Bitter Waters

by Wen Spencer

  “Why didn’t you get me?” Max had gone straight from talking to Sam to the shower, so Ukiah caught him on the way out to tell him about Hutchinson’s call and their afternoon appointment.

  Ukiah shrugged. “I was handling it.”

  Max looked at him as if surprised. “Is that a little bit of Magic Boy surfacing?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Max frowned at the news; he’d been against Ukiah taking in Magic Boy’s memories at the risk of losing himself. Obviously he was still worried about the consequences.

  Ukiah indicated the pile of luggage stacked in the foyer. “I see that the luggage made it home. Did you order the armor?”

  “Yeah. It should be here in a day or two.” The grandfather clock struck nine, reminding Max that he had someplace to go. “I’ve got to go pick up the Volvo. Since I’m going to be over in the South Hills, I’m stopping by Kraynak’s to see if he and Alicia got home okay.” He snapped his fingers, remembering something else that needed to be done. “And I need to stop in on Picray.” Picray was Michael Picray, their accountant, not to be confused with Mike their mechanic, and Michael, Janey’s sometimes boyfriend. “He left a message on Friday that he needed to talk to me. Quarterlies are due at the end of the month.”

  “What are quarterlies?”

  Max startled at the question, and then seemed torn between being pleased at his interest and annoyed at his timing. “There are certain things, taxes and such, that we have to pay every quarter, which is every three months: unemployment, workmen’s comp, social security. I also escrow everyone’s wages for the next quarter, in case something happens to me, it gives you time to learn the ropes.”

  “I’d like to learn the ropes now.”

  Max sighed. “Today isn’t the day to start, kid. Picray and me bickering will only mystify you. I’m not even sure how to teach you this stuff; we might have to back up to basic math before you can grasp it.”

  “I can add and subtract and everything.”

  “Oh, kid, double entry accounting is as simple and a hell of a lot more complicated than just adding and subtracting. Look, we’ll talk about it later. Today, it’s important for you to work with our open cases, get us back on track with them before we lose the bread and butter accounts.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back at three then.” Max handed Ukiah a shopping list on a Post-it note. “When you go to the store, could you pick up this stuff for me? I ordered everything else on-line and it should be delivered tomorrow morning early.”

  Max and Ukiah’s partnership had started by chance; Mom Jo picking the Bennett Agency solely on the large yellow page ad that read SPECIALIZES IN MISSING PERSONS. In truth, Max had been playing at being a private investigator, turning away everything but missing persons cases. The agency had been little more than that ad, one room of office furniture, and Alicia Kraynak answering phone calls between her freshman college classes. The grandfather clock in the hall measured out time to a nearly empty house.

  From the start, though, something between Max and Ukiah worked. Max had the ability to see through people’s surfaces to see their true selves; he alone looked at the Wolf Boy and saw the potential man stagnating at his mothers’ farm. Ukiah’s open honesty moved Max out of his grief-stricken depression to the land of the living. It was a balanced mix of liking, trusting, appreciating, and plain needing each other.

  Ukiah started by tracking for Max a few scattered days at a time, but his work schedule slowly evolved into almost daily commutes to Pittsburgh. Ukiah remained, though, a part-time employee until they ran into serial killer Joe Gary. During the short, vicious battle, something changed in their relationship, or more specifically in Max. In the weeks that followed, Max rearranged the business and Ukiah’s future; giving half of the agency to the boy, Max started to train Ukiah as a full partner.

  At first Ukiah hadn’t been aware of the change. Later he thought gratitude had been Max’s motivation, or perhaps guilt about nearly getting him killed. With the Pack’s and Magic Boy’s knowledge of humans, Ukiah could see the events with new eyes. Their brush with death had made Max realize that he loved Ukiah like a son. Max recognized too that Ukiah had neither the ability nor means to live alone in the world; a simple accident could reduce Ukiah to a savage adrift in a hostile world, this time without even wolves to protect him. All the changes Max made to the business had been acts of love.

