The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession (15 page)

The footsteps must have been Kiersten’s running to the door to have someone look for the doctor, because Pietr could be heard as clearly as the doctor. “I thought you were to look for a bullet entry wound.”

“So did I! Is someone trying to kill us?”

More spraying, grumbling, and mumbling. Finally the door opened again. Hurried footsteps. “Doctor,” Eikenberry began, “why wasn’t I told of this?”

“Well, I, we—”

“Turning over a man with this kind of a weapon still in him is ten times more dangerous than a cop sticking his bare hands in a perp’s pocket without checking for needles or blades first!”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry? You want to help pull this out? Ah, never mind. Just tell me if there’s anything else I should have known.”

The doctor sounded thoroughly intimidated. “Well, to tell you the truth—”

“Oh, please, at least do that. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh, well, you know you’re to look for bullet—”

“Damage, wounds, yes. What?”

“The fact is, the EMTs are of the opinion—”

“The same ones who prepared, or I should say left unprepared, a body like this?”

“That wasn’t their fault, ma’am. I understand the supreme commander was pushing everyone to get the body out of there.”

“Go on.”

“The EMTs believe you will find no bullet wounds.”

A pregnant silence.

“Frankly, Doctor, I don’t care what we find. I’ll give you my expert opinion, and if there are also bullet holes, I’ll include that. But can you answer me one thing? Why does everybody think there was a shooter, and why is that former employee pretty much being charged in the media? Because his prints were found on a weapon that didn’t shoot Carpathia? I don’t get it.”

“As you said, ma’am, if you’ll pardon me, it isn’t your place to care about the cause of death, but only to assess it.”

“Well, I’d say about an, oh, say, fifteen-to eighteeninch, ah, what would you call this, Doctor, a big knife or a small sword?”

“A handled blade, certainly.”

“Certainly. I’d hazard a guess that this whatever-it-is entering about two inches below the nape of the neck and exiting about half an inch through the crown of the skull, that certainly didn’t enhance the victim’s health, did it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Doctor, do you really not know why I wasn’t informed of this major, likely lethal wound?”

“I know we didn’t want to prejudice you.”

She laughed. “Well, you certainly succeeded there! As for nearly slicing open my assistants and me, what do you say to that?”

“I guess I thought you’d see the, ah, sword.”

“Doctor, the man was swimming in his own blood! He was on his back! We transferred him the same way, disrobed him, hosed him down, saw no entry or exit wounds on the anterior and, naturally, flipped him to examine the posterior wounds. What do you think I was expecting? I saw the news. I heard the gunshot and saw the people running and the victim fall. I had heard the scuttlebutt that there may have been a conspiracy, that one of the regional potentates may have had a concealed weapon. But I would have appreciated knowing that the man would look like a cocktail wiener with a sword poking through him.”

“I understand.”

“Do you see the damage this weapon did to significant tissue?”

“Not entirely.”

“Well, unless we find bullets in the brain or somewhere else above the neck, it alone killed him.”

Water was spraying again. “I see no bullet holes, do you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Pietr?”

“No.”

“Kiersten?”

“Nope.”

“Doctor?”

“I said no.”

“But this blade, and I’ll be able to tell you for sure when I get in there, appears to have gone through vertebrae, perhaps spinal cord, the membrane, the brain stem, the brain itself, the membrane again, and then come out the top of the skull, all none the worse for wear.”

“That would be my observation too, ma’am.”

“It would?”

“Yes.”

“Your expert opinion.”

“I’m no patholog—”

“But you know enough about the anatomy to know that I should not be surprised if I have guessed the internal damage fairly accurately?”

“Right.”

“But more important, that this weapon appears as lethal now as it must have before it was thrust?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You see what I’m driving at?”

“I think so.”

“You think so. One of us unsuspecting pathologists so much as brushes a finger against that blade, and we’re sliced.”

“I’m sorry—”

“And while the victim may be one of the most respected men in the history of the world, we don’t know yet, do we, what might be in his blood? Or what might have been on the hands of the perpetrator. Do we?”

“We don’t.”

“Do you notice anything unusual about the blade, sir?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one quite like it, if that’s what you m—”

“Simpler than that, Doctor. The cutting edge is facing out.”

