“Although if somebody else, a scientist, say, had found and excavated the specimen, I’d be wondering what on earth happened to them. Worried, even.”
Rachel watched the fossil hunter vanish beyond the milling tourists, and turned to Ethan.
“Brilliant work so far, I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“He knows something,” Ethan said.
“And he’s told us nothing.”
“Didn’t need him to,” Ethan said. “Just needed to plant a seed of doubt in his mind for now is all.”
“So now what?”
Ethan finished his drink and stood up.
“Now we go and find Lucy’s dig site.”
FIRST DISTRICT STATION
M STREET SW, WASHINGTON DC
Lopez leaned back in her chair as she watched Tyrell heft his way laboriously toward her between ranks of desks and computer terminals.
The station covered everything from New York Avenue in the north of First District right down to Buzzard Point and the old navy yard on the Anacostia River, which meant that Lopez got to see America in all its guises. From the immaculate White House down to the decrepit projects of East Side along the border with Maryland, America’s heart bared its soul. One hundred eighteen fatal homicides this year. Better than the last.
Tyrell’s phone began ringing before he’d even had the chance to sit down. She watched him pick it up wearily.
“Tyrell.” He paused, frowned, and sighed. “Be right there.”
Lopez looked at him as he set the phone down. “Problem?”
“We’ve been summoned,” he intoned deeply.
Lopez got up and followed him down a long corridor lined with partitioned offices. The Hall of the High and Mighty housed the district commander’s office. They turned at a door marked Powell, Tyrell knocking briefly before striding in.
“You beckoned?” he asked as Lopez closed the door behind them.
Captain Louis Grant Powell was a robustly built African American with a thick mustache that seemed to be trying to make up for his receding hairline. Lopez had often wondered why Powell, a long-service officer who had somehow never made it past the rank and file to the true upper echelons of the MPD, had never been promoted, despite bearing a name that made him sound like a confederate general.
“Sit down, Detectives.”
“Too kind.”
If Powell was ever amused by Tyrell’s laconic humor, Lopez never noticed it. It was a wonder he knew whom he was actually talking to, given that he had yet to look up from the file he was scrutinizing. The word in the locker room was that Powell was up for retirement and had invested in new real estate, down Tampa way. Lopez waited in silence with Tyrell, and was rewarded with a question as Powell looked up at her.
“The bust over on Potomac Gardens, what’s the score?”
“Alleged crack overdose, three victims locked themselves inside an abandoned property just off the projects.”
Powell closed his file and looked up at them both.
“Victims, alleged,” he echoed thoughtfully. “You sent the bodies down to the medical examiner’s office.”
Tyrell answered, saving Lopez from incriminating herself.
“I didn’t consider it likely that the victims were crack addicts.” Powell folded his hands under his chin expectantly, his jowls bulging as Tyrell went on. “I wanted the pathology before we wrote this one off.”
Captain Powell nodded briefly.
“Axel Cain at the Bureau, the MPD on site, and even the DEA consider it to be a closed case. They’ve acknowledged the discrepancies but see little point in referring it to the district attorney. I agree with them.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Lopez said carefully, “this isn’t a drug-related crime. Dr. Fry has confirmed that they didn’t die from crack.”
Powell smiled thinly at her, and looked at Tyrell.
“From what I’ve read, Surgeon Fry has been unable to determine the exact time of death, let alone the exact cause. Tyrell, this one’s dead in the water and I haven’t got the manpower or the time to allow either yourself or Lopez to run around the District on another wild-goose chase. The border with Maryland and Prince George’s has enough crack ’n’ meth addicts for the entire country. I’d lay down serious bucks that there’s another dozen stiffs out there waiting to be stumbled upon. This isn’t a priority case.”
Lopez watched as Tyrell sucked in his cheeks.
“Last time I looked, death under suspicious circumstances warranted our attention.”
“Not above greater needs,” Powell cautioned. “This country is still under a level-three terrorist alert, and I need officers and men to maintain a vigil against God knows who planning God knows what. This can be left to beat cops. If something comes up that they can’t handle, then I’ll send it back