Except I don’t have a bed, she thought dismally. There was a bare mattress and a set of luggage in a dorm room two buildings away, and soon she and that luggage would have to be gone.
Damn. It was inconvenient.
“Gaia.”
Catherine’s voice from behind her. It was a nice, sweet voice but with a rough edge beneath it—a voice she’d come to know pretty well over the last few days. And a voice I might as well forget, she thought. Since after today I’ll never hear it again.
“Gaia,” Catherine said more insistently. Gaia realized she’d walked forward into the waiting area, facing the big window. It really was like sleepwalking. There was nobody around; the neat row of padded chairs were empty. There was a brass inlay of the FBI seal on the wall. “Gaia, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
I’m fine, Gaia thought calmly. She was staring out the window past the beads of rain at the wide grass training field. A group of male trainees were doing calisthenics, lined up like bowling pins along the grass. I’m fine, Catherine—don’t worry about me. Don’t let me get you into any more trouble.
“Hey,” Catherine said sharply, stepping in front of Gaia and taking her wet shoulders. “Snap out of it. Come on.”
“What?” It was a stall—Gaia had heard her perfectly. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted Catherine to move out of the way so that she could stare out the window. And maybe go to sleep right here in one of these chairs, if they would let her. Which they wouldn’t.
“Gaia, what’s the matter with you?” Catherine said angrily. “This isn’t like you at all.”
“How do you know?” Gaia said impatiently. “What do you know about me, anyway?”
“More than you think,” Catherine said. Her dark brown eyes were inches from Gaia’s. They stared intently back at her. Gaia wasn’t interested in making eye contact—she kept trying to gaze out at the gray sky. “You think I’m blind? You think I’m stupid? You think I haven’t learned anything about you in the last few days?”
“All right,” Gaia said weakly, sinking into one of the chairs. It was every bit as comfortable as she’d predicted. “All right, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Catherine persisted. She crouched down in front of Gaia, taking the papers and folder before Gaia let them slip to the carpeted floor.
“What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing. You heard,” Gaia said weakly. “It’s over. I’m kicked out. I haven’t got what it takes.”
Catherine was shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Don’t you realize we’ve all been learning from you?”
Gaia finally let her eyes focus on Catherine. “What?”
“All of us,” Catherine insisted. She had Gaia’s wrists in her hands. “Will, Kim, me. What’s your problem, anyway? The steak house? That was nonsense—it was a trick and you fell for it. Big deal. The fight? So you started a fight. It’s not important, Gaia.”
“So what is?” Gaia had never heard Catherine talk like this.
“Look.” Catherine’s arm snaked out, pointing at the wall—at the brass seal mounted there. “Look at that symbol. Think about what it means. Think about what we’re all doing here.”
Gaia turned her head and followed Catherine’s gesture. Federal Bureau of Investigation, she read. He eyes followed the curves and lines of the emblem as if she’d never seen it before.
“Look at them out there,” Catherine went on, hooking a thumb to point behind her back out the window, where the trainees were doing jumping jacks. “Look how hard they’re working—how proud they are of what they’re part of. Just like me. This is as high as the elevator goes, as far as the train takes you. These people are a force for good. And they’re the best in the world. They solve crimes; they fight for justice. And you could be the best of us all—you know it as well as I do. So why are you letting this”—Catherine pointed back at Bishop’s office behind Gaia—“this BS stop you?”
Gaia looked at Catherine, who was actually panting from the exertion of everything she’d said. She looked as surprised as Gaia was.
“Wow,” Catherine said sheepishly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a speech.”
Gaia put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder. She pushed down, leaning on Catherine as she pulled herself out of the soft chair and rose to her feet.
“That’s okay,” Gaia said. She held out her hand. Catherine took it, and Gaia pulled her to her feet.
“We helped each other stand up,” Catherine said, smiling.
“Right,” Gaia said, squeezing Catherine’s hand and then letting go. “What do you say we keep doing it?”
