Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

"Who said Nicos Biagi was a corpse?"

"I don't know who the hell he is! I just assumed. Everyone else you mention seems to be a corpse!" His voice seemed to echo off the terazzo floor and bounce around the far reaches of the vast entrance hall. At once he regained his composure, his face settling into an expression of cool unreadability. "So," he said. "Who is Nicos Biagi? And is he or is he not a corpse?"

"Nicos happens to be alive-barely," she said. "He's a patient at Hancock General. A drug OD. We're worried about the drug. It seems to be something new, and it's already killed Jane Doe and Xenia Vargas. It's left Nicos Biagi critically ill. I wondered if you knew something about it."

"Why would I?"

"A hunch."

To her annoyance, he laughed. "I hope this isn't the way the ME's office usually conducts business. Because if it is, our criminal justice system is in big trouble."

The side door opened again. A woman appeared, looking quizzical. And gorgeous. Her evening dress, shot through with gold thread, seemed to glitter in the chandelier light. Her hair, an equally brilliant gold, fell in ripples to her shoulders. She glanced at Adam's visitor, a look that

M. J. recognized at once for what it was: a feminine sizing up, then a careless dismissal. "Adam?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, his gaze still fixed on M. J. "It's just- business."

"Oh." The woman smiled sweetly. "Pearl just brought out the soup. And we didn't want to start without you."

"Sorry, Isabel. Why don't you all just go ahead with supper? Dr. Novak and I aren't finished yet."

"If that's what you wish." Again, her gaze shifted to M. J. "We can set another place, if you'd like. For your visitor."

There was an awkward silence, as though Adam were hunting for a graceful way to avoid inviting this unwelcome guest.

"That won't be necessary," said M. J., and thought she saw a look of relief cross Adam's face. "I'll be leaving, as soon as we're done with our… business."

Isabel smiled again, as though equally relieved. "Join us when you can, Adam," she said, and withdrew into the side room.

Adam and M. J. regarded each other for a moment.

"Let's talk in the study," he said, and abruptly turned and opened another door. She followed him inside.

It was a characteristically masculine space, dark and clubby, with a fireplace and wood paneling, the sort of room in which one smoked pipes and drank cognac. She sat on the leather couch. He didn't sit at all, but paced in front of the fireplace. The longer she watched him, the more annoyed she felt. It was irrational, of course, but she was insulted that he hadn't offered her a place at the supper table. She would have turned it down, of course; you didn't just drop into a formal supper, and judging from Isabel's evening gown, this was no potluck they were serving. But at least she would have had the privilege of turning him down. It was a matter of pride.

"So what's the basis for this hunch of yours?" he demanded. "Why do you think I know anything about it?"

"Because of that matchbook."

"Not much of a reason."

"Because this is a new drug, never seen before."

He shrugged. "So?"

"And because you're president of Cygnus Pharmaceuticals. A company known for its R and D in painkillers. A company that just released a new class of opiates."

"We also make drugs for athlete's foot."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?" When he tilted his head his blond hair caught the glow of the table lamp.

"Until you saw the body, you thought Jane Doe was someone you might know."

At once he fell silent, all trace of mockery gone from his face. He sat down, his gaze avoiding hers.

"Who did you think she was, Quantrell?"

"Someone… close to me."

"What's the secret here? Why can't you just say who you thought she was?"

"These are things I don't wish to discuss. Not with a stranger."

"Then can you discuss the drug? It's something new. A narcotic with a biphasic peak on gas chromatography. Could it be something that leaked out of Cygnus? Something you're developing?"

"I wouldn't want to speculate."

Of course he wouldn't. Because then he'd be vulnerable to all sorts of accusations. The manufacture of lethal drugs. The slaughter of junkies.

Slowly he looked up. "You said you had another body in the morgue. A woman."

"Xenia Vargas."

"Is she… young?"

"About twenty."

"Describe her for me."

"You think you might know her?"

"Please. Just tell me what she looks like."

Something about the tone of his voice, the stifled note of anxiety, made her feel sorry for him. "She's about five foot four, on the thin side. Dark brown hair-"

"Could it be dyed?"

M. J. paused. "It's possible, I guess."

"What about her eyes? What color?"

"Hazel."

Another silence. Then, with sudden agitation, he rose to his feet. "I think I'd better see her," he said.

"You mean-now?"

"If we could." He met her gaze. "If you'd be so kind."

How could she possibly turn that request down? she wondered, looking into those blue-gray eyes. You're losing it, Novak. You're letting this latter-day Gatsby call the shots. What was the quote again? "The rich are different from you and me ?"

Hell yes they were different. They had gorgeous eyes and perfect hair and they said, "if you would be so kind," in a way that actually sounded conversational.

She too stood up and followed him into the main hall. "What about your dinner guests?"

"They can feed themselves. Would you excuse me a moment, while I gracefully duck out?"

He went through the side door, but this time he left it open. M. J. caught a glimpse of a formal dining room and a half-dozen guests seated around the table. Some of them glanced curiously in M. J.'s direction. She heard Isabel ask, "Should I wait for you, Adam?"

"Please don't," he said. "I don't know how long I'll be."

"This is really quite naughty of you, you know."

"It can't be helped. Good night, everyone! You're free to have a go at my wine cellar, but leave me a few bottles, will you?" He clapped one of the men on the shoulder, waved farewell, and came back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

"That's done," he said to M. J. "Now. Let's go."

The morgue elevator slid open. Here we go again , she thought.

The basement seemed calm tonight. The only noise was the morgue attendant's radio, playing in a side office. Something mean and gritty and tuneless. She and Adam passed the open door, where they could see the attendant sitting with his feet propped up on the desk, his gaze focused on a Naked Babes Magazine.

"Hey, Willie," said M. J.

"Hey, Doc," he said, grinning at her over the cover. "Not much action coming down tonight."

"I can tell."

"Y'mean this?" He waved the magazine and laughed. "Man, I get tired of lookin' at dead chicks. I like mine live and sassy."

"We're going into the cold room, okay?"

"Need any help?"

"No. You just stay with your sassy chicks."

She and Adam walked on down the hall, beneath the bank of fluorescent lights. The bulb that had been flickering earlier that day was now dead; it left a patch of shadow on the linoleum floor.

They entered the storage room. She flicked on the wall switch and blinked at the painful blast of light on her retinas. The refrigerated drawers faced them from the opposite wall.

She moved to the drawer labeled Vargas, Xenia , and slid it open. Covered by the shroud, the body seemed shapeless, like a lump of clay still to be molded. She glanced up at Adam in silent inquiry.

He nodded.

She removed the shroud.

The corpse looked like a mannequin, not real at all, but plastic. Adam took one good look at Xenia Vargas, and all the tension seemed to escape his body in a single sigh.