“It was already there.”
“I wonder who else has the code.”
“I asked her that. She said only the landlord in case of emergencies. But who knows who that person might have given it to,” Marino says.
“Exactly. And you have to tell August Ryan what you’re telling me,” I reply.
“And he needs to listen and not be a jerk. I’m not sure that’s possible, it almost never is when you deal with the Feds.”
“Have you two met?”
“Not yet but he could use my assistance,” Marino replies. “I’m familiar with Gwen’s townhome unless she’s changed it since Lucy and I did a security evaluation of it. I know exactly what was in there as of pretty recently.”
“Including your DNA,” I remind him, as if the situation isn’t tricky enough.
“I’ll be up front about it when you and me get there,” Marino says. “It shouldn’t stop me from looking around, hopefully before a herd of cops go tromping through.”
“I’m not sure how I’m going to explain showing up with a private investigator in tow. Or even worse, having one chauffeuring me.”
“I’m not chauffeuring. Right now, I’m your friggin’ protection detail,” he retorts, and it isn’t only right now.
He’s acted like this for as long as we’ve known each other. My personal well-being and business somehow end up in his self-determined jurisdiction.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate you looking after me,” I reply as diplomatically as I can. “But my first month on the job, I’m having a hard enough time with people around here, and this isn’t going to help.”
Flipping on his strobe lights as if he’s a cop again, he guns around the Mini Cooper in front of us.
“Well, I don’t give a crap what August Ryan thinks about my showing up, let’s start with that,” Marino says aggressively. “What counts is someone’s been murdered. Probably my neighbor, and out of self-protection if nothing else I’ve got a right to know what’s going on.”
“Legally, you don’t.” I inform him of how things work because he seems to have forgotten.
“You gonna tell me the details so I know what we’re dealing with?”
“You know I can’t.”
“You can do what you want, Doc.”
“Not without consequences.”
“You’re the chief medical examiner of the entire Commonwealth,” he says. “Just like the old days. It’s up to you.”
He’s right but not without a few rules and conditions. I let him know how this would have to be engineered. He’s worked for me in the past, and as scary as it may sound to both of us, he needs to work for me again. It’s that simple if he’s to legitimize driving me around.
“Or showing up at the morgue. Or the labs. Or court,” I’m saying. “Anywhere except the privacy of our homes and family gatherings.”
This is nothing new but it’s been years since we’ve been professionally connected. For sure it will complicate our lives now more than ever with my sister in the mix.
“I’m not talking about a position that requires you to have an office in my building or spend much time there,” I con tinue. “I don’t want either one of us feeling controlled or crowded.” I don’t need that again.
“Except what if I want an office? You know, so I have a quiet workspace when I’m helping out, and people can’t hear every word I say over the phone,” Marino says, his eyes scanning the mirrors.
CHAPTER 4
I DON’T HAVE TO BE a mind reader to realize what Marino is angling for, a private space, a slice of his old life back. Maybe a place of his own where he can get away from his wife now and then.
“And you need someone around who’s got your back,” he adds, and he’s not wrong.
“We can hire you as a private contractor, a forensic operations specialist.” I make up the title as I’m sitting in my heated leather seat. “You can help give oversight to the investigators. But you answer to me, working as needed and paid accordingly.”
“How much?”
“As little as possible. Pro bono is much appreciated.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, the rain billowing in sheets, and we have a deal.
Effective immediately, he has an official role that’s reason able and defensible. I begin sharing what I know about Friday night’s homicide, finding the video clip the commuter train’s engineer gave me. The brief seconds of footage were recorded by the outward-facing camera as the two-hundred-ton locomotive sped through the dark wooded park on Daingerfield Island.