by Alex Kava
It could be a break for them, but at the same time she realized any hope she’d had of Dawson Hayes helping was probably gone now.
FORTY-ONE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It was late by the time Julia came home, or rather by the time she got to Rachel’s town house. The place still didn’t feel like home, although she’d never admit that out loud, as much to protect herself as Rachel. Home wasn’t a place. It was a state of mind and for some reason she hadn’t wrapped her mind around being a part of this household. But it was tough. Rachel and CariAnne had been on their own, just the two of them, for a very long time.
Julia heard the TV in the family room and thought Rachel would be watching the news. She couldn’t stay away from it, checking the headlines on her smartphone every half hour, sometimes more often if something big was happening. This was probably an every-fifteen-minutes day. So she was surprised to find CariAnne in the oversized recliner, her little body wrapped in a bright yellow blanket and swallowed by the big chair.
“What are you doing still up?”
“Watching Leno.”
She said it like it was something she did every night. Did she even know who Jay Leno was?
“How are you feeling?” Julia sat on the sofa, a safe two feet away.
“Still kinda yucky. But better.”
“Is that popcorn I smell?”
“It sounded good.”
“Your mom’s letting you have popcorn?”
“Just a little.”
“And she’s letting you stay up late?”
“I slept like forever when I got home. I’m wide awake now.”
“Ah, you’re just in time,” Rachel said, bringing in a tray.
Julia noticed there were three bowls of popcorn and three cans of cold soda. That was the stuff that tripped up her heart—being included so automatically.
“We’re watching Leno.”
“I heard. I didn’t realize you knew there were other channels that didn’t have twenty-four-hour news.”
CariAnne giggled. She pulled the remote from under the yellow blanket.
“You rule!” Julia said and put up her hand for the girl to high-five her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, kiddo.”
“Me, too.”
“So what made the kids sick? Do they know?”
“Not yet.” Julia grabbed a handful of popcorn. She hoped Rachel wouldn’t probe further.
“Did anybody die?”
“CariAnne!”
“I’m just asking.”
“I don’t think anybody’s dead.” Julia smiled at Rachel’s horror, realizing her precious little girl would dare to be as blunt as her mother.
It still surprised Julia to see Rachel, the mom. The woman reported some of the most gruesome crimes in the District. In fact, they liked to tell people how they had met over the dead bodies of a hooker and her pimp. Rachel definitely wasn’t naïve or a newcomer when it came to the brutalities that people were capable of. But when it came to her daughter, Rachel was upset by the slightest sign that CariAnne was aware of the ugly facts.
Julia, of course, had learned how to be a grown-up when she was ten. She thought kids were coddled too much as it was.
“My friend Lisa gets to spend the night in the hospital,” CariAnne told Julia and exchanged a look with her mom.
“Lisa’s very sick,” Rachel said. “I keep telling CariAnne that staying overnight at the hospital is not like a slumber party.”
“Yeah, she probably has to have needles stuck in her arm.”
“Julia!”
“Ewww. I hate needles.”
“Twelve kids were hospitalized,” Rachel told Julia. “They said the CDC and Homeland Security were at the school. Is that true?”
By now Julia thought that was probably old news. So without hesitation she answered, “Yes.”
A news alert flashed at the bottom of the television screen. The block type crawled across the bottom telling about the District public-school outbreak and said that it was caused by a negligent food handler.
“That’s not true,” Julia said. “Who the hell are they getting their information from?”
The last part of the statement moved across the screen.
“ … according to the Secretary of Agriculture.”
FORTY-TWO
After dropping off Julia and Bix, Platt had driven directly to USAMRIID. He had left Digger with his parents so going home to an empty house didn’t even entice him. The little dog would act as a better security alert than their electronic system. Before he left, Platt had told his father about the black SUV that had tailed him from the diner.
“Just be careful,” he had warned his dad.
“Always am” was the response, but Platt knew his parents lived in a whole other world. And he hated that he may have brought one of the dangers from his life into theirs.
He had called them several times throughout the day and everything appeared to be normal. He was hoping last night’s incident was more curiosity than threat.
For the last hour he had kept himself so busy that he didn’t think about Ali, Mary Ellen, or the miserable memories that had flooded his head. He concentrated on preparing slides from the garbage he and Racine had bagged along with some of the vomit. Bix had even shared some samples from the sick high schoolers in Norfolk. It hadn’t taken long before he found the bacterium—salmonella. But Bix was right. It was an unusual strain.
By now the scientists down in Atlanta knew what they were dealing with. Usually the bacterium was found in ground beef, poultry, or eggs. Sometimes it even ended up on raw vegetables or fruit. Platt also knew that some strains had become resistant to the antibiotics that were fed to cattle and poultry.
Confirming what the bacterium was didn’t make it any easier to decipher what food it had hidden in. Platt was hoping that’s where his samplings of the schoolkids’ vomit would come in handy as well as the food packaging.
