Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  The food was top-notch. Whitney had chosen JB’s Smokeshack for catering, and the local barbeque hotspot totally delivered. Spare ribs. Smoked chicken. Pulled pork. Cornbread. Okra casserole. Cabbage. Yellow potato salad. Apple cobbler. I’d shoveled down two plates, and was considering a third.

  The whole neighborhood turned out. All twenty of us. Lorelei Devers spread a blanket on the grass, and in moments five more appeared beside hers. Ruth and Linus Stolowitski sat on their stoop, greeting everyone who passed by. Kit bounced here and there, tweaking the sound system, hauling bags of ice, and making sure food and drink flowed smoothly. Tom Blue brought out an old croquet set, and soon half the guests were playing.

  Younger kids scampered about, invited by Morris Islanders with family in the area. They ran laughing across the common, or tossed Frisbees and plastic horseshoes. All told, perhaps fifty people were milling about, smiling and stuffing their faces.

  All but Coop—Kit made me lock the wolfdog away. Probably for the best.

  Above it all lorded Whitney, a queen bee managing her hive. She seemed everywhere at once, greeting new arrivals, stocking the napkin dispensers, even organizing the parking lot. All while wearing a face-splitting smile, and giggling like a schoolgirl, totally in her element.

  But even Whitney’s effervescence couldn’t shake the pall hanging over the festivities. Most conversations inevitably gravitated to the kidnappings. Heads shook in dismay. Theories were exchanged. And dozens of surreptitious glances were cast the Virals’ way.

  Everyone knew the missing kids were our classmates. Some had learned that Ella and I were close.

  I tried to avoid notice.

  Though I played the dutiful daughter—wearing a sundress, shaking hands, even helping little ones find a bathroom—inside, I cringed. The whole thing felt like a betrayal.

  While I was sipping raspberry lemonade, Ella was imprisoned somewhere.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be doing more.

  At least my emotions were in check.

  After my crying jag with Ben, it felt like my feelings had simply shut down, or somehow switched off. The well had run empty. I’d gone numb.

  In a way, that was good. I felt more capable of rational thought than I had in days.

  After the party’s first hectic hour, the boys and I had settled down at the edge of the lawn, where the grass gave way to sand, and eventually surf.

  I finished scarfing a bowl of banana pudding and pushed it aside. “We need to discuss our options.”

  Hi rolled to a sitting position. He wore an orange Charlotte Bobcats tee and navy shorts.

  “We’re stuck,” he said. “The rock is our best clue, but it doesn’t lead anywhere.”

  Shelton set down his sweet tea. He wore white on white—polo shirt and cargo shorts. Hi had dubbed it Shelton’s “Carlton” look. I didn’t get it.

  “I can’t crack those B-Series files,” he admitted. “The encryption is light-years out of my league. 256-bit keys. The universe will end before anyone forces through that.”

  “Just do your best,” I encouraged.

  “My best won’t get the job done. We need to call Chang.”

  “No.” On this point I was certain. “We can’t trust him. We don’t know what’s in those files, and Chang’s already proven he’s a loose cannon. We go it alone.”

  Shelton sighed. “I’ll keep looking. Hope for divine intervention.”

  “I know you can do it.” Trying to buck him up. “Eddie Chang’s not half as smart as the great Shelton Devers.”

  “I don’t know,” Hi said. “That dude’s pretty sharp.”

  “Thanks,” Shelton grumbled.

  “Now,” Hi continued, “if she’d said me, I’d be on board. I’m super intelligent.”

  Ben reached up from where he was lying with his eyes closed. Smacked Hi’s dome.

  Hi rubbed his head. “I’m getting pretty tired of that move.”

  “Then quit being a dope.” Ben’s lids remained shut.

  “Hey, sure. No problem. I just need to—”

  Hi lunged for Ben, intending a flying body slam. Ben caught Hi in midair and tossed him downhill in one quick motion. Hi tumbled, rolled, and dropped over the berm onto the sand.

