“And what? Go on, say it!”
“And she wrecked you!”
“Oh-ho,” Caleb accuses, “I knew that’s what this was really all about. You’ve never liked Lynne but I can’t believe you’d stoop this low to keep us apart.”
“Are you hearing this?” She shouts at Hal before turning her ire back to Caleb.
“Wake up Caleb!” she screams at him, “Lynne is gone! This is not about her—this is about us! I can’t trust you anymore because you keep denying reality!”
“She’s alive! You—”
“Enough!” Hal steps between them as he feels numerous eyes drifting toward the scene they’re making. “Let’s try to act professional here shall we?
“Agent Li, it is my fervent belief that we will not catch Heath without Cal’s assistance. No one knows him or this case better than Cal. The top priority is stopping Heath from killing again—in that we can all agree. If Hofstra doesn’t like my choice of consultants then maybe the Director will. Cal can do this job; if you can’t accept that and work with him, then I’ll understand and allow you to remove yourself from this detail.
“But if you stay,” his voice turns to steel as he says, “There will be no more of these public displays—from either of you. Now, what do you say?”
She glares at Caleb as he stares her down. We were so close once. He’s the godfather to my child for chrissakes. And now he looks at me with contempt and scorn. And I look at him with worry and pity. But we’re still partners. If he’s going to keep going then so am I—if only to watch his back.
“I’m in,” she mumbles.
The back door of the van swings open and Tommy climbs out saying, “The ROV found nothing explosive in the locker; we’re clear to open it.”
“Then let’s do that,” Hal says with a forced smile.
Twenty minutes later and Hal, Ling Tran, Arliss, and Caleb are huddled together in the basement of the Academy.
The tension is palpable as Caleb fits the skeleton key into the rusted and worn lock. With a quick glance at those around him he jiggles the key until with a thunk the tumblers give way and the lock falls open.
Removing it from the locker he drops it into an evidence bag held open by Ling Tran. Slowly, he opens the metal door to the protestation of squealing hinges.
“What have we got?” Hal asks.
For a moment Caleb is silent. He can’t bring himself to believe what he’s seeing inside the locker. For a month now he’s clung to this line of thought. If I solve the riddle…if I find the lock for the key…I’ll find the answer to where he’s taken Lynne.
He’s lived and breathed this logic—clung to it really—as if it was his own life that rested upon it. Because of that, for the longest time he can’t get his mind to believe what his eyes are seeing.
“It’s empty,” Ling Tran answers while watching Caleb with sorrowful eyes.
“Empty?” Hal breathes the single word delicately knowing its import to Caleb.
The three of them huddle around the empty locker almost forgetting to breathe until Arliss breaks the moment by asking, “Why would anyone lock an empty locker?”
This simple question—asked so innocently—breaks the trance that had overcome Caleb. Blinking furiously he steps to the locker to examine it more closely.
It can’t be empty. It can’t be empty. It can’t be empty.
The tiny space takes no time at all to search and just when his fears are about to be realized he sees it wedged in the back corner of the top shelf. Snapping his gloved fingers he calls for a light.
And there in the back of an old locker in a forgotten corner of an unused sub-basement he finds it—a toy plastic egg no bigger than the palm of a child’s hand.
The Toymaker was here.
“What is it?” Hal asks as Caleb gently removes the trinket from the locker.
“A toy egg,” Caleb explains, “Like you’d find in a Happy Meal I guess, around Easter.”
“Looks almost like a Kinder Surprise to me,” Arliss observes, “My grandkids used to love those. Except with them the egg was chocolate and the toy was inside.”
Caleb and Ling Tran exchange a glance before he inspects the egg for a seam that would delineate an opening. He finds it in the middle and carefully pulls the top and bottom halves apart. Inside is a small scrap of paper rolled up.
Placing the egg halves inside an evidence bag he unfurls the paper and reads the hand written script aloud: “A box without hinges, key or lid yet golden treasure inside is hid.”
Finished, he asks, “What does it mean?”
“It’s Tolkien.” Ling Tran states. Seeing the blank look on her partner’s face she elaborates, “You know—the writer of Lord of the Rings.”
“But what does it mean?”
“The answer is an egg,” Arliss asserts to which Hal adds, “Which makes no sense since we would never have found the riddle if we hadn’t already cracked the egg. It’s like he’s leading where we’ve already been.”
“How do we know he’s leading us at all?” Ling Tran asks, “None of this behavior fits the profile. Why all the riddles all of a sudden? How can we know any of this has anything to do with the Toymaker?”
“It’s him.”
Ling Tran shakes her head at the unjustified certainty that Caleb speaks with while waiting for Hal to answer her.
“It actually does fit the profile,” Hal begins, “Remember that I said his confidence is growing. These riddles could just be another expression of that growing confidence.
“Like a cat with a mouse—he’s toying with us. He’s so confident now that he’s leaving clues for us because he doesn’t believe we can catch him anyway.”
“Look at it,” Caleb implores her by pointing at the bagged egg, “Does that not scream the Toymaker? This is him. We figure it out and we’re that much closer to finding the bastard.”
