Killer Genius

by David Archer

  There aren't any new hires; at least, not ones that began less than six months ago. Every case that comes in goes through Jenna, and she would be keeping an eye out for any new or unusual correspondence, so it's not hidden in case files. I think the janitor is new… and it isn't like this place is under lock and key. Some of the security guys come down to use the copy machine or fax if theirs is broken. Even—

  "Mr. Cortlandt, are you looking for the mysterious note-sender, too?"

  Denny jumped and spilled hot coffee on his hand, startled by the janitor’s comment.

  "Oh, geez, I'm sorry!"

  "Uh..." He set the cup down and turned on the water, sticking his hand beneath the flow. "Don't worry about it, Bob." He flicked his hands to rid them of the water. "What was it you wanted to know?"

  "I asked if you were looking for the guy sending Jenna notes." Bob shrugged and gestured vaguely to one of the desks in the room. "Me and some of the guys have a bet going. I think it's Roger, the driver, but most of them think it's Rob. Mr. Thomas thinks it's the delivery guy nobody knows the name of."

  Denny grabbed a few paper towels and patted his hand dry, moving toward the desk in question. "What makes you think it's Roger and not Rob?" he asked, glancing around as he walked.

  "She's on her lunch break," Bob supplied, joining Denny in his nonchalant approach. "I think it's Roger because Rob was on vacation when the first letter showed up."

  Denny frowned a bit, sitting down at her desk and letting his eyes wander over the papers in plain sight. He wasn't technically going through her things without permission. Yet.

  "Why are they betting on Rob, then? Don't they know about the first letter?"

  "Nah." Bob shook his head and leaned against the desk, casually keeping an eye on the door. "It was set apart from the others. She's been getting these every Monday and Friday for about three weeks, like clockwork, and they're always sitting on her desk. Just her name on the front, nothing else, but that first one was taped to the underside of her desk. I only saw it because I dropped my pen, and it rolled up under there."

  Denny leaned forward in her chair and looked up, running his hand along the smooth surface until he hit residual adhesive. Something was duct taped here. He continued to feel around, but there was nothing else unusual.

  Denny straightened up with a heavy sigh. "I don't suppose she's nice enough to tuck the letters in a drawer."

  Bob snorted. "I wish. She puts them in her purse and takes them home every time."

  Figures. Denny sifted through the papers on the desk anyway, trying not to look at anything that appeared personal unless there was a chance it was coded. "She's doing a good job of hiding whatever it is she's getting letters about."

  "I think, whoever it is, she's really into them. She gets that dopey, love-at-first-sight kind of smile when she reads them." Bob pushed off the desk and slipped his hands into his pockets. "You wanna make a bet?"

  Denny nodded slowly and stepped away from the desk, pulling his wallet out and handing over a twenty. "Put it on Rob."

  Bob frowned a bit. "You sure?"

  "Yeah. Once they find out you put your money on Roger, they'll up their bets, and when you win, you're gonna give me forty and keep the rest for yourself." Denny grinned and waved the money to get Bob's attention. "All in good fun, right, mate?"

  Bob grinned and snatched the bill away. "Well, you're making a mistake, but if you want to put your money on Rob…" He let his voice trail off and walked away, leaving Denny by the empty desk.

  It could be harmless love letters, but…

  It could have been something else. So, Denny went back to the coffee machine and reclaimed his coffee, leaning back against the counter and watching the room. It was a Friday, after all. Maybe he would get lucky.

  * * *

  "Miss Raines, I'm sorry—"

  "Ms. Raines."

  "Right. Ms. Raines, I'm sorry, but I can't let you back there unless you have the appropriate clearance."

  "What could you possibly have at a federal bio-waste facility that I can't see with Department of Homeland Security credentials?"

  "I'm sorry, M—Ms. Raines, but that's the policy."

  "Whose policy?"

  Sam cleared his throat as he rounded the corner leaning on his cane, stepping up to the counter and flashing his own ID. "Sorry, I'm late. What seems to be the trouble?"

