by Cade Brogan
CHAPTER THIRTY
Claire unlocked her door. “Elizabeth, you home?” As she called for Snuggles, she caught sight of a black smudge on the counter. “Just a minute, boy,” she said, sitting down, and looking more closely. Elizabeth…what are you up to? It was text, some clear, some not, and the logo of the police department. Her stomach summersaulted, getting a rag, dampening it with nail polish remover, and scrubbing. When the Formica returned to white, she took Snuggles to the grass.
Rylee cocked her head, watching Claire climb back in on the passenger side. “You okay?” she asked
“I will be in a few minutes,” Claire answered. “Just a little sick to my stomach. Just drive. It’ll pass.”
“Look, if you don’t feel well—”
“I do,” Claire answered, belching. “Took a swig of sour milk on my way out.”
“Okay, so that’s gross,” Rylee said, “I get it. Got antacids in the glovebox if you want some.”
“Yeah, I think I do, thanks.”
*
Elizabeth crushed her morning’s harvest of leaves and tubers, extracting enough deadly juice for two poisons, and blending each half into a unique combination of ingredients. Then, she walked over to survey her rodents, albino mice in one-by-one cages, stacked in rows of five. “Ready or not, here I come,” she chirped, reaching into the third cage on the top, her gloved hand chasing a pink tail from one side to the other. “Gotcha!” She pulled the rodent through the cage door, dangling him at eye level. “Time to meet your maker,” she giggled, marveling at the brilliant color of his pink eyes. “You’re a very lucky mouse, you know. You get to test number three-fifty-three.” It’s not three-fifty-three, and you know it. Three-fifty-three was last year’s poison. “It’s Kenzie’s cocktail,” she continued, blocking the irritating voice, “blended to be spectacularly lethal. You’ll let me know, won’t you?” She touched the bars of cage number four. “And you, my fortunate friend, will get to test number three-fifty-five.”
Why do you always have to be so rigid? the Rational One asked.
I’m not; you just think that I am, Elizabeth responded, sighing. And, I’m almost afraid to ask what we’re talking about.
You don’t know? How could you possibly not know?
Well, I don’t, so tell me.
We’re talking about your impulsive decision to dispatch Kenzie before Marge’s killer. You didn’t pause and pray like you said you would, you just decided.
Three-fifty-three belonged to her, Elizabeth responded. I had nothing to consider.
See? See what I told you? You’re nothing if you’re not rigid. You make decisions, important decisions, with no good reasoning to support them other than you have some random idea stuck in your head. Even when there’s a better alternative, you can’t let go of it. Rigid. You’re rigid. Always have been.
Elizabeth felt the twinge of a headache. You know, I can’t remember a single decision that you didn’t complain about? Not one decision where I didn’t have to listen to your commentary. I think you have an issue with my authority.
How about coming here? I didn’t say a word about that one.
No, you didn’t, Elizabeth responded. I stand corrected. She tilted her head. But you and I both know that the reason you didn’t was because we were doing just as you wanted.
Being in a relationship provided cover for us, you can’t deny it, the Rational One countered. With Claire, people see you as part of a couple, not as one woman on the ten most wanted list.
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. Right, cover. I’m sure that’s just what you were thinking that day Claire walked by our window in uniform. She laughed. Give me a break, dating an officer for cover; it’s like inviting a wolf into a chicken coop, thinking that because she has sharp teeth, she’ll protect them. You wanted her; I could feel it, quivering inside us. With a lick of her lips, she recalled the sensation, a sensuous light passing between her legs, the likes of which she’d never experienced in her lifetime. She chuckled. That’s when I knew we had a lesbian among us.
The Rational One shook her head. Stop changing the subject. You always change the subject when I’m winning an argument, hoping I’ll forget what we were talking about. Well, I didn’t this time... I complain about your decisions, not because I have issues with you making them, but to protect us. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Kenzie was to be three-fifty-three last year. And what happened with that dispatch? It failed miserably.
You’ll never let it rest, will you?
No, never. One of us has to look out for our mutual interest.
So, you think I should change it up? Elizabeth asked. Dispatch Kenzie as three-fifty-five?
Of course, I do, the Rational One answered. The stakes are too high not to. Why in the world would you consider repeating history? You changed the order for three-fifty-four, and you could change it this time if you wanted to.
I suppose, Elizabeth said, tilting her head as she weighed the pros and cons of the situation. I’ll think about it. She released the mouse into the weighing cage, recalculating the dose based on weight, and sliding the rodent into a restraint.
The Rational One grimaced, watching her pull back the plunger, and fill the syringe with a slime-colored liquid,
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. Squeamish?
You know I’m not, I simply don’t get off on death like you do.
It’s not that I get off on it, Elizabeth responded, it’s just that I recognize it as a necessary part of life. She smiled, injecting the solution into the rodent’s lateral tail vein and tossing the carcass into a bio-waste container. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?
Disgusting, that’s what it was.
“One down, one to go,” Elizabeth chirped, loading a second syringe, and snagging mouse number two by the tail. As she released the rodent into the weighing cage, she caught sight of a headline scrolling across the screen of her smartphone—NINTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD LOVING ARMS WOMAN IDENTIFIED. She sat down, her thoughts racing as she absorbed the information contained in the article.
