Blood Lines (20 page)

>> 1352 Hours

Will parked his Taurus behind the redbrick building that housed the county medical examiner's office and got out in the heat. The severe lines of the building were only partially blunted by the trees and landscaping.

Remy got out the other side and flared his Tar Heels basketball jersey so it covered the pistol at his hip. Gold chains shone around his neck.

“You want to go over what it is we're doing here?” Remy asked.

“When Bobby Lee was brought in, he was carrying drugs,” Will said as they headed toward the glass door. “Heroin. I thought maybe we'd pick it up and have a look at it.”

“Okay.”

Will opened the door and allowed Remy to enter. “Then we see if we can't get some leverage.”

“Where are you going to get the leverage?”

Will held up two fingers. “Bobby Lee had two things we can work with regarding our investigation.”

“And what investigation is that exactly?”

“When Bobby Lee attacked our Marine in Jacksonville, he had two buddies.”

“I read the reports.”

Will led the way down the cool hallways and followed the posted signage to the medical examiner's office. “We're investigating the identities of the two men who were with Bobby Lee.”

Remy smiled. “You're hoping that at least one of those men belongs to the Purple Royals.”

“I wouldn't say
hoping
.”

“But you wouldn't be surprised.”

“No,” Will said. “I wouldn't.”

“If they are, Victor Gant isn't going to like you putting pressure on him.”

“At the hospital today, he came on our turf and fired a warning shot,” Will said. “We're going to return the favor.”

“The drugs—” Remy stopped himself. “The heroin Bobby Lee was carrying is part of your leverage.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We're going to have it couriered to the labs at Camp Lejeune and analyzed under a spectroscope. The tests should be able to identify the trace elements of metals in the heroin. Those are based on geographically related patterns.”

“Gant isn't growing his heroin empire here.”

“No, he isn't. But it's being grown somewhere.”

“If someone could trace the heroin back to its native soil, you'd think it would've been done before now.”

“It would've been. That's not what we're going to do. The mixture of those trace elements—from one crime scene to the next—is as distinguishable as a fingerprint.”

“A lot of guys could have been caught holding a stash Gant or the Purple Royals sold them.”

“I know.” Will turned to Remy and smiled. “All I need to do is find one biker who knows the guys Bobby Lee hung with in his father's gang.”

Remy smiled and nodded. “I like it. Not exactly gonna make us popular with the FBI.”

“I'm not in a popularity contest. I'm trying to make sure my Marine is safe while he recovers.”

The young woman at the desk looked up from her computer monitor. “Hi.”

“We're here to see Dr. Greer.” Will held his NCIS ID open for her.

Remy did the same.

The woman lifted the phone and called the doctor.

>> 1406 Hours

The morgue was cold, but Will was too intent to really notice.

Remy seemed a little uncomfortable. The Tar Heels jersey was too lightweight to blunt much of the cold. He stood with his arms folded.

“Which of you is Commander Coburn?” Dr. Allen Greer asked.

“I am,” Will said. “This is Special Agent Gautreau.”

“Okay.” Greer gazed at Will for a moment, then shifted his attention back to the corpse on the table. The medical examiner didn't seem overly disposed to a friendly personality. He was heavyset and wore thick sideburns that had gone gray with age. He leaned over the open chest cavity of a middle-aged man. “What can I do for you?”

“You're holding the body of Bobby Lee Gant for us,” Will said.

“You're here to take custody of the body?”

“No.”

Greer looked at him again. “I was assured that body would be gone before morning.”

“It will be.”

“Then why are you here interrupting my work?”

“I came for Bobby Lee's personal effects that were on the body.”

“I see.” Greer pulled off his bloody gloves and threw them into a biohazardous materials container. “I heard about the shooting yesterday. It happened in front of several witnesses.”

“Yes.”

“I was told there'd be no problems clearing the man responsible.”

“There won't be.”

Greer walked over to a wall of small vaults and checked a notebook. Then he searched the vaults till he found the one he wanted. He reached inside and brought out a large plastic Baggie containing the last things Bobby Lee had had with him that day.

“That's good,” Greer said. “If you ask me, more force should be shown to those motorcycle outlaws. But they're making good money in the area, which means they can hire the lawyers necessary to keep them in business and out of jail.”

“Maybe we can change that a little,” Will said.

“Just sign the chain of custody book and the contents of that bag are yours.”

>> Office of the Chief of Police

>> Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department

>> 601 East Trade Street

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 1437 Hours

Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Chief Ben Tarlton was a young, energetic, and simple man. In his late thirties, he was one of the youngest police chiefs the city had ever seen.