  Behind the counter, a young woman with her hair in a tight bun was clacking away at a computer. She had a condescending smile on her face, and she didn't do much to hide her irritation at having to repeat herself to a new detective.

  "You and Miss Raines—"

  "Ms. Raines," both detectives corrected.

  "Right. You and Ms. Raines do not have the appropriate clearances to see the North Forest Hospital wing of this facility. If you want to see that portion of the facility, you need a warrant."

  "We don't need a warrant to investigate federal property." Sam held up his ID and flipped it over to show the DHS endorsement. "This is our warrant. You have exactly two minutes to open the door."

  Sighing, the woman blinked a few times and licked her lips, giving them a sickeningly sweet smile. "I can't do that."

  "You can, and you will, or you're going to lose your job." Sam was in no mood to put up with this sort of thing. "If I had the patience and the time, I would slowly explain to you, in a way you can understand, how the legal system works. I don't have either, and after many years as a professional investigator, I always enjoy seeing the look on someone’s face when they realize just how much trouble their big mouth has gotten them into."

  The girl didn't seem worried, her lips twisting into a sneerish smile as she opened her mouth to reply.

  Sam pulled out his phone and dialed, pressing the device to his ear a moment later. It rang twice, and then he heard, "Donaldson."

  "Ms. Donaldson, I need clearance to get into the North Forest Hospital wing of the Grand Junction Federal Waste Disposal facility." He kept his eyes on the receptionist the whole time and realized he was a liar.

  There was still something satisfying about seeing that face.

  "Your IDs should get you in."

  "Yes, they should, but the receptionist here…" Sam leaned into look at her nametag. "Ramona Garza is giving us a hard time. I hate to bother you, because I know how busy you are—"

  Ramona slammed her hand down on the button to unlock the North Forest Hospital wing.

  "Oh, never mind. It seems the problem has resolved itself."

  "You play dirty, Prichard. I like you." Lynnette chuckled. "Best of luck." And then she was gone.

  Sam shoved his phone into his pocket, striding toward the doors without so much as a thank you, Summer on his heels.

  "So…" Summer waited until the doors closed behind them to continue. "You want to talk?"

  "No." There was no room for argument in his voice, and he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline of anger left unexpressed. "We need to focus."

  "I know." Summer spoke softly, calm as ever. "That's why I asked."

  Sam was already replying when a hand on his arm pulled him to a stop, forcing him to actually look at her. Because he hadn't up until then—he hadn't made eye contact with anyone he didn't identify as an enemy—and he should have known she wouldn't let him get away with that.

  "Sam, I'm… all for you throwing your weight around, but this isn't the way to do it, and this isn't like you." Summer bit her lip and searched his eyes, brow creasing with worry. "If you don't want to share, I understand, but… give me something to go on, here. Just tell me you're okay."

  Sam inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his body with the carbon dioxide. "Indie and I had a fight last night. It’s the first time we really had a fight in the whole time we’ve been married, and I guess it just got me rattled. What with Mom dying and everything else, I’m just—maybe I’m just not myself, right now."

  Summer looked as though the sta
tement physically pained her, and after a moment of thought, she nodded. "Okay." She took a deep breath and then turned to look down the hall they were in. "What are we looking for?"

  Sam inwardly heaved a sigh of relief, his own gaze turning to the hall and wandering over the doors. "Boxes that are heavily locked or too big for comfort. If we can find any kind of shipment log, I want pictures of pages going back at least one year."

  Summer nodded her head and began to look around. "It isn't that big." She didn't say anything immediately after that, but Sam could tell the thought was incomplete.

  "Summer?" he pressed softly.

  "It just… I don't know. Maybe it's the right size, but maybe there's another wing we don't know about." Summer let out a weary sigh. "It's getting tough for me to figure out where I should see a conspiracy and where I shouldn't. This whole thing is messed up." She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. "We're supposed to be the good guys. We're supposed to be one of the things in the world that's black and white."

