Don’t run… don’t panic… just listen to what he has to say… maybe he’ll leave me alone.
The man placed a cold hand against the nape of Julie’s neck. She recoiled from his touch, but he latched on. His hands were rough with calluses and fear caused her skin to prickle. Her legs buckled as she sucked down a shallow breath. Her heart beat wildly.
“Your efforts to free a killer are not appreciated.”
Julie stammered. “How do you know about that?”
“I have my sources.”
“Well, I’ve done nothing wrong or illegal.”
“You’re opening old wounds.”
“Brandon deserves justice.” The sudden strength in Julie’s voice surprised her.
“And he got it. Keep out of this business. What’s done is done. My employer doesn’t take kindly to crusaders.”
“Okay-okay. I’ll do what you ask. Just leave me alone.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. I do trust you’ll keep your word and won’t talk to Stahl anymore. But to inspire your cooperation, I slipped a little something into your coat pocket. You can look at it when I’m gone. And don’t try to follow me. I want you to count to one hundred with your back to the road, looking at the river. One hundred. Don’t test me. Start counting now.”
Julie’s body quaked, but she cleared her mind enough to begin the countdown. “One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight…”
Julie felt the man’s presence retreat, then heard a motorcycle engine rumble to life.
“You ever ride one of these things, Julie?” the man shouted over the engine’s din. “You should give it a try sometime. You might like it.”
The man laughed and revved the engine hard before he zoomed away. Julie did not dare turn around. She kept her eyes closed and continued the count, trying to ease the tight band of fear that had wrapped around her chest.
Eighty-five… eighty-four… eighty-three…
Julie stopped the count at fifty. She listened. She heard no sound at all. No cars. No birds. Nothing. In that stretch of quiet, Julie found the courage to turn around. There were no motorcycles in sight, and she felt confident the man was gone. No trick; he just wanted enough time to get away.
Still shaking, Julie climbed back in her car and sat while she tried to catch her breath. When she felt settled enough, Julie reached into her coat pocket for the keys. Her fingers brushed against an envelope that had not been there before. She remembered the man had put something there to “inspire her cooperation.”
She almost tore the contents as she ripped the envelope open. She could not quiet the tremor of her hands. Julie’s breath caught when she removed a photograph. She recognized the image right away. It was a picture of Julie and Trevor taken at Wingaersheek Beach in Gloucester sometime last summer. Trevor had posted it on his Facebook page. Hopefully the police would view it the same way that Julie did: as a threat.
CHAPTER 28
Lucy Abruzzo’s office was nothing special, just a concrete room with a couple of windows, a desk, and a small conference table set off to one corner. An oval-shaped area rug warmed the space somewhat, but it lacked a personal touch. Lucy’s diplomas used to take up floor space, but a custodian broke the glass on one, and by way of an apology, hung them all on her office wall. Her bookcase was filled with medical texts, though she had a shelf devoted to her favorite nonfiction books as well, which she lent out like a library.
Lucy was seated at her desk when Jordan Cobb knocked on her office door. He was dressed in his workday uniform, blue scrubs and canvas sneakers.
“Hi, Dr. Abruzzo,” Jordan said.
Lucy peered out from behind her computer monitor. “Ah, Jordan. Good. Come in.”
Lucy pushed the file she had been reading to the edge of her desk and absentmindedly left it splayed open. She got up from her chair and came around her desk to greet Jordan. He looked a little apprehensive; it was not every day the big boss asked to see him.
“Have a seat,” Lucy said, motioning to one of the chairs around the conference table.
Jordan did as he was told, his large frame barely fitting on the smallish seat. Lucy took a seat as well.
“Tell me something, Jordan. What is it you want to do with your life?”
Small talk was never Lucy’s strong suit. Jordan knew this, but even he was taken aback by her abruptness. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Excuse me?”
“The question isn’t all that vague, I think. What do you want to do with your life?”
“I’m doing it,” Jordan said, sounding more appreciative than defensive.
“You want to move dead people around, that’s the extent of your ambition?”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s honest work. And given my criminal record, my options are a little bit limited.”
“Oh, let’s forget about your criminal record for a moment, shall we? I knew all about it when I hired you. My question is, what else can you do?”
“What else?”
“Yeah, your other skills.”
“Um-I tutor in math.”
Lucy showed her surprise. “Really? I didn’t know you were mathematically inclined.”
“I understand it all right. Enough to tutor, you know? Taught it in prison.”
“I see. Well, the reason I’m asking all this is that we’re looking for a new lab assistant.”
Jordan’s face lit up. “Really? Like I could work with samples?”
“Oh, yes. The job involves processing specimens, preparation of tissue, bacterial cultures, staining for various smears, and of course preparation of human specimens for postmortem examinations.”
With the notable exception of Sam Talbot, to Lucy the dead were specimens and nothing more.
A big smile came to Jordan’s face, showing off teeth that would have benefited from braces if only he could have afforded them. “That would be… that would be incredible.”
Quick as that smile came, Jordan’s bright expression dimmed.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy said.
“All I have is a GED,” Jordan said. “You have to go through an accredited program to be certified as a lab assistant.”
Lucy gave a nod. “You’ve researched that, have you?”
“I just-I just know how things work, that’s all.”
“I see.”
Before Jordan could say anything more, Lucy glanced at her watch and appeared suddenly flustered.
“Oh, shoot. Jordan, look, can you wait here a moment? I have to go speak to a doc about a lab result, but I want to continue our conversation. I’ll be right back.”
The question was rhetorical. Of course Jordan would wait, but he nodded his agreement anyway. Lucy got up and left the room.
Jordan sat a while, but his eyes soon went to the folder splayed open on Lucy’s desk. Even from a distance he could tell it was a pathologist report. As Jordan moved closer, he could see it was from somebody suffering from chronic inflammatory bowel disease. IBD-a notoriously uncomfortable condition.
The report of the endoscopic biopsy specimen was written clearly and succinctly, to deliver information to a busy clinician. Even a diener could make sense of some of it. The second line of the pathologist report was almost always reserved for the presence or absence of dysplasia, a term used to refer to an abnormality or a growth anomaly. What patients wanted on that second line was “negative for dysplasia.” Second best would be “indefinite for dysplasia.” The third and final choice was “positive for dysplasia.” The dysplasia would be graded, high or low, and the lower the better. The more marked the cell change, the easier it was to make a diagnosis.
Jordan took a glance at the report and saw that this patient was negative for dysplasia. Good. Below that, though, was an image taken from the H &E stain, which was shorthand for a tissue section stained with hematoxylin and eosin. Jordan had worked pathology long enough for the nomenclature to become a fluent second language.