Virals tb-1

by Kathy Reichs

  I felt light. Powerful. The weariness of the day washed away in a flood of visceral strength.

  The boat skimmed the placid waters. An almost-full moon floated high overhead. I stared, rapt, entranced by the lunar beauty. Hearing a call I’d never heard before.

  I glanced at Hi. He was gazing skyward, as I had, eyes glowing. I understood. He felt the same pull.

  Unbidden, a name sprung to my lips.

  “Whisper,” I said, not knowing why.

  “Whisper.”

  The name hung for a moment, then dissolved in the darkness of the soft summer night.

  PART THREE:

  INCUBATION

  CHAPTER 32

  The alarm blasted for ten minutes before I stirred.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  Kit pounded on my door, a reminder that missing school two days straight wasn’t an option.

  “Up!” I lied.

  I lay motionless beneath the covers, still exhausted from the previous night’s adventure, plotting schemes to stay in bed. My joints ached. My head weighed a thousand pounds. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick.

  Thunk. Thunk.

  “Tory! Get moving!”

  Ugh.

  One foot on the carpet. Two. Sluggish, zombielike movements. My eyes refused to stay open. I plodded through my morning routine, then had to sprint to catch the shuttle.

  The boys didn’t look any better. Ben and Shelton moped, churlish, in no mood for conversation. Hi snored, occasionally slumping on Ben’s shoulder until shoved away.

  At school, time moved in slow motion. Usually I enjoy my classes, but today I wanted a fast-forward button. I needed to talk to Jason about the fingerprint.

  During biology class? No. My request was unusual, and borderline illegal. Not a topic for the group. Plus I had to do some prep work first.

  Shelton and Hi met me in the library during lunch. Ben wasn’t there when we used the microfilm reader, so he was excused.

  “We need our prints as a control,” I said.

  Snagging an ink pad, I rolled my first finger, pressed it to an index card, and jotted my initials. Shelton and Hi did the same.

  “Remind me why we’re doing this?” Shelton asked.

  “To be sure the mystery print didn’t come from one of us,” I said. “We don’t want to chase ourselves.”

  “Do you have any idea how to analyze prints?” Hi asked.

  “I read up. There are three types—looping, whorling, and arching.” Using my hand magnifier, I studied the cards. “You’re both loopers. Shelton, your ridges run from the left toward center of the fingertip, then back to the left.”

  “Mine don’t.” Hi was squinting over my shoulder at his card.

  “Yours still loop, but the ridges go in the opposite direction.”

  “Long lost brothers?” Hi asked.

  Shelton snorted.

  “Nope, just commoners,” I said. “Two-thirds of the population are loopers.”

  “I want whorls,” Hi said. “They sound cooler.”

  “Whorlers have a full circle at the center of each print.” I lifted my card. “That’s me. Less than a third of the population has that type.”

  “So the last pattern must be pretty rare,” Hi said.

  “Yep. Less than 5 percent of the population has arches. The center of that print resembles a tiny heap of stacked hills.”

  “And last night’s winner is—?” Shelton voice sounded a drum roll.

  I placed the mystery print under the lens.

  “An archer!” Hi crowed.

  “Which excludes us,” I said.

  Hi arranged the four cards side by side. “And it’s huge! Way too big for any of our fingers.”

  “A print this perfect has to be recent,” I said. “Shelton, you’re certain you replaced the reel yourself? You didn’t leave it on a cart to be re-shelved?”

  “Positive—110 percent sure.”

  “Then this print was left by our stalker.”

  I snapped a picture with my phone, then checked my watch. Twenty minutes to the end of the lunch period. Time to find Jason.

  But Jason was AWOL.

  I looked everywhere, the corridors, the lawn, the gym, the cafeteria. No dice. Though students aren’t supposed to leave campus during school hours, the guards often looked the other way. For the connected kids, anyway.

  Figuring Jason had slipped off to Poogan’s Porch for some crab cakes, I decided to grab him after last period. We had trigonometry together.

