by M. Z. Kelly
I took a seat in a chair across from them, while my friends pulled over a couple barstools from the wet bar. I said to Elmer, “I understand you know something about the man they’re calling Phaedrus. His real name is...”
“Nathan Caine.” He drained his drink. “You’re up against it. I hear he’s smart, crazy, and is now in control of the Swarm.”
What he’d said made me wonder if Caine was behind Harlee Ryland’s death. “He’s taken over for Harlee?”
A nod and a toadish smile. “He’s got the bomb and the balls to use it.”
“How do you know about him and the bomb?”
A shrug, more drinking, then, “A guy who knows a guy, who knows somebody he shouldn’t. From what I hear, Caine was in a foster home around here at one time. That’s why he wants to blow up the place.”
“He grew up in Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, but he had another name back then. I think his mother worked the streets, and he got pulled from her home. Daddy wasn’t in the picture.”
“What else?”
More drinking. “He’s got people around him. Someone who knows about what he has planned and is helping. There might be a couple others.”
“Where can I find him?”
“All I know is he’s off the grid until the bomb’s ready. You might try working with the sheriff’s department, checking abandoned ranches.”
“There’s something on TV,” Myrna said, cutting him off and looking at the overhead monitor. “It’s a fire.”
She turned up the volume as an overhead shot from a helicopter showed a structure that was ablaze.
An announcer explained what we were seeing. “According to authorities, the fire is one of the most intense they’ve ever seen. We’re in the desert, just east of the city of Palmdale, about an hour north of Los Angeles. It’s our understanding that the entire area has been evacuated. We’re also being told this fire might involve hazardous materials.”
My phone rang as the announcer went on about the fire. I saw the call was from Joe as I answered.
“Time to rock ‘n’ roll, Buttercup.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not sure, but our guys think Caine’s got a big problem. His bomb just melted down.”
SEVENTEEN
“This place is amazing,” Emily Langford said. She and Derek were in the courtyard of the Chateau Ste. Michelle winery in Woodinville, a few miles from downtown Seattle. The couple had spent Sunday afternoon at the historic craftsman style winery, touring the building and grounds, before tasting several of the wines the vineyard offered.
“The Syrah isn’t bad either,” Derek said, holding up his glass.
Emily clinked her glass to his, then sipped her Merlot. She wasn’t much of a drinker and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings more than the wine.
“Maybe we should think about owning a winery one of these days,” Derek said, smiling at her. “It’s probably not a bad investment.”
Emily set her glass aside. “I’d be happy with a small house in the city.” She sighed. “Someday.”
Derek’s blue eyes shifted, taking in the rolling hills and vineyards. “Just imagine having all this space.” He looked back at her and smiled. “It would be a great place to raise kids.”
Emily felt her heart race. Was he suggesting they get married and have children? She wanted marriage and children someday, but... She pushed away the surfacing memories.
Derek’s gaze had moved off again. “My dad would have loved a place like this. His passion was gardening and...”
Emily saw his emotions surfacing and reached across the table. Derek’s parents had been killed in an automobile accident a year before they met. “I’m sorry. You miss your parents a lot, don’t you?”
His eyes were glassy. “All the time.” He took a sip of his wine, then went on. “Sometimes I think about calling Dad and telling him about my day. Then I remember what happened.”
“What about your mom? What was she like?”
“She was all about music.” He laughed. “She loved to play the piano, even though she could have used a few more lessons.”
“They both sound great. I’m so sorry they’re gone.” Emily saw that his emotions were still on the surface. “Let’s go for a walk.”
The couple spent the next half hour wandering the grounds of the chateau. It started to rain as they got back to the visitor center. Derek said he wanted to try a glass of the winery’s Riesling. They found a table in a nearby tasting room and shared what the establishment called a limited release offering.
“I’m no expert,” Derek said, “but I think this is the best one yet.”
Emily, deciding she was acquiring a taste for the varietal, agreed. “Maybe we should get a bottle to go.”
Derek excused himself, made a purchase of the wine in the gift shop, then returned to their table. As he was finishing his wine, he said, “What about your parents?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You never talk about them. I think you said they’re both gone, but what were they like?”
Emily took a breath, lowering her eyes. “Mom was...she was nice.” She searched for what to say, finally telling him, “I think she loved me.”
Derek chuckled. “Of course, she did. She was your mom.” He studied her for a moment. “What about your dad?”
Emily pushed her glass away and stood. “I’m not feeling well. We need to go.” She headed for the door.
Derek followed her as she walked quickly to the parking lot. When he finally caught up with her, he said, “Are you okay?”
Emily stopped at their car and folded her arms. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Never ask about my parents again.”
EIGHTEEN
“Our teams can’t get too close, but there doesn’t appear to be any survivors,” John Greer said to the gathering in a park near the city of Palmdale. We were about five miles west of the meltdown site. It was just after five in the morning, and raining. There were several dozen law enforcement agents present, including Director Buckley and Chief Bronson. Greer went on. “We can only speculate that Caine and whoever was working with him were incinerated by the fire.”
