Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

"So what do you have?" asked Adam.

Beamis took several files from the briefcase and laid them on the table. "The files you asked for. Oh, and about the explosion last night-"

"Not a gas leak?"

"Definitely not a gas leak. Demolitions went over what was left of the house," said Beamis. "It appears there was a pull-friction fuse igniter, set off when the front door opened. The igniter gets pulled through a flash compound, lighting a sixty-second length of fuse. That in turn leads to a blasting cap. And a rather impressive amount of TNT."

Adam frowned. "A sixty-second fuse? Then that explains why it didn't go off right away."

Beamis nodded. "A delay detonator. Designed to blow up after the victim is in the house."

"They aren't fooling around. Whoever they are," Shradick added, around a mouthful of bagel.

Adam sat back, stunned by this new information. Until now he'd hoped for some simple explanation. A faulty furnace, perhaps; a natural gas leak whose odor he hadn't detected. But here was incontrovertible evidence: Someone wanted M. J. dead. And they were going to extraordinary lengths to achieve that goal.

He was so shocked by the revelation that he didn't realize M. J. had come down into the dining room. Then he looked up and saw her. She seemed swallowed up in one of his old bathrobes, the flaps cinched together at the waist. She brought with her the scent of soap, the sweetness of shampoo. Gone was last night's look of defeat; this was the M. J. he knew, back again. She glanced around the table at Beamis and Shradick.

"You heard what Lou said?" asked Adam.

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath. "So I guess it's time to face the facts. Someone's really trying to kill me."

After a silence, Adam said, "It does appear that way."

Hugging her arms to her chest, M. J. began to move slowly around the room, thinking as she paced. The picture of calmness , thought Adam. Except for her hands; he could see they were trembling. She stopped by the window and gazed out at the sunwashed lawn and trees.

"Believe me, M. J.," said Beamis. "Bellemeade Precinct's got all cylinders going on this. I've spoken with the detectives. They're checking all the possibilities-"

"Are they really?" she asked softly.

"There are a lot of angles to consider. Maybe it's someone you gave expert testimony against in court. Or an ex-boyfriend. Hell, they're even questioning Ed."

"Ed?" She laughed, a wild, desperate sound. "Ed can't even program a VCR. Much less wire a bomb."

"Okay, so it's probably not Ed. Not him personally, anyway. But he has been questioned."

She turned to look at Beamis. "Then everyone agrees. It's a bona fide murder attempt."

"No doubt about it. It only takes one look at your house. Or what used to be your house."

She looked out again, at the trees. "It's because of them."

"Who?"

"Nicos Biagi. Jane Doe. It's because of what's happening in the Projects."

"You could have other enemies," said Beamis. "And you lost your purse, remember? One of those punks could've gotten into your house-"

"And set a sixty-second delay detonator?" She shook her head. "I suppose they picked up a case of TNT at the corner grocery store. Lou, they were kids . I grew up with kids just like them! They wouldn't fuss with flash compounds or blasting caps. And what's their motive?"

"I don't know." Beamis sighed in exasperation. "They did rough you up-"

"But they didn't kill us! They had the chance, but they didn't." She turned to Adam, her eyes alight with green fire.

God, she was fearless, he thought. Magnificent.

"Well, say something, Adam!" she snapped.

He looked at Beamis. "I have to agree with her. She's right, Lieutenant. Those kids wouldn't know about fuse igniters. This bomb sounds like a sophisticated device. Built by someone who knew what he was doing."

"A professional," said Shradick.

The word was enough to make M. J. blanch. Adam saw her chin jerk up, saw the tightening of her lips. She was frightened, all right. She should be. In silence she moved to the table and sat down across from him. The bathrobe gapped open a little; only then did he realize she was naked beneath that terrycloth. How defenseless she looked, he thought. Stripped of everything. Even her clothes.

And at that moment, defenseless was exactly how M. J. felt.

She sat hugging the robe to her breasts, her gaze fixed on the tabletop. She heard Beamis and Shradick rise to leave; dimly she registered their goodbyes, their departing footsteps. Then there came the thud of the front door closing behind them. Closed doors. That's what she saw when she tried to look into the future. Closed doors, hidden dangers.

Once, life had seemed comfortably predictable. Drive to work every morning, drive home every night. A vacation twice a year, a date once in a blue moon. A steady move up the ranks until she'd assume Davis Wheelock's title of Chief ME. A sure thing, he'd told her once.

Now she was reminded that there were no sure things. Not her future. Not even her life.

"You're not alone, M. J.," said Adam.

She looked up and met his gaze across the tabletop.

"Anything you need," he said. "Anything at all-"

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "But I'm not big on accepting charity."

"That's not what I meant. I don't think of you as some charity case."

"But that's exactly what I am at the moment." She rose and began to pace. "Some sort of-of homeless person! Camping out in your guest bedroom."

To her surprise, he suddenly laughed. "To be perfectly honest," he admitted, "you do look a trifle threadbare this morning. Where did you find that awful bathrobe, by the way?"

She glanced down at the frayed terrycloth and suddenly she had to laugh as well. "Your linen closet. I had to wear something, and I figured it was either this or a towel. Where are my clothes, by the way?"

"A lost cause. Thomas had to throw them out."

"He threw out my clothes?"

"Some new things are being delivered."

"In the meantime, I walk around like this?"

"Oh, I don't mind, really. A towel would be fine, too."

She caught his amused downward glance, and realized the robe had sagged open again. Irritably she yanked the edges back together. "Is this how you treat all your lady houseguests? Toss out their clothes and expect them to make do?"

"No, you're privileged. The others only get towels. Hand towels."

Now he had her laughing again. She sat down and noticed the stack of papers on the table. "What's all this?"

"Lieutenant Beamis dropped it off. They're police files. Or, rather, photocopies of files."

"He gave them to you? That's highly irregular."

"It's also just between us. He and I have what you might call a mutual back-scratching arrangement."

"Oh. So what's in the files?"

Adam picked up the top folder. "I have here Nicos Biagi. And Xenia Vargas. And Jane Doe." He looked up at her, almost apologetically. "I'll be honest with you, M. J. I didn't ask for these files on your behalf, but on mine. For Cygnus. I can't argue away the facts. That is my drug out there, killing people. I want to know how they got it."

She focused on the top file. "Let's see what's in there."

He opened Nicos Biagi's folder. "Names and addresses. His family might know where he bought the drug."

"They won't talk. Even Beamis couldn't get it out of them."

"Does that surprise you? They probably smelled cop a mile away. So I'm going to ask them."

"I wonder what odor they'll pin on you ."

"The smell of fresh greenbacks? It's very persuasive."

"Adam, you can't walk into the Projects with a bulging wallet!"

"Can you think of a better incentive?"