When the seriousness of the situation had sunk in, the forensic guy removed his Miami vacation costume and donned proper work clothes—Tyvek suit, goggles, nitrile gloves. They all wore the same gear, including Gabriel and Conor.
Twenty ground-penetrating radars, metal probes and detectors, and ten cadaver dogs divided into five teams and scanned the area. After they marked interesting places with small orange cones, excavators went to work and dug the bones out. With several trollies, they wheeled them to the tents erected within the ranch, where they were photographed, sealed, and logged into the system.
Conor and Gabriel coordinated from the middle tent, which had lemonade, doughnuts, and coffee. Not surprisingly, they didn’t go fast—the whole area smelled of rot and decay.
When Gabriel wasn’t able to continue holding his watery eyes open, and the inhaler couldn’t mask the odor anymore, he called it a night. He shed the coverall, told Conor to get some sleep, and left.
The next morning Gabriel brought Bill along to the ranch. Some heads were poking out of their sleeping bags, not minding the sunshine on their faces, while others walked to and from the bushes outlining the property. They had worked through the hot afternoon, and by the time the sun began to set, they had wrapped everything up.
At the end of the day, Conor informed Gabriel that they’d collected 3,978 bones. When Gabriel said that the result didn’t compute with the number of skulls they had in the box, Conor explained that many had been buried for a long time, and some would have been eaten by wild animals, bugs, and time. But they should still perform DNA analysis on each one of them to learn the exact number of victims.
After filling them in on the progress, Conor excused himself and walked toward the head forensic scientist to discuss the paperwork. Even though Gabriel had sucked all the flavor from the inhaler, he still felt the smell of rot in the air.
Bill looked like he was about to puke. The stench was just too much.
“You okay there?” Gabriel said.
“I… um… how are you so calm, Detective Chase?”
“You keep all your strong emotions on the horizon, like an enormous dark cloud. And when it’s time, you rain it all down on the unlucky bastard who thought it was a good idea to kill some innocent person.”
“Got it, Detective Chase. Here on out, I’ll try to be that way, too.”
Conor returned with an irritated look on his face.
“What?” Gabriel said.
“Fucking prick wouldn’t do it. But I don’t blame him. It’s just too much, Chase. We need to divert a lot of resources from somewhere else. Forensics isn’t cheap.”
“Huh?”
“Four thousand DNA tests is big, even for me. I need to call my boss in on this and ask for his authorization. Only then can I get the lab rats to work on the evidence we’ve collected here.”
“As long as the news doesn’t leak to the media.”
“It won’t.” Conor looked around the land, which was dotted with hundreds of holes.
It would easily pass for a bombarded battlefield.
“I have seriously underestimated you, Chase. This is colossal.”
Gabriel realized that was the closest thing to an apology Conor was ever going to give. He got a file from Bill and passed it to Conor.
“These are the reports of the biological evidence recovered from the javelins impaled on Gerald’s back, and the preliminary DNA result from Tyrel’s clothes. They both match.”
Conor thumbed through them. “Again, I must say this—you’ve earned my respect. I don’t think you have any for me, but right now I have this much for you.” Conor spread his arms like a kid telling his mom how big his friend’s stuffed animal was.
Gabriel nodded.
“Something is bothering me, Detective Chase,” Bill said.
Conor smiled and shook his head. Gabriel had already told Bill that he wasn’t a detective anymore and not to address him as such.
“What is it?” Gabriel said.
“Tyrel learned from Mr. Bunny, right? Shouldn’t he have instructed him to clear all these bones?”
“Mr. Bunny must have told him to get rid of the damning evidence, all right,” Gabriel said. “But look around you. It took one and a half days for over thirty trained people with professional equipment to dig out everything. It’s a tremendous undertaking, and Tyrel couldn’t have done it alone.”
“But Noah must have persuaded him, regardless—”
“Noah?” Conor said. “What do you mean, Noah? I thought he was just an informant or whatever. Why should he persuade Tyrel to do anything?”
