THERE WAS MORE, of course, lots more, the kind of upsetting detail that keeps certain stories in the news for months, and some of it came right away for a change. Dr. Carbondale reached me in my car on the way home. Bree was driving her own car. “Toxicology shows no known poisons in Caroline’s system,” Carbondale told me. “No drugs of any kind, other than a .07 blood alcohol level. She couldn’t have been more than tipsy at the time of death.”
So Caroline hadn’t been on drugs, and she hadn’t been poisoned. That wasn’t much of a surprise to me. “What about other causes?” I asked Carbondale.
“I’m more and more certain that’s going to be an unanswerable question. All I can do is rule out certain possibilities. There’s no way of determining, for example, if she was beaten or strangled or—”
She stopped short.
The words came out of me like bile. “Or put right into that machine.”
“Yes,” she said tightly. “But there is one other thing to tell you.”
I gritted my teeth and wanted to hit something with my fist. But I had to listen.
“We’ve isolated the remaining fragments. There’s some indication of antemortem bite marks.”
“Bite marks?” I looked around for a place to pull over. “Human bite marks?”
“I think so, yes, but I can’t be certain at this point. Biting can look almost identical to bruising, even under the best of circumstances. That’s why I’m bringing in a forensic odontologist to consult. What we’re working with is bone fragments where some of the tissue survived, so I can only see—”
“I’m going to have to call you back,” I said.
I pulled to the side of Pennsylvania Avenue and just let people honk their horns and go around me. This was too much—the unfairness, the cruelty, the violence, all those things I’m usually so good at dealing with.
I threw back my head and cursed at the car ceiling, or God, or both. How could this be allowed to happen? Then I laid my head against the steering wheel and I started to tear up. And while I was there, I said a prayer for Caroline, who didn’t have anyone with her when she needed it most.
Chapter 10
EDDIE TUCCI KNEW he had screwed up really bad this time. Unbelievable! It was a terrible mistake to give that job—or any job—to his nephew Johnny. Not for nothing did they call the kid Twitchy. Now he’d gone AWOL and Eddie had spent the past three days waiting for the rest of the shitstorm to hit the fan.
Even so, when the lights in his bar went out just after closing on Wednesday night, Eddie didn’t think too much about it. The building was going to shit, the whole neighborhood. Breakers popped all the time.
He slid closed the register drawer and walked out from behind the bar in the dark. Through the swinging door to the back room. If he could manage to find it, there was an electrical box on the wall.
Eddie didn’t get that far.
Out of nowhere, a bag came down over his head. At the same time, something hit his right knee from the side, hard. Eddie heard the joint pop just before he went down, moaning from the pain.
His moans didn’t stop them. Somebody put him in a powerful headlock, while someone else tied his ankles. He couldn’t even get off a punch, a kick, nothing. He’d just been hog-tied.
“You fuckers! I’m going to kill you. You hear me? You hear me?”
Apparently not. They hoisted him up onto the big table in back and cuffed each hand to the wooden legs underneath. Eddie yanked at the cuffs, but they only cut into his wrists. Even if he could get up, his knee felt like it was never going to work right again. He’d be a cripple now.
Then a faucet was turned on—full force.
What was that about?
Chapter 11
WHEN THEY PULLED the bag off his head, the lights were back on. That was good, right?
Well, not exactly. Eddie saw two upside-down faces looking at him, a white guy and a brown one, maybe Puerto Rican. They were dressed right for the neighborhood, but their short haircuts and the way they operated marked them as suits or military, maybe both.
And Eddie knew right then just how scared he ought to be. This thing, his nephew’s screwup, had obviously gotten way out of hand.
“We’re looking for Johnny,” the white guy said. “Any idea where he is?”
“I haven’t heard from him!” It was the God’s honest truth. These were not people to mess around with. He was sure of that much.