PERPETUAL

By Brian Huey

PERPETUAL Abducted (Book 3 in the series)

Maria felt for the scalpel in her lab coat pocket. She walked toward the source of the sound and stopped near the darkest corner of the morgue basement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huey Media
• Release date: Nov 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781949379228

Brian Huey

Born in Westlake, Ohio. Brian received a BS in economics and a BA in public policy from the University of North Carolina. He competed as a swimmer and springboard diver at Connecticut and UNC. His experience ranges from an assistant to the NC Attorney General to CEO of corporations in various industries. Brian's writing voice developed over the years while climbing the corporate ladder and then diving off into a wilderness of many entrepreneurial ventures. Since those early years, he has owned businesses in advertising, manufacturing, and finance, taken a company public and a sat on the board of national and international associations. All the while Brian continued to write short stories, screenplays, TV pilots and manuscripts, including the Perpetual series. He says he has experienced firsthand that reality truly is stranger than fiction. Brian competes in triathlons and master swimming. When asked about Cracker Jack, he replied, "Stay tuned. Tomorrow is another day." He lives near Charlotte, North Carolina, USA where he has turned the page to start another Perpetual chapter.

Book preview

ACT 1 – THE MORGUE

Prologue

September 10, 2001

LAZLO BENBENCULA REACHED into the pocket of his vest and lifted a gold watch. His father had given it to him when he graduated medical school at the University of Bucharest. He stood in the shadows at the service entrance door of the Boston Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in South End and studied his surroundings.

His heart raced. The other women—subjects—were not like this.

He retrieved from his coat pocket a duplicated set of his cousin’s keys. Lazlo loved his cousin and had worried about him since they were children traveling around the world. Their mothers were both specialized researchers in biology.

When the boys were twelve, Victor contracted a rare disease, which caused bone degeneration and hunched his spine. The boys remained inseparable until Victor’s parents shipped him to Boston for experimental treatments. He never returned to Romania.

The next year in Costa Rica, Lazlo held his mother as she took her last breath.¹

Lazlo tried each key until the lock clicked. He stepped inside and locked the deadbolt.

Quiet as a morgue.

The hallway was brightly lit. He flipped the light switch off and took out a penlight and descended the stairs to the overflow basement morgue—where he knew Maria would be working.

---

1 Victor contracted kyphosis coupled with ankylosing spondylitis, a rare combination of the two diseases, causing bone degeneration and hunching of the spine.

Chapter One:

Overlooked

AHMED CURSED HIS BROTHER. He wanted to go home to his late-model car collection, racehorses, and servants. He did not intend to hurt anyone. Matthew and Maria were likable; he envied them.

Although he rarely smoked, he needed a break from his brother. He took a drag off a Marlboro, exhaling a slow, thin stream. Behind him, the brilliant sky faded to orange and then to grey.

Ahmed had to dissuade his brother today. He prayed that his uncle would order them both back to Vienna, but thus far, no such luck.

He put the cigarette out on the railing and, thinking of Matthew, took it in with him to throw away. The metal door whined as it closed behind him.

Spicy aromas consumed his nostrils and reminded him of home. The sweet olfactory memory died when the musty dirty yellow apartment consumed him. The ceiling plaster had cracked from one end to the other, and the linoleum floors were a patchwork of rust and yellow diamond shapes.

Trained by the EKO², Ahmed and Saleh now worked for Hafiz Islam Bitrūl Saumba Shokran, ruled by the infamous bin Taliffan brothers.³ Jassim now led the assemblage that continued to meet in an underground basement at Obere Donaustrasse in Vienna’s Second District.

They began their mission in Miami, where they witnessed the shooting of two FBI agents and Tremont Jackson, known to Matthew and Maria as Cracker Jack. Tremont was the son of Dr. Cameron Jackson, the renowned energy scientist who was assassinated in 1989, gunned down on the steps of the Senate Building in Washington, DC.

Using their uncle Jassim’s card, Ahmed and Saleh bought a condo overlooking Town River Bay in Quincy. Ahmed hated Mattapan; it was dangerous and entirely different from the lavish lifestyle he had enjoyed as the son of the Yemen ambassador to Austria. But the city planned to demolish the building soon, and it gave them some seclusion away from the authorities.

Ahmed checked the flatbread in the stained and dented oven. Saleh ladled the brown saltah soup, Yemen’s national dish.⁴

Speaking in Hadrami Arabic, their argument about the Millinocket students continued.