“You’re sure there’s only one cutting edge?”

“Yes, and do you know how I know? Because I was fortunate enough to catch my finger there when we turned over the body. Look here, at the top of his head. As we turned him, my hand went behind the head, and hidden there in the hair was the half-inch protrusion of the blade. As soon as it came in contact with my gloved index finger, I flinched and pulled away. Had I done that on the other edge, I dare say it would have cut my finger off.”

“I see.”

“You see. Do you also see our challenge in removing the weapon?”

A pause. “Actually, if it is as strong and sharp as you say, removal should be fairly simple. You just pull it back out the way it entered, and—”

“Doctor, may I remind you that the cutting edge is facing away from the body.”

“I know.”

“Then unless we are precise to a millimeter, the blade could cut its way out vertically. Cardinal rule of forensic pathology: Do as little damage to the body as possible so it is easier to determine how much trauma was actually inflicted from without.”

“Ah, Madeline, if I could have a word.”

“Please.”

“Privately.”

“Excuse us,” she said, obviously looking at her assistants. Footsteps.

“Madeline, I apologize for any part I played in this dangerous situation. But we have been friends a long time. I sold the supreme commander on you because I wanted you to have the honor and the income. I resent being berated in front of your subordinates and—”

“Point well taken. I’ll say nice things about you when you’re gone. And I do appreciate the assignment. I don’t know what the benefits are to a mortician asked to evaluate the most famous victim in history, but I do owe you thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” he said flatly, and David heard him leave.

Pietr and Kiersten returned. “Wow,” Pietr said.

“Wow is right,” Dr. Eikenberry said. “That man?”

“Yes.”

“That doctor who just left?” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“I must tell you, he is a complete idiot.”

The mortician told the transcriptionist to please disregard everything since the turning of the body and to pick up at that point. She explained how she had irrigated the entire wound area and found “just the one entry and one exit wound, with weapon still in place. The entry wound is considerably larger than the exit, and nearly all the blood flow came from the neck, though understandably there is evidence of blood exiting through eyes, nose, mouth, and ears as well. That the entry wound is clearly larger, while the blade itself is not that much wider there, indicates that the weapon was dug and twisted aggressively. The skull would have held the top of the weapon in place, but the bottom appears to have been flexible enough to inflict severe trauma.”

David looked at Mac and exhaled. “Rayford’s in the clear. I mean, he might get busted for shooting at Carpathia, but he couldn’t have killed him.”

Mac shook his head. “Sounds to me like Carpathia was murdered by one of his own people.”

“It sure does,” David said. “There was talk of one of the potentates with something in his coat, but I want to see the videodiscs.”

Buck awoke late morning, stiff and sore. The sun blinded, but Chaim remained asleep. Buck took a closer look at Chaim’s ratty blanket. The inside was blood encrusted, and he wondered how the old man could stand it. He also worried that some of the blood might be Chaim’s own.

Buck carefully tugged at the blanket to see if any blood stained Chaim’s pajamas. But Chaim held tight and turned over, exposing his back. No wounds or stains that Buck could see.

“You awake?” the old man mumbled, still facing away from Buck.

“Yes. We have to talk.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

“Why don’t you go find me some clothes? I need to get home, and I can’t go like this.”

“You don’t think the GC is waiting for you there?”

Chaim rolled over to face Buck, squinting against the sunlight. “And why would they be? Where’s my phone? I want to call the house, talk to Jacov.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t, Chaim. I know the truth. I know what happened.”

“You saw nothing! No one saw anything!”

“You can’t admit to me what I know already? What kind of a friend are you?”

Chaim got up and relieved himself, then returned to sit wearily on the bed. His white hair pointed everywhere.

“You should be happy,” he said.

“Happy?”

“Of course! What do you care how the deed was done, so long as it was done?”

“I care because you did it!”

“You don’t know that. And what if I did?”

“You’ll die for it, that’s what! You think I want that?”

Chaim cocked his head and shrugged. “You’re a better friend than I, Cameron.”

“I’m beginning to think so.”

Chaim chuckled. “I can’t cheer you, eh?”