  The afternoon dragged like a death march. During trig, the sandman hit me with everything he had. Twice my face nearly smacked the desktop. I counted the seconds to the final bell.

  Ring!

  I shot from my seat as if spring-loaded.

  “Jason!” I hurried to catch him in the hall. “Wait up!”

  “Yes ma’am!” Big Jason smile. “Anything for a lady.”

  “Got a minute?”

  “Practice starts in ten. Until then, I’m yours.”

  Bolton’s lacrosse team was defending state champion, and deep in the playoffs again that season. Jason was the team’s leading scorer.

  Target acquired. Go.

  But to my horror, I couldn’t think how to phrase my request.

  Jason waited, a bemused expression on his face. Words were fluttering inside my head when Ben appeared.

  “Will he help?” Ignoring Jason.

  “I just caught him,” I replied.

  “I assume we’re talking about me?” Jason said. “You’re Ben, right?”

  “That’s right.” No smile, no return inquiry.

  Jason’s brows climbed in surprise.

  What the flip? I tried to warm the chilly atmosphere.

  “Do you two know each other?”

  No response. Jason’s eyes remained locked with Ben’s. The atmosphere grew more and more uncomfortable.

  But Charleston’s highborn sons are bred to gentility. Jason’s upbringing kicked in. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, not meaning a word.

  Niceties completed, Jason retuned his attention to me. Ben no longer existed.

  “I have a problem,” I said quickly. “I was hoping your dad could help.”

  Following his graduation from the Citadel, to the Taylor family’s dismay, Jason’s father had turned his back on tradition and joined the Charleston PD. After years as a beat cop, he’d risen to detective, eventually being assigned to homicide. He now headed up the violent crimes unit.

  “My dad?” Jason’s voice registered surprised. “Did you shoot someone?”

  “Nothing like that.” I launched into my fake story. “My laptop was stolen. My fault, I’m a dope. I left it on the front steps while I ran around back to grab the mail. When I returned, gone-zo.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “No, but the thief left a clue.” I whipped out the microfilm fingerprint. “I pulled this from a soda can. It was lying where my Mac had been.”

  This was sounding so lame. I forged ahead.

  “I was wondering if your dad could run it?”

  “You lifted this yourself? Seriously?” Jason looked amused. “Who are you, Jack Bauer?”

  I shrugged. “Family talent.”

  “Most people just learn to fish or something.” He thought a second. “Did you file a police report?”

  “Here’s the thing.” This part was tricky. “I was hoping to check the print first. The thief must be a neighbor.”

  “Awkward.”

  “Yeah. I’d prefer to get my computer back without having anyone arrested. We’re pretty tight out on Morris.”

  “That’s a tough one.” Jason frowned. “My father could submit a request, but the form requires a case number. Even legit, it’d take weeks.”

  “For side jobs?” I asked.

  Jason shook his head. “The lab guys only do favors in emergencies, and they expect something in return. I don’t think I can help.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. Jason cut him a look I couldn’t
interpret.

  Did I miss something with these two?

  “Thanks anyway,” I said. “I guess I’ll just—”

  “Wait!” Jason snapped his fingers. “I know who can help.” Before I could react he bellowed down the hall. “Chance! Come here a sec!”

  My blood pressure spiked.

  “No, no,” I sputtered. “Don’t bother Chance. It’s no big deal!”

  “Relax,” Jason said. “He’s the man for the job.”

  Chance joined us, Hannah perched on his arm like an exotic bird.

  “Harassing Tory again?” After shooting me a wink, Chance turned to Ben. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “That’s Ben,” Jason said. “He’s the best. Bit of a talker, though.”

  Ben glowered.

  I jumped in to defuse. “This is my good friend Ben Blue.”

  “Chance,” Jason interrupted. “We need someone with pull. That would be you.”

  As Jason described the fictional robbery, Chance seemed, what? Bored?

  “That’s terrible.” Chance picked nonexistent lint from his jacket sleeve. “I hope they catch the guy.”

  Jason nudged me. “Show him.”

