Fish Out of Water (25 page)

Because there was no doubt about it. Toe Tag was never crass about his patients, but he was rarely morose about them either.

Rarely.

“Jane Does?” he asked hesitantly when Jackson enquired. “And what did you do to your arm?”

Jackson grimaced and ripped the cotton ball off the crease of his elbow. “Routine blood test,” he muttered, not wanting to think about that. Ellery had just sort of steered him to the lab on their way in. It had been that easy. His results would be available online the next day. Ellery had gotten a vial of blood taken too, but Jackson would almost rather he hadn’t. Please. The guy could probably
donate
blood, he was so close to fucking virginal.

Or, well, he couldn’t donate blood
now
. The thought was the only thing that kept Jackson from cringing in mortification all the way down from the lab to the morgue.

Yeah, Ellery Cramer was rich, polished, and out of Jackson Rivers’s league, but he was
now
in Jackson’s bed. So okay. They could get blood tests together. He couldn’t fall apart over that.

But he didn’t want to share the info with Toe Tag either.

“Well, here’s the trash can. You may want to bring that with you, by the way. I’ve got three Jane Does, and none of them are pretty.” Toe Tag cast an apologetic look over Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson checked to see which face Ellery had put on for this.

Ah. The austere mask-of-stone look. Jackson approved.

“I’ll bring the trash can,” Jackson conceded, “but he might be tougher than he looks.”

“They never are.” Toe Tag shrugged, because yeah, Jackson was holding the trash can, so now it was all on him.

Or, hopefully, in the can.

The first Jane Doe was in her fifties, homeless, and extremely decomposed. Jackson grunted, said, “No, Toby, not this one,” and Toe Tag nodded and slammed the drawer.

Ellery let loose a pained heaving sound that made Jackson stick close to his side for the next drawer.

This one was younger, in her twenties, and she’d overdosed in a public restroom with no ID. Unfortunately she looked nothing like the girl in the photo render. For one thing, her hair was a rich, glossy black instead of pink, and for another, whereas the other girl had delicate, doll-like features, this girl had been a bold, stunning beauty.

Not now, though. Now she was pallid and frozen, wasted potential, wasted life, a slab of meat in a freezer drawer. Sad, yes, but not horrifying.

Jackson made himself ready for the next potential candidate.

It was every bit as bad as Toe Tag had hinted. The face had been demolished until bone showed through at the cheeks and chin, and the body was so broken, shoulders, upper arms, and ribs jutted out and through skin at odd angles, poking up against the white sheet that shielded the rest of the body, making it look like she had surrendered again and again but the destruction had kept on coming.

About the only thing recognizable about the piece of human hamburger on the table was the vivid pink hair lying lankly around the head.

“Time of death?” Jackson asked, because suddenly that was crucial.

“Thursday night between midnight and 4:00 a.m.,” Toby replied promptly. “Does that mean something to you?”

Jackson took a deep breath of refrigeration and blood. “Yeah.” It meant that she’d lived long enough to take the picture and for someone—Bridger?—to see it and use it. And not much longer.

Next to him Ellery made an unfortunate—and unfortunately recognizable—sound.

Jackson shoved the trash can at him just in time.

Ellery wrapped his arm around it and proceeded to toss his breakfast with admirable velocity. Jackson stood back until he was done. Toby had shut the drawer by then, and he took the trash can from Ellery without comment and handed him a bottle of water.

While Toby went to dispose of the can in medical waste, Jackson grabbed a handful of wipes from Toby’s desk and tried to clean Ellery up. He wiped his mouth first and then his chin, making sure he got his neck and any spots on his collar. Ellery avoided his eyes the whole time.

“What?” Jackson asked after he’d gotten rid of the wipes and washed his hands thoroughly at Toby’s sink.

“I feel stupid,” Ellery said at last.

Jackson pulled some mints out of his pocket—he’d brought them along just in case. Then he stepped aside and let Ellery finish his own washing and freshening.

“You see these?” he said, holding them up and shaking the Tic Tac box.

“Yeah?”

“You can have a couple, but you gotta know, I didn’t put them in my pocket just for you.”

Ellery’s mouth quirked, his usual dry self-deprecation peeking out. “Thanks.”

