Shift (tory brennan)

by Kathy Reichs

  The room was a large square, with three vehicle bays stationed against the far wall, each housing a pair of four-wheel ATVs. Between the bays, large windows looked in on several small offices accessed by a door in the corner.

  Heavy equipment lined the left-hand wall, along with metal shelves and three bulky storage bins. The right-hand wall held a row of workstations, each with a tool chest, stool, and large table. A second door led to the other section of the building.

  I recognized a few items. Others left me baffled.

  LIRI is remote and needs full-service maintenance capability. Short of actually making spare parts, this facility could handle just about any breakdown.

  “Check this bad boy out!” Hi was admiring one of the four-wheelers. “Vroom vroom! What I wouldn’t give to take this puppy for a spin.”

  “Break your fool neck.” Shelton rapped an odd metal grillwork welded to its rear. “What’s this thing? Looks like a giant bicycle basket.”

  “It is.” Tory said. “These ATVs are used to stock the monkey feeders scattered across the island. The feed bags are too heavy to carry, especially if you’re heading to the swamp, or up to Tern Point.”

  “Nonsense.” Hi slipped into the driver’s seat. “These are terrorist first-response vehicles. We keep them to repel pirate attacks. Or to fight the monkeys, when they finally evolve and try to take our planet.”

  “Doofus.” I barked a laugh.

  Tory suddenly stiffened. “I smell it!”

  Three heads swung her way.

  “My bad.” Hi’s face flushed scarlet. “It’s a big room, and I didn’t think anyone would notice if—”

  “No.” Tory waved off the comment. “And, ew, by the way.”

  Tory stuck her nose to the grillwork. Inhaled. “Here! Same scent as on the wood chip.” Her eyes widened as something clicked. “It’s the monkey chow! Wheat. Soybean. Raisins. Why didn’t I put it together before?”

  Shelton raised the roof. “Which means we’re on the money!”

  Tory’s eyes cut to me. “Does the other depot service feeder ATVs?”

  I knew the answer. “Nope. It houses two more four-wheelers, but they’re lighter models used mostly for vet emergencies.”

  I slapped the vehicle beside me. “These babies do all the feeder runs.”

  “So where do they store the grub?” Hi hopped down. “That’s the question, right?”

  You know that, too, Benny boy.

  I pointed to the hulking bins in the left corner. “Right. There.”

  We raced over. Three minivan-sized storage containers were lined up in a row. Each had a single yard-square metal door, set five feet off the ground. A pair of steel steps had been welded to the base of each bin for easier access.

  “They’re big enough,” Shelton said. “You could hide a horse inside one of these.”

  Hi flourished a hand toward the grimy bins. “A trio of boxes, but only one prize.” He wrapped an arm around Tory’s shoulder, pretending to hold a microphone in his other hand. “Young lady, you’re our next contestant!”

  I felt a pang of jealously, but stomped it to death.

  Dumb. Dumb dumb dumb.

  Tory played along, wide-eyed and enthusiastic. “What can I win? A new Prius?”

  Hi arched a single brow. “Choose correctly, and you’ll receive the undying respect and admiration of your peers! Plus a Twinkie.”

  Then his yellow eyes narrowed, his tone dropping to an ominous growl. “Choose wrong, and we’ll lock you inside the bin, then feed you to the monkeys.”

  “Sounds wonderful!” Tory stepped forward and inspected her options. Then she pointed to the filthiest of three. “This one.”

  “May I ask why?” Hi extended his fake mike.

  Her reply was non-nonsense. “Because it’s the only one locked.”

  She climbed the steps and lifted a glossy black padlock securing the bin’s door.

  “Oh man.” Shelton kicked the base of the container, then winced and grabbed his foot. “Ouch! That was stupid. Don’t anybody else do that.”

  “Check the other two first?” I suggested.

  “Obviously.” Hi stepped up, swung a bin door, and peered inside. “Filled to the brim with monkey feed. And I’m not gonna lie, this stuff looks mighty tasty. Like a giant box of trail mix. When are we eating lunch, anyway?”

  “I hope the gear isn’t buried in there,” Shelton said. “Could get messy.”

