Cutting Edge f-3

by Allison Brennan

  “They won’t be able to tolerate any quacking, thinking they were hurting the animals by caging them,” Nora said. “And the ducks would have been crammed tight in the cages they took-they can’t hold more than four ducks each. The arsonists would be nervous as well, having evidence in their possession.”

  “Well-how many miles?”

  “I’m not sure, but not more than thirty minutes away. They wouldn’t risk being pulled over if someone called in the arson quickly and the police were looking for a specific vehicle. A body of water off a freeway-preferably a protected area.” That reminded Nora to check with Sanger about the canvass his men were doing earlier and if they had tracked down any potential witnesses.

  “Hmm.” Barry pondered his map.

  Nora looked at the map upside down. If she had a dozen semidomesticated waterfowl and wanted to give them the best chance of survival in the wild, what would she do?

  Steady supply of food. Lots of water. A park.

  Finding such a place would be secondary to getting out of the vicinity, so they would pick a place along their escape route. She speculated that the route would be in the opposite direction of their final destination.

  Barry said, “There are several ponds in this area. Some are seasonal and dry now, but-” He pointed to three less than two miles away. There wasn’t anything special about them-no parks, no people. They bordered industrial areas. No, the arsonists would be concerned about toxins in those ponds.

  She shook her head.

  “How about Lake Arthur?” Barry pointed to a larger pond-hardly what Nora would call a lake-east of their location, right off I-80.

  That was a possibility, ideal for escape. So was a group of man-made ponds in Newcastle, about ten minutes west. Except there wasn’t a nearby park. It was also a new development near a light industrial area. Less pollution from business, convenient to dump the ducks, but it wasn’t good enough for the animals. Nora would never have left them there.

  “Here.” She pointed to Lake of the Pines. “That’s it.”

  “There’re at least a dozen locations just as good that are closer.”

  The more Nora thought about it, the more convinced she was that she was right. The other locations just weren’t as good. Lorraine would have chosen Lake of the Pines. Nora thought it ironic that she was thanking her imprisoned mother for lessons learned.

  Nora said, “From Lake of the Pines they can head up Highway Forty-nine to Highway Twenty and cut across to Maryville, then head north to Chico or south to Sacramento. It’s longer than going virtually anywhere via I-Eighty, but it gets them out of the area and they don’t have to backtrack past the scene of the crime.”

  “You’re amazing,” Duke said.

  Surprisingly she’d forgotten Duke was standing next to her. He usually wasn’t so quiet. “Thanks.” She was trying to be sarcastic, but it came out differently, almost as if she cared what he thought of her. Which she didn’t.

  All right, she did. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

  “This is a huge recreational area,” she continued. “There are people, pets, kids-the ducks will be well fed. They’ll be concerned about that. They don’t want the ducks to die of starvation, and that’s always a risk.”

  “Well,” Barry said, folding up the map, “they’ll be dead any way you slice it. And all the other ducks on that lake. We’re talking hundreds of ducks. I hope you’re wrong.”

  Nora’s heart thudded in her chest and she felt sick. It pained her that innocent animals had to die, but the risk of the virus getting into the duck population was far too great to chance it. Thousands of wild ducks could die, species decimated from Canada to Mexico, and there was the additional risk to humans if they didn’t quickly eliminate the threat.

  “We’d better go now,” she said.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Barry repeated as he folded his map.

  “Me, too.” But Nora knew she was right. “I’ll meet you there. Take Dr. Duncan and Dr. Thomsen with you. They’ve agreed to assist.”

  “It’ll take us a bit to set up, and I hope Dr. Thomsen’s reader works. I’ve never heard of one working more than a couple feet away from the source.” He walked off to dispatch his team.

  To Duke, she said, “Did you see Pete?”

  “He’s talking to Jim Butcher across the street.”

  Duke followed her. He’d seen the worry on Nora’s face. He was hugely impressed with her analysis, and not a little curious how she came up with it. He’d always admired Nora’s intelligence and quick thinking, but this was different. It was as if she could read the minds of the anarchists. But of course that was silly. And Duke knew, from working with Kane, that good soldiers became great warriors when they could put themselves in their enemies’ shoes and anticipate their every move.

  Good cops weren’t much different.

  They stopped outside the building where Jim had set up temporary shop.

  “We’ll find them,” Duke said.

  “The ducks or the arsonists?”

  “Both.” He reached out and touched her chin, lightly, but he couldn’t help himself. She was so sad. “Chin up, Nora.” She was so drained. Not a surprise; she’d been up since before dawn.

  “Jonah Payne was murdered.”

  “I know. We-” He stopped. “You mean he was intentionally murdered? That his death wasn’t an accident?”

  “Pete and I came here from the autopsy,” she said. “Dr. Payne was dead long before the fire started-six hours or more. And based on the evidence, he was killed somewhere else.”

  Duke tried to wrap his mind around what Nora was saying. He spoke almost as if to himself.

  “It’s far too coincidental that someone disconnected from the arson killed Jonah and dumped his body in his office the same day that a group of anarchists came to burn down the lab and free research animals.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. But this behavior is completely out of character from what I know about anarchist terrorist groups. And I know quite a bit. This is more like the work of a psychopath.”

  Duke frowned. “How was Jonah killed?”

  “It’s inconclusive, but the M.E. believes he died from massive blood loss. There were multiple shallow cuts on his arms and torso. No major arteries were hit, but when Dr. Coffey dried his jeans there was a substantial amount of blood.”

  It sounded like torture to Duke. He couldn’t figure out why-Jonah was a scientist. A bit absentminded maybe, but brilliant and dedicated.

  Nora said softly, “I just don’t understand. Everything about this case is textbook perfect for a standard environmental extremist group. The arsons, the spray-painting, the messages they sent. Everything … except premeditated murder.”

  “You said this sounds like a psychopath. Are anarchists exempt from being psychopaths?”

  Something changed in Nora’s expression. “No. I knew one a long time ago.”

  Taken aback by this admission, Duke wanted to ask her about it, but Nora abruptly entered the building. Again, he followed her. He’d make certain she’d tell him later.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Under other circumstances, the beautiful Lake of the Pines community-predominantly populated with the vacationing and the retired-would have enticed Nora into a long walk along the shore, or renting a paddle-boat to soak in the sun, or taking a cold swim. Though it was a popular spot for picnics and outdoor recreation, the area was well maintained, with numerous garbage bins encouraging people to throw their trash where it belonged. For the most part, people complied-probably driven to comply by the signs prominently posted advertising the steep fine for littering.

  A light breeze cooled the heat from the day, and Nora remembered why she loved Indian summer best. The remnants of summer during the day, the hint of winter at night, warm colors and vibrant life surrounding her wherever she went. The time for harvest, the cycle of life, the greens and golds, reds and browns. Autumn was a time for reflection, of celebrating the end of one
year and anticipating the next.

  It was late in the afternoon, nearly five, and early commuters had stopped at the sight of police activity. The media had arrived; there was no stopping them from reporting. