“God, let me think! There’s Fermi in Chicago, Brookhaven in New York, Plasma Lab in Princeton, Lawrence Berkeley on the UC campus, Sandia in New Mexico, which, like I just said, also has a lab in Livermore, California.” He paused. “The thing is, there are three national nuclear facilities in the country: Lawrence Livermore, Sandia, and Los Alamos.”
“Like they make bombs?”
“They make plutonium pits. Which are the essential component to a nuclear bomb.”
“All right,” she said. “So exactly what are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” Ben stared at her. “We’re working with a very prominent scientist if the government is bothering to send him around from lab to lab.”
“That’s good, Ben. You’ve narrowed down the killer—”
“No, it’s not good! It’s not good at all! We’re looking at someone with top, top, top security clearance. And because of who he is, he probably keeps a very low profile. He’s more like a fly on the wall than a rock star.”
“What about scientific conventions at the time of the murders? Maybe we can look those up on the Internet and find out if there was some kind of program which mentions people or—”
“Ro, when scientists get together, it’s not like some insurance company playing party games or listening to a motivational speaker. You don’t talk about bunker busters, bombs, or computer viruses for hostile nations’ nuclear facilities at a convention at a Marriott.”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” She took his hand. “We’ll think of something.”
Vicks was growing more morose by the second. “The labs we’re talking about, they’re impenetrable. We will never find out who he is even if we know what he does!”
“Maybe not. Let’s just think logically, Vicks. What’s our next step?”
Ben’s face was flushed and his eyes were wild. “There is no next step, Dorothy.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m fucked, that’s what it means!”
Chapter 6
In the winter, Highway 502 cut through snow-covered hillsides, making the road a treacherous mixture of water, ice, and gravel. Before he was even allowed to travel toward Los Alamos National Laboratory, abbreviated to LANL, Ben had been stopped by security, asking him his business on the road. He had been smart enough to bring his snowboard, playing the dumb kid who wanted to do some pop-tarts and ollies in the backcountry around the Caldera, a collapsed cone of a dormant volcano. The vast acreage of grasslands was rented out for cattle grazing in temperate weather. In the frigid air of winter, the unique geography was often below zero at ten thousand feet elevation. His snowboarding story made sense and the fact that he held a New Mexico driver’s license helped give credence to his lies. If the guards were suspicious, they didn’t let on. They passed him through, and now he was fighting through the elements.
He had taken several tours of Los Alamos when he was younger. Obviously, the standard spiel doesn’t say or show much, but he thought it might be a good idea to do it again. As he traveled, Ben took note of those blue signs with white lettering that marked bland one-story white stucco buildings—the various tech areas, each division gated and guarded and behind steel fences. He had been through the roads many times before, but this time everything seemed more menacing. He slowed down to take forbidden pictures, stupid because he didn’t even know what he was looking for. At this point, he was just trying to master the lay of the land.
This was your destination—before you left a trail of destruction and misery!
There were enough buildings in these quarters to do something awful, but would the guy be brazen enough to rape and murder in the confines of the lab?
Ben realized he was sweating and turned down the heat. Eventually, the blue signs gave way to the actual town. Los Alamos was a nice place. It had schools, its own police and firemen, and a little outdoor skating rink. It had cafés and parks and an outdoor stadium, a few motels and its own little municipal airport, and more than one museum that gave comprehensive histories of the lab and the technology behind the first A-bomb. It also had streets with names like Oppenheimer Road or Bikini Atoll and even Highway 502, as it passed through the town limits, was known as Trinity Drive. The town wavered between being proud of its heritage and making excuses for it.
Ben drove aimlessly through the streets and roads, passing motels—did you stay there?—passing the airport—did you come in through there?—passing restaurants—did you eat there? His excursion took hours. As the sun started sinking, he turned around and headed home, dejected. As if things weren’t bad enough, it started to snow, making visibility a blur, causing him to slow down and take each curve with care. He was fighting depression along with an undeniable urge to speed up and crash into the mountainside.
But then a cooler head prevailed.
He crawled his way back to River Remez.
Ro drove while Ben sulked, which, except for sex, seemed to be his high-rate behavior. Through the windshield was a white landscape, the sunny sky was an incredibly bright blue that was New Mexico’s trademark. But it was deceptive because it was freezing outside. She said, “Do you miss California yet?”
He was still sulking. “I still don’t understand why we have to involve Shanks. It’s just a stupid theory. It’s not going to make a difference in the investigation. He’s as hamstrung as we are.”
“Just tell him, okay.”
“He’s totally pissed at me for going to Berkeley behind his back.”
“You wounded his pride. Who cares as long as he sent the DNA profile to Berkeley?” Silence. “Did he do it? Send in the profile?”
“Yesterday.”
“And?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Vicks said.
She pulled into a parking spot at the station. They got out, and slipped on their jackets, entered the adobe building, and took off the jackets. It was blazing inside. The secretary greeted Ben by name and ushered the two of them into an interview room. It was brightly lit. There was a table against a wall, three or four chairs, and nothing else. Sam Shanks came in a moment later, carrying coffee mugs. His chest strained the buttons of his shirt. Wordlessly, he handed them to Ben, who got up and left.
