by Alex Kava
Now, up close and along side the pine trees, Creed marveled at the sight. Not a branch was broken, not even the trunks. It truly looked as if the wind had gently pushed them down, one then another and another, the ground pushed up revealing roots still attached and holding on.
Grace pranced to a spot in the middle and poked her nose into the thick swath of pine needles. The branches on top of branches made it impossible to see underneath. Grace pulled her nose out and shook her head, sending stray needles flying. Then she turned to look up at Creed, finding his eyes with an intent stare that was her alert. She had found her target and was ready for her reward.
24
FBI CRIME LAB
Quantico, Virginia
Maggie sat down next to special agent Antonio Alonzo. What he called his office looked more a film editing booth. A half dozen computer monitors lined the wall he faced, but his swivel chair allowed him to swing around to a more conventional desk that always seemed to be immaculately unadorned. Maggie couldn’t help wondering if the desk was mostly for show, so that he didn’t entirely throw off visitors who came into his office unprepared.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw her place the Starbuck’s container next to his empty coffee mug. He glanced at her and rewarded her with one of his wide grins.
“You know I changed up a bit,” he told her as he pulled the cup closer and inhaled deeply.
“A venti caramel latte,” she said, “with three shots of espresso.”
“Extra pumps of caramel?”
“Five pumps of caramel and one pump of mocha.”
“You must want something big,” he said as he snapped off the lid and took a sip then grinned, again. “Oh, that is some kind of wonderful. Go ahead, ask and you share receive.”
Although Alonzo was considered a data wizard he defied the computer nerd stereotype. A fashion trendsetter in a building of drab navy, black or brown suits, Alonzo wore a bright orange button-down shirt that complimented his brown skin. His tie and the frames of his eyeglasses always seemed to match. Today, they were an indigo blue. We wore khakis and high-polished, brown leather shoes. He also, smelled good. Not ordinary aftershave. Something citrus with a hint of coconut.
“There were two homicides in Chicago this morning,” she told him as she popped open a can of Diet Pepsi. “Two young men, middle twenties. One was shot in what looked like a home invasion. The other, on the street. Actually, just a few streets away in a possible botched robbery. Both shootings took place in about the timeframe of an hour.”
Alonzo sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee, listening, taking it all in. She knew he wouldn’t interrupt her, even with his questions, until she was finished.
“The men were friends. One a mid-level computer analyst for a chemical laboratory. The other a junior account rep for an advertising agency. They hacked into a company’s computer email last week.”
Now, he sat forward with his first question. “A military contractor?”
Maggie shook her head. “A cereal company.”
“Cereal? As in Fruit Loops and Cheerios?”
“Not those two in particular, but yes, cereal and breakfast bars. It’s a food company called Carson Foods.”
“How do you know they hacked into the company’s computer?”
“A woman named Francine Russo worked at the advertising agency with Tyler Gates. They’re the account reps putting together an advertising campaign for the company’s latest organic breakfast bars. Gates didn’t like that the products were suspected of having glysophate in them.”
“Ah, I get it,” Alonzo said. “And his computer buddy at the chemical lab was able to test them.”
“Yes. Russo was on the phone video-chatting with him about it when he was shot.”
Alonzo whistled and sat back, again. “I don’t like where this is going. What do you need from me?”
In the past, Antonio Alonzo had been able to provide the unthinkable from satellite photos of a killer’s gravesites to security camera feeds of a WalMart parking lot in the Midwest. He could track down the smallest piece of evidence, run it through databases and somehow find its relevance. He had been Maggie’s right-hand man on several cases, accessing vital information in a remarkably short amount of time. On one occasion providing life or death information. And he didn’t just depend on computers and databases. The man was an encyclopedia of facts and trivia.
Maggie gave him the names of the three people involved: Francine Russo, Tyler Gates and Deacon Kaye along with any details Hannah had been able to share as well as Detective Jacks.
“Anything you can find about Carson Foods and their CEO would be helpful,” Maggie added.
“I seem to remember a law suit regarding glysophate. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a food company though.”
“Maybe there’s a connection. You think this could be about warding off possible law suits?”
He shrugged. “We both know people have killed for less.” He was already making notes on a yellow legal pad. “Makes more sense than it being about cereal.”
“Breakfast bars,” she corrected him.
He looked up and smiled at her. “Right. That makes a big difference.” He tapped his pen against the notepad. “You said the killer took Tyler Gates’ cell phone?”
“It wasn’t at the scene or on him,” Maggie said. “Is that significant?”
“There’s a whole bunch of information stored on a person’s phone.”
“But he’d have to know the passcode.”
“You said Gates was video-chatting when he met up with the guys. They wouldn’t need the passcode. And a lot of people don’t like to bother with passcodes. We live in an instant access society. Everybody wants to stay connected. They activate the Remember This Device. Social media accounts—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—who signs out? Even their Amazon accounts. A lot of people leave them open so they can quickly access them. Who has time to key in your password every time? The apps and accounts don’t remind you to logout. They want you stay connection. Did you ever notice they’ve even made it harder to find the logout.”