  “Not a good place for storing laptops.” Hi hopped back down to the floor. “Might void the warranty.”

  I opened the next bin with an echoing clang.

  “Nothing.” Sticking my head inside. “Empty.”

  Hi reached up and grabbed Tory’s hand. “Looking good for that Twinkie!”

  Another jealous twinge. Ruthlessly extinguished.

  What’s wrong with me lately?

  “Door number three.” Tory tapped the lock. “Shelton. Work your magic, please.”

  “At least I got a ‘please’ this time.”

  They switched places. But Shelton had barely lifted a finger before stepping back and shaking his head. “Sorry, folks. No can do. This is a Granit closed-shackle padlock, not some BS school-locker model. High security design, too. This sucker uses an ABUS Plus disc cylinder with two hundred and fifty thousand key variations. It can be picked, but I need different tools. I only carry the basics on my key chain.”

  Tory chewed her lower lip. I could practically see her mind racing.

  I stepped up to examine the locked bin. It was old and battered, its color morphed from pewter to a dingy reddish brown.

  My flaring eyes traced the rusty metal door. Noted the decaying hinges.

  “Okay.” Tory spoke aloud as she worked through ideas. “We need some kind of cutters. The padlock looks solid, but maybe if—”

  “Relax.”

  Planting my feet against the side of the bin, I gripped the door handle with both hands and jerked backward.

  Nothing. The metal held.

  Digging deeper, I closed my eyes. Tugged again.

  The steel whined, but refused to give.

  “So it’s like that.” I slid my feet up until I was practically hanging sideways.

  “Take it easy, slugger.” Hi drew a hand across his neck. “Know when to say when.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  Deep breath.

  A growl escaped my lips as I wrenched with every ounce of strength in my body, willing the door to move.

  Creeeeeeak.

  CRACK!

  I flew backward, skidded across the concrete floor, and crashed into Hi’s legs.

  Hi went down like a bowling pin, knocking over a bucket beside the closest ATV. Something brown and sticky oozed onto his checkerboard shoes.

  “I’m cursed!” he moaned. “These are limited-edition Vans.”

  SNUP.

  My flare vanished.

  Losing the power was always a drag. Normal human senses seemed almost a punishment. Like some part of me died. I hated the feeling.

  It took a moment to realize I still gripped the bin door in my hands.

  Flipping it aside, I tried to clear the cobwebs.

  “Whoa!” Shelton offered me a hand, golden light fading from his eyes. “Nice job, Hulkster.”

  I shrugged, still woozy. “Simplest solution.”

  A glance at Tory. She was beaming at me with normal emerald-green irises.

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Help me up, Devers. I nearly broke my neck.”

  “What is this gunk?” Hi was wiping his shoes with a dirty rag. “Not cool.”

  His flare was gone, too. Why do they go out as one?

  “Hey, guys?” Shelton slipped on his prescription specs and pointed to the now-open bin. “Moment of truth.”

  “Wait!” Hi scrambled to his feet, oily sneakers squeaking on the concrete. “This is my game show!”

  Hi charged up the steps. His upper body disappeared inside the container. I heard rustl
ing noises, then he reappeared with a MacBook in one hand and modem in the other. “Anyone wanna play some Halo?”

  “Oh, snap!” Shelton started dancing Gangnam style. “Somebody get that girl a Twinkie! Hell, give her a whole box!”

  We ran to Hi, who started handing down hardware. Laptop. Server. Microscope. Centrifuge. The dollar value rapidly climbed into the tens of thousands.

  We formed a chain, stacking the stolen equipment on the concrete floor.

  As the pile grew, I couldn’t help smiling like an idiot.

  We’d actually foiled the robbery. Amazing.

  So why the look of annoyance on Tory’s face?

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She waved at the expanding pile of gear. “We still don’t know who took it.”

  “Hey, we did the hard part.” Hi handed a router to Ben and climbed down. “That’s the last of it. Let the cops figure out who’s guilty. What we need to focus on is this footwear disaster. Somebody owes me a new pair of kicks.”

  He stamped his feet, trying shed liquid from his dirty soles.