“It’s a deal.”
Gaia took a deep breath. She looked back over at the FBI seal on the wall. Her mood seemed to have changed: that strange, irrefutable desire to hide somewhere and fall asleep had gone away.
You give a good speech, Catherine, Gaia thought. A very good speech.
“You seemed to think these were important,” Catherine said, holding out the Hogan’s Alley folder and papers.
“Yeah,” Gaia said, taking them. “Follow me.”
LATERAL THINKING
Catherine watched as Gaia flipped through the photographs in the folder. They were full-page, glossy color prints of the “crime scenes” from the case. Each had an evidence stamp from the lab next to an embossed FBI seal. She still had no idea what Gaia was thinking as she followed her back to Agent Bishop’s office.
Finally Gaia had what she wanted. She pulled out a single photograph. It was the same picture she’d studied in the car: the photograph of Abe Kaufman’s bathroom, showing the pictures of the old man’s relatives, the open, empty medicine cabinet, and the spotless, cracked porcelain sink. Catherine had no idea what the picture meant—if anything—or what it had to do with the insurance records Gaia had asked about.
Gaia slid the photograph under Agent Bishop’s door.
What?
Catherine still didn’t understand, but she was impressed with the unexpected maneuver. What would Bishop do? How would she respond?
They both stood there, waiting. Through the door Catherine heard the muffled sound of Bishop’s phone ringing. She also heard footsteps and then, distinctly, the ruffling sound of the photograph being picked up.
Gaia and Catherine looked at each other.
Open the door, Catherine thought frantically. I don’t know what Gaia’s got, but I hope it’s good—open the door and we’ll both find out.
With a loud, metallic click the door swung inward. Agent Bishop stood there, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding the photograph. She was squinting quizzically.
“Gaia,” Bishop began, “I’m not sure what you—”
“The medicine cabinet,” Gaia said. “There’s nothing in it. Which doesn’t make any sense. Have you ever known an old guy to have an empty medicine cabinet? Doesn’t almost every person over seventy have at least some prescribed medication?”
Agent Bishop didn’t answer. She was listening. It was impossible for Catherine to interpret her facial expression.
“I’ve never seen an old person have an empty medicine cabinet,” Gaia went on. “I could even smell the medicine in the air. That was your point before, right? That a crime scene can tell you what a killer is thinking.”
Gaia had another document ready—it was a folded computer printout that she pulled out of the thick file. Behind Agent Bishop the phone continued to ring.
“The killer emptied the cabinet. He took the bottles away—he didn’t want us to see them. Look.” Gaia held up the printout. “Abe Kaufman’s insurance records, routinely submitted for police verification in the case of a violent death. It lists the insurance holder’s medical data. And here”—Gaia stabbed her finger down on the document—“it lists all prescribed medications. In particular, heart pills. And it gives the doctor’s name. Look: Dr. Byron Eastmann.”
Bishop was framed in her office doorway, still ho
lding the chrome knob. She hadn’t interrupted—Catherine was glad for that. It seemed that Gaia had somehow managed to get her full attention.
“Nathan Hill’s pockets,” Gaia went on. She had pulled out another photograph and held it up next to the others. “A bottle of ampicillin, an antibiotic prescribed for any number of minor infectious conditions. Will looked it up on the Web. And here’s the bottle.”
Catherine looked over at the photograph. She could clearly read the text on the bottle’s label. It showed the drug’s name and the prescribed dosage. And below that the doctor’s name:
Eastman, Byron, MD
Oh my God, Catherine thought. Finally she was following Gaia’s logic completely.
“Both victims had the same doctor,” Gaia finished, leaning on Agent Bishop’s desk. That’s the connection—that’s the key to finding the killer. All because the medicine cabinet was empty. The killer didn’t want to leave clues, so he took away the old man’s prescription medicine. But when he killed the boy, he was moving so fast—afraid to wake the parents, probably, that he didn’t have time to check Nathan’s pockets.” Gaia took a breath. “That’s what you mean about seeing what’s not there. Isn’t it?”