Casting her eyes around the dank space, Ling Tran relents. “All right then…where do we go from here?”
New York City, New York
“So what’s the plan?”
Sighing, Cole Hewitt sets his notebook aside and rubs at his eyes. Outside his midtown apartment the sun has already dipped below the gleaming towers of iron and steel casting an early night upon the corridors of the city.
They’ve been at this now for hours—brainstorming ideas, drafting and discarding plans of action, and drinking pot after pot of coffee—but for the first time since he arrived, Cole takes a moment to appraise his new forced upon partner.
Jeremy Creed is one of the Times best photographers; having his work regularly displayed on the front page above the fold. He’s thirty-four years old and possesses what can only be described as an ordinary appearance.
He’s roughly six feet tall and two hundred pounds with a square jaw, pale coloring, short light brown hair, and bluish-green eyes behind prescription glasses that enlarge their appearance. The only visible distinguishing mark he seems to have is a thin scar at the edge of his left eyebrow.
He’s wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans the combination of which accentuates both his expanding waistline and the prominent slouch to his shoulders that is gradually hollowing out his chest.
“Get your gear packed—we’re leaving for Hope ASAP.”
“Yeah OK,” Jeremy fidgets with his glasses, lifting the cheap frames off his nose for a moment while asking, “But once we’re there, then what?”
“We ask around and see if we can nail down Nick’s source.”
“That’s it? Just ask around?”
Cole narrows his gaze as he asks, “You have a better idea?”
“Well…no,” Jeremy admits, “But seems like there has to be one right? I mean what if this Cummings guy was his source? How are we supposed to get to him? That island is locked down tighter than a bank vault. We’ll never get close to him.”
Smiling conspiratorially Cole pronounces, “There isn’t a vault in the world that can’t be cracked.”
“And how are
we going to do that?” Jeremy counters.
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
“I don’t plan to be a photographer for the rest of my life,” Jeremy looks away as he says, “I’m going to be a reporter one day and reporters ask questions.”
“They also follow their gut,” Cole pinches his nose briefly before adding, “Look Jeremy I don’t have all the answers yet. But experience tells me that we’re not going to find them sitting around here making plans.
“If we’re going to find out what happened to Nick we have to follow in his footsteps and that means going to Hope.”
Seeing that he’s unconvinced, Cole offers, “Trust me OK? I may not have everything planned out but I have done this before.”
With a nod Jeremy cracks a smile, “Yeah, I’m with you.”
“Good. Go home and get some rest. I’ll make the travel arrangements with the paper tomorrow morning and with any luck we can be on our way by the end of the day.”
Watching Jeremy stand and grab his bag off the sofa, Cole can tell that he’s hesitating. “What is it?” he asks.
Meeting his eyes Jeremy falters, “What do you…I mean, do you think Nick is…?”
After a moment Cole solemnly responds, “I don’t know—but I guarantee you that we’re going to find out.”
Chapter 16
August 14
Atlanta, Georgia
Despite being a four lane road, Capitol Square SW gives the appearance of a narrow street crowded on both sides by towering old granite buildings housing numerous courtrooms.
Seated next to the Supreme Court, Capitol Place looms large taking up most of the block. It has two walk-ups leading to ornately carved wooden doors. Granite columns stand out alternately between strips of glass that reflect the afternoon sunshine.
Next to the main door, attached to the building on each side are two copper bas reliefs depicting a man on the left and a woman with child on the right—images in keeping with the ideals of truth and justice.
And it has oft been the scene of justice but today it is the scene of the crime.
This court finds that there is insufficient evidence to proceed to trial in this case. You’re free to go Mr. Tait.
Sitting on a stone bench across the street from the courthouse, these words torment Roger ceaselessly. The memory of hearing them plays on a continuous loop in his mind, pricking tears from the back of his eyes.
Staring at the courthouse he remembers seeing Tait stand there on the steps waving joyously to the assembled press—loudly proclaiming his innocence and unwavering belief in the justice system.
It turns his stomach to even recall it.
“Roger.”
He flinches as Lionel sits down beside him on the bench. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he didn’t hear him approach.
“What are you still doing here Roger? Why don’t you go home?”
Swiping at his eyes, Roger says nothing.
“All right then,” Lionel tries another approach, “What are you thinking about?”
Still focused on the courthouse Roger begins in a dry whisper, “I’m thinking about how the man responsible for abducting Miriam, for cutting off her finger, for infecting her with a fatal disease, for destroying the happy marriage we shared…
“I’m thinking about how this person is going to get away with it all. Insufficient evidence…” Roger turns from the courthouse, his features livid in the afternoon sun. “Have you ever heard such a ridiculous thing?
“Tait is guilty as sin and everyone knows it but he gets to walk because we have insufficient evidence.”
“Roger…”
“Or maybe,” he focuses his rage on Lionel, “Maybe I’m thinking about buying a gun and seeing justice done myself.”
“Don’t talk like that to me Roger.”
“Why not?” He derides, “I did things your way. Is this what you really call justice? It’s no wonder people don’t trust the courts anymore—they’re so bound up in procedure and protecting criminal’s rights that they’re incapable of dispensing any justice.”