Jackson nodded. “That? What happened in that box? That wasn’t just a murder. That was an….”

“Abomination.”

Jackson nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I think….”

“What?”

“Nobody can recognize her. Nobody. If she was young enough and never got arrested, there’d be no reason for her to ever be fingerprinted.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Toby said, returning from the room that had the big hoses and the drains on the floor. The trash can was clean and still a little damp, and he grabbed some paper towels and started wiping it down.

“Yeah? Why not?” Jackson asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“Because her hands were soaked in drain cleaner—like, wrapped in cloths, soaked in Drano. No useable prints.”

“That’s… horrible,” Ellery said, the word coming from deep in his body. “That’s—they didn’t just
kill
her, they tried to erase her entire being.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said, thinking. “And you know, people never try to do that to people who are nobodies.”

Ellery met his eyes, and his hands were still shaking and his eyes still red rimmed, but his chin had that same resolve Jackson had seen when he was making some poor policeman cry. “And we know who this somebody is.”

For a moment they were in perfect accord.

“Go find a toothbrush—there’s one at the gift store,” said Jackson. “I’m going to take some pictures. If this
is
who we think it is, we know someone who needs to see them.”

TEN MINUTES
later, as they trudged to the car, not so much in the agreement department.

“We didn’t tell him!” Ellery protested for maybe the thousandth time.

“I told him we
may
know,” Jackson retorted for maybe the thousand-and-first
time. “But if he knows, he’s
obligated
to notify next of kin.”

“Which is a good thing!” Ellery shouted. “It’s a good thing—because if maybe her father knows—”

“You’re sure he’s her father?” Jackson asked, powering down for a moment. He’d made the assumption, but Ellery had been the one to check the facts.

“Yes.” Ellery nodded. “Eight years ago, when he left the DA’s office to work for Hallenbeck, there was a modest announcement in the paper. It mentioned a wife, a son Charles, and a daughter Luanne. The perfect political family.”

Jackson grunted. “Well, back when Chisholm had his dirty fingers all over my paperwork, she would have been a baby. So… think of this. He’s working at the DA’s office and he wants… out. Better. He has
aspirations
.”

“Right. So in order to get out, you need to either run for office or back someone who’s running.” Ellery sounded like he knew.

“Okay. So Chisholm wants money, but all he knows is cops and lawyers, and the DA’s office makes squat over a chainsaw, and cops make worse.” Oh, this felt good. The heat was smacking them like a wet woolen blanket, but that was okay. His car had
air-conditioning
now, and finally,
finally
they were making progress.

“Squat over a chainsaw?” Ellery’s voice wavered between puzzled and horrified.

“Yeah, you know. If you’re not careful how you spend it, you’re gonna lose your bits. Anyway, so he needs green.” They entered the parking garage, which felt cool only because it was out of the sun but also innately more dangerous. Jackson steered Ellery toward the stairwell, because he didn’t trust the elevators in this particular garage.

“Yes,” Ellery agreed, seemingly oblivious to the strategy. “Definitely green. And maybe he starts noticing that your friend Hanover is driving a little better car than everybody else.”

“Right,” Jackson agreed, liking this theory. “So he starts to cover for Hanover—for a price.”

“Maybe he starts planning some of the graft.” Ellery paused just long enough to bump Jackson’s hand with a certain intimacy. “From the sound of it, he was probably too out of control to go unnoticed for too long.”

Jackson paused on the stairwell. “Oh God. All those hours.” He closed his eyes. “Hell. Shit fuck motherfucking
hell
.”

Ellery’s fingers curled around Jackson’s, but his voice stayed just as crisp as it had been. “Yes. So Chisholm starts picking up Hanover’s business, and he’s the final signature. Bess Carillo was probably not dirty—”

“But she was easily steered.” Jackson’s stomach roiled at the thought of it. “Like a certain stupid rookie who just kept walking into the cauldron of fucking doom because people told him to.”

“Right,” Ellery said. His fingers tightened, and Jackson pulled himself out of his anger and self-hatred for a moment.

They’d had sex the night before. Maybe, just maybe, it had been more. He was not the same guy. He might even be stronger than the guy who had kept walking into a shooting gallery and finally gotten shot.

“You didn’t let it destroy you,” Ellery said softly. “I think she did. Why else flip to being a union advocate?”

