The Soul Collectors dm-4

by Chris Mooney

  'As long as it took,' he said.

  'Because you know these people.'

  'Let's just say I've had… experience.'

  Darby waited for the details. Casey didn't offer any.

  'I want it all out on the table,' she said. 'Right now.'

  'If I tell you, will you go to a safe house?'

  'No.'

  'That's the only way I can protect you.'

  'I've seen your people's talents in action. No, thanks.'

  'You're not getting it.' Some of Casey's anger resurfaced. He slid off the desk and stared down at her. 'I'm trying to protect you. I've been trying to keep you safe all this time but you keep kicking me in the goddamn face.'

  'Then you shouldn't have lied to me.'

  His expression softened slightly. 'This group has been — they're dangerous.' He paused, then added, 'Very dangerous. I can't stress that enough. You need to go with the agents to the safe house. Please.'

  Casey had delivered the words without the usual cornball melodrama seen in bad TV shows. He said them almost painfully, and she would have forgiven the cheesy pregnant pause — a lame attempt to let the seriousness of his words sink in — if it wasn't for the way he was looking at her right now, this odd, almost paternal expression.

  'What do you want?' she said. 'A hug?'

  'You don't understand — '

  'I understand perfectly,' she said. 'I tried to bait them at the blast site. They installed tracking devices inside my jacket and on my bike. I thought I was being followed by one, maybe two of these people. Turns out they brought six, three of which I wouldn't even classify as human.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  She told him about hiding in the dumpster, about watching the three people standing on the edge of the woods. Told him about watching these three through her night-vision goggles when the ghoulish-looking creature scrambled to the edge of the crater holding a stun baton. Told him about the thing scrambling down into the crater and into the basement and then coming back up and making that creepy squawking sound in the night air.

  Casey should have refuted what she had just said, maybe excused himself and then returned with two psychiatric orderlies holding a straitjacket clinking with buckles. But he didn't say anything, didn't seem at all surprised.

  'Why did they want to capture me?' she asked.

  'I don't know, which is why you're going into seclusion for a while.'

  'You're a bad liar.'

  'Come on, let's go.'

  'I'm not sitting in a safe house with a bunch of low-grade feds who got stuck babysitting me.'

  'What are you going to do? You can't go back to work.'

  'I'm going to find Mark Rizzo.'

  'He's already dead. If he isn't, he's on his way.'

  'Then I'll keep digging.'

  'Small problem,' he said. 'You're no longer in law enforcement.'

  'Neither are you, but here you are, plucked out of retirement and running the show. Why?'

  He didn't answer.

  'I've already uncovered evidence,' she said.

  That got his full attention.

  'What sort of evidence?' he asked.

  'I'll turn it over after you bring me on board.'

  'To do what?'

  'To assist in the investigation,' she said. 'I've seen these people up close. And if you're worried about protection, then move me into the inner circle. I'd be safer, sticking close to you since — '

  'Deliberately withholding evidence is a clear charge of obstruction of justice.'

  'It sure is. And you can get me locked up for it too.' She snapped her fingers, then added, 'Oh, but then you're back to your original problem of having me speak in front of a judge, and you're not going to allow that to happen. And I'm not going to sit around a safe house waiting for these people to find me — and they will. They found Mark Rizzo, and my guess is they're also looking for you.'

  She waited for Casey to speak, to refute what she had just said, but he only sat there, staring.

  'I think I know why you're here,' Darby said. 'The real reason you're here.'

  46

  'I've read about you,' Darby said. 'Followed you in the papers and on the Internet.'

  'You shouldn't trust the press,' Casey said with a wry, tired grin.

  'So you're saying you didn't plant that fibre evidence at Hamilton's house.'

  'I'm assuming you have a point to make so let's hear it.'

  'After the Hamilton case, you retired from the Bureau. Then, years later, you came back to police work — as a detective here, in Massachusetts. You worked the Sandman case. With Malcolm Fletcher.'