  “That was dumb,” Hi informed the blue sky.

  “Yep,” Ben agreed, settling back on his elbows.

  Hi began dusting himself off. “I shouldn’t have spoken before I pounced.”

  “Wouldn’t have mattered.” Ben rose and walked to the berm, then extended a hand to help Hi climb up. They sat back down as if it never happened.

  Boys.

  • • •

  The party was winding down.

  Caterers began loading their truck as Kit disassembled the tent. Mr. Blue packed up his croquet mallets and headed for the driveway.

  Shelton and Hi had already gone inside, leaving Ben and me alone.

  Somehow we found ourselves down on the dock.

  We sat in companionable silence, tossing sunflower seeds into the surf. The sun dipped in the west. Seagulls rode late afternoon thermals, cawing into the wind.

  Ben started talking about Wando High. I countered with news of Bolton. Before long, we’d exchanged our stories, catching up on the last five months in each other’s lives.

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed Ben. How badly I wanted him back at Bolton.

  “Think there’s any chance they let you back in?” I asked hopefully.

  “Headmaster Paugh?” Ben laughed. “Don’t bet on it. That’s okay anyway. For all I bitch, Wando’s a pretty nice school. I’ll be cool there. I really don’t skip much, FYI. I’m not sure what I was thinking that morning. I barely know those guys.”

  “The Rhodes scholars I met in the parking lot? They aren’t both Harvard bound?”

  “Ease off, Brennan.” Spoken with a smile. “Not everyone is born a genius. The world needs us ditchdiggers, too.”

  “You’re not a ditchdigger.”

  “Hey, I like digging holes. Don’t try to change me.”

  Several minutes passed quietly as the sun slowly dropped toward the horizon.

  Ben broke the silence. “Why do you think our flares have gone crazy?”

  “Wish I knew.” I tossed an oyster shell into the water. “Maybe our powers are still evolving. We don’t really understand the extent of our mutations.”

  “Maybe the wolf is tired of hiding,” Ben said quietly. “Maybe he wants a permanent seat at the table.”

  My head shook on its own volition. “I feel like it has to do with us, though. Like, maybe our pack is screwing things up somehow. Not connecting right. It’s hard to explain.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve never understood what you do. Honestly, it freaks me out.”

  I snorted. “You don’t say.”

  “Oh, come on. How would you like it if I read your thoughts? If you couldn’t keep a single secret.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from you.”

  “Everyone has secrets.” Ben’s voice was suddenly serious. “Even you.”

  My back stiffened. Ben had repeated Chance’s words nearly verbatim, and it jarred me.

  He was right, of course. I was keeping several secrets from Ben.

  Like how comfortable it felt to be alone with him. How much I’d missed his reassuring presence. His quiet strength.

  Why keep that a secret?

  Ben changed the subject. “What should we do about Chance?”

  “Another crap sandwich.” I made sure to catch his eye. “We’re not going to hurt him, or anything like that. That isn’t on the table.”

  He waved my words away. “I know that. Heat of the moment. Forget it.”

  “We’ve dealt with Chance before. Usually, he can be reasoned with. We just have to find out what
he wants.”

  We avoided talking about Ella. At this point, what more was there to say?

  Ben removed his shoes, plunged both feet into the lapping saltwater. Then he leaned back against a post, sighing contentedly.

  The little-boy maneuver brought a smile to my face.

  I reflected on how often I misjudged Ben. How often he came through when it mattered.

  My breath suddenly caught. Were my feelings toward him changing?

  Did I just miss my good friend, or was this something more?

  I didn’t know. Wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

  Ben and I were pack. Nothing could be closer than that. Could it?

  That dangerous train of thought was broken by a buzzing in my pocket.

  Incoming text. I unlocked my iPhone and read.

  “Who’s that?” Ben asked absently. “Did Hi finally figure out how to take screen shots?”

  “It’s Jason,” I answered without thinking. “There’s a party in Old Town, though he’s selling the thing like it’s some kind of prayer vigil.”