“Don’t you answer your phone, Bishop?”
Catherine jumped. It was a harsh male voice right behind her. Turning around, she was shocked to see Special Agent Brian Malloy, as big as life, close-cropped hair, severe gray suit and all. There was no way of knowing how long he had been standing there.
“Brian,” Bishop said, looking flustered. “I’m sorry. I was just—”
“Who the hell used a Code X clearance without my authorization?” Malloy demanded. “Willis downstairs called to check with me, luckily. What’s going on here? Who’s responsible?”
“Me,” Gaia told him. Looking over, Catherine saw that Gaia was standing straight upright again. Her hair and clothes seemed to be drying; she had lost the drowned-blond-rat look she’d had before. “I did it.”
Malloy looked down at her. He seemed more stunned than angry. “Why on earth would you do that? Are you trying to get into even more trouble?”
“No,” Gaia said calmly. “I did it because I’ve cracked the case.”
Malloy was nodding. “The prescriptions. That’s right, isn’t it, Jenny? That’s your famous impossible clue?”
“Well—” Agent Bishop was still holding all the photographs and documents that Gaia had handed her. “Yes. Yes, technically she’s quite correct. But that doesn’t mean—”
“Has anyone ever cracked it that quickly?” Malloy was squinting, his arms crossed. “It seems to me that nobody ever has.”
“Well—no,” Bishop said tightly. “I suppose not. But Brian, what are you saying? We’ve had this discussion already. There is more than one reason to expel this trainee, and the rules of the program don’t change just because—”
“She wouldn’t stop,” Malloy said, looking down at Gaia. “It’s interesting. She’s showing persistence. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Fine,” Bishop said, holding up the photographs. “He’s right, Gaia—this shows a talent for what’s called ‘lateral thinking,’ and that’s very commendable. But there’s more to my game than just this clue. You haven’t caught the killer yet.”
“I’d be interested to see what would happen,” Malloy said slowly, “if Gaia rejoined her team and reentered the game.”
“Put her back in?” Bishop’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious? After all the rules she’s broken? Just this morning you yourself said—”
“You’d be on probationary status,” Malloy told Gaia sternly. “And youre still in a lot of trouble with me—this Code X trick you pulled makes it worse. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Gaia said. “Thank you, sir.”
“The expulsion form is on my desk, Jenny,” Malloy told Bishop. “It’s not going away. It can stay on my desk a little longer. Maybe long enough for someone to win the game, if they’re particularly good.”
Catherine took the opportunity to reach over and grab Gaia’s hand. She squeezed it. Gaia looked back at Catherine. Gaia’s eyes gleamed. Neither of them spoke, but it was clear what they were saying to each other.
You did it, Catherine thought. You did it, Gaia—you cracked the case.
Gaia nodded soberly. But it’s not over yet.
cement exploded
in the ground
PULL THE TRIGGER
At just before nine the next morning Kim stood in his FBI agent clothes at the perimeter of Hogan’s Alley. The ground was still damp from the previous day’s rain, but the sky was clear, a deep, rich blue. Kim was standing with Will and Catherine, listening to Gaia, who was pacing back and forth in front of them with the morning sun glinting off her sunglasses.
“When the bell rings,” Gaia said, “we’ll go straight to the commercial plaza, on the south edge of Hogan’s Alley. It’s like a two-minute walk. Then we’ll try to talk to Dr. Eastmann.”
“You don’t want to Mow up with Sheriff Landy?” Will asked. Kim could tell, watching his body language, that something had happened between him and Gaia the previous afternoon, when they’d gone for that ill-fated drive into Quantico. He wasn’t sure what it had been, exactly, but his theory was that they had kissed. “By now those two detectives will have canvassed the neighborhood and talked to everyone who knew Abe Kaufman.”
