The Forensic Geology Box Set

by Toni Dwiggins

  “It’s a bunch of fools what come here in the heat of the summer,” Hap said, “and for no good reason under the blistering sun they runs theyselves from Badwater halfway up Mount Whitney.”

  Reflexively, I looked. I couldn’t see it because the Panamints were between my line of sight and the Sierra Nevada, but I knew it was there. Mount Whitney had to be more than a hundred miles from here.

  “Big deal is, Badwater’s the lowest elevation in the continental states,” Hap said, “and Whitney’s the highest.”

  Soliano frowned. “That is a feat, but...”

  “It’s stupid,” Pria said.

  “But you have seen the race? You know the ring. What is this, a prize?”

  “My cousin got one. He didn’t win. He just ran. He’s stupid.”

  Soliano turned to Hap. “I find this odd. Roy Jardine allowed you to draw his hands, and he was proud enough of his feat to wear this ring, and yet he did not tell you about his race?”

  “Boy ain’t a braggart. One of his endearing qualities.”

  Soliano’s gaze fell to the sketchbook. “What does this tell us about him?”

  I said, “He’s into extremes.”

  “Worse than that,” Hap said, “he’s into irony. Badwater. Baaaad water.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “There is a saying I learned my first year at Quantico.” Soliano glanced at his watch. “Close counts in horseshoes.”

  I said, “Only.”

  Soliano’s attention shifted to a woman in a peach uniform coming our way across the lawn. I recognized her. Gloria. Tiny, pretty, looked about twelve. I’d borrowed a tiny swimsuit from her.

  “What?” Soliano said to me, eyes on Gloria.

  “Close counts only in horseshoes. But there’s another saying, one I learned my first year in the lab...”

  “Que?” Soliano said, to Gloria.

  She halted. She spoke fast.

  Soliano leaned forward. “Aqui?”

  She pointed beyond the terraced edge of the lawn.

  We both looked. There was nothing.

  “What is it?” I asked Soliano.

  “Somebody is hurt.”

  I looked around. I saw Hap and Pria, artist and subject, once again engrossed in her hands. I saw no one else.

  Gloria raised her palms to the sky. “Por favor.”

  Soliano and I headed toward the far end of the lawn where a stone monolith rose from the stone wall. Beyond the monolith were more walkways. My foot struck something hard. I looked down. A green croquet ball was camouflaged in the grass.

  Soliano did not slow. “What saying did you learn?”

  It took me a moment. “You don’t get there unless you get close first.”

  He laughed.

  “Alli,” Gloria called, behind us.

  From behind the monolith, a shoulder and stretch of leg came in and out of view. Someone was approaching, jerky. The lower arm bent inward. Someone was hurt and cradling a wound. And then she lurched so suddenly out from the monolith’s shadow that it seemed she’d been tossed. She doubled over, face to knees.

  “Dios mio,” Soliano whispered.

  She looked up grinning.

  There was no wound. The only marks on her white shirt and white jeans were streaks of dirt and something yellowish that reminded me of the egg yolk stain on my shirt before Hap sent it to be laundered.

  She was grimacing, not grinning. The lax skin bunched around her mouth.

  “What’d you do, Chickie?” Pria was suddenly beside me.

  Hap joined us. “Hold onto the girl.”

  I circled her waist. She twisted and yelped. I glimpsed, beyond the struggling Pria, Walter rushing out of his room. He came up on the other side of her. I let her go and she tunneled into him.

  Chickie made an animal sound.

  “Hector,” Hap said, “you better call Scotty and tell him to get his RERTs on the scene.”

  Soliano was already dialing. He kept his eyes on Chickie, the same way he’d fixed on the radiation-sick bat on the garden lawn. “Might she carry contaminants? On her person?”

  “I’m sure gonna assume that.” Hap picked up the croquet ball and tossed it a couple of feet in front of us. “Listen up, boys and girls, that’s the do-not-cross line. Y’all know about the inverse square concept? That’s the one where just a little distance from a point source makes a big difference in dose. Give the gents some space.”

  Pria said, “She’s moving!”

  Chickie was struggling to get to her feet.

  “Miss Chick,” Hap said, “you’d best stay put and we’ll fix you up.”

