It’s Dalton who says, “They didn’t choose to stay, did they? Not really. They became hostiles.”
“What?” I say.
No one chooses that life. Well, no, I’m sure a few have, but I cannot imagine scientists coming to work here, seeing wild and savage people in the forest, and saying, “That looks cool.”
Except there hadn’t been savage people in the forest before they arrived.
“They started the hostiles,” I murmur. “They were the first.”
“It was part of the study,” she says. “That’s what I uncovered. The European firm wasn’t looking to create life-enhancing medication. They were making bioweapons for foreign powers. Their interest was in how the tea might subdue protesters and rebels, an exaggerated variation on my own goal. At some point, their interest shifted to the hallucinogenic tea. What if it caused more than euphoria?”
“Enhancing violence,” I say. “Reducing inhibitions. Like what we see with the hostiles. They tinker with the tea and take a few people into the forest for further experimentation. At some point, it becomes Frankenstein’s monster. Their creation turns on them.”
“That’s my theory,” Émilie says. “I can’t prove it. I know only that they went into the forest to change the formulation, and they never returned.”
“So the hostiles are a science experiment?” I say.
“They were. Past tense. A brief foray into behavioral control that might benefit some of the shadier world powers of the day. The results weren’t what the firm wanted, so they ended the study and recalled their researchers, who ignored their summons.”
“The firm didn’t send a search party?”
“They claim they did, but as you know, this is a very big forest.”
“So the hostiles were a failed experiment, one the council knew nothing about?”
“I believe the majority of the council knows nothing about it. But someone does. That firm didn’t walk away from Rockton as cleanly as we hoped. They have at least one influential person on the council, someone who has been keeping them abreast of recent developments.”
I nod. “And that element is exerting pressure on the rest of the council to abandon ship. The European firm wants us out of here so they can . . .”
I trail off.
European firm.
I remember what Émilie said shortly after she arrived.
While I’m not fluent in Danish, I did spend a year in Copenhagen.
“Where exactly is this firm?” I ask.
Once again, her gaze meets mine. “I think you already know.”
Denmark.
32
Émilie has gone back to Petra’s place. At this point I no longer really care whether she flees. I have what I need. Besides, Dalton has made sure her plane isn’t going anywhere. Right now, I just need to think.
“You can go home to bed if you like,” I say to Dalton.
His brows shoot up. “You really think I’d sleep after that?”
“I—”
“You need time alone before you’re ready to discuss it. I’ll walk Storm home—no reason for her to stay up all night.”
“Actually, I’m going to go talk to Mathias,” I say. “That’s where I found Émilie earlier—sneaking back from his place.”
“Ah-ha,” he says, brows wriggling, and I laugh, tension easing from me.
“Sadly, it’s going to be the less interesting option. He’s working with the council, and she wanted to talk to him. Before she has a chance to speak to him again, I want to see if anything she said contradicts the story she just gave.”
“You okay with us walking you over?”
“I am. Thank you.”
* * *
I rap on Mathias’s door. Dalton and Storm wait a few feet from the porch. When the door swings open, Mathias fixes me with a glower that makes me rethink going into his place alone. While I’ve never feared him, in that moment, a chill slides over me.
Still, I wave Dalton off and step inside as Mathias moves back.
“I’m sorry to disturb your sleep,” I say in French.
“You disturb nothing. I was not asleep.”
If he’s not annoyed because I woke him . . .
He walks inside, leaving me to follow. I look around and notice another new piece of art, which must have come in the latest shipment. We often need to pick up a package or two for Mathias when we’re in town. Few residents have that privilege. Dalton uses his for books. I use mine for gifts and chocolates. Mathias buys art.
“How am I to rest,” he says, “when my responsibility lies beyond my reach?”
I try—and fail—to untangle that. I presume the meaning is lost in translation, an idiomatic use that flies over my head.
“I don’t under—” I begin in English.
“No.” Mathias wheels, so close to me that I fight the urge to back up. “I am the one who doesn’t understand. Did you not tell me he was my responsibility?”
I glance around the room, realizing I haven’t seen Raoul—Mathias’s wolf-dog. Normally, he’d be at the door, dancing and whining when he smelled Storm. My heart skips until I find him on the sofa, his head ducked just enough to tell me he’s in hiding.
Mathias follows my gaze. “No, not the damned dog.”
Mathias rubs Raoul’s ears and murmurs to him, “I am not angry with you. No one has taken you from me without a word of warning. No one has taken you and left me wondering for hours where you’ve gone, until a near stranger casually mentions that you are in the forest, having offered yourself up as hostage.”
I wince. “Sebastian. I’m sorry, Mathias.”
“Are you?”
That tone makes me straighten. “Yes, I am, despite the fact that Sebastian is old enough to make his own choices. He’s only your responsibility insomuch as I’m relying on you to help monitor his mental state and provide the therapy he needs. Also, I’d think you’d be happy to have him gone for a few days. You’re always complaining about him.”