  No reaction from Casey.

  'Miles Hamilton,' she said, 'has been gearing up for a retrial for the past few years, and there's been no word from you. The Bureau has stated in the press that you moved out of the country. That they had no idea of your whereabouts or how to get in contact with you, yet here you are, surrounded by federal agents and heading up an investigation. Want to know what I think?'

  'Sure, why not?'

  'I think you've been in the country the whole time. I think you've been living under an alias and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the Bureau helped you because they don't want you to take the stand in Hamilton's retrial. And I think you have some sort of history with this religious group or cult or whatever you call them. I think they've been looking for you for a long, long time. I think you've been moving around a lot. I think you remarried — you have a faint white line on your ring finger, but you're not wearing your wedding band — and I'm willing to bet you have at least one child. I think that, given what happened to your first wife and your unborn daughter, you agreed to come out of exile and make a run at these people because that's the only way you can keep your new family safe.'

  Casey stared at her, his body very, very still. It reminded her of the way the air turned just before a thunderstorm broke.

  Darby said, 'I don't think they'll make a run at me again, at least in the short term. Right now, they're too busy planning. They're going to try to find a way to bait us. My guess is they'll come after you since I don't have anyone they can use against me. My parents are dead. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I'm not married, and the only person I care about is the man you saw sitting here at this table.

  'So you have a choice to make. You can bring me inside your inner circle, where I can help you out, or I can do it on my own. Either way, I'm going to get in front of this. I'm not going to spend my time sitting in some safe house. And I'm sure as hell not going to spend the rest of my life living under different names and hopping from state to state praying to God that these people don't find me.

  'Ball's in your court,' she said. 'How do you want to play it?'

  Casey weighed the question on his cold scales. The only sound came from the hum of the overhead lights.

  Then he looked down at the scuffed floor between them. Looked at it as if something expensive and rare had shattered there and was lying in pieces.

  He let out a rush of air through his nose.

  'You're right,' he said.

  His expression had changed. Become more haggard.

  'Okay,' he said. 'I'll bring you on board. Probably better that way. I can keep a close eye on you.'

  'And Coop. That's the man who was sitting in here with me, Jackson Cooper. He stays next to me. That condition is non-negotiable.'

  Casey thought about it for a moment, then finally nodded.

  'Now let's talk about Darren Waters,' she said.

  Casey rubbed his eyes. 'He was abducted in July of '76. He lived in Washington — the state, not the city. He was four when they took him. Mother put him down to sleep and the next morning he was gone. He suddenly reappeared in the summer of 2001.'

  Darby ran the numbers in her head. Disappears in 1976 when he's four, then reappears in '01, which puts his age then somewhere in the neighbourhood of twenty-nine, which means now he's — Jesus — thirty-eight years old.

&
nbsp; 'Police in Reno, Nevada, picked him up,' Casey said. 'He was rooting through a restaurant dumpster. Wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. An employee came out, tried to shoo Waters away from the dumpster, and the guy ended up with two broken arms and a concussion. Police came and Waters was just sitting there eating scraps. It took three policemen to take him down.'

  'And the police knew to call you?'

  'No. The Bureau asked me if I'd be willing to consult.'

  'The Bureau found out because his fingerprints had been coded.'

  He sighed. 'Yes, we had his prints coded. I was called and asked if I'd be willing to consult and talk to Waters because of my prior experience with these people.'

  Darby wanted to know more about Casey's experience with 'these people', but decided to stick with Waters for the moment. 'How do you know they were the ones who abducted him? No, let me guess. He had a certain Latin phrase tattooed on his neck.'

  Casey nodded. 'Et in Arcadia ego. Literally translated, it means "Even in Arcadia, I exist" — the "I" being Death. We believe it's a reference to someone who once enjoyed the pleasures of life and has now been transformed in death. That's all we know.'

  'Waters didn't shed any light on it?'