He was a no-nonsense man with an open and honest face that he kept meticulously shaved. His brown hair was cropped short, and his hazel eyes were sincere. His uniform was neatly pressed with creases that looked sharp enough to slice cheese.

His office was compact, filled with law enforcement manuals as well as pictures of his family. Most of the photographs revolved around Little League sports.

One of the plaques on the wall was a toastmaster award, and others were for coaching and Bible study. There were also pictures of Tarlton in a Marine uniform.

“Commander Coburn, sir,” Tarlton greeted as he stood up behind his desk and offered his hand.

“Chief Tarlton,” Will responded. He introduced Remy, and they shook hands as well. “I appreciate you seeing us on such short notice.”

“Not at all. It's my pleasure. How is your agent?”

“He's fine,” Will said. “Thank you.”

“He's a lucky man.”

“He's a good man,” Will said. “God seems to take care of those.” Even as he said it, though, Will felt a pang as he thought of Frank Billings.

“More times than not, I'd agree with that assessment.” Tarlton gestured to the chairs in front of the modest metal desk. “Please. Have a seat.”

Will and Remy did.

“So what brings you here?” Tarlton asked.

“We thought we'd share information,” Will said.

Tarlton leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You'll forgive me my cynicism, but it's been my experience that federal agencies aren't in the habit of sharing information with local law enforcement agencies unless they want someone to blame or just to throw their weight around.”

“That's not why I'm here,” Will replied.

Tarlton waited, but he rolled his wrist over and glanced at his watch.

“We ran the pistol that Bobby Lee Gant used on those people last night,” Will said. “We didn't pull any federal hits. No wants, no warrants.”

“You get a clean gun every now and again,” Tarlton said.

“I know. But generally only weapons that have been used in the commission of a murder or a drug deal get logged through channels.”

“Not every weapon hits the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives' regional crime gun center,” Tarlton agreed.

“But,” Will said, “one of the things I've learned while working at the NCIS is that local PDs often have records of their own.”

Tarlton maintained a level gaze. “Some do.”

“I know you by reputation,” Will said. “You do an honest job here.”

“Flattery?” Tarlton smiled a little then.

“I didn't figure you were susceptible to something like that.”

“I'm not.”

“I'd like to know if the serial number of the pistol Bobby Lee Gant used last night is in your database.”

For a short time, Tarlton just stared at Will. The hesitation, Will knew, wasn't anything meant personally. But the chief had some departmental pride to salvage.

“You and the FBI,” Tarlton said, “came into my city without so much as a by-your-leave—”

“That's incorrect, sir,” Remy interrupted. “Shel and I checked in the minute we were inside city limits. The commander insists on that. We let your office know about the pick-up order we had on Bobby Lee Gant. We played by the rules and kept the house respect.”

“The FBI then,” Tarlton said.

“Yes,” Will agreed.

“And between the two of you, one of my citizens was killed.”

“We didn't have control of that situation,” Will said.

“I'm fully aware of that.”

Will felt a little exasperated. He knew Tarlton was distancing himself from the situation on purpose. Straining relationships with the FBI wasn't a good thing to do. Maybe Tarlton didn't depend on them, but they obviously helped him out every now and again.

“You were a Marine,” Remy said, nodding to the picture of Tarlton on the wall behind him.

“Yes, I was. I made my way up to captain; then I pulled the pin and took the position here. I grew up here. It was a good fit, and it came at a good time.”

“Shel,” Remy said, “my
friend
Shel, is a Marine too.”

Tarlton sat silent.

“Most of the NCIS agents you hear about,” Remy said, “are drafted out of civilian law enforcement agencies. Commander Coburn's team isn't. All of us are Navy except Shel. And we take a lot of pride in our Marine.”

Tarlton looked at Remy and grinned. “Leave it to a sailor to lay it on so thick.”

Remy smiled back. “I'm not a sailor. I'm a Navy SEAL.”

“Oh, a poor man's Marine.”

“But trained to take over when a Marine fails out.”

Both of them laughed at that. Will was still trying to sort out all the posturing that had just gone on.

Tarlton turned to Will. “You said you had a serial number on that weapon. Let's have a look at it.”

20

>> Otis's Salvage Yard

>> 5000 Wilkinson Boulevard

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 1507 Hours

“You've got to watch yourself while you're dealing with Gerald,” Tarlton said as he put the police car's transmission in park. “He's what you might call a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“I'll follow your lead,” Will said.

“That'll probably make us all a lot happier.” Tarlton got out, then reached back in for his baseball cap and pulled it on.