Shanks’s eyes hardened as he looked at Ro. “I thought you were on my side. He’s got to stop.”
“Sir, he was going to Berkeley with or without me and I figured the least I could do is make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble.”
“How long have you known about his trip to Berkeley?”
“I found out right before Christmas break.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he didn’t want me to tell you. And, for the record, I wish he’d stop too. It isn’t leading to a good place.”
“If he keeps going, it may lead him into a very dangerous place.” Shanks scratched his head. “Why does he keep holding back? Last thing I need is another person riding my tail.”
“Did Nora Rehnquist call you?”
“The Berkeley PD called at the behest of Nora Rehnquist, who is no doubt riding their tails.”
Vicks came back in with three cups of coffee. He distributed them and sat down. “What did I miss?”
“Nora Rehnquist is riding his ass,” Ro told him.
“I said ‘tail,’” Shanks said.
Ro smiled. “Yes, you did.”
Vicks sipped his coffee. “Nora called you?”
“No, Berkeley called after you called me. They’re not happy with you either. It seems you have awoken the sleeping giant in Nora Rehnquist.”
“Nora and I are on the same side.”
“Vicksburg, we’re all on the same side.”
Ben said, “Did you get a match with my sister and Julia Rehnquist?”
Shanks laughed. “That’s Vicks. Cut to the chase.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes, we got a DNA match on one of the profiles Berkeley had pulled off Julia Rehnquist with your sister, Ben.”
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Vicks clapped his hands. “I knew it!”
“You were right and I thank you for your persistence. This is a really good break. If Katie Doogan matches, it’ll blow the case wide open. Of course, if you had told me about your theories, I might have done something months ago. And yes, we sent the profile through CODIS again. No hit.”
“Damn!” A sigh. “Not that I expected anything.” He perked up. “Are you going to contact Knoxville on Jamey Moore’s case?”
“I have a call in to them.” Shanks gave Ben the full force of his stare. “Vicks, this is what I want right now. I want you to park your tail down and give me every reason you came up with to link these two cases together.” Shanks took out a notepad. “Go.”
Ben obliged with a half-hour recitation. He went through all the similarities. He went through everything he and Ro had done in California, from walking the pathway to the dump spot at Mount Diablo to his outhouse explorations and his theories about how Julia was abducted. He went through everything in detail, except for one important fact. Ro cleared her throat. Both of the boys looked at her. “Can I have a minute alone with him?”
“What’s going on?” Shanks asked.
Her smile was grim. “Just a few minutes, please.” Reluctantly, Shanks left. Then she turned angry and hard. “Why do you do that, Ben? Why do you give him almost the whole thing? It’s like a woman leaving out a crucial element of a family recipe.”
“Because even if I told him about the labs, there’s nothing he could do about it.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, what are your plans? Breaking into a nuclear facility? Maybe that’s the real agenda here. Because jail would give you plenty of time for your research.”
“C’mon, give me some credit.”
“Why are you withholding vital information from him?”
“Because—” He suddenly stopped talking. “You’re right. I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you. I’ll go get him.”
When Shanks returned, his eyes darted between the two teens. “Yes?”
Ro looked at Ben, and reluctantly, as if he were parting with a wad of money, he slowly told the detective about the murders’ proximities to the national laboratories—Los Alamos, Sandia, Lawrence Livermore/Berkeley, and Oak Ridge. As Ben spoke, Shanks’s complexion grew gray.
Vicks said, “I could be wrong.”
Shanks glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to tell you the wrong information—”
“Cut the crap, okay? Just stop doing that!” Vicks said nothing. He looked chastened. Shanks was clearly still digesting the information. “A scientist serial killer.”
“Possibly,” Ben said.
“Okay.” Silence. “Okay . . . let me think about how to handle this. I’ve got to talk to some people.”
“What do you want me to do?” Vicks asked.
“What do I want . . .” Shanks’s eyes zeroed in on Ben’s. “You . . . do . . . nothing. As much as I’d love to use your brainpower, you’ve got to stop right now. We’re working from theoretical to potentially very dangerous. You don’t want to mess around with the government, okay?”
“It’s not like I probed into any top security, Sam. I accessed the information on my laptop.”
“Stop it, Ben!” Shanks pounded the table. “If you interfere, I swear I will lock you up. Is that what you want?” No one spoke. Then Shanks said, “Promise me you will not interfere.”
“I promise.”
“Say it again.”
“I swear to God, I will not interfere with your case.”
“With Ellen’s case.”
“I swear to God, I will not interfere with your investigation into my sister’s case.”
“Okay.” Shanks seemed mollified. “Okay, both of you go home. I’ve got to think.”
Vicks stood up. “Will you keep me posted, at least?”
“Yes.” Shanks stood up and gave the kid a bear hug. “I know it’s hard for you, Ben. You’ve taken it as far as you can and you’ve done a fantastic job. Way better than any of us. Right now, I really need your cooperation to back off completely, okay?”
