Killer Exposure
Owen focused on her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the skin underneath. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a few minutes, studying the smooth column of skin, the elegant lines. That spot just under the ear, so sensitive to his mouth. He let his thoughts drift, imagined peeling down the fabric of Dr. Baker’s sweater, exposing the pale expanse of her throat. He’d use his tongue to trace along her skin, down to her collarbone. She probably had nice collarbones, he thought. Gentle, sloping lines begging for his touch. He could practically feel them under his lips, hear her breathless moans as he slowly stripped away her clothes. She was so prim and put together, it would be a real pleasure to find out what she was concealing underneath that sweater.
“Owen?”
The sound of his name snapped him out of his reverie, and he shook his head slightly, focusing on his partner. Nate and Dr. Baker were both staring at him, their expressions making it clear they’d been trying to get his attention for some time. Damn.
“What?”
Dr. Baker tensed, and he mentally cursed himself for being so gruff. “Sorry, I was thinking about something else for a moment. What do you need?”
Nate didn’t press, but he could see the concern in the other man’s eyes. Great. He’d heard the rumors swirling, knew Nate had, as well. After Owen’s partner had died in the line of duty six months ago, he’d taken a leave of absence to handle the loss. A lot of people thought he shouldn’t have come back. Was his new partner one of them?
“Dr. Baker was just offering to look at the chemical signatures of the compounds found in our victims.”
“If I can see what they had in their systems, I can tell you if the drug was purchased from a company, or if someone modified the compounds to create something even more potent,” she said.
“That would be great,” he replied. “Thank you.”
She nodded, her cheeks taking on a pretty, pale pink color. Her hand found her neck again, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away before he slipped back into his highly inappropriate daydream.
It was fatigue, he decided. Too many hours focused on this case, too many cups of coffee, too little sleep. Throw in a beautiful woman, and his brain took the path of least resistance, concocting a fantasy he had no business enjoying when there were bodies piling up.
Time to go, before he did something stupid.
He stood, and a second later, Nate did the same. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.” He offered her his hand, tried not to notice the smooth softness of her skin when she took it. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Let me know what else I can do to help,” she said. Nate nodded, and they walked out of her office, leaving her standing behind her desk watching them go, her hand at her neck.
* * *
“She’s prettier than I expected.”
Owen bristled at his partner’s casual remark. While Nate Gallagher was by all accounts a good guy, he didn’t like the thought that the other man had noticed Hannah Baker in anything other than a professional capacity. Like you should talk, he thought wryly.
Biting his tongue to contain the reflexive retort, Owen settled for a grunt, hoping Nate would drop the subject.
He didn’t take the hint.
“I mean, I didn’t expect her to be so young. Silly of me, since Doc Whitman isn’t that old herself. But I heard the word professor and pictured some gray-haired woman in support hose. Know what I mean?”
Owen grunted again, refusing to engage.
“Do you think she’s seeing anyone?”
“How should I know?” He sounded sour, even to his own ears, but Nate carried on as if he hadn’t noticed.
“I think she likes me. It felt like we had a connection back there. Maybe I should ask her out.”
Owen’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “No,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean, no?”
He cut a glance over to his partner. “It wouldn’t be professional of you. Besides, she might somehow be involved in all this.”
“Oh, please,” Nate scoffed. “You and I both know that she’s not a suspect. There’s no conflict of interest here. Besides,” he added, his voice taking on a smug note, “I wasn’t the one daydreaming about her during the questioning.”
Damn. It had been obvious, then. Still, his pride wouldn’t let him admit his partner was right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” Nate said. “We’ve been partners now for over two months, and in all that time, you’ve never once mentioned a wife, a girlfriend or even a one-night stand. You’re lonely. Would it be so bad if you let your guard down and enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman?”
“There’s no time.”
“So multitask. Take the professor out for dinner and ask her about the chemicals. That’s got to be every woman’s dream date.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “I thought you were going to ask her out.”
