A Conspiracy of Bones

by Kathy Reichs

  “Can’t say. But I can say the little turd links to that bunker you’re so hot to toss.”

  Maybe did toss? I couldn’t be sure. Had I actually gone there? Or were my memories fantasies spawned by my own rebellious blood? By a bad acid trip?

  “Kimrey mugs you in the boonies, now his print turns up at your crib.” Slidell was still talking. “Might be enough for a warrant.”

  “Have you determined who owns the fenced property?”

  “We’re working on it. Look, I’m not sitting with my thumb up my ass. While you were sleeping off your concussion—”

  “Maybe concussion.”

  “—or Lucy in the Sky jaunt, I did follow-ups with some of your other pals. Marguerite Ramos ain’t getting my vote for citizen of the year.”

  “You talked to Ramos again?”

  “That about sums it up. I talked to her. This time, she barely said shit.”

  “I may have loosened her tongue by implying I might alert ICE.” I still wasn’t proud of that.

  “Gee, I’d never think of something so devious.”

  I held back a retort.

  “Ramos says the guy in number six was named Vance. That Vance was a sterling tenant, then he moved on. She thinks maybe Slovakia. She never heard of Felix Vodyanov.”

  “She told me she spoke to Vodyanov several times. Overheard him on the phone. She said Vodyanov was afraid for his life.”

  “All of which I stated to jog her recall. Seems the señora’s memory is no longer so bueno.”

  “Why the about-face?”

  “It gets better. I drove to Mooresville to see Barrow.”

  “She was more forthcoming with me than Ramos.”

  “It appears Nurse Ratchet is seeking broader horizons.”

  “She stonewalled, too?” Not mentioning that Asia Barrow wasn’t a nurse.

  “The house was boarded up, the generator off, the truck nowhere to be seen.”

  “Barrow is gone?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you question her cousin?” This was making no sense. “The receptionist at the ashram?”

  “E. Desai quit her job last Tuesday. Called it in.”

  “Why?”

  “Personal reasons. FYI, the E stands for Eunice. Also FYI, the new receptionist makes Eunice look like Alfred Einstein.”

  “Did you question Yuriev?” Again, not bothering to correct Slidell.

  “The good doctor wasn’t there. But he’s topping my agenda.”

  “The ashram must have contact information in Desai’s personnel file.”

  “Eunice lives alone in Winston-Salem, has for four years. Or had. The landlord wasn’t thrilled to see she’d packed up and split without notice.” I started to interrupt. Slidell rolled on. “Her cell phone was also disconnected. On Tuesday, the day she resigned.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Sirens were rising in my head. “So Ramos isn’t talking, and Kimrey, Barrow, and Desai are in the wind.”

  “Eeyuh.” Slidell’s fallback when frustrated.

  “Barrow was renting that house. Said she didn’t like being tethered. Maybe she and her cousin just decided to move on.”

  Slidell said nothing.

  “Or maybe something spooked them.”

  “Thought crossed my mind.”

  “Have you talked to Yates Timmer? Nick Body?”

  “My other headliners, right behind Yuriev.”

  “You could go back at Duncan Keesing. He’s the disabled vet who lives down the road.”

  “He’s OK.”

  “You saw Keesing?”

  “He claims to know nothing about Vodyanov beyond what he told you. Zip about Body. Says he’s never heard of Yates Timmer. I believe him.”

  Guilt pulled like undertow in my chest. The possibility of attacks against me had spurred Slidell more than I’d realized. He was pushing hard.

  “Now what?” I asked, tone gentler.

  “You said you had news.”

  “Have you gotten DNA results on the bone I liberated from the raccoon?” I asked, voice carefully neutral.

  “What dream you living in?”

  “The more I think about it, visualize it, the more I doubt that fragment is human.”

  “Don’t matter. We’ll have colonies on the moon before we get a report.”

  “Any developments on Jahaan Cole?”

  There was silence, followed by a sigh. “No.”

  “You’ll keep me looped in about the warrant?”

  “Eeyuh.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Promise one thing, doc.”

  I said nothing.