“So anyone who steals the phone also has instant access.”
“Yup. And think about all the things we use our phones to do. Refill prescriptions. All you gotta do is scan the barcode. Same with checks. The bank lets you scan it and you see the amount in your account. If a person leaves that app open and doesn’t logout, anyone who picks up the phone has instant access all those accounts. not only to their email and their texts, but their friends and family. In fact, the killers might be emailing or texting acquaintances before they discover Gates is dead. Especially if they’re still looking for something—like who Gates might have shared information with from those hacked emails.”
“That seems rude.”
Alonzo gave her a look. “Yeah, we’ve never seen that before—a rude killer. Hey, I don’t suppose you could get me a copy of the emails they hacked?”
“Not yet,” she told him. “Russo said Tyler was sending her copies. I’m hoping to talk with her tomorrow. If she has anything, I’ll see if I can get them forwarded to you.”
“It’d be better if you can get me her email address and password.”
Maggie was still waiting to hear from Hannah to see if Francine Russo had agreed to meet her. Or if the woman would even be able to. Two young men dead in a matter of an hour was an orchestrated hit. Whatever Tyler Gates and Deacon Kaye stumbled upon was enough to get them killed. And if Alonzo was right, the killers already had plenty of information about Russo. Most likely, the woman wasn’t just being paranoid that they would come for her.
25
SOUTHERN ALABAMA
Creed’s fingers fumbled around inside his daypack. He couldn’t see through the pine boughs. When he finally pulled out Grace’s pink elephant she didn’t seem interest. Instead, the little dog kept prancing back and forth in front of the spot where she’d given her alert. She was more anxious for Creed to see what she’d found.
“Did she find the driver?” Trooper Sykes called out.
“I’m sure,” Creed answered.
Grace kept her eyes on him even as she continued to pace. Every once in a while she would swing her head toward the downed pine trees as if she couldn’t believe how slow he was.
“Good girl, Grace,” he praised her and slipped the toy into the daypack.
She poked her nose through an opening between branches, clearly growing impatient with him. Creed dropped to his knees, craning his neck to see beyond the pine needles. It was too dark. He peeled a flashlight out of his pack and pointed the beam between the branches where Grace had stuck her nose. When he still couldn’t see anything, he crawled closer. He parted the branches with his hands and then his elbows, thrusting his torso in between despite twigs whipping into his face and needles sticking his arms.
Finally, he saw what looked like the back of a car seat. It was muddy, lying on its side plastered with pine needles. Then Creed realized it was too small to be regular car seat ripped from a vehicle. He jerked away, throwing off his balance and falling backward out from the branches and onto his butt.
“What is it?” Sheriff Norwich was right behind him now.
Trooper Sykes offered Creed his hand. Grace batted him with her paw and started licking his face. He waved off Sykes and gave Grace a pet before he got back to his feet.
“I think it’s a car seat,” he told them.
Sykes took off his hat and scratched his head as he looked out toward the vehicle.
“Not the vehicle’s seat,” Creed said. “A baby’s car seat.”
“Oh my God,” Norwich said under her breath.
Creed had done searches for lost children before, and almost always when one is found dead there is an eerie silence that overcomes even the most seasoned law enforcement officers. The three of them stood motionless. But then Creed noticed Grace. She was still prancing back and forth, impatient and bobbing her head toward her find.
To scent dogs, death is a game. There’s no emotion attached to finding a corpse. Dogs can be influenced by their handler’s moods and attitudes. It’s why Creed emphasizes to his new handlers to never show discouragement. But grief is more difficult to hide.
As if she was fed up waiting for her human counterparts, Grace poked her entire head between the branches. Creed wiped dirt from his hands and picked up the flashlight where he’d dropped it. When he looked again, he saw Grace disappear under the fallen tree.
“Grace, come back here.” To Norwich and Sykes, he said, “She usually takes her toy. I’m not sure—”
A muffled sound interrupted him, followed by a whimper.
Creed dived back to his knees, pulling and snapping branches. He crawled and shoved his body forward, ignoring the sharp pokes and scrapes. He didn’t stop until he could touch the car seat. The muddy, leather back faced him, but he knew Grace had made her way around to the front. All he could see was the tip of her tail, and it was wagging.
From behind and above him, Creed heard Norwich and Sykes trying to lift and break their way through. He elbowed up through the pine needles until finally he could reach over the car seat. A thin stream of sunshine allowed him to see the baby still strapped in. The child was caked in mud. Grace had licked clean the eyes and nose and mouth and now she’d moved her tongue-bath to the left ear. The baby didn’t cry. Outside of the whimpers and sniffles, it kicked its feet out. Tiny little hands fluttered. Grace tolerated the grabs and tugs and just kept licking.
Creed pulled the entire car seat, baby included, out from under the fallen pine trees. He draped his body to shield the child from being poked or whipped by twigs and needles. He felt the stabs in his back, scrapes across his arms and pine cone digging into his knees. By the time he made it out from underneath, the child was crying, more like screaming, and Grace skipped alongside desperate to settle the little tyke.