Under the microscope the bacteria looked like tiny pegs jammed in among the cells. They attached themselves to the linings of the gastrointestinal organs. The bacteria would work their way through the stomach, inflaming the mucosa and usually causing severe vomiting. From there the bacteria continued migrating down, depositing themselves onto the walls of the intestine, causing it to bloat and dilate. That’s what caused the extreme pain and diarrhea. If the pesky critters decided to take an additional stay in the colon during their trip down, they could force the inner lining to tear away. The entire passage took less than two hours.
Less-severe cases were often misdiagnosed as stomach flu or irritable bowel syndrome. Truth was, sudden bouts of stomach flu didn’t happen that often. Most people didn’t realize that their upset stomach—especially within two to six hours after a meal—was mostly caused by some food-borne bacteria.
Ali had the stomach flu. That was all that Mary Ellen thought it was. It was her reason, her explanation for not calling Platt, for not telling him sooner. He had been in Afghanistan just after the start of the war, a world away, but he would have commandeered the fastest ride home if he had known his daughter was seriously ill. He had never been able to forgive Mary Ellen for waiting to contact him. She had waited too long and he had never had a chance to even say good-bye to his little girl.
Seeing Mary Ellen today and hearing that she had a new husband and a new baby should have reminded that him what had happened in the past was an awfully long time ago. Instead the memories, the physical pain was still so close to the surface. He felt as though she had ripped a scab off a wound—a wound that had never healed properly.
He sat back from the microscope. Rubbed his face, hoping to wipe away the exhaustion. He plucked through his assortment of “leftovers” and “Dumpster” samples, wondering where to begin, when his cell phone rang. He almost shoved it away until he noticed the caller ID, then he couldn’t grab it fast enough.
He caught his breath before he answered, “Hey, Maggie O’Dell.”
“I ke
ep forgetting you’re an hour ahead of me. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m still at the lab.”
“At USAMRIID?”
“Yeah, a weird case. I’m trying to help the CDC figure out what made a hundred and five schoolkids sick.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Looks like it. I’m pretty certain it’s a salmonella strain but it hit two different schools in the same week. About two hundred miles apart. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. It’s all over the news.”
“Actually I haven’t seen or heard the news since yesterday. Been a little weird here, too.”
“Sure, conferences can be that way.”
“I’m not at the conference.”
“Oh.” He wanted to kick himself because his immediate response was that he was hurt she hadn’t told him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Just a little … overwhelmed,” she said.
Platt knew it was a lot for her to admit. They had started out as doctor and patient and sometimes Platt too easily reverted to that role. He couldn’t help it. He cared about her, more than he was willing to admit—at least, to her. It was only recently that he had admitted it to himself. He couldn’t risk losing her as a friend.
Platt knew Maggie was skittish when it came to romantic entanglements. That’s what she called them: “entanglements.” Amazing what could be learned about a person’s attitude toward something just by listening to the words she used to describe it. She didn’t talk about her divorce except to say how exhausting the marriage had been. And she didn’t talk about past entanglements, either.
To be fair, he hadn’t told her much about his marriage. There were large chunks of their lives that they hadn’t shared. Maybe they didn’t know each other as well as he thought. He did know that Maggie wouldn’t let anyone take care of her. And she rarely let down her guard. It was a big deal for her to even admit that she was overwhelmed.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.
She gave him an abbreviated rundown, which made him tense. Once again, she was chasing a killer. Coming way too close for his comfort level. No matter how many times he told himself it was what she did for a living, it still set him on edge.
“You’re right about the laser stun gun,” Platt said. “The military’s had the technology for a long time but it’s only recently they’ve managed to funnel its power into a small-enough weapon. From what I remember it’s the size of a rifle, and I think you still have to carry a backpack with some sort of charger. Originally it was developed for crowd control. All you have to do is sweep an area with the laser beam. You don’t have to connect like a stun gun or shoot an attached dart like a Taser. But from what I understand, it’s not meant to kill anyone.”
“Is it possible the military would stage war games in the middle of a Nebraska forest?”
“Actually it sounds like the perfect place. But they wouldn’t use a bunch of drugged teenagers for targets.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Platt took a deep breath to keep from getting defensive. He knew Maggie was simply looking at all angles but he tended to get his back up when anyone attacked the military. Sure, mistakes were made. And he had witnessed firsthand the corruption and abuse of power. He had exposed a couple of incidents himself. But he still wanted to believe they were rare.
“Right now,” she said, “it seems my options are GIs gone wild or red-eyed aliens.”
He laughed and finally she did, too.
Then completely out of nowhere, he blurted, “I miss you.”
Her silence made his stomach clench but for the first time, he realized he didn’t care.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“What? I can’t tell you I miss you without something being wrong?”
“I can hear it in your voice. Something’s going on.”
“It’s just … do you ever think you’ll want to have kids?” As soon as he said it, he knew he had stepped over the line.
“Ben, I don’t even know yet whether you wear boxers or briefs and you’re asking me if I want to have kids?”
