1 Death Warmed Over Page 10

  But his ectoplasm-constructed lizard brain didn’t believe his rational one for a second. Someone was out there. Following him. Waiting in ambush for him.

  He tensed, stopping mid-stride and looking around once more.

  Another rustle of gravel. A distinct position. Behind him and to his left. He spun around just in time to make out the shadow of a man moving away from the single car in the parking lot. Then, from the other side of the vehicle, two more men emerged. Silas couldn’t make out much about them other than that they were big with meaty shoulders and arms underneath black tee shirts and covered with tattoos—each armed with semi-automatic pistols and each wearing black balaclava masks.

  Okay. I’m dealing with a couple of Mensa members here. Wearing masks but showing off their tattoos. Brilliant.

  Uncertain what to do, he readied his finger gun, then rolled his eyes at the very thought. He’d been trying to show off with Becca yesterday. He hadn’t needed to simulate a gun with his hand to put those goons down. He could have done the same thing with a mere thought. But he hadn’t been lying to her earlier. His power was waning. The longer the Hand of Cain remained in a mortal’s possession, the less power he could employ. At the moment, he doubted he could do anything more than a street corner magician and nothing against the hooligans now approaching. Fortunately, he didn’t believe he’d need powers for his attackers here. Having witnessed untold numbers of wars, battles, and fights through the centuries, he had developed an understanding of various other sets of skills he could employ if necessary. Granted, for the moment, he thought flight would be more prudent than fight if he could manage. At least until his supernatural abilities had some time to recharge a little anyway.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, as the three men lumbered to within a few feet of him. “It’s a glorious night, isn’t it?”

  They didn’t respond, but the first man made a show of pulling the slide back on his weapon and pointing it directly at Silas. The man’s balaclava wrinkled across the chin and forehead, giving Silas the distinct impression of a sneer.

  “Do you not even have the decency to tell me who sent you?” Silas asked. At first, he thought the strangers might be part of Garcia’s crew. An unexpected surprise from Esperanza, maybe. It was something she would do and they certainly looked the part. But he doubted she would risk their lives for her own petty revenge scheme. She’d been genuinely distraught when he’d brought them each to the point of death earlier. It had been a demonstration of his power for her benefit as much as for Becca’s. She would certainly think twice before sending members of Garcia’s gang to tangle with him after that.

  But now that they were closer, he had a better look at his accosters’ tattoos and none had the telltale signs associated with a Hispanic gang or followers of Santa Muerte. Instead, they depicted Nordic runes and Celtic crosses. Irish possibly? Or Norwegian.

  “No,” said the first man. His two partners hung back a few feet, their guns held casually at the ground. They didn’t expect too much trouble. “But I was told to tell you this…you ain’t ever gettin’ what you’re looking for, pretty boy. Your time is up and someone else is in charge. That’s what I was told to tell ya.”

  Silas tensed, keeping his eye on the man’s trigger finger. “I see. That’s rather enigmatic. Does your employer not trust you or something?”

  The thug cocked his head to one side. “Huh?”

  “Well, it just seems to me that if he really did trust you, he would have given you permission to tell me who he is. Since you can’t tell me, he obviously didn’t think you’d get the job done.”

  “That’s how you’re going to play it? Our pride in our work?” This came from one of the two goons in the back. And obviously, the smartest of the three and the only one wearing a long sleeve shirt. His voice was familiar to Silas, though he couldn’t place it.

  “It seemed clever at the time.” Silas rolled onto the balls of his feet, preparing to do whatever instinct told him to do next. “I presume you’re the real brains behind this little gang of Rhodes Scholars?”

  The smarter thug stepped forward, tapping the first out with a pat on the shoulder. He then raised his gun and leveled it at Silas. “They’re my brothers. What’cha gonna do?”

  Silas nodded at this. “Most definitely. Have a few inept brothers myself. I feel you.” Silas’ eyes swept over each of the thugs. They were tensing. Preparing themselves.

