by D P Lyle
Niki stood, excused herself, and headed toward the ladies room. She glanced at Sam and then quickly looked away.
Sam stood. “Me, too.” She looked at Alyss. “Then, we should probably head home.” She gave Alyss a look that she hoped said, “Stay put and see that everyone else does, too.”
Sam entered the small restroom. Niki was putting on lipstick. Sam caught her eye in the mirror.
“I got the feeling the other day that you wanted to tell me something. About Burt?”
“I did. I told you to be careful.”
“Anything else?”
Niki turned and glanced past Sam toward the door. The lipstick tube slipped from her hand and clattered on the floor. When Niki picked it up, Sam noticed her fingers trembling.
Sam touched her arm. “Niki, there’s something going on here. Something I don’t entirely understand, but it revolves around Burt. And it could lead to an innocent man being railroaded into prison. Any idea what’s going on?”
The door to the single stall stood slightly ajar. Niki pushed it completely open and looked inside. She turned to Sam.
“I don’t know, but Hollis is wound up tighter than I’ve ever seen him. And he won’t talk to me about it.” Her eyes glistened. “He always tells me everything.” She sniffed back a tear. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”
“And you have no idea what?”
Niki shook her head. She slipped the lipstick into her purse and snapped it closed.
Sam sighed and leaned against the sink. What were they up to? Why was getting rid of Billy so important?
“Burt’s lying,” Niki said suddenly.
“About what?”
“This research stuff you guys were talking about.” She glanced nervously at the entry door. “That lab’s been open for over a year. And they are using animals.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve been there. Seen them. Rabbits and mice anyway.”
“I see.”
Tears welled in Niki’s eyes. “You’ve got to help Hollis. He’s not like Burt.”
“What makes you think I can help?”
“You’re a cop. You’re smart. I can see that much.”
“Isn’t Hollis in this as deep as Burt?”
“Not even close.”
“I can’t promise anything, but you’ll have to tell me everything you know. Anything you can find out.”
Niki dabbed a tear from her eye.
“Who has been running the lab for them?” Sam asked.
The sound of a commode flushing came through the wall from the adjacent men’s room. Niki’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Who? It’s important.”
Niki turned toward the door. “I can’t”
Sam grabbed her arm. “Are you afraid of Burt?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“I think you are.”
Niki started to say something, but stopped. She pulled her arm from Sam’s grasp. “I can’t.” She pushed past Sam and out the door, colliding with Burt as he stepped from the men’s room.
*
Sam turned on to Main Street toward Alyss’ inn. She told her what Niki had said. Alyss apologized for not keeping Burt at the table.
“He got up right after you left. I couldn’t think of any way to keep him there short of faking a seizure.”
“It’s OK,” Sam said.
“Do you think he heard anything?”
“I don’t know. The walls are pretty thin.” She banged her fist against the steering wheel. “Damn it.” If he had, Niki could be in trouble and her inside source, such as it was, would evaporate.
After they returned home, Sam called the hospital to check on Billy. The nurse caring for him said he was doing well and sleeping at the moment. Sam told her to tell Billy she would stop by tomorrow and visit. She then called Edgar Locke and told him of her dinner conversation with Burt and of her encounter with Niki.
“What do you think Burt’s up to?” Sam asked.
She heard Edgar’s sigh over the phone. “I don’t know,” he said. “But, tomorrow I’m going to make a few calls to some former colleagues and see what I can find out.”
“Would they know?” Sam asked.
“The research community is fairly close knit. With a very active grapevine.”
“OK,” Sam said. “Tonight, I’m going to go see if there are any more bones, and if I can get into the lab, I will. As we discussed.”
‘Tonight?”
“Tomorrow may be too late. Now that Burt’s aware that we know about the bones, if there is anything in the lab, he might hide it or destroy it. I’ll try to get the things you wanted and I’ll call or come by as soon as I do.”
She hung up and then called Nathan and discovered he would be tied up in Port Angeles until Sunday afternoon. He would then fly to Denver, spend the night, and catch a puddle jumper to Montrose first thing Monday morning and drive down to Gold Creek from there.
After she hung up, she walked out to the porch and sat in the rocker, facing the swing where Alyss sat.
“What’s this all about?” Alyss asked.
A moth fluttered around the porch light, its wings tapping against the glass shade, its magnified shadow dancing over them. Sam watched it for a moment.
“Burt and Wade are trying to frame Billy.” Sam leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “And now, it looks like someone’s been doing animal research at that lab and Burt lied about it. Edgar thought so and Niki just confirmed it.”
Alyss shifted in the swing, sitting more upright, looking at Sam. “And these two things...the murders...the lab...are connected how?”
“They’re not. At least not that I see.”
“But…?”
“Any cop will tell you that when a lot of strange things occur around a case, they’re usually related. Connecting all the dots is the tough part. So, Burt’s reopening the lab and his attempts to frame Billy could be notes of the same song.”
“I see.”
Sam rocked back and watched the moth for a moment. It ricocheted off the light and bounced against the wall. Part of her felt like she was doing the same. Attracted to solving a mystery, but only able to flap her wings against unforgiving obstacles. Maybe she should fly to Washington and meet Nathan and leave all this behind.