  Reluctantly, I displayed the fingerprint card, hoping the scene wasn’t as weird as it felt.

  “I suppose I could have someone at the SLED take a look,” Chance muttered. “I golf with the director’s son. I think my father sponsored their club membership.”

  Chance referred to the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division, the state’s version of the FBI.

  “But is this really worth the fuss?” He could have appeared less enthused, but only on heavy medication.

  “Chance!” Hannah admonished, sounding all magnolias and juleps. “If you can help Tory, you must. It wouldn’t be a big deal, would it?”

  “Of course not. A friend of Jason’s is a friend of mine.” Chance snapped off his patented wink. I was sure he practiced it every morning while knotting his tie. “But let’s not tell my father about this, shall we?”

  “My lips are sealed.” I couldn’t believe it. “Thank you so much!”

  “No problem,” Chance said. “And don’t seal those pretty little lips. Hopefully we’ll hear more from you, now that we’re co-conspirators in a secret plot.” He cast mock-suspicious glances over both shoulders.

  I stared, completely thrown.

  Hannah giggled.

  “Ignore him.” She gave Chance a girly knuckle-punch. “He’s a hopeless flirt.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Chance chuckled, then spoke to Jason “Headed to practice?”

  Jason nodded, turned to me. “Later, Tor.”

  “Later.”

  “Ben.” An insincere afterthought. Jason and Chance ambled out the front doors.

  Ben fumed.

  “Silver-spoon jock morons,” he muttered when the trio was out of earshot.

  I held my tongue. I’d learned not to argue when Ben was in one of his funks.

  But Chance stayed on my mind.

  His eyes. Had they lingered on me? And the winks. Were they just for show? How many winks before they start to mean something?

  Enough. Daydreaming about the most popular guy in school? How pathetic.

  “Come on, tough guy,” I teased Ben. “Let’s find that mythical stolen computer.”

  Ben’s frown remained fixed. “Whatever.”

  Okay then.

  The ride home was a blast.

  CHAPTER 33

  The next morning I woke up smiling.

  Friday. Always good. And summer vacation was just two weeks off. Soon I would finally shed the freshman label.

  But my grin had little to do with the calendar.

  Last night I’d witnessed a marvel: Coop, scampering about, tail wagging. Happy. After ten minutes of bouncing off the walls, he’d cleaned his bowl and nudged me for more.

  A strong appetite meant the dog was recovering. Coop’s immune system had beaten the virus. Elated, I’d fed him seconds then thirds.

  But not everything was rosy on the fitness front. Unlike Coop, I felt weak and listless. Worried about the flu, I popped a Zicam doused with echinacea. Preemptive strike.

  That wasn’t my only concern.

  Karsten had summoned the four of us for an “interview” with Loggerhead security. The potential blowback was too appalling to contemplate.

  School that morning was business as usual. We had a lecture in bio, so I didn’t meet with Jason or Hannah. Good thing. I hadn’t run my DNA comparisons. Note to self: finish before meeting on Sunday.

  At lunch the gang assembled by the dock as ordered. Mr. Blue hurried us aboard, then pushed off for Loggerhead. We gathered by the rail, too anxious to sit.

  All morning I’d avoided thoughts of the upcoming interrogation. But now I started to get the jitters.

  Hi had very strong feelings on the matter.

  “Does everyone understand that we can’t screw this up? Our stories have to match. Exactly. To the letter.”

  “I got it.” Shelton rolled his eyes. “We found a dog tag. Went to the library. Learned about Heaton. Tory noticed some weird stuff about the ground, so we dug up what turned out to be monkey bones. Easy.”

  “Then we ‘got scared’ like idiots.” Even Ben’s air quotes were sarcastic. “And we ‘imagined’ gunshots and human skulls.”

  To avoid taking heat, we’d decided on a strategy of playing dumb. No one would believe what had really happened, so telling the truth was useless. Au contraire. Full disclosure would create more suspicion.

  I nodded my agreement.

  Hi smacked his forehead in frustration. “No, no, no!”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “That’s all we can say.”

