The Black Silent

by David Dun

  Rossitter waited the few moments it took to make sure the old man wasn't changing his mind. Sanker nodded at last, the signal that Rossitter could leave.

  The ferry coming in reminded Sam of the time. Haley had been gone twenty minutes.

  He called her cell number but got no answer. That was a little strange because normally one could get reception over on that side of the harbor. Of course, she could be in the bowels of the lab, but she had promised to call, and Haley didn't forget things like a promised phone call. Perhaps he would take a ride over there and see what was happening. He had taken a break from the history of the islands and was reading about the whales. He couldn't concentrate on the narrative or the pictures, though. He put the book back in his leather pouch.

  Sam could walk with no discernible limp, usually trying to keep his full weight off the bad knee. He eased his bulk into the Ford Taurus and turned his mind to Frick. When Haley had begun pouring out her soul about Sanker, Frick had figured prominently in her theories about who had stolen data from her computer and framed her.

  Sam had done a little checking, getting most of his information from Ernie, his longtime FBI contact. Ernie called Frick "very bad news," but he wouldn't give Sam any details beyond the basics: Frick was a former homicide detective. He had been suspected, but never accused, of murdering a police commissioner. The sudden disappearance and presumptive death of the commissioner and two investigating officers had abruptly ended an investigation into the activities of a large corporate client of Frick's.

  Sam had first met Frick at a local charity fund-raiser, and from the way Frick watched him, he had supposed that Frick was running a check on him as well.

  It took only a couple of minutes to get to the wooded road into Sanker. Inside the front gate were parked three San Juan County police cars and one plain vehicle with a portable police light.

  Already a yellow tape marked a crime scene. Sam went slowly, taking the measure of the place and the people as he got out of the car. He knew a lot about crime scenes and rule number one was that they didn't allow visitors.

  A very intimidating fence, a more artful version of something that would enclose a high-security industrial complex, surrounded the place. Near the entrance, long steel staves rose about ten feet and then turned at a forty-five toward a potential intruder, and each was tipped with a leaf-shaped razor-sharp end piece. Away from the entry it gave way to a wall with razor wire on top.

  A single uniformed deputy stood just inside the gate, although that hardly seemed necessary, given that it was electronic and didn't open without a card. As he watched, a sturdy-looking plainclothes officer, with a mustache and thinning hair, approached the gate and began talking with the uniformed officer.

  Sam walked over to the men. "Hello, gentlemen. What's going on?"

  "It's a crime scene," the uniformed officer said.

  "I'm Detective Ranken," the plainclothes man said.

  "Is the undersheriff or the Orcas sergeant available?" Sam asked. No response from Ranken. "Maybe the San Juan sergeant?"

  Sam had socialized a bit with the sheriff, and had taken mental notes regarding the chain of command. He also knew the sheriff was in Europe. On this little island a lot of people knew about the trip. Fewer knew that the Orcas sergeant took command after the undersheriff. This was Sam's subtle method of pointing it out. Even in an emergency, to get down to Frick in the chain of command, the sheriff, the undersheriff, and both the Orcas sergeant and the San Juan sergeant would have to be unavailable. But he wasn't sure if that held true for crimes only involving Sanker, where Frick had special jurisdiction. A potential murder or kidnap, though, would clearly be viewed as involving much more than just Sanker.

  Ranken hesitated at Sam's familiarity with the department.

  "Do I get to see Haley Walther or not?" Sam asked.

  "I'll have to clear it with Special Sergeant Frick."

  Ranken got on his cell phone. He walked away a few paces. Sam couldn't hear what he was saying. Then he came back.

  "Sergeant Frick says to wait here and he'll see you in a few minutes," Ranken said. "You got a badge of some sort?"

  "I have a driver's license."

  "Let me see it."

  Officer Ranken glanced at the license and handed it back.

  "You know the sheriff?" Ranken asked.

  "Yes, I do. We have a mutual friend in the FBI."

  Ranken registered surprise. "How would I know that?"

