Trace Evidence: A Virals Short Story Collection

by Kathy Reichs

  The Joker turned and raised a shaky hand. Tempe waved for him to join us. He complied, though his every step oozed reluctance.

  “Do you have the key to the trapdoor?” Tempe asked.

  Jenkins nodded, not meeting her eye. “Locked it last night, after we sealed the display case. Did it alone, because my partner bailed early. It’s still secure. Just checked.”

  Only key, and alone. Veeeery interesting. But where was the other guy?

  Tempe opened her mouth to say more, but Flanagan interrupted. “Can you give me your report, Dr. Brennan?”

  Seizing on the diversion, Jenkins slunk away to the front of the stage.

  Tempe watched his retreat thoughtfully. Then she began to relay our findings, which were essentially nothing. Whoever snatched the Terminator had covered their tracks.

  The pants-suited lady joined Tempe’s circle, along with a white-bearded senior in a Hawaiian shirt. I slipped away to my friends behind the rope. Hi and Shelton were fidgeting impatiently, like dogs waiting to be unleashed.

  Hi waved the VIP tickets at me. “Fifteen minutes until the Bones panel starts.”

  “They don’t let you in late,” Shelton warned.

  Ben yawned, covering his mouth. “Anything interesting?”

  “There’s a ransom note.” That got their attention. “If the owner doesn’t fork over fifty K by noon, the robot gets it. Zero clues. No sign how or where it was taken.”

  Ben tucked his hair behind his ears. “How’d they break the glass?”

  “Couldn’t tell.” I glanced at my aunt, now holding court to a rather large audience. “Tempe said it’d take a tremendous amount of force. We even looked for evidence of gunshots, but struck out.”

  Ben crossed his arms. “Something’s bothering you.” A statement, not a question.

  I grunted, half lost in thought. “Whatever shattered that glass must’ve been loud. Yet no one seemed to hear it.”

  Hi pursed his lips, curious despite himself. “The note was handwritten?”

  “Short and scribbled.” I recited the exact wording of the message. “I think the author intentionally disguised his or her penmanship. The paper was secured by ragged pieces of blue-green duct tape.”

  “That won’t help,” Shelton mused. “Half these booths are held together by that stuff.”

  “True.” Hi spoke slowly. “But the T-800 had to leave this room somehow. Which means a door. And if there were people around, even just a few—”

  “The exit point would have to be nearby.” I rose to my tiptoes. “How many do you see?”

  Shelton pointed across the room. “Two on the far wall, but you’d have to pass the Marvel Comics area. Too risky. Plus those doors lead to the lobby. Aren’t people usually lined up outside by six o’clock?”

  Hi nodded. “Way earlier than that.”

  I jabbed a finger at the opposite wall. “They must’ve gone that way, into the bowels of the convention center. Otherwise they’d have wheeled the thing by hundreds of witnesses.”

  “Two doors,” Ben noted. “Both off-limits to visitors.”

  I clapped my hands, energized. “That’s where we start.”

  Hi looked stricken. “But . . . but . . . Bones . . .”

  “We’ve got passes, Tory.” Shelton, almost pleading. “Passes.”

  Ben glanced at Tempe’s knot of listeners. “Why not just tell those cops?”

  I tilted my head, brow furrowed. “I don’t even know how to answer that question.”

  “Here we go.” Shelton buried his face in his hands. “Even on vacation we’re gonna break the law. I might as well burn this costume. This isn’t how a Jedi Master acts.”

  “How do we get through the gatekeeper?” Ben pointed to a yellow-clad female staffer monitoring the doors. “I don’t think Hi’s magic tickets will get it done.”

  “Wasted tickets,” Hi muttered.

  I chewed my lower lip. “We improvise. But first I have to throw Tempe off our scent.”

  That part was blessedly easy.

  Tempe was surrounded by the two police officers, a gaggle of Yellow Shirts, and the iron-faced woman in the navy pants suit. Skipper was nearby, his RoboCop helmet tucked under an armpit as he whispered to the grandpa in the Hawaiian shirt. Both were scowling at Jenkins, who was removing his Joker makeup over by the steps.