“What about radiation?” an FBI agent asked.
“We’re lucky. The heavy rain is keeping the radioactive plume contained. That said, the area surrounding the meltdown site will be uninhabitable for years.”
“Is there any chance we can find evidence that Caine is dead?” Joe asked.
“’Fraid not. But, if he was present during the event, there’s almost no chance he survived.”
The meeting lasted another half hour. It ended with the director telling the gathering that he and Chief Bronson would be holding a news conference later that morning to inform the press and the public what had happened.
I left the park, walking to the adjacent parking lot with Joe and Eva. We stopped at our cars as the first rays of a new day tried to break through the heavy cloud cover.
Eva looked at Joe. “What do you think?”
“I think I won’t believe Caine is dead until I see a body, DNA, or the slime trail he left behind before he ended up in hell.”
“Doesn’t sound like there’s much chance of that.” Eva looked at me. “Tell us again what your contact said. I think you said his name is Elmer.”
“Elmer Road. He knew all about the bomb and said that Caine had taken over control of the Swarm from Harlee. It made me wonder if he might have been responsible for her death. Road also said that his contacts told him Caine was in a foster home in the LA area when he was a kid, under a different name because his mother was into prostitution. Apparently, the foster home was a bad experience, and that’s part of the reason he wanted to blow up the city.”
“Sounds like a bed wetter who went bad,” Joe said. “We’re going to need the Toad’s contacts, so we can try and track down the foster home information and try and piece together who was working w
ith Caine.”
“What if Caine is dead?” Eva asked Joe.
“Doesn’t matter. I want to know anyone who had contact with him, including other members of the Swarm. I also want to nail down the foster home information, see if it pans out. We’re going to need closure on this, even if our suspect is dead.”
“I’ll try to set something up with Road for later in the day,” I said.
“I’ll touch base with you both in a couple hours,” Eva said. “I’m going to get some shut-eye.”
After she was gone, I said to Joe, “Do you think it’s possible Caine is still alive? That he’s gone to ground and is regrouping?”
“Nothing’s ever easy in this business.” Joe looked toward the sun’s glow over the horizon. “Especially when it comes to people like Caine. They have a way of surfacing like a cockroach.”
I yawned. “I hope you’re wrong. I’m going to call it a night, as well. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.”
I clicked the remote on my car, but Joe put his hand on mine and came closer. “I was thinking in a week or two, when all this settles down, you could spend some time at my place in Phoenix.”
“Phoenix. Just promise me you don’t live in a supermax bunker.”
He smiled. “It’s above ground, near a river. And the desert is beautiful this time of year.” He took a furtive look around and moved closer to me. “The way I see it, we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
I made sure no one was watching and kissed his cheek. “I’m looking forward to it. Talk to you soon.”
***
I got home an hour later and went straight to bed. When I got up, I found Bernie downstairs with Otto and his new boyfriend, Felix.
“I recommend we do a complete kitchen makeover,” Felix said to me, after we exchanged greetings. Otto’s companion was about fifty, and had a habit of wearing costumes. Today, he wore a suit with a vest, knee high boots, and a wide-brim hat. A circus barker came to mind, as he went on. “We should use white ceiling-high cabinets, Carrara marble countertops, and chandeliers for the lighting.”
“It sounds like a lot of work,” I said, as Bernie went over and sniffed him, maybe picking up the scent of recently performing elephants or tigers.
“Nonsense. A couple months and the place will be a Martha Stewart masterpiece.”
I looked at Otto, raising a brow. He said to Felix, “I’ll need to discuss this with Madams Natalie and Mo, and they’ll need to talk to the landlord, before we make any decisions.”
“Speaking of them,” I said. “Where are they?”
“I believe they said something about a practice session for their roller skating group.”
“Wallbangers?”
“If you say so.”
I excused myself as my phone rang. I went into the living room and saw the call was from Lieutenant Byrd.
“I guess you’ve seen the news coverage about the meltdown in the desert,” Byrd said.
“I’m aware of what happened, but I’ve been too busy to watch the news.”
“The feds and the chief are saying that their suspect is dead. They’ll be wrapping up things over the next couple of days. You can have the rest of the day off, but you’re expected back on duty here tomorrow.”
“But I have additional information that I need to follow up on with the feds.”
“I’m afraid Chief Bronson wants you back on duty. You can have your friend Joe do the follow-up. Captain Van Ness made it clear that you’re expected back at Hollywood Station in the morning.”
I spent the next ten minutes arguing my case but realized what the lieutenant had to say was coming directly from Bronson, via our captain.
After ending the call, I spent a couple minutes complaining to Bernie, before Natalie and Mo arrived. They looked like they’d been mauled as they hobbled through the front door in their skating outfits and collapsed onto the sofa.
“Rough day at Wallbangers?” I asked.
Natalie groaned and answered. “There was a woman on the Tarzana Outlaws team named the Assassin. She’s like one of them Amazon women and kicked our asses to the curb.”
