Matt checked with the State Police and the Illinois EPA. No highway accidents or train derailments over the past few days involved any emissions. Nor had any industrial or agricultural accidents been reported in the area. He taped a shot of Simon next to the photo of Romano above his desk.
***
“The problem is there’s a limit to what the ME can do,” he said at the Task Force briefing that afternoon. “They get fifteen to twenty bodies a day. They’re not in a position to work with us long-term. They want to get rid of ‘em.”
“So where do we turn?” Carrie Nelson asked.
“The crime lab’s promised a full workup but they need to know what to test for,” Matt said.
“They can’t do it themselves?”
Matt shook his head. “It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. They want us to narrow it down.” He turned to Doyle. “I’d like to call the FBI. Also the military.”
“Why in hell do you want to do that?” Doyle said.
“Maybe they were testing some kind of nerve gas in the area.”
Doyle sucked on his pipe.
“I know it’s a long shot, but we’ve got to cover all the possibilities. And the Bureau might be able to steer us in a new direction.”
Doyle was silent for so long Matt thought he hadn’t heard him. Finally, he took the pipe out of his mouth. “I don’t think so.” He scanned the Detectives’ faces. “Let’s everybody slow down, okay? We’re dealing with two average citizens here. The
ME can’t even confirm homicides. Yes, we have a suspicious situation, which is why we’re here, but nerve gas? Secret military activities? “He flipped up his palms. “Get real.”
“But sir, we need—”
“I’ll tell you what we need,” Doyle said. “We need to be careful. We don’t need to broadcast the fact we need help.”
“But the Bureau’s resources are beyond anything we have.”
“Singer, the links between your vics are weak at best. Yes, they both died because of some unknown pathogen, and yes, they were both moved to an RDM facility. But the cause of death for each is different, and we got nothing to suggest the two of them knew each other or shared anything in common. You call in the Bureau, they’ll take over and show us up as incompetent rubes. Just hold off.”
Matt stiffened. First Doyle wanted him to finish fast; now he wanted him to slow down. His jaw clenched. The most he was able to get out of him was permission to research undetectable poisons. But with hundreds of thousands of possibilities, he didn’t hold out much hope. Matt had to face the fact that there could be two motives, two poisons, two murderers.
Chapter Twenty
“Detective Stone, this is Ricki Feldman.”
Stone automatically checked his watch Thursday morning. Barely seven thirty. Lucky he was pulling the early shift. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”
“I’m at the site. Could you come over here now?”
He heard the distress in her voice. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
The morning had dawned with the sun a golden smudge amid swirls of pearl colored clouds, but now the sky was leaden, and a chilly wind scraped leaves across the sidewalk. He pulled up to the site in less than two minutes. The RV was now surrounded by cranes, backhoes, earthmovers, and on the edge of the field next to Waukegan Road, an industrial-sized dumpster. What was this, he wondered? The village hadn’t approved construction yet.
Ricki met him at his car. “Detective Stone.” Dressed in a Burberry trench coat and dark glasses, she didn’t look like the cocky kid in a baseball hat, or the powerful executive from the hearings. Her face was drawn, and she looked scared.
He waved a hand toward the heavy equipment. “I’m confused. Did you get the go-ahead to start construction?”
“Not yet. But we volunteered to clear the land. It needs to be leveled, regardless of what happens.”
Stone zipped his jacket. Clearing the land would earn brownie points when it was time to vote on construction. “How philanthropic.”
She shot him a look, then turned around. “Follow me.”
As they approached the RV, Ricki pointed to the door. Something lay on the top step, blocking the entrance. Stone moved closer. It was a dog with black and brown fur. Mostly Lab, he thought. Not more than eight or ten months. A puppy. Glancing around, he spied a stick on the ground a few feet away. He picked it up and gently prodded the animal. No movement. It was dead.
He took in a breath. “When did you find him?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
Stone peered at the creature. He didn’t see any collar or tags.
She nodded, her face showing uncertainty, perhaps, even fear. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Bending down, he felt around the dog’s belly. It seemed bloated. He picked up the dog’s legs. Stiff, but not broken. Lifting its head, he checked for wounds or cuts around its face. He didn’t see any, and there was no blood. He did notice specks of green and brown around the mouth, however, and thrust his face closer to sniff. Vomit. He checked the other end of the dog and saw bits of excrement matted in its tail.
“What do you think?” Ricki asked.
He straightened up. “I’m no animal expert. Rat poison maybe?”
“That’s it?”
“Like I said, I don’t know.” He looked around. Bits of metal glittered in the dirt. A few rusted barrels lay at the edge of the field. “Maybe it ate a metal can, something like that.”
“But—I mean—knowing the situation, do you think this could be related?”
The wind gusted, and three or four leaves danced in its current. Stone thought back to the dog shit. “Not necessarily. It isn’t that uncommon.”
“Are you saying a dead dog on a construction site is a normal everyday event?”
