“Calm down,” Knox said. “Did you record the number he used?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Jetters’ voice grew impatient. “Dammit, man, didn’t you hear me? He said—”
“I heard you,” Knox interrupted. He was getting tired of coddling this old idiot every time a new “catastrophe” popped up involving the prodigal experiment. “Now, give me the number.”
Jetters read the numerals off, one-at-a-time to Knox, between rapid breaths.
“It’s a cell phone,” Knox said, studying it. This was good. Real good.
“I already know that. It’s unregistered.”
A burner phone, no doubt. Knox knew he had to take control or he’d be wasting more time listening to the old man’s babblings. “What did Matthew say? And how long ago did he call?” He was already opening his laptop and turning it on.
“About ten minutes ago,” Jetters said. “He called and demanded an enormous amount of money, or he’d go to the press about what we’ve been doing at New Genesis.”
“And implicate himself in murder?” Knox said. “He’s bluffing.”
“I told him the same thing, but he just laughed. Said he had it all worked out so he’d get off scot-free. Dammit, I can’t afford—we can’t afford to have a scandal touch us.”
“It won’t,” Knox said. His Geo-linking software was already searching for tower usages involving Matthew’s new cell phone number. “I’m tracking the number now. Looks like he’s out southwest somewhere.”
“Are you sure you can get him this time?”
“I’m sure,” Knox said. “Once I zero in on his signal, I can triangulate his exact position.”
“Then do it. Do it now.” Jetters made a huffing sound. “I don’t care how, but you have to bring him back here. I want this finished. Tonight.”
“By any means necessary?”
After a moment of silence, he heard Jetters’ voice say, “Yes.”
The pleasure will be all mine, thought Knox. As he was about to terminate the call, Knox heard Jetters cry out, “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Try not to harm his brain,” Jetters said. “It’s the key to why he was the only successful cloned specimen. He was special. I’ll need to examine it.”
“Understood, sir.” Knox felt the trace of a smile tug at his mouth as he turned away.
The pleasure is still mine, he thought.
Chapter 22
Colby shoveled in a mouthful of broiled chicken and rice as he watched Leslie getting dressed. After chewing it as much as he could without risking swallowing it whole, he shifted the food to his cheek and asked her, “You still got that guy’s card from Oakbrook Estates PD?”
She tucked the tails of her white blouse into her dark jeans. “MacEllroy? I believe so. Why?”
Colby managed to swallow without choking and paused with another spoonful poised at his mouth.
“I need it when you have time,” he said.
She nodded, grabbed a piece of the broiled chicken, and went to her stack of files on the desk. “You know, you should slow down when you eat.”
“And you know, you really should wear something other than white,” he said. “It’s too reflective.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder and frowned. “I plan on wearing a jacket, too.” Straightening up, she flashed a grin and held up the card, but stopped as she approached him and pointed at the TV.
The volume was very low, but Colby saw Carmel Washington talking with Pierce Nolan. In the background, over the heads of the two reporters, a large photo of Colby’s face loomed. He reached for the remote, but Leslie already had it. The volume shot up suddenly, like an intruding cold breeze.
“So tell me, Carmel,” Nolan was saying with his practiced delivery, “when did you first learn of this new development?”
She smiled as the camera zoomed in for a close up. “Actually, it began when a confidential source informed me of the investigation a few days ago. And at that time, we began a special investigation.”
“Which was that a series of copycat murders has been sweeping this Midwestern area, strangely mimicking Morgan Laird’s original crime spree,” Nolan’s perfectly modulated voice said.
God, I hate that guy, Colby thought. He suddenly felt his stomach tighten again, stifling any further hunger. “Here comes my fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Fifteen minutes?” Leslie asked.
He smiled. “It’s a long story. Ever hear of Andy Warhol?”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” he said, and leaned closer to catch the next part of the news show.
“The authorities were certain that Laird was involved in this string of new murders,” Carmel said. “In fact, they even had evidence tying him to one of the crime scenes.”