“Nah. I was just trying to yank your chain. Besides, she’s not interested in me.”
“What makes you think she’s interested in me?” As soon as the words were out, Owen wished he could take them back. This wasn’t junior high, and he really shouldn’t care if Hannah Baker liked him.
But he did care. And he wanted to hear confirmation that his attraction to her wasn’t one-sided. It was juvenile of him, but he needed that reassurance. Nate was right—he was lonely. And even though he had no intention of starting anything with the woman, it would be nice to know he had the option.
“For starters, she kept watching you. You were too spaced out to notice, but the whole time she was talking to me, she was glancing at you, looking for your reaction to what she was saying. And she kept touching her neck.”
“You noticed that, too?”
He saw Nate nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. But what’s with the turtleneck? Kind of a strange choice, given the weather we’ve been having.”
Owen tapped his fingers against the wheel. “I was wondering that myself. Think she’s hiding something?”
Nate considered the question for a moment. “Could be. But I don’t see her being involved in these deaths. We’ve been fishing bodies out of the bayou every seven days like clockwork. And while she may have the upper-body strength to overpower the smaller victims, there’s no way she could have handled that bruiser we found two days ago.”
“Good point. But she could have had help.”
“Besides,” Nate went on, ignoring him, “what these victims went through after they died...” He shuddered briefly. “It takes a lot of isolated space to inflict that kind of damage. Not to mention time. And she hasn’t been missing work, or acting unusual.”
“Again, she could have a partner.” Owen didn’t believe it, either, but they did have to consider every possibility, no matter how remote.
Nate gave him a droll look. “Uh-huh. And I have a Lamborghini in the garage.”
Owen merely shrugged.
“You know as well as I do that she’s not involved. She doesn’t have it in her to do that to someone.”
“I hope you’re right. We still need to look into it though.”
His partner let out an inelegant snort. “Don’t sound so broken up about it.”
Owen ignored the gibe, but he didn’t try to hide the smile that curved his lips. The thought of seeing the lovely professor again gave him something to look forward to, and given the way this case was going, he’d take his pleasure where he could find it.
Chapter 2
The Harris County Institute of Forensic Science was a six-story redbrick cube on a tree-lined street near the Medical City area of Houston. Hannah parked in one of the visitor spaces and made her way to Gabby’s office, where she found her friend typing madly and staring at her computer monitor wearing an expression of fierce concentration.
Hannah hovered in the doorway, waiting for a break to interrupt Gabby. It didn’t take long. With a few muttered curses, Gabby punched at the keyboard, then leaned back, her brows drawn down in a frown. Seeing her chance, Hannah coughed quietly.
Gabby looked up, her scowl melting into a smile when she saw Hannah. “Hey! Come on in.”
Hannah stepped into the small office and extended her arm, offering Gabby the extra cup of coffee she’d brought. “You sure I’m not interrupting?”
Her friend took the cup and gestured to a chair across from her desk. “Saving me, more like. I’m up to my eyeballs in reports.” She took a sip, closed her eyes in appreciation. “Thanks for this.”
“No problem. I figured you could use some caffeine.”
“You know it. So how’d it go yesterday?”
Hannah sat in the lumpy chair and shifted to find a comfortable position. “It would have gone a lot better if I’d listened to your message first. I was totally thrown by the whole thing.”
Gabby grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry about that. I should have texted you, too, but I didn’t have time. Were they at least nice to you?”
“I suppose. One more than the other.”
“Let me guess—Detective Gallagher was friendlier?”
“You got it.”
Gabby nodded and set her cup on the desk. “I figured. Detective Randall can be a little...intense.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Goose bumps broke out on her arms as she recalled the feeling of his dark blue eyes on her. “What’s his story?” She tried to make the question sound casual, but she and Gabby had been friends for a long time, and the other woman didn’t miss a trick.
“Oh, so it’s like that?” she teased. Hannah rolled her eyes and looked away, shaking her head.