“What is it?” Alyss asked.
“Just thinking.”
“Thinking, or regretting getting involved in this?”
Sam offered a weak smile. Alyss knew her too well. “Too late now. It’s got me and I don’t know how to throw the hook.” She stood. “I’ve got to get dressed for my B and E.”
“And I can’t talk you out of this stupidity?”
“No.”
“Then, what can I do to help?”
Chapter 39
Sam pulled on black stretch pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a Navy-blue knit ski cap Alyss had given her, stuffing her hair underneath. After lacing her running shoes, she stuffed her fanny pack with a flashlight, screwdriver, plastic trash bag, Polaroid camera, and her .25 Berretta. She chugged a glass of water, hurried out the door, and climbed into the back seat of Alyss’ car. Shelby sat up front with her mother.
“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.
“I’m just the driver.”
“This is like so cool,” Shelby said. “I feel like a Green Beret or a Navy Seal or something.”
“Cool your fins, minnow,” Alyss said. “We’re just dropping Sam over by Silver Creek and then us Seals are going back home and locking the doors.”
The drive was short, less than a mile, but it bypassed open fields, crossed over both Gold and Silver Creeks, and deposited Sam at the gated fence that marked the boundary of Casa Grande. As soon as the car stopped, Sam jumped out.
“I’ll see you back at the house in a couple of hours.”
“Be careful,” Alyss said.
“I will.”
Sam slipped through the barbed wire fence a
nd ran up the path that the MacCorkell twins had used. She heard Alyss make a U-turn and head back toward home.
You’re on your own now. Don’t fuck this up.
The path hugged the creek, protected by the regiment of aspens that flourished along each bank. After ten minutes of running at a steady pace, the lights of Burt’s mansion came into view, twinkling through the trees a half a mile to her left and up the slope. She ran on, confident that no one would see her in the darkness. Soon, she came to where the creek began its swing to the right. She stopped. According to Edgar, the lab should be nearby, just across the creek.
She used two large stones to avoid the water. As she climbed the far bank, the lab loomed before her. In the soft moonlight, it looked dark, even sinister. She guessed it was at least 100 feet by 50 feet, probably more, and had a flat metal roof. The wall that faced her was plain, cinder block, with two horizontal rectangular windows near the roofline.
She immediately headed toward the rear of the building and easily found the excavation site beneath the elderberry shrub, exactly as the McCorkell twins had described. She shoveled and sifted the dirt with her hands, extracting another two dozen bones and three more skulls, one similar to that found by the boys, the other two much smaller. She stuffed them into the plastic bag and knotted it closed. She walked down to the creek and washed her hands, drying them on some nearby grasses. Leaving the bag of bones near the water for later retrieval, she climbed back up the bank.
*
Burt stood next to the fireplace in his den, while Hollis lounged in one of the deep leather chairs, facing him.
“It can wait until tomorrow,” Hollis said.
“No. Let’s do it now.”
“What’s got you all fired up?”
“The bones. Those Goddamn kids,” Burt drained his cognac. “And now a half a dozen others know about them.”
“But, the bones don’t prove anything.” Hollis looked up at him, the flickering fire reflecting from his face. “And they can’t be connected to us.”
“Oh really? Edgar Locke and Will Proctor aren’t fools. Sooner or later they’ll put two and two together, if they haven’t already. And if someone gets those journals? What then?”
“And how could that happen? They’re locked up in the lab.”
“Those kids got in here and found those bones and if anyone gets those journals, we’ll play hell explaining them. They’ll be safer up here in the house.”
Hollis sighed. “I suppose that’s true.” He finished his cognac. “Let’s get it over with.”
*
Sam stood near the lab and looked up toward Burt’s house a half mile away, now visible through the tops of the aspens. Quiet, few lights, and no activity. So far, so good. She circled the lab, finding only one door, centered along the end of the building that faced west, toward town. Even in the dim moonlight, she could see the damaged lock, dangling from the latch.
Her senses amped up several notches. She pulled her Berretta, leaned against the wall beside the door, and listened. Nothing.
She removed the broken lock and pushed the door open. The interior was even darker, with only faint remnants of the moonlight passing through the narrow windows. She hung the lock on the door’s latch ring and removed the flashlight from her pack. The beam cut through the darkness as she stepped inside and eased the door closed.
She scanned the room, her gaze following the cone of light. Two rows of metallic worktables, each topped with arrays of scientific equipment, dominated the middle of the room and extended from where she stood to near the far end. In the far right corner, an open door led to a small separate room. Sinks and cabinets lined the adjacent wall. She directed the beam to her right, highlighting floor to ceiling stacks of wire cages.
She stepped further into the room. Now, she could see that a thin veneer of dust covered everything.
As the beam swept across the floor, she saw several clear shoe prints in the dust. She squatted, flattening the angle of the light. The patterns jumped up and now she could tell there were two distinct sets. One, small tennis shoes. The MacCorkell twins, those little scamps. The other, larger, much larger. Similar to the ones she had seen days earlier, at Varney’s, in blood.
OK, Samantha. Get what you need and get the hell out of here.