“Sure.” Vicks took Ro’s hand and the two of them walked out of the police station. Ro waited until they were in the car. “You’re not going to listen to him.”
“No. Why should I? Any concrete information came from me.”
Ro’s eyes started to water. “You’re gonna get yourself killed and it’s going to devastate all the people who love you. That’s very selfish of you.” She turned on the motor and pulled the car out of the lot. Tears were running down her cheeks.
“I’m not going to get killed . . . oh, c’mon. Please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.”
“It’s preparatory mourning.”
“I promise I won’t do anything beyond looking up stuff on a laptop, okay? I mean, how much trouble could I get into doing that?”
“What if the murderer traces your computer?”
“He’s not going to trace my computer.”
“How do you know? If he’s some hotshot scientist, he probably has all these things at his fingertips that you don’t know about.” A fresh batch of tears. “Vicks, he knows who you are! He knows that you are the brother of the girl he murdered. But you don’t know who he is. And the closer you get, the more he’s going to take measures to stop you. And seeing as he knows you but you don’t know him, he has a sizable advantage. If you don’t stop, I’m going to break up with you.”
“Oh, c’mon! That’s not fair!”
“Benjamin Vicksburg, this monster kills teenaged girls and I am a teenaged girl. Have you ever thought about that? Why should I risk my life for you?”
Ben was quiet. Then he said, “Okay. Good point. You’re right. I won’t look stuff up on my computer.”
“What does that mean? You’ll look stuff up on someone else’s computer?”
“There’s always the library—”
“Ben!”
“Dorothy, don’t do this to me! I promised her!”
And what could she say to that. Ellen was as alive to him as she had been the day she went missing. He couldn’t let her go. It was just too damn painful. Ro sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”
Vicks rubbed his chin. “Maybe . . . maybe it would be better if I waited until you were gone.”
“Gone?”
“Done with high school and off to college. Out of town.” Another pause. “I’ve told Shanks everything I know. I’m pretty busy anyway. Maybe it would be healthy to take a breather . . . for both of us.”
This time, her tears were those of joy. “Do you really mean it?”
“I can’t compromise your safety. As long as we’re together, I can’t do this without worrying about you.”
“And your sister . . . remember, she’s turning fifteen in, like, six months.”
“No need to remind me.” Awkward silence. “You’re right. I’ll give it a rest. I’d literally kill myself if something happened to you or Haley. I can’t risk that.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll stop. But . . . there’s one more thing I need to do.”
“Vicks—”
“It won’t compromise anything. Then I promise I won’t do anything while you’re here in River Remez. Is that fair enough?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I just want to talk to someone. Then I promise I’m all yours, body and soul.”
“Talk to whom?”
“Not important. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, we have a deal. Shake.” Ro looked at his hands to make sure his fingers weren’t crossed. They weren’t. But since he was wearing boots, she couldn’t swear to his toes.
Chapter 7
Ben knocked and Lilly answered the door. Her dachshund came charging at Ben’s knee, yapping with excitement. Ben bent down. “Hey, Oliver, whaddup?”
The dog was running around in circles. Lilly was all smiles. “You wanna come in?”
“I do.” Ben wiped his boots on the mat, kicking off the snow, and stepped inside the house. It was hot. There were baking smells that were very inviting. He took off his ski hat and his parka. Lilly said, “Haley’s not here.”
“I know that,” Ben said. “I just dropped off Griff and her at the movies. I came to see your dad.”
“My dad?”
“You know . . . that fearsome, paternal thing that slinks around the house. Is he around?”
“Oliver, quiet.” The dachshund rolled over on his back. Lilly scratched his belly. “He’s working in his shop.”
“In the garage, right?”
“I’ll get him for you. Just make sure Mr. O doesn’t pee on the carpet.”
“You know, Haley misses you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes, she does. In the car, she was complaining to Griff that you don’t come with them anymore. She said it wasn’t nice to Ezra, but I could tell she was hurt by your absence.”
“She’s not hurt, and I’m perfectly nice to Ezra. As a matter of fact, he’s coming over to play video games and eat leftover Thai that Mom made last night.”
Ben broke into a slow smile. “Is he now . . .”
Lilly hit him. “Stop it!” She smiled again. “You want some noodles?”
“No, thank you.”
“How about a cookie? Sure you do.” She grabbed the biggest one off the baking sheet. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, hon.” He took a bite and smiled. “Delicious. But I really do need to see your dad.”
“Right . . . I’ll get him.”
George Tafoya lumbered in five minutes later. He was as big and wide as his wife, June, was narrow and petite. He had dark hair, dark eyes, brown skin, a wide nose, and full lips. His hands and face were coated in sawdust. “How’s it going, Ben?”
“Okay,” Ben answered. “You have a few minutes, George? I need to talk to you.”
“Let me wash up.”
“We can just go in the garage.”
“Nah, let me wash up. Matter of fact, I’m hungry. Let’s go out for some pie.”
Killing Season Page 28