"You are much too enamored with your Spanish jamila."⁵

Ahmed called Matthew the Clark Kent of science, and his sweetheart, Maria, the Lois Lane of the morgue. He whistled. A radio talk show host described her as the enchanting CSI star of the Boston OCME. Maria, a yet-to-be-licensed criminologist, was Dr. Porter’s secret weapon. Maria was in the news after her success with a high-profile cold case. He wondered if Dr. Porter had Maria on the serial killer case.

Ahmed looked at the photo of Maria and Dr. Porter and wondered why such beautiful women worked in the ugliest business. That reminded him of Dania, the spellbinding Russian who lived next to Matthew and Maria. General Häupl, with the EKO, said that Dania killed as many men in bed as she had with a weapon. She packed a PSM pistol, he said. The .545mm Spitzer bullet could penetrate 50 layers of kevlar. She also had an SOG serrated twelve-inch diving knife. Perhaps Dania killed his cousins Omar and Bahir. They had pissed on the FSB as much as they had the Mossad and MI6.

Saleh relaxed while Ahmed set the dishes. Ahmed picked up the Herald and the Globe. Earlier the Good Morning Boston host, Larry Oestreich, said that Dr. Porter reminded him of Charlize Theron. But Porter’s young assistant was a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Sara Montiel.⁶ Ahmed had to look up Montiel and agreed. Maria was working on her master’s in forensic criminology at Boston University.

Ahmed wondered why the reporters failed to mention how much Maria resembled the killers victims. It was so evident.

So, Saleh said, are you going to answer my questions? We thought we could cure you of your Princeton brainwashing, but maybe we were mistaken.

Ahmed noted the we his brother used. All I am saying is … if what you are saying is true— Ahmed turned off the oven and stared out the window. Then what are we doing here? We should leave Boston on the first flight out.

And where would you suggest we go?

Home.

Aden?

Yemen is not our home, brother.

Our two brothers lay buried in Yemeni sand. Do not insult their memory.

That is not what I meant, and you know it. Let’s return to Vienna and take up our duties with the Austrian Cobra. Let the dust settle. Prove to those who pursue us … that we are the good guys.

We are the bad guys?

You know what I mean. It’s enough that INTERPOL and the FBI have us on their radar, after botching your mission—

"Muhimmat muqaddasa ladayna, Saleh said. Our holy mission. Yours and mine, brother." Saleh reached for his Koran. He read for a few minutes while Ahmed folded his hands. Saleh closed the book, and while they both stood behind their aluminum and yellow vinyl chairs, he recited the du’a. "Allahumma barik lana fima razaqtana waquina athaban-nar."⁷

I’m here to keep you out of trouble, Ahmed said.

His brother scoffed. They sat and began sipping saltah.

Ahmed continued the prayer, "Bismillahi wa‘ala Baraka-tillah."⁸

It is too late, brother. The airports will be chaos, especially Logan. So, we are sticking to the original Hafiz plan. I hope I can see the look on that insolent dog’s face when we take everything he holds precious and hang it from the Tobin Bridge.

Ahmed cringed and said, That’s not part of the Hafiz plan.

I know, Saleh hissed. But it makes me happy.

"He will be reasonable. And … and you will not get your satisfaction because he can never know that we were involved. If he knows, then others will know."

"I am not concerned about the FBI, though Sean Eaton is a formidable enemy. I should kill him and that eahirat waqatal, Dania."⁹

The FBI are not to be underestimated.

Saleh’s chair squeaked on the linoleum as he pushed back and threw his hands up. Five years. And here I am, still. Not once have they been able to keep us in detention.

"Allahu akbar."

Yes, do not forget it, little brother.

"Just promise me you will not hurt either one of them. Insha’Allah," Ahmed pleaded.

You are soft. He swatted the air with a hand. I can no more predict God’s will than part the Red Sea.

Yet here we sit as your al-Qaeda friends are plotting chaos, and they left you out of it. Ahmed regretted it the moment the words leaped from his mouth.

Saleh brought his fists down. The bowls clattered off the table and crashed to the floor. Ahmed jumped away just in time as Saleh grabbed the table and flipped it over. He roared, Then I will deliver to Hafiz all that they covet and more, even if I have to bring body bags for your science boy and his following! He hesitated and studied his brother. Or is it her that consumes you?

Ahmed turned and returned to the steps. He leaned on the pipe railing, closed his eyes, and prayed. His father made him promise to look after Saleh. A contradiction, Ahmed considered, as Saleh was the elder brother and would inherit their parent’s considerable fortune.

