"Call that editor-in-chief, Peter Carducci; maybe he has an idea where his employee might be." Mike had stopped in front of a fast food restaurant, got two sandwiches, and bit into his with great appetite.
Nikki was about to do the same when her cell phone ringing interrupted them. It was her mother, Maggie.
"What's wrong with Mike's cell phone?" the ME asked after Nikki had accepted the call but didn't wait for the answer. 'I have some interesting information for you, so I thought I'd let you know immediately.'
"Go ahead."
"First of all, my first impression was confirmed. The wounds on Miriam Labo's body were inflicted over about six to ten months. The first injuries were relatively harmless, small cuts and stitches, but they got worse and worse over the weeks. She suffered for a long time. Also interesting: just like Diana Martiny, she has almost no blood left in her body."
"Oh," Nikki exclaimed, looking at her still-wrapped sandwich while drawing the conclusion from this information.
"But the severed limbs are what's really interesting. There is a temporal difference. Her hands were amputated first, immediately after her death, so that would have been one to two weeks ago. All the other limbs and the head, on the other hand, were severed more recently. I'd say yesterday. If you want my opinion, the bastard only cut her up into easy-to-carry pieces for transport to the forest. Why he cut off her hands earlier is probably a question only the killer himself can answer."
"Yeah," Nikki said, putting her sandwich aside, 'probably.' But maybe not, she thought, feeling a certain satisfaction because, after this information, she was almost sure that her theory about the fingerprints in Martiny's bedroom was correct. And not only that.
"Have a nice evening."
Nikki hung up and told her husband what she had just learned. While Mike was still thinking about it, she added, "At least we can draw two important conclusions from this."
Mike frowned. "What are they?"
"For one thing, our beautiful theory of how the body was removed from Martiny's apartment has just been shattered. If she was only dismembered yesterday, we are back to the same question regarding Harry Upton as a potential murderer: How could someone have managed to get the dead woman out of the apartment? And consequently: "Was there even a dead woman in the apartment?"
"I see," Mike replied, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I think it was possible to remove the body from the apartment without anyone noticing. But let's leave that for now. What's the other conclusion?"
Nikki couldn't stop herself from grinning. "It concerns Miriam Labo's fingerprints in the bedroom. And if it's true, which it almost certainly will be, the question of how the perpetrator removed the body from the apartment is no longer relevant." Mike looked as if he didn't understand a word she was saying, but she knew that would change in a moment, and she enjoyed showing her husband a thing or two. "So: we have blood, a few hairs, and a lot of fingerprints in one room, and we know that it must have been damn difficult to get a body out of there. On the other hand, we have a body that has hardly any blood left in its body and also has severed hands. Well?"
She looked at Mike expectantly, whose face already betrayed in the next moment that he understood. "Damn!"
"Exactly. The culprit pulled out a clump of her hair, drained the blood, and cut off her hands. He put everything in a bag and went to Martiny's apartment, where he waited for Harry Upton and knocked him out. Then he spread the blood over and around Upton, along with the hair. After that, he only had to walk through the apartment with Miriam Labo's severed hands and leave her fingerprints everywhere. The bloody trail on the wall was no problem either. We've come full circle to our first assumption: that someone staged something to incriminate Upton."
"Hm --" Mike raised his eyebrows. 'Most of it sounds plausible. But Harry Upton is not off the hook for me yet. Above all, I want to see how he reacts when we tell him about the discovery of Miriam's body. We should call Carducci; maybe he knows where Upton is. Do you have his cell phone number?'
Nikki did. She only reached the editor-in-chief on the second try.
"I'm not sure exactly when that will start," Carducci explained when Nikki asked about Upton, "but there's a charity gala at the Museum of Art tonight, and Harry mentioned that he wanted to go."
Nikki remembered that Maggie, just like Jennifer Mcmillan, had told her about this event. Jennifer said she had to show up there, so they couldn't meet that evening. Upton might have been there, too. That would also fit the receptionist's statement that he had left the hotel well-dressed.
"If you don't find him there, I don't know where he could be. Or, wait... if he wanted to be alone, he might have gone to his father-in-law's old cabin in the woods. He showed me the cabin once when we were together. He said that old Boutroux no longer uses it and gave it to his daughter. It's really lonely out there."
