by James O'Neal
Leonard had offered to escort Mari to the site where the two bodies had been found. Of course he knew precisely where the house was and he knew why she was so interested but it was a lot of fun to play along. He loved being ahead of the game.
His steam-powered car rumbled and hissed to a stop down the street from the house. He smiled at the crowd that had gathered around. They had no idea.
Mari said, “If this kind of stuff upsets you, I’ll go on alone. I just want a little information.”
“No, ma’am. No telling if the killer is hanging around. I’ll come with you.”
They walked slowly as Mari told him how she had never been in this neighborhood by the Zone River.
He noticed the old woman who lived next to Darla and Lisa on her porch. In the lounger next to her lay the heavily bandaged figure that Darla had talked about. The man who had been pulled from the river had hardly moved since.
Mari said, “Wonder what happened to him?”
“Burns.”
“How’d you know that?” She looked at him. Her big brown eyes fixing on his own.
“I can tell by the bandages.”
“Poor man,” she said as she turned toward the house with the bandaged man.
Leonard wondered where the hell she was going. He turned and followed her.
As she approached the older woman, Mari said, “Excuse me.”
“Yes, dear.” The woman had an odd Spanish-Jamaican accent
“Are you here alone?”
“Just me and my patient.”
“Does he need to see a doctor? I could help.”
“No, dear, he has refused all attention other than my bandaging. I think that’s more vanity. He’s getting better. A few weeks ago he wouldn’t have made it out on the porch to see all the excitement.”
“Is he a relative?”
“No, just a refugee, like all of us. Except I think he came from the district here instead of the other way around.”
Mari smiled and backed away. On the way out of the yard she said in a low voice, “There’s something odd about that injured man.”
“Tell me about it. He gives me the creeps.”
They walked to the edge of the crowd where several men and a woman pulled out the sheet-covered bodies from the house.
“Does anyone know what happened?” asked Mari.
“Someone stuck them in the throats. Looks like it’s the Vampire.”
Mari gasped, unable to answer such a blunt and accurate statement.
Leonard hid his little smile.
They waited as Mari listened to all kinds of rumors. Someone said it was a killer from the district. Another man said it was Jack the Ripper who was now two hundred years old and someone else said it was a double suicide. Of course no one was right.
Leonard knew the truth but he wasn’t going to say anything. He liked the nickname “the Vampire.”
Mari turned to him and said, “I need to get into the district to talk to someone.”
Leonard nodded his head and said, “I can get you into the district.”
NINETEEN
Tom Wilner had listened to the lab tech bitch about how he was tricked into coming all the way down into the district for the last ten minutes.
Finally Wilner said, “Look, I’m sorry, but this is important. I needed you.”
“Then why didn’t you ask? Pretending to be the commander and saying you needed to meet me at the hospital is stupid.”
“It worked.”
The tech looked at him, concealing any emotion.
“I told you, this is important.”
“If I ask the commander will he agree?”
Wilner thought about it. At least this lead was in the United States. Maybe his boss would go along with the use of a lab person on this.
The lab tech stood to his full, gawky six feet. “Would he agree how important this is?”
Wilner glared at him and said, “If you want to make it back to your office in the Northern Enclave you better believe it’s important. I’ve wasted too much time being pleasant. There’s no one here who can tip you or offer you any incentive other than the knowledge that could help catch a serial killer. Isn’t that enough?”
The tech’s eyes lingered on Wilner for a moment and looked down. He mumbled, “I guess so.” Then he went back to work. He held a blown-up copy of the print Wilner had found a few nights earlier that matched the old, unsolved homicide. The tech sprayed a mist onto different areas around the furnace to see if he could match it. He wore a small lens that quickly evaluated all the prints that weren’t involved in the case.
Wilner said, “All I need is one print that matches to show he was here. Then I’ll work the leads we might find from that.”
As the tech continued his search in an expanding arc, a young doctor walked in.
“Wilner, I thought you’d be here.”
“Hey, Doc.”
The young man stepped over to the table where the prosthetic hand was laid out, its titanium frame intact but the electronics and crystals had been shattered by the heat. He held up the hand and examined it. “Yeah, this was Terry’s.” He shook his head, then looked up at Wilner. “Any idea what happened?”
Wilner took him away from the tech and the security guard who watched the hunt for a fingerprint. He trusted the doctor because he had been trained in the two-year medical program for military doctors in Kansas and then served in several combat zones.
Wilner said, “My guess is that the killer knew I’d try and talk to her. He might have lured her down here to make disposing the body easier.”
“Could it be someone here in the hospital?”
“Maybe. It was someone who knew Terry and Donna and, unless he was just lucky, knew where the furnace here was located.”
The doctor held up the prosthetic hand. “What’re you gonna do with this?”
“I’ll hold it as evidence until we catch the guy.”
“Then what will happen to it?”
“Discard it I guess. Is there anything you can do with a used prosthetic arm?”
