“We understand, Chief Norris. If there isn’t anything else, we would like to get started right away.”
The chief dismissed them with a wave of her hand. They deposited their jackets at their desks before heading to the morgue.
When they got there, Evangeline was waiting for them, the dark circles under her eyes telling them she had probably worked the entire night. Without a word, Andi handed her his herbal tea, which he hadn’t had time to drink yet. She took it with a grateful nod, sipped a few times, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, a little spark of life had returned.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Evangeline.” They said it in unison, almost as if they were at school. It provoked the ghost of a smile on Evangeline’s lips, which was worth the embarrassment.
“Aulelei. Please follow me.” She led them into one of the autopsy rooms, refraining from taking out the slabs as she usually did and instead attacked her tablet with sharp pokes until some X-ray images appeared on the huge flat-screen at the far wall. “You’re looking at the skeleton of Harry Alexander McHill, sixty-nine, Caucasian, a businessman who made his fortune with real estate. These—” She swiped her finger across the tablet, causing the X-rays to change on the screen. “—are the bones of David Hector Portius II, seventy-one, Caucasian and senior partner at Portius, Dayson & Partners, a prestigious law firm here in Charleston and owner of the toupee that has led to finding them. The last one—” Again the screen changed. “—is Lawrence Miller, sixty-seven, African American, who’s made his money in the stock market. None of them showed signs of abuse, no broken bones, no abrasions. If it weren’t for the chains and rocks, I’d say it almost looks as if they went into the water voluntarily. I’m still waiting for the report on any toxins in their blood, though I don’t have high hopes on any substantial finds. For that the bodies had been underwater for too long. The clothing is with CSI to look for any traces the water hasn’t washed away. Unfortunately, the acidic nature of swamp water isn’t in our favor. What does help is the short time they spent underwater. I still have to run some additional tests, but I’m fairly sure it was three days, four at the most. I’m hoping to get you a definite time frame, which, again, hinges on the evidence we can secure from the clothing and the chains. Any questions?”
Andi stared at the X-rays of Lawrence Miller, wondering what had happened to him and the other two men. The insects hadn’t given him any indication how the victims had found their way into the lake, too occupied with them beingthere. Andi knew that at some point, he would have to go back to the crime scene and try to discern what went down, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He had felt some small ant colonies in the area who would at least be able to provide him with a frame of reference, murky as it might be because ants tended to sleep at night. The important information he would have to get from the larvae in the water and the flying insects around the lake, which was always harder than diving into the hive mind of social insects. Thanks to their strict hierarchies, social insects stored information in an almost orderly fashion, while the images provided by solitary insects were more random and harder to understand.
The names Evangeline had provided them were a good starting point for actual police work, which would offer Andi the chance to form a greater picture, and in turn made it easier for him to look for specific clues from his army of informants.
“No, not at the moment. George?”
His partner shrugged. “You gave us the names. We start from there and see what pops up.”
“Manuia ia te a’u. I’ll call as soon as I have the reports.”
“Thank you, Evangeline. Get some sleep.” Andi winked at her. She raised the cup with the herbal tea in a mock salute.
After getting back to their desks, George immediately went to his beloved whiteboard to write the names of the victims down. Andi started his computer, found the email with the information Evangeline had already sent them, and helped George get the details right. Then they started a search in the database, finding out everything they could about the three men. Each of them was what people would call a pillar of society, rich older men who donated generously to several charities in Charleston and could be found on every high-profile fundraiser happening in the city. Andi was instantly suspicious because, as the case with Jake Castain had driven home, having a respectable façade didn’t mean you were a good person. All the victims were married, Lawrence Miller for the second time, and they each had a son. Andi started typing on his PC, looking at the Missing Persons databank. No entry for any of the three victims.
“George?”
“Hmm?” George was still engrossed, alternately staring at the names on the whiteboard and his screen, where he had pictures of them from some charity event this summer. Andi could practically see the gears turning in his partner’s head. George may not have Andi’s net of informants, but he was a damn good detective with great deductive skills.
“Look.” Andi turned his own screen around so George could see it. His eyes widened.
“I’ll be damned. They’ve been dead for three to four days and nobody called the police?”
“No.”
“I wonder why.”
“Me too.” Andi turned the screen back. “I think we should pay the widows a visit. We have to inform them anyway, and I sure have some questions for them.”
“Let’s get going, then. The gossip pages aren’t going to vanish any time soon.” George grabbed his jacket and keys. “They all live in Berkeley County. Brings up memories.” He grinned, albeit a little grimly.
“At least this time, we’re going there with definite addresses and not on an ‘anonymous tip.’” Andi put air quotes around the last two words, raising his brows at the same time. The grimness vanished from George’s face, replaced by an amused smile.
“You can be amazingly funny if you put your mind to it. You should try it more often.”
Andi didn’t know anything about being funny. He had just made an attempt to distract George from the memories of their first case. If his partner thought it funny, Andi wouldn’t protest.
“No. Otherwise people might think I’m becoming approachable, and I’m more than happy with the status quo.” Just thinking about having to deal with the demands of other human beings had Andi shivering. It was just too much trouble and rarely worth it.
George snorted. “Believe me, nobody is going to think that.”
Andi followed his partner downstairs and into the parking lot where George’s Escalade was parked. These days Andi rarely drove himself, was picked up for work by George, rode shotgun during their workday, and when he had errands to run, George generally drove him as well. Andi had never asked George to do this for him but was insanely grateful for it. Driving had always been hard for him and afforded an amount of focus Andi had to fight for. With hisgeschenkbecoming more intense, Andi driving himself was more a game of Russian Roulette than anything else. George didn’t know just how bad things were getting; all he knew was that Andi didn’t like driving, and the one time Andi had tried to thank him for it, he had simply shrugged and said he preferred his partner alive and, more importantly, able to help him acquire a flawless solving rate. Their driving arrangement was perfect as far as Andi was concerned, so perfect he didn’t dare think what he was going to do when George finally left him.
During their drive to Berkeley County, they tossed some ideas around, talked about how the DA was finally getting ready to drag Castain and Harris, the two leaders of the trafficking ring, in front of a judge, and how much they weren’t looking forward to being on the witness stand. It was the part of his work Andi hated most, and not only because he had to wear a suit and tie for it.
The first address they reached was that of Harry Alexander McHill. He lived—had lived—in a huge villa at the end of a long, winding driveway flanked by huge cypress and oak trees, very much like Castain’s villa and probably every other home in this neighborhood. McHill’s property was surrounded by an eight-foot stone wall. The iron gate through which George had driven had been apparently operated from the house; the camera zooming in on their ID was latest standard. The house itself was a monstrosity in white and peach, the style reminiscent of the old Southern planation homes, though with a modern touch that made it hideous instead of charming. George parked in front of the stairs to the main entrance, glancing at Andi with a teasing smile.
“Do you want to do the honors?”