Nikki pricked up her ears. "Where is this cabin?"
"In a forest a few miles outside of town." Carducci described the location of the cabin.
"Thanks, we'll check out the gala first. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"I think so. Harry wouldn't normally miss something like this."
xxx
They arrived at the Museum of Arts shortly afterward. Two men in dark suits had set themselves up in front of the wide entrance, critically eyeing Nikki and Mike as they approached. That was unsurprising because Nikki, in particular, stood out among the elegantly dressed visitors in her jeans.
"Can we help you?" the man standing on the left asked in a friendly manner while he stepped closer to his colleague. Both were of quite a sturdy build.
"Boston Police, Homicide." Mike's tone made no doubt that he would not discuss invitations while he showed his badge. "We have to get in there."
"I'm sorry," said the man on the right. 'But without an invitation, we can't let you in.'
Nikki took a deep breath, stepped before her husband, and raised her chin almost arrogantly. She hated to play this card, but she saw no other option at that moment. She looked the usher directly in the eye. "Yes, you can, and you will." She pursed her lips and took out her cell phone, holding it under his nose. "Or I'll be forced to contact my grandmother, Maura Isles, who is a generous supporter of this museum and this event. And we both know we don't want that. There is probably someone we need to talk with at this event. I repeat: need!" She started to dial her grandmother's number and held the device to her ear, looking challengingly at the man. "However, I would like to know your name so I can explain to my grandmother who prevented us from handling this matter so discreetly and quickly and thus is responsible for ending this gala." She knew just as well as Mike that what she had said had made quite an impression on the two security men because after they had exchanged a glance, they stepped back from the entrance. "But hurry," the man on the right whispered as they passed. "And be really discreet."
Nikki smiled weakly and made her way into the event hall.
"That was really hot," Mike murmured, having never seen his wife play that card.
She rolled her eyes and held her chin up. 'Shut up,' she growled back.
They took a few steps into the room and looked around. In one half of the large room, there were round, white-laid tables where people sat and poked at their plates or talked. In the remaining space were high tables, and on the right-hand side of the wall was a bar behind which two young men in white shirts with bow ties bustled around, pouring drinks.
Harry Upton was standing in front of the bar, his arm around the waist of a young, black-haired woman to whom he was talking incessantly. His face was slightly tanned, and the tuxedo looked very good. Nikki could understand Upton's success with women well.
"Well, there he is again in his element," Mike whispered and set himself in motion. Nikki followed him, trying to spot her new friend Jennifer Mcmillan among the guests. She spotted her just as they reached the journalist. She was standing a few yards from the bar with a woman and two men. One of the men was Andrew Meyer, aka Joe Replay. Miriam Labo's ex-boyfriend.
"No, I don't believe it," Harry Upton called out in front of them, drawing Nikki's attention. The way he sounded, he'd already had a few drinks. He turned to the woman in his arms. "Honey, I want you to meet Detective Mike Fisher and Veronica O'Laighin of the Boston Police Department. They're a couple of real live ones." He giggled foolishly, grabbed a glass from the bar, and drained it in one gulp.
"We need to talk to you." Mike ignored Upton's drunken babbling. "Would you come with us for a moment, please?"
"No!" the journalist said, shaking his head so exaggeratedly that he lost his balance and had to support himself with his free hand to avoid falling over. "If you have something to talk about... Well, go ahead. Talk. I have no secrets from... um... dear, what was your name again?"
The laughter slowly disappeared from his companion's face. "Hannah," she replied.
Nikki looked around and noticed that she had attracted the attention of several people, including her grandmother Maura, who was present and had interrupted a conversation with a man her age to see what was going on. When she saw Maura's glance, the detective tucked her chin in and wished she were somewhere else, but she didn't show it.
Mike rolled his eyes. "Mr. Upton, believe me, it's better if we talk to you alone."
"No problem, I wanted to use the bathroom anyway."
The young woman stepped aside and thus freed herself from Upton's arm, but the journalist reached for her shoulder with a quick movement and held her so roughly that the woman let out a surprised scream.
"No way, love, you're staying here and listening to what the detectives say."