“A stray that accidentally dies while foraging for food? It happens.”
“But—”
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I have to go with the most logical explanation.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He stripped off his gloves and pulled out his cell. “Get someone to pick up the dog.”
“That’s all?”
“Ms. Feldman, is something else going on?”
“I—I think I’m being watched.” She fingered a button on her coat. “I’m not sure. When I’m driving, I keep thinking someone’s following me, but when I check the rear view mirror, no one’s there. Then a few nights ago, I heard someone going through our garbage. I sent Walter out to check—he’s our houseman, but no one was there.”
“I thought you lived downtown.”
“I’ve been staying up in Lake Forest with my father. More convenient with this.” She waved a hand.
“Did you report it to the Lake Forest police?”
She shook her head. “Walter said it was probably raccoons. But now…” Her voice trailed off.
Stone started to pace. “Call the police when you get back to your father’s.”
“But I want you to handle it.”
“It’s not my jurisdiction.”
She folded her arms. “Surely, you can make an exception. You know us.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Are you saying I’ll have to go over your head?”
Stone tugged on his ear. There were always people who assumed the rules didn’t apply to them. “What does your father say?”
“I haven’t told him. He doesn’t need the stress.”
Feldman must be sicker than he thought. “I can’t tell you what to do, Ms. Feldman, but the odds are it’s just a prank.”
She took off her sunglasses, her gaze processing him as if calculating whether he was a friend or foe. “You call this—this harassment a prank? Come on, Detective. We both know this CEASE group is responsible. I want them stopped.”
Stone considered it. Chances were some kid was crying his eyes out because his puppy had run away. But the daughter of Stuart Feldman expected him to l
aunch an investigation. He was about to say something sarcastic when a sudden image of Deanna came over him. What if she’d found a dead animal on her doorstep? What would he do?
He took a breath then went back to his car. He came back with his Polaroid and shot a few pictures of the dog. “I’ll have it taken over to a vet.”
As he waited for a squad car to pick up the dog, workmen in plaid shirts, jeans, and work boots started to arrive. A knot of them gathered near the RV, shooting curious looks at the dog and Stone. A moment later the clamor and whine of motors and machinery cut through the air.
“This has never happened to me before, Detective. I don’t like it. I’m wondering whether I should get some protection for my father and me.”
“By all means. If it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“Would you?”
For a dead dog? Stone bit back a reply. “It’s your decision.”
“Tell me something, where would I find such a person?”
“A private security service is a good start.”
“Don’t police officers sometimes moonlight as bodyguards?”
“Some do.”
“What about your friend— what was his name?” Her fingernail traced a line down her neck, leaving a faint chalky track on her skin. “Matt Singer?”
Stone felt his eyes narrow. “He’s pretty busy these days.”
“Of course. It was just a thought.”
***
The combination of scents at the North Shore Animal Hospital—zoo overlaid with perfume—was just this side of tolerable, Stone thought an hour later. A woman with a giant poodle brushed by him. Both dog and woman had curly grey hair. The poodle paused to sniff Stone’s pants. Stone was about to pet the animal when a door on the other side of the room opened. A man clutching a wire carrying case emerged, followed by an attractive blonde with a sunny smile. Somewhere in her thirties, she wore a white lab coat with animal shapes painted on.
“They should be fine,” she said to the man. “Give them this twice a day. Don’t worry. They’ll love the taste.” She handed him a metallic tube.
The man bent his head and peered inside the mesh covering of the cage. “You hear that girls? Dr. Fox says everything is going to be okie-dokie, you sweet things.” A high-pitched yowl that sounded more like a miserable baby than a cat was the response. “Thank you so much, doctor. What would my babies do without you?” The man made his way out, crooning to his cats.
Stone stood. “Did I hear right? Dr. Fox?”
The woman held up a warning hand. “Don’t. I’ve heard them all.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners.
Stone smiled back. “Detective John Stone, Northview police.”
She slowly gave him the once-over. He could tell she liked what she saw. Until she got to his left hand. His wedding band glittered in the light.
“Story of my life.” She sighed. “Oh well, it’s not the first time.” She looked up. “You’re here about the puppy.”
He nodded. She looked around. Two children had come in with their mother and a Border Collie. All four were eyeing the vet suspiciously.
“Come with me.” She led him into a small examining room. A waist high table covered with the same upholstered material as the waiting room jutted out from a counter cluttered with tubes, bottles, and cotton balls. She closed the door and leaned over the table. Her lab coat was open, revealing a low cut blue sweater. Stone appreciated the view.
“We did a necropsy during lunch,” she said. “Poor little buddy. He didn’t have a chance.”
“A necropsy?”
“That’s what we call an autopsy.”