  “Stay busy doodling Ryan until you hear from me.”

  * * *

  A good doodle didn’t sound all that bad. Certainly kept Mama purring along. But Ryan had his own worries, was now cloistered in the bedroom with his laptop.

  No hard-copy files. No stored images or documents. No physical evidence. Cut off from most witnesses.

  Eeyuh.

  I fed the cat and returned to my groovy new Mac. After logging back on, I downloaded the TOR browser and nosedived into the dark web.

  No surprise. I was still blocked from DeepUnder.

  I dredged for a while, netted nothing new on Yates Timmer. Nothing at all on Nick Body.

  Who was this arrogant loudmouth who always hid in the shadows? I decided to resurface and spend time listening to Body’s podcasts and reading his blogs. Some of his rants were more toxic than I’d imagined.

  Over the past decade, Body had been particularly vehement on two themes. Plots involving kids. Plots involving medical wrongdoing. Occasionally, his insane theories managed to combine both elements.

  I began with titles suggesting misconduct through manipulation of public health.

  There were numerous variations on the evils of vaccination. In the old tried-and-true, Body alleged that vaccination causes autism. In a somewhat more creative twist, he argued that Bill Gates was behind a plot to use immunization for population control. In another series of tirades, he insisted that the government was sneaking RFID chips into children via inoculation.

  Many of Body’s harangues focused on disease. Over and over, he returned to the theme of government conspiracy. A sampling: He claimed that the Ebola epidemic in West Africa was a biological-weapons test performed by America. That SARS was a germ attack against the Chinese. That AIDS was created and distributed by those in power in the U.S. That the anthrax attacks following 9/11 were orchestrated by the government. That banning DDT was a scheme to depopulate the earth by spreading malaria. That Huntington’s disease is caused by a microbe and the government is conspiring to suppress a known cure. And, my personal favorite, that chemtrails are responsible for mad cow outbreaks.

  Ryan popped in now and then to ask how I was. To offer a drink or a back rub. To say he was sallying forth to forage for a late dinner.

  By the time I sat back, the windows were dark and my stomach was growling. I cruised through the annex, checking security and turning on lights. Was just finishing when Ryan returned bearing pizza.

  Birdie joined us as I made the first cut. I gave him a tiny slice, Ryan and myself large ones. As we chewed pie and slurped cheese, I shared snippets of what I’d read and heard.

  “Body’s theories are absurd, his arguments laughably devoid of accurate detail or plausible evidence.” My critique.

  “Your personal faves?”

  I provided a half-dozen ludicrous examples.

  “The guy’s got millions of loyal followers.”

  “Sadly, that may be true. And the credulous chumps aren’t laughing. What kept you so busy today?”

  “Got a tip that Neville is on his way to Marseille.”

  “You’re guessing the horse didn’t book his own passage.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “I appreciate you making such a long trip, Ryan. But you really don’t need to stay here with me.”

  “I want to be sure you’re fully sound before hitting the
road.”

  “Has that ever been the case?”

  Ryan waggled a hand. Maybe yes, maybe no.

  “I’m cool,” I said, smiling.

  “A Merry Prankster.”

  “Riding the bus.” Acknowledging Ryan’s Ken Kesey reference.

  “Seriously. How are you feeling?”

  “Perfectly chipper.” It was true. Though I should have been exhausted, I felt oddly energized. A by-product of the concussion? Of meds I was given at the hospital? Of drug-laced tea?

  “Skinny was crazy until you turned up.”

  “He’s busting ass to determine what happened here. Did he tell you CSU found a print outside the kitchen window?”

  “I haven’t spoken to Slidell today.”

  I briefed Ryan on Holly Kimrey. Was concluding when his mobile buzzed.

  “Do you mind if I take this?”

  “Of course not. And please, go ahead and make flight reservations if necessary. I really am fine.”

  Still too jazzed for sleep, or doodling, I returned to my Mac and endured a second round of Body, this time focusing on his other favorite theme. Plots involving children.