  “Whoever did this is no genius.” Shelton adjusted his glasses. “What was the plan here? Keep the gear in this bin, forever? Sneak it out one piece at a time? Child, please. Once security is back online, there’s zero chance of getting this stuff through the gates, much less off the island.”

  True. As heists go, I thought this was a particularly dumb one.

  But, as usual, Tory had a better take. “No. It would’ve worked.”

  We all stopped to listen.

  “It’s clever, actually.” Tory rapped the storage bin with her knuckles. “This was probably just for the night.”

  Shelton crossed his arms. “How can you know that?”

  “Think about it. The crook planned this break-in for a night security was down. But the gates are always monitored, even then, and the last regular shuttle leaves at eight. So he stashed the equipment here, knowing he couldn’t possibly get it off the island aboard Hugo.”

  “Very true,” I said. “My father’s no dope. He’d prevent anyone from transporting a horde of high-tech equipment off Loggerhead.”

  Tory began to pace. A good sign.

  “Even with no cameras, it’s practically impossible to get something bulky past LIRI’s fence unnoticed.” She pointed to the closest ATV. “But these go out every Monday morning, to restock the feeders. And they always carry a massive load.”

  Suddenly, the answer jumped out at me.

  Of course.

  “So the thief dumps the stuff in here until morning,” I said slowly, marveling at the plan’s elegant simplicity, “then wraps everything in feed bags, loads an ATV, and drives it all right through the gate.”

  “Wow.” Shelton’s eyes rounded. “Hiding in plain sight.”

  Hi nodded appreciatively. “And once outside the fence, our devious felon could stash the gear anywhere. Pick it up later by boat. Just like a pirate, really.”

  “By this time tomorrow,” Tory finished, “the whole thing would’ve been over.”

  “Hold up.” Shelton’s palms rose. “If the crook couldn’t get the hardware out, then how’d he get out?” Eyes widening, he dropped into a battle-crouch. “Is the thief still in here, too!?”

  Tory shook her head. “With security down, a motivated criminal could slip over the perimeter fence easy enough. It’s not razor-wired or anything, to protect the monkeys from injury. I bet the jerk either secretly stayed behind after the last ferry, then went to work and climbed out, or came back by private boat after midnight, scaling the fence twice.”

  I kept my face blank, but inside, I marveled. Tory puts things together so fast!

  “Real talk,” Hi said, “we’re the only reason the scheme didn’t work. No chance Chief Tight Pants or those cops figure it out fast enough. I’d say we rock pretty freaking hard.”

  “But we still don’t know who!” Tory threw both hands above her head.

  “True, but we’ve narrowed the pool of suspects.” Hi began ticking points on his fingers. “LIRI employee. Has access to the depot. Makes feeder runs. Probably works on Monday. That can’t be more than a half-dozen people. Have Kit check the time sheets. Easy.”

  I ignored Hiram. Watched Tory instead.

  And knew she’d rather explode than hand off this investigation.

  That’s when I got my idea.

  Chapter 8

  “What about the tool, Tory?”

  “Huh?” Ben’s question snapped me from a funk.

  We’re going to solve this. We ARE.

  I couldn’t imagine quitting. What kind of detective leaves a job half done?

  “The cabinets in Lab Three.” Ben spoke slowly, but with uncharacteristic eagerness. “They were pried open, remember?”

  He pointed to the row of workstations against the opposite wall. “Wouldn’t the criminal use something he could trust?”

  Of course.

  I felt a jolt of excitement. “Something he worked with every day!”

  “Brilliant deduction, my Native American friend!” Hi nodded sagely. “No, really, I’m being serious. Good thinking, Blue.”

  “Makes sense,” Shelton agreed. “If I’m about to risk a felony, I’d use a tool I was familiar with. One I could count on.”

  “You’re a genius.” I reached out and squeezed Ben’s shoulder.

  He stiffened. Then reddened.

  I snatched my hand back. Touchy.

  Hi was already crossing the garage. “Let’s check for anything strong enough to force a cabinet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “The doors were made of pressed wood that splintered,” I reminded everyone. “There might be shavings stuck to the implement. Or maybe broken glass. Even dust could be significant. Go slowly, and be careful.”