He looked to the sky and said, I have never let you down, Father. But, can I follow Saleh? Are we all destined for hell? He was flying too close to the sun with this confounding mission. Ahmed simply wanted a ranch in Wyoming and vintage sports cars for the weekends.

Ahmed prayed for forgiveness. If what Saleh had learned today was true, then, he prayed, al-Qaeda would fail. He prayed for Matthew and Maria. He prayed for all the innocents.

---

2 Einsatzkommando Cobra (EKO) is Austria’s elite counter-terrorism tactical unit.

3 The bin Taliffan forefathers established Hafiz Islam Bitrūl Saumba Shokran, Protectors of Islam’s Petroleum Longevity and Stability, as a secret organization. Their mission is to effect public policy in favor of the Middle Eastern portion of the membership. They allegedly resorted to terror and assassinations. –Perpetual (2008) © Brian Huey

4 Saltah is mixture of lamb, chilies, tomatoes, and a handful of garlic.

5 Jamilla: Beauty or beautiful.

6 Sara Montiel was an actress born in Spain and known for more than thirty movies and a successful recording career.

7 The du’a: Oh Allah! Bless the food You have provided us and save us from the punishment of the hellfire.

8 Ahmed prayed, In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful.

9 Referring to Dania as a whore and assassin.

Chapter Two:

Jane Doe

September 10, 2001

SIX MILES NORTH of Ahmed’s apartment, near Mattapan and Dr. Benbencula’s faculty town home, a criminologist in training was attempting to unravel another mystery that befuddled crime scene investigators and technicians.

At 720 Albany Street, surrounded by the Boston Medical Center and Boston University School of Medicine, in a boxy 1950’s three-story red brick building, was one of the nation’s busiest morgues, the Boston Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. In the basement, harsh words echoed in Maria’s mind. It was like those two pipes clanging in the basement of her childhood home. The more she tried to ignore them, the louder they screamed.

She hated when they fought. Matthew and his dreams lurked like an aneurysm in her mind. Matthew did not like to talk about his convoluted and confusing dreams. Last night he said he dreamt about China, a car wreck, and the bats. The damn bats, he would say. She had learned to take her own premonitions seriously, long before he confided in her about his dreams.

Setting aside the files on a stainless-steel rolling cart, she knelt to the floor and unzipped the plastic bag that protected her belongings.

At her first internship in Augusta, she had learned that nothing eludes the ravages of the morgue. It is a dirty business. One day without your PPE was enough to teach her to come prepared. Everything always looks so pristine on television, she thought.¹⁰

She used two oversized hair clips to hold on top of her head a mane, full and onyx, which she stuffed under a thick surgical cap.

Maria scanned through the victim’s demographics. She dropped her clipboard, and it echoed in the windowless cavernous basement. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up.

A growing foreboding had haunted her, which was why she drove the Jeep rather than take the Red Line. What if they did follow her? When she had confided her fears last night, Matthew insisted on taking her to work this morning. Why had she fought him on that? She’d called him the moment she arrived at the morgue, but strangely he had not answered.

When she was younger, the premonitions were scary and confusing. At six years old, an omen forewarned her of impending doom. She had dreamt of standing graveside, holding her father’s hand. Her parents often woke to her screams, and then one day, the dreams stopped, and she found herself holding Papa’s hand during her mother’s funeral.

It took her years to confide this curse to anyone, only to find that her aunts had the gift. They told her of generations of soothsayer Galician women hunted and executed by conquering Romans.

Hereditary. Great, Maria thought. But it explained her success with crime scene cases. Matthew’s turbulent dreams were quite different. It bothered him when Maria tried to interpret them, which she loved to do. The bats made some sense; they haunted his dreams for years. Intriguing was the China pattern which emerged before Aaron and Jawa entered his life.

Her latest dreams did not involve the morgue, or bats, or anything tangible. She opened a door and then … a burst of light, and then darkness.

Though the temperature in the morgue was cold, she was sweating. She felt like someone was looking over her shoulder and checked the room. The morgue did not bother her—usually. Her last mentor said it was a positive sign; that she might survive this profession.

Matthew said that she liked murder and mayhem. Liked or loved were not appropriate but she could not argue that she was intrigued by what the Boston OCME offered—every challenge death could present. In a way, she felt that she helped the victim’s spirits rest, and provide their families some closure.

When she and Matthew were not hiking up in the Katahdin or kayaking, they went to the movies. She had dragged him through the back door and into the theatre to see Silence of the Lambs, and since then he avoided everything crime related. For Maria, it was research. She loved when he called her Clarice after the fictional FBI behavioural scientist.