  With the new edge to the business, however, they had to take on two part-time employees, Chino and Janey. The two had their strengths—investigative work wasn’t one of them. While Max and Ukiah were in Oregon, Max had directed the two through the open cases long distance. A quick glance at the files showed that they were floundering.

  They truly needed Sam as a third full-time investigator.

  Hampered by Kittanning, it took Ukiah most of the morning plugging holes to keep the cases afloat. He had just fed Kittanning, changed his diaper, and started to settle him for his morning nap when the front door opened and closed softly.

  “Ukiah?” Indigo called.

  “Stay here.” Ukiah tucked a blanket around him. Kittanning fussed quietly as Ukiah walked away, wanting attention.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Indigo waited in the foyer, stylishly composed as always in a black wool pantsuit and white silk blouse. Her only jewelry was a strand of pearls, which gleamed with soft luster at her throat. With her raven-black hair combed, and her clothes still carefully pressed, only a slight smudging under her eyes indicated that she had been working for hours on a case.

  Ukiah felt a smile take control of his face. He wrapped himself around her compact serenity, burying his face into the warm hollow of her neck. Throughout the long difficult case in Oregon, just her voice had acted as his wellspring of peace, soothing away troubles with unflappable reason. In this chaotic morning, it was a blessing to hold her tight.

  “Welcome home,” she breathed.

  “I’m so glad to be home safe,” Ukiah said.

  Yet, there was a tension, a flaw, to Indigo’s stillness. She hid it well as she hugged him tight, and then, responding to Kittanning’s burble in the next room, went a shade too quickly to his office, saying, “Oh, you have Kittanning here!” with a micro-tremor in her voice that no one but Ukiah would have heard.

  “What’s wrong?” Ukiah asked, following her.

  Indigo had draped a blanket over her shoulder and cradled Kittanning to her now. She glanced to Ukiah; lips pursed that melted slowly to a sad smile. “You’re learning to read me too well.”

  He put his arms around her and she nestled against him, Kittanning in the protective center. Man, woman, and child. Ukiah felt complete. This was right. This was good.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Something upset me, but I’m fine now.” She tilted her head up to be kissed. Her mouth was wonderful because it was hers. He could feel her tension, though, in the tautness of her muscles.

  “You’re still upset. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  She sighed kisses along the line of his chin. “It’s work.” She was quiet for several minutes, breathing warmth against his neck. “Four children were kidnapped from foster homes in the last two weeks. A landfill worker found one of them early this morning. She was only a year old. The worker thought she was a very realistic doll at first, naked in the garbage.”

  What did one say to someone that witnessed such an awful sight? He kissed her temple, only able to give her wordless comfort.

  “I had to break the news to her parents. The autopsy is in a few hours and I’m—I’m sitting in on it.”

  “You’ll find who did this and make them pay.”

  She turned in his arms and kissed with bruising desperation. He tried to pour comfort out to her. With a quiet whimper, she drank it in. Kittanning protested, sensing their distress. Ukiah took his son from Indigo, and put him into the car seat with a gentle command of “sleep.” Slipping a thumb into his yawning mouth, Kittannin
g slept.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Indigo whispered, reaching for the handle of the car seat.

  He hid a moment of unease. This was his second home. Before he had gone to Oregon, he had been comfortable being intimate here. He was suddenly aware of Max’s ownership of the house; to make love here felt like marking another male’s territory. Only he knew Max didn’t care, and he certainly didn’t have a place of his own, except his treehouse at his moms’ farm.

  So he locked the doors as Indigo carried Kittanning upstairs to the nursery and settled him into his crib. She met Ukiah in his bedroom, baby monitor in hand. Usually she locked his bedroom door; this time he did. She handed him her suit jacket, and as he hung it up, she stripped off her gun and shoulder holster.

