The Bone Bed

ask.
    “Let’s take the stairs.” She heads us to a lighted exit sign. “Someone is spying but not by using surveillance devices. I’ve been checking.” She opens the metal door. “Toby’s not sophisticated enough to plant covert devices, certainly not ones that I’d have a hard time finding, but I’ve been looking. And he’s been spying.”
    “Why?”
    “How do you think Channing Lott’s helicopter ended up filming you while you were getting the body out of the water yesterday?” she asks.
    “Toby was the only person who knew what Marino and I were headed out to do,” I remember. “Except for Bryce. Possibly Luke, if Marino said something when they ran into each other in the parking lot.”
    We go down the stairs, and our voices seem loud, bouncing off concrete.
    “I’m pretty sure I didn’t give details to Luke.” I’m trying to recall exactly what I said.
    I was about to walk into the bay and was startled by him suddenly standing so close we were almost touching, and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was on my way to recover a body from the harbor, and he said he’d be happy to help, reminding me he’s a certified diver. I didn’t say the body was a woman’s. I’m pretty sure I didn’t, but I was distracted by him, the way I’ve been distracted for a while, a way I don’t intend to be distracted by him again.
    “Toby was aware hours in advance that you were heading to the Coast Guard base,” Lucy states. “He knew he was going to meet you with the van so he could transport the body. A woman’s body entangled with a turtle.”
    “And he somehow contacted Channing Lott’s pilots?” That I don’t believe.
    “He contacted Jill Donoghue, who contacted the pilots.”
    “You know that for a fact?”
    “Are you aware he’s applied for a job at her ritzy law firm and that he’s driven company vehicles to her building, to the Prudential Center?” Lucy asks. “Guess he’s forgotten I can look at GPS maps of where everyone goes, and I can look at everybody’s e-mail if they’re dumb enough to use their CFC account for personal communications. I don’t even have to hack.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Exactly.” She unlocks the door to the lower level.

thirty-one
    TOBY IS IN THE CORRIDOR, CARRYING BRIGHT RED BAGS of biohazard trash destined for the autoclave, and I tell Lucy I’ll meet her in ID. He offers right away that he just left the evidence bay, and I know a guilty conscience when I see one.
    “I guess you’re aware of what just happened in court,” I say to him, and no one is around to hear us, Ron the security guard behind glass some distance away.
    “In court?” Toby is in scrubs and nitrile gloves, and his tattoos and shaved head might make him sinister, were it not for what’s in his eyes.
    “Yes, an acquittal that is cause for concern about breaches of security here,” I say, and his reply is to play dumb. “I’m sure you realize that communications on the CFC server aren’t private, and if deleted still exist.”
    “Like what?” He looks around, looks everywhere but in my eyes. “What communications?”
    “In other words, CFC e-mails neither vanish nor are considered
purely personal.
Therefore they aren’t an employee’s private business, not if these e-mails could be evidence in a disciplinary investigation that involves the misuse of government resources or the violation of confidentiality and CFC policy.” I look directly at him, and he won’t look at me. “In such instances, personal communications are subject to disclosure under the Public Records Law.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does, and his face is red.
    “Why?” I ask him, and he knows what I’m really asking.
    “Why that rich guy got off?” He frowns and is frightened and pretends he doesn’t understand.
    “I would have given you a good recommendation, Toby. I’m not the sort to hold someone back. All you needed to do was tell me if you weren’t happy here or felt you weren’t appreciated or wanted to pursue what you viewed as a better opportunity.”
    It’s not lost on him that I’m speaking of his job in the past tense. He shifts the red bags to a different hand, his eyes darting.
    “But at least Ms. Donoghue knows exactly what she’s getting,” I add. “Although I’ll point out the rather obvious fact that if you’ll do this to me, you’ll do it to her. Or at least the thought will cross her mind, and my guess is it already