“Meaning?”
“Did you review the file I sent you on Merrick?”
“I did.” Ann Ridgeway turned in her chair and retrieved the printout from her credenza.
Hallier continued. “Then you’ll recall a reference to a personal tragedy the doctor endured many years ago. His daughter, Paige, was found dead. She had been murdered. The case was never solved. That incident broke him. Shortly afterward, Merrick’s wife, Alma, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Alma had always been a healthy and vibrant woman. The day that she received the news of her daughter’s death she fell apart; probably lost her will to live. She refused to continue her cancer treatment. Merrick tried to encourage her to stay under care, but she wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before she was gone.”
“And Dr. Merrick?”
“Took an extended leave. Closed himself off from the world. Had no contact with the lab whatsoever. Then one day he shows up. Throws himself back into his work. After that, progress on the Channeler and LEEDA projects picked up at an astonishing rate. Every month his team was announcing one new breakthrough or another. But despite all his success Merrick remained distant. He hardly engaged with his colleagues, just ran the projects. As one of them put it, he seemed continually preoccupied. He kept to himself. He was obsessed with working with the Commander and insisted on being his field handler. Even threatened to pull out of the project if we disagreed, so we let him have his way. We weren’t worried. He was under constant supervision, even though he never knew it. But somewhere along the way we dropped the ball. He found a way to steal Channeler and LEEDA for reasons we don’t yet know.”
“Do you think he plans to sell it?”
Hallier shook his head. “That’s doubtful. Geniuses like Merrick are too personally invested in their work to part with it for mere financial gain. For them it is about receiving peer recognition in the scientific community. No, something more is going on here.”
Ridgeway read the statement on the back of the picture again. “According to this, his intention seems pretty clear.”
“I agree,” Hallier said. “So, Assistant Director. Can I count on your help?”
ADC Ridgeway stood, extended her hand.
“I’ll assemble a team right away. Let’s go find your men, Colonel.”
Hallier shook her hand. “Thank you. Your government appreciates your help.” He turned to leave.
“One last thing, Colonel.”
Hallier looked back at the Assistant Director. “Yes?”
“It’s Ann.”
Hallier smiled. “Quentin.”
80
K-9 OFFICER KIP barked, wagged his tail, and jumped out of the back seat of the black and white Ford Explorer. Police Canine Supervisor Don Button attached Kip’s search lead to his collar and made a fuss over his partner. He bounced the dogs training ball on the pavement, teased him and scratched his head. Kip knew it was time to go to work.
The dog sniffed the ground and followed a direct path to the Dumpster. Beside it, the open carpet that had been smeared with the foul-smelling matter had been bagged and tagged for forensic processing. Kip ran to the long plastic bag and lay down beside it, barking repeatedly, a confirmation to his partner that he had found precisely what he had been trained to find: human remains.
“Good boy, Kipper!” Officer Button said, “Such a good boy!” Button tossed Kip’s hard rubber ball on the ground within catching distance of the dog. Kip pounced to his left, caught the ball mid-bounce, and began chewing contently on the rubber training toy.
“That confirms it,” Chief Jenkins said to the coroner.
Dr. Kent patted the dog’s head. “Yes, it does. I’ll take the carpet to the morgue. We’ll run a few tests. See what we come up with.”
“You think this is Dan Labrada?” Jenkins asked.
“If his DNA is on file we’ll know soon enough. Failing that, I’ll have to send it to the State lab. I deal with natural causes: floaters, the occasional motor vehicle accident, death by misadventure, and so on. But this? This is… soup.”
“Thanks for the visual, doc. Remind me not to have lunch with you anytime soon.”
Dr. Kent knelt beside Kip. The German Shepherd rolled onto his back, soaked up the attention.
Officer Byers, who had been given the unfortunate job of scouring the disposal bin for evidence, threw his leg over the top of the Dumpster onto the ladder. He lost his balance, fell, and landed hard on the ground, twisting his ankle. He grabbed his foot. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled.
“You okay, Pat?” Jenkins asked.