  Spotting me, Tempe extricated herself from the dour-faced company. “Sorry, but I’m stuck here awhile. That note has everyone riled up.” She leaned close, pointed to the woman. “That lady runs the exhibition hall. She’s furious about the incident, but doesn’t have a clue what to do. The guy in the tacky bongo-drum shirt is the T-800’s owner. I think he’s been phoning his bank.”

  That surprised me. “He’s going to pay?”

  Tempe drummed her fingers on her leg. “I’d call it a coin flip. Officer Flanagan wants to trace the money, but I doubt they get set up in time—the deadline is in less than ninety minutes. I think he’d rather pay than lose his property. The short timetable has everyone jumpy.”

  My hands found my head. “This is so crazy.”

  Tempe nodded. “But you guys shouldn’t waste your whole day with this. Go have fun. I’ll text you when I can shake loose of this fiasco.”

  Perfect. “Okay. We’ll watch that panel, then wander a bit, maybe check out . . .”

  I trailed off. Had spotted the solution to my next problem.

  Two event-staff badges were sitting on the stage steps. Unattended.

  Tempe missed my distraction. “Let’s grab lunch downtown after I’m done. I hear the Zombie Walk is an absolute riot. We could eat outside and watch.”

  “Yes.” Eyeing the badges. “Good idea.”

  “Dr. Brennan?” Pants Suit was pointedly looking at her watch.

  Tempe squeezed my hand. “See you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Go time.

  Feigning nonchalance, I drifted toward the stage. Breezy. Natural. Nothing to see.

  I leaned against the steps. Casually placed both hands behind my back.

  The boys watched in total consternation. Ben squinted at me, then raised both palms.

  Hold on a minute, doofuses.

  Groping blindly, I snagged the badges and shoved them into my shorts. Fake yawn. Shirt tug. Then I strolled away, face blank, desperately hoping I hadn’t been spotted, and that the badges wouldn’t fall out along the way.

  Thankfully, neither happened. I walked stiffly over to the boys.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered needlessly, then attempted to melt into the crowd.

  “Tory?” Hi’s voice called from behind. “Did you get hit in the head?”

  Ignoring him, I hurried ahead, crossing three aisles before ducking into a relatively quiet corner. When the boys caught up, I was practically dancing with impatience.

  “Why the stealth sprint?” Shelton whined, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  Hi adjusted the waistband of his garish tights. “Not gonna lie, Brennan. You get weird sometimes.”

  “Zip it.” I flashed the staff badges. “Lookie.”

  “Oooh.” Hiram’s eyes widened. “Very nice, but only two?”

  “Best I could manage.” I gave Hi and Shelton an appraising look. “I doubt your costumes would fly anyway. I’m planning to impersonate event staff.”

  “I look fabulous and you know it.” Hi cocked his chin toward Ben. “You think taking him is a good idea? He’s not exactly smooth with the cover stories, if you know what I mean. Meanwhile, that’s kinda my wheelhouse.”

  Ben glared at Hiram, but I spoke first. “He’s right, actually. Like it or not, this is Hi’s specialty. And you do get that guilty look.”

  Ben snorted. “You think they’re letting this—” he waved a hand at Hi’s outfit, “—disaster back there? No chance.
”

  Ben wheeled on Shelton. “What about you?”

  “About me not sneaking around the bowels of this building?” Shelton lifted both palms. “I’m fine with that, believe me.” Then he dodged Ben’s eye. “Hi should be the one.”

  Ben looked from face to face, incredulous. “How is that going to work? Hi didn’t pack a change of clothes, did he?”

  Hi smiled. “No. I didn’t.”

  Shelton’s gaze remained glued to the floor.

  I shuffled sideways. “You see, the thing is . . .”

  Ben’s eyes widened. He took a step back. “Oh no. Not in this lifetime.”

  “Ben, be reasonable,” I said. “Hi can’t wear what—”

  “I’m not putting on those tights.” Ben looked ready to bolt. “They’re ridiculous. And he’s been wearing them all damn morning. That’s disgusting!”

  “I resent that,” Hi said primly. “I took a long shower at the hotel, plus I Gold-Bonded up to reduce chafing. The AC’s been pretty strong in here, so everything’s nice and dry—”

  “I’ll wear the Jedi stuff!” Ben’s voice edged toward panic. “Hi can have my clothes, I take Shelton’s, and he wears the tights.”

