Deja Dead Page 0,143

Manual of Practical Anatomy. Color Atlas of Human Anatomy. Handbook of Anatomical Dissection. Medical Illustration of the Human Body. Christ, look at this. Sabiston’s Principles of Surgery. He’s got more of this shit than a med school library. Looks like he’s heavy into knowing what a body’s got inside.”

“Yeah, and not just the software. This squirrel’s into the hardware.”

Ryan reached for his radio. “Let’s get Gilbert and his raiders up here. I’ll tell the teams out back to go to ground and watch for Dr. Prick. We don’t want to spook him when he shows up. Christ, Claudel’s probably got his nuts in a half hitch by now.”

Ryan spoke into his handset. Bertrand continued to skim the titles behind me.

Bzt. Bzzzzzzt. Bzzt. Bzt.

“Hey, this is your kind of stuff.” He used a hanky to withdraw something. “Looks like there’s just this one.”

He laid a single volume of the American Anthropologist on the table. July 1993. I didn’t have to open it. I knew one entry on its table of contents. “A major hit,” she’d called it. “Fodder for promotion to full professor.”

Gabby’s article. The sight of the AA hit me like a snapped cable. I wanted out of there. I wanted to be gone to a sunny Saturday where I was safe, and no one was dead, and my best friend would be calling with plans for dinner.

Water. Cold water on your face, Brennan.

I lurched toward the double doors and flipped one open with my foot, looking for the kitchen.

BZZZZZT. BZZZZZT. BZT. BZZZZZZT. BZT.

The room had no window. A digital clock to my right gave off a luminous orange glow. I could make out two white shapes and another pale stretch at waist level. Refrigerator, stove, sink, I assumed. I felt for a switch. The hell with procedure. They could sort out my prints.

The back of my hand pressed to my mouth, I stumbled to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. When I straightened and turned, Ryan was standing in the doorway.

“I’m fine.”

Flies shot around the room, startled at the sudden intrusion.

BZZT. BZT. BZZZZT.

“Mint?” He offered a roll of Life Savers.

“Thanks.” I took one. “The heat.”

“It’s a cooker.”

A fly careened off his cheek. “What the fu—” He swatted at the air. “What’s this guy do in here?”

Ryan and I saw them at the same time. Two brown objects lay on the counter, halos of grease staining the paper towels on which they dried. Flies danced around them, landing and taking off in nervous agitation. A surgical glove lay to their left, a twin to the one we’d just unearthed. We went closer, fomenting the flies to excited flight.

I looked at each shriveled mass and thought of the roaches and spiders in the barber pole, their legs dried and constricted in rigor. These objects had nothing to do with arachnids, however. I knew instantly what they were, though I’d only seen the others in photos.

“They’re paws.”

“What?”

“Paws from some kind of animal.”

“Are you sure?”

“Flip one over.”

He did. With his pen.

“You can see the ends of the lower limb bones.”

“What’s he doing with them?”

“How the hell should I know, Ryan?” I thought of Alsa.

“Christ.”

“Check the refrigerator.”

“Oh, Christ.”

The tiny corpse was there, skinned and wrapped in clear plastic. Along with several others.

“What are they?”

“Small mammals of some sort. Without the skin I can’t tell. They’re not horses.”

“Thanks, Brennan.”

Bertrand joined us. “What’ve you got?”

“Dead animals.” Ryan’s voice betrayed his aggravation. “And another glove.”

“Maybe the guy eats roadkill,” said Bertrand.

“Maybe. And maybe he makes lampshades out of people. That’s it. I want this place sealed. I want every friggin’ thing confiscated. Bag his cutlery, bag that blender, bag everything in the goddamn refrigerator. I want that disposal scraped and every inch of this place hosed with Luminol. Where the hell’s Gilbert?”

Ryan moved toward a wall phone to the left of the door.

“Hold it. That phone got a redial button?”

Ryan nodded.

“Hit it.”

“Probably get his priest. Or Grammama.”

Ryan pushed the button. We listened to a seven-note melody followed by four rings. Then a voice answered, and the bubble of fear I’d been carrying all day rose to my head and I felt faint.

“Veuillez laissez votre nom et numéro de téléphone. Je vais vous rappelez le plutôt possible. Merci. Please leave your name and number and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thanks. This is Tempe.”

36

THE SOUND OF MY OWN VOICE HIT ME LIKE A BLOW TO THE HEAD. My legs buckled and my breath came in rapid gasps.

Ryan helped me to a chair,