Abracadaver (Esther Diamond Novel) (4 page)

“Yes, of course,” Nathan said soothingly, with as much confidence as if Ning had died of a something much less messy than a very long, hard, fast fall onto a city street.

“Uncle Six deserves the
best.
”

Danny, who was about my age, spoke English with a slight Chinese accent; his first language was Cantonese. His long hair was slicked back and tied in a ponytail, as usual, and he sported a little mustache and goatee that didn’t suit him. He habitually wore blue jeans, boots decorated with silver studs and chains, and a black leather jacket. And he was almost certainly armed.

“Uncle Six
will
get the best,” Nathan assured him.

“If he don’t,” Danny warned blearily, “then I’m gonna cut you.”

John rose to his feet, openly angry about seeing his father threatened. Striding forward, he said tersely to Danny, “You need to leave. Right
now.
”

Nathan turned his back on Danny (which I wasn’t sure was wise) as he stepped into John’s path, put his hands on his son’s shoulders, and met his gaze. “John,” he said quietly, “let me handle this.”

John ignored his father’s request. “Get out,” he said to Danny—who started laughing.

I didn’t like to intrude, but I rose to my feet, too, and placed a hand on John’s arm. “Your dad’s right,” I said quietly. “Let him deal with this.”

I had seen on a previous occasion that Nathan had an enviable ability to deal calmly with thugs like Danny and take some of the edge off their aggression. Probably because he was a respected elder in the community. Whereas a tall, muscular young man like John would just make Danny feel challenged—especially the way John was glaring at him right now, as if ready to throw down with him.

Nathan and I exchanged a glance, and I said more sharply, “John! Your father has this under control.”

After another tense moment, John let his shoulders sag a little and he nodded his acquiescence. He was a smart man—and he respected his father.

In any case, Danny was no longer paying attention to him. He had noticed me. Oh, joy. “Esther . . . what are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

Danny was used to seeing me in costume for Ted’s film, where I’d played an airheaded uptown slut who never felt the cold. Not wanting to interact with him, I ignored the question.

Nathan turned back to Danny again, subtly stepping between us to shield me from the gangster’s gaze, which I appreciated. I looked over my shoulder, surprised that Lucky hadn’t intervened. He was still seated in his chair, leaning back, one hand stroking Nelli’s head to keep her calm, since she had sensed the tension in the room and was uneasy . . . But the expression on Lucky’s face was chilling as he stared hard at the drunken young thug who’d just threatened the Chens. I sometimes forgot that, although he always said it was strictly business, Lucky had killed people—including some very dangerous people. Looking at him right now, I was amazed it was something I was
ever
able to forget.

But Lucky had a cool head and excellent command of his temper. And, like John, he respected Nathan. So he let this scene play out without his interference. Which was very fortunate for Danny Teng, I suspected.

Nathan started walking toward the exit, his body language encouraging Danny to accompany him. “We will, of course, keep you informed of funeral arrangements. I know you were a valued associate in Uncle Six’s life, and you will be involved in the rites of his death. He would have it no other way.”

“Hmph. Fucking right.” Despite his language, Danny sounded slightly mollified. But then he said with dark savagery, his voice floating back to us, “I’m gonna find who killed Uncle Six, and I’m going to blow him away, the bastard!”

Just to be on the safe side, I decided I’d call Ted and advise him to think seriously about getting out of town for a while.

I could hear Nathan’s voice in the hallway, thanking Danny for his “visit” and bidding him a good evening. When he returned to this room, he said in gentle admonishment to his son, “You need to exercise more patience, John. Consider the excellent example your uncle has just set.”

Lucky grunted. John looked at the ceiling.

“What a dreadful young man,” Max said. “I fear he will cause terrible grief someday, if he has not already done so.”

“He’s a stupid, vicious thug,” John muttered.

“No argument there,” I said. “But your father handled him very skillfully.”

John scowled for a moment, then smiled ruefully and admitted, “He did.” He met his father’s eyes and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“You’ve had a difficult day,” replied Nathan, dismissing the subject.