  He figured he had three decent options. One was a real showy ‘Grim Reaper’ deal that would probably scare the trio literally to death. He didn’t want to do that, however. He needed these guys alive. They were his link to whoever had the Hand. The second option was worse. He could simply run away. But it would make these thugs think he was afraid of them. Both pride and pragmatism ruled against doing that because they would just continue coming after him and might accidentally hurt an innocent in the process.

  The third option had its problems too. First, it would tip his hand. If there was any doubt as to his real identity, it would be completely gone when he pulled this stunt. However, in hindsight, that might a good thing. Maybe the mastermind behind all this would begin to truly appreciate the danger he was in. Besides, this way was just going to be too much fun to pass up.

  Okay. Option C it is.

  He smiled at the lead goon. “Any chance for a head start between two brainier brothers?”

  The leader shook his head. “Sorry, Mot.”

  His gun arm tensed, then he pulled the trigger. A blast of fire and smoke exploded from the barrel from just a few feet away from Silas. The loud blast of the gunshot echoed out into the darkness, ringing ear drums of anyone nearby.

  The smoke cleared and the three gunmen stood fixed to their spots, unable to move. Their target, Silas Mot, had simply melted away in front of them, as if he’d never been there at all.

  17

  CHIEF BECCA COLE’S RESIDENCE

  THURSDAY MORNING, 4:45 AM

  The shrill ring of her cell phone woke Becca from the dead of sleep. She snatched the phone up and looked at the time.

  “Sonuva…” She practically punched the talk button with her finger. “Becca Cole,” she said.

  Dispatch was on the other end. An incident had been reported. Shots fired in the parking lot of the Sand Dollar Motel. Silas Mot was somehow involved.

  “I’ll be right there.” She tossed her phone back onto the nightstand and pulled back her bedsheets with a growl. “Silas.” Another growl. “Ever since that guy came into town, my sleep cycle’s really taken a hit.”

  She didn’t bother to shower. There was no time. Instead, she brewed a small pot of coffee, got dressed, poured the fresh pot into her Yeti thermos, and headed to the scene as fast as she could. She was there in twenty minutes and greeted by Sergeant Tanner the moment she got out of the car.

  “What happened?” she asked. Her voice sounded harsher than she would have liked.

  Tanner smirked, then thumbed over in the direction of the bar’s beach chairs. “Your boy happened, that’s what.”

  She followed the officer’s thumb and saw Silas Mot lounging in one of the chairs, feet crossed, and drinking what appeared to be some kind of tropical drink with an umbrella.

  Sigh.

  Becca made her way over to the chairs, picked the one to Silas’ right, and sat down.

  He glanced over at her and he jerked in surprise. “My dear Chief Cole, you look like me warmed over.”

  “That’s what happens when we mere mortals don’t get much sleep two nights in a row.”

  He nodded at this, then reached over to the table next to him and picked up another mug with an umbrella in it. He offered it to her. “They’re delicious,” he said with a sad smile. “Not quite as good as the ones they make here, but I was experimenting a bit and it turned out better than expected.”

  She waved the drink away. “I’m on-duty.”

  “Alcohol free. Turns out, I just like the fruity flavor over shaved ice.”
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br />   She took the offered drink and sipped some from the straw. “Not bad. Strawberry and banana?”

  “And pineapple. Mixed with fresh squeezed lemonade. It’s to die for.”

  “Congratulations. You just re-invented a Slushy.” She allowed herself a chuckle before remembering why she was there. “So, what happened?”

  He proceeded to tell her of the three goons that had tried to ambush him in the parking lot. Gave her a description of the tattoos, as well as the red Camaro they drove off in. Then explained how he went to his motel room and awaited the arrival of the police.

  “I didn’t like it, Chief Cole,” he said. “The fear I felt. I know I was in no real danger from their bullets, but I still didn’t like the feeling.” He gestured at his body. “This? It’s not real. I created it from the ether…a substance the mystics call ‘ectoplasm’. It’s only a facsimile of life. I can discard it and pick it up again at will. But the problem is, I’m growing accustomed to all this. This life. And thinking of the possibility that it might end badly for me turned my stomach inside out.”

  She nodded. “Welcome to our world, Silas. Sounds to me like you’re developing real human survival instincts.” She took another sip from the drink and paused. “And by the way, you can call me Becca. It might be weird for me to be on a first name basis with the supreme overlord of death, but for now, I figure we’re partners and need to start acting like it.”

