As she pressed End, she noticed she had missed a call: Dr. Tomich.
Brokered body parts. It made sense. And it probably explained the identical cooler Liz Bailey saw outside a funeral home. It didn’t, however, explain Vince Coffland’s disappearance.
Maggie pressed Return Call.
“Tomich,” he snapped. His clipped manner made his name sound as if it were a swear word.
“Dr. Tomich, it’s Maggie O’Dell returning your call.”
“Ah yes. Agent O’Dell.”
Before she could tell him that the parts might be brokered, Tomich surprised her by saying, “It appears you were correct.”
“Excuse me?”
“After examining the X-rays I discovered a bullet in Mr. Vince Coffland.”
“Are you certain it wasn’t shrapnel? I think that’s what the metal is in the severed foot.”
“No, no, no. This is a bullet. I went back and extracted it. Looks like a .22 caliber handgun. The trajectory path would suggest that it entered somewhere below the occipital bone and above the cervical vertebrae.”
“In other words he was shot in the back of the head.”
“That would be within the broad range, yes. You understand I am speculating. Without the head and neck I do not have the entrance wound. But from where the bullet was lodged and from the downward path it left in the tissue, I would estimate that the victim may have been bending over when shot.”
Execution style? Maggie kept the thought to herself as she thanked Dr. Tomich and ended the call.
The body parts may have actually been meant for one of AMET’s surgical conferences. However, it looked like Piper’s connection, Joe the body broker, might also be a killer.
CHAPTER 51
Maggie thought Charlie Wurth was being a bit overprotective. She knew he felt responsible for bringing her to Florida in the middle of the storm, so she wasn’t surprised that all the way out her hotel door and down the hall he ranted about her staying on the beach. In fact, she could hear him still mumbling as he got on the elevator.
What she wasn’t prepared for was Platt’s reaction.
“You really can’t stay on the beach,” he told her almost as soon as she closed the door.
“I’ll be with the United States Coast Guard.”
He didn’t smile.
“Really, I’ll be okay,” she said.
“When the outer bands start, there’ll be torrential downpours, thunderstorms, possibly tornadoes. Have you ever been in a hurricane before?”
“No, but I’ve been in a tunnel dug under a graveyard with a serial killer.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I wasn’t being funny.” She stood back and looked at him. She’d seen his serious side, the concerned doctor watching over his patient. This was something different. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.”
He let out a deep breath and rubbed at his jaw, an exhausted mannerism Maggie recognized. It only occurred to her now that he may not have gotten as much sleep as she did last night. She’d been surprised, maybe disappointed, to wake up and not find him beside her.
“I worry about you,” he said.
She started to smile until she saw the look on his face. This wasn’t an easy admission for him. They teased each other a lot, but this was serious.
“I really can take care of myself,” she tried again.
“But somehow you manage to get in the way of suitcase bombs and the Ebola virus. Not to mention serial killers.”
“You’re the one going off on secret missions to undisclosed locations.” Maggie’s sudden switch in tone surprised her as much as it did Platt.
This time, however, he smiled and said, “So you worry about me, too?”
She shrugged then nodded.
“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” He was back to teasing. A more comfortable place for both of them.
His phone rang twice and stopped. He glanced down at the number.
“My ride’s here.” But he didn’t move. “Call me. Or text me. Let me know you’re safe.”
“Absolutely. You do the same.”
He picked up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He started for the door, then without warning he turned back.
“What the hell,” he mumbled and in three steps he was kissing her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other keeping his duffel bag from banging her shoulder. “Make sure you take care of yourself, Maggie O’Dell.”
She was glad he sounded a little out of breath. As he headed for the door another damned phone started ringing. It was Maggie’s. She wanted to ignore it.
Platt smiled at her as he closed the door. “You better get that.”
She was shaking her head then realized she was smiling, too.
“Maggie O’Dell,” she answered.
“Yes, Ms. O’Dell, this is Lawrence Piper returning your call.”
Platt had made her forget her case. It took her a second to remember who Lawrence Piper was and why she had called him.
“You wanted to know about a delivery,” he prompted.