“Which brings us back to the purpose of our visit,” said Max. “Before that young, er, person interrupted your narrative, you had just finished working on the deceased Mr. Capuzzo’s coiffure. And the gentleman was, I take it, quite dead?”

“
Quite
dead,” John confirmed.

“Unquestionably,” said Nathan. “I examined John’s work after he was done, and I guarantee that the deceased was . . . well,
deceased.
No question whatsoever.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“I turned my back to put away some tools and refill some supplies that were running low. I was concentrating on these tasks for several minutes before I heard . . . heard movement behind me.”

I felt a chill. “No one else was in the room but you and the dead guy—uh, you and the departed?”

“No one else. I didn’t react at first—”

“You didn’t?” I blurted.
I’d
certainly have reacted.

“The recently deceased aren’t exactly silent,” John said to me.

“What does
that
mean?”

“Upon death,” said Nathan, “body chemistry starts changing, tissues begin breaking down, gases expand and release . . . And noises can accompany some of these processes. Occasionally there’s even a little movement.”

“Oh,” I said faintly, realizing I’d probably be more nervous on my future visits to this place. It had never occurred to me that the corpses here might gurgle or shift.

“But what the dead don’t
ever
do,” said John, “is get up out of their coffins and walk away.” He paused, then added, “Well, until today.”

“That was the movement you heard?” Max looked to Nathan for confirmation.

“Yes. I realized after a moment that the sounds I was hearing were too noisy and continuous to be normal,” said Nathan. “I turned around to look, thinking perhaps there was a mouse or something in the room with me.” He looked at me, then at Max, then at Lucky. “There wasn’t.”

“What
was
there?” Lucky asked, on the edge of his seat now.

“Yes, what?” I prodded.

Nathan met John’s gaze, then said with obvious reluctance, “Mr. Capuzzo had gotten out of his coffin and was walking away from it, with his back to me. He was moving slowly and awkwardly. And . . . and . . .”

“And?” Lucky and I said in unison.

“And I screamed,” said Nathan. “I’ve never screamed like that in my life. I think I just kept on screaming.”

“You did,” confirmed John. “Scared the shi—um, scared me to death. So I came running.”

“While I was screaming, Mr. Capuzzo collapsed, fell down, and just lay there. Not moving.”

“About five feet away from his coffin,” added John. “It’s where he was lying when I entered the room.”

“Did you examine him?” Max asked.

“Well, not at that exact moment,” John said. “We both, uh . . . needed a time-out. But after a few minutes, yeah, we looked him over.”

“And?”

“And he was still dead,” said John. “I’m a scientist. My father’s an experienced mortician. We’re sure. This guy has been dead for at least a day.”

I glanced at the door leading to the working rooms of the mortuary. “Is he still here?”

“As far as I know,” said John.

I repeated, “As far as you know?”

“We closed the door, I called you, and we haven’t gone back in that room since.”

“Understandable,” said Max. “And probably wise. I would, of course, like to examine the body.”

“Oh, yay,” Lucky said gloomily. “I was hoping we’d get to visit this thing.”

But Max liked to be thorough and methodical, so first he asked the Chens to tell their story again, and this time he kept stopping them to ask for more details or get clarification.

Upon reaching the climax of his tale again, Nathan said, “So I turned around and saw Mr. Capuzzo, with his back to me, walking away from his coffin. And I screamed.”

“And I came running,” said John.

“Where exactly were you at the time?” Max asked.

“When I heard Dad scream?” John looked around. “Actually, I think I was right about here.”

“Doing what?”

“I was on my way to the office, coming back from the front door. I had just shown that cop out of the building.”

“The cop!” I exclaimed, startling the others.

“Yeah, the cop who came here to ask me some questions about today,” John replied. “The one who seemed skeptical when I said I didn’t know why Susan wanted to shoot me.”

“An OCCB detective, right?” I prodded, remembering what Nathan had said only a moment before Danny’s unwelcome entrance.

Lucky sat bolt upright and met my gaze as the penny dropped.
“An OCCB detective.”

Nathan said soothingly, “He wasn’t here for you, Alberto. He—”

“Who was he?” I demanded.

