A Sky Full of Tears

(Nip/Tuck – CSI: Miami)

Sequel to "Martyr's Moon"

Disclaimers in part I.

A SKY FULL OF TEARS

(Nip/Tuck – CSI: Miami)

by wordwolf

PART IV.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Lieutenant," said Christian Troy as he was escorted to Horatio Caine's office at the Miami police crime laboratory.

"I'm sure your schedule was harder to change than mine, Doctor." But the calm, kind face of the criminalist was unreadable. "How can I help you?"

"I've just a couple of questions. The type one doesn't like to have answered over the phone." Troy flashed a smile that did little to relax the slightly brittle atmosphere. "About last month, of course."

"Of course." Neither pair of blue eyes softened. "Have a seat, Dr. Troy."

"I'd prefer to stand." Another smile that didn't reach past his lips. "This shouldn't take long." The red head nodded; Caine waited for the other to continue. "Really, Lieutenant, I could tap dance around like this all day, but I won't insult your intelligence any longer. Getting right to the point: When did you recover the body of James Pierce?"

Caine stiffened, and didn't hide it in time. "We didn't, Doctor."

"You didn't." Troy did hide the sudden surge in his heart rate.

"No. The recovery team showed up within an hour, but found nothing but some blood in the water. No other remains. Our theories are that either a gator pulled the body from the area to eat later, or possibly that a current washed it down the 'Glades and out to sea."

"A current. In a swamp." Troy didn't keep his eyes from narrowing. "So you don't see much of a chance that Pierce might have survived the shooting."

"Not much. In the absence of a body, though, one must remain open to all possibilities."

"All possibilities," Troy echoed. There was a brief, slightly tense pause. "Which leads me to my other question, Lt. Caine: I'd really like to know, seeing as how she had no family, to whom Karen Avalon's body was released."

An inquisitive light flashed in the criminalist's eyes. "That's a very interesting question, Dr. Troy, and if you give me a minute, I'll have an answer for you." Caine went to his desk computer and began hitting keys. But the bright inquisitive light turned quizzical, then bewildered. "Dr. Troy... it seems we have no record of ever releasing her body."

"Which means?" Troy leaned forward across the desk.

"Which means that after all this time, it must still be in the morgue. Come with me." Caine led the way; soon enough the two men had fetched up in the cold metal-plated cave of the medical examiner.

Dr. Alexx Woods was surprised to see them. "Horatio? And this is...?"

Troy smiled perfunctorily and spoke before Caine could. "Dr. Christian Troy. I had some... involvement in the, uh, scorpion murders."

Woods lowered her lashes. "Yes, I remember."

Now Caine said, "Dr. Troy, this is Dr. Alexx Woods, our chief medical examiner. Alexx, Dr. Troy is curious about the disposal of the remains of the last of the scorpion victims, Karen Avalon." He paused. "And I am too. We have no record of their release."

"Really?" There was consternation on the doctor's fine-boned brown face. "Let me see." Woods went to her own computer; within seconds she had the same results as Caine. "This doesn't make any sense... Maybe it's on the hard copy and wasn't entered correctly." The coroner crossed to a large filing cabinet, pulled a drawer and quickly pawed through papers and folders, watched intently by her commander and impatiently by the civilian. Within a few minutes she looked up, consternation only deepened. "It's not here!"

"Then it IS here, so to speak." Caine's tone was grim. "Alexx, which one?"

Woods quickly returned to her screen, then led the way to the cold-storage lockers. "Here. I have no idea how this could have happened..." She grasped the handle, swung the door wide. "WHAT?"

The three stared into a cold, metallic box holding only a limp, unzipped body bag – empty. "Stolen!" declared Caine. "But who, and how – "

He and Woods suddenly turned at the sound of a clatter of footsteps. Troy had staggered back against the autopsy table, all the color drained from his face. Barely pulling himself together, he managed to gasp, "Thank you, Lieutenant, Doctor. I – I should go now." Quickly he whirled to hurry from the lab, from the police station, away from the impossible implications of what he had seen.

But they weren't about to let him go so easily. "Dr. Troy!" Caine's hand landed on his shoulder and forced a halt. "I'm sorry, but I think it's time for you to answer some questions."

Troy released a sigh that almost became a sob, and turned slowly around to face the forensic specialists. Woods' gaze was almost suspicious; Caine's eyes now had softened as they always did for victims' families and traumatized witnesses. "Please, Doctor. Let's talk in my office." Without a word, Troy nodded and went with him.

"First, you do understand," Caine began as he drew out a chair for the other, "that you're not being charged with, or even suspected of, anything. I'd just like to know what made you come here today, a month later, to ask about the remains of the perpetrator and victim of a crime you witnessed."

The plastic surgeon only shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I don't believe it myself." He rested his elbows on the thin arms of the chair and dropped his face into his hands. "But with no bodies..."

Caine waited out the pause, but when nothing else was forthcoming, leaned forward and probed gently. "Please, Dr. Troy, what happened to you?"

