Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [69]
Like a kaleidoscope the pieces of information fell together. “You suspected something was wrong even in Chicago, didn’t you? That’s when you started drinking.”
A tear streamed down her face, but she didn’t move.
“You actually filed for divorce, but Brian convinced you to make a fresh start here.”
She flinched. “He said it would all be better.”
“All three partners moved to Florida within a year of each other and struck pay dirt. They pay morgues and funeral homes for access to the dead so they can harvest tissue, skin and bones. Then they bring in hospitals so they can reap the biggest money maker of all, organs and other viable tissue.”
I dropped down to my knees as if I wanted to look into the wounded man’s eyes. “Isn’t that right, Damian? You got your hooks into Hassenfeld because he’d been wiped clean in a divorce and had a gambling habit. What weakness were you blackmailing Depp with?”
“He was a kleptomaniac. Stole jewelry off the bodies.” Quint grimaced. “Thought it was a real joke when he stole the rattle out of the kid’s coffin.”
“Her name was Rebecca,” I said sharply. “Where did Depp hide the items he stole?”
“There’s a false bottom in one of the display coffins.” A dark shadow moved through the delivery entrance. I kept talking.
“Brian wanted out, didn’t he? He had a new baby and his wife was getting better. But you and Chang wanted to expand the operation and he got scared. You used poor Becca’s death as a warning.”
I looked at Brian. The sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. “I bet Hassenfeld even faked an autopsy report in case you needed even more pressure to keep him in line. Was that report what you were looking for the day you knocked me out in his office, Brian?”
Quint closed his eyes. Claire moved her gun away from his shoulder. “Brian?”
The shadow had crept to the first row of tables. I moved my hand slightly until my fingers could grip the automatic by my feet. “Think about it, Claire. Podiatry’s good business but how do you explain the bank account in his name only that contains close to a million dollars?”
She wailed and swung toward her husband. A crack exploded. Brian spun to the side and collapsed. Sam sprung up from his concealed position and sprinted toward us. “Police. Drop your guns.”
Like a wind-up toy Claire slowly turned toward him. I grabbed the automatic and rose. “Don’t do it, Claire. I can get you help. You’ve been pumped so full of drugs you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Tears continued to stream down her face. “I have nothing to lose.”
“Yes, you do. Think of all the lives you’ve saved as a paramedic. You didn’t kill Rebecca, and now you’re free to truly mourn her loss.”
I reached out and touched her shoulder. “She’s at rest now and she wants her mommy to be okay.”
Sobs racked Claire’s thin frame as she sank to her knees, letting the gun drop. Sam crossed to her and kicked the revolver clear. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and looked up at Sam, who was dressed head to foot in black SWAT clothes and bulletproof vest. The rest of the SWAT team swarmed the room.
“Tell Tony that was a nice shot.”
“Better him than me. I was so scared for you when everyone was playing ‘who’s going to shoot first’ that I wouldn’t have been able to hold a steady aim.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. Last time you took me shooting, you landed every bull’s eye.”
He knelt beside me and gently covered my right hand. “Honey, why don’t you let me take that gun from you? As I recall, at that same target practice, you came close to putting a bullet in my ass your aim is so bad.”
I released my death grip and leaned my head against him. “Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to such a nice ass.”
He planted a kiss on my head. “Damn, I’m glad this case is over. I’m tired of having to chase after you.”
He stood and reached down to help me up, then glanced over to where a paramedic was working on Quint. “Hey, pretty boy. Guess you’ll be