by Peter Idone
“We never destroyed any property.” The moment Logan said this, he understood. The security K-9, Havoc.
“How quickly we forget. All that aside, regarding the night of the twenty-eighth, we know you were down at Gleason’s Pub drinking and, to pay off your tab, plowing the back parking lot. We spoke to the fellow who runs the place, Terry O’Donnell. An old school chum, yes? He just couldn’t give an exact time of your arrival, although you spent practically the entire night there. We had been monitoring your movements ever since you retrieved your truck from that farm on Sunday the twenty-fifth. But of course you knew that we had you under observation to some degree. Somewhere along the line you discovered the GPS tracking device attached to the undercarriage. At eight-thirty you left your house and drove down to the fuel depot at the end of Raven’s Perch Road. You were there for about an hour. Do you usually do business with Frenchy Durant? His gas prices are obscene. That’s all right, you don’t have to answer. A loathsome character such as him situated on the border of the exclusion zone conducting suspicious business, perhaps even a criminal enterprise, won’t be tolerated for much longer. I can promise you Mr. Durant’s days are numbered. The fact that he provides supplemental fuel for the security personnel and the techs over at Pine Haven won’t be enough to turn a blind eye to what he has been up to. He has become more than just a person of interest to my organization, not to mention the local authorities. When I get possession of him, eventually, there’s no telling what stories he will reveal. Now, to continue, at nine fifty-seven p.m., you pulled into the rear parking lot behind Gleason’s. That GPS device is very sensitive and records movement to within inches in real time. It’s military-grade hardware. Something had occurred. It was slight and almost undetected after the data was reviewed for discrepancies. There was no record of any movement of your truck for quite some time. Sixteen, eighteen hours, or thereabout. One of my people went down to have a look and fetched the unit out of a pile of snow, still transmitting a signal, in the exact place where you had allegedly parked hours previously. At this point, you can claim ignorance and say it must have fallen off while you were plowing the parking lot for your friend. A reasonable argument. It was clever of you not to reattach the unit back onto its magnetic slide. You just left it there, buried under a pile of snow, uselessly transmitting. But I know you purposefully removed the tracker, went somewhere and did something, and then returned to the very same spot for a night of drinking and snowplowing into the early hours of the following morning.”
“It sounds like you’ve been chewing on this scenario for a while. How come it’s taken you so long to come around and present this version to me? Have you bothered to put the GPS back on my truck?”
“You know we haven’t, Joe.”
“I don’t know much about what you and the Response Team are capable of, but I think it’s pretty thorough. Whether it’s legal or not is another matter. Suffice it to say, I’ve learned my lesson. I have enough worries than try and take on the likes of you.”
“Have you really learned a lesson? Really?”
“Look-it, Colonel, I was down at Gleason’s that night. So what? If you guys planted a tracking device on my truck and it fell off, that’s not my problem. I got drunk. Terry served up coffee and breakfast before dawn. I sobered up, kind of, and plowed his lot. There’s no mystery here. Terry said as much. How much more corroboration do you need?”
“I believe Natalie Schneider showed up at the house she shares with Glass on that same night or following morning. Possibly you retrieved her from wherever she was hiding and drove her there. We had no word from Glass that she had returned, although it was our understanding that he would, so I could debrief Ms. Schneider. Instead, Glass is shot by his own weapon. I have to go through their lawyer to speak with either of them. I ask questions, the lawyer relays them and in turn provides me with a response. A cumbersome process, to say the least.”
“It sounds like the justice system works best for those who can afford it. At least I’ll talk to you face to face.”
“You haven’t the option.”
“When we last met, you said that if I heard from Natalie or knew where she was and her buddy Creech, it would be in my best interest if I contacted you. I didn’t know I was supposed to go out and actively search for her. I’m not a friend of Glass, and if he knew anything at the time, he didn’t trust me enough to tell me anyway. So I stayed close to home. I don’t want anything to do with him or Natalie or the glow boy. If you’re going to charge me with something, then let’s get on with it so I know where I stand. I don’t like being toyed with.”
“Neither do I. Speaking of the glow boy, Creech, he was located eventually.”
“That’s good for you, right? Where was he hiding?”
“Up until the time of his death? I don’t know.”
“Creech is dead?” Logan hoped his facial expression of surprise appeared more than just adequate or forced.
Turner’s smile was caustic. “His remains were found on a service road by the highway around the end of November. You know, about the same time when Glass got his.”
“His remains? What happened?”
“It’s not terribly clear. He was cut in half at the waist. Quite a few snow removal trucks have been using that road to access the highway. We believe he died the night of the snowstorm and his body was obscured by the accumulation. A county employee driving by saw something, stopped, and called in the discovery. Judging by the condition of the body, it had been out there for days. The upper torso was quite mangled, but the lower half was in much better shape, having been buried under the snow at the side of the road. The cut at the waist seems to indicate he was struck by a large snow blade while standing upright. That’s the theory, but the medical examiner hasn’t completed all his findings.”
“That’s horrible. What was he doing to get cut in half by a snowplow? The driver must have freaked and kept going.”