Mo rubbed her leg and looked at me. “We’re still trying to get the goods on that skater who’s cheating on her husband, but we gotta get us some help if we’re gonna survive.”
“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not playing roller derby with you.”
“Our big game is Saturday night,” Natalie said. “Otto’s gonna be there as our towel man. You can just come and work the event as our cut woman.”
“Cut woman?”
“Just help stop the bleeding,” Mo said. “Maybe do a transfusion or two if it gets bad.”
“The money from the event goes to charity,” Natalie added.
My friends knew I had a soft spot when it came to charities. They went on for several minutes, pleading their case, before I gave in and agreed to be there. “Just so you know, I draw the line when it comes to transfusions.”
The discussion then turned to what happened in the desert.
“We heard there was some kinda nuclear explosion,” Natalie said, “and that Phaedrus bloke got barbecued.”
“It looks that way,” I said, “even though we didn’t find a body.”
“Looks like the Toad came through for you,” Mo said.
“Speaking of him, do you have any idea where I can find him? I’ve been pulled off the case, but the feds are going to need to do some follow-up with him.”
“They can’t just pull you off. You’re the one that got the inside scoop on things.”
“Bronson wants me back at the station.”
“That crazy bastard doesn’t want you takin’ the credit for everything,” Natalie said. “He also acts like things are personal between you two.”
“They are. He knew my adoptive dad and hated him.”
“We heard Harlee also ate it,” Mo said. “At least you don’t got her to worry ‘bout anymore.”
I nodded, but kept quiet.
Mo put her hands on her hips. “What aren’t you saying?”
“There are probably others out there. Members of the Swarm who will take her place.”
“Maybe not with Phaedrus dead,” Natalie said.
“Maybe.” I went back to my earlier concern. “What about the Toad? Where can I find him?”
“He and Myrna hang out at Gilligan’s sometimes. It’s a bar over in NoHo.”
The front door came open again. I groaned when I saw Tex coming through the door. Natalie’s ex had a shock of wild black hair and was brilliant, but lacked any common sense. He was wearing a white lab coat, like someone in a doctor’s office might wear. He carried a cardboard box, which he set on the coffee table.
“I brought a companion,” Tex said, taking a seat across from me. “His name is Bones.”
“Too late,” Mo said. “Phaedrus got an early start on his own cremation last night. Your robot head ain’t needed.”
“Yeah, Mr. P’s toast that’s now a ghost,” Natalie agreed, demonstrating her occasional penchant for rhyming.
Tex opened the box and removed a human skull with red eyeballs. “Too bad,” he said to his robotic creation. “It seems that situation we discussed earlier has resulted in a rather ignominious end for the subject in question.”
He set Bones on the table. The eyes on his creation started to glow as it spoke. His voice unnerved me because it was reminiscent of the actor Anthony Hopkins. “I just completed an Internet search on the events related to the subject known as Phaedrus, aka Nathan Caine. There is a twenty-seven percent likelihood that he survived the nuclear event in question.”
“Wouldn’t Phaedrus be suffering from radiation poisoning?” Tex asked his creation.
“It is possible, but that condition would not immediately be fatal. If he escaped the area where the meltdown occurred, he could live a long, and, quite possibly, a healthy life, providing the authorities don’t find and kill him.” Bones’ eyes shifted. I had the impression h
e was looking at me as he added, “I’m afraid the odds of that happening are less than twenty percent.”
I felt like an idiot for talking to a skull but felt compelled to ask him, “Why do you say that?”
Tex answered for him. “Bones uses algorithmic technology to make statistical predictions based upon the utilization of all available databases. Any inaccuracy in his analysis would be considered an anomaly.”
“I’m looking at an anomaly,” Mo said, eyeballing Bones. “And it ain’t pretty.”
Bones said, “Traditional police investigative techniques involving crime scene analysis, including fingerprint and DNA collection, has, in many cases, been obviated by the examination of linkages, clusters, homicidal methodology, location, time, and the relevant information in criminal archives.”
I massaged my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Maybe I was just subconsciously calculating the odds that I would murder Tex and his creation.
“I think we need drinks,” Natalie said. She hobbled toward the kitchen. “Let me see what Otto can whip up.”
My gaze went back to the robotic skull. Its eyes were still lit up. “What else?” I said.
Tex felt the need to interpret my question. “Detective Sexton is asking for your statistical analysis of Phaedrus’s next move.”
Bones made a whirring sound, and his eyes shifted from Tex to me. “Phaedrus will escalate his prior behaviors.”
“Meaning?”
His calm, patrician response sent chills down my spine. “He will try to destroy this society, and, in the process, kill thousands of subjects.”
NINETEEN
“How was your weekend?”
Emily Langford looked up, seeing Mary Jean Harlow coming into the break room. It was Monday morning, and she was scheduled to give a tour of the museum’s founding art collection in an hour.
“It was nice,” Emily said. “Derek and I went to Chateau Ste. Michelle.”
Mary Jean came over to her. She was a heavyset woman in her forties, with fleshy features. “It sounds like you two are getting serious.”