  'His tongue and vocal cords had been removed.'

  Darby flashed back to her first encounter with the pale-faced creature with the missing tongue and teeth and said, 'Did he have a black plastic device sewn into his back and above his spine?'

  'No.'

  'Where's Waters now?'

  'Someplace where they can't find him.'

  'Not even his parents?'

  'They died in a car crash, a couple of months after Waters disappeared. Police think the father ran the car off the road on purpose. I read the reports and I'm inclined to agree.'

  'How did his fingerprints wind up on your forged army forms?'

  'I had a Bureau lawyer draft up the forms so they'd look legitimate. I had them with me when I went to see Waters, and he-'

  'Why did you go to see him?'

  'To make preparations to move him to another hospital. The Bureau moves him every couple of years. But, with what happened in New Hampshire, I wanted to move him again as a precaution. I wanted to oversee everything myself so there'd be no mistakes, no way to find him.' Casey sighed. 'Darren Waters grabbed the forms from me and took them over to his table and his crayons and markers.'

  'You're telling me a 38-year-old man thought you had, what, brought him a colouring book?'

  'Physically, he's an adult. But he has the mentality of a child.'

  'What happened to him?'

  Casey blinked away whatever image had appeared in front of his eyes. He was about to speak when the door swung open.

  47

  Darby turned and saw the army man she had met at the BU Biomedical Lab, Billy Fitzgerald, aka Special Agent Sergey Martynovich. The man had traded his army fatigues for a stylish navy-blue suit.

  He came into the room alone but didn't shut the door behind him. She saw a mass of dark suits and ties huddled outside, an unknown sea of faces except for one: the well-groomed man she'd met at the BU Biomedical Lab, the head of security, Neal Keats. The man towered over the other agents and wore an earpiece, his gaze locked on Casey.

  Security, she thought. A standard-issued fed, maybe Secret Service.

  'Sergey,' Casey said, 'I've decided to let Dr McCormick into the investigation.'

  'And Jackson Cooper,' she said.

  Casey nodded. 'And Jackson Cooper.'

  Sergey didn't so much as glance at her, but she caught the hardness in the man's gaze, a single-minded determination fighting like hell against a mounting horror.

  'I have the plane in the air, with the lab people,' he said. 'Everyone we need is on it. Brightest minds and the best equipment.'

  'What's going on?' Casey said.

  Sergey's voice was calm now, like a doctor steeling himself before handing over a terminal diagnosis to a patient. 'You need to stand here and listen to me. You need to hear all of it.'

  'Tell me now.'

  'The bastards found the safe house. Taylor — wait, Jack.'

  Sergey had blocked Casey's path. Pressed both hands against Casey's chest and pushed like a man keeping a stone statue from toppling over. Casey was a good foot taller than Sergey and three times as wide and doing everything in his power to shove the agent aside and then race through the blockade of suits crowding the doorway. Darby could only think, You're going to need more bodies.

  'Taylor and Sarah aren't there,' Sergey said. 'Did you hear me? Taylor and Sarah aren't there.'

  'The implants, you said — '

  'The satellites locked on to their signals. We got a blip in Connecticut and then the signals vanished, we don't know why yet.

  'Now listen to me, Jack. Listen. The plane's going to touch down in Florida at any minute. I've been on the phone with the Sarasota police. They're at the house now, and they promised not to go inside the house until our people arrive. We're going to get the crime scene fresh. The forensic guy you like, Drake? He's going to go into the house. Alone. He's going in with a video camera. We're going to have it linked up to a secured satellite link and you're going to be able to see and hear everything inside the techs' van. We're setting up the equipment right now. We're — '

  'Are you out of your goddamn mind? I'm not staying here — '

  'Listen to me, Jack. Listen. They're bringing your wife and daughter here. Here. The Boston office received a phone call from a young girl claiming to be your daughter. Came in a couple of hours ago. I heard it. They patched the recording to my phone. It's her voice, Jack. Sarah's. It didn't sound doctored or spliced together. It was Sarah's voice, Jack, I'm certain of it.'

