Page 59 of Unnatural Death

“It’s not,” Gus says.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up. But whatever this is inside her left hip, it’s not syncing with the scanner. Nothing is lighting up under the skin.” I continue moving the scanner around, to no avail.

“So we know it’s not an RFID or NFC chip,” Gus says.

“Unless it’s embedded too deeply for the signal to be picked up,” I reply. “But I don’t think so. It’s barely six millimeters under the skin, not even a quarter of an inch, about five millimeters in size.”

Using x-ray images to guide me, I find the spot in an area the assailant apparently didn’t know to check. Otherwise, I imagine he would have made more cuts.

“Even if he had?” I tell everyone. “There’s a good chance he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for without an x-ray machine.”

Blood oozes darkly as I make exploratory incisions. Digging my gloved fingers into the wounds, I feel around, finding nothing. I continue cutting, hitting something small and hard.

“Maybe this is what the assailant was after.” Digging it out, I wipe off a glass capsule. “Bigger than the typical microchip but still small enough to implant with a low-gauge hypodermic needle. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s for unlocking doors.”

“Thank God you found it,” Bella says.

“Why the hell would anyone chip their ass?” Marino asks.

“It’s a fleshy area where something tiny could be concealed.” That’s the best I can suggest.

“This is very good news,” Gus replies.

“A glass capsule with a tiny black square object inside.” I’m looking at it with an illuminated magnifier. “This is what the killer was after, I assume?”

“Think of it as a micro hard drive holding data we don’t want the enemy anywhere near,” Benton explains, and he’s talking about Carrie Grethen and her Russian comrades.

“You’re thinking that’s why she had someone whack the Mansons?” Marino asks. “To get this micro hard drive?”

“It’s not the only reason,” Benton says. “But Carrie, the Kremlin, want it. And she expected that the assassin was going to deliver it.”

“Uh-oh, I wouldn’t want to be the one who goes home without it,” Marino says. “A good way to have your head wash up on a beach somewhere.”

I seal the glass capsule inside an evidence button that I’m instructed to enclose in a Faraday bag. There should be one inside the vestibule locker, and I expect the chip will be spirited away without further explanation. I may never know its purpose or why the U.S. government and Russia are after it.

“Be back in a few,” Marino says.

Changing his gloves, he takes the evidence button, heading through the airlock. I pick up the scalpel and make the Y-incision from clavicle to clavicle, down to the pubic bone. Reflecting back tissue, I cut through the breastplate of ribs, removing the bloc of organs, setting it on the cutting board.

It doesn’t take long for me to find the projectile that I expect was her initial injury. I hold up the bullet, copper-clad with a yellow-painted tip like the one Tron cut out of the tree.

“I believe we’ve seen this before.” I show it to our audience.

“Carrie’s Grethen’s special AR-nine ammunition,” Bart says.

Using a steel ladle, I fill a large measuring cup with more than a liter of blood pooled in the abdomen.

“The bullet ripped through the iliac artery and vein, shredding her colon,” I explain. “She hemorrhaged and would have died in a matter of minutes. Exsanguination due to a gunshot wound is going to be her cause of death.”

“A blitz attack in the dark,” Benton says.

“Lucky for her it was quick,” Bart comments.

“Not quick enough.” I feel a sudden rush of anger that surprises me with its intensity. “She would have felt the gut shot. She may have felt it when she was struck in the face hard enough to break bones and teeth. But she wouldn’t have felt anything for long.”

CHAPTER 23

IPACKAGE THE BULLET FOR evidence that will be examined in the Secret Service labs. Returning to the cutting board, I pick up a pair of surgical scissors, snipping through the stomach, smoothing it open, and it’s wrinkled like wet sand. Nothing is inside but a small amount of brownish fluid that I collect for toxicology.

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