Nikki took a step towards Upton, looking grim, and stood directly in front of him, even though he was more than a head taller than her. "Let go of the woman immediately," she hissed dangerously, struggling not to push him in the chest. "Well, are you?"
Upton looked at the more petite woman for three or four seconds, then grinned dirty and loosened his grip, whereupon the woman jerked away from him and immediately turned away. As she left, she hissed, "Wanker," then disappeared among the other guests.
"So that's how you treat women who don't behave as you want them to," Mike growled, pushing Nikki aside a little, fearing that his wife might still get physical with Upton. "What was that about Miriam Labo? Didn't she behave the way you wanted her to, either?"
Meanwhile, some people were already looking over at them and whispering.
Nikki saw Maura was already about to pour her drink into her companion's hand with an intense frown.
"What the fuck is going on now? I don't know what's wrong with her, damn it. Hey, waiter!" He turned to one of the bartenders. 'Another whiskey sour.'
"We found Miriam Labo's body today," Nikki hissed, her expression even darker, and she pointed an accusing finger at him. "Someone cut her into pieces. Where were you last night?"
Upton stared at her blankly. "What? What are you saying?"
"I said Miriam Labo is dead. And I asked you where you were last night."
"Dismembered? Shit. What a load of crap." Upton sounded tearful now. He leaned on the bar and ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. If he really had something to do with Miriam's murder, he was an excellent actor. "That can't be."
"Where were you last night, Harry?" Mike admired his wife for the calmness she repeatedly asked the question. Upton didn't react briefly, but his head flew around. His face was distorted into a grimace.
"Where I was last night is none of your damn business," he shouted at her. 'Do you understand? None of your damn business. Now get out of here.' Surprisingly fast for his condition, he pushed Nikki so hard that she stumbled back.
Mike leaped forward, grabbed Upton's wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back so hard that the journalist let out a cry of pain. With his free hand clenched into a fist, Upton tried to lash out at Mike, but his movements were far too uncontrolled to have any effect. Instead of hitting Mike, he swept a row of glasses off the counter, shattering them on the floor with a clink. A woman in a black evening dress let out a shrill scream and jumped aside.
With great skill, Mike bent Upton's second arm backward as well, thus depriving him of any possibility of defending himself.
"Get off me, you motherfucker," Upton roared, squirming in Mike's firm grip. 'You fucking cop. Let go of me right now.'
Nikki's arm appeared between them, and simultaneously, she heard a woman's voice calling her name from behind. Nikki turned around when the handcuffs that Mike had placed around Upton's wrists snapped shut.
Jennifer Mcmillan wrapped her arms protectively around her body and stared at Nikki with wide-open eyes. "What are you doing here?" She looked from Mike and Upton to Nikki again.
Nikki took a step towards her and put her hand on her shoulder. "It's okay; we're just going to take Harry with us now." Then she leaned a little further towards Jennifer and frowned. "I'll text you later."
A rapid clicking sound tore the detective out of these thoughts. Patrick Dunin was standing a short distance away, taking picture after picture. When their eyes met, the photographer raised his hand in greeting.
"Mr. Dunin --" Nikki took a few steps toward him. 'Can you please stop doing that?'
The photographer shrugged. 'I'm sorry, but it's my job. And stuff like this – he gestured with his chin toward Mike and Upton – "is what gets me the most newspaper bylines. That's how I make my living."
Nikki took a deep breath. She knew she couldn't do anything against the publication; in a way, she even understood Dunin. After all, Upton only had himself to blame for his stupid behavior.
"I'd say you just got yourself into a lot of trouble," Mike growled at Upton, pushing him past the others towards the exit. Nikki nodded at Dunin and followed them. By now, the conversations in the room had ceased, and all eyes were on them. "Resisting law enforcement officers is a criminal offense. You can go to jail for that alone."
Harry Upton remained silent and allowed himself to be led out of the room without resistance. It seemed as if all his strength had left him.
Nikki gritted her teeth and lowered her gaze as her eyes met Maura's.
When they reached the security guards, standing in the hall and looking toward them, one of them said, "So that's what you mean by discreet."
Nikki nodded as she passed and raised her chin again. "Yes, that's exactly what we mean by discreet."