Christ, was there anything Dix didn’t tell her? “But with the murder of both Morgan Laird and his attorney, Mr. Lance Fontaine,” Carmel continued, “the case broke wide-open.”
“In what way?” Nolan asked. It came off sounding staged and theatrical, as if they’d discussed every word beforehand.
Colby’s mouth drew into a tight line.
“For one thing,” she said, “that confidential source I mentioned before…” Carmel let a lips-only smile hide the tease, “seemed very interested in getting some publicity for himself.” Her face got serious. “So, naturally, I was a little suspicious.”
Damn, Colby thought, she’s leading right to Dix. Pearson’s gonna love this.
The camera shot in for a close-up showing her high cheekbones and flawless skin. “And while reporters don’t normally reveal their confidential sources…”
You wouldn’t know a real reporter if one bit you on the ass, thought Colby. She was just a model with a script.
“…in this case I’m forced to, because it’s become part of the story.”
“And quite a bizarre story it is,” Nolan said.
Colby tried to remember that old quote about not suffering fools gladly. He wanted to knock that jerk on his ass the next time they met.
“Right, Pierce,” Carmel said. Another clip rolled on the oversize screen behind them. It was the one showing Dix and Colby talking together on the show. “My very own source, none other than retired officer Fred Dix, was named as a ‘person of interest’ by the Copycat Killings Taskforce. A source close to the investigation told me that Mr. Dix is being held at the Metropolitan Correction Center at this time.”
“So they’re saying he killed Morgan Laird and Lance Fontaine?” Nolan’s silky tones hit just the right pitch to sound sincere. The guy was probably reading it all from teleprompter.
Carmel’s face took on a serious look as the levity of the recorded scene, showing Dix and Colby laughing, played on.
“Authorities aren’t saying a whole lot at this time,” she said, “but, they did say that an indictment is expected shortly.”
“What possible motive could a retired cop have to go bad?” Nolan said.
Scratch those cue cards, thought Colby. Make them idiot cards.
Colby stood up and started dialing a number on his cell phone.
“Don’t you want to watch the rest?” Leslie asked.
“Nah, I’ve already had a belly full.” He heard the voice on the other end answer with a crisp, professional tone.
“Hey, Detective MacEllroy, this is Rog Colby, CPD. I need a big favor.”
Knox was opening the special safe he kept in his office at New Genesis when he heard the soft creak of the outer door. He removed the last of his untraceable weapons, a Heckler & Koch 9 mm semi-auto with sound-suppressor, and placed it into his open briefcase. The fingers of his gloved hand hovered above the weapon as much out of habit as caution. Jetters called out to him.
“Are you here?”
“Yes.” He closed the lid of the briefcase and snapped the locks.
Jetters came into the office, frowning at the darkened interior, and flipped on the lights. “What the hell are you doing poking around h
ere in the dark?”
“I like the darkness. Sharpens the senses.”
The old man’s mouth puckered. “And why aren’t you out there tracking down Matthew? Isn’t that what I told you to do?”
The old man’s breath was redolent with booze. Knox held back mentioning that the purpose of his visit was to collect the Heckler & Koch, and then raise the stakes a tad. After all, timing was everything.
“He must have turned off the phone,” Knox said. “I lost the signal and had to come by here for some additional equipment.”
“I thought I told you I wanted this thing terminated tonight.”
Knox let a slight smile caress his lips. “You did. And it will be.” He paused to watch the other man’s reaction. “But I’m glad we ran into each other.”
Jetters ignored the opening. “Where was he when you last tracked him?”
Knox, in turn, ignored the question. “I mentioned before that handling this case has been very risky for me. After I bring Matthew back here, I want to be pensioned off.”
“And I told you, you will be,” Jetters said, his head shaking with an obvious, growing rage. “Now, what are you doing to find Matthew?”