“Seriously, Hannah. I’m glad you’re showing some interest. How long has it been since you’ve gone on a date?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, exasperation bleeding into her voice. “About a year, maybe?”
“Probably more like a year and a half,” Gabby retorted. “I know you haven’t seen anyone since Jake the Snake left.” She took a sip of her coffee and muttered, “Good riddance.”
Hannah smiled despite the pang that stabbed through her chest at the thought of her ex-fiancé. “Since when are you so obsessed with my love life?”
“Since you’re my friend and I care about you.” Gabby gave her a level stare, then smiled. “I just want you to be happy. And while I don’t know much about Detective Broody McGrumpyPants, he is handsome. You could definitely do worse.”
“I didn’t say I was going to be doing anything,” Hannah protested weakly.
Gabby gave her a wicked smile. “Oh, but you should. Doing things can be so much fun.”
“Gabby!” Hannah chastised. “Don’t be so vulgar.”
Her friend’s laugh was full-throated and rich, and it filled the room in a warm wave of sound. “Oh, honey. We’re not in a British period piece. Lighten up a bit.” She picked up her coffee and winked at her. “You’re too young to be so prim.”
Hannah focused on her own coffee, hoping the steam would explain the sudden redness in her cheeks. Gabby had always been the more outgoing one, quick with a clever comeback or play on words. Sometimes Hannah envied her friend’s ability to think on her feet. She was more deliberate, more cautious in her approach to conversations. Where Gabby was outgoing and friendly, Hannah was reserved and shy. More than once, she had marveled at their unlikely friendship, but at the end of the day, she knew their bond was unbreakable.
“Why don’t you tell me about these victims?”
Gabby leaned back in her chair, her playful smile fading as she turned her focus to business. “I don’t have much to share, unfortunately. There have been six deaths so far, one every week, and the pathology findings suggest they’re linked.”
“In what way?”
“The victims all suffered extensive trauma, and a lot of it occurred after death.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen some pretty terrible things in my job, but these victims really take the cake.”
Hannah grimaced, revulsion making her stomach roil. “If the injuries were that severe, why did you look for chemical traces?”
“Because I think the extensive external injuries were inflicted to distract from the real cause of death.”
“And you found something?” It was a silly question—of course she had. That’s why the detectives had paid her a visit yesterday.
Gabby bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “Yep. I’m really good at my job.”
Hannah couldn’t help but smile in return. “So if they didn’t die from physical injuries, you think it was the chemical that killed them?”
Her friend tapped her index finger on the tip of her nose. “It’s the only way I can explain the internal findings. As if the external injuries weren’t bad enough, when I opened them up, things got really strange.”
“How so?”
“Their lungs were totally wrecked. They didn’t even look like lungs anymore—they were disintegrating before my eyes.”
Hannah leaned forward a bit. “What do you mean?”
Gabby frowned and stared at the table. She cupped her hands and pantomimed a scooping gesture. “The chest cavity was filled with fluid. Like their lung tissue had dissolved.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A frisson of memory jolted through Hannah, making the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rise. “Was there a smell?” she whispered.
Gabby’s gaze jerked up, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Kind of like rotten fruit with some garlic tossed in for good measure. Definitely not the usual cadaver smell I’m used to.” She cocked her head to the side. “How did you know?”
Hannah shook her head, dismissing the question. “And how did you feel after the autopsies?”
Her friend leaned back, considering. “I got a headache,” she said thoughtfully. “But I just chalked it up to the weather. You know I get headaches whenever we have a storm system move through.”
“Any trouble breathing?”
Gabby shook her head. “No. What’s going on, Hannah? What do you know?”
“Excellent question, Doctor” came a deep voice from the doorway. “I can’t wait to hear the answer.”
* * *
Damn, Owen thought, watching the way Hannah flinched at the sound of his voice. She turned to face him, her eyes wide and troubled, and his stomach dropped. She is involved.
Disappointment settled over him like a heavy blanket. He’d been so sure that she wasn’t connected to these cases, but the fear shining in her eyes dashed his hopes.