“Either that or he honestly didn’t see him. That’s what we assume. That part of the service road was a marshaling area for county trucks and independent snow-removal contractors. The local police have gathered a list of those who had assembled on the night of the storm and have kept me abreast of whom they have questioned. There was one driver who returned to the equipment yard because of mechanical issues. Some problem with the electrical system and activating the blade. He might be good for it, but he claims he didn’t see anything. It could have been an unfortunate accident. Poor visibility, malfunctioning headlights. Behind the wheel of a truck that big and powerful, I doubt if one would even notice striking something as soft and pliable as a human being. Forensics have impounded the vehicle and are searching for any blood or trace of DNA belonging to Creech.”
“I guess it’s possible.”
“This same fellow with the malfunctioning truck did say he saw a dark pickup parked on the side of the road near the entrance ramp to the highway. He believed it belonged to the same individual who had parked behind him earlier, and while he was trying to fix his wiring problem, this fellow asked if he needed any help. A young man in his midthirties. He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was someone with the man. A woman with dark hair. He didn’t get a good look at her. When the trucks finally moved out, this pickup followed, but apparently didn’t continue onto the highway. It pulled over to the side of the road. The driver didn’t think this vehicle belonged. The police would like to talk to this individual, the man and this dark-haired woman. So would I. Perhaps they saw something that could shed light on this unfortunate accident. Not that it will help matters any, but a detailed account of Creech’s whereabouts and what he was planning since going AWOL from Pine Haven could then be ascertained and entered into the record. Creech was hiding out somewhere, and somebody was helping him. I intend to find out whom.”
“You can always round up a bunch of suspects and subject them to truth therapy.”
Turner smiled. “In a perfect world, yes. Unfortunately, in an official investi
gation, the technique isn’t recognized. There is some question as to its legality. If I’m holding a suspect on territory under Response Team control, then yes, all bets are off. The police haven’t the same luxury in their theater of operations.”
“That’s too bad about Creech. I really didn’t know the guy, not like Natalie. I can’t say as I liked him. He was…strange. But nobody deserves to die like that.”
“There are worse methods. Believe me.”
You would know, Logan thought. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“That’s just it, you aren’t helping. Did Natalie Schneider ever talk about Creech? Anything specific come to mind?”
Logan would have to be careful. Something told him not to mention anything about genetic splicing. Maybe that was information few people were supposed to know. Keep it truthful but simple. “She said Creech was unhappy and didn’t like working at Pine Haven. He didn’t like the Tacticals.”
“Did he say why?”
“They made fun of him and called him names.”
“What kind of names?”
“I don’t know…bug boy or silverfish…Creech the creature. It didn’t sound so bad to me, but on a daily basis, I could see it getting on a person’s nerves.”
“Did Ms. Schneider intimate why Creech was called these names in particular?”
“If she did, I don’t remember. There was a lot being planned to get past the wire, and a lot of details to work out.”
“But you were aware Creech was to be your guide?”
“Not until the very end. The night we left. Maybe it was the night before. I must have told you all this under truth therapy, didn’t I? You really want to rehash all of it again?”
“I’ll decide what I will or won’t rehash. Now, tell me, what did Creech ever say to you?”
Logan thought for a moment. “The first time, I ran into him down at the fuel depot. He was buying coffee and some whiskey, I think. Frenchy got pissed because he didn’t serve hard liquor. He only provided beer for the locals. Out of nowhere, Creech started talking. He said something to the effect that the salamander can’t survive the alchemist’s fire. It has become a mutation. Some fires should never be lit. Something along those lines. I don’t know what he meant.”
“Some fires should never be lit…interesting.”
“Did he mean the experiments at Pine Haven?”
Turner did not answer and got up quickly from the sofa. Maybe he’s ready to leave, Logan thought, he certainly hoped so.
“You will want to visit Glass and see how he is getting along. On the odd chance he has anything interesting to say, you may want to call me and let me know. It might be helpful, and in the long run, it could be to your benefit.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Actually he did want to talk to Glass about a particular detail that had been worrying him lately. Logan tugged the front door open. He didn’t wish the colonel a happy new year. It would seem disingenuous under the present circumstances. Turner didn’t wish him one, either. He watched as Turner climbed into his up-armored SUV.
Logan felt he’d handled the conversation well, training his eye movements not to veer, not offering to be overly helpful or attempting humor. Logan believed he’d remained calm and matter of fact, but he was nervous, achingly nervous. There were no trick questions, and Turner laid everything out about Creech’s death, which was strange. He wasn’t a stupid man and was trained at subtly interrogating people when in conversation; of that Logan was sure. He was also sure that Turner didn’t believe him, that Logan knew more than he’d said. He leaned against the front door, closing it tightly, feeling spent, like the very worst day on a lousy, dirty job. He threw up in his throat.
***
It took Glass a couple of minutes to activate the front door after Logan announced himself. His left arm was harnessed in a pale-blue sling marred by coffee stains, and he actually greeted Logan with a smile. It seemed that a gunshot wound had managed to rouse the man out of his state of lethargy and depression. Glass had invested some time in polishing and grooming his appearance. He wore a pair of creased khaki slacks and a clean button-down shirt, with a heavy wool sweater draped over his shoulders. “Logan! You’ve been on my mind lately. How good of you to come. It must be a psychic connection.”