  Some theories had been around for decades. Kids were being kidnapped and killed for their organs, a valuable commodity in a global black market. Kids were being kidnapped and sold as sex slaves, domestic workers, farm laborers. Kids were being kidnapped for sacrifice in satanic rituals. Kids were being kidnapped for use in mind-control experiments run by the CIA.

  Many theories were new, some so outlandish it was incredible that even the most gullible could buy in. Kids were being kidnapped and transported to work camps built by NASA on Mars. Kids were being kidnapped and taken to concentration camps set up by FEMA in preparation for the imposition of martial law and the killing of millions of Americans. Kids were being kidnapped and flown to Jonestown, the abandoned camp in Guyana where Jim Jones and members of his Peoples Temple committed mass suicide.

  Though the experience was loathsome, I learned one thing, perhaps useful, perhaps not. Margot Heavner’s betrayal of Hardin Symes was not an isolated instance of indiscretion. Dr. Morgue’s interview was one of many during a particularly virulent two-year period in which Body seemed fixated on the topic of murdered and missing kids. And he didn’t hold back. Who. Where. When. Some cases I knew. Others I didn’t.

  Podcast after podcast. Blog after blog. Always the same message. Like a rabid zealot, Body spewed conspiracy hokum, warning parents of the dangers of losing their children.

  By two a.m., I’d had it. Disgusted, I closed my laptop. Birdie and Ryan were already curled together in bed. I joined them and closed my eyes, at last mentally and physically drained.

  Still, Body’s voice jackhammered through the fatigue. Names: Hardin Symes. Jahaan Cole. Timothy Horshauser. Images: Young faces in grainy print. A neon-pink sneaker deep in a dumpster. Milky-white teeth in a duct-taped pouch.

  Questions fluttered like the moths that circled my porch light.

  A coded reference to Jahaan Cole in Vodyanov’s notebook. Why?

  Articles on Jahaan Cole and Timothy Horshauser at the fenced property. Why?

  Body raging on Body Language, inciting fear about kids. Kindling parental paranoia. Why?

  I sat up in the dark.

  Could that be it?

  The notion was so wild it needed a cage.

  I hurried back to the kitchen and reopened my Mac.

  By dawn, I was certain the pattern was real.

  And horrified it might confirm my suspicion.

  30

  SATURDAY, JULY 14

  Slidell was in my kitchen by 8:45. I walked him and Ryan through it.

  “You’re both familiar with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, right?”

  “Their site posts info on missing kids.” Slidell’s face looked like jumbled laundry waiting to be washed.

  I nodded. “NamUs?”

  “Same deal.”

  “Doesn’t NamUs also list unidentified remains?” Ryan asked.

  “Yes. So searchers can try to put names to unknown corpses.”

  “Jahaan Cole’s on both,” Slidell said. “So what?”

  “And there are many other organizations, some regional, some national,” I added.

  “Look, I been all over—”

  “I spent several hours checking stats, plotting child disappearances by date, by locale, and so on. I also did an analysis of Body’s podcasts and blogs by topic, by airdate, and so on. Then I did some cross-tabulation.”

  “How could you stomach listening to that douchebag?”

  “Fortitude.” And a tanker truck of coffee. “From 2012 to 2014, Body was obsessed with the topic of missing and murdered children. I could give you the daily breakdown, but for now, trust me.”

  “Where you going with this?” Slidell didn’t try to mask his impatience. At least, not effectively.

  “From 2012 to 2014, Amber Alerts and other reports of missing kids rose sharply in some areas.”

  “The guy plays off paranoia,” Ryan said.

  “His harangues both followed and preceded the disappearances.”

  “You suggesting Body goaded his listeners into snatching kids?” Slidell couldn’t have sounded more dubious.

  “Hear me out.”

  The laundry rearranged slightly, but Skinny held his tongue.

  “I also tabulated child disappearances by geography and by year.” I was relying on the KISS principle: Keep it simple, stupid. “During the period Body was pushing conspiracy theories involving kids, most states maintained typical numbers for Amber Alerts, child homicides, MPs. In only two did those numbers rise sharply.” I slid a paper across the table so both men could see. “West Virginia and North Carolina.”