How could he have misread the situation so badly? Were his instincts really deserting him? He’d heard the whispered comments, the remarks made behind his back. A lot of people thought he was weak for taking a leave of absence after John’s death. Even his captain had recommended working through the pain, saying the distraction of the job was the best way to deal with the loss of his partner. But Owen couldn’t bring himself to do the job without his friend, and he’d needed the time to get his head on straight and figure out if he still wanted to be a cop. How could he go on without his best friend? But in the end, he’d come back. Being a cop was the only thing he knew how to do, and quitting felt like a betrayal of John’s memory.
It was hard, though. Some days, he felt like a rookie all over again, and he spent a lot of time questioning decisions that would have been automatic before John’s death. The realization that Hannah Baker was indeed connected to this case, when yesterday he’d been so sure she wasn’t, did nothing for his shaky confidence.
“Please, Dr. Baker. You were saying?”
She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second, as if calling up some inner strength. “It’s probably nothing,” she began, but Dr. Whitman cut her off.
“How did you know about the smell? And about my headaches?”
Hannah shook her head. “Lucky guess?”
Owen cleared his throat. “Try again, please.”
“The findings you described...” She trailed off. “I saw a similar pathology a few years ago, when I worked at ChemCure Industries.”
“What do you mean? I thought you didn’t do human experiments.” Dr. Whitman leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest, frowning slightly. Owen felt a flash of gratitude at the woman’s presence. Since she and Hannah had a history, Dr. Whitman’s questions added to his understanding of Hannah and her possible involvement in the case.
“I didn’t,” Hannah replied. “These were findings from some animal studies. We were testing a drug that had performed beautifully in cell lines, but cells in a dish are a far cry from cells in a person. The next step was animal testing, and we abandoned the compound after we found out it destroyed the lungs.” She shook her head, her gaze turning inward, as if she were reliving the experiments. “It was the strangest thing. The lungs were completely wiped out—just a puddle of goo in the chest. And the smell.” She shuddered, wrinkling her nose.
“Dr. Whitman,” Owen said, keeping his gaze on Hannah, “do you have the chemical signatures from the samples you sent to Toxicology?” His pulse accelerated as adrenaline leaked into his system. This could be the break he’d been waiting for. If Dr. Baker recognized the chemical signatures, then the chemicals had to have come from ChemCure Industries. And if that was the case, he could use her to gain access to the company and the people who worked on that project.
“Yes.” He heard her rummage through pages on her desk. “Here you go.” She picked up a manila folder and held it out.
Hannah stared at the folder as if afraid it might bite her. Then she extended a hand and took it, holding it in her lap.
“I had the police contact you when I saw the signature for nitrogen mustard compounds,” Dr. Whitman explained. “I thought you might be able to give them some background information on the chemicals.”
“If this says what I’m afraid it does, I think we’re way beyond background information.” With a glance in his direction, Hannah sighed heavily and opened the folder.
He held his breath as she examined the printed reports, trying to read her expression for clues. Did she recognize the chemicals? Could she tell him where they had come from?
Her brows drew together as she scanned the papers, and her hand moved to her neck in that unconscious gesture he was beginning to associate with her. She wasn’t wearing a turtleneck today, he noted, but rather a collared shirt and gauzy scarf. While this outfit was more weather appropriate, the effect was the same—the skin of her neck was completely covered. Why did she insist on doing that? Was she overly modest, or was she trying to cover up some kind of scar?
Focus, he told himself. Now was not the time to get distracted by irrelevant questions, no matter how intriguing.
When she looked up and met his eyes, he knew. She recognized the compounds. He swallowed hard to keep from shouting in triumph, instead settling for what he hoped was an encouraging expression. “Do you know these chemicals?”
Hannah nodded, her features downcast. “I do,” she said, sounding miserable. “They’re the same ones I worked with at ChemCure Industries.”
“Can they be bought from a company?” Please say no... If the chemicals were unique, it would be easier to track down the source.