Jackson blinked slowly. “More money,” he muttered. “Oh
God
. Oh God, oh God, can you see it? Because I can see it!”

Ellery nodded, just as slowly. “Yes. I do. Chisholm became the kingpin, but he’s moved to a higher office. Hanover is dead, but Chisolm still likes the income. He hires the sniper—who professes a personal vendetta so he doesn’t get the chair—and pays Carillo off. Eventually, when the heat dies down….”

“He starts again.” Jackson was shaking by now. Anger and sweat cranked him tight like a plucked string, so tight that the giant backfire of a big SUV practically gutted him with fear.

And then he caught his breath and knew what
real
fear was like.

“Get
down
!” he hissed, dragging Ellery to his knees as he crouched.

For once Ellery didn’t argue with him. For a moment they crouched in the stairwell while Jackson strained his ears for the sound of a car in desperate need of a tune-up. God. Yes. It sounded familiar, but nobody ever won a case based on the
sound
of a backfiring car.

Very carefully, he pushed up and looked over the edge of the well.

And watched as Scott Bridger, tinted window rolled down in the darkened garage, drove by in a very familiar Dodge Durango.

Jackson ducked so quickly he banged his elbow on the cement wall. “God
dammit
.”

“What?”

“
Bridger
,” he hissed. “Bridger is driving that stupid fucking car!”

Ellery closed his eyes. “How is that possible? He couldn’t have been driving when we almost got rammed, and it would have been hard for him to get away from lawyers when Coulson got shot.”

Jackson took a moment to admire how quickly his brain worked. “Wow. I didn’t even go there. You’re right. Totally. So he must have an accomplice.”

“Right. But what is he doing here
now
?” Ellery glared at him, his brown eyes snapping and furious, and Jackson, who had never equated sex and danger, was suddenly so hot for him that he found himself leaning forward for a kiss.

He pulled back—and to his senses—long enough to think. “Shit. I’ve got to call Toe Tag.”

He pulled the phone out and nodded at Ellery. “Look over the edge for me.” Quickly, he punched in the number. “Toby!” he hissed. “I need your help.”

“Jackson? Didn’t you just—”

“Look, a cop might be coming by. Scott Bridger. If he comes down to you and asks to see your Jane Does, could you do me a
huge
favor?”

“Don’t show him the one with the pink hair?” Toby asked grimly.

“How’d you—”

“You can’t lie for shit, Jackson, and your buddy the lawyer was pissed. You know who she is.”

“Yeah, and we need that knowledge to stay among us for a minute.” He grimaced, remembering why he hadn’t just told Toby in the first place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you a part of this.”

“Jackson, you know, we have Dave and Alex over for dinner once a month. My wife adores them. Seems to think Alex is the gay son she never had.”

Jackson fought the temptation to bang his head against the side of the stairwell. “I owe you all so fucking much.”

“It’s nothing. Just don’t show up here in a body bag and we’re even. Later.”

Jackson nodded and checked with Ellery before standing up. Just as they started back up the stairs, they heard a clatter in the landing above them and looked up just in time to see Bridger clattering down.

“Mother
fucker
.” Jackson pushed in front of Ellery and took the stairs up in a power run, trying to make it look like they’d never paused and couldn’t give a fat rat’s ass if they saw Bridger.

For a moment it looked like it might work. Bridger was focusing on his own feet and muttering to himself, and Jackson and Ellery pretended they were doing the same thing. Ten steps, five, two—

“Jesus, what are you doing here?”

“Visiting friends,” Jackson retorted, looking him in the face since the pretense was over. “Since you don’t have any, I assume you’ve got hemorrhoids.”

“So cute,” Ellery muttered behind him. “And so stupid.”

Up close, Bridger looked dangerous. In the heat, his ruddy face blotched unhealthily red, and his mirrored sunglasses took away any humanity he’d retained. His arms and chest bulged with muscles, and his knuckles were raw and battered. Jackson’s stomach twisted when he thought about how they had probably gotten that way.

“Are you saying I’m stupid?” Bridger growled, trying to pass Jackson in an effort to get to Ellery. Jackson blocked him, and again, and again, Bridger’s chest bumps getting aggressive and insistent.