Kip chuffed and rolled to his feet.
“Yeah, Chief. I’m good.” Kip walked over to Byers and sniffed his foot.
Pat rubbed the dog’s face. “Thanks, buddy. I’m okay.”
Kip lay down beside Byers and started to bark.
“Either he smells dead guy on you,” Officer Poole teased, “or you need to give serious thought to changing your deodorant, Pat.”
“Funny,” Byers replied, “This coming from the guy who discovered Stinky Steve. Or should I say, wore him for a few days?”
Poole crossed his arms. “That wasn’t my fault, and you know it. He blew up.”
“Damn straight he did. All over you.”
Frustrated, Poole said, “Ask the doc. It could have happened to you, the Chief… anyone who found that body was in for it. The guy had been cooking on the shore for a week.”
“True, but you drew the short straw, Big Man. I heard he went up like a landmine. Boom!”
Deputy Poole looked at the coroner as if to say, ‘a little help here, please?’
Dr. Kent took the hint. “The body breaks down,” he explained, hoping to diffuse the goodhearted ribbing Officer Poole was taking. “Internal organs start to decay, gas is produced. Jack’s right. Whoever was first to respond to the beached floater was likely going to experience what he did.”
Poole smiled at Officer Byers. “There you go!” he said. “Doc just explained it perfectly.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Pat replied. “It must have been tough, buddy.”
“It was,” Poole said.
“…picking him out of your hair for a week.”
Deputy Poole threw his hands in the air and walked away.
Chief Jenkins laughed. “You’re a cruel man, Byers.”
Byers smiled. “Hey, the Big Man’s always riding me,” he said. “I thought I’d have a little fun at his expense for a change.” He grabbed the dog by the collar. “Hey, boy. How about helping me up?”
Kip pulled back and barked. Panting, he stared at his handler. Officer Button knew the meaning behind every sound his partner made as distinctly as he knew the sound of his own voice.
“He’s alerting,” Button said. “Move aside, Pat.”
Byers rose gingerly to his feet as Officer Button leashed Kip. “Good boy, Kipper,” he commanded. He teased the dog with the ball once more. “Ready?” Kip barked. “Search!”
The dog responded to the instruction and lunged forward, but only by a few feet. He pawed at the base of the Dumpster.
“Bin’s empty, Don,” Byers said. “Everything’s been removed and tagged. Right down to the last scrap of paper.”
“I don’t think Kip’s alerting to what’s in the bin,” Officer Button said. “He’s alerting to what’s under it.”
Button threw the ball and released the dog from duty. He knelt and peered under the bin.
“Somebody hand me a pair of tweezers.”
Dr. Kent opened his field bag and passed the implement to him.
“Got it,” Button said as he slid his arm out from under the dumpster. A tiny metallic object was cinched between the pincers of the metal instrument. Dr. Kent offered an evidence bag. Button dropped the object into the plastic bag.
“Think that’s what Kip was alerting to?” Button asked the coroner.
Dr. Kent inspected the item. “Dental implant. Titanium. Serialized. I’ll have forensic odontology process it and r
un the number.”
“Think it belonged to Labrada?” Officer Button asked.
“I hope so,” Kent replied.
“You hope so?”
Dr. Kent nodded. “If it doesn’t, we have an even bigger problem on our hands.”
“Multiple victims,” Chief Jenkins said.
“Exactly.”
Kip threw his ball in the air, watched it bounce, crouched, waited for it to roll a good distance, then raced after it, caught it in his mouth and threw it in the air a second time. He stopped in front of the Chief’s Jeep and watched the ball roll away. The dog barked twice, the second bark louder than the first, then lay on the ground.
“Looks like your partner’s ready to call it a day,” Byers said to Officer Button.
Kip barked three times. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of his handler.
Button stood and called out to his partner. “Kip, Mark!”
Kip barked.
“He’s alerting again, Chief.”
Chief Jenkins and Officer Byers walked to the dog. Button attached Kip’s leash to his body harness.
“I don’t see anything,” Byers said.
