“Just some friendly counsel,” Ty shrugged as he turned to look back at the white-board.
Zane watched his back, wondering why the conversation had turned semiserious. He didn’t like it. “What do you care?”
Ty looked down and to the side slightly, not moving otherwise as he watched Zane in the periphery of his vision. “What makes you think I do, Hot Shot?” he countered in amusement.
“I’m thinking a ‘fuck off’ would fit really well about now, so, f**k off.”
“Why does it bother you so much?” Ty asked in amusement as he turned slightly and looked at his partner. “What do you care what I say or do?”
“I already told you, I don’t do violins. So back to your whiteboard,”
Zane said crankily. He wasn’t going to open himself up for more criticism. “I don’t care if you insult me,” he claimed, looking like he’d bit into something sour.
Ty grinned widely and turned back around. He enjoyed irritating Zane more than he had others in the past. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. “They never ran a check of the phone calls made to and from Sanchez’s hotel room,”
he said abruptly. “We should look into that.”
“Reilly and Sanchez’s,” Zane muttered, not feeling all that charitable.
“Hmm?” Ty asked distractedly.
“They shared a room,” Zane reminded. “They were partners. There were two of them?”
Ty stared at the man for a moment and then curled his lip before looking back at the board. “Whatever,” he finally grunted. “I’d also like to look at their belongings,” he said after a moment. “Maybe there was a token left and the investigators just didn’t recognize it. Might give us something.”
Zane’s brow furrowed. “They didn’t recognize it, but you think you will?” he inquired with a small sneer.
“You never know,” Ty answered vaguely.
Zane shrugged and made a note. “As good as anything else we’ve got.” He slid his finger down another column of notes. He sighed quietly, trying to remember what he’d been reading the night before. “Why am I not seeing lab reports for skin and nail scrapings?”
Ty looked up with a frown, then back down at the report in his hands.
“I don’t know,” he said as he picked up another and paged through it. “Maybe they’re not in yet?” he suggested doubtfully.
“It’s been almost two weeks,” Zane said as he continued to flip through sheets. “They should have been in with all the other lab work.” He pushed out of the chair. “I’m going over to the lab. Maybe they’re just stuck in with the ME’s notes. You want to come?”
Ty groaned slightly. “Not really,” he answered honestly as he looked back up at the board.
“I think you’re taking this inept and lazy objective a little too far,”
Zane complained.
“Shut the f**k up,” Ty murmured with a serious glance up at Zane.
Zane met his gaze for a long moment before turning his back and walking out of the room. He’d hit a nerve of some kind, and Zane wasn’t about to go poking a Recon Marine. Not without at least two guns in hand.
Storing the tidbit away, he headed down the quiet corridor, and his footsteps echoed on the worn floor.
When he entered the records room off the lab there was no one at the desk, so he leaned over it, calling out a hello. He heard movement back in the stacks of files, but didn’t see anyone. He skirted around the desk and peered into the well-lit recess, but there was no one there.
“Can I help you with something, Special Agent Garrett?” Henninger asked from behind Zane with a tinge of amusement in his low voice. Zane glanced over his shoulder, concealing a small jolt of surprise. The young agent leaned against the desk Zane had just passed, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. “It’s lunch break. No one down here,” he said softly.
Zane recovered from his surprise quickly and gave the young agent a small smile. “If you don’t mind my interrupting whatever you’re doing for a bit, maybe you can help me find some records?”
“What are you looking for?” Henninger asked as he gestured for Zane to follow him.
“Some of the medical examiner files from the third and fourth victims, about two weeks ago. There would have been routine skin and nail scrapings and hair clippings, that sort of thing. They’re not in the resource file,” Zane explained.
“Third and fourth,” Henninger replied with a nod. “Those were the girls with the dyed hair, right?” he asked Zane.
“Yeah,” Zane answered as they walked between the stacks. “Where’s your partner?” he asked curiously. He hadn’t seen Morrison since yesterday afternoon.
“Taking a long lunch,” Henninger answered haltingly. “Girlfriend thing,” he explained with a glance back at Zane.
Zane’s lips curled slightly. Henninger was obviously covering for his partner. That, at least, was admirable in a way. It made him wonder what it would be like to actually like his own partner enough to even consider covering his indiscretions. “Here’s the file number,” he offered, politely leaving off the questions as he handed Henninger a piece of notepaper.
“You’ve already got the file, though, right? The hard copy?”
Henninger asked. “I’ll look it up on the computer, see if the sheets got misplaced,” he offered as he turned down a long row of shelves and toward a nook in the side of the room that housed three computers. The FBI logo turned lazily on two of the screens, while the third sat black and dormant.
“Yeah, I checked the hard copy out with the others last night,” Zane said, flipping through the file of his own notes he’d brought with him.
Henninger sat down at the computer on the far left and began tapping at the keys rapidly, entering his badge number and pass code and then steering through a number of pages as he tried to locate the correct file. They navigated the electronic stacks unsuccessfully for some time before there was a sudden pop and a hiss from the machine that was sitting dark.
Zane glanced over at it with a flinch as it popped again, and without any other warning the computer and monitor exploded in a blast of glass, metal, and singed plastic.
Henninger cried out and covered his face, ducking away from the mini-explosion and thumping to the ground to cover his head as the muted sound and crack of shattering glass bounced hollowly through the large room.