  Water splashed.

  I looked up.

  Ben was retying his shoes, a closed-off look on his face.

  “Have fun.” He rose quickly. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

  “Ben, wait!” Popping up as he strode by me. “I’m not going!”

  Ben waved without turning, heading for his father’s door. I watched him disappear inside.

  Ugh. Never forget how moody that boy is. Always a live wire.

  Then I laughed without humor.

  My best girlfriend was missing. No ransom tape had appeared. I had no idea how to help.

  Boy problems were less than meaningless.

  Determined to accomplish something for Ella’s sake, I hurried for my own home.

  I stared at online pictures of the zodiac cards.

  The paper’s website had posted full-color shots, much more detailed than the photocopy we’d stolen from the DA’s office. Both Ophiuchus and Cetus were shown in vibrant clarity.

  Not that it mattered—the images told me nothing about the kidnappings.

  I slumped back in my desk chair, wondered again who was passing this stuff to the press. The leak obviously had access to the evidence.

  Rex Gable might fit that bill.

  But the pieces had yet to make sense.

  Why antique zodiac cards? What did they mean to the criminal? What message were they intended to convey?

  Clara Gordon’s words ran through my mind.

  Cetus often represented unrelenting evil. Is that what we were facing?

  A chilling thought struck me. Ella had been snatched outside the Flying Tomato, not at home. Which meant this lunatic had broken into her bedroom and left the card there.

  Why take the risk? Such brazen disregard for danger was unnerving.

  Suddenly curious, I searched the Internet for the location where Lucy and Peter were kidnapped. Found nothing. Score one for police secrecy, at least.

  I tapped my lip, thinking. Had the twins also been abducted away from home?

  If so, the criminal had separately planted the Ophiuchus card as well.

  I shivered, recalling the shadowy form that had watched us rifle the Gables’ basement.

  Had that been the kidnapper?

  Another thought. How had the criminal taken both twins at once? The Gables weren’t exactly athletes, but they were healthy teenagers. How could one individual overcome both kids at the same time? Or were they grabbed separately?

  I need more details about the Gables.

  Idly, I spun in my chair. Coop’s head rose from his paws. Noting my attention was elsewhere, the wolfdog settled back down to nap.

  Something else was bothering me.

  Why was Ella abducted at all? It didn’t seem to jibe with the first crime.

  The twins were taken for money. That was crystal clear—there was a ransom tape and a demand for five million dollars. Uncharitably, I wondered if Rex Gable had made any effort to gather those funds.

  Would he actually pay? My gut said no.

  Of course, my gut also suspected him of committing the crime in the first place.

  Which, admittedly, didn’t make a ton of sense. At least, not if money was the motive.

  But there’s been no ransom tape for Ella.

  No million-dollar demand, at least not yet. And, based on what I’d seen of Ella’s parents, they would definitely pay. Anything. Gladly. Whatever it took to get their daughter back safely.

  So why nothing from Ella’s captor?

  If it wasn’t for the zodiac cards, the kidnappings wouldn’t seem connected at all.

  The phosphate nodule was more important than I’d thought—it was tangible evidence of an assault, assuring that Ella’s case was treated as a crime from the beginning.

  Take away the cards, and I’m not sure the police would’ve linked the disappearances.

  Three Bolton Prep kids missing, in the same week?

  Okay. The cops would’ve investigated any possible connection. But that didn’t change the fact that Ella’s disappearance seemed entirely different from that of the twins.

  There was still too much I didn’t know.

  Had the police responded to the ransom demand? Contacted the twins’ kidnapper? Was there a way to do so?

  When was the payoff required? Where? Who was supposed to make the drop?

  I slapped my leg in frustration. I needed more on the Gable case.

  That investigation was the only link to our adversary. Find the twins, and I’d find Ella.

  I was considering options for stealing a police case file when a fanged unicorn appeared on my screen. Shelton. Requesting a meeting.

  I was logging into our chat room when a second message popped up.

