by Keith Thomas
There is an industrial thunderstorm overhead before . . .
51
1:43 P.M.
NOVEMBER 15, 2018
I-55
BOLINGBROOK, ILLINOIS
MATILDA PICKED UP the Colt from the floor of Kojo’s car.
Ashanique had fallen asleep in Matilda’s arms but it wasn’t until the seizure had ended that she was able to ease the girl over onto the seat. Ashanique slept deeply, her head resting against the window. The cold glass was pressed up against her forehead. Matilda didn’t want to move her; Ashanique needed every second of sleep.
“I’m coming up to talk to you.”
Matilda climbed up into the front passenger seat and buckled in. She had the Colt in her right hand and tried to keep the gun leveled at Kojo.
But her shaking hand belied her anxiety.
Holding a gun on a cop? Good move, Maddie.
Kojo clearly saw the gun but said nothing. He kept his hands at two and eleven, eyes on the road. Surely, Matilda assumed, it wasn’t the first time he’d had a weapon pointed at him. Still, it was a tremendous risk.
“I need your cell phone,” Matilda said.
“I’ve already called in the shooting,” Kojo replied. “Your mom will be okay.”
“You don’t know that. Give me your cell. Please.”
Kojo pulled his cell from his coat pocket and handed it over to Matilda. She rolled down the window and tossed it outside.
“Seriously?” he asked, slowing the car.
“Keep going,” Matilda said. She pulled out the second prepaid smartphone they’d bought at the gas station and handed it to Kojo. “It’s already activated.”
“This is ridiculous,” he said, looking over the phone.
“This is life-and-death.”
“You know, you don’t need to keep that on me,” Kojo said, eyeing the gun.
“I’m sorry, I can’t trust anyone.”
“I know you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something ugly. I never said you wanted any of this. Or any of it was your fault. But you’re in it now. You should try to let me help you get out of it. Help you and her.”
Matilda glanced back at Ashanique.
“Everyone who’s tried to help us has also tried to kill us.”
“I haven’t,” Kojo said.
“You haven’t yet.”
Matilda shifted her weight, uncomfortable in the seat. She felt beaten. Scarred. Existentially confused about everything that had happened. After Clark was murdered and the cops came onto the scene, she held out hope that her world could be righted again. She honestly believed that things could get back to normal—or some semblance of normal. All of that evaporated the minute Rade showed up at Stonybrook. It was as Tamiko had warned—there was no escape, no safety. Matilda was determined just to survive the evening, long enough to get Ashanique to the museum and the mysterious Childers. Whatever happened after that would be out of Matilda’s hands—her job, her only job, was to ensure the girl got there.
“Let me take you two back to the station, Matilda. You’ll be safe there. We can forget you put a gun on me. We can get her some help and figure out what’s going on together. I’m sure if we compare notes, we’ll—”
“It’s getting late. We have to be downtown.”
“The girl’s clearly sick, she’s got real problems.”
“No, she’s . . . she’s something more than us.”
• • •
Kojo watched Matilda sidelong.
He was struggling to stay on top of all the information being thrown at him—the day had begun with the confusion of the videotape, more than enough to keep his mind busy for weeks, before exploding into a bloody shootout.
He had no idea what to expect next, but he couldn’t stop himself from formulating new outs—talking Matilda down, convincing her to let him take the girl to the hospital, or, worse, overpowering her and getting the Colt. He had time—the interstate was congested and it would likely only be even more backed-up as they got closer to the city.
Kojo could sense Matilda was serious.
It was the same sensation he’d had in the offices at the university during her questioning. She had a profound empathy—something inherent, something integral to who she was. That was the deeper reading—the emotional brain. And yet, other, deeper parts of him saw something else. Even with the exhaustion, even with the panic, she had an unidentifiable sexiness.
He hated thinking the word, but it was true.
Get your goddamned head back in the game.
Two things that needed to happen: he needed to get that gun from Matilda, and he needed to convince her to trust him. He wasn’t sure which would come first.
“What’s downtown?” Kojo asked.
Matilda seemed to weigh the question carefully.
“Museum,” she said. “It’s the International Museum of Surgical Science. And, before you ask, no, I’ve never heard of it either.”
“It’s on North Lakeshore Drive. Right by Burton.”
“There’s someone she can trust there. Someone who’ll meet us.”
“You talked to Ashanique’s mother, right? She kicked you out of the apartment when she found out you were interviewing the girl. What’s your read on her? Why’s she dosing her daughter with cancer meds?”
Matilda said, “What’s happening to Ashanique happened to Janice.”
Kojo nodded; that seemed to make sense.
“Janice was arrested thirteen years ago,” he said. “She was swept up in a raid on a suspected drug lab. Feds have linked her to some terrorist group targeting scientists and military officers who were part of a project—”
“The Clarity,” Matilda confirmed. “Crazy as it sounds, Ashanique has seen it, because her mother and her grandmother saw it. And I’m convinced that’s real. Somehow this Project Clarity unlocked memories—possibly even as a side effect of some larger experiment—and Ashanique has inherited her mother’s predisposition for activating those ancestral memories. She’s going to lose her mind if we don’t get her to that museum and get her treated. Take a look at her, Detective. You saved our lives back there. You’ve seen what we’re running from.”