He laughed again. Felt some of the tension drain away. He imagined her on the other end. She’d be smiling but shaking her head at him. Probably pacing. He knew she couldn’t stand still when she talked on the phone. If he was really making her nervous she’d be pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear right about now. The one thing he took away from her comment was that she used the word “yet.” She didn’t know “yet” if he wore boxers or briefs. One word could reveal a lot.
“Are you okay?” she asked after a long silence.
“Yeah, I’m okay. This case is probably just getting to me,” he lied.
“You’re thinking about Ali,” she said and it wasn’t a question.
Maybe they actually knew each other too well.
FORTY-THREE
NEBRASKA
Lucy had left the light on for Maggie. The scent of freshly brewed tea and cinnamon filled the kitchen.
When she’d called Lucy earlier, Maggie had suggested she stay in North Platte, find a hotel room. Her suitcase was, after all, in the trunk of the rented Toyota. And she didn’t want to wear out her welcome. Lucy had been kind enough to take her in last night when they were all too exhausted to think clearly, but she certainly didn’t expect the woman to extend her invitation.
“It does take a bit longer to drive out here,” Lucy had said. “I’ll certainly understand if you’d rather stay in town, but I also would enjoy the company.” As if needing to reaffirm that she wasn’t simply being polite, she added, “I just put a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls in the oven.”
Now Maggie found the woman reading in the living room, a small fire crackling in the brick fireplace. The group of dogs huddled around Lucy all got up at once and came to Maggie, wagging and demanding attention, butting each other playfully out of the way.
Maggie sank down into the recliner opposite Lucy and petted each dog. She had never had her own mother wait up for her. Instead, Maggie—even as a twelve-year-old—was the one waiting up for her mother, who sometimes didn’t come home at all. Now suddenly she was struck by how good this place felt—warm, cozy, and safe. Not even twenty-four hours and it felt like home.
Lucy looked up at her over half-moon reading glasses and set her book aside.
“You look exhausted,” she said. “How are you?”
“Exhausted.” Maggie smiled. “But I’m okay.” Jake pushed his snout under her hand, asking to be petted and she automatically obeyed. The others had settled by Lucy’s feet again.
“Someone takes care of your dog while you’re away?”
“Yes.”
“Someone who takes care of you, too, when you’re there?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head and was immediately embarrassed that she had protested so quickly. At the same time she didn’t want to explain that her FBI partner, R. J. Tully—who was taking care of Harvey—was very much involved with her best friend, Gwen Patterson.
“But there is someone? Someone new in your life?”
Maggie stared at the woman, wondering how she seemed to have the power to look deep beneath the surface.
“Maybe,” Maggie said, still thinking about her conversation with Platt, how good it was to hear his voice. She loved the sound of his laughter. Just sharing with him the events of the last twenty-four hours had made her feel less alone in the world. “Trouble is I’ve gotten used to being on my own. I like scheduling my time without getting someone else’s approval.”
In her mind she added that being alone meant being safe. No one could hurt or disappoint you if you didn’t let them get close. The fact that she missed Benjamin Platt annoyed her. It felt like a weakness, a vulnerability. “Is that being independent,” she asked, “or selfish?”
“There always has to be a balance. It should never be all or nothing.” Lucy hesitated, deciding whether or not to go on. “You should never deny who you are to please so
meone else. If that’s the choice, then it’s not meant to be.
“My mother was full-blooded Omaha. She did everything she possibly could to deny it, to leave it behind. I think that’s why she married my father. He was the son of Irish Catholic immigrants. A railroad engineer who had dreams as big as a Nebraska sky. But he absolutely adored American history and the Indian culture. He was the one who taught me about the Omaha tribe and my Indian heritage. I think my mother finally learned to love it, through his eyes.
“Your independence, your time alone, when you find someone who loves those things as much as you do and wants them for you, you’ll find that those things no longer matter unless you also have that particular person beside you. A bit ironic, I suppose.”
Lucy didn’t push the matter. Instead she asked, “How’s the boy doing?”
Maggie had told her on the phone about the intruder and the attempt on Dawson’s life.
“He’s scared. But his dad’s with him and Skylar has a deputy outside his door now. Donny seems certain the stranger’s footprint is going to match the one we found in the forest. It has the same distinctive waffle pattern. Same size.”
“Even if it matches, it might not lead us anywhere. There must be hundreds of pairs of work boots in this area. Did Dawson tell you anything?”
Maggie shook her head. “Not really. They used the campsite to experiment with drugs. He did admit they had a camera.”
“And we didn’t find it. Could they have caught something on film?”
“I have no idea. What else is out there besides a bunch of trees and pasture?”
“The university has a new field house on one side and there’s the nursery on the other side.”
“Nursery?”
“The Forest Service grows their own trees. The forest doesn’t replenish itself. Trees don’t grow well in sand.” She smiled, then realized that wasn’t enough of an explanation. “It was an experiment at the turn of the last century— 1902, if I remember correctly. Every tree was hand planted. About twenty thousand acres. Originally it was believed that settlers would come to the area if they were provided an easy supply of timber to build with. It’s been sort of an open-air laboratory ever since. When trees die, as many of those original pine are doing now, they have to be replenished.”