It came out in a sobbing burst. "I spoke to them both on the phone last night!"

The criminalist's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Spoke to whom?"

Troy gulped hard. "James Pierce and – and Karen Avalon. It was their voices. He just teased for a bit, then I heard her... the son of a bitch is holding her prisoner, torturing her; she wants to die – again!"

"Dr. Troy, how can you be sure you weren't hearing a couple of skillful imitations?"

"I guess I can't," he admitted. "Except that I did ask her something from when we met – who did she call 'the last poet' – and she gave the right answer."

Brief silence as Caine considered this. "It's realistic to say that she probably shared that observation with other friends and colleagues as well."

A shrug. "Probably. But those were some damn spot-on imitations – IF they were imitations. But why would anyone else do this to me? Pierce himself is the only one with motivation!"

"What kind of motivation, Doctor?"

Troy raised his head, rearing up straighter. "Isn't it obvious? The scorpion murders were a string of ritual sacrifices he'd prepared for twenty-five years – and I spoiled the last one. Whatever he hoped to gain from the whole terrible thing, I slowed him down enough to mess it up." The breath caught in his throat. "But not enough to save her."

"Do you think he would have gained anything?" Caine was sympathetic, but skeptical nonetheless.

"HE certainly seemed to think he would! But who the hell knows? The man had powers of some kind; I don't want to think about how he got them." Troy looked pleadingly into the other's eyes. "Please, can I go now?"

Caine didn't answer at once; a few slow seconds ticked by before he nodded and said gently, "Yes, you can go, Dr. Troy. But promise me: If you get another call like that, or any communication from anyone claiming to be James Pierce or Karen Avalon, you'll contact me immediately."

Troy managed a wan smile. "I figured you'd say that. Of course I will, Lieutenant. Thank you. And you'll let me know if you find out anything yourself?"

"That I will, Doctor. Around here we don't take kindly to being played for fools. I assure you that whatever ghoul took Miss Avalon's body will answer to me."

XX

The surgeon had managed to compose himself back into a reasonable facsimile of his usual aplomb by the time he arrived back at McNamara/Troy. But it was only a matter of time before he lost it entirely – unless he could get an explanation for all this. Pierce vanished, possibly alive and at large, and now Karen's body taken from under the noses of the police... Troy had known more than his share of fear in this life, but now the unknown was gaping at the edge of his world, darker and more dreadful than the storm closing in outside.

Fortunately, he showed no sign of his turmoil as he strode into their suite. He certainly didn't want to have to explain himself to Sean... and he'd cut his own throat before allowing Liz to find out about this situation. Best to keep the self-assured, cocky mask on, and take care of this himself. "Good afternoon, Linda," he said heartily to the nurse-receptionist-factotum. "Made any plans to welcome Kristin tomorrow?"

"Kristin?" She suddenly caught on, and smiled. "Actually, now that they've downgraded it to a tropical storm, I was planning to come in. Unless you decide to close for the day."

"Yes, I should talk to Sean about that. Nobody will want to drive through fifty-mile-an-hour winds. Well, then... "

"Oh, this came for you while you were out. Via messenger." Nurse Linda handed him a large manila envelope, "Dr. Christian Troy" scrawled across it in a large, free hand and no return address.

"Messenger, huh? Uniformed?"

"No, not really. He was wearing..." Her voice trailed away; a look of nervous discomfort crossed her face. "You know, I don't remember what he was wearing... or what he looked like at all. But he was here only fifteen minutes ago!" She looked up. "I'm sorry, Dr. Troy – Dr. Troy? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Linda; it's just that I – I..." He forced out words. "I've been waiting for this. Very important. Personal." Quickly he tucked the envelope under his arm and took off for his office, the blood roaring in his ears.

Arriving, he flung the thing away from him onto his desk, and stood and stared at it for a long minute. Maybe the best thing would be to set it alight and drop it into the metal wastebasket, to let its ashes keep its secret... Slowly Troy settled himself into his chair, reached for the envelope with a trembling hand. The letter opener shook as he slit open the top. Inside lay an eight-by-ten-inch glossy photograph, a line of numbers written across its back. Still trembling, Troy drew out the photo and turned it over.

It fell from his nerveless fingers and drifted to the desktop, where it lay mocking him silently. Her back was to the camera, facial profile curtained by matted and tangled dark hair, but he couldn't misinterpret the blurred black scorpion's sting inked across her back and rounding her hip. Her hands were behind her back, secured by a tightly buckled leather strap. She knelt on a white tile floor, surrounded by more white tile, as if to put on display the small, crusted burns and weeping red lash marks ruining the smooth flesh he remembered.

At last Troy ripped his eyes from the picture. His gaze rolled wildly around his office as if focusing and seeing it for the first time, then he clawed for his telephone. But before he could pick it up, he almost shot from his chair as its ring shrilled against the silence.

TO BE CONTINUED