Kojo glanced at the rearview mirror.
Ashanique was breathing heavily, slowly. He had to admit she looked worse than the last time he’d seen her. He turned back to Matilda.
“What happens at the museum?”
“Ashanique’s not the only one with this. I don’t know how many there are, but Janice was in touch with a group—”
“The Null Cohort,” Kojo said, putting it all together for himself.
“There’s an underground and a doctor, Dr. Song, who can help them.”
“He can cure her?”
Matilda said, “I don’t know. Janice seemed to think so.”
Kojo thought it over, looking back at the girl again. Ashanique looked fragile, that tough, spirited instinct—that survival kick—that had gotten her this far was clearly draining. Maybe Matilda was right, maybe this was the result of some fucked-up experiment, but in the end it didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a sick girl in his back seat, a girl who’d die without his help. Ignoring the procedural voice that droned in the back of his skull about rules and regulations, about job security and making his mortgage, Kojo knew what he had to do.
“Okay. I’ll take you.”
He pulled a hand from the wheel. “I just need to get that cell you gave me. It’s in my coat pocket right here. I have to call home to make sure my boy’s okay, all right? He was expecting me.”
Matilda thought it over.
“I’m being real,” Kojo said. “No tricks.”
Matilda motioned her okay with the gun.
Kojo carefully pulled the cell from his front pocket. He called Ophelia, and as he waited for her to pick up, he glanced over at Matilda. For the first time, he noticed that the hair on the underside of her ponytail was scarlet.
“Mr. Omaboe?” Ophelia answered the phone.
“I’m going to be a little later than expected. Are you okay watching Brandon past dinner? Really sorry about this.”
“I do have an appointment with my sister at eight but . . .”
Kojo turned to Matilda.
“I will be home as soon as I can. Thank you, Ophelia.”
52
4:05 P.M.
NOVEMBER 15, 2018
INTERNATIONAL MUSEUM OF SURGICAL SCIENCE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
ASHANIQUE AWOKE TO find the car idling, pulled into a parking spot alongside the colonnaded International Museum of Surgical Science building.
Both Kojo and Matilda turned around in their seats to look at her.
“How you feeling?” Matilda asked.
“I’m okay, I guess. Little headache but . . .”
“But what?”
Ashanique thought for a second before she spoke. “While I’m scared I’m losing myself, I don’t think these memories are such a bad thing. Not the way my mom made them sound. I mean . . . It doesn’t feel unnatural. For her, they were nightmares. Terrible things she didn’t want to see, even when they were good. She said they clogged up her thinking, made her feel like she was going crazy. But not me. These memories . . . this sounds stupid, but even when they hurt, it feels like I’m being put back together. Not pulled apart like my mom felt.”
“You know what I think?” Kojo said. “You should have some water.”
He turned to Matilda. “There’s a bottle under your seat.”
Keeping the gun level as best she could, Matilda reached under the front passenger seat and pulled out a blue thermos half filled with lukewarm water. She handed it back to Ashanique. The girl took several long gulps.
She handed it back.
“Keep it,” Kojo said. “She needs it more than me.”
“I’m not talking this way ’cause I’m dehydrated,” Ashanique said. She took another drink before she looked at the museum. “I need to meet someone named Childers here. Childers will take me to Dr. Song.”
“And you honestly believe Dr. Song is going to fix this?” Kojo asked.
“Dr. Song is the only person who knows what’s going on inside my head. This is what my mother wanted, Detective. This is what she fought for.”
Ashanique turned to Matilda. “Is Lucy okay?”
Matilda nodded. “Yes, thank you. I called a few minutes ago. She’s shook up, which is to be expected. I can’t believe I put her in that situation—”
“You didn’t know,” Ashanique said. “How could you know?”
“I was running on adrenaline, just going with my gut.”
“Going home.” Ashanique smiled.
“You’re something special,” Matilda said, reaching back and squeezing Ashanique’s knee. “I hope you know that.”
Matilda wanted to say more, to tell the girl again how sorry she was for everything that had happened. And how determined she was to make sure Ashanique was safe when all the horrors had passed. But she wasn’t sure that would happen anytime soon—if ever. Matilda prayed the girl couldn’t read that worry, that clouding pessimism, in her eyes. She needed Ashanique to stay strong.
“Should we go in?” Kojo asked.
Ashanique nodded.
• • •
Kojo flashed his badge to a security guard at the museum’s entrance. He told the woman they were there to talk to someone—the guard didn’t ask questions and waved them through the metal detector.
“I don’t have to fill out anything about this, right?” the guard asked.
“You’re cool,” Kojo said. “We’ll only be a little bit.”
“Museum closes in less than an hour.”
They made their way through a few exhibits—a cabinet with old-school prosthetic limbs, an iron lung, eighteenth-century medicines—before reaching the second floor. There, they entered the library. Kojo walked around the room first, scanning the place in officer mode and seeing nothing that raised his hackles, before he motioned for Ashanique and Matilda.
“No one’s here,” Ashanique said.
“Maybe we’re early?” Matilda suggested.