He glowers at me. “That does not sound like a sincere apology.”
“It was . . . until you challenged me on it.”
He grumbles and sits beside Raoul, who lays his muzzle on Mathias’s leg.
“I believe, Casey, that to truly understand my current sleepless state, you might consider what you just said. That I am responsible for his mental well-being. Might it not, then, have been prudent to consult me before sending him off on this mission?”
I settle into the chair across from him, and Raoul zips over to me. “I could point out that, under the very tense circumstances in which this occurred, consulting you was impossible. But after Sebastian agreed, we returned to pick up the dirt bike and we should have spoken to you then.”
Mathias relaxes a little, marginally mollified.
“He wanted to do this,” I say, “and they’d never hurt him.”
“He would not allow them to. He can take care of himself. I simply do not like him being sent into a situation where he may need to do so.”
“He really wanted to help Felicity.”
Another grumble, louder now. “That girl. He is developing feelings for her, and I have told him it is unwise. He will not allow me near her for a proper assessment of her suitability.”
I smile. “My parents used to do that. Tell me they weren’t thrilled about a relationship and then ask to meet the boy. That warned me to keep him far, far away.”
“It is not the same. I am concerned for her.”
“That’s half your concern. The other half is for him, whether he’s falling for a girl who won’t fall back. And the other half is worry that they’ll both fall for each other . . . when he’s not going to be here forever.”
“You were not good at math, were you, Casey?”
“You’re a complicated man.”
He waggles a finger. “Do not flatter me. Next time, I insist on being consulted. I do, however, appreciate that you came by to speak to me about it, despite the lateness of the hour.�
�
I pause.
“That is not why you came, is it?”
“Sorry,” I say. “If I’d thought of it, I would have, but I came to talk about Émilie.”
“Émilie?”
“The woman—”
“I know who she is. I presume someone saw us speaking and warned you we were having a tête-à-tête?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I planned to speak to you myself about it tomorrow. When I was no longer annoyed with you.” He settles in. “She came by to discuss Sebastian, or so it seemed at first. She said she’d learned of his condition and feared I hadn’t been warned by the council. I told her that I was forced to make the diagnosis myself, and I was not pleased about that. She apologized, and then asked about new residents who came after Sebastian, whether I had concerns about any of them. Terribly considerate, I thought.”
“Uh-huh, let me guess. She asked about each individually, not as a group.”
His eyes widen in mock surprise. “As a matter of fact, she did. How ever did you guess?”
“Because you planned to talk to me about her visit, which you wouldn’t do unless you saw something suspicious in her questions. She starts asking about Sebastian, knowing you’d be upset about being misled there. Then she parlays that apology into dutifully asking after each subsequent new resident, to hide the fact she’s concerned about one person in particular.”
“Mon Dieu. One would think you were a detective, Casey Butler. How astute of you.”
“You know what would be a real show of astuteness? If you could hazard a guess on which resident she was interested in.”
“Sadly, I am not a detective.” He crosses one leg over his knee. “And our Miss Émilie is herself very astute, enough to ask after each new resident with equal concern and listen to my responses with equal interest. I know only that she wanted my assessment of each recent resident, particularly whether I feared that any, like Sebastian, weren’t what they claimed to be.”
I sputter a laugh. “We’re a town of people who arrive under false pretenses.”
“So I said, but she was looking for more.”
“She suspects someone’s backstory is false. Not just their cover story, but the one they gave the council. Huh.” I lean back. “Well, that’s one good thing about the council restricting the inflow so much. There are only a handful of suspects.”
“And that raises another concern I wished to bring to your attention. My application for an extension has been denied.”
I straighten. “What?”
“Yes, I am equally shocked. Requesting my extensions has always been a formality. This week, I was denied.”
“Shit. Émilie’s right. They really are shutting us down.”
He blinks in rare surprise. “Shutting down Rockton?”
“We’ll deal with it. I’m close to solving this mystery, and that should resolve the issue.” I rise. “I’m sorry we didn’t at least tell you about Sebastian going to the First Settlement, but thank you for speaking to me. Émilie denied seeing you tonight, and I knew she had been here. Now I know why.”
He frowns. “Tonight?”
“Yes, I saw her leaving your . . .” I trail off as I take in his expression. “When did she speak to you?”
“Yesterday afternoon. She has not been here since.”
I mentally run through the residents who live nearby and compare it to that short list of new residents she’d been interested in.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“The detective has solved the case?” he asks as I stand and head for the hall.
“No, she’s solved a mystery she never realized was a mystery at all. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Tease!” he calls after me as I hurry out the door.
* * *
There isn’t a guard posted outside the clinic. That throws me, until I remember that we have no need of one. How often in the past has our overnight patient been a suspect or a victim? Far too often. But not tonight. Such a relief.