  Shelton scoffed. “My gear won’t fit you, man. You’re, like, twice my size. But you and Hiram aren’t too far off, though he won’t be needing your belt.”

  “Then let’s just forget it,” Ben pleaded. “Who cares about this stupid robot anyway?”

  “Ben,” I said sternly. “We have to help Tempe investigate. Stop being so sensitive.”

  I crossed my arms. “Now, are you a team player or not?”

  Hi emerged from the men’s room, cuffing Ben’s jeans and straightening the black tee. “The fit’s not too bad,” he reported. “Baggy, but kinda gangster.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Oh, Ben’s not coming out.” Hi chuckled. “Not until you’re gone.”

  Then Hi whipped out his iPhone. “Don’t worry, I snapped a shot when he wasn’t looking and ran. Related note: Ben legitimately might kill me later. I’ll need your help with that.”

  I giggled at the pic. Ben was squeezed into Hi’s absurd red-and-yellow leotard, a horrified expression on his face. He looked a thousand shades of miserable.

  He also looked . . . good. Very good, to be honest.

  The spandex stretched tightly over his muscular frame. Ben might feel like a clown, but he’d turn a few heads in that getup. If he ever left the bathroom, that is.

  I pushed the thought from my mind.

  “You ready?”

  Hi smiled broadly. “Just follow my lead.”

  I felt a spike of anxiety, but choked it down. “Okay, Hiram. But remember, we’re investigating a crime, not demonstrating how clever you are.”

  “Why can’t we do both?”

  Hi slipped a badge around his neck and walked briskly toward the door.

  The Yellow Shirt held up a hand as we approached.

  She was no older than twenty—a short, squat woman squeezed into crumpled tan slacks and the ubiquitous event-staff polo. Square-cut bangs framed beady eyes that blinked behind a pair of banged-up wire-rim glasses. The rest of her lank brown hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail.

  “Restricted area.” She had a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “Staff only.”

  Hi smiled, held up the lanyard hanging from his neck. “Staff we are, thanks.”

  The bangs rose. “Where’s your polo? Comic-Con staff are required to wear the official shirts. At all times.”

  The upraised hand dropped to a radio at her hip.

  I did not want her to unclip it.

  Hi’s smile never wavered. “I hear you . . . Pam?”

  The woman crossed meaty arms. “Stacey. Nobody named Pam works in the section.”

  Hi wheeled on me, voice scolding. “Because we’re at the wrong door, no doubt!”

  Startled, I actually stepped backward. “Sorry?”

  I had no idea. Instinctually, I dropped my gaze to my sneakers.

  “Sorry doesn’t ice the caviar in Mr. Cruise’s green room.” Hi used air quotes to drive home the point. “I know you’re new, Brittany, but this isn’t going to cut it. At all.”

  Stacey edged a step closer. “Mr. Cruise? You mean, the movie star?”

  Hi slapped a hand to his face, hiding an exaggerated grimace. “See what you did?” he hissed at me. Then suddenly, he was all smiles at Stacey. “Let’s keep that last bit between the three of us, what do you say?”

  “Oh, yes sir.” Stacey nodded seriously, straightening her back. For a moment, I thought she actually might salute. “We’re trained to be very discreet.” Then her shoulders bounced as she broke out in giggles. “I’m a big fan!”

  “Aren’t we all.” Hi winked. “We’re his advance team. He’s due to arrive any minute.” He turned, fixed me with a second glare. “And he’ll expect his cranberry lemonade when he does. And the rib platter!”

  Stacey’s face grew troubled. “Aren’t you a little young to be working for . . . that particular gentleman?”

  “Thanks. Get that all the time.” Hi tapped his temple. “Scientology.”

  There was an awkward pause while he didn’t elaborate.

  “Oh.” Stacey nodded slowly, confused but attempting to hide it. “Of course.”

  “Welp, no more time to waste.” Hi took a step toward the door.