  I didn’t think so. Her eyes widened, lifting the loose lids to show the bloodshot whites. She crumpled and retched yellowish stuff into the emerald lawn. I didn’t think we were going to fix her up.

  “Yuck,” Hap said, pulling on latex gloves.

  Soliano said, “Wait.” His gaze settled on Chickie. “Ms. Jellinek. What happened to you?”

  She spat. Yellow spittle webbed her chin.

  “Ms. Jellinek. You have been where?”

  Hap said, “Uh, Hector, interrogating a subject who’s woofin her cookies is kinda a no-no in this country.” He snapped his gloves down tight. “Ain’t it?”

  Soliano said, icy, “This is not the flu.” He made another phone call and I caught the word “lockdown.”

  I felt the heat. The sun was out from behind the clouds, sucking me dry. The smell of Chickie’s vomit washed our way. I gagged. I noticed that nobody was in sight but us. The swimmers had left the pool. Gloria had disappeared. Where were the gardeners? Where were the sunburned Germans? Had everyone abandoned ship but us? Or maybe the lockdown was already in force. Chickie was on her haunches. Her mouth squirmed and she doubled over again only this time there was no egg yolk, just dry heaving. And here we stood staring like we’d stopped at the scene of an accident. All we could do was wait for Scotty with his shower and long-handled brushes. I recalled how that shower felt, only I’d worn protective clothing. Chickie wore white cotton and raw skin. She straightened, hands braced in the grass, like some fat white bulldog.

  Soliano said, “You went where, Ms. Jellinek?”

  I said, “Do we need to do this now?”

  “If this will move us closer.”

  “It’s not goddamn horseshoes.”

  Walter said “Cassie” and when I looked he mouthed boots. I got it—her boots were caked with mud, and there’s geology to do. Still, I waited for something more, like, after she’s been deconned and treated and she’s not disintegrating in front of us let’s by all means get hold of those boots, but Walter only lifted his eyebrows and tightened his grip on Pria. His concern, I saw, was for the child and not the disintegrating mother.

  Soliano tried again. “You encountered some...beads...Ms. Jellinek?”

  I looked then at Chickie’s boots and like it’s been bred in the bone I thought, maybe we’ll get lucky and find distinct mud layers preserved in the waffle soles.

  “Help us,” Soliano said, “and we will be able to assist you.”

  Chickie extended her middle finger.

  Pria hissed, “Stop it, you.”

  Chickie faced the lawn and retched.

  Hap fished a syringe and small brown bottle from his kit. He tore the plastic wrap off the syringe. He needled the the bottle and sauntered across the croquet line.

  Soliano snapped, “Stop, Miller.”

  Hap threw us a grin. “Time equals dose. I’ll be quick.” He caught Chickie’s right arm and yanked up her sleeve.

  “Stop. I do not wish her sedated.”

  Hap froze, needle raised.

  And then all at once as if it had been choreographed Hap let go of Chickie and retreated across the croquet line and Scotty came running and a Beatty Sheriff chopper slipped out of the clouds and ranger trucks appeared on the road below and began the climb up the fan.

  Chickie collapsed in the grass. For a moment I thought she’d died. Then her eyelids flickered
and reddened eyes gleamed through slits. She spoke, just audible above the incoming grumble of the chopper. “I got somethin you fuckers want.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Rain came along with RERT, big fat drops that panicked Scotty because if there were resin beads on Chickie’s person he did not want Mother Nature washing them into the lawn, and so Lucy in her suit held a big Wal-Mart umbrella over Chickie.

  The rest of us huddled under the roof of the walkway while rangers and deputies patrolled the perimeter.

  RERTs in hazmat rushed in equipment and raised the decon corridor. They started the pump and the yellow plastic unfolded itself into a shower. They connected the hose to the PVC pipe and ran it into Soliano’s room, to the bathtub faucet. They ran the outflow hose across the grass past the monolith in the direction of the parking lot. Two of them began to meter the walkway, should Chickie have left a radiation trail. Another turned to Chickie and ripped open her shirt.

  Pria gasped. Walter escorted her to his room.