“I understand that you’re angry Roger,” Lionel speaks soothingly to him as he attempts to calm him down, “But we always knew this was a possibility. Shooting Tait isn’t the way.”
“Then what is the way?”
“If you go after him Roger one of two things is going to happen. If you actually shoot him you’ll go to prison and if you don’t, his men will shoot you and you’ll go to the morgue. You’re not that person Roger.”
For a moment they just stare at each other before Roger shudders and lowers his head. With his chest heaving he moans, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“I do.” Lionel dips his head to look him in the eyes. “You’re my friend. You’re the love of Miriam’s life. You’re a good person who is hurting. And right now you need to let go of all that hatred and pain. You need to go home to Miriam.”
“I can’t,” Roger laments, “How can I face her after this? It’s my fault she’s suffering—”
“No it isn’t.” Lionel interrupts.
“Yes it is,” he insists, “If I had done what they asked of me…she would…she would be fine. It’s all my fault. And now, I can’t even get justice for her. Do you know what that will do to her? How do I tell her that I’ve failed her again? How do I tell her that the person responsible for her suffering is free?”
“You talk to her—just like you’re talking to me.” He rests his hands on Roger’s shoulders saying, “Just like you used to talk to her about everything. She doesn’t care about Tait going free or being punished. If she cared about any of that she would’ve been here today; but she wasn’t.
“Roger, you can still have the marriage you remember. Miriam is still here for you. All you have to do is be who you’ve always been with her—the man she loves.
“Go home and see her. Leave all of this…crap behind. Forget about what happens to Tait and just worry about what happens with you and Miriam. You still have time together; cherish it and for God sakes don’t let the love between you two end like this.”
“Do,” Roger stammers, “Do you really think she’ll understand?”
Smiling, Lionel answers “You know she will. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Home,” Roger repeats as they stand up, “Maybe you’re right Lionel; I need to see her. No matter how hard it will be I need to tell her everything that I’ve been feeling.”
His heart racing he adds, “I need to go home—for the first time in over a month I need to go home.”
Swanquarter, North Carolina
The scent of brine and fish mingles in the air of the coastal village as Tyler Edlund takes a step outside of his dingy little motel room.
His convoy arrived here yesterday afternoon and he was immediately shuttled over to this rundown motel with peeling paint, flickering neon lights, and a vacancy sign that he’s positive never has the NO lit up.
Crunching gravel underfoot he walks across the empty—save for the black Hummers—parking lot to the edge of the road. From there he can see the ocean and just make out Hope a mile out to sea.
When they arrived yesterday it was raining heavily and fog had rolled in making the island impossible to spot and the crossing ill advised. Seeing the break in the weather now he expects the next leg in this journey to begin at any time.
Heading back to his room he’s met by one of the black clad soldiers that drove him here. They bunked in the room next to his and as he approaches his room their door opens and the man growls, “We’ve got the word. Pack up; we’re to be at the dock in twenty.”
His stomach clenches; whether from lack of any real food for the past 24 hours—supper consisted of takeout fish from a local dive that his stomach found indigestible and breakfast has been non-existent—or from nervousness over what he will find on the island, he can’t say.
Entering his room he finds his roommate for the night, Paul Chase, packing his own meager bel
ongings already.
“Well mate,” Chase comments with a smile, “Guess this is it huh?”
“Yeah, guess so.” Tyler mumbles as he sets about packing his own duffel bag.
“So tell me about these red tides mate.”
“What about them?”
Finished packing Chase sits down on the edge of his bed saying, “What are they? What causes them?”
Casting a questioning glance his way Tyler asks, “You really want to know?”
“I asked didn’t I mate?”
“All right,” Tyler begins, “They are a harmful algal bloom and occur nearly every summer somewhere along the east coast. They’re caused by an imbalance of nutrients in the water.”
With a confused look on his face Chase asks, “Algal bloom mate?”
“Harmful algal blooms—what everyone calls red tides—basically occur when colonies of algae grow out of control. These are simple ocean plants that live in the sea and are usually harmless but every now and then they multiply in number and begin producing toxic or harmful effects for fish, shellfish, birds, mammals, and even people.
“Bear in mind that human illness associated with these blooms is rare. When it does occur though, it can be debilitating or even fatal.”
“So why red mate?” he interrupts.
With a half grin Tyler explains, “The waters can appear red when the bloom is in full effect. So rather than use the scientific jargon of harmful algal bloom, red tide fits and rolls a little easier off the tongue.”
“I guess that it does,” Chase remarks, “Could these little buggers explain the Biblical story mate; where the waters turned to blood?”
“It’s a theory held by some,” Tyler admits, “Algae is found in oceans all around the world and not all blooms are harmful. Most blooms are beneficial to the ecosystem because the tiny plants serve as food for other animals in the ocean.
“Though even the non-toxic blooms can become harmful, take for instance the case when masses of algae die and decompose and the decaying process depletes the oxygen content in the water. This causes animals that happen to live nearby to either leave the area or die.”
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