  Sam took out his cell phone.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Calling our friend in the FBI," Sam said. "That's easier than getting Sheriff Larson in the Swiss Alps."

  "You don't need to do that. It doesn't matter if you and the sheriff have a friend in the FBI. This is still a crime scene."

  But, of course, it mattered. Ranken didn't need the sheriff pissed-off because they wouldn't call someone out of a building for an important message. Small towns ran on mutual understandings, give-and-take, neighborliness-small islands even more so.

  "Look, I don't know that Haley Walther is in that building," Ranken said. "I'm just waiting for Sergeant Frick, so I appreciate your patience."

  "She's in Ben Anderson's lab," said Sam. "I believe the organics lab. I know where it is.

  It would be a great personal favor to me if you'd take me into the organics lab for just a couple minutes."

  "You want me to escort you in there?"

  "If it wouldn't be too much to ask."

  "All right. I don't know what's taking Frick so long."

  "I really appreciate this," Sam said. "I have no doubt you're a busy man."

  "You don't have to butter me up. I'm already taking you."

  Officer Ranken then got a radio call, the timing uncanny. It was Frick telling Ranken to bring Sam in.

  Haley guessed she had been locked up for around thirty minutes. The fabric in her mouth and at the top of her throat made breathing more difficult, and felt suffocating, requiring her to concentrate on remaining calm and forcing down the panic. The cuffs on her wrists were clamped way too tight and imposed a physical torment. Time plodded along slowly.

  She cheered herself with the thought that Sam would wonder why she hadn't called. He was very thorough and a detail like this would not go unnoticed. He would come over and start asking a lot of questions and he was not a man that you could easily ignore.

  The lights came on, blinding Haley momentarily. She smelled Frick's aftershave before seeing him. He always looked the same, anyway, his hair never varying, never soft or loose, always pulled back. Casual clothes, clean, but never anything colorful, always a stainless-steel watch, always the plain gray shirt buttoned to the neck, always perfectly shined shoes except at the toes, which were slightly scuffed as if for some reason he couldn't quite finish polishing them.

  "I want to talk to you-a few questions," he said as he took the gag off.

  "You have no right to do this, you son of a bitch! Where's Sam?"

  "He's signing a release for Detective Ranken and answering a few questions. In the meantime you and I will talk."

  When he removed the cuffs, she shrank back from him. He moved closer, but only to hand her the purse he had taken earlier.

  "I regret to inform you that Ben is dead," Frick began. "We're trying to find the body."

  He regarded her with lifeless gray eyes that matched his shirt. "This is your doing, you know. You should have taken my deal. It may not be too late to make a new one."

  In spite of her shock she responded with heat. "I won't lie for you, for Sanker, or for anybody else."

  "Did your drunk mother teach you that? I know all about you, Haley Walther. The sorority stunts-streaking naked, passing out drunk. You're a loser."

  Haley felt sick. The thought of Ben dead was more than she could bear. "You're in a lot of trouble," he said. "We have a video of you bringing assailants into the building. We came over here in response to a call from Ben and found you snooping around his laboratory. A lab te
ch is dead-somebody killed him."

  "Where's Ben's body?"

  "You should think about your alibi, about now. You're not supposed to be in this building. Isn't that right?"

  "Ben invited me."

  He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.

  "What's the rule?" The pain was intense. "What's the rule?"

  "He has to be with me."

  "So where is he?"

  "I asked you" she said through clenched teeth. "I don't know."

  "I can jail you until we have a bail hearing next week," Frick said. "But I'm willing to deal if you'll cooperate."

  "I don't believe this. Where's Sam?"

  He ignored her question. "Your choice. You wanna give me a hard time; then I'm taking you in. Otherwise sign this."

  She read it. There was little doubt that if she didn't sign it, he would take her to jail and her lawyer could ask her questions later.

  "As usual you're working hard to manipulate the situation." She crumpled the paper and tossed it at his feet.

