“Oh. FBI? Funny, why aren’t I surprised? Well, how-do, Pendergast. Why the hell don’t you guys phone ahead? Listen, I got a headless, de-brained stiff down there. Where’re the rest of you, anyway?”
Pendergast withdrew his hand. “There’s just me, I’m afraid.”
“What? Don’t kid me. You guys always travel around in packs.”
The lights popped on, and the gore around them was bathed in brilliance. Everything that previously appeared black was suddenly illuminated, all the various shades of the body’s secret workings made visible. Something D’Agosta suspected was Norris’s breakfast was also visible, lying amidst a wash of body fluids. Involuntarily, D’Agosta’s jaw started working. Then his eye caught a piece of skull with the dead guard’s crew cut still on it, lying a good five feet from the body.
“Oh Jesus,” said D’Agosta, stepping back, and then he lost it. Right in front of the FBI guy, in front of SOC, in front of the photographer, he blew his own breakfast. I can’t believe it, he thought. The first time in twenty-two years, and it’s happening at the worst possible moment.
The coroner’s investigator appeared on the stairs, a young woman in a white coat and plastic apron. “Who’s the officer in charge?” she asked, sliding on her gloves.
“I am,” said D’Agosta, wiping his mouth. He looked at Pendergast. “For a few more minutes, anyway. Lieutenant D’Agosta.”
“Dr. Collins,” the investigator replied briskly. Followed by an assistant, she walked down to an area near the body that was being squeegeed free of blood. “Photographer,” she said, “I’m turning the body over. Full series, please.”
D’Agosta averted his gaze. “We got work to do, Pendergast,” he said authoritatively. He pointed at the vomit. “Don’t clean that up until the SOC has finished with these stairs. Got it?”
Everyone nodded.
“I wanna know ingress and egress as soon as possible. See if you can ID the body. If it’s a guard, get Ippolito down here. Pendergast, let’s go up to the command post, get coordinated, or liaised, or whatever the hell you call it, and then let’s return when the team is done for a looksee.”
“Capital” said Pendergast.
Capital? thought D’Agosta. The guy sounded deep South. He’d met types like this before, and they were hopeless in New York City.
Pendergast leaned forward and said quietly, “The blood splattered on the wall is rather interesting.”
D’Agosta looked over. “You don’t say.”
“I’d be interested in the ballistics on that blood.”
D’Agosta looked straight into Pendergast’s pale eyes. “Good idea,” he said finally. “Hey, photographer, get a close-up series of the blood on the wall. And you, you—”
“McHenry, sir.”
“I want a ballistic analysis done on that blood. Looks like it was moving fast at a sharp angle. I want the source pinpointed, speed, force, a full report.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want it on my desk in thirty minutes.”
McHenry looked a little unhappy.
“Okay, Pendergast, any more ideas?”
“No, that was my only one.”
“Let’s go.”
In the temporary command post, everything was in place. D’Agosta always saw to that. Not one piece of paper was loose, not one file was out, not one tape recorder sitting on a desk. It looked good, and now he was glad that it did. Everyone was busy, the phones were lit up, but things were under control.
Pendergast slipped his lean form into a chair. For a formal-looking guy, he moved like a cat. Briefly, D’Agosta gave him an overview of the investigation. “Okay, Pendergast,” he concluded. “What’s your jurisdiction here? Did we fuck up? Are we out?”
Pendergast smiled. “No, not at all. As far as I can tell, I would not have done anything differently myself. You see, Lieutenant, we’ve been in the case from the very beginning, only we didn’t realize it.”
“How so?”
“I’m from the New Orleans field office. We were working on a series of killings down there, some very odd killings. Not to get into specifics, but the victims had the backs of their skulls removed, and the brains extracted. Same modus operandi.”
“No shit. When was this?”
“Several years ago.”
“Several years ago? That—”
“Yes. They went unsolved. First it was ATF, because they thought drugs might have been involved, then it was FBI when ATF couldn’t make any progress. But we couldn’t do anything with it, the trail was cold. And then yesterday, I read a wire service report about the double murder here in New York. The MO is too, ah, too peculiar not to make an immediate connection, don’t you think? So I flew up last night. I’m not even officially here. Although I will be tomorrow.”
D’Agosta relaxed. “So you’re from Louisiana. I thought you might be some new boy in the New York office.”
“They’ll be here,” said Pendergast. “When I make my report tonight, they’ll be in on it. But I will be in charge of the case.”