Kojo said, “Just be on guard.”
The room was relatively small. It had a marble floor and ornate wooden bookshelves lining the walls. There was a single large table in the center of the room and twelve leather chairs seated around it. As Ashanique made her way around the bookshelves, leaning in to read the titles behind the glass, Matilda and Kojo peeked into an adjacent room. It contained an exhibit and was empty as well.
“So what time is Childers supposed to be here?” Kojo asked Ashanique.
“By four,” she said, still looking over the books.
Kojo walked over to a window and looked out at the ground below while Matilda sat at the table. She called Stonybrook again to follow up on Lucy but the signal was busy. She scanned her cell for news about the shooting, but there wasn’t much information available. She doubted the killer had been caught.
Kojo walked over and leaned up against the table.
“I’ll get follow-up alerts,” Kojo said, noticing her cell screen.
“I just . . . God, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself.”
“Hey. No, it’s not your fault, okay? You were doing good. This guy—”
“His name is Rade,” Ashanique interrupted. “He’s one of us.”
“One of you but he works for them?” Kojo asked.
Ashanique nodded before she went back to looking at the books.
Kojo pulled out a chair and sat down beside Matilda.
“You did pretty amazing today,” he said. “Considering the chaos you’ve seen over the last two days, you seem very in control. I’m impressed.”
“I’m about two seconds from falling apart.”
Kojo laughed.
“Nah, nah. That’s not you. I can see you’re strong. Got that look in your eyes. You might not know your way around handling a firearm, and I was a little concerned in the car, but . . . I could tell you were in this all the way. You care about her and, even more, you believe her. That’s saying something.”
“You convinced?”
Kojo rolled his neck as he considered.
“I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t know. I know that whatever is going on has a whole shitload of people upset. That guy back at the nursing home, the cop Ashanique killed—”
Matilda recoiled hearing that.
“—in self-defense,” Kojo clarified. “I’m not gonna judge you two on that. You say he was going to shoot you—”
“He was going to kill Matilda,” Ashanique said across the room.
“And I’m trusting you on that, I am. All I’m saying is that this thing, it’s complicated. This goes beyond just a Chicago homicide detective, a university psychologist, and an eleven-year-old girl.”
“What are you saying?” Matilda leaned forward.
“I’m saying we need help. The police—”
“Tried to kill us,” Ashanique scoffed.
Kojo continued, “And the FBI. Homeland Security, I don’t know. But I’m telling you that we’re gonna need assistance to get out of this. We both want that guy—the guy called Rade—taken out. We also both want to get Ashanique some help. I get that you’re following what Janice said, but what if no one shows up here? Or, worse, what if Rade and ten of his best, baldest friends walk in that door? Can we please agree that if no one walks in here named Childers in the next fifteen minutes we’ll leave?”
Matilda looked to Ashanique.
The girl shook her head.
“I’ve got no other place to go,” she said.
“That’s what I’m trying to fix, but it—”
Kojo didn’t finish his thought before he jumped out of his chair, gun pulled and leveled at the young woman who’d just walked into the library.
The young woman placed her hands in the air.
She was exceedingly tall and thin, wearing leather pants and a jean jacket. Her lips and nose wer
e pierced and half her head was shaved, the other a swoop of black hair that fell across her left eye.
As she walked closer, Matilda saw she had green eyes.
“I’m Childers. Who the fuck are you?”
“You armed, Childers?” Kojo asked.
Childers nodded.
“Okay,” Kojo said. “Take out your piece and put it on the floor.”
Childers rolled her eyes before, using only her right hand, she pulled a Glock from the back of her leather pants. She placed it on the floor carefully.
“There’s no time for this,” she said. “The girl needs to see Dr. Song now.”
Kojo said, “We’d all like to see Dr. Song.”
“Nope,” Childers said. “Just Ashanique.”
“No deal,” Kojo said.
“You’re wasting time.”
“How can we trust you?” Matilda asked, hand on the Colt tucked into the back of her pants.
Childers locked eyes with Ashanique.
“When your mother was found in the snow, Dr. Song put a blanket around her shoulders. He gave her hot tea with honey. She’d never had honey in tea like that before. You know how that felt, don’t you? How it felt to be cared for? And when things changed, he was the only one who tried to help. Dr. Song is waiting for you, Ashanique. But you need to come alone. These people, they don’t understand.”
Tears bathing her eyes, Ashanique looked over at Matilda.
“It’s true,” the girl said. “I need to go alone.”
Kojo shook his head. “This is a big, big mistake.”
“I trust her,” Ashanique said.
Kojo wouldn’t let it go. “Matilda, you yourself said these people are capable of anything. They got into the university, into the nursing home. How’d they find you? How’d they track you across the city? This group, the Human Ecology Division, or whatever it was called, they have deep pockets and all the connections.”
“Childers knows things no one else knows,” Ashanique said.
“And she could be faking,” Kojo said. “Maybe there’s a file on your mom. Maybe she just pulled all this information from it. How do we even know there is a Dr. Song? I’m telling you, I’ve been doing this thing for a long time, and I’ve never seen bad people with this much power. We’re not handing the girl over alone.”