Knox laid a pair of gloved fingers on his open laptop. “Like I told you before, as soon as he uses the phone, or turns it on, I’ll be able to vector in on what towers the signal is being relayed from. From there it’s a simple matter of triangulation.”
“What about the telemetry we gave you the other day? You can use that, too, can’t you?”
The old boy must be drunker than he looks, Knox thought. Either that, or he’s really losing it.
“In case you forgot, that signal has a pretty short range.” He paused a moment, then changed the subject. “Back to my retirement …”
“What about it?”
Knox reached in his pocket, removed a slip of paper, and handed it to Jetters. “I opened this account today in the Cayman Islands. I want seven-million dollars transferred there immediately.”
“What?” Jetters stared up at him. “Are you insane?”
Knox resisted the urge to slap the old fart. He was getting tired of the condescension, and wondered what the reaction would be if he told him he had Norton’s laptop and flies.
“Hardly,” Knox said. “I’ve taken a lot of chances handling all this for you. It’s essentially placed me in a position where I’ll be at risk to remain here. I need a cushion.”
“A seven-million dollar cushion? That’s obscene.”
“Obscene is what you’ve been doing here, professor. Obscene is the madman out there you created who’s emulating a serial killer.”
Knox saw the old man recoil like he’d been slapped in the face.
“My intentions were pure,” he managed to say. “My honor’s intact.”
Knox let the smile creep upward. “That’s right, as long as you have people like me to do the dirty work for you.”
The old man’s mouth opened, his lips trembled, but no sound came out. Finally, he looked away, then said, “Where do you expect me to come up with that kind money on such short notice?”
“That’s your problem.” Knox felt he had the dominant position now. It was time to lay the groundwork for his departure, and his future. Still, it would be better to hold something back. Not put all of his aces down on the table just yet. “Call one of your politician friends in Washington. There’s plenty of money there, especially when you’ve been growing new organs for half of them.”
Jetters looked like he was on the verge of tears, his voice a whisper when he spoke. “You have no idea what it was like. No idea.”
Knox used the opportunity to revel in the moment. He’d won. He was certain of it. He let the old fool ramble on.
“Before we realized how much more expedient it was just to grow the specific organs, when John Norton and I first withdrew that deoxyribonucleic acid out of that cell twenty-six years ago…” His eyes appeared distant, unfocused. “When we were able to put that nucleonic bundle into that first, unfertilized egg…to see life being created in a test tube.”
Knox began to worry that the old coot was loping toward a complete breakdown.
“Professor—”
Jetters raised his hand in a sharp, cutting gesture, and continued to talk, as if he were giving a homily from a pulpit.
“And seeing the first fetus evolve through the process. Seeing the being that we’d created, right here, right in this very building, ourselves, playing God, creating life…”
He really was losing it, Knox thought. And if the old bastard cracks, I’ll never see my money.
“The first ones were fragile,” Jetters continued. “Their cell structure like tissue paper. Couldn’t sustain itself. So many failures.” His hands covered his face, muffling the words that came next. “And the slew of the Others, physically strong, capable of thinking, yet limited in cognitive development ability. So many close misses, and then finally, after so many, many attempts, Matthew. The one shining success in a sea of failures.”
Knox heard his laptop alarm chime. He glanced at the screen and saw the number of Matthew’s new cell phone flashing on the screen inside a little pop-up box that said, Now in Use.
“He’s using his phone again,” Knox said, eager to snap the professor’s out of his melancholy ramblings.
Jetters perked up, his eyes clear now, flashing toward the open laptop. Suddenly his own cell phone jangled in his pocket. His eyes focused darkly on Knox, then he held the phone to his ear. “Yes?”
Knox knew immediately, from the expression on Jetters’s face, who it was. He pressed more keys on the laptop, vectoring in on various maps, larger grids at first, then smaller each time.
“Matthew, where are you?”