“The first thing you need to know about Kip is that he’s never wrong,” Officer Button said. “He’s on to something.” Button praised the dog then gave him his search command. Kip walked under the barrier tape and out of the crime scene area, passing the Chief’s Jeep and straining on his lead as he sniffed his way across the parking lot in the direction of the garage. He rounded the back of a black Porsche 911 and sat in front of its front bumper. The dog barked twice, then lay on the ground.
“This is it,” Officer Button whispered. He grabbed Kip firmly by his collar and issued the dog a new command. “Kip… Set!”
The dog’s gentle disposition changed immediately. The hackles raised on the back of his neck. He dropped low, tensed on his lead, growled.
“Dog’s ready, Chief,” Button said.
The officers readied their weapons and trained them on the front trunk of the Porsche.
“Break the window,” the Chief demanded. “Pop the hood.”
Officer Byers removed a collapsible baton from his duty belt, snapped it open, smashed out the side window and opened the driver’s door. He located the hood release under the dashboard and pulled the handle.
Kip strained, snarled, barked, and pulled. Officer Button maintained a firm grip on the dog’s collar as he tore at the ground with his powerful front legs.
Poole raised the hood.
Empty.
“Clear!” the Chief called out. The officers holstered their weapons.
“Kip, Steady,” Officer Button commanded. Kip relaxed and waited for his treat. Button rewarded the dog with his ball.
Byers looked at Officer Button. “What were you saying about Kip never being wrong?”
“He isn’t. My guess is that he was tracking residue, probably from the killer’s shoes.”
The Chief nodded. “I agree. Jack, run the plates. Pat, go back to the primary and grab a couple of guys from forensics. Tell them to go over the car bumper to bumper.”
“You got it, Chief.” Officer Poole radioed in Jenkins request for a license plate search to Command.
Chief Jenkins removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, snapped them on and carefully lowered the driver’s side sun visor. A plastic photo identification card with a metal belt clip fell onto the driver’s seat. He picked it up.
“Employee access card,” Jenkins said. “ID belongs to a Dr. Jason Merrick. Works at Dynamic Life Sciences.”
“I know the place,” Poole said. “Some kind of high-tech military research center. It’s about ten minutes from here.” Poole’s radio crackled.
“Command, 3250.”
Poole responded. “Go for 3250.”
“Vehicle identification is a 2015 Chevy Suburban, silver, registered to a Daniel Raymond Labrada, Riverside, California. No warrants.”
“3250. Copy.”
Poole looked at Chief Jenkins and back at the Porsche. “That ain’t no Suburban, Chief. Our guy switched plates.”
Jenkins nodded. “Run the vehicle identification number on the Porsche and get its plates on the air. Make sure everyone knows they’re looking for a Chevy Suburban and not a Porsche.” Chief Jenkins placed the identification card in a plastic evidence bag and began to walk toward his Jeep. He called out to Poole.
“Manage the scene, Jack. Get in touch with me the minute you hear something on that Suburban.”
“You got it, Chief. Where’re you headed?”
“Dynamic Life Sciences.” Jenkins replied. He held up the photo ID. “Dr. Merrick and I need to have a little chat.”
81
LENNY RELEASED HIS grip on the terrified girl. Lauren ran to her brother.
Ben Egan called out to Lauren and Kevin. “You two, over here.”
Lauren picked up her pace as she ran. She had no idea who the stranger was or where he had come from, but at this moment she didn’t care. There was confidence and strength in his voice, and she knew instinctively that he would protect them.
Kevin walked cautiously towards the stranger. Colin chased after him. Kevin heard him approaching from behind and tried to outrun the older boy. Too late, the leader caught up to him and put his arm around his neck. Kevin struggled under Colin’s firm grip. The older boy drew the dagger from his back pocket and held it to his throat. Kevin felt the cold metal pressing against his skin. The razor edge of the blade cut him. A trickle of warm blood ran down his neck. He stopped resisting.
Colin maneuvered the boy in front of him. “Mister, I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but I’m telling you now, back off. I’ll gut this little shit like a pig. Right here, right now.”
