by Vivian Barz
“I’d love to go there too,” Susan commented.
“And that’s what is so strange about Tori not showing. Every year, there are only a handful of these grants given out. Artists fight tooth and nail to get a spot, and the application process alone takes about six months. According to the admissions coordinator I spoke to, Tori was over the moon about being accepted. He said she’d called the retreat at least a half dozen times to ensure that her spot was still available, as if she couldn’t believe her good fortune. She wanted to go there to pen her first novel.”
“So it’s really odd that she didn’t show.”
“Right,” Eric agreed. “I also checked her social media accounts, which she’d been fairly active on. I also checked her blog, which she’d frequently post writing samples to. On all her accounts, her posts stopped abruptly at the same time.”
Susan frowned. “That’s suspicious, especially for an aspiring writer.” She jotted a quick note to herself on a Post-it to check out Tori’s accounts when she had a chance.
“Exactly. And here’s where the DOTE part comes in. Bryan said Tori had been writing an article or something about the group that did not paint them in the most flattering light. It sounded like she was doing some kind of exposé, maybe. Also, when I was in the river, she virtually spelled out to me that someone had drowned her over her research. She didn’t say DOTE specifically, but who else could it be? Given how dangerous they are, would it be such a stretch to consider that she might have been murdered by one of their members in an effort to shut her up? Maybe she uncovered something they’d rather keep quiet.”
“I’d say you sound like a conspiracy theorist nut, had I not experienced similar things happening here at work. Some of the things I’ve seen around here you couldn’t make up,” Susan said. “I could run a check on her name and on any bodies pulled from the river around the time she disappeared. Which is strange in itself, because that’s where the bodies of the two guys I’m looking into were found. Although, from what I’ve discovered, the river has seen a few bodies over the years. A lot of homeless have drowned there; sometimes they set up camp down near the water, and then they get too close to the river’s edge and fall in. The current then sweeps them away. Anyway, let me see what I can dig up.”
“That would be amazing, Suze. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I was actually calling you to ask a little favor of my own. I’m wondering if you might have a look at something for me? It has to do with geology.”
“Of course. Anything for you, Suze.”
CHAPTER 22
Eric suggested that he and Susan meet for lunch the following day, since it gave the outing more of a romantic feel. It was an odd thing to do, wooing his ex-girlfriend as if they were partaking in a first date, but he had finally gotten real with himself and admitted that he wanted to win her back. And soon—there was no point in denying it anymore. He figured he’d have a better chance of doing that over hearty food than at her impersonal desk at the FBI.
But.
He’d have to play it cool, because maybe she didn’t want to be romanced. For all he knew, she was seeing someone else, a notion that made him want to vomit. Neither of them had dared broach the topic, though he suspected it was something they both wanted to know about each other.
They met outside Macey’s Eats, an outdoor café known for its specialty club sandwiches and gourmet doughnuts. Eric had picked the eatery for its casual yet fun vibe, which he hoped would translate over into their date—not that meeting up to discuss how geology pertained to her current case counted as a date. He felt like he’d been transported back to the first time he’d met up with Susan at his home in Perrick to discuss the Death Farm case. That seemed like a whole lifetime ago, long before they’d been a couple or had even gone out for the first time. Dating déjà vu.
“Good to see you again, Eric,” she said and then she made his day by kissing him on the mouth.
That, he had not expected. “Shall we?”
It was overcast but warm, with bits of dull Bay Area sunshine peeking through the clouds every so often, as they took a seat outside underneath a brightly colored umbrella. They ordered food and drinks, holding off on dessert until after they’d eaten—a pesto tuna melt and lemonade for her and a stacked Mediterranean roast beef club and Italian soda for him—and then sat back for a moment of restful silence.
Have you been thinking about me? Are you seeing anyone? he wanted to ask. Instead, he said, “So, you want to show me that file?”
“All business, eh?” she teased lightly, though she seemed disappointed to be getting to it so quickly.