Ever have boy problems? Maria asked the cold corpse stretched out before her on the stainless-steel table. I’ll bet so, she thought. You’re beautiful.

Giannina, Victoria, Ana, and now this Jane Doe … it was like looking in the mirror.

No. 4 did not answer.

Maria was supposed to meet Matthew at Sandrine’s Bistro in Harvard Square for a late dinner. Afterwards, she would make it up to him in a way that he would never forget. Speaking to Jane, she said, Is it getting hot in here, or what?

Through a plastic baggie, she hit shuffle on her MP3. As she thought about kissing him, how she loved to kiss him, her hips swayed, and her head bobbed to the music. The Hawaiian singer had died recently. The theme song was from the movie she saw with Matthew at the cineplex when they were teenagers. The same movie they watched last night just before they fought.

It had been silly—rehashing things out of their control. She did not tell him about the phone call she had intercepted—from Penelope! It was jealousy that sparked the fight.

Maria pulled off her rubber grip exam gloves and found her cell phone. There were two missed calls from unknown numbers, but still nothing from Matthew. Strange, she thought, glancing up at the clock on a far wall. Eight hours. He should have called me back by now. If I did that to him, he would be livid.

She pressed speed dial, and it went to voicemail after one ring. He was probably in the Harvard Law Library, the Hayden Library at MIT, or his secret MIT lab.

She wanted to talk, but she preferred to do so in person. As of now, she would settle for anything more than his voicemail.

Stretching on a new pair of safe-grip gloves, she leaned both elbows down on the steel cart and brought her face close to No. 4’s. Her mind wandered again to the movies. Anthony Hopkins, Jodie Foster, Clarice. She smiled. Poor Matthew.

While she examined No. 4’s eyelashes, she thought of Dr. Iannis, and his daughter Pelgia in Captain Corellis Mandolin. They reminded her of her father and his Castilian Spanish monologs, overflowing with rhyme and song after two bottles of wine from the family vineyards. She winced. Penelope Cruz played the daughter! If she heard the name again, she might scream.

The subconscious is stimulated by emotions, not logic, she said to No. 4.

Her father always spoke of his first love, her mother. She missed him and knew he was lonely.

Careful to use tissue from a sealed package, she wiped at the brimming tears before setting back into her work. The vast basement had cinder block walls and a cement floor. Scales and cameras hung on each examination and necropsy table, and dozens of refrigerated body drawers lined the south wall. If it were up to her, she would add mauves, purples, and a dash of green here and there. But it was not up to her. She was not supposed to be here without supervision, let alone choose the décor.

The intercom crackled to life. Maria jumped at the clear voice of Dr. Sandy Porter, reigning chief medical examiner. I have to meet Dr. Sorento at Boston Medical at eight, then I’ll be having a late dinner with …

Maria removed an ear bud and whispered to No. 4, I don’t think she’ll come down here. Plausible deniability, Matthew would say.

Maria? Dr. Porter continued as if reading her mind. Are you almost finished updating the files I gave you? She paused. There’s a perfect storm coming. Walk out to your car with me.

They understood each other. Dr. Porter did not think it was unusual that Maria worked on her files in the basement surrounded by the dead. Maria shivered and shut her eyes. Then she looked at the clock again. There was not much time. She was worried that she would run into the on-call autopsy technician, Victor Zola, who sometimes returned in the evenings. Victor was an enigma; he could have acted in a Frankenstein movie without makeup or rehearsal, but Maria felt sorry for thinking such a thing.

She pushed the green intercom button and answered, No, thank you. I still have lots of files to trudge through.

I appreciate your dedication.

While Dr. Porter chattered on about the day’s events, Maria examined No. 4. Like an artist lost in a painting, she could focus on a problem for hours, narrowing in on a solution. That was how she had solved a case a few weeks ago, and that was how she hoped to resolve this serial killer case.

Her ability to concentrate was nothing compared to Matthew’s. He zoned out of the present and into another world. He would try to explain but get frustrated and close her off. Last night she pushed.

Dr. Porter had stopped talking. Should I tell her? Maria wondered, tell her that the pathologist and Deputy M.E. might have once again missed something with this victim, the most critical high-profile case in ten years? But tell her what? That right now it’s just a hunch? A feeling? No, I need actual proof.

The intercom buzzed again, and she heard Dr. Porter’s sigh of frustration. I’d like you to stop by my office sometime and look at the Stefancic file. Are you listening to me, Maria?

Yes. The Stefancic file.