Gabriel glared at Bill whose cheeks blushed.
“I’m sorry. I meant Mr. Bunny.”
“Oh, okay. For a second there, I thought Noah was Mr. Bunny. How crazy would that have been…”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Gabriel wanted to smack Bill on the back of his head. Now he understood how Emma felt most of the time.
Conor looked at Gabriel with a crooked smile. “The guy that the world thinks is Mr. Bunny was stabbed to death in a prison riot. But Mr. Bunny didn’t really die that night, did he?”
Gabriel considered his next move. Conor had put everything at his disposal to catch Noah, so he deserved to know the truth. Plus, the guy with a broken nose looked pathetic. Screw it.
“Nope,” Gabriel said.
“I knew George wasn’t Mr. Bunny. A small-time drug dealer escapes a maximum-security prison while an infamous serial killer, a serial killer with a white supremacist gang’s power, is stabbed to death. And Noah goes to Texas and hangs himself? Why would a drug dealer do that? Sudden attack of conscience? Nope. He died because you ruined everything for him by giving the title Mr. Bunny to a two-bit racist.”
Gabriel knew he was being accused of driving someone to suicide, but he couldn’t help feeling good. If anyone deserved a psychological agony painful enough to kill himself, it was Noah. And Gabriel had put him there. A smile escaped his lips. A sincere smile that came out of the warmth of achieving something real. Something good for humanity.
“But I can’t really prove any of this, though, can I?” Conor said.
“Nope.” Gabriel was still smiling.
Then he told Conor everything about Noah and his letter.
“You freak me out, man. I’m gonna make everything right between us.” Conor squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder. “I don’t ever want to be on your bad side… Detective.”
Chapter 34
April 12, 2019. 08:41 P.M.
“What?” Bill shouted, over the bar’s clamor.
“Is Emma single?” Conor repeated, then sipped his whiskey.
“No.”
“That’s too bad,” Conor mumbled. “So you guys don’t drink?”
“Not while on duty,” Bill said.
Willy’s had become festive that night, a far cry from the empty bar they’d visited the previous morning. Townsfolk greeted or nodded every time they passed someone, not burying their heads in cell phones and hoping not to catch the eyes of a familiar face.
It had been just two days since they’d arrived in Apex, but Gabriel had already gotten more than he’d hoped to salvage. Including Shane’s testimony, the gruesome evidence unearthed not only proved the existence of Tyrel, but also his guilt. The problem now was they didn’t know where the ghoul had burrowed himself.
Bill tried reaching out to Tyrel’s relatives, but they all said the same thing—Tyrel never talked to them. The most interesting person Bill had telephone interviewed was Charles, Tyrel’s maternal uncle in LA, a professional MMA instructor. Apparently Tyrel used to be an insecure, scrawny boy. But after Charles had trained him, he became different. He said there was something seriously off about his nephew, and he could possibly be dangerous. Like they didn’t know—thirty skulls attested to that. Anyway, Charles hadn’t heard from Tyrel either, not after his sister’s funeral.
Since there was nothing else to do, the trio drove to Willy’s. They stopped at a pharmacy on thei
r way and got a new inhaler for Gabriel.
The front door flew open and Emma rushed inside. Before she even took a seat, words tumbled out of her mouth.
“I just found out the trucking company that Tyrel hired to transport the animals. But the stuck-up receptionist wouldn’t give me the address where they delivered.”
Conor said, “Maybe talk to the owner and—”
“I am not a rookie. I did talk to the owner, but he refused, too, saying that he would give me the details when I fax him a copy of the warrant.”
“That’s not a problem,” Conor said. “What’s the name of the company?”
While Emma shared the information with Conor, Gabriel’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi? I’m Lloyd. I’ve been camping in the mountains with my friends for the last couple of days. That’s why it’s taken so long to call you.”
“Huh… what?” Gabriel scratched his head.
“I used to care for Mr. Boone’s ranch?”