She shook her head. “No. We modified them for our studies. We were trying to develop a new chemotherapy drug that could be taken by inhaler—it was going to revolutionize the treatment of lung cancer.”
Owen felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Like an asthma inhaler?”
“Something like that. The hope was that by delivering the drugs straight to the lungs, the patient would experience fewer side effects.”
“But you never made it to human trials?” Dr. Whitman interjected.
“No. Not after the results of the animal studies.”
The room fell silent as everyone retreated to their own thoughts. After a moment, Owen cleared his throat. “I need to phone this in to my partner. Dr. Baker, I’ll need you to accompany me to ChemCure Industries. Are you free this afternoon?”
“I suppose I am now.” She smiled ruefully, but he could see the worry in her eyes.
He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Owen pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked down the hall, heading for a small, closet-sized coffee station. He stepped inside, grateful for the added privacy. He didn’t think his voice would carry all the way back to Dr. Whitman’s office, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
His partner answered on the third ring. “Gallagher. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a lead.” He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, not wanting to sound too eager. But this was the best break they’d had after weeks of investigating. While he knew it was due to timing rather than his own skills as a detective, a small part of him was proud of being the one to bring this information to the table. Maybe it would even help silence some of his critics.
“What have you got?” Nate’s tone was urgent, hopeful even. He’d been waiting for this, too.
“I’m at the ME’s office. Dr. Baker is here, as well. She recognized the chemical signatures of the compounds isolated from our victims. Said they’re the same as the stuff she used to work with at ChemCure Industries.”
“Hot damn,” Nate breathed. “That is good news. Can she tell you if the chemicals are from the same batches she worked with herself?”
Owen frowned, wishing he’d thought to ask that. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask her. In the meantime, I’m taking her to ChemCure Industries. I’m going to ask a few questions about their nitrogen mustard program, see if I can come up with any more connections between the company and our bodies.”
“Need any help?”
The offer was tempting. Having a second set of eyes and ears was never a bad idea, particularly when questioning people. But Owen felt a little protective of this lead, and while he knew Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to swoop in and steal credit, he wanted to look into this one himself, at least for the time being.
“Not right now. As far as ChemCure Industries is concerned, I’m just there to ask background questions. Nothing that’s going to raise any alarms. Besides, I need you to keep digging for a connection between our victims. Found anything yet?”
“Maybe.” There was a rustle of papers before Nate spoke again. “Several of the victims were patients at the free clinic down off Thomas Street. They had appointment cards in their wallets.”
Owen closed his eyes, pulling up his mental map of Houston. “That’s several miles north of Buffalo Bayou, where they were found.” He leaned against the wall and focused on the blinking red light of the coffeemaker. “That means it’s even more likely these were dump jobs.”
“Yep. The Little Whiteoak Bayou runs right behind the clinic, but according to Doc Whitman, the bodies weren’t in the water long enough for them to have floated downstream that far.”
“So we have a serial killer who is trying to get the evidence as far away from himself as possible,” Owen mused, thinking out loud. “Are you going to check out the clinic today?” Could there be some connection between the clinic and ChemCure Industries? He made a mental note to ask Hannah if the company gave any donations to the free clinics in Houston. Perhaps a bad batch of drugs had gotten through?
“That’s my plan.”
“Do me a favor, will you? Get the names of all the employees at the clinic, from the doctors all the way down to the guy who takes out the trash. I want to see if there’s any connection between ChemCure Industries and the workers there.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“Just keep me posted. I’ll do the same.”
“Roger that.”
Owen ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket, then ran a hand through his hair. This new connection between his case and ChemCure Industries was big, but he couldn’t figure out how just yet. It was like hiking in the dark through a field littered with land mines. He needed to tread carefully, or he would blow the whole thing and his career would tank.
With a sigh, he stepped back into the hall and made his way toward the ME’s office, his mind already focused on the questions he wanted to ask. He had to be careful to set the right tone, or the company would throw up so many roadblocks he’d never be able to get close again.