I don’t want you walking out by yourself, and I think we’re the only two in the building.

Isn’t Ralph here? Maria asked. He was the walking-dead security guard.

He had to take his granddaughter to a school event, but Evita should be in soon.

Maria returned to No. 4’s flawed pathology report. If Maria’s suspicion was wrong, it was curtains for her. She might never practice in forensics again. But didn’t Mr. E tell her that success was all about taking risks? Matthew’s passion to solve the world energy debacle had proven to be the riskier venture.

I need to back off, she said to the beautiful corpse. And I have to get my jealousy under control. Why did she have to come to his awards program and now to Boston?

Maria?

Yes, ma’am?

Who are you talking to?

Maria punched the intercom button off. Shoot. She was about to answer when she heard a noise from behind. She peered across the subterranean crypt which ran the length of the entire building. Then, a clang, like metal on concrete reverberated across the room.

---

10 (PPE) Personal Protective Equipment, e.g., scrubs, cap, gloves, booties, and mask.

Chapter Three:

Cambridge

WHAT A DAY to have left his cell phone on the counter. No wonder Maria called him the absent-minded professor.

Soaked to the core, Matthew reached the front of the Esplanade. No Jeep. He knew Maria—her breath, the rhythm of her heart—and so he knew that something was wrong. Feeling nauseous, he blinked, but his vision blurred. The nightmarish bats taunted him.

He knew exactly which cars to expect. Where Mrs. Pirelli’s cherry red BMW should have been, were instead two unfamiliar black SUVs. A shiver went up his spine. Against each SUV, leaned an Asian driver who smoked, oblivious to the rain. Matthew raised a hand, but they did not move. If that wasn’t strange enough, they were wearing military style fatigues with pant legs tucked into black boots.

Matthew squinted to see inside the SUVs. There was at least one more man in each vehicle. He spun on his heels and went into the Esplanade lobby, stripping his saturated hoodie.

He climbed the steps, then stopped near his door and listened. He looked toward Dania and Nicholas’ condo and then up the next flight of stairs toward the Pirelli’s. Everything was deadly quiet. Matthew opened the door to a dark apartment and an agitated German Shepherd.

Hey, girl. Where’s your mom? He changed clothes and checked his phone. There were more than a dozen calls, four from Maria, two from Aaron, one from Herb Muncie, one from Kip Ackerman, and more from numbers he did not recognize.

Matthew and SoBe headed out the door and down the back steps. She shot out onto the green in front of the Charles River. Matthew stood under the gable of the building, watching as she ran to and fro waiting for him to join her, but he decided to stay dry. He bent down to pick up a worn tennis ball and threw it for her.

"Zdravstvuy dorogoy."

Matthew looked over his shoulder to see Dania coming down the steps. She was wearing a painted-on black and red jumpsuit. Privet, Dania, Matthew said, returning the greeting without the darling part.

You seem to be under a lot of stress.

It’s all good.

Remember, she purred, "we are here to help you, vozlyublennaya.¹¹ All you must do is ask. She brushed past him and let her hand linger on his arm before she picked up the tennis ball and with the finesse of a major league pitcher, threw it to the edge of the park. SoBe barked and ran to fetch. She turned and said, Stay away from public buildings the next few days."

W—Why do you say that?

"Just something I heard. You listen to me, vozlyublennaya, okay?" She laughed at SoBe, took the ball out of the dog’s mouth, and tossed it to Matthew, who caught it and wiped off the slobber. She took off running along the Charles.

Mr. E and Sean said the same thing. Maria is in a public building. Perplexed, Matthew continued the game with SoBe. He returned calls and tried to reach Maria between each throw.

---

11 Vozlyublennaya: Hello darling or sweetheart.

Chapter Four:

Clarice

MARIA HELD THE SCALPEL as she walked toward the source of the sound. She stopped near the dark corner, listening and shivering. After a long minute, she opened the heavy steel door and looked up the dark stairwell. Her eyes blurred, and she felt dizzy, like she did near the dike, at the burial grounds, or at the cemetery. But there was nothing. She closed the door and walked to the metal stairwell leading to the ground floor. It was brightly lit. She walked the perimeter of the basement and then returned to her examination table.

The intercom buzzed. Maria? Sorry, I had to take that call. Who were you talking to?

Myself. I was just talking to myself.

Well, you know I think Freud was a fraud, so you talk to yourself all you want. As she studied the marks on No.4’s neck, Maria said, Okay. I will.

Dr. Porter sighed. So, I’ve got this dinner …

With Mayor Menino?