  Chickie fought feebly. It took three RERTs. They yanked off her boots. They unzipped her pants. They stood her up and peeled her to the skin. She hung between two of them. The third lifted her feet and they high-stepped into the yellow catch basin. The water went on. The nozzles sprayed all four of them, the RERTs in their slick white suits and Chickie in her loose white skin.

  Soliano, decorous, turned away.

  Hap watched, matter-of-fact.

  I sank against the wall and studied my boots.

  When it was finished Scotty came over, skinning off his hood and mask, blond hair spiking every which way. “Okey-doke, Hector,” he said, grim, “you get ten and then she’s on a chopper to Vegas. They got doctors trained for this.”

  “No,” Soliano said, “you will fly your doctor here. In the meanwhile, Mr. Miller will render medical assistance.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It was hot in Soliano’s room. The air conditioner was off because Chickie had the chills.

  She lay on the bed. The blanket covered her from the neck down but her naked arms and doughy shoulders were exposed. The skin of her arms was reddened, raising in patches like crackling pastry. Her eyes were shut. Beside her pillow was an aluminum bowl.

  Hap eased the needle into her arm, then massaged the IV bag.

  I was waiting my turn for a closeup under her fingernails. I heard Walter, just outside, arguing with Scotty about a shielded box of contaminated clothing and boots. Although the decon shower had not flushed any observable beads, Scotty—and the rest of us—were not taking any chances.

  Soliano said, “Ms. Jellinek?”

  She lifted, and the blanket slipped to reveal stringy breasts as she twisted to bury her face in the bowl. She retched loudly then collapsed onto the bed.

  Hap adjusted the IV tubing then pulled the blanket back up to her neck.

  “Mr. Miller,” Soliano said, “how long does this...indisposition...last?”

  “It’s the prodromal phase, Hector. Lasts couple days or so. Then she goes latent for awhile.”

  Soliano moved closer to the bed, gazing down at Chickie. “Ms. Jellinek, the quicker we proceed, the quicker you can rest through this difficult phase. You say you have something we want?”

  He put me in mind of a raptor examining its prey.

  She glared. “What you fuckers do to my desert?”

  “You refer to Mr. Jardine?”

  She was silent so long I thought she’d said her last.

  “Help us find this man who threatens your desert.”

  She held up two fingers.

  “Two men?”

  I thought, she doesn’t know that Ryan Beltzman is dead.

  “And you are what?” Soliano asked. “A partner?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Just sold ‘em my talc.”

  “And attacked my geologists.”

  She grinned. Grimaced. Then twisted, this time clutching the blanket, and retched into the bowl. When she lay back there were tears in her eyes.

  The sympathy I’d been feeling evaporated in the overheated room.

  Hap held up a bottle and syringe. “Anti-emetic, Hector. Stop the vomiting.”

  “And make her drowsy, yes?”

  “Could.”

  “We will delay medication.” Soliano shrugged. “Ms. Jellinek, help us and then we will help you.”

  She whispered, “Get Pria.”

  Soliano smiled. When he’d left the room I watched Hap massage the IV bag and my skin puckered where he’d run saline into me, and then Chickie caught my eye and licked her finger and mimed touching my cheek, and then Soliano opened the door and ushered in Pria.

  Chickie raised her head to nod at her daughter. The blanket slipped slightly, revealing the fibrous roots of her breasts.

  Pria’s brown skin went crimson. “God.”

  Chickie jerked up the blanket. “Pree.” Her voice was raw. “A million bucks, you an me. I’m sellin—he’s buyin.” She jerked a thumb at Soliano. “You make sure he don’t weasel.”

  Pria wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Ms. Jellinek,” Soliano said, “this is not taking us where we need to go.”

  Chickie’s tongue flicked out, wetting her cracked lips. “Awright. There’s pellets.” She cleared her throat. “Lot of em.”

  Soliano said, softly, “They are loose?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  A current seemed to run through the room.

  Soliano said, “Where are they?”

  “Ain’t gonna tell you, am I?” Chickie winked at Pria. “Not till you pay up.”

  “Perhaps you do not know.”

  “Callin me a liar?”

  “I am calling your bluff.”

  She grinned. “Well I took some of them pellets. Whole pack full.”

