Robin Cook - Blindsight

Laurie took several more photos. To her trained mind, it was obvious from the attitude of the body that the rigor mortis had taken place while the body had been in the refrigerator. That much was clear. But it was also clear that the position the body was in when she found it was not the position it had been in originally.

As she was photographing the body, Laurie noticed that the money belt was partially open. Its zipper was caught on some paper money. She moved in for a close-up.

Putting her camera aside, Laurie bent down to examine the money belt more closely. With some difficulty, she managed to work the zipper loose and open the pouch. Inside were three single dollar bills with torn edges from having been caught in the zipper.

Standing up, Laurie handed the three dollars to Ron. “Evidence,” she said.

“Evidence of what?” Ron said.

“I’ve heard of cases where police steal from the scenes of accidents or homicides,” Laurie said. “But I’d never expected to be confronted by such an obvious case.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ron demanded.

“The body can be moved, Sergeant Moore,” Laurie said. “And I am supposed to extend an invitation to you to come and see the autopsy. Frankly, I hope I never see you again.”

Laurie snapped off her rubber gloves, threw them in the trash, grabbed her camera, and left the apartment.

“I can’t eat another bite,” Tony said as he pushed the remains of a pizza away from him. He pulled the napkin from his collar where he’d tucked it and wiped his mouth of tomato stains. “What’s the matter. You don’t like pepperoni? You’re eating like a bird.”

Angelo sipped his San Pellegrino mineral water. Its fizz tended to settle his stomach which was still churning from the Spoletto Funeral Home visit. He’d tried several bites of the pizza, but it hadn’t appealed to him. In fact it made him nauseated, so he’d been impatient for Tony to finish.

“You done?” Angelo asked Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony said, sucking his teeth. “But I wouldn’t mind having a coffee.”

They were sitting in a small all-night Italian pizza joint in Elmhurst, not far from the Vesuvio. There was a handful of customers sitting at widely spaced Formica tables despite the fact it was three-thirty in the morning. An old-fashioned juke box was playing favorites from the fifties and sixties.

Angelo had another mineral water while Tony had a quick espresso.

“Ready?” Angelo asked when Tony’s empty espresso cup clanked against the saucer. Angelo was eager to get going, but felt he owed it to Tony to relax for a while. After all, they had been busy.

“Ready,” Tony said with a final wipe with his napkin. They stood up, tossed some bills on the table, and walked out into the cold November night. Tucking their heads into their coats, they dashed for the car. It had started drizzling.

With the motor running to get the heater up to temperature, Angelo took the second list from the glove compartment and scanned it. “Here’s one in Kew Garden Hills,” he said. “That’s nice and convenient, and it should be fast and easy.”

“This is going to be fun,” Tony said eagerly. He burped. “Love that pepperoni.”

Angelo put the sheet back into the glove compartment. As he pulled out into the deserted street, he said, “Working at night sure makes it easier to get around town.”

“The only problem is getting used to sleeping all day,” Tony said. He pulled out his Beretta Bantam and screwed the silencer on over the muzzle.

“Put that thing away until we get there,” Angelo said. “You make me nervous.”

“Just getting ready,” Tony said. He tried to jam the gun back into the holster, but with its silencer it didn’t quite fit. The butt stuck out of his jacket. “I’ve been looking forward to this part of the operation because we don’t have to be so careful pussyfooting around.”

“We still have to be careful,” Angelo snapped. “In fact we always have to be careful.”

“Calm down,” Tony said. “You know what I mean. We won’t have to worry about all that crazy stuff. Now it’s going to be fast and we leave. I mean, boom, it’s over and we’re out the door.” He pretended to shoot a pedestrian with his index finger extended from his hand, sighting down his knuckle.

It took them a while to find the house, a modest, two-story affair made of stone and stucco with a slate roof. It was situated on a quiet street that dead-ended into a cemetery.

“Not bad,” Tony said. “These people must have a few bucks.”

“And possibly an alarm system,” Angelo said. He pulled over to the side of the road and parked. “Let’s hope it’s nothing complicated. I don’t want any complications.”

“Who gets whacked?” Tony asked.

“I forgot,” Angelo said. He reached over to the glove compartment and took out the second list. “The woman,” he said after locating the name. He returned the list to the glove compartment. “And let’s get this straight so there will be no confusion: I’ll do her. They’ll probably be in bed, so you cover the man. If he wakes up, whack him. You understand?”

“Of course I understand,” Tony said. “What do you think I am? An imbecile? I understand perfectly. But you know how much I enjoy this stuff, so how’s about I do her and you cover the man.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Angelo said. He took out his gun and attached a silencer. “This is work, not some turkey shoot. We’re not here to have fun.”

“What difference does it make if you whack her or I whack her?” Tony asked.

“Ultimately, no difference at all,” Angelo said. “But I’m in charge, and I’m shooting the woman. I want to make sure she’s dead. I’m the one who has to answer to Cerino.”

“So you think you can shoot someone better than me?” Tony said. He seemed insulted.

“For Chrissake, Tony,” Angelo said. “You can do the next one. How about we take turns?”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Tony said. “Share and share alike.”

“Glad you approve,” Angelo said. Then, looking briefly up at the ceiling of the car, he added: “I feel like I’m back in kindergarten. All right, let’s go!”

They climbed out of the car, crossed the street, and melted into the dense, wet shrubbery surrounding the house in question. Arriving at the back door, Angelo studied it carefully, running his hand over the architrave, peering through the cracks with a small flashlight, and inspecting the hardware. He straightened up.

“No alarm,” Angelo said with amazement, “unless it’s something I haven’t seen.”

“You want to go through a window or a door?” Tony asked.

“The door should be easy enough,” Angelo said.

With his pocketknife Tony made short work of the caulking around one of the glass panes bordering the door. With a pair of needle-nosed pliers, he pulled out the wire brads, then lifted the pane out. Reaching inside, he unbolted the door and turned the knob.

The door opened with only a minor squeak of protest. No alarms sounded and no vicious dogs barked. Angelo silently stepped inside, holding his gun up alongside of his head. He let his eyes roam around the room. It seemed to be a family room with gingham-covered couches and a large-screen television. He listened for a minute, then lowered his gun. After testing for alarms, he began to relax. Everything seemed to be fine; the place was there for the taking.

Motioning for Tony to follow, Angelo moved silently to the front entrance hall. Together the two men crept up a grand circular staircase. The stairs led them to an upstairs corridor with a half-dozen doors opening onto it. Each of the doors was slightly ajar save for one. Trusting his instincts, Angelo made his way straight for it. When he was sure Tony was right behind him, he tried the door. It pushed open at his touch.