  "All right. That half-crippled friend of yours just arrived out front. I'm gonna kill that big buck bastard and you can have that on your conscience. You and that half-breed get it on, don't you? He'll be dead ten minutes from now and you won't be far behind him."

  In that moment, looking at those dead eyes, Haley knew that Frick would find a way to do it.

  Picking up and straightening the paper, she took his pen and signed.

  "This may get you out of grabbing me, but not anything else."

  "You worry about your legal problems," Frick said with a dead, flat stare, "and I'll take care of mine."

  Sam and Detective Ranken found Garth Frick at the top of the stairs inside the building.

  "So, Mr. Robert Chase, more commonly known as Sam. What brings you here?"

  "Where's Haley Walther?"

  "Recently you don't seem confined to a wheelchair. Is the limp real or is that fake too?"

  "Are you trying to make some point?"

  "The point is, if you're gonna walk around my crime scene, I need to confirm your real identity."

  Sam handed him his Robert Chase driver's license.

  "You can't even keep the same beard," Frick said. "Around here they call you Sam.

  Then I hear Robert Chase. Why the bullshit?"

  "Sam's a nickname. The FBI and the states of California and Washington use Robert Chase."

  "I traced Robert Chase and it's a real deep ID." Frick gave him back the license.

  "Somebody went to a lot of trouble. What last name you got to go with Sam?"

  "If you need a last name, you get Robert Chase."

  "Let me see a credit card."

  Sam still had a couple on him and showed him one in the name of Robert Chase. "Why don't you take me to Haley; then we can look for Ben."

  "Why don't you tell me what you know first."

  "I know I haven't killed any police commissioners."

  Ranken, who had been standing quietly, stared at the floor on that one.

  Frick actually smiled, but his eyes showed pure malevolence.

  "No, I don't imagine. You don't have that kind of talent." Frick delivered the line easily.

  "What kind of weapon are you carrying?"

  "Ten-millimeter Glock."

  "I'll take it. You won't need it on my crime scene."

  Sam drew it and handed it to Frick, butt first.

  Frick racked the slide. "It's empty."

  "That way it won't hurt anybody."

  "Gimme your ammo."

  Sam reached into his back pocket, pulled out the clip, and handed it to Frick.

  "You'll need to sign some papers, a release, and answer some questions for Detective Ranken," Frick said.

  "Questions?" Ranken asked.

  "A witness statement," Frick responded as if Ranken were slightly dull. "When you come in, you touch nothing. Understand?"

  Sam nodded. "Right."

  "There's a videotape of the break-in."

  "I'd appreciate seeing it."

  "I'm sure you would," Frick said. "It's confidential police business, so I'll just tell you: A brunette woman and two masked men enter the place. The brunette appears to be Haley Walther. Without her, there would have been no entry because the equipment demonstrates that Ben Anderson let them in. And, of course, she was here looting the place when we found her. Up to her old tricks-stealing secrets."

  "You went to quite a little trouble to arrange that for the record, did you?" Sam said.

  "What did you say?"

  "Why don't we cut to the chase. Somewhere along the line you went from a bad cop to a common criminal. We both know that. You want something and only you know about it.

  If what you want hurts Ben Anderson or Haley Walther, you can overlook it. Well, I can't."

  Sam watched Frick's gun hand. Frick kept it and his glare steady.

  Ranken cleared his throat. "You want me to interview Mr. Chase, then?"

  CHAPTER 5

  After Ranken was finished taking his statement, he walked Sam to Ben's office. Frick had no doubt ordered Ranken to delay him, for reasons he was sure he would soon discover. Ranken didn't much like being a stooge, but he was going along with Frick for the moment.

  The building that housed Ben's office was impressive: the walls were of some rough-surfaced, stonelike concrete block; the ceilings were tall, about twelve feet; great care had been taken in making moldings of natural wood; the floors appeared to be acid-stained concrete made to look mottled in gold and rust. The money behind Sanker was evident.

