Alone (Detective D.D. Warren, #1)(42)

When he returned to the table, loaded down with coffee and condiments, she finally appeared impressed.

“So, who gave you the heads-up?” she wanted to know, going straight to work on the sugar packets.

“Harris Reed. An investigator. Works for the Gagnons.”

“The Gagnons? As in Judge and Maryanne?”

“The dynamic duo themselves.”

She frowned. “And how'd this Reed know?”

“Didn't say.”

“Have contacts inside the department?”

“Probably.”

She grimaced. “Police stations. One guy drinks a glass of water and everyone else takes a piss. So the Gagnons are keeping an eye on things?”

“Apparently.”

“Interesting.” She'd finished sweetening up her brew and now poured in the cream. “And you, Bobby? All things considered, shouldn't you be off fishing or something?”

He spread his hands. “I can't fish.”

“I heard about the lawsuit. That sucks.”

He didn't disagree.

“Got a lawyer? How bad does it look?”

“Don't know.” He shrugged. “Haven't gone attorney shopping yet. Been busy.”

She stopped stirring her coffee. “Bobby, you gotta take this kind of thing seriously. If a cop can get pulled into criminal court just for doing her job . . . this is cause for concern.”

Again, he didn't disagree.

“You have friends, you know. You guys covered for us when you took that call Thursday; no one wants to see you get hosed.”

Bobby didn't feel like discussing it. What was done was done. “So what's up at the garage?” he asked. “What happened to the good doctor?”

D.D. sighed, took a long swig of coffee, and settled back in the booth. “Not sure. For starters, however, I'd say he screwed around one too many times.”

“A wronged lover?”

“More likely a lover's pissed-off spouse. Good doctor was attacked from behind. Subject wielded so much force, the blade severed half of Dr. Rocco's neck.”

“Messy,” Bobby murmured.

“And how. Subject got the doctor leaning forward into his car, so most of the ewww is contained in the driver's side of the BMW. Except, the fun didn't end there. The good doctor was kind of, well, dismembered.”

“Dismembered?”

“Dismembered,” D.D. said heavily. “We found it in the glove compartment.”

“Ouch,” Bobby said.

“Ouch,” D.D. agreed.

He frowned. That was pretty personal. And an awful lot of activity for a public parking garage. “Got video footage from the surveillance cameras?”

“Looking into it now. Film I have seen is very grainy and doesn't show much. Whoever did this was thinking. Got the doctor incapacitated and into his vehicle. Then, best I can figure it, the killer crawled into the passenger side. BMW has tinted windows; it's late at night. Anyone who walks by is just gonna catch the silhouette of two people sitting in a car. Except one was kind of dead and the other was getting jiggy with a serrated blade. People. I swear they've all seen too many movies.”

D.D.'s food arrived. She started layering the French toast with the fried eggs and pieces of bacon, her eyes positively gleaming. Then she got her hands on the syrup.

“Gotta be a lot of blood,” Bobby said. “That kind of work . . . I'd think you'd have splatter everywhere.”

“You'd think.” She sawed off a bite of French-toast breakfast sandwich with her fork and munched away blissfully. “You were at the scene, Bobby. Picture that big cold garage, think of the facility it was attached to, and tell me what we got.”

Bobby thought back. Under the glare of the floodlights, the cement floor had appeared smooth and unmarred, not a red drip in sight. He frowned, considered the matter again, then suddenly smiled. “A hospital. Surgical scrubs!”

“Bull's-eye. We found a garbage bag filled with bloody scrubs and shoe booties in a dumpster outside of the west-side entrance. It would appear our clever killer donned scrubs, did the deed, then balled up the discarded garments and shoe booties and tossed them tidily away. So most likely he walked into the garage looking like any old surgeon. Once he was done, he waited for a quiet moment, got out of the car, peeled off the garments, and sauntered away.”

“You'd get two footprints,” Bobby said. “Him exiting the car.”

“Found smeared blood outside the passenger's seat. Looks like he wiped up the spot, maybe with part of the scrubs. Didn't get it perfect, but did obliterate any tread patterns. Ingenious little shit.”

“Foresight,” Bobby thought out loud. “Planning.”

“Yes and no. Did take some thought, but everything he needed was on site. So, he didn't have to plan too far in advance. Assuming, of course, that the killer wasn't actually a surgeon, which, of course, given the location, isn't something we've ruled out.” D.D. was halfway through her plate now and positively sighing. “Oooh, that's good. I swear if it wouldn't give me an immediate coronary, I'd come here every day.”

“So what about suspects?”

“Funny you should ask.”

“You're not thinking me, are you?” He was genuinely startled.