and I passed through security and were led to a second-floor interrogation room. Marshall and his lawyer were already there, seated at a gray metal table. Marshall tensed visibly at seeing Ryan. Neither man rose.

"Who's this?" the lawyer asked.

"Bodyguard," I said.

"No," the lawyer said.

Shrugging indifference, I turned to go.

Marshall raised a hand. The lawyer turned to him. Marshall gave a tight nod. The lawyer gestured that we should sit.

Ryan and I took chairs opposite the two men. The lawyer introduced himself as Walter Tuckerman. He was short and balding, with heavy-lidded eyes flecked with tiny red veins.

Tuckerman spoke first, looking at me. "Dr. Marshall has a statement to make. You, and only you, may ask questions pertaining to that statement. Should any question go outside the bounds of that statement, I will terminate this meeting. Is that understood, Miss Brennan?"

"It's 'Doctor.'" Icy.

Tuckerman gave me an oily smile. "Dr. Brennan."

Who the hell was this guy? Marshall was taking up my time. Though my impulse was adios, I remained seated.

Tuckerman patted his client's sleeve. "Go ahead, Lester."

Marshall folded manicured hands on the tabletop. He was looking significantly less natty today in his washed-too-many-times faded blue prison garb.

"I have been set up."

"Really."

"There is nothing concrete to connect me to these murders." Marshall kept his eyes fixed on me.

"The DA thinks otherwise."

"What has been concocted is purely circumstantial."

"Unique Montague, Willie Helms, and Noble Cruikshank were all strangled with a wire noose. The police found such a noose at your clinic. In harvesting the organs of Helms and Montague, you left scalpel cuts on their bones."

"Anyone can buy a scalpel."

"Your clinic is outfitted with a makeshift OR. Odd for a facility specializing in aspirins and Band-Aids."

"It was hardly an OR. I am occasionally called upon to excise a boil or do simple suturing. I require good lighting."

When Gullet, the DA, and I had deliberated the advisability of my visiting Marshall and had decided that I would, indeed, talk with him, we'd also discussed what approach I would take. The DA had suggested that I appear open, create the impression I was tipping my hand, while at the same time revealing nothing that the accused didn't already know. Ryan had agreed that the tactic could prove fruitful.