CHAPTER 6
“Samuel Morgan and Thomas Fischer,” Orlando said over the speakerphone. “Fischer would be the trigger man. Morgan is more the operations end.”
“Never heard of them,” Quinn said. “Experienced?”
“Yeah. They’ve been active for a while. Morgan at least nine years, and Fischer six. Eastern Europe mostly.”
“Pictures?”
“I’ll text them to you in a minute.”
“Good,” Quinn said. “Did Berke know anything about the chip?”
“Berke didn’t even know it was a chip,” she said. “He put Morgan and Fischer in touch with Loban then got out of the way.”
“You have anything else about these guys that might be helpful?”
“I’ve e-mailed you what I found, but it’s not much. From what I understand, Fischer has problems with subtlety, while Morgan seems to be pretty buttoned up. I’ve checked with a couple people who’ve worked with them. Both said they were competent, but that Fischer could get a little overzealous at times.”
Quinn checked his rearview mirror. They were on the Saw Mill River Parkway, traveling right through the middle of Yonkers, five or so cars strung out behind them.
“What’s the word on Daeng?”
“Haven’t heard from him yet,” she said. “But I’ve been monitoring the NYPD and I know they haven’t found him.”
“So the SUV was empty?”
“They’ve got a diver going down right now, but I can’t imagine he stayed in the car.”
Quinn couldn’t imagine it, either, but he’d continue to be concerned until one of them heard from their friend.
Ahead, a sign informed him their exit was only a mile away. “Okay. If he gets ahold of you, let us know. Gotta go.”
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
“I also love you,” Nate said.
“Shut up,” Quinn and Orlando said.
Morgan watched the sedan take the off-ramp for Yonkers Avenue. As he neared the exit, he pulled the Mercedes onto the shoulder under the bridge and stopped.
“You’re going to lose them again,” Fischer said.
Instead of answering, Morgan flipped off the headlights and started forward again.
The ramp made a big, looping curve. He hadn’t expected that, and was momentarily worried the sedan would be sitting at the top, making it easy for the other guys to see the Mercedes. But the car had already pulled away.
Morgan drove as fast as the bend would allow and then paused at the top, looking both directions down Yonkers. About four blocks to the right, he spotted the sedan’s taillights glowing in the dark.
Eternal Grace Mortuary was located a couple blocks off Yonkers Avenue, within a stone’s throw of the Saw Mill River.
It was an old brick building, with white trim along the roofline and around the windows. Four similarly painted columns held up a roof covering the front portico. The only indication of the building’s purpose was a sign on the wall that surrounded the property, near the parking lot entrance.
ETERNAL GRACE MORTUARY
Established 1973
Quinn pulled into the parking lot and drove around to where three hearses were parked at the side of the building, next to a closed garage. Two looked to be in working order, while the third, Quinn knew, hadn’t moved in over ten years.
“Should I try calling him again?” Nate asked. So far, their attempts to get ahold of Barry Alvarez had been unsuccessful.
Quinn shook his head. “Let’s see if he’s even home, first.”
After hopping out of the car, Quinn led the way over to the garage. Both the roll-up door and the walk-through one on the left were locked. The latter’s lock, though, took only a few seconds to pick.
Given Barry’s lack of response, Quinn had expected to find the garage empty, but there, sitting slightly askew in the middle of the space, was the Lexus IS 350 sedan the mortician had been driving the last time Quinn saw him.
“Maybe he’s just ignoring us,” Nate suggested.
They headed back to the main building. Not counting the front entrance, there were three other ways inside, one on the side and two around back. The one on the side was located down a ramp, at basement level. This was the delivery entrance, where bodies entered the mortuary and were taken either straight to embalming or to what Barry referred to as the “waiting room.”
The French-door entrance in back was another way into the business’s public area, while the smaller door off to the side opened onto a staircase that went up to Barry’s private apartment, which took up half the second floor.
Stickers in several of the first-floor windows proclaimed that the building was monitored by Westec Security. Knowing Barry, though, Quinn suspected the alarm system only covered the ground-floor windows and doors, not the second floor. The man was fond of money, and would much rather use it on a cruise to the Caribbean than something he thought he would never need.
The portico out front proved to be the easiest way up. After a boost from Nate, Quinn used one of the columns to pull himself onto the roof, and then lowered himself onto the small balcony outside one of the second-floor offices. Using his pocket flashlight, he examined the inside of the window. As he’d predicted — no alarm sensors.
“Glass cutter,” he whispered down to Nate.
Nate pulled a small plastic box out of his kit and tossed it up to Quinn. The box contained two items — a small suction cup and a five-inch-long metal handle cutter. Quinn stuck the cup to the glass and made a circular cut through the first pane of the double-paned window. When the glass was out of the way, he did the same on the second pane, and then reached inside, unlocked the latch, and pushed the window up.
He looked back down at Nate. “Get the body ready. I’ll be down in a minute.”
He ducked inside. Clearly, the office was not one mourners were ever shown. File boxes were stacked here and there, and loose papers covered the desks. It was so messy, Quinn had to watch his step so that he didn’t knock anything over as he made his way through the room and out the door.
The center of the building was an open space rising from the ground floor, all the way to the ceiling of the second. A tasteful yet subdued grand entrance, with a stairway between levels. On the upper floor, a balcony rimmed the back wall, serving as a hallway between the door to the office half of the floor and the back door to Barry’s apartment.
Quinn tried the knob on the latter door, thinking he would have to pick it, but it was unlocked.
Barry had never brought Quinn into his apartment. All their business had taken place either in his first-floor office or in the crematorium. Quinn wasn’t surprised, though, to find the apartment looked nothing like the rest of the building. It was modern and sleek with a high-end open kitchen, beautiful bamboo floors, and a living room area that was both intimate and inviting — very much the bachelor pad of someone wanting to impress. Quinn couldn’t help but wonder how many dates Barry had actually convinced to come up to his place inside a mortuary.
As he crossed over to the hallway that he assumed led to the bedroom, he spotted a suit jacket draped over the arm of a chair, its sleeve touching the floor. Not far beyond was a right shoe and then a left.
The hallway itself was dark, but the open door to the bedroom at the end let enough ambient light in that he didn’t have to use his flashlight.
He found Barry on the bed. Though the covers had been pulled back, the mortician hadn’t taken the time to get under them. Nor had he fully undressed. He’d managed to get his pants off and leave them on the floor below his dangling feet, but he’d left his socks and shirt and tie on. If not for the occasional loud snore, he could easily have been another body for Quinn to disappear.