Joanna, are you busy? If you are, I can come back later.
Elizabeth’s mouth opened. Grandma Marge, is that you?
Yes, dear, it’s me.
What are you doing here?
I have a problem that I need to discuss with you.
No, I mean, WHAT are you doing here? I just read an article that said the deceased was a Jewish woman. And that’s definitely not you. You’re supposed to be at a nearby facility. In fact, I was just about to call to see where you were.
Oh, if only that were true.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, frowning. So, you really are dead then?
Yes, I’m afraid so, dear. And as I said, I have a problem that I need to discuss with you. If you’re too busy, I can return later.
I’m never too busy for you. Her grandmother had been the one person whom she could always count on, especially when she was a child.
The older woman palmed Elizabeth’s cheek. Such a sweet granddaughter.
I can see that you’re troubled, Granny. What’s the problem?
An imposter, she’s filling my shoes at Loving Arms.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. An imposter?
Yes, dear, an imposter, an evil spirit who slipped into my body as I slipped out, leaving no one the wiser. She looks like me, sounds like me too, and she’s been about the business of dragging me down, ruining my good name with the horrible things she says to other people, and the wicked things she does. It’s awful, just awful, and I need your help.
What do you need, Granny? What would you have me do?
Why, I’d have you kill my imposter, of course.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rylee looked at Joanna’s file, not seeing it, and needing to see it. She’s out there. She searched her mind, trying to understand how it was that she knew, and decided that it was because in recent days the hair on the back of her neck had been erect. Lurking in the shadows. Poised to take
another innocent life. At two-hundred victims, Joanna Grey was undoubtedly the most prolific serial killer she’d ever encountered—a beast in her own right. And of her victims, the ones that police agencies across the country had managed to connect to her, they were no more than the tip of the iceberg. Even with time, unlimited time, they’d never uncover all her crimes, because in all likelihood many had been ruled natural causes and not homicides. And with that, her thoughts whipped back in time, to the night she and Kenzie had come dangerously close to adding two to her number of homicides. Her pulse raced as Kenzie’s screams echoed in her mind. She’s come back to finish what she started, and you have no time, absolutely no time for the hunt, no time to catch her before she strikes. She couldn’t spare one moment, not one waking minute to hunt for the woman set on murdering her future wife. That’s because people are dying, and for this moment, this one friggin’ moment, like a snake in the grass, Joanna Grey is quiet. If only Rich could’ve been right, if only for that one time, she could’ve been wrong, and he could’ve been right. If only when they’d dredged the river, they’d have found her body. She stared at the traveler list, checking one last time to see if anything—besides Gordon Voss, Addison Marsh, Jane Aches, and Walter Matthews—stood out. “Bugs me that Walt’s traveled to so many hot zones,” she blurted out.
“It did me too at first,” Claire answered, “but after he explained what he was working on I felt better about it. I mean, he studies deadly viruses, what choice does he have but to travel to outbreaks?”
“Maybe none, but it still bugs me,” Rylee responded. “And another thing that bugs me, he made more trips than any other scientist, with most occurring in the months leading up to the Armageddon outbreak.”
“Okay, let’s say it’s him,” Claire said, “what would be his motive?”
“Dunno that yet,” Rylee said. “Maybe it’s that he hates his job. Maybe he hates it so much that he’s angry at the world.”
“But why wouldn’t he just retire?” Claire countered. “Sounds like he’s put in his time. I’m not sure that hating your job, a job that your colleagues see you as being pretty good at would add up to a decision to start a pandemic so that you could get back at the world.”
“Maybe not,” Rylee responded, picking up the list of scientific travelers. “I just think that whoever’s doing this, is on this list. And to me, it makes sense that whoever it is, is probably a hot zone frequent flyer. That, and I’d never heard Walt be so negative about his job.”
Claire crossed her arms, leaning back. “But don’t you think it’s natural to be more negative as you wrap your mind around retiring or changing jobs?”
“No,” Rylee answered. “I’m gonna love this work until the day I die.”
“Yeah, you will,” Claire said, “but not everyone’s lucky enough to work their perfect job.” She took a breath, releasing it loudly. “Okay, one more comment. You’ve known this guy for a long time. Not thirty minutes before we interviewed him you said you felt good about him, knew he wasn’t our doer. I think you’ve got good instinct, think that if he were a bad egg, you’d have sensed it long before now.”
“Point taken,” Rylee said. “And you’re probably right. I think it’s just that I want to nail this bastard so bad before he decides to light a match somewhere else”—and before Joanna decides to line up her next shot.
“For what it’s worth,” Claire said, “my half-dollar’s still on Gordon Voss.”
“He’s definitely the leader of the pack of potential suspects, that’s for sure.”
“And my quarter’s still on Addison Marsh knowing what’s up, and maybe even being involved.” She furrowed her brow. “I had been thinking that with her being paralyzed from the waist down; it’d be hard for her to pull off what the doer’s done. But if we factor in a runner, she’s back in the line-up.”