John shook his head. “Not the Latino cop you mentioned. This guy had an Irish name . . . He was a redhead . . . I don’t remember—”

“Quinn,”
I said with dread. “Detective Andrew Quinn.”

John looked surprised. “Hey, yeah, that was the name. Quinn. You know him?”

“Quinn.”
Lucky fell back against his seat as he looked darkly at Nelli. “Same guy.”

“First Nelli,” I said to Lucky. “Now
this.
”

“It can’t just be coincidence,” he said.

“What can’t be coincidence?” John asked.

Max looked from Lucky, to Nelli, to me. “What is the significance of Detective Quinn?”

“It’s why we left the scene of the shooting so suddenly today,” I replied. “Why we came looking for you. We didn’t understand exactly what it meant, but we were pretty sure it was a big deal.”

“
What
was a big deal?” John asked, apparently realizing we weren’t talking about Susan trying to kill him.

I looked at Nelli for a moment, then continued, “After Susan was arrested and things were calming down a little, Detective Quinn walked past Nelli and Lucky. That was all—just walked past them.”

“Didn’t come close to us,” Lucky added. “Didn’t even look in our direction.”

“And Nelli went
berserk,
”
I said. “She tried to attack Quinn.”

“What?” John looked at the dog, who panted cheerfully at him, then rolled over onto her back, asking to have her belly scratched.
“Nelli?”

At the sound of her name, her tail wagged.

“God alone knows what would have happened if Lucky hadn’t kept such a firm grip on her,” I said. “She acted like she was prepared to rip out Quinn’s heart.”

“
This
Nelli?” Nathan asked.

The Chens knew her and were well aware of her gentle, friendly temperament (as well as her tendency to drool, shed, and chew on other people’s belongings).

“How did Detective Quinn react?” Max asked with interest.

I shrugged. “Like any normal person would when a dog Nelli’s size suddenly gets aggressive. He looked startled, gave her a wide berth, and kept on going where he was going—the other end of the street.”

Lopez had chewed me out about Nelli’s behavior, but Quinn had just put distance between himself and the dog, and then he ignored her after that.

“She couldn’t take her eyes off the guy,” said Lucky. “Even after he was about fifty yards away from us, she just kept staring and growling . . . And the
look
in her eyes.”

“And now this,” I said. “Quinn shows up here for a few minutes, and next thing you know, Mr. Capuzzo’s corpse tries to go walkabout.”

“Hmm.”

“Max, there’s something really
wrong
about this guy,” I said, feeling very worried now.

“Wait a minute,” said John. “You think that just because Max’s dog doesn’t like him—”

“She ain’t just a dog,” said Lucky. “Nelli is a mystical familiar who entered this dimension to confront Evil.”

“O . . . kay,” said John.

Nathan wisely said nothing.

Lucky continued, “The only other times I ever seen her behave that way, she
was
confronting Evil.”

“Hm,” said Max.

“Have you ever had a corpse hop out of its coffin here before?” I asked the Chens.

“No, of course not.” John paused, then asked his father, “Um, have we?”

“Of course not!”

“And then it happens for the first time only a few minutes after Quinn comes here—Quinn, who Nelli thinks is evil!” I looked at Lucky again, “No, that’s not just coincidence.”

“So there’s a weird . . . or maybe ‘evil’ cop in the NYPD?” John mused. “Not to sound cynical, but that’s not exactly unprecedented.”

“John,” Nathan admonished.

“What?”

“There’s more to it than that,” I said with a terrible, cold dread.

“What is it, my dear?” Max asked with concern, recognizing my distress.

“Quinn is Lopez’s new partner,” I said. “They’re together every day. In dangerous situations. With loaded weapons. Lopez probably trusts him. Probably
has to
trust him.”

“Ah.” Max nodded gravely. “I understand.”

“If I’m right and Quinn is evil, then Lopez . . .” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Then Lopez is in danger.” I looked at Nelli and added, “Very serious danger.”

“S
o that’s Mr. Capuzzo?” I looked down at the corpse in the Chens’ workroom.