“I don’t think so,” Ben Egan said.
Colin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you out of your mind, asshole?” He laughed. “Fine by me, man. Huge mistake. Huge!”
The punk’s body language changed. His shoulders tightened. He dropped his head, shuffled from side to side, and readied himself for the kill. Kevin moved with him, trying desperately to avoid the blade from cutting deeper. More blood ran down his neck. Kevin was more than just frightened now. He was terrified. He thought he might lose his water right then and there, maybe even soil his pants in front of the whole group. As if that mattered, he thought. In any second Colin would run the blade across his neck and cut him from ear to ear, maybe even cut his head clean off, and end his life. This was never supposed to have happened. The gang had told him the old factory was going to be a cool place to check out. They had insisted he bring his sister along. Stupid! Now, he had put both their lives in danger. Why the hell did he feel it was so important to impress Colin anyway? The older boy was nothing but trouble and had been all his life. His father had warned them to stay away from Colin Thackery and his delinquent family. He thought he could trust Lenny, that he was his friend. The two of them had played him for a fool. He had never felt so close to death before. Why should he? He was only seventeen years old. Seventeen! Too young to die, especially here, in a dirty abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. His body was becoming weak from fear. His legs felt like jelly, and he was sure they would be incapable of supporting him for very much longer. He couldn’t fight because he couldn’t move. Fear had left him physically incapacitated. He remembered hearing his grandmother whisper to his grandfather on his death bed: make your peace with God. So that’s what he did. Kevin prayed that at the very least his body would be found. He was going to miss so much. His mother and father, family movie nights, the choice between watching a comedy or a thriller (usually settled by an all-out popcorn fight), his sister, Lauren, pain in the butt that she was, his classmates at school, even his obscenely fat doorstop of a cat, Moose.
“Remember, this is all on you, pal,” Colin said to the stranger. Kevin felt Colin’s grip tighten. Resignation overtook his body. He waited for the end to come.
Colin starte
d to groan.
Then the strangest thing happened.
Kevin felt Colin release his chokehold. The blade of the knife no longer pressed against his throat. Colin’s arm was extended in front of him now. It began to quiver, then shook so violently that the knife dropped out of his hand. The blade clanged on the concrete floor. There was a cry in Colin’s voice, not one of upset, but of fear.
The man at the end of the factory spoke to Kevin. “Move away from him,” he said. “Come here now. Get behind me.”
Kevin ran to the stranger. He knew he had no good reason to trust him. For all he knew they had unwittingly stumbled into the hideout of a murderer who would kill them all sooner or later. Still, he ran. With his only two options being free of Colin or having the knife pressed to his throat the decision to run to the stranger seemed like the wisest choice.
When he was safely behind the stranger he turned and looked at Colin and his gang. The stranger was holding his hands out in front of him. On his wrist he wore a strange bracelet in which pulses of blue light throbbed. Kevin and Lauren watched as the man raised his hands and opened his fingers. The light from the bracelet turned from blue to orange. Colin and his gang started to yell and scream and looked down at their feet. They tried to move their legs, couldn’t. Their feet seemed glued to the floor. Lenny even tried to pull his feet out of his running shoes without success.
“What are you doing to us?” Colin cried out. “What are you?”
Ben Egan slowly raised his hands. The boys began to lift off the ground. They were now perhaps forty feet in the air, almost as high as the factory ceiling itself, screaming and flailing frantically. Droplets fell from Lenny as he felt his body press tightly against the roof of the factory. The pigeons that earlier had been frightened out of their sleep took flight once again among the steel girders and circled them madly, unsure what to make of the intruders in their midst. It was then that Kevin realized what the falling droplets were. The water was coming from Lenny. He had wet himself. Drops of urine splattered down upon the factory floor. One of the men had passed out from fear and hung limply in the air. The stranger dropped his hands to his side. The gang began to free fall, screaming as the ground rushed up to meet them. Lauren gasped and turned away, unable to bear witness to their imminent demise.
The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1 Page 33