“Thanks. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
“You must have your reasons.” She shrugged. “Looks like it was parvovirus.” She explained it was a common infection, which produces the same symptoms she’d seen in the puppy.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m not a forensic vet, but I looked pretty closely at the ingesta. If a dog eats rat poison, you get a distinctive green color in the stomach. Hard to miss. I also looked for coins or other metal, which can trigger vomiting and bloody diarrhea. There was nothing there.” She straightened. “But he did have pale gums, sunken eyes, and some fluid draining out of the eyes. And he was stiff, poor guy.”
“Rigor.”
“Right. He’d been dead at least eight to twelve hours. I took some samples for a biopsy and toxicological screens. If you want, I’ll send them in and let you know what comes back.”
“That would be terrific. What will they test for?”
“The normal things we see in dogs. But, as I said, I’m comfortable with the diagnosis. All puppies are supposed to be vaccinated for parvo, but if he was a stray, there’s a good chance he wasn’t. They get it from other infected animals. And dogs under six months are most susceptible.” She moved to the door.
Stone fell in behind her. “Thanks, Dr. Fox. I’ll see that you’re compensated for your time and work.”
She turned to face him. “It’s Sharon,” she said, eyeing his ring. “And, well—if your situation ever changes…”
“The wedding was four days ago.”
She laughed. “Lousy timing.”
He headed back to the station feeling a bounce in his step. Back in the office, he called Cecil Vaughan, ASAC for the Chicago’s FBI office. Stone knew him from a prior case.
Vaughan picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Stone. Long time and all that. What’s up?”
“Do you guys have anything on Stuart Feldman? Anybody causing him any trouble?”
“Feldman, the developer? Why?”
Stone explained.
“Getting dogged everywhere he turns, is he?” He chuckled.
Stone groaned.
“Tell you what. I’ll check our white collar squads.”
“Thanks.”
There was a momentary pause. Then, “I hear your former partner’s having a rough time.”
“Singer? He’s got a mess on his hands. Why? You guys interested?”
“Possibly. What do you hear?”
Vaughan’s indifference was a tip-off; the agent was holding out. Then again, the Feebs wanted you to think that even if they weren’t.
“You’re in a better position than me.”
The agent laughed. “You’re probably right. Hey. I’ll have someone get back to you on Feldman. Adios, amigo.”
Stone hung up and pulled out the list he’d made the night of the hearings. Gerald Krieger. Ann Heller. Barbara Michaelson. Florence Armstrong, the CEASE activist who’d raised her fist at the hearing. The owlish commissioner, Christine Renfrow.
Stone didn’t consider them much of a threat. From what he could tell, CEASE was mostly bluster. Still.
Chapter Twenty-one
Fred Mozgala, Glenbrook Police press liaison, stood at a lectern in the patrol room waiting for the crowd to quiet. Doyle, in a crisp white uniform shirt, his hair combed forward, was beside him. Matt checked his watch. It was after three; plenty of time to make the evening news.
Mozgala cleared his throat and adjusted a silver pole to which several microphones had been clipped. “Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. Chief Sean Doyle, who is supervising the Violent Crimes Task Force, has a short statement, after which he will take questions.”
Lights flooded the lectern area with a bright wash, and the TV cameras clicked on. Stepping up, Doyle looked over the crowd.
“I know you are all anxious about the case. We’re following some promising leads. I can also tell you that we have committed substantial resources to these cases. We have established a command post here at the station and have enlisted police officers and Detectives from various villages. We are also using the Northern Illinois Crime lab, and Cook County Medical Examiners’ lab. These cases will be solved. And now,” He smiled, clearly enjoying his fifteen minutes. “I’m happy to take questions.”
“Are you continuing to treat both deaths as homicides, despite the inconclusive f
indings of the Medical Examiner?” asked a Sun Times reporter.
Doyle folded his arms. “Yes. We have since the beginning.”
“What evidence do you have that the two murders are connected?” asked another reporter.
“I can’t comment on that. We’re just starting to piece things together.”
“What about the fact that they were both found on RDM property?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Well, doesn’t that suggest a strong link between the cases?”
“At this point, that’s speculation, and I can’t respond to that.”
Matt blinked.
“Are you any closer to identifying the agents responsible for the deaths?”
“We believe the victims were already dead by the time they were moved to the locations where they were found. But, as you may know, autopsy results show a difference in the cause of death.”
“Does that mean no pattern has been established?”
“One of the victims died from ingesting something that killed her; the other from inhalation of a noxious substance.”
“What toxins and poisons are you concentrating on?”
“I’m not going to speculate at this point. When we have something, we will release it to you.”
An irritated buzz went up. Doyle wasn’t making any friends. A blonde stood up. Matt recognized Amy Ferguson. She glanced at the camera to make sure it was rolling before speaking.
“The FBI claims to have information that terrorist groups are experimenting with infectious biological agents, including viruses. Is that a factor in your investigation and have you brought them in to help out?”
The crowd grew quiet. Doyle scowled. “We have no evidence that suggests any link to a terrorist organization.”
Ferguson stood her ground. “So, you’re categorically ruling out biological agents such as Ebola?”
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