  A couple of officers stood in Ben Anderson's large office. There was no sign of Frick, and Ranken seemed interested in leaving upon arrival.

  "You stay here with Officer Wentworth and Ms. Walthers. Officer Frick will be by with more questions," Ranken said.

  Haley stood near one of the officers, looking a combination of angry and discouraged.

  Sam went to her immediately, searching for any evidence of harm.

  She gave him a look that said she was all right. "This is 'Crew' Wentworth." She indicated a handsome officer with a blond buzz cut. Sam had seen him around and had observed Haley talking with him when the squad car was curbside near the coffee shop.

  "She's been telling me a little about Ben's work," Crew said.

  Sam raised his eyebrows. Haley nodded quickly-Crew was okay.

  "Basic molecular biology," she said. "One of the things Ben did was compare long-lived species with similar but shorter-lived species. Like the tortoise that lives maybe one hundred fifty years versus a sea turtle with a much more modest life span. Bottom line: he studied the DNA of sea creatures as it pertained to longevity. I think he was looking at over two hundred or so genes of interest."

  "I'm supposed to find Ben's most current work," Crew said. "How the hell I'm supposed to tell, I haven't figured out yet. A Dr. McStott is really in charge of the technical stuff.

  Haley here is my best hope. I'm supposed to be looking for papers about DNA. About genes."

  "What about DNA?" Sam asked.

  "Something that would slow aging."

  "I'd like to talk to Haley a moment," Sam said to Crew. "If that's okay with you."

  Crew nodded. "Just don't touch anything, and don't take long. I need her help."

  Sam moved with Haley a little farther away from the deputies, near an open window.

  "Are you all right?" Sam whispered.

  She nodded. "He cuffed me, gagged me, and threw me in a room."

  "Frick did that?"

  She nodded.

  "He must be desperate to take that kind of risk."

  Another nod.

  "He won't be in charge for long," Sam said. "Soon the undersheriff or the regular sergeant will probably show up and I have a hunch things will change. He let me in only because he thought he might get more information that way."

  "Frick says Ben's dead," Haley said. "He said I was part of the murder. He's going to put me in jail for something
, maybe murder, maybe some kind of unlawful entry pending a bail hearing. He even said he'd kill you. Unless I cooperated."

  "Wait, now. What did he say you did?"

  "Let in the killers. A lab tech is dead as well."

  "And he threatened to kill me?"

  She nodded. "And he was serious. So I signed the paper and he totally changed his tune."

  "Yeah, he's playing his own version of good cop/bad cop. He's using Crew to get you to lead him to Ben's work. They're onto Ben's aging stuff?"

  Another nod.

  "Maybe he doesn't know any more about what Ben was doing than we do."

  "Sam-I'm scared. Do you think Ben's really dead?"

  "I don't know. It seems unlikely if Frick's got no body." Sam looked out the open window and studied the drop to the ground. "Does this building have balconies?"

  Haley nodded and explained where it was located. They walked back over to Crew and his huge stack of papers.

  "Crew… may I call you that?"

  "Everybody else does."

  "Did Officer Frick tell you to get Haley to tell you what Ben was doing?"

  Crew nodded. "That obvious, huh?"

  "Ben just disappeared, as far as you know?" Sam asked.

  "He called the department. Said somebody tried to murder him. We found footprints below the balcony at the end of the building. We suspect they're Ben's."

  "Does Frick know about them?"

  "Oh yeah. They're pretty obvious. Deep in the mud. We do have a dead lab tech, though.

  Found him in the bushes."

  "So Frick says Ben's dead, when he's not," Sam said. "And he wants you to talk your old friend into getting him Ben's secrets, right?"

  Crew didn't answer.

  "Aggravating, isn't it?" Sam asked. "Makes you wonder what he's really doing."

  Crew pretty much maintained a poker face, but he was an unhappy young officer.

  "You may want to have someone make a plaster cast of Ben Anderson's footprints."

  "If Frick says so."

  Sam moved to Ben's desk and began looking over the papers.