He was kicking himself now. “We could hang out all day if you like,” he backpedaled. “I’m done with classes for the day. I was only thinking of your schedule.”
She sighed. “No, you’re right. We’d better get to it. I’ve got a ton of work to do.” She pulled the file from her bag and handed it to him.
He set the documents aside as they discussed the purpose of their meeting. “So, tell me again what you want me to look for. You think this Zelman guy is hiding something?”
She shrugged, shook her head. “That’s the thing; I don’t know. What I suspect is that he’s trying to cover up pollution that might be present in one of his developments. I don’t know particulars about environmental law, but I imagine Zelman would either have to compensate residents in a big, big way, or even relocate them altogether. A whole neighborhood in the Bay Area? That would cost hundreds of millions of dollars. Zelman Industries would go bankrupt.”
“Which is why he’d never want this report to see the light of day,” Eric said. “But how is that possible? You’d think something like this would become public knowledge. This is like Flint, Michigan, all over again.”
“Well, think about it. Zelman hired Chung Nguygen to do this report privately and at his own behest. This wasn’t something he was ordered to do by the county or anything to that effect.” Susan and Eric sat back and shuffled their napkins aside so their server could set down their drinks. Susan sipped her lemonade. “Mmm, good. Zelman claims he wanted to test the soil for the good of the Cambridge Downs community, but I think it’s bullshit.”
“Not exactly the do-gooder type?”
Susan shook her head. “Not from what I’ve seen. Zelman’s not doing a thing unless it benefits one person: himself.”
Eric said, “So where do the doters fit into all this? You think there’s a DOTE connection because of the possible pollution? From the sound of it, they’d be pretty furious about the toxic soil.”
“That’s what’s throwing me off,” Susan said with a frown. “The toxins in the soil would be more of a result of Gruben Dam, not Marcus Zelman. He was just the one who put a housing development there. And doters seem more concerned with harm against the environment and critters than humans.” She told him about the matching birdhouses she’d found at both the Amsel residence and Gruben Dam, as well as the bags of birdseed. She hadn’t mentioned it the other night when they’d had dinner at his place because she hadn’t understood the significance. “So it seems DOTE is somehow connected to both Amsel and the dam, but I can’t figure out where Nguygen fits in.”
“Although, there’s a chance that the birdhouse thing could just be a huge coincidence,” Eric pointed out. “Maybe the group sells handicrafts for funds. Maybe Amsel liked the birdhouses so much that he bought one for his home and one for work.”
“How do you explain the bags of birdseed I found discarded at the dam, then?” Susan asked.
Eric thought a moment. “You said Amsel was a drug addict, right?”
Susan shrugged. “That’s unknown. His wife seems to think he’d been clean for some time, as does the sister-in-law in HR. The dam employees, however, have essentially stated that he’s a junkie. Then, of course, there’s the tox screen that showed that both men tested positive for heroin.
“I’m inclined to believe the employees over Dov’s stressed-
out pregnant wife and the woman who’d put her livelihood—and her freedom from the sound of it—on the line for the man. Those two would have plenty of reason to lie, as would Dov.”
“Okay, then.”
“I’m not following,” Susan said.
“I’m thinking Dov was probably taking the birdseed out to the edge of the property under the guise of feeding the birds, but what he was really doing was getting high on whatever it was he was taking.”
Susan asked, “But why have a matching one at his house?”
Eric shrugged. “Maybe he just likes the way they look.”
“I don’t know . . . ,” Susan said, unconvinced. “Have you talked to Jake?”
Eric shook his head. “Not really. He sent me a text to apologize and let me know he’s okay, but he hasn’t told me what he’s been up to. He’s missed a couple of our TA meetings. I’m thinking maybe he’s been looking into DOTE, but he’s afraid to tell me because the last time we talked, I’d suggested that he stay away from them. He’s been avoiding me, but he’ll have to face me soon because we’ve got class coming up.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s okay, at least. But, if he is looking into DOTE, I hope he’s being careful. I’d hate for our Jakey to get hurt. The more I look into the group, the more I start to think that they’re really dangerous. I asked Zelman if he’d ever heard of them, and you should have seen his face. He instantly said he didn’t, as if he couldn’t change the subject fast enough. I suspect that they might be threatening him.”
