“You know, the longer you stand here bitching at me, the more likely it is that some other reporter is stealing your scoop over there,” Sam replied smoothly, trying not to laugh at the good fortune circumstance and coincidence exhibited for him. Jan Harris was in too much of a hurry to bother with analyzing the psychological basis of Sam’s banter.
Come on, Harris. Be a good greedy bitch and take the bait, Sam thought. Take me with you.
Harris weighed up the importance of a new scoop with Toshana’s location and found that neither could be sacrificed for the other. She knew that Sam was right — she had no time to lose.
“You’re coming with me, mister,” she snapped, hands on her hips in a desperate claim to authority.
Yes! Sam cried in his mind, elated.
“Because I’m not letting you disappear again until I got what I need from you,” she continued in self-righteous assertion. “In return,” she hesitated somewhat, “you can accompany me on the new story.”
Playing along splendidly, Sam feigned reluctance before pretending to give in to her demands. “Alright,” he said, “but we can’t stay for long. I still have to take you to Toshana.”
“We’ll stay as long as is needed, Cleave,” she commanded. “God, I thought you knew how this worked.”
Behind her, Sam grinned as they hurried to Harris’ SUV opposite the road. Christ, Harris, you are easier than a drunken, jilted fresher.
19
The Voice from the Ether
Arriving at the Upney Lane facility, Sam couldn’t wait to get out of the car. It seemed that even sharing a vehicle with the insufferable Jan Harris was too much, what with her love for British boy bands and open-mouthed chewing while she navigated the streets at the pace of a glacier. Even her camera man, Steve, sat staring out the window for so much of the trip that Sam swore the man’s neck had to be readjusted when they turned into Upney Lane.
“Get the camera ready, Steve,” Harris whined through the lapping sound of teeth releasing wet Wrigley’s every time her jaw moved. “I want to film from the moment we get out of the car, just in case something is already happening outside. You got that?”
Steve just nodded, his eyes fixed in vexation as his left hand waited on the door handle. Sam was in the same ready position as the car came to a halt, climbing up on the sidewalk just outside the entrance of the rickety parking area. Harris watched Sam in the rear view mirror to make sure he did not abscond before she obtained her information. As they exited the car, Sam followed the jiggling ass of the overweight cameraman. His wide bottom was threatening to shed his trousers with every step as he tried to catch up to Harris, but Sam had to abandon all humor for now.
He was actually keen to see what had happened at Nirvana Public Morgue. Corpse-napping had a macabre, albeit intriguing edge on crime that London did not encounter every day, something Sam would normally associate with his own escapades when running with Purdue and Nina.
Nina, his heart reverberated suddenly. He’d successfully avoided thinking about her all day and now, when he was trying to focus on something out of the ordinary, she popped up in his mind. After this, he would have to give her a call, even if it was from a police station. He was certain that he would soon be arrested, thanks to Harris. There was no way she would not utilize a choice opportunity to sink him if he did not give up Toshana.
“This way!” he heard Harris shout at poor, out of breath Steve. They tried to get through the first line of journalists that had already formed on the front steps, where a similar scene was playing out to the one they had just come from. Sam sauntered behind them with no intention of fighting for a place in front. He knew better. Hands in pockets, he strolled to the fringe of the commotion and observed what he could.
Although he lamented the fact that he had no equipment, not even a cell phone, with him, Sam reckoned it had served him better not to bring anything with him this time. At least, with the recent surprise party the assassin couple had thrown at him and Jan Harris’ unexpected arrival, he had nothing valuable on him. That would all have been lost by now.
“Can I help you, sir?” a police officer asked. He had noticed the lone man walking around without aim with a bloody bandage on his hand. Such observations would normally be construed as suspicious by policemen.
“No thank you, officer,” Sam replied.
“Off with you then,” the officer suggested. Sam knew he could not prove that he was more than a vagrant. After all, he looked like shit — bloodied, with his clothing in dirty disarray and his hair unkempt from the rumble he was in at the hospital. His eye caught the red suit of Jan Harris among the churning crowd. Associating himself with one of these journalists present would not win him any favor with the police anyway, so he accepted the shunning and slowly walked back to the car.
But Sam’s scruffy hair offered assistance in his reconnaissance, obscuring his prying eyes from the policeman who watched him leave. Gradually the sun was rising behind the murky clouds over Barking, illuminating the dreary world around the railway lines with a monotone misery. Two headlights, dimmed, raced into the entrance and took an immediate right into the staff parking area, away from the public parking in front of the building’s main façade.
Nobody saw it, because their backs were turned in their frenzy to sweet-talk the police into a statement. But Sam did, and he used the last bit of the night’s shadow to sneak into the second entrance just short of the main gate. At a close distance, two red break lights blinked under the glare of a pale, white streetlight on the other side of the wall fence that was crowned with rusty barbed wire.
On approach, Sam noticed that the car was a humble sedan, some green, pre-2012 model. When the red lights were doused, he heard the driver’s door open. Sam did his best not to startle the driver by addressing them from a ways away.
“Good morning!” he exclaimed confidently. “Thought you would never show up.”
With his charade, he included a light chuckle to make things cordial with the stranger. In truth, he had no idea who it was or what their purpose would be, but bluffing his way into things was Sam’s forte.
“You are?” the man in the trench coat asked Sam. He looked in a hurry and came straight toward Sam before he even received an answer, so the journalist decided to go with it.
“Sam Cleave,” Sam introduced himself. “I take it you are the medical examiner in charge? Those reporters are making things very difficult for us to investigate the case. Bloody vultures. They have no respect for the victims in these regards.”
“Tell me about it!” the man agreed, shaking his head as he shook Sam’s healthy hand. “Dr. Barry Hooper, head medical examiner. I am absolutely shattered to hear that Dr. Gould was kidnapped!” He wheezed as he rushed forward to get to the office, looking ashen.
“Excuse me, what did you say?” Sam choked, hoping he did not hear what he thought he did. “Who?”
Dr. Hooper did not lose cadence in his lunging steps as he repeated, “Dr. Gould. She was researching in our offices last night. The animals who stole the bodies took her with them, and I think I’m going to throw up. She was our guest, you know, from Edinburgh.”
“Dr. Nina Gould, the historian?” Sam asked with a crack in his voice, trying not to lose it.
“Yes, that’s the one, Mr. Cleave,” Dr. Hooper affirmed as they approached the police sergeant who had sent Sam away before. Realizing suddenly that Sam knew Nina, he stopped in his tracks and frowned at Sam. “My God, you know her?”