  Shelton wanted to meet at the bunker. Said it was important.

  Clock check—8:00 p.m.

  Saturday night. I can pull that off.

  Grabbing keys and iPhone, I tapped my thigh for Coop to follow.

  “C’mon, dog brain. This time, you’re more than welcome.”

  • • •

  “I’m a genius,” Shelton announced smugly.

  A smile split my face. “You cracked the encryption.”

  “What? Oh, hell no.” Shelton waved the idea away. “Keep dreaming. But I found something else you’re not gonna believe.”

  The four of us were gathered around the bunker’s circular table. Hi was munching on a sleeve of double-stuffed Oreos. Ben watched with distaste, his feet up and hands behind his head.

  I sat next to Shelton, who’d brought his laptop from home.

  Coop was gnawing a rawhide in the back chamber.

  “Spill it,” Ben commanded.

  “I wasn’t getting anywhere with those B-Series files.” Shelton opened the computer and typed quickly. “So I decided to poke at something else for a while. Get my mind right. My first thought was of Rex Gable’s phone records.”

  Shelton spun his laptop to face the group. “Check out this nugget in what Chang sent us.”

  His finger tapped a word at the top of Chang’s email.

  “Bellweather.” I looked at Shelton in confusion. “What does that mean?”

  Shelton smiled triumphantly. “It’s the name of Rex Gable’s favorite hunting dog. I found a random reference online.”

  Ben’s feet hit the floor. “You dragged me out here to talk about a dog?”

  “Kind of,” Shelton said slyly, “since that dog’s name is Gable’s password for his cellular account.”

  “Hey, genius,” Hi said, mouth encrusted with chocolate crumbs. “We already have those records. You’re looking at them right now.”

  “Use your brain cells, Stolowitski. For how many different ac
counts do you use ‘Westeros’ as the password?”

  “For everything!” Hi blurted. “And now you’ve ruined it, jerk!”

  Suddenly, I understood.

  “What’d you find?” I asked excitedly.

  Shelton made a sweeping gesture toward his laptop. “Rex Gable has a Gmail account.”

  He pulled up an inbox. Dozens of emails, filed in separate folders.

  “Shelton, that’s awesome!” Trying to decide where to start. “We can divide—”

  “Ahem.”

  I blinked. “You’ve already found something, haven’t you?”

  Shelton’s face grew serious as he punched more keys. Then he spun the computer to face us once more.

  Onscreen was a single email.

  From: Rex Gable. To: Rex Gable. No subject. No message.

  One attachment. An MP4 file.

  Noting our attention, Shelton double-clicked.

  The twins’ ransom tape played in its entirety.

  Hi scratched his head. “I don’t get it. Of course Gable has the ransom tape. They’re his own stepkids, for Pete’s sake.”

  Shelton tapped the date of the email.

  Monday, April 1.

  I had it in a flash. “That’s the day I testified! We ran into Detective Hawfield the next morning, in the DA’s office. Commissioner Riggins, too. At that point, neither of them were treating the twins’ disappearance as a crime.”

  Ben followed my drift. “Which means they hadn’t seen the ransom tape yet.”

  “Which means,” Shelton finished, “Rex Gable had a copy at least a full day before the police. Maybe even two!”

  “He mailed the clip to himself,” I said aloud. “Why do that?”

  “Because he filmed the dang thing, like you said!” Shelton was so amped his voice cracked. “He’s the kidnapper!”

  My fingers drummed the table. “You could be right.”

  “Could be?” Shelton sounded incredulous. “That’s a smoking gun, girl!”

  “Not necessarily,” Hi countered. “Maybe the kidnapper emailed the tape directly to Rex Gable first, and he panicked for a day, not knowing what to do. Or maybe the kidnapper told Gable he couldn’t go to the police.”

  “But why did he email it to himself?” I repeated.

  “I do that sometimes,” Ben said, “when I don’t wanna risk losing an important document, like a paper for school. Uploading it to Gmail is like a free backup in case my computer dies.”