“But, if they were threatening him over the toxic soil, you’d think he’d want to tell the FBI,” Eric said.
Susan raised her eyebrows. “Ah, but you’re forgetting that doing that would also require him to reveal that there is toxic soil, which it seems he’s trying to hide.”
“Right.”
“Oh, I looked into Jane Does found in the river around the time Tori Blakenwell disappeared,” Susan said. “There was one, and her physical description matches Tori.”
“Is it her, then?” Eric asked, both wanting it to be her and not wanting it to be her at the same time. If she’d been found, her friends and family would get closure, but he would also be saddened to learn that such a bright young soul was dead.
He didn’t hold a grudge against Tori about the near-drowning thing. Sometimes, the dead communicated in a bold fashion, perhaps to grab his attention. Ghosts, he’d found, liked to cut to the chase.
Susan shrugged. “I sent the remains to the lab to be compared to Tori’s dental records.”
“But wouldn’t that have been done already?”
Susan shook her head. “Not unless Tori had a record, which she didn’t. There isn’t some massive database where the dental records of every person in the world are stored. It would help law enforcement out a lot if there were.”
“But if Tori was a missing person?” Eric said, frustration in his voice. “Wouldn’t her record be on file to aid with the search?”
“That’s the thing—she isn’t classified as missing.”
“How has nobody noticed that she’s gone?” Eric asked, incredulous. “Surely somebody . . .”
“Both her parents are deceased, and she doesn’t have much family beyond that—a couple of distant cousins on the other side of the country I’m guessing she never talks to. I get the feeling that she was a loner,” Susan said.
“From the sound of it, Samantha Neville and Tori were on the outs—fighting over her disapproval of DOTE—so she was probably happy to see her leave,” Eric said. “And she likely made no attempt to look her up once she’d moved out.”
Susan nodded, showing that she was following his logic. “Unfortunately, when it comes to missing persons, a lot of times the squeaky wheels do get the most grease. If family members are constantly hounding authorities for updates and demanding to know what’s being done, then naturally the case will get more attention. But, with Tori, there was no sign of foul play, and her body never turned up—at least, as far as police know. And if she was set to leave town anyway, and she had a tendency of taking off on the fly, most everyone she knew probably assumed she left for the retreat. And it sounds like the people running the retreat just assumed she’d changed her mind about coming.”
“Still,” Eric said, unconvinced. “What about her social media accounts—she completely stopped posting.”
“I know you don’t use social media, but if you did, would you really take the time to comb through the account of someone you considered an acquaintance at best to see when the last time they posted was? And if you then saw that their posts had abruptly stopped, would you make the leap to assuming that they were a missing person?” Susan asked.
“I guess not,” Eric agreed, sullen. “And as far as her not returning to Lamount, they’d just assume she was a dropout.”
“I’m going to contact the editor at the paper where she worked, see what I can dig up,” Susan said. “Don’t worry—I haven’t given up on this.”
Eric gave her a half smile and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
The pair paused while their server brought out their food. Eric’s club sandwich was as tall as a water tower, with a long skewer with a decorative paper cow on the tip stuck down the middle of it. He became worried about how sloppy he’d look eating the thing in front of Susan, which was silly. She’d seen him chow down more times than he could count. The sandwich fell apart as soon as he extracted the skewer, and he let out an exasperated breath. “Why do all restaurants insist on doing this kind of thing these days? Whatever happened to just serving food on a plate—why do they have to be all elaborate about it and cram a huge fence post in the middle of it, or serve it in a roller skate or whatever?”