“Tell me how you did it, Chaim.”

“The less you know, the less you have to answer for.”

“Oh, don’t be naive! You’ve been around too long for that. I have to answer for everything. I have to be grateful for facial lacerations, because if I had not suffered them, I would have had to change my appearance anyway. Telling me you murdered Carpathia won’t add much to my plate. They have enough on me, manufactured and otherwise, to put me away on sight. So, tell me.”

“I’m telling no one. This is mine alone.”

“But you know you can’t go home.”

“I can tell my people where I am, that I am all right.”

“You must come to the States with me.”

“I can’t leave my country, my staff.”

“Chaim, listen to me. Your staff is dead. They were tortured and massacred last night by the GC, probably trying to get to you.”

Chaim looked up slowly, his hair casting wild shadows on the far wall. “Don’t talk crazy,” he said warily. “That is not amusing.”

“I wouldn’t joke about that, Chaim. Jacov was killed by a blow to the chin that broke his neck. A guard hit him with the butt end of an Uzi when he tried to rush to you.”

Chaim put a hand over his mouth and sucked in a noisy breath. “Don’t,” he said, his words muffled.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“I didn’t do it, Chaim. You did it.”

“He’s dead? You know for certain he’s dead?” “I checked his pulse myself.”

“What have I done?”

“Hannelore and her mother and Stefan are gone too.”

Chaim stood and moved toward the door as if wanting to leave but knowing he had nowhere to go. “No!” he wailed. “Why?”

“Someone had to know, Chaim. Someone had to have seen you. Surely you didn’t expect to get away with it.”

Chaim’s knees gave way and he hit the floor hard, a high-pitched cry in his throat. “You checked the pulses at my home too?”

Buck nodded.

“That was not smart. You could have been killed too.”

“And my death would have been your fault too, Chaim. Look what’s happened!”

Chaim turned and leaned over the bed, still kneeling.

He buried his face in his hands. “I was willing to die,” he managed. “I didn’t care about myself. The sword was perfect and fit into the tubing of my chair just so. No one knew. Not even Jacov. Oh, Jacov! Jacov! What have I done to you?

Cameron! You must kill me! You must avenge those deaths!” He stood quickly and opened the window. “If I lose my nerve, you must push me! Please, I cannot bear this!”

“Shut the window, Chaim. I’m not going to kill you, and I won’t let you kill yourself.”

“I’ll not turn myself in to those swine. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction!

Oh, I will kill myself, Cameron. You know I will!”

“You’ll have to try without me present. I love you too much, Chaim. I will die before you do to keep you from going to hell.”

“Hell? If God would send me to hell for murdering such a monster, I will go happily. But he should send me to hell for what I did to my people! Oh, Cameron!” He collapsed onto the bed, rolling into a fetal position and groaning as if about to burst. Suddenly he sat up, seeming eager to relive the deed.

“I was going to leap from my chair at just the right moment, weapon in hand. He is so much taller, I had been practicing my jumping. I was going to leap as high as I could and, with both hands on the handle, drive the blade down through the top of his head. The whole world would see and know.

“There were all those shenanigans on the stage, people standing, sitting, moving, laughing. I joined in, measuring the distance, seeing where I could maneuver the chair. When he came to greet me and lift my hand, I came close to reaching across my body to lift out the sword and plunge it into his heart. But my angle was wrong. I would not have had the leverage to get the blade out, let alone to thrust it where I needed to.

“I was rolling toward him finally as he moved my way. My plan was to turn quickly at the last minute and trip him. Then I would leap from the chair and kill him.

“But just as he got near me, the gun went off. At first I thought I had been detected and that his security guards had shot me. But he lurched my way, away from the sound of the gun and the shattering lectern.

“I could see that he was about to tumble into my lap, so I quickly withdrew the blade. I didn’t have time even to orient it in my hands. I pointed it straight up and held steady as he fell back onto it. I held firm and tried to scrape the brain from his evil head. He jerked, and I let go. He rolled to my feet. It was chaos. People came running. I steered away and, for an instant, I thought I had gotten away with it. The timing! The shot! I could tell it came from the crowd, and as I ran away I wondered if it might be mistaken for a two-person crime.