  Something — maybe the relief of knowing his wife and daughter were alive, or maybe just the hope of it — made Casey back off. Sergey's hands dropped and fell to his sides. His olive-skinned forehead shone with perspiration.

  Casey, to his credit, forced himself to stay in the room. His attention retreated inward, but the fear and worry and panic were all still there, radiating off him like waves of heat.

  'Sarah gave an address,' Sergey said. 'It's local. She said you have to go there alone. Just you, no federal agents or Secret Service.'

  Darby glanced back to Keats, thinking she was right about him, about his being Secret Service.

  Casey said, 'And do what?'

  'Wait for her to call. She said she's going to call. At one.'

  Darby checked her watch. Quarter to nine.

  'I think Taylor's with her,' Sergey said. 'I heard crying in the background. Sounded like a woman.'

  48

  Darby spoke up for the first time: 'What's the address?'

  Both Sergey and Casey snapped their attention to her, startled, and glared at her as if to say, Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?

  'No. 62 Mason,' Sergey said. 'The house — '

  'Is where the Rizzo family lived in Brookline,' Darby finished for him.

  Sergey nodded.

  'Who's there now?'

  'Family named Hu,' he said. 'Two daughters, ages six and nine.'

  Darby saw the knowledge in the man's eyes and said, 'They're dead.'

  'I can't say that for sure, not yet.' A visible sadness swept through his voice and body. 'We pulled the family's records, got their numbers and started making calls. Father hasn't shown up for work and daughters haven't been to school.'

  'How long?'

  'Three days.'

  'Mother?'

  'Works from home.' Sergey flicked his weary gaze back to Casey. 'I haven't sent anyone to scope out the house yet. I wanted to get your input first since you know these people better than anyone else.'

  Fear rose in Casey's eyes and the man tightened his jaw against it. She sensed most of the people here were afraid — afraid that their lives could possibly be at stake. But they didn't know how to hold the terror. They didn't have Casey's experience, and she sensed they were looking t
o him not only for direction but also for guidance as to how to act. And Casey knew it. He stood steady on his feet, thinking over the rising swells of fear for his wife and daughter, and looked away from the gazes.

  A cell phone rang. Sergey reached into his pocket and took the call. Motioned to Casey to give him a moment.

  Casey turned to the desk where she had sat with Coop and ran the big fingers of one hand along the edges.

  Darby needed to say what came next. Casey probably already knew it, but the words still had to be spoken out loud.

  She went over to the door, shut it and then returned to him. He was still running a hand across the edge of the desk. She could hear Sergey whispering in the corner, murmured voices and ringing phones coming from somewhere beyond the wall.

  'Special Agent Casey — '

  'Jack,' he said, absently. 'I'm not a federal investigator any more.'

  'But you were one once, Jack, so you know you can't go to the house.'

  'They won't kill me. Not yet.' His voice sounded flat. Detached. 'They're going to send me a message first.'

  'They already did. The phone call from your daughter.'

  Casey shook his head. 'That was to get my attention. Now they'll give me a demonstration of their intentions. Why else would they deliberately pick the Rizzo house?'

  'They left something there for you to find. Something they want you to see.'

  'Right.'

  'Have they done something like this before?'

  'What's that?'

  'Have they contacted an investigator?' she asked. 'Taken a family member?'

  'Or, in my case, an entire family.' He shook his head. 'This is a first.'

  'The Rizzo house is in a rural neighbourhood. Lots of trees, lots of places for a sniper to hide. You go there, you could get your head blown off the moment you step out of the car. Or they have the house rigged with an IED, get you and all of us out of the way.'

  Casey didn't answer.

  'The Sandman did that, remember?'

  'Nothing's going to happen,' he said.

  'How do you know that?'

  'Because I'm a special case.'

  She waited for him to explain.