  “Thanks.” He stared into the tiki mug he was holding, as if it contained all the answers to the universe. “At least we know I made a horrid blunder yesterday…announcing my identity to anyone within earshot. Naturally, for the average mortal it would have seemed the ramblings of a lunatic. But the one who possesses the Hand. That one would have reason to believe. And be concerned.”

  “So, you think that’s why you were targeted? Not because of our investigation into Andrea’s death?”

  Another nod. “The thugs pretty much told me as much, though they were careful not to reveal too much about their employer.”

  “What makes you think they have a boss? Why couldn’t one of them have this…this Hand thing?”

  “Well, first of all, whoever has it, has power enough to use it. Part of that power requires above average intelligence. While the leader of my assailants was indeed smart, I don’t believe he is smart enough to learn the Hand’s secrets.” He took another sip. “Also, they pretty much told me they’d been instructed by someone else. That’s a dead giveaway.”

  The two turned to stare out at the ocean’s horizon. A purple and orange ribbon of light stretched for as far as the eye could see. The early radiance of dawn bloomed in the distance. The palm trees around them swayed in the steady wind coming in from the sea and, for a moment, Becca’s troubles seemed to disappear.

  “You know, I don’t do this enough,” she said after a few moments of silence. “Just sit and watch the sun come up.”

  “It’s my experience that most humans tend not to take advantage of the gifts they’ve been given. Their lives are cluttered with the bric-a-brac of day to day mundanity. They’re too preoccupied with yesterday or tomorrow. Rarely today. Unless, of course, they know they’re soon to meet me.”

  Becca slurped down the last of the fruit drink, then placed the empty mug on the table, and stood up. “All right, Mr. Mot. My guys will be looking for your assailants. Right now, we’ve got an investigation to get back to.”

  Silas seemed to leap from his chair with a clap of his hands. “Excellent. It’s time to solve this mystery once and for all and, hopefully, lead me one step closer to figuring out who now possesses the Hand of Cain.”

  She laughed. “One step at a time, partner,” she said as they crossed the parking lot to her patrol car. “One step at a time.”

  18

  OFFICE OF THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

  SAINT AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA

  THURSDAY MORNING, 8:10 AM

  “Dr. Lipkovic only has a few minutes,” the receptionist at the Medical Examiner’s Office told Becca and Silas. “He’s got a full day today and needs to get started on the autopsies as soon as possible.”

  “I understand,” Becca replied. “But he did ask to speak with me.”

  “Of course. Follow me.” The short woman with close-cropped hair and pristine blue scrubs led them down a short hallway, then knocked on an open door to their left. “Dr. Lipkovic, Chief Cole is here to see you.”

  “Send them in, please.” The voice carried with it a thick Slavic accent. From past meetings with the medical examiner, Becca knew the doctor hailed from former Czechoslovakia, by way of Prague.

  The two entered into a large office with an immense L-shaped desk in the center of the room. A large microscope and two flatscreen monitors, depicting microscopic slides of unknown human tissue, sat just to the doctor’s left.

  Dr. Peter Lipkovic himself was in excellent shape for a man close to seventy. His hair was light gray—almost white—but full, and his eyes bright and friendly. As Becca and Silas entered, he set down a file folder, stood and extended his hand in greeting. “Good to see you again, Chief.”

  She shook his hand. “Likewise, Doctor.” There was an awkward moment in which Lipkovic glanced over at Silas. “Oh, my apologies. This is a colleague of mine helping with the investigation. Dr. Lipkovic, this is Silas Mot.”

  “Mot,” the doctor said, after gesturing for them to take their seats on the other side of his desk. “That’s an unusual name.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” Silas said, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from the lapel of his jacket.

  “Ancient Palestine, if I’m not mistaken. Canaanite, more specifically,” Lipkovic said, then returned his gaze over to Becca. “But I digress. Chief Cole, thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss Andrea Alvarez’s death with you.”

  “Please. Any help you can give me will be greatly appreciated.”