What makes you say that?

I don’t know. Are you? I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time with whomever. Surf and turf?

You listen to too much gossip. Dr. Porter laughed. And, I’ve had enough lobster to last ten lifetimes. No, just soup and salad for me.

Maria’s stomach reminded her that she had not eaten anything since a bowl of granola and fruit for breakfast.

Are you ready to pack it in soon? Dr. Porter was asking. Someone should walk you to your car. This is not Millinocket.

Maria did not pretend to understand the politics, but it seemed odd that she had been out with the mayor four or five times in the past month. I’m sure Evita will be here soon, she said. I’ll be okay. You go on.

Though she could not feel it through her gloves, Maria reached out to touch the silky black hair of No. 4, dark like her own. Everything else wilted, but the hair maintained its shine. She had to remind herself, do not get emotionally involved. It’s a career killer. Well, that’s not possible, she said.

What’s not possible? Dr. Porter asked. Are you having another one of your premonitions? Because, if you are …

Nothing, I was just reviewing something in a file.

Okay, but if you, um, find something, call me. I’m running late. Please don’t leave the building without security. This is a rare night not to have even a skeleton crew.

Ha, ha, Maria thought, Matthew would like that one. She walked to the computer keypad on the east wall. The large screen came to life. Scanning through several case files, she examined No. 4’s crime scene. She flipped through pictures of bruises and stages of pallor mortis, algor mortis, and rigor mortis.

Maria?

Maria turned on the intercom above her head. Oh, sorry. Yes, I do have a hunch.

What’s the hunch?

I kind of hate to say—yet.

I’ve come to trust your hunches, Maria. It’s spooky. But reliable.

Thank you, Maria said, flattered but wary. Spooky? You don’t know the half of it, she thought.

Dr. Porter’s voice was close, and Maria could picture her leaning over the intercom from the other side of her desk. Your case analyses are better than senior investigators and detectives. You have a sixth sense.

Even better than Detective Morris?

Don’t let his good looks and smooth-talking fool you. He’s old school, but the best profiler in the country. When you’re in this business too long, it’s easy to develop preconceived ideas and prejudices that cloud judgment. Never assume. If it’s too obvious, you’re heading in the wrong direction. Even after-hours, Dr. Porter was still teaching. She was hands-on with her residents and interns, who, unlike Maria, were all in med school and on rotation or were MDs doing their fellowships. Dr. Porter intimidated Maria at first, but now, she seemed dependent on Maria’s talent. The intercom clicked, and Maria remembered to press the off button. She re-examined Deputy Chief Dr. Wells’ initial findings in the exam room. If this grizzly murder followed the same pattern, No. 4 or her parents were from a Spanish- speaking country. Even with the blue-grey hue now having replaced her once olive skin and rosy cheeks, Maria knew this girl had been Latin or Hispanic.

The night she saw Silence of the Lambs, she started channelling Clarice Starling, without the nightmarish screams of dying lambs, of course. The movie unnerved Matthew, who said it made his dreams worse, but not Maria. She still had a few nightmares of her own, but not about serial killers, per se. Her real-life dramas came with former intelligence agents, mercenaries, and antiterrorist-trained terrorists hounding them both. The Miami Beach energy discovery culminated the summer her and Matthew nearly drowned in Millinocket Lake. She had landed in the hospital with hypothermia and fell into a coma.

Danger loomed around them as Matthew continued his quest to create the energy solution that would eliminate the use of fossil fuels. Many people wanted him to fail. Some wanted him to succeed so they could steal the formula. Things had been quiet of late, and she hoped it stayed that way.

Like Clarice, Maria studied everything she could find on criminology, criminal psychology, forensic medicine, and law enforcement. Along the way, she had acquired a few mentors, including FBI Agent Patrick Flannigan and Cambridge cop Terry Pirelli, who lived at the Esplanade. The Cambridge riverside condo was a gift to Matthew from his maternal grandmother. His late grandfather had been in business with Joseph Kennedy Sr. importing and exporting spirits. When Grandma Maire Joyce signed over the Esplanade condo to Matthew, she said, Until Declan passed, I didn’t even know we owned all these buildings.

And then there was Mr. E, the one with perhaps the most to teach, who never talked about his experiences. Though the man’s résumé was still a mystery, Matthew was sure the invisible ink spelled C-I-A.