  “Details!” Hi barked. “To make a lie believable you need specifics. The more vague you are, the less credible you sound.”

  We all looked at him.

  Hi sighed. So patient.

  “First, we need an alibi for Saturday. On top of that, we have to convince Karsten we made an honest mistake at the gravesite.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Shelton said. “The man’s not psychic.”

  “Really?” Hi locked his hands behind his back, pivoted, and loomed over Shelton. “You!” Thundered like a drill sergeant. “Where is the dog tag you found?”

  “What?” Shelton yipped. “We . . . lost it.”

  “Where?”

  “In the woods. After we ran.”

  “Where in the woods? Ran from what?”

  “Oh, uh . . . Tory dropped the tag when we ran from . . . whatever.”

  “From whatever?” Hi hammered. “Did you see men with guns or not?”

  “Um, no, I guess not.”

  “You guess?”

  “It was dark.” Shelton struggled. “I realize now that nobody was there.”

  “Then what did you hear?”

  “Uh, er . . . pops. Like sticks breaking?” Shelton’s responses were growing increasingly feeble.

  “How many? From which direction?”

  “Lots. Like, from everywhere.”

  Hi’s eyebrows shot up. “You heard ‘lots’ of ‘pops like sticks’ coming from everywhere? That’s your story?”

  “Wait, no, not everywhere. From the . . . left?”

  Hi honed in like a Patriot missile. “How many men chased you?”

  “Three dudes.” Shelton replied without thinking.

  Hi pounced. “But I thought you imagined the shooters?”

  “Oh, no, I mean, I thought I saw men, but actually . . .” Sweat dampened Shelton’s hairline. “Okay! Enough!”

  “You!” Hi pointed at Ben. “What’d you find in the pit?”

  “Bones,” Ben answered.

  “How many? Which ones?”

  Ben opened his mouth, closed it.

  “The bullet hole,” Hi said. “Which bone?”

  “Skull.”

  Hi leaned into Ben’s face. “But the monkey skull had no bullet hole!”

  “
Right . . . I thought the skull had a hole but I was wrong.”

  “You thought? You can’t tell if there’s a hole in something?”

  Ben paused. “Yell in my face again, buddy boy, and I’ll put a hole in your skull.”

  Ignoring him, Hi turned on me.

  “Where were you at nine o’clock Saturday morning?”

  “What?” I hadn’t thought about Saturday. “I was at home. Sleeping.”

  “Your father can verify that? He was home too, right?”

  Oops.

  “No, I forgot, I was at the bunk—”

  Can’t say that either.

  “With Ben in his boat,” I finished lamely.

  “Alone?”

  Crap. What the others would say?

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe!?!” Hi threw his hands skyward.

  “We’re screwed,” Shelton muttered.

  “Okay, Hi,” I said. “I’m convinced. Lay it out.”

  “Details are key.” Hi gestured for us to gather close. “We lock in the critical ones. Then, if Karsten asks something outside the box, either you don’t know, or you make up something the others don’t have to corroborate.”

  He pointed at Shelton. “No one saw anybody in the woods. No lights, no voices, none of that.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Let’s say we heard exactly two bangs,” Hi said. “Like a whip cracking. Got it? ‘Whip cracks.’”

  “Got it,” Shelton said. “Could have been a monkey in the trees. Maybe a branch breaking, who knows?”

  “Right! But let them draw conclusions. We just act stupid. And the whip cracks came from ‘the other side of clearing.’ Nothing more specific than that. Okay?”

  Everyone switched to memorization mode. Luckily, we were good at this kind of thing.

  “And Tory lost the tag, so she can handle that however she wants. The rest of us say what?”

  “I don’t know.” Shelton and Ben, together.

  “Bingo.” Hi checked his watch. “We’ve got about thirty minutes. You guys are lucky I did some research.”

  For the rest of the crossing we huddled, tweaking the alibi.

  Please don’t let me foul this up!

  CHAPTER 34

  “Mr. Stolowitski.” Karsten glanced at a clipboard. “You first.”