The body lay on its stomach in an ungainly sprawl, neck in an awkward position so that the face was looking up. I was glad the eyes and mouth were closed. I think I’d have had nightmares if the face were frozen in a rictus of screaming horror. For example.

“Yep,” said John. “That’s him.”

Although I’m not overly squeamish, I would rather not have joined the others in examining the corpse. But it had been generally assumed that I would do so, and I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t hold up my end.

“His hair looks good,” said Lucky, who was holding Nelli’s leash.

“Thanks,” said John. “I tried some new product—”

“Let’s not talk about his hair,” I said. “Let’s talk about the fact that he’s lying about five feet away from his coffin.”

It appeared that Mr. Capuzzo had been all ready for his viewing, right before he got up and tried to leave. He was dressed in a nice suit, hair and makeup finished, expensive coffin wide open. Add a bunch of floral arrangements, and it would be a classy wake.

“How did he die?” asked Max.

“Heart failure,” said Nathan.

The deceased looked like he’d been well into his eighties. He was a short, trim, well-groomed man—though the grooming was the Chens’ handiwork, of course. He might have been a slob in life, for all I knew.

“Where exactly was he when you first saw him in motion?” Max asked Nathan.

“He was just finishing his, um, exit from the coffin.” With an expression that indicated how uncomfortable he was doing this, Nathan demonstrated what he had seen, showing us how Capuzzo had braced himself on the edge of the coffin while lowering his feet to the floor. Then John’s father took several slow, awkward steps the way that the dead man had done. He said to Max, “He moved . . . strangely. I didn’t for a moment suppose he was alive. I couldn’t see his face, but even from behind, he didn’t . . . didn’t
look
alive. Even though he was in motion. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but—”

“Oh, it does,” Max assured him. “Reanimated bodies do not resemble the living. Well, not in my experience.”

John had indeed summoned the right person to help with this weird situation. Max knew what he was talking about, having encountered more than one sort of still-lively corpse over the course of his long and varied life.

Nathan said, “Then Mr. Capuzzo collapsed right there, as you see. John came through the door only a second or two later.”

“And I saw Capuzzo lying here in a heap, and Dad staring at him and screaming,” added John.

Looking a little bored, Nelli sat down.

“Hm,” said Max. “Did the corpse make any sounds?”

“I don’t know.” Nathan paused, then said, “If it did, I don’t think I would have heard it after I started screaming.”

“Was there an odor or unusual smell?”

John shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I was so confused by the scene—and then so freaked out by what Dad told me—I’m not sure I’d have noticed any odors.”

“I don’t recall any smells,” said Nathan. “But I was even more shaken than John, so . . .” He shrugged and shook his head, indicating he couldn’t answer with confidence.

“And I gather the electricity didn’t fail? You weren’t plunged into darkness?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Max walked around the corpse, studying it with a frown of concentration on his face.

“Just looks like a dead guy to me,” said Lucky—and he certainly spoke from experience. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Nate, but we gotta ask the question. Are you
sure
about what you saw?”

Nathan didn’t take offense. This was evidently his first full-body contact with a mystical event (which was indeed what this seemed to be), and he was obviously well aware of how crazy his story sounded.

“Alberto,” he said solemnly, “I swear on the memory of my wife, I saw exactly what I’ve told you I saw. I’ve spent most of my life working with the departed, and I’m not fanciful, let alone prone to hallucinations. I didn’t imagine this. I’ve
never
imagined something like this. It really happened, just as I’ve described.”

“Okay.” Lucky nodded, accepting this. He trusted Nathan and, unlike his friend, he’d actually had a number of mystical encounters, so the story didn’t sound as crazy to him as one might suppose. “So what do we think, Doc?”

“Reanimation doesn’t seem to have damaged the corpse,” Max said pensively. “Sometimes there can be . . . oh, a sort of internal combustion as mystical forces devour the dead organism. It can leave behind cooked flesh, charred remains, corpses that appear to have been partially cremated, melted organs—”

“But not in this case,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear the whole list.

“No,” Max agreed. “Nor does there appear to be any liquidation of the physical form.”