She had also acquired mentors in the criminology profession, channelling Clarice, all she needed was a psychotic killer. Looks like we found one, didn’t we? She touched Jane’s hair again. I’m so sorry for you and your family. We’ll catch him, I promise. She closed her eyes her breathing loud in her head. She saw No. 4 heavy laden with books walking between familiar classroom buildings. And—Someone in a long trench coat and fedora on his head close behind. She tightened her eyelids and saw the man in the fedora carrying No. 4 over his shoulder. She was fighting and scratched at his face. She had seen similar visions after each of the other three murders. Anyone else would assume that she had a vivid imagination. Maria felt herself falling, opened her eyes and reached out for the post just in time. She wondered if Dr. Benbencula wore a fedora. Scratched at his face?

Something else was wrong. Maria looked around the corner again. Did anyone else feel watched down here? If I ask, they might straitjacket me and throw away the key. Buildings settle but this was different. She peered around the post, clutching the scalpel, and again walked from one end of the basement to the other.

Large silver coolers and storage cabinets covered the west wall. Two other walls held the examination stations below cabinets, computers, lighting, and other equipment. Once she got to the stairwell, she looked up. Satisfied that she was the only living person in the room, she went back to the glass-front cabinets. She moved a metal step stool under the histology equipment—floatation baths, dryers, chilling trays, and petri dishes.

Scratched at his face.

She hurried with her petri dishes to No. 4. Maria placed a small, flat sponge in each dish. She took the samples from each finger, scraping close to and around the fingernails, using one plate for each appendage.

Maria was taking a chance. Dr. Porter and Dr. Wells did not get along, but this was new. Dr. Porter is a perfectionist, Maria thought, so having Dr. Wells as second-in-command must be an irritation.

Crackle. Maria. No pressure. But, there’s a chicken-sized liability on me and the entire department if something goes wrong.

Chicken? Maria said.

It’s a large lobster.

Of course, Maria thought and snorted. She picked up on a lot of coastal Mainer slang while working in the Augusta morgue.

She looked up as she heard something in the back corner near the elevator. She listened. Hmm.

Maria determined this would be the last time she overstepped her boundaries. But then again, she had said that last time and the time before.

She knew Dr. Porter was dead serious. No matter how much she liked Maria, she’d cut her loose rather than risk all the work she had done to turn around the OCME.

The governor and the mayor will boil me alive if we give them more negative front-page news. You may rue the day you hitched your nets to my boat. I figure I have about three years to get this division of the Commonwealth ship-shape, so let’s start with nailing this serial killer. Dr. Porter sighed again.

Maria could see the headline now: Uncertified Boston University Student Intern Indicted along with Star M.E. Even so, she reasoned, Dr. Wells is incompetent.

I’ll just have to be more careful, she considered. I’m not the one with all the degrees on my office wall. I don’t even have an office. While interning at the Maine morgue, she learned that mistakes were common, but trying to cover them up was a thorny gauntlet. Being right could sometimes be irrelevant.

Tonight, we’ll be talking about finding and stopping this serial killer, Maria. The FBI and Boston detectives are no closer to nailing this bastard. The chief of police and the mayor are pressuring our office to find a link. To find this sick Sam’s DNA.

If that’s not a mandate! Maria thought.

She scratched his face!

But that’s no reason for us to throw all the bait overboard and risk our reputations on one case.

Dr. Porter’s fingernails tapped on the console. Maria?

Yes, ma’am. I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your land legs.

Don’t patronize me, young lady, Dr. Porter said with a hint of mirth. Don’t hesitate to call me if you think you have something. No matter how small. I can come back after dinner.

Of course, if I think of something, I’ll call right away. This was the longest damn conversation. It was more like a late-night heart-to-heart. The one where you say, Okay, gotta go, but find yourself still chattering on ten minutes later. Why is it guys hang up without even saying goodbye?

Good. I see you’re not on the schedule for tomorrow, but can you come in after your classes? I’ve got calls out to the entire staff. Bodies are going to start slamming through our door in a few hours.

Something must have happened. Maria did not know how to say no, but she tried. I’m not sure about tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do. What happened?

Maria looked over her shoulder again toward the back corner of the basement.

You didn’t hear? Another gang shooting in Mattapan.

Murderpan, Maria thought.

The bodies will be coming over from the hospitals early. I’ve called in techs from New Haven and Springfield.

Egleston Square? Where those four teens were shot last month?

No, it’s a little farther south, at the end of the Red Line, closer to where Blue Hill Avenue and River Street cross.