  “You’ve grown some more,” she whispered as she ran hands over the hard muscles of his abdomen. Her fingernails were painted the same warm white of her necklace, each nail carefully rounded and neat, they gleamed like pearls on his dusky skin. Under her blouse was a silky camisole and white lace bra—delicate things that graced her body like pieces of jewelry. They went slow, rediscovering each other, savoring the reunion.

  “It’s ten after twelve,” he said, gazing over her shoulder at the clock beside his bed. Max had said three, but he might be back earlier.

  “Hmmm,” she said without uncoiling from his embrace. “I should start to get ready. I don’t want to go, though. It’s going to be heinous, cutting a baby up like that, and why? Mostly for evidence at the trial, where we play games at justice.”

  So he held her as she talked.

  “She had these wounds all over her. The coroner said that they looked like electrical burns, like you get from a Taser. The thought of an adult using something like that, over and over again, on a child barely able to walk, a baby they stole away just to kill—I can’t find any way to distance myself from my rage.”

  “Is it such a bad thing, to be angry?” he asked, because he could see no way to prevent such a natural thing. He had not seen the photos of the missing child, handled the abused body, spoken to the grieving parents, or faced the grim autopsy, and yet he still felt anger.

  “I don’t want to give such monsters that control over me, to make me angry, or scared, or anything. I will choose what I feel.”

  “Can’t you choose to be angry?”

  “If I let myself be angry, then when I find the people responsible and have my gun trained on them, it might be my anger that chooses to pull the trigger.” She slid out of bed. “Fighting the Ontongard has loosened a demon in me. Killing came so easy, since they were nothing more than walking dead, to shoot without feeling.”

  There was fear now in her voice, fear of herself. He got up to wrap his arms around her and kiss her bare shoulder blade. “You know the difference, and you won’t kill out of anger.”

  “How can you know, when I don’t know for sure myself?”

  “I have this long memory, now, of human nature. You’re a very strong-willed person. People like you might fear how they react, but when the time comes, they do the right thing.”

  “You trust me so much.”

  “I trust you because I know you. Even the Pack recognizes your strength.”

  “I love you,” she whispered. “And I’m going to be late if I don’t start moving.”

  “Do you really have to go to the autopsy?”

  “If I go, I’ll be there to answer questions for the coroner, and not have to wait for his report. There are three other children still missing.”

  “All the same kidnapper?” he asked.

  “We’re reasonably sure. The MO is the same.” She ticked through the points as she did a quick wash in his bathroom. “The kidnapper walks in and takes the child before anyone can react. We’re looking for at least two people working as a team, maybe more. Witnesses have verified that the kidnappers are not family members or close friends. All the children were in the foster care system and there haven’t been any ransom demands.”

  “They just take the child? No one tries to stop them?”

  “The kidnappers seem to monitor the house and strike when the caretaker is distracted; in another room on the phone, doing laundry in the basement—” She rolled her hand to indicate that the other two kidnappings followed the same pattern. “Two have been in supermarkets, where the guardian was distracted for only a second. Very well timed. Very professional. The first one was so slick that we mistook it for an opportunist crime and focused on the neighbors. It wasn’t until the second kidnapping that we realized that the kidnappings were extremely well planned.”

  “And all the children are in foster care?”

  She nodded. “We thought that since the first two mothers were in Allegheny Women’s Correctional for drug charges that connected the two kidnappings. Then they moved to a baby who had been found abandoned a few months ago. Now—now this.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, keeping in whatever emotion that wanted to slip free. When she trusted her voice again, she dropped the hand away. “We’re contacting other field offices to see if these are serial killers that moved hunting grounds.”

  “How did they find the foster children?”

  “Hmm?” She had been focused on hooking her bra.

  “It’s not like foster children come with big signs.”

  “We’re not sure.” Camisole slid on over bra, and she reached for her silk blouse, carefully hung up to prevent wrinkles. “It might be someone employed by CYS, but it could be anyone from a caseworker down to a janitor. We’ve moved many of the high-risk children to new homes, and started doing background checks on everyone that came in contact with the placing information.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help find the missing kids, I’ll be happy to do it,” Ukiah said. “Max might talk about needing to get paid, but that’s mostly trying not to set the precedent of working pro bono.”