Standing, she returned her gun to the pack and took out the camera. Holding the small flashlight in her mouth, she waited for the flash to charge, and then snapped several pictures of the interior, including the cages in most of the shots.
Now, the journals.
Edgar had said they would be in the bottom right drawer of the desk that sat along the right wall. She saw it wedged between the bank of cages and the wall of the small room and hurried in that direction. But, as she rounded the row of tables and the wooden desk came into view, she saw that the drawer had been pulled open. Empty, its lock appeared mangled, the surrounding wood splintered.
Someone had taken the journals. Burt? No, someone else, who also didn’t have a key.
Lights flashed across the windows and then the sound of a car engine and the crunching of tires broke the silence.
Sam snapped off the flashlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. Partially anyway. She looked around, searching for someplace to hide. She stepped into the small room and allowed herself a quick burst from the flashlight. Before the light winked off, she saw a cot, bookshelves, a dresser with a TV on top, a toilet, and a corner glassed-in shower. No place to hide.
Car doors slammed. She turned back to the lab area.
She knew the worktables offered no refuge. No cabinets beneath, each possessed only a single open shelve, stacked with beakers and other glassware.
She turned to the sinks and yanked open the cabinet doors. Empty except for a stack of Bon Ami cleaner canisters. She pushed them aside and crawled in, folding her legs beneath her. Cramped, but functional.
Voices filtered through to her.
“What the hell is this?”
Burt.
“Somebody smashed the lock.”
Hollis. Great. Just fucking great.
Her gun dug into her back. She tried to reach for it, but the tight space prevented her. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Light from the overhead Fluorescents flickered through a small gap between the cabinet doors.
“Goddamn it,” Burt said.
Footsteps approached, stopping near her hiding place.
“Look at this,” Burt said. “Somebody’s been in here. The journals are gone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She heard the door to the sleeping quarters smack against the wall.
“Nobody in here,” Burt said.
“It’s him.” Hollis said. “I told you he was still around.”
“Well, he’s not going to be for long. That’s for Goddamn sure.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Where’s that spare lock?” Burt asked.
“Upper drawer. Left side.”
Sam heard the sound of a drawer sliding open and then slamming shut. Footsteps retreated. The lights died, the front door closed, and the lock snapped closed. Car doors slammed, the engine started, and the crunching of tires on gravel faded.
She kicked the cabinet door open and rolled out on to the floor. She grabbed gun, aimed the flashlight ahead of her, and crossed to the door. Grasping the handle, she yanked it. Nothing.
The metal door fit flush with the metal frame. No gap, no play. With the lock on the outside, shooting it open wasn’t an option.
She moved to the windows. Five feet off the floor, three feet wide, but only a dozen inches high, she saw no way out through them, even if she could break the wire-mesh glass.
She searched the desk and the sleeping room for a crowbar, a hammer, anything that would pry the door from its hinges, but found nothing. She would even accept dynamite about now.
Think, Samantha.
She ran her fingers along the cinder blocks. How long would i
t take to dig out the concrete mortar and remove enough of them to crawl through? Definitely longer than sunrise.
Bang. The impact against the door shook the room.
What the hell was that?
She killed the flashlight and dropped to one knee behind the row of worktables, leveling her gun at the door.
Bang. The room shook again.
Bang. The door flew open, slamming into the cinderblock wall with a deafening clang. Her heart jumped into her throat and she curled her finger around the trigger. Holding her breath, she waited. Nothing. No one came through, no sound, no sense of movement in the darkness beyond the open door.
Only the odor.
Thick, pungent, feral. Recognition was immediate. And the last time she had smelled it, someone or something had ripped a door open and charged right over her. She expected to see the same massive person barrel through the doorway at any moment.
Sam remained motionless, breathing short and shallow. A minute, two, still nothing. Sweat trickled into her eye and she blinked it away.
She flicked on her flashlight and cautiously approached the doorway. The odor grew stronger as did her heartbeat. Looking around the doorjamb, directing the light one way and then the other, she saw nothing. The odor began to fade as the soft breeze collected it.
She stepped out into the night and again looked around. Nothing.
*
Sam stood on the porch, bent over gasping for breath. She had retrieved the plastic bag from near the creek bank and run hard. Not to Alyss’, but to Edgar Locke’s. Edgar opened the front door, a look of shock on his face.
“Sam?”
She offered a weak wave and continued pulling air. “Just…a…sec,” she said between breaths. Sweat dripped from her forehead and splattered on her shoes. She pulled off the ski cap.
“Come in.”
She wobbled through the door. Her legs ached and trembled with fatigue. After regaining her breath and wiping the moisture from her face and arms with the towel that Martha offered, she told Edgar of what she found and of her rescue by whoever smashed open the locked door. She then called Alyss and asked if she could come pick her up.
Edgar looked through the Polaroids Sam had taken and then rummaged through the bag, examining each bone carefully. He held up one of the smaller skulls. “I know what this is,” he said. “It’s a mouse. I did research at MIT on them for decades.” He went on to point out areas of thickening along the base, exactly as he had found in the skull at Proctor’s Clinic. He sighed heavily.