  I went cold. The thought that triple-X resin beads were accessible, that this woman had found her way to Roy Jardine’s depot and simply helped herself, made the hairs stand up on my arms. I was simply agog at the ease with which the beads had passed from the jurisdiction of one thief to the hands of another. I suddenly wanted Soliano to tighten the screws.

  “Where is the pack now?” was all he asked.

  “Took it to Vegas.”

  Hap whistled his falling skyrocket. Ooops.

  “Where,” Soliano asked, dialing his cell, “in Vegas?”

  She rubbed her thumb against her fingers.

  “In a public place?”

  “Hid it in the closet in my room. Vegas is full of fuckin thieves.”

  I sat stunned, listening to Soliano relay the information to his agents. Not only does she help herself to Jardine’s stash, she then takes that pack of hot beads to Las Vegas. Which room? Which maids? Which motel, hotel, of the hundreds in Vegas? What if she didn’t register under her own name?

  She let it run, then said, “Hey dimwits, pack ain’t there now. Go look in your fuckin parkin lot. White pickup. Under the seat.”

  Soliano gave her a long look, then phoned Scotty.

  Chickie’s lips skinned back. Grin, grimace, hard to say.

  Hap leaned in. “How long since you took the beads?” He looked her over. “I’d say your exposure started in the last twenty-four hours or so.” He studied her blistering arms. “You load the beads by hand?”

  “That why I’m sick?”

  Hap rolled his eyes. “Ooooh baby. Yowza.”

  She swallowed. “Wore one of their fuckin moonsuits.”

  “Just the suit?”

  “The whole thing, tank and all. An I know how to use a fuckin air tank cuz I took a mine safety course so I knew what I was doin so why the fuck am I sick?”

  “It’s not enough,” Hap said, almost gentle. “Unshielded beads—you got too close. For too long.” He studied her face. “How about the facepiece? You seal it up tight? Breathe in anything that felt like dust?”

  I cut in, “Beads can be inhaled?”

  “Yowza. Small ones can go aerosol. Don’t wanna inhale Mr. Alpha—he’s partial to the lu
ngs.” Hap smiled a pained smile. “Tell me, Miss Chick, how long’d you wear your moonsuit?”

  “Long as I had to, loadin the pellets.” She looked, suddenly, a little desperate. “But I wrapped my pack in one of them silver sheets they had for...whaddya call it?”

  “Shielding,” Hap said. He did not add: it’s not nearly enough.

  Soliano closed his phone and moved back in. “Ms. Jellinek, how far did you carry the pack?”

  Her eyes filmed and I thought, she’s calculating. You don’t have to calculate distance if your car is nearby. She walked a good ways. And she’d worn her moonsuit only to load the pellets, which means she’d removed it before leaving the place, which means she’d removed booties as well, which means that’s good clean uncontaminated mud caked in her boots. I wanted to read it.

  “How far, Ms. Jellinek? From the place you got your pellets?”

  “You tryin to trick me, Mr. Fucker?”

  “I am trying to get through to you,” Soliano snapped. “You have no time for this childishness. You are going to get sicker.”

  Pria sucked in her breath.

  “Hang on, Pree.” Chickie’s inflamed eyes slitted. “We’re negotiatin.”

  Soliano grew a thin smile. “Then give us something. When did you see the two men?”

  “Long time before you fuckers came.”

  “Who did you see? Mr. Jardine?”

  “Fuck him, yeah, Jardine.”

  “Who was the second man?”

  “Blond fucker.”

  “Was the blond man named Ryan Beltzman?”

  “Didn’t get introduced.”

  “How did you come to find the place with the pellets?”

  “Followed the blond fucker once.”

  “Why did you return? This time.”

  She let out a snort.

  Greed, I thought. Jardine paid her for talc and the use of her mine, Jardine no doubt paid her to strand us in the desert, so after gauging the interest of the FBI, why not see if she can sell something else?

  “Was Jardine there?” Soliano asked. “This time?”

  She snorted again.

  No, I thought, or she’d already be dead. Then where was Jardine?

  Soliano pressed. “Did you see anyone at the place where you found the pellets? This time?”