Page 8 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
Ramon said, “We want the police to be informed.”
Zeyla whacked his arm.
“Although, preferably at a specific time.”
The doctor smirked a little. “Given what I know of the police in this city, that’s probably wise.”
Ramon didn’t need to get into why the man seemed to hold a grudge. It wasn’t his job here to fix a problem or correct injustice. He was here to keep Zeyla safe while she found thisCount of Shadowsperson.
He’d passed that on to Maizie after Zeyla started snoring on the couch in his hotel room. When he woke up this morning, she’d been gone, but she showed up with coffee just after eight. Maizie hadn’t found anything online about the Count of Shadows, and they’d both researched all over. There was no way to search the dark web since it wasn’t indexed—which made itunsearchable. To find something, you had to know where to find it.
So, they’d searched everywhere they were able to, locally and across the world, and come up with nothing. Which was interesting, considering he’d expected a comic strip character or something from a Victorian-era novel, at least.
This morning, Zeyla hadn’t mentioned the night before once, except to tell him she’d heard from Maizie that there was a local forensics lab they could pay for a private consultation.
Zeyla moved back to his side now, so close her shoulder brushed his. As if they were partners. She pointed to the table. “The hand?”
Doctor Swanson lifted the hand, and it was the sight of his hand in a protective cream-colored glove that made Ramon shiver. Not the severed limb. Why did he always react to gloves like that? But there didn’t have to be a reason. As far as he was concerned, they gave him the same sensation as other people felt from the word “moist.”
Swanson studied the cut edge, just above where the wrist bones would be. “The dismemberment was done by a professional. This is a surgical, clean cut with an extremely sharp implement. As you can likely tell from the smell alone, it was done some time ago. There’s clotting, but no recent bleeding. No evidence of decay, so either it occurred within the last week or this thing has been preserved in some way.”
“So it could be old, and we have no way to know?” Ramon scratched his jaw. “Except that she was alive when her hand was cut off.”
“Once I run some bone density and DNA tests, we’ll know more. I’ll also run the fingerprints and see if there’s a match in the databases we have access to. If I can’t find a match, I’ll need to reach out to law enforcement to ascertain if they can giveus an ID on the hand. At which point, they’ll be asking some uncomfortable questions about where the hand came from.”
“I’ll be gone by then.” Zeyla stopped abruptly. “I mean, Pioneer can liaise with the police, right? You guys do that?”
Swanson frowned at her. “It’s not our job to protect you from the police.”
“It makes them accomplices to any crime you’ve committed,” Ramon explained.
“Who says I committed a crime?” Zeyla blinked, the picture of innocence. “Or that you haven’t.”
When Ramon looked at him, Swanson was still frowning. The doctor said, “Pioneer Forensics operates within the boundaries of the law, with discretion and a team of lawyers. If we have a problem, I’ll be forthcoming about that.”
“And in exchange,” Ramon said, “we’ll be forthcoming about our intentions.”
Swanson nodded, then looked again at the hand. “There’s some kind of substance under the nails. I’ll take samples and test them. It may tell us the kind of environment this woman was in prior to having the hand removed, or it may be DNA deposited as a result of her fighting back.”
“How long will it take to get the results?”
“If you want it today, that’ll cost extra.”
Ramon said, “Consider it done.”
Doctor Swanson removed his gloves, and they shook hands.
On the way out the front door, Ramon dropped the company credit card. He didn’t miss Zeyla’s reaction to that, but she held off asking about it until after they left the glass-fronted building at the edge of an industrial area.
The parking lot was full, but he didn’t see anyone else around.
No Miguel. No other snipers.
“You want the cops to know Banbury Investigations is involved?”
Ramon shifted his thoughts from wondering how long—after he sought medical treatment for that stab wound—before Miguel would be coming after them again to Zeyla and the conversation she wanted to have. “These guys seemed legit. There was no reason to use an untraceable bank card.”
“Still seems risky.”