“Not likely. I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”
He made a slight gesture with the wounded arm. “Nice hole Natalie put in me. Too big to use as an ashtray, but too small to park my car in. Come in, come in. Please.”
He led them into the living room and had Logan sit down on the compact modular sofa; he offered something to drink, but Logan refused. “I can’t stay long. I just came to see how you were making out. Will your recuperation be long?”
“Months. I’ll be starting physical therapy within the next few days. I can expect a certain amount of permanent numbness. There was some nerve damage. I’ll get better. How did you find out? There was a small blurb in the newspapers, but the details were sparse, thank God.”
“Turner came around to see me. I had no idea what happened.”
“Turner, of course. The incident occurred shortly after you returned Natalie to me.”
“I’m sorry. Natalie was pissed, upset, but she didn’t strike me as a potential murderer.”
“She’s not! She isn’t. If Natalie wanted to kill me, she was certainly capable. I don’t believe she intentionally fired the gun to do me harm. She was very upset. Exhausted. The ordeal had been very trying. Things just got out of hand for a moment, that’s all. I don’t want her to stay in jail for another minute if I can help it, but it’s out of my hands for the time being.”
“Can’t you post bail?”
“I tried, but Natalie keeps threatening to finish the job if she’s released into my custody. Any family or friends live out of state, and she wouldn’t be allowed to leave this jurisdiction. It would all be over if she would take her lawyer’s advice and adopt a more conciliatory tone. As it stands now, she is on antidepressants and held in solitary confinement.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. It implies suicide watch, which I don’t believe she would ever attempt. There is every possibility she will do the minimum if the lawyer can work out a deal. I’m not pressing charges and have begged the prosecutor’s office for leniency. It seems as though she wants to be punished. It’s as if the more she is hurt, the more it will hurt me. And it does. Any suffering she endures hurts me terribly. I don’t want anything to happen to her. I can only hope to keep her as comfortable and isolated as possible if she is sent to one of those detention centers. You know, the ones where they all live in tents behind barbed wire and wear those different-colored paper jumpsuits indicating the severity of the crime.”
“That might be hard to do. Having any influence for a detainee, I mean. Those places are snake pits.”
“That’s how the private sector runs an institution. And it’s in everyone’s best financial interest to provide customers. The police, the district attorneys, the judges. Once inside, the slightest misstep or infraction, and more time is heaped upon the inmate. Natalie is an attractive young woman. She could end up as a plaything for the guards, even the camp supervisor.”
“Don’t dial into that shit right now, you’ll only torture yourself. Natalie will do whatever it takes to survive. She’ll smarten up at the last minute. In a few weeks, this whole caper could be turned around.”
“Do you really think so?” Glass said, looking hopeful, even relieved. “I don’t fault her for anything. I just worry what cost all that has occurred will take on her.”
“Have you seen her?”
Glass shook his head. “She refuses. I got her the lawyer. He keeps me informed, of course. I have to do everything through him. He says it’s better that way.”
“Turner mentioned something along those lines. He’s been trying to interview Natalie, but your lawyer has managed to keep him at arm’s length. That’s good for her
, right?”
“That is a whole other migraine, Joe. An early release may be dependent upon a conversation with our esteemed colonel. He represents some powerful entities in government and industry. Del-Con, of course, and the DoD. He’s insinuated himself into the affair. This is a domestic…a personal matter. He should have no say in any of it, but he will utilize whatever leverage is at his disposal. Speaking of which, what plans has he for you? I’m under house arrest, by the way. Technically speaking. It isn’t self-imposed this time around.” He chuckled.
Logan almost smiled, but held back. None of it was even vaguely humorous. “He’s still threatening detention and heavy fines. Neither the Response Team nor the feds have made a move yet, but they will. Just a matter of time.”
“They will want to talk to Natalie first and see what she offers up. Either she can serve as their pound of flesh, or they can come after us all. But they will have to proceed very judiciously. They will probably only fine you. It will be steep, and you could lose everything.”
“What little I have. My house.”
“That will suffice. I doubt if they will want to air out charges in open court. That could be your trump card, for all of us, going to trial. Too much explaining to do about the dog-man chimera and the Ouroboros. Even Creech’s splicing operation will raise more than a few eyebrows in government and the media, what’s left of it. The Response Team and the DoE wouldn’t want that. They like to keep their soiled methods quiet and in the dark. Pay the fine, or at least work out some arrangement. You will remain under surveillance for as long as you live in Essex and the exclusion zone remains occupied. Make sure you get yourself a good lawyer. The Bill of Rights may be shredded beyond recognition, but there are a few tendons still left that are quite strong.”
“I would assume that Natalie told you what happened to Creech?’
“Everything is hearsay, Joe. No one can prove what Natalie did or didn’t say or even witnessed. Not to me, at any rate. It’s best to keep certain topics of conversation off the table.”