“This isn’t like the days when we had the resources to make more prosthetics. Despite all the advances in prosthetics, money for rehab and the operations to attach them had dried up. Many vets are being fitted with the old-style hook. A hand like this could be of use to someone and see a second life after it got new electronics. Don’t toss it.”
“I promise, Doc. When the case is over you’ll get the whole thing.”
The young doctor nodded. “Thanks.”
Then Wilner heard the lab tech shout, “Yes.”
Wilner rushed to him as he lay a white strip across one print on the side of the furnace front. “A perfect match.”
Now he had one more piece of the puzzle.
Tom Wilner sat at his desk for the first time in days. He knew he didn’t have to gather too much evidence anymore because the judges were so likely to convict and send someone off to a penal military unit. Absolute guilt was no longer an element of the criminal justice system. It was rare a court case went more than one hearing. Usually the evidence and testimony was presented to a judge on the day the defendant first appeared in court. The sentence followed within minutes and it usually involved service in some foreign war.
He had spent a whole day eliminating every male staff member from the hospital by checking their prints against the killer’s. Now Wilner was using what few effective databases were left to track the names that were on the list Besslia found in the old police files. The problem was that no database was up-to-date. At least here in Florida.
He couldn’t help it, but he focused on the one eastern European name, Janos Dadicek. He decided that if he cleared each name it would take too long. Someone else might die that he could save. Instead he went with his instinct. The killer couldn’t be human. Not if he left prints at different crime scenes fifty years apart. The Simolits were from Eastern Europe so it made sense that if he found Janos Dadicek he might find the killer.<
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The other problem he had was that the killer could’ve changed his name a hundred times in the past fifty years. He could be called John Smith now. No, this was an investigation that would require him to start fifty years earlier and work his way into the current century.
Besslia had checked out one of the UPF all–terrain trucks with solid, wide wheels by saying he didn’t feel up to riding the Hive-bike but would still work. The UPF was so shorthanded that they’d take him anyway he could come. The state government simply had no money to hire more cops. That was why the relocation program was so vital.
Besslia also told his boss he intended to check on the extreme western roads that rarely got patrolled. His boss saw a double win there because, although they were supposed to cover the entire southern tip of the state, they really stayed on the east coast.
Besslia smiled from behind the wheel of the giant, hydrogen-powered truck that felt like it could rumble over anything that got in its way. He had his friend, Johann Halleck, in the passenger seat. The big man gave Besslia more confidence, although he made the occasional joke too. Like now.
Johann chuckled and said, “So these smart dogs figured out how to wait for you?”
“I’m tellin’ you they talked to each other.”
“In English or another language?”
“In grunts and barks.”
“How would they write that?”
“Funny, but people said the same things about dolphins once. Now humans can interact with them through translation machines.”
“On a limited basis.”
“But that’s just it. People used to think they were just fish and couldn’t talk at all.”
Johann nodded in agreement. “I still don’t know why you had to risk your life going down there anyway.”
“I had to do something useful. I’m tired of the other cops laughing at me behind my back.”
“And did you accomplish this goal?”
“Sort of, but Wilner had to bail me out again. If it wasn’t for him I’d be dog food.”
“But you did, in a way, save him as well.”
“How’s that?”
“You found a list of suspects for his case. He might be able to stop this killer because of you.”
Besslia paused and turned to look at his friend. “Do you think it’s one of your people?”
Johann shook his head. “I don’t know. The time span seems to point toward a member of my family or the Simolits but I don’t know if it rings true.”
“What other explanation could it be?”
“Perhaps we finally found someone with identical prints. It is only one finger. It’s not like the whole hand has been printed.”
“That would sure screw up a number of cases where someone was convicted based only on prints.”
“DNA exonerated a lot of people when they still used it regularly.”
Besslia nodded as they turned onto the remnant of the old Alligator Alley or Interstate 75. There were still long stretches of usable road, but years of neglect and the lack of demand sent the highway through the Everglades into a spiral of disrepair.
The Tamiami Trail, old Highway 41, was hardly visible where it cut through the Everglades to the south. The giant swamp had reclaimed it as completely as India had reclaimed Pakistan. All it was now was a hard trail under a few inches of water in some places. No one had used it for travel in years. At least no one from the United States.
This could become a dangerous trip as they exited off the old road. No one talked much about how the southwest corner of Florida had crept back to nature. First the hurricane had turned most buildings into ruin, the residents left in the thousands and all government offices shut down. They tried to clean up a few areas but then everyone abandoned the area.
Ecoterrorists claimed huge victories and went back to demolish the remaining buildings so nature could return more easily. Now, without government monitoring, there were only sporadic reports of people in the area. Most of the reports were of missing persons who had told someone they were on their way over there to salvage buildings or explore.
The UPF had little patience with people who ventured into places like Naples. The force didn’t have the resources to spread patrols all across the state when every taxpayer lived on the east side of the state.