  “Give a man a fish, feed him a day,” Indigo said. “Your mothers probably would have rather he taught you something safer.”

  “I’m good at this.”

  “Yes, you are.” She stepped into her skirt, pulled it up to her hips, and zipped it close. It was a good thing that they had just finished, or he’d be tempted to take it back off her. “Here.” She slipped a small plastic self-sealing bag out of her skirt pocket and handed it to Ukiah. “They’re using stolen cars during the kidnappings and abandoning them. This white powder was found in all four cars. The lab is working on it, but I was hoping you could tell me what it is.”

  The bag was roughly the size of his thumb. Ukiah pulled open the seal and slipped his forefinger into the gritty white material. He sniffed it and touched the coated finger to his tongue. “It’s limestone that has been reduced down to lime by baking and grinding. There’s sand in it. There’s very old animal hair mixed into this; some of it’s cow and the rest is horsehair.” As he rubbed the last of the fine residue between thumb and forefinger, he found flecks of oil-based paint. “It’s horsehair plaster. At least a hundred years old. Before they used drywall or gypsum plaster, they used horsehair plaster to do walls. The horsehair is to help hold the mix together. Any house older than seventy or eighty years old would have some or all of its walls made of this stuff.”

  “Three-quarters of Pittsburgh, then,” Indigo said with utter disgust. She shrugged into her shoulder rig, making sure that the leather straps lay smooth over her white blouse, and the holster was snug under her left armpit. “I was hoping it would be much more unusual than that.”

  “Considering the age, you might be able to show it’s all from one house.”

  From the nursery came noises of Kittanning waking up and not happy at finding himself alone.

  “Good timing.” Indigo slipped her pistol into its holster.

  Kittanning had rolled over, crawled to the edge of the crib, and was trying to pull himself to stand when they came into the nursery. Mom Lara had mentioned Kittanning starting to crawl a few days before; remembering how long Cally had taken before cr
awling, Ukiah could only guess that Kittanning had grown impatient with his lack of mobility.

  Kittanning grinned in toothless delight at the prospect of being picked up.

  “He’s probably wet,” Ukiah warned.

  “I know.” She allowed Ukiah to pick Kittanning up, hovered close, stroking Kittanning’s puppy-soft hair. “I need to go, but I’ll be back after work. I want to hear everything about your trip that you couldn’t tell me over the phone: like what the Ontongard scout ship was like, and what you remember now about growing up with the Kicking Deers.”

  While they had talked at length the entire time he was in Oregon, he’d edited what he said over the phone, just in case someone overheard. It reminded him of Hutchinson.

  “There’s a Homeland Security agent coming to the offices later today. He’s been asking questions about me and Max and the shooting at the airport,” Ukiah told her as he walked her to her car; Indigo carrying her suit jacket.

  Worry flashed across her face. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m worried someone might have linked it back to the Mars Rover.”

  “I’ve gone over all the reports by the police and the coroner’s office: they read like two biker gangs went to war over a site for a rave. It should be strictly a local FBI case.”

  “A rave?”

  “Dance parties held in abandoned buildings.” Indigo used her key fob to unlock her car. “It’s nearly textbook contamination of reports: one of the first people into the old terminal decided that the Ontongard equipment looked like the audio/video setup for a rave and influenced everyone else.”

  “Are you sure someone else didn’t doctor the reports?”

  “I’m fairly sure.” Indigo slid on her suit jacket, covering up her pistol now that they were out in public. “There’s a history of the Hell’s Angels and the Pagans fighting turf wars here in Pittsburgh. I heard more than one reference to the Hell’s Angels supplying drugs to raves that afternoon.”

  Ukiah winced as the combination of “Ontongard” and “drugs” connected in his brain with lots of sharp edges.