As I hurry inside, a figure rises from an examination table, and my gun flies up. I hit the light . . . and see my sister blinking and squinting at me.
“Casey?” she says.
I lower the gun. “What are you doing here?”
“Monitoring the patient, of course.” It only takes a second for brisk efficiency to return to her voice, and she runs one hand through her hair, returning it to perfection. “I would request, though, that you please do not mention it to Kenneth. I told him that I ought to monitor the patient, and he made it quite clear I should not do so at night, for my own safety. I pointed out that Jay is currently comatose, but he still worried.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a glitter of pleasure there, too, that Kenny was concerned for her safety. Then she snaps back to herself and says, “Whatever are you doing here? At . . .” She checks her watch. “Two in the morning.”
“I popped in to check on the patient. But since you’re up, can I run something by you? I need your brain.”
“A medical question, I presume?”
“There’s a medical question included, but mostly, I just want to bounce my theory off someone smarter than me, someone who might see the holes that I’m missing.”
She frowns. “Detective work is your forte, Casey, and I’m quite certain you’re the expert in that regard. As for requiring someone smarter to vet your reasoning, any difference in our IQ is minimal enough, on the overall scale, that I hardly think you need my help.”
She peers at me and steps closer. “Are you all right? Your eyes appear to be watery. You didn’t encounter any potentially toxic substances in your search for Felicity, did you?”
I laugh, say, “Thank you,” and hug her, a brief hug that she endures, even patting my back awkwardly.
“I do believe you’re overtired, or else I am still half asleep, because I fail to see what I said that requires gratitude or shows of affection.”
“If you’d like to rest, April, that’s fine, but if you’re up . . .”
“I am.”
“Then I would love to bounce this theory off you. Get your take on it. Is that all right?”
That look sparks in her eyes, the dart of pleasure I’d seen when she talked about Kenny’s fretting.
“Of course,” she says. “Tell me everything.”
I do.
33
As I’m talking, Dalton comes in, having tracked me down. He slides into a chair and listens as I tell my sister the whole story behind the creation of the hostiles.
When I finish, April says, “That is . . .”
I brace for the next word. “Ridiculous”? “Preposterous”?
“ . . . completely the wrong way to conduct scientific research,” she says. “Highly irregular and unethical.”
I laugh. “So it’s impossible then?”
“Nothing is impossible, particularly when it comes to drug research. People have this misguided image of scientists in a lab, chatting amicably and sharing their knowledge for the betterment of humankind. It is like any other big business. Competition is both fierce and cutthroat. This firm could certainly afford to send a few researchers into the wild, particularly for the possibility of a drug with military applications.”
“My logic is sound, then?”
“With the independent corroboration of Émilie, yes, I believe you have solved your mystery, Casey. Well done.” If the smile she offers holds traces of a patronizing pat on the head, I know her well enough now to take no offense.
“So our Danish tourists weren’t actually tourists,” I say. “We started having problems with the hostiles and that—combined with my reports about their narcotic brews—prompted the Danish pharmaceutical firm’s council contact to inform them. Thenn they sent a team in to evaluate the situation.”
April frowns. “I am uncomfortable with the nationality of the transgressors. I have always found the Danes to be a peaceful people.”
“It’s a priv
ate corporation working for foreign powers. Where there’s money to be made, there are unethical people ready to make it, no matter what their nationality.”
“True. Sophie wasn’t an innocent tourist, then. That will alleviate Will’s guilt.”
It isn’t that easy, but I only say, “It explains her sudden burst of both power and skill. I chalked it up to adrenaline, but that was her training. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“I would not go quite that far, Casey. She was obviously mentally confused at the time. She would need to be, to attack Jay.”
I open my mouth and then pause. Not yet. Instead I say, “So the four Danes were sent in to evaluate, and they must have triggered the hostiles in some way and were attacked. Or they weren’t attacked by hostiles at all, but by someone pretending to be hostiles, ironically killing the very people sent to help the situation.”
“Are we sure the Danes were sent to help?” Dalton says. “Or sent to clean up the mess? Which doesn’t tell us what happened to that settler family.” He rubs his chin. “Unless it does. A case of mistaken identity.”
“Hmm?”
“This Danish firm wouldn’t send their people into the wilderness unarmed,” he says. “We didn’t find guns, but they sure as hell had them. What kind do you think they’d have? Hunting rifles?”
“Handguns.” I pause. “Like the ones used to kill the settlers? You said mistaken . . . Oh, shit. The Danes are the ones who mistook the settler family for hostiles. The Danes came looking for wild people of the forest. They seemed to find three and carried out execution orders, only to realize they made a mistake. So they staged the scene to look like a hostile attack. That hides their crime and plants further proof that the hostiles are a dangerous element. Then they come across actual hostiles who turn the tables and slaughter them.”
Dalton shakes his head. “Will definitely doesn’t need to feel so bad about shooting Sophie now.”
A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel Page 29