Sheriff Norwich and Trooper Sykes stood by to help, but now the desperate little hands clung to the front of Creed’s shirt. Instead of trying to pry the child’s hands free, he asked the others to disengage the car seat’s straps. The baby grabbed fistfuls of Creed’s T-shirt and held on tighter, burying its mud-caked head against his chest.
Sweat dripped down Creed’s face but instead of wiping at it he kept both hands on the baby. He rested his chin on top of the matted hair. Pine needles poked at him. As soon as the straps fell away he wrapped his arms around the child. Then he kneeled down, so Grace would stop trying to climb his leg. Her nuzzles and licks almost instantly stopped the baby’s crying.
“My God,” he heard Sheriff Norwich behind him. “How is it possible?”
“Can you guys check for injuries?” Creed asked.
He glanced up at the law enforcement officers who appeared paralyzed by the discovery. He didn’t want to pull the child away and start the crying again. So instead, he sat back on his haunches and tried to run his fingers over one limb at a time.
Trooper Sykes knelt beside them. He started at the top, running careful fingers through the plastered waves of feathery hair.
Grace had her front paws up on Creed’s thigh, supervising both him and Sykes. She was panting, her tongue hanging out and too far to the side.
Creed looked up at Norwich and asked, “Could you get us some water?” He gestured to his daypack.
She jerked into action. “Of course.” She fumbled with the zipper. He could feel her hands rummaging through the pack. Only then did Creed realize how discombobulated the sheriff was.
“There’s a collapsible dish in there, too. For Grace.”
While Sykes continued his slow and careful examination, Norwich opened and spilled water for Grace. At first the dog didn’t want to be distracted from her guard post, but thirst changed her mind. Norwich held the bowl while Grace lapped up the water. The baby pulled away from Creed to watch.
“You want some, too?” Creed asked. “Are you thirsty?”
The eyes met Creed’s for the first time, and he was pleased to see they were focused, tracking and interested. He also noticed the baby’s ears were packed with mud. Grace hadn’t reached them to clean them out. Gently, he tugged a plug of dirt out.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked, again, and this time the child wiggled at the sound of his voice.
Norwich squatted beside them with the water bottle, still tentative as if trying to figure it out.
“You’re really good with babies,” she said.
He caught himself before telling her there wasn’t much difference between babies and puppies. Not everyone appreciated that comparison.
Norwich awkwardly adjusted the bottle bringing it to the baby’s lips, again, revealing how uncomfortable she was. She tipped it just enough for a small sip. Then another and another. Between Grace and the baby, they emptied the bottle. The little dog nosed Sheriff Norwich, wanting to take back her spot.
“Okay, okay, I’m moving,” Norwich told Grace. She joked about getting out of the dog’s way, but Creed knew the woman was glad to resume her distance.
“How old do you think?” he asked Sykes who had moved in front of Creed. Compared to Norwich, there was no hesitation.
“Not quite a year.” Trooper Sykes ran his hands softly over the baby’s legs, taking his time feel for broken bones or wounds hidden by the mud. “My guess is ten or eleven months. I radioed for help earlier,” he said in a low, calm voice. “Paramedics are headed back
. They’ll have IVs if necessary, but he doesn’t look too dehydrated. I’m glad he drank some on his own.”
“The pine trees provided shelter and shade,” Creed said. He glanced around to check on Norwich and saw her examining the car seat. “It’s almost as if they fell after he landed there.” He knew when told the story to Hannah later she would claim it was a miracle. It would be hard to disagree with her. “Wait a minute. You said he? It’s a boy?”
“Yeah, it’s a boy.” Sykes sat back on heels and turned his head away. “And his diaper’s full.”
“Hey, your diaper would be full, too, if you flew two hundred feet in a car seat.”
Sykes laughed and the baby jerked his focus away from Creed and Grace to look for the sound.
“I found something,” Norwich called out. Her hands were muddy as she rubbed at the top of the carrier. “There’s a label with a name and address. They probably take this with them when they fly.”
“That solves the problem of who he belongs to,” Sykes said.
“Except he might be the only one who survived,” she countered.
And once again, Creed was reminded that he and Grace still hadn’t found the driver.
26
NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE
“Girl, it’s about time you called!”
Frankie smiled at the sound of her friend’s good-natured scolding. Of course, it helped that she was feeling snug and safe in her fourth floor hotel room. Right now, Frankie didn’t even care if it might be a false security. It just felt good to be inside and off the interstate where every second she’d felt exposed. She’d kicked off her shoes and already ordered room service. Comfort food. All her favorites.
Now as she sat on the edge of the bed where she had a view of only entrance to the hotel’s parking lot. The rain beat against the window. Lightning streaked across the sky. She was thankful she’d made the decision to get off the road.
“I’m in Nashville,” she told Hannah. “I forgot how long of a drive it was from Chicago to the panhandle.”