“Oh, yes, right.” Gabriel moved his hand back. “I came across some snail shells at the ranch.”
“Yeah. Raphael, Mr. Boone’s box turtle, eats only those.”
“So I was told. My question is, where did you buy the snails? I guess they aren’t sold in pet shops, are they?”
Gabriel’s speaker began beeping. Just as he took the phone and looked at the screen, the sound stopped.
“No, sir, they aren’t,” Lloyd replied. “We ordered them online, and a snail farmer in Washington mailed them to us. That’s Washington, the state.”
“How do I contact this farmer?”
“I haven’t talked to him in a while. Didn’t have a reason to. Guess I don’t have his phone number anymore. Come to think about it, I don’t even remember his name.”
“Maybe Google all the snail farmers in Washington? If edible snails aren’t widely available, then there won’t be a lot of results. And when you come across sellers who sound familiar, jot them down.”
“Hm. That’s not a bad idea. I’ll text you when I get something.”
“Thanks.”
Gabriel hung up and was greeted by a missed call from his dad. His heartbeat rose a notch as he called him back, but it went straight to voicemail. Gabriel knew something was wrong. He just knew it. The fear crept down to his stomach, morphing into a sickening knot.
What had happened to his father? What could Gabriel do from here? He didn’t even know where his dad was.
Since Gabriel was helpless, he tried diverting his mind by forcing himself to listen to the conversation around the table.
“As much as I hate to admit it, Gabriel was right,” Conor told Emma. “I couldn’t track Tyrel.”
“What have you tried so far?” she said.
A passing patron stopped at their table and addressed Conor.
“Jeez, man, what happened to your face?”
“Walked into a door,” Conor eyed Gabriel.
“Must have been a pretty solid door, huh?” The patron gave a knowing smile and winked.
“Thank you so much for your concern. Now if you will excuse us.”
Once the stranger had left, Conor said, “Boone’s family doesn’t own a place anywhere other than in Apex.”
“You followed the utilities?” Emma said.
“Sure did. Tyrel didn’t transfer the gas and water connection to a new house. Same goes for electricity. Before you ask—no, he hasn’t changed his address with the post office, or updated them with a PO box to forward his mail to.”
“Shit.” Emma thumped the table.
“There’s more. Or less, depending on how you see it.” Conor took a swig from the glass. “No one in town knows which moving company he used to transport his stuff. He didn’t use anyone local. He must have packed and moved at nighttime, leaving no witnesses.”
“His car?” she said.
“The Buick was sold on Craigslist, so we can forget about searching for recent parking or speeding tickets.”
Gabriel was impressed. Those were the exact steps he would have taken, too.
“Then what else do we have?” Bill said.
“Our friend Emma found the trucking company Tyrel used to transport the animals. We just requested a warrant for the release of information. Other than that, nothing.”
“Why are you quiet?” Emma nudged Gabriel’s knee with hers. “Is something wrong?”
“I know we’ve got a murderer on the loose,” Conor said, “but don’t always be so uptight. If it makes you feel any better, I pulled the complaint back. You’ll be a detective as soon as you get back to your precinct.”
“It’s not that,” Gabriel heard himself say.
“What then?”
Gabriel knew he should be worried about tracking Tyrel, who had disappeared without a trace—a hard feat in this privacy-less century. But his mind was elsewhere.
“My dad isn’t answering his phone.”
“So what?” Emma said. “He’s a grown man. And he is with Mr. Lamb. If anything, the criminals they’re hunting should be worried.”
True, but he was still uneasy.
“I’ve been trying to get them on the phone for the last three days. Now he called me while I was speaking to that kid. But when I called him back, his phone went straight to voicemail. Again.”
“Where is he?” Conor said.
“Detroit… I guess. He went after Lolly.”
“He went after Lolly?” Conor raised his eyebrows. “The Lolly?”
Gabriel nodded.
“You Chases don’t trust the FBI at all, do you?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Would you trust a department full of Conors?”