  Sam sighed heavily and nodded his head, glancing over his shoulder at the double doors they had come through. "Tell me about it." He shook his head and began to walk, grabbing the door to his right and gesturing to the one on his left. "Two rooms for me, two rooms for you, and we'll see what we find before deciding whether or not to look for a conspiracy."

  Summer nodded her head and opened her designated door. "Sounds like a plan. We can make notes to compare later, and I have notes from my talk with Chief Donaldson, too."

  "We can talk about them when we get back to the office."

  They both turned their handles and pushed the doors inward, giving each other one last affirmative nod before disappearing into their respective chambers.

  * * *

  "Gin!"

  "Unbelievable."

  "I think that's twenty-three times he's beat you now."

  "Twenty-four, actually."

  "Of course."

  Sam chuckled to himself as he watched the scene unfold, downing the rest of his tea and allowing some of his earlier stress to dissipate. Well, no, not dissipate. There was nothing about his stress that could be removed, only redirected; he could turn it into energy and try to work on their ever-increasing caseload.

  "You didn't even know how to play this twenty minutes ago." Summer began to shuffle the cards, shaking her head in continued disbelief.

  "You still want to play?" Eric asked softly, scratching at his arms until a gentle touch from Summer stopped him. "Even though I always win?"

  Summer smiled and nodded. "Sure." She began to shuffle but stopped again. "Actually, you know what? No. We aren't going to play this again."

  Eric lowered his head and curled in on himself, dejected. "Oh. Okay." But he offered no argument—he wasn't anywhere near confident enough to try and pursue happiness that wasn't handed to him on a silver platter.

  Thankfully, Summer erased his sadness with a wide smile, standing up and leaving the sofa behind. She held onto the cards and grabbed her wine from the coffee table. "I need two more players." She looked around the living room. "Come on. Denny?"

  Jade raised her hand and stood up. "I'll play."

  Denny shook his head. "If you had asked me two glasses of wine previously, maybe,” he said. “Now, I am too bloody wasted."

  Darren stood up from his chair and grabbed his scotch. "I'll play… whatever it is we're playing."

  "Great." Summer was already walking toward the dining room table. "We'll need to use the table, and Sam, I'll need two more decks of cards…"

  Sam watched with a smile as Summer directed them, overlapping talk accenting their movements as they got situated around the table. They commenced shuffling, and they looked like they were already having a good time, which made Sam smile more.

  Despite everything, it made him smile, and he tried to hang onto those positive bits. He noticed Eric was calling Denny by his name instead of 'Mr. Cortlandt,' and Denny readily engaged in physical contact whenever Eric needed it. Their friendship was a Godsend in more ways than Sam knew how to list.

  Indie, sitting beside him, laid her head on his shoulder. “You were right,” she said. “He needed this.”

  Sam nodded. “Did you see him watching TV with Kenzie earlier? He’s ten years older than she is, but you wouldn’t have known it from watching them.”

  Indie looked at him for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’ve been on your case a lot the last few weeks, complaining about all the time you spend with them. I’m honestly sorry about that, Sam. He needs you, I can see that.” She kissed his cheek. “Just don’t forget that we need you, too.”

  Sam turned his face and met her lips, and then the two of them looked back at the table.

  "I'm going to teach you a game my family has played for… I don't know, forever." Summer chuckled, still shuffling as she spoke. "I don't know what the real rules are, and I don't know where else people play it." Summer kept shuffling until she was satisfied that all three decks were well intermingled. "Now, everybody starts with thirteen cards…"

  Sam let his smile return and linger on his lips. Eric was doing well, yes, but Jade also had some leads from Johnson Medical to follow, and Lynnette Donaldson was adamant that Donny's files would be in Sam's office by the end of the week. Of course, they were probably redacted, and there was…

  Clearly, positivity is a weak point for me. Sam leaned back in his seat, trying to take another drink but finding his glass was empty.

  Sam shook his head and set his empty glass on the coffee table. He leaned back again, sighing heavily, eyelids sinking slowly. He was tired, and he wouldn't be surprised if he fell asleep within the next—

  Sam jumped, grabbing his ringing phone out of his pocket.