  Four eyes dropped to the printout. Skimmed the heartbreaking catalog of names. Rolled up. “What are you saying?” Slidell.

  “Jahaan Cole disappeared during a time Body was hammering on about kids being targeted. Timothy Horshauser. The others on that list. Children who vanished, never to be found.”

  “Didn’t you say Horshauser lived in Pennsylvania?” Ryan.

  “Uniontown is just thirty miles up the road from Morgantown, West Virginia.”

  Ryan grasped it immediately. “Vodyanov registered his Hyundai in Morgantown under the alias John Ito. He was living in Charlotte under the name F. Vance. He links to both places.”

  “He had Jahaan Cole’s name in his notebook.”

  Slidell chest-crossed his arms, listening.

  “I found baby teeth at the fenced property in Cleveland County. Articles on Cole and Horshauser. I photographed a child’s sneaker in the dumpster.”

  “You making a point or just doing a recap?” Slidell, sharp.

  “We know Vodyanov was working for his brother.”

  “So?”

  I swallowed. What I was about to say was almost too appalling for words.

  “What if Body had Vodyanov grabbing kids to scare the crap out of people? To create an atmosphere of fear and drive followers to Body Language?”

  “That’s pretty extreme.” Ryan, far more diplomatic than Slidell.

  “I’m just putting it out there. Child disappearances spiked in only two states out of fifty during the period Body was raging on the topic. The very states associated with Vodyanov and his brother.”

  Our eyes met. Ryan’s ice-blue and troubled, Slidell’s red-rimmed and bleary. A beat, then Skinny’s gaze returned to the page before him.

  “I remember most of these North Carolina alerts coming across the wire. West Virginia’s off the patch. I’ll float queries, try to contact the lead in each case.”

  “What happened with the warrant?” I asked.

  “Still a nonstarter. Judge says all I’m arguing is a dead guy and a place makes me nervous.”

  “Are you kidding? Kimrey jumped me—”

  “Outside the gate. She needs stronger evidence suggesting criminal activity on the property. Of course, I
can’t mention nothing you got inside the gate, it being from an illegal entry and all.”

  “Any word on who holds title?”

  “Expecting that any minute.” Slidell rose with a slowness that bore witness to his exhaustion. “Had one amusing moment yesterday.”

  I waited, far from amused.

  “Got a call from Cootie Clanahan.”

  “Jahaan Cole’s elderly neighbor,” I explained to Ryan.

  “Cootie’s been devoting serious thought to my queries. Recalls one detail about the hinky cop banged on her door this spring. She says the guy spoke with an accent. Suspects Swedish, maybe Norwegian.”

  “Russian?”

  Slidell shrugged.

  “You think it could have been Vodyanov?”

  “He tailed you and Vince Aiello just before he died.”

  “Why approach Cole’s neighbor?”

  Slidell shrugged again, a sluggish levering up of one shoulder.

  “I’ve printed a new copy of Lizzie’s phenotype sketch. You could show it to Cootie, see if she can ID him,” I suggested.

  “After I look into these kids.”

  * * *

  When frustrated, I am harsh in my self-appraisal. Following Slidell’s departure, I sat a while, constructing a mental register of all the ways I’d botched the investigation. Another of all the things I’d done to bring disaster down on myself. Feeling like a loser.

  Ryan went off, returned sometime later, and resumed his place in the chair beside mine. For a few seconds, I felt his eyes on my face. Then he leaned very, very close and spoke in hushed tones, almost a whisper. “Anything I can do to cheer you up?”

  I felt his lips brush my ear. The heat of his body tight to mine.

  “Tempting offer.” My voice felt thick in my throat. “But I need to stay focused.”

  Ryan raised his brows and flicked his naughty-choirboy smile.

  I pressed a palm to his chest. The electricity sizzled between us. I didn’t push him away.

  “I’ll be leaving soon,” he purred.

  “Ah, Jesus, Ryan.”

  He took both my hands in his and pulled me to my feet. Released one and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt.

  “You are a terrible influence.” A tiny smile lifting the corners of my mouth, I undid the next two.