“That’s the obvious move,” Gaia agreed. “But I don’t like it. The doctor’s the key. That’s the connection between the victims. If he can give us a list of his patients, we might get one step ahead of the killer.”
“Fine,” said Will agreeably. “Just tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”
“Catherine?” Gaia asked, looking at her watch. “Anything to add? We’ve got twenty seconds.”
“Get the doctor’s patient data on a disk,” Catherine advised. “Then we can match it up to the rest of our database. Beyond that, I’m just awaiting your orders.”
“We all are,” Kim said.
“All right, then,” Gaia said. She smiled a little weakly and then held up her hands with her fingers crossed. “Let’s go.”
The bell rang.
Is she right? Kim wondered. Gaia’s plan was like betting everything on black when you played roulette. If they were wrong, they’d be hopelessly behind the other teams. Right now, as they sprinted across the Hogan’s Alley town square, veering left to follow Gaia toward the “town’s” small commercial plaza, Kim could see two of the other three teams behind them, sprinting toward the police station.
They could be right, Kim thought. And Gaia could be wrong. But would Bishop have reinstated her if her gambit didn’t make sense?
Kim didn’t know the answer to that question.
The commercial plaza was just two buildings, each two stories tall, facing each other across a small plaza with park benches and a fountain. A balcony ran along the second floor, leading to the upstairs offices. Will had gotten there first and was scanning the framed array of shingles that showed what businesses could be found there. They saw signs for real estate offices, insurance firms, a notary public, a small law firm … and a sign that read Byron Eastmann, M.D.—2nd Floor, East Building. Will looked at Gaia, pointing at the sign.
“Let’s go,” Gaia said. She led them up the cement stairs to the balcony.
They arrived at the door to the doctor’s office. Gaia pressed the doorbell, and after a moment the door buzzed open.
The four trainees walked through the door.
They were standing in a small waiting room, with easylistening music playing from concealed speakers. There were two overstuffed cloth couches facing each other and between them a laminated coffee table with a large glass ashtray and a stack of magazines. A fake painting of a sailing ship was hanging from one wall, casting a shadow on the yellow, floral wallpaper.
An elderly woman with a walker and a bandage on her arm sat in one of the chairs. She looked at the four trainees in confusion as they came
into the room.
At the back of the office was a small secretary’s desk. A young man in a white lab coat sat behind the desk, thumbing through an old-fashioned card catalog. The man had a slight build and thinning chestnut hair. An engraved nameplate on his desk read Bill Oakley. Oakley flinched at the sound of their entry and then smiled pleasantly at them.
Startled, Kim thought. He has no idea why we’re here—it’s unnerving him.
“Good morning,” Oakley said pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
Gaia held up her badge. “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she said. “We’d like to speak to Dr. Eastmann if he’s available, please.”
Oakley frowned. “He’s here, but I think he’s busy. It’s a very busy morning,” Oakley told them. He was reaching for a phone. “Just a second—I’ll see if he’s available.”
“Thank you,” Gaia said.
“Dr. Eastmann?” Oakley said into the phone. “Federal agents to see you.”
There was a brief pause, during which Kim could hear a metallic-sounding voice on the other end of the phone.
“I don’t know what it’s about, Doctor,” Oakley said. “Shall I send them in? Yes. All right.”
Oakley hung up the phone and pointed at the door behind him. “You can go right in,” he said.
Gaia and the others trooped through another door into a small office with an adjoining examination room. A severelooking, powerfully built man was seated behind a desk. He had close-cropped black hair and a small goatee. Medical texts filled the bookcases lining the room.
“Yes?” the doctor barked in a strong German accent. “What is this intrusion?”
All the other trainees are across “town,” Kim thought nervously. Talking to the sheriff and his detectives. What are we doing here? Do we trust Gaia that much?
“Sorry to bother you, Doctor,” Gaia said, holding up her badge, “but we’re federal agents investigating two homicides.”
Kill Game Page 19