  "Prichard," he said.

  "Mr. Prichard? You the one that came by my house?"

  NINETEEN

  Sam blinked in surprise and stood up, swaying for a moment before walking toward the foyer for a little privacy. "Tony? Tony Hester?"

  "Yes. Don't bother trying to trace this phone, it's a burner."

  Sam was surprised Tony even knew what a burner phone was. "Tony, where are you? What happened to you?"

  "Can't answer either of those. Sorry." There were cars honking and metal banging in the background. "I wanted to call and let you know I'm alright. So's Cindy. We're goin' off-grid somewhere in Montana. Can't tell you where, of course, but we're both alright."

  "Well, I appreciate you checking in." Sam paused, licked his lips, and shook his head. "Did you remember anything helpful about the case?"

  "Naw, but Cindy told me about something. She said if your kid boy is an 013 like her, he knows about Gina Donovan. She wouldn't tell me nothing else—really upsets her when I try to talk about it, you know?—but she said Gina Donovan started it all. She got them all unhinged, and things tumbled downhill from there. I don't have any idea what any of that means, but I figured you might, and she asked me to pass it on, so…"

  Sam nodded slowly. "I see. I'll definitely ask Eric about that. Thank you." He paused, surprised the conversation was even happening, and then he shook his head. "How did you get this number? If you spoke to someone in the government, they might—"

  "I saw your card in your wallet."

  Sam blinked. "What?"

  There was a bit of crackling, and then Tony's voice came back. "…wallet. You opened it up to get your boy's picture, and I saw your business card."

  Sam squinted a bit. "So, you… read my number and remembered it all this time?"

  There was a pause, and Sam figured Tony couldn't make it all the way through a phone call without spitting. "'Course. Once you see somethin', it's not like it goes away, you know? All I have to do is close my eyes, and there's your card, Mr. Prichard."

  Sam was silent for a moment, and then he cautiously began speaking again. "Tony, have you ever been tested for a photographic memory?"

  Tony only chuckled. "Mr. Prichard, I think we both know I ain't that sm
art. I don't remember pictures any better than everybody else."

  Sam opened his mouth to object, but then he decided to let it drop. "I see. Well, thank you for calling me with the update. You said this is a burner, right?"

  "Yep. I got a bunch of 'em."

  "How many is a bunch?"

  "Well, I been tryin' to break up my purchases 'cross state lines, you know? But I think I got 'bout… twenty-five now. F'you think I need to get more, I will."

  Sam slowly shook his head and spent a few seconds imitating a codfish. "No, that's fine. You're… being really smart about this." He shook his head again, more to clear his mind than to express disbelief. "So, I won't be able to call you back at this number." He sighed. "I don't suppose I can ask you to call me once a month to check in? I may have more questions, and I don't have a lot of people I can contact for this. Everything is very…"

  "Weird? Capture seemed like it to me."

  Sam snorted. "If you had told me last year that I would be dabbling in the idea of a conspiracy theory, I would have laughed in your face."

  Tony chuckled, his voice crackling out for a bit before coming back. "—ear that I would be on the run with a girl, think I'd'a done the same, but here we are, Mr. Prichard."

  "Indeed. Here we are." Sam shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around how drastically his life had shifted in less than two months.

  "I'll do my best to call you once a month, but if I don't call or call late, don't assume somethin' bad happened to me. I might just be laying low, or Cindy might be too skittish for me to contact outsiders. She's real spooked—lotsa that PTSD stuff, you know?"

  "Yes, I know." Sam mumbled the word 'understandable' under his breath. "Thank you for calling with this information. I won't tell anybody outside my team that you made contact. As far as the government is concerned, this talk never happened, and Tony Hester is in the wind."

  "I appreciate that, Mr. Prichard, and like I said, I'll do what I can to help." There was a pause, distant voices, and then Tony was back. "We've been on too long. She thinks you're trackin' me. I gotta go."