“You bet she is,” Rylee responded. “That eighteen-year-old popping onto the map, not a block from her place, and only a few hours before the hits is no coincidence.”
“No, it’s not,” Claire answered. “But I still can’t figure out how she pulled the whole thing off.”
“With help,” Rylee said. “Maybe that business about her partner screwing around on her is a put on. Maybe she’s not so angry. Maybe they’re still in a partnership.”
“Interesting,” Claire responded. “I think we need to find him and ask him about it.”
“Figured you’d have an address for him by now.”
“I’ve been lifting rocks,” Claire answered, “but so far, he’s not been under any of ‘em.”
“You want my guess?” Rylee asked. “He’s hunkered down in some rural village in West Africa, near the cave where they found that bat.” She took a slug of hot coffee, leaving sludge at the bottom of her mug.
“And now, knowing what we do,” Claire said, “I think Dr. Marsh knows exactly where that cave is at.”
“You bet she does,” Rylee responded. “That business about her concussion affecting her memory was bullshit. So, we’ll just pay her another visit, see what she has to say when she’s confronted.” And with that, she returned her attention to the GPS printout, plotting the last days of the deceased girls’ lives on the map. “Well, would you look at this?”
“What?” Claire asked, walking around their desks. “What’ve you got?”
“This,” Rylee answered, pointing one at a time to the facilities that the killer had targeted. “These kids, they did all of ‘em.”
Claire shook her head. “I just don’t get it, how a fourteen-year-old could be expected to know enough to handle this virus.”
“Obviously, she didn’t,” Rylee answered. “None of ‘em did. They were runners delivering cargo, no more, no less. As far as the killer was concerned, they didn’t have to understand anything, just deliver the contagion. If they caught the disease, they just did.”
“That’s so sad,” Claire said. “But knowing that they were runners explains things.”
“Yes, it does,” Rylee said. “Now we know why dead kids were found at a senior facility.”
“And why the ME found paper dust in their nostrils.”
“Yep, magazines,” Claire responded. “That’s how the killer delivered the virus selectively.”
“And what do you want to bet that when I call Frank, he takes another look, and finds a tiny gadget inside certain magazines that sprays a mist of the pathogen.”
“So that when they’re opened or handled or whatever,” Claire responded, “the one who does it is basically dead.”
“Yep, and as soon as we confirm it, we need to call the media, and get that information out to the public.”
Claire studied the map again, noting push pins in three colors—blue, yellow, and green. “I’m afraid to ask if you’ve got Abby’s plotted yet.”
Rylee rubbed her chin, glancing at a pile of red push pins on her desk. “I’m working up to it.”
“Her phone was in Piper’s bag, so we know she’s gonna be on there for at least the one hit.”
“I know,” Rylee answered. “I just hope that’s all there is.” She pushed pins into the map, shaking her head, and walking over to stare out the window. “Shit,” she muttered with a long breath, “she’s gonna need to be interviewed.”
“I can do it on my way home.”
“Yeah, that’d be good,” Rylee said, clenching her jaw. “And after, just write it up.”
“We don’t have to do it that way,” Claire responded. “As far as I’m concerned, you could sit in on the interview if you wanted. It’s not like anyone’s gonna question your integrity.”
“No,” Rylee said, “we’ll do it the right way, by the book.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
PatientZero.com
ARMAGEDDON KILLER USES MAGAZINES TO INFECT READERS
In a police statement, detectives have confirmed that the Armageddon Killer placed a tiny automatic spraying device inside an unknown number of magazines with the purpose of infecting
the first person to open them. Officials are recommending that the public use extreme caution when handling reading material. In related news, detectives report progress in their investigation. They would not confirm or deny rumors that they have a second person of interest. Check back for updates.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rylee caught the delightful aroma of freshly baked bread as she came through the front door, but worry spoiled the moment. “Stay here,” she said, “I want to give Kenzie a heads-up.”
“Sure,” Claire said. “No problem.”
Buckshot padded into the foyer, poking his nose where it didn’t belong.
Rylee frowned, taking hold of his collar. “Buckshot, where are your manners?”
“He’s okay,” Claire said, rubbing his ears. “Probably smells my dog.”
“Doesn’t excuse rude behavior,” Rylee responded, nudging his chin over. “Be a good boy,” she reminded him.
“Don’t worry,” Claire said, “he’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” Rylee responded. “Make yourself comfortable. Newspaper and the remote should be on the coffee table.”
“Thanks, I’ll find ‘em.”
*
Mouth-watering smells wafted from the kitchen. “Mmmm,” Rylee said, “your vegetable beef soup.”
Kenzie smiled. “Abby’s favorite.”
“Mine too,” Rylee responded, kissing the back of her neck, and then her mouth.
“I thought spaghetti was.”
“It is,” Rylee said. “On spaghetti night.”
Kenzie chuckled. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s because you were probably talking.”
“Yeah, probably,” Kenzie said with a glance toward the table. “We’ve done a lot of that this afternoon.”
“Figured as much,” Rylee responded, fiddling with the knob on the toaster. “So, I brought Claire home with me,” she said. “She’s in the living room.”