  He opened the file in front of him and thumbed through several sheets of paper until he came to the one he was looking for.

  “Look, I can’t give you a cause of death yet.” He tapped his pen against his notes as he looked at each of them. “Truth is, this is one of the weirdest cases I’ve ever worked. If there wasn’t a knife found in her back—inflicted postmortem, by the way, and actually rather superficial in nature despite how gruesome it looked—I would more than likely rule it a natural death. Her heart showed signs of a myocardial infarction.”

  “Yeah, Sergeant Tanner told me that. And you saw no signs of previous medical problems?”

  He shook his head. “Her arteries looked good. There was no scarring from previous heart attacks. No previous strokes. Not even any old lacunar infarcts in her brain. Nothing to indicate hypertension or anything else that would lead to what I’m seeing. Thought maybe it could be from an embolism, but there was no evidence of that either. At least, nothing older than a few weeks, that is.”

  “Pardon me?” Becca asked.

  “I did see signs of recent bleeds,” he explained. “Serious signs of some sort of hypertensive crises in her brain and heart…but they were all recent. Like, just a few weeks. Two or three weeks at the most. Nothing chronic to indicate a long history of these issues. These were acute. Very acute, which makes me think something was introduced into her life that caused these problems suddenly.” Lipkovic paused, scanning his notes. “Of course, I can’t rule out drugs yet. Cocaine and other narcotics can cause sudden cardiac death. We won’t get the toxicology results back for another few weeks yet, but the preliminary urine screen was negative for the most common recreational drugs.”

  “Any way to speed the official tox results up?”

  “A few weeks is speeding it up. I’ve marked them highest priority with the lab we use. Normally, they can take up to three months.” Dr. Lipkovic sighed. “But I have a few ideas. That story about her erratic behavior at the restaurant a few days before her death…that intrigued me a great deal. The paranoia. The manic, almost violent outbursts. It’s all rather suggestive
and most likely part of whatever killed her. Almost definitely part of those recent hypertensive events I mentioned anyway.” He paused, scanning a sheet of paper with a body diagram scrawled across it. “Her stomach contents were pretty much empty. She probably vomited prior to death. But her blood smelled of alcohol. Nothing really unusual at all. So, at the moment, I’m a bit stymied.”

  “Understood,” she said. “So, what can we do to help?”

  Dr. Lipkovic reached under his desk and withdrew a brown paper bag sealed with red evidence tape and sat it on top of his files. “These are the medications crime scene collected at Ms. Alvarez’s house. Unfortunately, I suspect they’re not all here. There’s nothing in here that would cause the phenomenon we’re seeing in our victim.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “If you could, I’d appreciate you returning to her house and doing a more thorough search. Maybe the CSU missed something. Maybe she had a stash somewhere the crime scene technicians didn’t think to look. I just have a feeling that if you turn that place apart, you’re going to find something that’ll point us in the right direction on this case.”

  “Are you thinking this is some kind of poisoning?”

  Lipkovic shook his head. “It’s far too soon to speculate on that. Granted, we know someone stuck that knife in her back and dumped her body on the beach, but for all we know, this could have originally been a suicide. Loved ones of suicide victims have been known to tamper with a scene to avoid the stigma of a suicide. In their eyes, they might think it’s better for her to be a murder victim than someone who takes their own life. There are religious implications to this as well. Catholics, for instance, see suicide as a mortal sin, so the pressure is on the family to do what they can to conceal the true nature of the death.”

  “A suicide?” Silas laughed. “You can’t seriously believe this was a suicide.”

  “Mr. Mot, I’m a scientist, first and foremost. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not prone to speculation. I go where the evidence takes me and keep an open mind to all the possibilities. I’m not saying this is a suicide. I’m not saying it’s a homicide. I’m simply stating that right now, based on the information we have, it could pretty much be anything and we need to approach it as such,” Lipkovic said. “That being said, I do believe her death is probably related to a drug of some kind. Somehow. But that’s as far as I can go. That’s why I need you to dig deeper into medications, illicit drugs, or any other items in her residence that might have been missed. Dig, Chief Cole. Dig deep. It’s how we’ll solve this case.”