After more than twenty miles of smooth driving, the road disappeared into a low snarl of brush and swampy water.
“Shit,” called out Besslia as he fought to maintain control and slow the massive vehicle down. He felt it float for a moment and thought they were in real trouble if the truck sank. But the front tires touched solid land again and brought it up on a bumpy stretch of muddy soil. A gigantic alligator, unused to any human presence, skittered out from in front of the truck. It slipped into the water and Besslia got a good look at a twenty-foot alligator swimming away, its long, muscular tail propelling it slowly away from the truck.
Johann said, “Perhaps we should return to the road when it appears again.”
Besslia looked at him. “Thanks for that tip.”
In a minute he could see the interstate resume and look like it was in good shape for a mile more. He wondered what had caused this particular section to fold in on itself.
Once they were on the smooth highway, Johann said, “Do you think that was a smart alligator?”
Besslia mumbled, “I think I’m riding with a smart-ass.”
They were still miles from what once was the city of Naples.
TWENTY
Mari Saltis was nervous as she looked down the street in the Miami Quarantine Zone at the bridge that led to the southernmost point in the continental United States, The Lawton District. She sat in the passenger seat of Leonard’s steam-powered Honda. They had reached the car’s maximum speed of twenty-four miles an hour.
Mari said, “I don’t know about this, Leonard.”
“C’mon, you want to talk to the cop. I can get you into the district easy enough. I do it all the time.”
“I haven’t gone into the district in eight years. Last time I risked it was when one of my students had a bad infection and had to go to the district hospital. There was no choice then. But the whole idea of sneaking into the United States scares me.”
“We’re not really sneaking so much as bribing our way in. These guardsmen know me. There won’t be any problem.”
At the bridge a tall black sergeant walked up to the idling car. He smiled as he got closer. “Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy. Got a new job.”
“Look,” started the sergeant. “They’re cracking down on crossings right now.”
“Why?” asked Leonard.
“They have a whole bunch of new people moving down and they want them feeling safe. There was a murder up here last week too. The killer tried to make it to the zone before our boys knocked him down with heavy fire.”
Mari knew that the killer had escaped. She had seen what he could do.
Leonard said, “That a fact. If you killed him, he can’t be a problem, right?”
The big sergeant scratched his chin.
“And I been through here before and always came back like I said, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So if you were to make an extra fifty in U.S. cash, I could go over for a few hours, couldn’t I?”
The sergeant thought about it, then leaned into the car. “But who’s this?”
“That’s my boss. She runs the school in the zone. I’ll make sure she gets back with me.”
The sergeant eyed her.
Mari smiled, not wanting to show her nervousness.
The sergeant snatched the bill from Leonard’s hand and said, “Okay, but be back before midnight when my shift ends.”
“You got it, Sarge.”
They crossed the bridge and Mari found herself in the United States for the first time in many years.
Wilner got the message on his V-com. Mari had managed to send a text message to so
me errant Internet connection through a site in Tokyo to him, saying she intended to come into the district this evening and would like to meet him at a new chain restaurant near the border. Wilner knew the monstrosity of neon and cement. He had even eaten there once since it had opened. It was the talk of the district and apparently the zone too. No chain had ventured this far down in almost fifteen years, but with the arrival of the newcomers and the promise of growth, the chain decided to risk a location near the end of the known United States.
Wilner raced home to see his children before he met her. They charged him like Libyans rushing the Russians at the battle of Surt. Wilner snatched them up and stood to his full six-foot-one-inch height. He noticed the babysitter smile from the corner of his eye. The girl lived with her parents on the next street and was studying small engine repair with her father a couple of days a week. She was one of the few younger people who didn’t profess a desire to leave this wasteland as soon as she could. That explained the practical trade like engine repair.
Wilner turned to her and said, “Ali, could you stay a few extra hours tonight?”
The tall, pretty girl scrunched her nose and thought about it, finally saying, “Sure, Mr. Wilner. It’ll be fun.”
Even the kids cheered until they learned that it meant their father had to leave.
Overall it was easier than he had thought as he piled into his hive and headed off to meet Mari Saltis.
It was much later than Besslia had hoped it would be when they came to the end of the road. The interstate literally seemed to disappear into a thatch of wild underbrush and flowing water. He knew by the GPS coordinates that they were near where the old city of Naples had once been.
Without waiting for any questions from Johann, Besslia turned to one side, avoiding a leaning banyan tree, and let the truck’s large tires roll over stumps and other brush. He felt the truck buck from one side to the other, then level off as it rolled over thick brush. He couldn’t see anything in front of him but branches. It still beat trying to walk through this mess of limbs, leaves and vegetation.
Somewhere close by, he heard the croak of a large alligator and a flock of white egrets took off. Besslia knew there was water at the base of all the brush, he could smell it and hear an occasional splash as the truck thumped hard on top of the trees.