Knox looked back to Jetters, gauging how long the conversation would last. The longer, the better, but as long as the little creep left the phone on after the call, Knox could resend the tracking signal and it would still pick it up. He waited, intentionally wanting to see how this little drama would play out. Jetters cringed, like he was actually in physical pain.
“Come back, son. I want to help you, before it’s too late.”
Knox could hear Matthew’s raucous laughter over the phone, then, after a few more seconds, he saw Jetters slowly put the cell phone back in his pocket.
“He says he’s going to bring down New Genesis. Unless I pay him even more than you’re asking for.”
Asking? Knox thought, I’m demanding what I deserve.
“Find him,” Jetters said. “Bring him back here. Tonight.” His face took on a look of complete and total determination. “I can’t have him ruining a lifetime of work. Too much is at stake.”
“Consider it done.” Knox picked up his briefcase in one hand and his laptop in the other. “As long as you make that wire transfer for me.”
“Yes, yes, you’ll have it in the morning, dammit.”
“And then you shall have Matthew,” Knox said, but Jetters had that far-away expression again. He turned and walked out of the office, muttering to himself. Knox listened to the professor’s parting words.
“I’ve got to find out why. Why I succeeded with him, and not the others. Must analyze his brain cells. See exactly where I succeeded. And where I failed.”
I’ll have to remember not to shoot the kid in the head, Knox thought as he watched the laptop continuing the vectoring process of the tracking signal.
Matthew smirked as he terminated the call. It was risky, he knew, playing his hand before he was done. But he needed to do it. He wanted to set the wheels in motion, so that Jetters would know this was no bluff.
I’m capable of anything, he thought. And he knows it.
He glanced back at the Turner twins sleeping blissfully in the back of the rental van. The Blem sat beside them, his mouth taped shut with duct tape, his hands and feet secured with the new handcuffs.
“It won’t be long now,” he said to them, knowing that they wouldn’t have the slightest idea w
hat he meant even if they could hear him. It was difficult, though, to perform without an audience. Perhaps, it was the most difficult part. No one could really appreciate the depth of his genius. Working it all out, flaunting it in the face of the authorities, and having a plan so perfect that after the final act was complete, he could just walk away.
Sprinkling some of the tranquilizers on the ice cream cones had been brilliant. He smiled as he’d watched the two little girls licking them down, the undiluted tranqs exploding into their systems as he talked with their pig of a mother.
He regretted not being able to kill her. The sight of her disgusting body writhing on the ground in the rear of the parking lot after he’d Tasered her made him smile again. She’d bought it hook, line, and sinker when he said they’d have to go around the back to go in the studio. It would have been more expedient to slice open her throat and leave her to bleed to death on the asphalt. But he needed her to wake up and call the cops. He needed the notoriety of the girls being taken. An Amber alert, no doubt. So he’d just kept his finger on the trigger, giving her shock after shock until he grew tired and just walked over and kicked her in the head. He was confident that he’d knocked out some of her rotten teeth, the blood spilling from her lips. But her pulse was strong, so she wasn’t dead. Just unconscious.
He’d left his last, autographed copy of Colby’s book by her prostrate body, with the page marking the chapter about the Swanstrom Twins folded down so the cops would get the connection. No one knew to look for the rented van, which he’d parked behind the strip mall. Ms. Turner had been only too happy to drive them all back to the “studio shoot” at the strip mall. He had only to carry the slumbering twins from the mother’s car to the van, and drive away.
It was all he could do to steer around the pig’s body on the ground, too. But Morgan hadn’t killed Mrs. Swanstrom, so this one had to live, too. Symmetry, he thought. Perfect symmetry.
“Detective MacEllroy gave us your number, Chief,” Colby said, standing on the man’s front porch. It was cold now that the sun had gone down, and he could see his breath. Hank Meister stared back through the screen door. He was a big man and Colby reflected that they weren’t that far apart in age. He hoped that he didn’t look as bad as Meister did. The man’s gut hung over his pants like a sagging bladder.
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