“Valid point.” Conor knocked back his drink. “Send me his phone number. I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Gabriel texted it to Conor.
“Now try to relax, will you?”
Gabriel tried in the only way he knew how. He talked about the case.
“Shane gave us the names of all the carriers Tyrel bought wireless services from in the last couple of years. We can find Tyrel’s IP address and the IMEI number from them.”
“Followed them both,” Conor said. “Seems he didn’t use his laptop or cell phone after he left Apex. Probably threw them away and bought new ones.”
“You mapped Tyrel’s behavior in cyberspace?” Gabriel said. “Can’t you have your IT people back in Quantico analyze his online activity and track similar patterns across the country?”
“That’s some high-level counter-terrorism shit. I don’t have the clearance to request that kind of help.”
“Okay. Can you at least download Tyrel’s Internet history? Internet service providers have records of all the IP addresses a computer contacts.”
“They do, but they are strict about protecting their customers’ privacy.”
“But we need that information. We literally have thousands of pieces of evidence to convince any judge.”
Conor bit the skin on his lower lip as he traced his finger around the rim of the whiskey glass.
“I need to persuade my boss to get the warrant, but I can’t do it over the phone because I don’t trust her with this. She’s got a big mouth, and to garner favor, she may even leak the information to her boss. I will need to explain the seriousness of it all in person, and then I’ll talk her into helping us get the warrant.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Gabriel said. “Thanks.”
Upon seeing Conor staring at him with utmost passion, Gabriel said, “What’re you looking at? You gonna propose?”
“No, it’s just that… you don’t have the highest clearance rate in the NYPD for nothing, do you? You leave no stone unturned.”
Gabriel shrugged.
“But why? I mean, we all do our jobs, get paid, and go home to have supper and sleep. But you actually lost your job in search of justice. It’s almost like you’re obsessed with it. Are you like Batman? Lost someone to violent crime?”
Gabriel pondered over th
e question.
“Yes, I did lose someone to violent crime. But I was, as you colorfully put it, obsessed with justice even before that.”
“How come?”
Gabriel shrugged again. “You ever ask a virus why it does what it does? It’s what it’s programmed to do. How about Bill Gates or Cristiano Ronaldo? Why do they do what they do? There is no reason, other than their love for their work. I love solving crimes and doing the right thing. As boyish as it sounds, and at the risk of appearing as overambitious, the truth is I want to make our community a safe place to live in.”
“So my Batman analogy is still true. You’re basically a kid wearing a bedsheet cape, trying to save the world.”
Gabriel shook his head, but a smile crept up to his lips.
“Ever thought about joining the FBI?”
“Wha-what? No.”
“Why not? You’re too good for the doughnut munchers.” Conor turned to Emma and Bill. “No offense.”
They responded with four birds.
“I hate wearing suits,” Gabriel replied.
“Come on, that’s not an answer.”
“Fine. You want to know the reason? There is none. It just never crossed my mind, is all. Maybe I was under the impression that your whole department was run by a bunch of assholes. But after meeting you, Madeline, and Ethan, my opinion has changed.”
“It has?” Conor beamed with pride.
“Yeah. Now I think only one-third of the FBI is assholes.”
Conor held a poker face for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.
“Okay. You wanna know why I acted the way I did before?”
“Why?”
“I’m an SSA in a field office in NYC. I want to go to the next level. And a seat for SAC just opened up in the HQ.”
“That’s cool, but—”
“Bullshit is what it is. Don’t get me wrong. I love that job, and I’d be required to report only to the FBI’s assistant director himself, but the position is in the NCAVC. You know what their primary job is? To investigate repeat killers. It means I will have a team under me whose sole objective is to capture murderers like Noah, Tyrel, and Lolly. That’s why it pissed me off when I couldn’t find Mr. Bunny and a group of nobody detectives did.”
Inhuman: Detective Chase hunts an animal who protects his own Page 21