Maria still struggled with Boston’s one-way streets. She got dizzy the last time she passed the Hampton Inn nearby. Something must have happened there. Or was going to happen. She preferred public transportation because she liked studying the passengers. The OCME was a few minutes from I-90, the Massachusetts Turnpike, three blocks from the Boston Medical Center, and just seconds from some of the worst crime areas in Boston.

With so much staff out today, the bodies are stacking up, Dr. Porter was saying, so tomorrow will be a killer. We’ll need to clear a few more tables. I’ve left a message for Victor, but could you leave a note for him before you go?

Yes, ma’am. She said with a frown. There’s a crowd in the Autopsy Suite upstairs. It’s a packed house here. How can Victor make space? The upper floor offices had plenty of bodies too—nine-to-five employees, administration, human resources, and accounting. By 9 a.m. there were eighty employees in the building. The first floor and basement were dead. During a typical week, production fell behind. Diane and Roger would be here in the morning. Victor and the other techs were some of the most reliable in New England. If Maria was right about Jane Doe No. 4, she would depend upon them. And then, she would have to deal with Dr. Wells.

I’ll try to get here after my forensic anthropology class. Around two.

Your dedication will pay off, Maria. Oh, and Liz bragged about your grasp of 3D facial reconstruction. I cannot get the hang of it. Now I’m late— The intercom buzzed and then went dead. With any luck, Maria thought, looking at Jane, we’ll be alone.

She closed and labelled the four petri dishes.

PART I:

People, Places, Penelope

Chapter Five:

Victor

SHE TURNED AROUND and pulled the scalpel out of her lab coat pocket.

You are insane! You know better than to sneak up on me! One slip with this and, before you know it, you become Ingrid. Her hands were shaking.

Victor’s bulging eyes widened even larger, and one corner of his mouth turned up. She was still brandishing the knife. I saw, he said and slurped, "that episode of Diagnosis Murder." The scalpel was not bothering him. He edged by Maria to look at the cadaver. Her hunchbacked co-worker did not seem to let anything bother him. Victor had been here for over thirty years. If he could stretch his body straight, he might have once been tall, but stooped over, Maria looked down on him. His face was long and chiselled with age lines.

You know, my dear—, Victor said, struggling to breathe. His breath rattled like a child was sucking through a straw. His sentences were short and staccato.

You were going to say she resembles me.

She does? He studied the girl again. Why yes. Slurp. Indeed. Slurp. She does. Slurp. Like the other three girls. Long, coiled, jet-black hair, 5’6, one hundred twenty-five pounds, dark olive complexion. Slurp. His head turned up and to the right. Full … breasts."

I could still use the scalpel, Victor.

Clinical fact, my dear. Slurp.

"It is creepy, Maria said. A shiver travelled up her spine as it had when she had viewed the first victim. And the second. And the third. And now the fourth. Speaking of creepy, she asked, I thought you’d left." She had decided long ago that even if Victor was not harmless, she could take him down if he tried anything. It’s good that Matthew has never met him, she thought, or for that matter, seen this basement.

I came back for my book. Slurp. He lifted a novel to her face, and she leaned back to keep him from hitting her with it. Secret Window. It’s about a writer in Maine. Slurp.

He moved past her temporary work area and reached for something on the cart. Maria caught her breath. He picked up the cooling bag filled with the petri dishes.

No. 4 didn’t break that fingernail typing her midterm papers, she stammered. Would Victor keep it quiet?

He handed her the bag. Don’t forget this. Slurp.

Victor—

Better leave this for Diane. I don’t like Roger. He gives me the creeps.

Maria almost laughed as Roger was an Irishman who looked and sounded like Pierce Brosnan.

Dr. Porter believes in you. I believe in you. Lock up before you leave. Slurp. I could get in big trouble, too.

She was sure there was a hint of conspiratorial mirth in his words. He turned and shuffled toward the stairs, grabbing the table for balance.

You really shouldn’t, he stammered, be working down here alone.

I’m all right, Victor, but thank you. Evita will be here soon, and I won’t be much longer. By the way, Dr. Porter wanted me to leave a note for you before I went home tonight. We’ve got fresh bodies coming from the hospital in a few hours, and she needs you to clear some tables. She’s called in techs from New Haven and Springfield.

Of course, of course. Plenty of room. Slurp. Murderpan … He continued to mutter as he climbed the stairs. Good work, Miss Valdeorras.

Victor stopped halfway. He looked toward the door to the far stairwell.

He paused a second longer and then lumbered up the stairs.

Maria shivered, and she closed her eyes. A vision returned. A funeral procession. Victor Zola’s gravestone. She waited until she heard the door close before she turned her attention back to No. 4.

Maria