  Six workstations lined the wall. Each had a massive, freestanding toolbox labeled by name in black marker on dirty masking tape.

  Hi took the first station and began opening and closing drawers. “Hello, Lionel Alonso. Are you a dirty, stinking thief?”

  “Simon Rome.” Ben began rifling the second workstation. “Let’s check you out.”

  Shelton looked a question at me.

  “You take… Kenny Hall.” I gestured to the next station in line. “I’ll check out… Frank Glasnapp.”

  I searched the tool chest systematically, inspecting the top drawers first, even though they seemed too small. My hypothesis was correct. Screws. Hinges. Bolts. Nails. Nothing suitable for B and E.

  I switched to the lower section. These drawers were wider and deeper, and held more promising items. Hammers. Screwdrivers. A socket wrench set.

  But my careful inspection came up empty.

  If Glasnapp was our guy, he didn’t keep his instrument of choice in here.

  The boys also struck out. We double-checked an ax Ben discovered, and two crowbars owned by Mr. Hall. None showed signs of recent use.

  “Though we can’t be a hundred percent sure,” I grumbled. “If the crook wiped the tool down, we’d never know.”

  “Two more to go,” Shelton said. “Double up?”

  Hi nodded. “Shelton and I will take… John Johnson? Hey, great name, guy.”

  I moved to the last workstation. “Ben and I will check this one. Trey Terry.”

  Terry’s tool chest had larger compartments than the first I’d checked. We found a pair of hedge clippers, a rotating circular saw, a portable air compressor, and a collection of hatchets.

  “This guy must work in the woods,” Ben guessed. “These things are probably used to clear brush from around the feeders.”

  “But everything’s clean,” I muttered. “No shavings, no embedded plastic, nada.”

  “We got nothing, too.” Shelton closed the last of Johnson’s drawers. “Weak sauce.”

  “So we struck out on this one.” Ben casually spun a hatchet in one hand. “But we found the loot, and Kit can follow Hi’s plan to ID the crook. Still a win in my book.”

 
; Ben attempted a second twirl, but missed the catch. The hatchet crashed to the floor.

  “Easy, circus freak!” Hi hopped backward. “I like my toes where they are.”

  “Sorry.” Ben chuckled. “In my defense, the handle is slick.”

  Two neurons fired in my brain. Synapse.

  “The handle,” I murmured. Then, “The handle!”

  Ben reached for the hatchet, but Shelton scooped it first. “Not a chance, you. No more blade juggling on my watch.”

  My hand shot out. “Gimme that.” I knew my voice sounded odd.

  “Okeydokey.” Shelton passed it over with a quizzical look.

  “Don’t you get all choppy-stabby on us, Tor,” Hi warned. “That’s no way to deal with frustration.”

  “If I do, you’re getting hacked first.” But I focused on the object in my hands.

  I flipped the hatchet upside down and held it by the blade. The handle was made of wood, stained dark brown. Its surface scratched and pitted by a lifetime of hard use.

  And there was a lovely little chip at the base of the handle.

  I felt a charge of adrenaline.

  I snatched the splinter from my pocket and pressed it into the gap on the handle. All three boys straightened.

  But my hopes were immediately dashed.

  The splinter didn’t match. Not in size, color, or grain.

  Ben dove for the tool chest. “There are five more of those in here.”

  He grabbed two of the hatchets and handed them to Shelton and Hi.

  “Not this one,” Hi said. “No gash on the handle.”

  “Same story here,” Shelton said.

  Three more came out in quick succession.

  There.

  I seized the last implement from Ben’s fingers. This one was larger, more a small ax than a true hatchet. Its handle was a foot long, worn, and stained dark brown.

  With a one-inch, triangular notch at the bottom of the haft.

  Heart pounding, I inspected the notch closely. The damage seemed fresh, with pale yellow wood still visible in the center of the breach. Inhaling deeply, I detected the faintest whiff of monkey chow.

  My hands trembled with excitement.

  Willing myself calm, I placed the splinter from Lab Three into the fissure.

  Perfect fit.