  “The thing is—” Stacey squeaked, shifting her bulk to block him. “I really can’t let you back there with just your badges. It’s restricted. You’re supposed to have a wristband, too, or be on some kinda list, I guess, although they never gave me one for this door. You see, lots of regular people try to sneak back there, so we have to be sticklers for procedure. My boss, Dave, said no exceptions.”

  Hi’s mouth hardened. “Fine. Contact your supervisor. We’ll need to be directed to the proper door.”

  As Stacey reached for her walkie-talkie, I flashed him a panicked look.

  What are you doing, Hiram?

  Fortunately, my anxiety played right into Hi’s game.

  Hands clasped before him, he gave me the evil eye.

  “Stacey?” He didn’t glance her direction as he spoke. “When you get ahold of Dave, let him know that someone needs to be escorted from the premises.” To me: “This was strike three, Brittany. You’re out. Curtains. Game over. The end. Fin. I need assistants I can count on.”

  Sensing Hi’s play, I finally spoke. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Sto—house.”

  Wince.

  But I kept going.

  “I thought this was the way back to the green room.” In my saddest-sack voice possible. “I didn’t think we needed those wristbands until we got to the stage. Honest! I can’t get fired, I need this internship for school. My dad will freak . . .”

  Head dropping, I faked a few sniffles.

  That’s when I saw them.

  Glass fragments. Dotting the floor mat on which we stood.

  Bingo!

  “Mr. Stohouse?” Stacey looked genuinely pained. “I think she made an honest mistake. No need for anyone to lose their job or nothing.”

  “This mistake is costing me time!” Hi thundered, hands flying up theatrically. “We need to be set up in ten minutes, but now we have to find another way back inside. And she forgot the wristbands.”

  Hi’s performance was epic, but I was focused on the glass.

  Shoulders heaving with a few fake sobs, I let my swag bag drop to the floor. Squatting to retrieve it, I scooped two tiny shards and shoved them in my back pocket. Then I curled my arms around my knees and blubbered like a baby.

  Stacey broke. Wiping her hands on her slacks, she stepped aside and nodded toward the door. “How ’bout you hustle inside and we forget this ever happened?” Her wire rims glittered as she nerv
ously scanned for observers, like a dealer watching for the cops. “Just this once. You can snag those wristbands and get ’em on. No one will be the wiser.”

  Hi sighed. “Very well. I’ll excuse Brittany’s debacle, but only because we’re in a hurry.” Then he leaned close to Stacey and whispered conspiratorially, “Mr. Cruise could be coming through this door at any minute. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “This door? But they never . . . this really isn’t the way . . .” Stacey visibly gathered herself, practically quivering with excitement. “You got it, Mr. Stohouse.”

  “No,” Hi answered solemnly, stepping around the guard and hurrying me toward the forbidden door. “You have got it, Stacey. In spades. I daresay you’re the best event-staff-security door watcher in this entire outfit. Bravo.”

  Reaching the exit, I noticed a “No Trespassing” sign taped to its face.

  Felt a jolt of electricity.

  Stacey watched in surprise as I tore down the sign on our way through.

  “This way, no one can follow us,” Hi said mysteriously. Nonsensically. “We were never here.”

  Stacey nodded grimly. Flashed a hidden thumbs-up.

  When the door closed behind us, I blew out a sigh of relief.

  “That only worked because she’s a low-watt bulb,” I pointed out.

  “I factored that in,” Hi insisted, hazel eyes twinkling. “But we’d better hustle. Wanna explain why you’re stealing paper signs?”

  I tapped the blue-green duct tape hanging from its edges. “Looks exactly like the type on the ransom note.”

  “Aha!” Hi nodded appreciatively. “What do you think it means?”

  “At the very least, we know our crook used the same brand of duct tape as the event staff.” I reached into my back pocket. “But when you factor in these beauties, I think we’re on to something. These fragments were lying on the mat at Stacey’s feet.”

  “Tape and glass.” Hi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Still pretty circumstantial. Even if the Terminator came through here, what now? Where’d he go?”

  “No idea.” Slipping the fragments back into my shorts. “Look around.”

  We stood at one end of a cavernous concrete hallway—brightly lit and painted a dull green, with steel doors lining both sides. A train of hand carts were pushed against one wall. We were the only people in sight, but that was unlikely to remain true for long.