She laughed. “Remember that place we went to, that gourmet ice-cream parlor in Petaluma that put all those plastic dinosaurs on our sundaes, like we were toddlers?”
“Yes! See what I mean? It’s ridiculous, but those dinosaurs were too funny.” He paused for a minute and then announced, “You know, I miss hanging out with you.”
Quietly, she said, “I miss hanging out with you too. I had fun with you the other night.”
Eric reached for her hand. “Susan—”
“Can I get you two anything else?” their irritatingly chipper server interrupted. “Need extra aioli for the fries? We’ve also got a killer spicy tomato sauce—”
“I think we’re fine,” Eric said, imagining how much he’d like to curl his hands around the little twerp’s neck and squeeze until he stopped yapping about condiments. The server must have seen the irritation in his eyes, because he left rather quickly and without another word. Well, there was the moment ruined. He let out a sigh. “I should probably have a look at this report, shouldn’t I?”
She sighed, too, sounding disappointed. “I suppose so.”
After less than four or five minutes, he stopped reading to ask her a question. “Is this for real? You aren’t having a laugh with this?”
Her confused expression told him she wasn’t. “I don’t know what you mean. I tried reading that thing, but it only looks like gobbledygook to me. Why? What are you seeing?”
He ran an index finger along a series of charts and graphs that contained a number of abbreviations. “Do you see this here? Do you know what this signifies?”
She peered at the chart. “No idea. What is that, serili . . . seilini . . . I can’t say that.”
“It’s serilinium. Oh my God, I just can’t believe this.” He shook his head. “This is incredible.”
“Eric! Fill me in! What are you getting so worked up about? Does this confirm that the soil is contaminated?”
Eric shook his head vigorously. “No, far from it. Do you know what serilinium is used for?”
She gave him a look that said she didn’t. “You’re the one with a background in geology.”
“It’s mainly used in the manufacturing of medical equipment and lasers. It’s a highly coveted material because, while it has
some pliability, it also is tougher than titanium.”
“Coveted, as in expensive?” she asked.
“Like you wouldn’t believe, and that’s mainly because it’s one of the rarest minerals ever discovered.” He was not aware that he was shaking his head as he gaped down at the report. “If what I’m reading here is correct, the Cambridge Downs development is sitting above what could easily be one of the largest belts of serilinium ever known to exist. Every single one of these low-income homes is sitting on land that is worth an unfathomable amount of money. Billions. Had Zelman not developed and sold the land, he would have stood to be one of the richest men in America, maybe even the world.”
CHAPTER 23
Jake was not comfortable giving Rodent his home address, but then he figured he already had it anyway, from the night he’d relayed it to the taxi driver. Even if he hadn’t, he probably would have still given it to him.
To deny Rodent would have meant being excluded from whatever esoteric mission DOTE wanted him to embark upon, presumably so that he could prove that he had what it took to join their cause. He’d charmed his way into their circle at the party, so to behave sketchily now would undo all the work he’d put in thus far and rip him from his coveted position inside Rodent’s inner circle. And it would be sketchy, wouldn’t it, to deny them access to his home?
Jake was self-aware enough to realize how odd it was to be so invested in undercover work he wasn’t even being paid for. And, after the party at Kimmy’s, he’d lain in bed and questioned his motivations behind his dedication. The truth was that going undercover made him feel the most alive he had in months. It was a sensation on par with being on stage. It gave him a sense of purpose, and it made him want to stay sharp and sober.
Though he appreciated Eric landing him the teacher’s assistant gig at the university, he didn’t find correcting papers and answering student emails about extended due dates all that fulfilling. Go figure. And being a geology major, busting his butt to pass courses? He really didn’t care too much about that anymore either. It wasn’t just his depression talking he’d realized once he made himself confront his disenchantment. It was that he’d lost the passion for the subject, which he’d only gotten into because he’d found it to be a fun hobby. But that was the problem with hobbies, wasn’t it—they were fun until the moment they became a job.