“Liquidation?” John repeated.

“Let’s not digress,” I said, eager to avoid more revolting imagery.

“Esther is right. Let’s proceed with what’s here, rather than discussing what is not,” said Max. “Will someone assist me in turning him over?”

I took Nelli’s leash from Lucky and stepped back as he and John dealt with Mr. Capuzzo. They did it efficiently and without hesitation, both being accustomed, in their separate ways, to handling dead bodies.

Now that the deceased was lying on his back . . . he still just looked like an elderly man who’d been well prepared for his upcoming wake.

Looking more alert now, Nelli rose to her feet and approached the corpse. Lucky let go of her leash as she lowered her head and began sniffing Mr. Capuzzo with focused interest.

“Nelli is examining the body for traces of mystical influence,” Max explained.

I saw a somewhat dubious glance pass between the Chens.

After about a minute of sniffing, Nelli seemed to lose interest—and then she whined a little and licked Mr. Capuzzo’s ear.

“Oh, Nelli,
don’t,
” I blurted. “No!”

She paused, looked at me, then gave the ear another slurp with her long pink tongue. Revolted, I picked up her leash and tugged on it, urging her to leave the body and come to me. After she did, I told her to lie down. Nelli remained standing.

“Did she learn anything, Doc?” Lucky asked.

“Apparently not.” Nelli was looking around the room now, cheerful and relaxed. “Her reaction indicates she can detect no lingering traces of whatever animated this body.”

“Well . . . good,” said John.

“Now what?” asked Nathan.

After a moment of gazing down at the dead man, Max got down on his knees beside the corpse. “I wonder if . . .”

I looked away when he prized open one of Capuzzo’s eyes and leaned close to peer into it.

“Do you need a penlight?” John asked.

“Ah, yes. That would be most useful.”

John found one and handed it to him. Lucky and the Chens watched attentively while Max spent the next few minutes examining the corpse by looking into various orifices and tapping on various bones.

I mostly tried to look elsewhere.

When it came to examining a corpse, I was prepared to lend moral support but not to lend a hand. Protecting New York from Evil is Max’s job, so he has to be able to stomach tasks like the one he was engaged in now. But for me, this kind of thing is just . . . let’s call it volunteer work.

I don’t help Max confront Evil because I’m nobler than the average person (though I’m flattered that Max thinks I am). I mostly do it because it’s a matter of common sense and self-preservation to stand up and
do
something when someone’s trying to summon a demon that will eat half of Manhattan (where I live and work), or kill a bunch of New Yorkers (of whom I happen to be one) to appease dark forces, or commit human sacrifice with innocent bystanders (such as me, my friends, or my potential employers) to gain riches and power.

Yes, I’ve seen things.

And now there was
this
situation, where I was afraid that Quinn, the gun-toting person with whom my mostly off-again boyfriend spent all his working hours, was mystically dangerous—a phrase which, based on what I’d encountered since meeting Max, rarely meant “might cause someone a migraine” and very often meant “will terrorize people and take lives.”

The possibility that Quinn was animating the dead for some nefarious purpose filled me with dread. We had previously encountered someone who was raising zombies, and that was a
very
dangerous situation—and a ruthless, deadly foe. I was extremely worried about the prospect of Lopez spending his time with someone like that.

A wave of cold washed through me as I suddenly recalled something Quinn had said to me recently about Lopez.

“I swear, there are days he’s so hard to live with, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be carrying a loaded gun.”

He’d been complaining to me of Lopez’s prolonged bad mood, caused mostly by problems between us. At the time, I assumed Quinn was being facetious. Now I found myself wondering if the comment was, instead, an indication of how lightly he viewed the prospect of killing his partner.

Between my fears about Nelli’s powerfully negative reaction to Quinn and my anxiety about Nathan’s description of the reanimated corpse that Max was currently examining right in front of me, I was feeling a little overwrought—so I almost jumped out of my skin when my cell phone rang.

“That’s mine,” I said a little breathlessly, feeling my heart pound.

I fumbled in my purse for my phone. In my agitation, I was all butterfingers, and it flew out of my hand and skittered across the floor to hit Mr. Capuzzo in the head. I gasped and put my hand over my mouth as the phone slid into the cradle of his neck.

The men all looked at me. So did Nelli.

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“Fine,” I lied. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know why I was apologizing. It wasn’t my fault that I was the only person in the room who wasn’t comfortable around dead bodies.

John picked up my still-ringing phone and handed it to me. “Here you go.”

“No! I don’t want it
now.
”

They all looked at me again.

I took a steadying breath and said, “It
touched
him.” I realized I didn’t sound as calm as I’d intended.

The phone stopped ringing as the call went to voicemail.

John looked uncertainly at Lucky, as if expecting him to know what to say.

Fortunately, Lucky did know. “The lady don’t want to handle a phone that just touched a dead body. Can you . . . sterilize it or something?”

“Oh! Of course. Sure,” said John. “Right away.”

John went over to a worktable and found some cotton pads and alcohol which he used to wipe down my phone. While he was doing that, Max rose to his feet, assisted by a hand from Lucky.

“I find absolutely nothing unusual or untoward about this body. Which, if I may say so,” he added politely to Nathan, “will make a most decorous presentation at the wake.”

“If he stays in his coffin,” John muttered.

After a glance at me, Lucky said, “Maybe we should put him back in there now.”

“All right.” John handed me my phone, which now smelled of rubbing alcohol. “You take the legs, Uncle Lucky.”

While they returned the departed to his casket, Max asked Nathan, “What can you tell me about Mr. Capuzzo in life?”

“Let’s see . . . He was raised in Little Italy and knew Lucky’s uncle, who brought my father into the business. His widow says it’s why he wanted his wake to be here.” Watching his son settle Capuzzo into his coffin, Nathan said, “John, the suit needs—”

“I know.” John straightened one sleeve of the suit, then the other. “I’ve got it.”

Nathan nodded and returned his attention to Max. “We handled his brother’s funeral two years ago. It’s a fairly large family, so I assume we’ll have many of the same mourners this time. None of them live in Little Italy anymore.” Not many of the old families still did. Little Italy, once a big swathe of lower Manhattan, was now just a few blocks of shops and restaurants. “They’re scattered around the tri-state area these days.”

“You met Mr. Capuzzo when handling his brother’s funeral?” Max asked. “What sort of man was he?”

“We only exchanged a few words,” said Nathan. “He seemed quiet and polite.”

John stepped away from the casket, and Nathan turned his attention to Mr. Capuzzo, whom he fussed over until he was satisfied with his appearance.

While he worked, he continued, “They’re a respectable family. Mr. Capuzzo owned several shoe stores. His widow is a very courteous lady, even in her sorrow. And their eldest daughter, who has been making the arrangements with us, has been easy to work with.” He added, “You can tell a lot about a family by the way they behave in their time of bereavement, and the Capuzzos seem like good people.”

“Have they made any unusual requests? Or given you any strange restrictions?”

“No, nothing.”

“Why are you focusing on Capuzzo?” I asked impatiently, wondering if Lopez was keeping company with a mystical time bomb. “This is about Quinn. It has to be! He’s the guy who made Nelli go ballistic today. The guy who was leaving this funeral home just as the corpse got frisky.”

John snorted a little with laughter. Nathan looked pained by my phrasing.

Lucky said, “I think the doc is trying to find a connection between Capuzzo and Quinn. Am I right?”

Max nodded. “Or between Mr. Capuzzo and whatever attracted Detective Quinn to this mortuary today.”

“
I
attracted him,” said John.

We all looked at him.

“Do we all remember the
shooting
today?” John prodded.

“Why did he want to question you about that?” I challenged, thinking it had just been a pretext.

“Because he’s a cop.”

“This isn’t his case. The Fifth Precinct is in charge of Susan’s arrest. Quinn is in OCCB. So why did
he
come here to question you? Why not a detective from the Fifth?”

“I don’t know. Because he was there? He witnessed what happened . . . And maybe he thinks it’s connected to his case.”

“What case?”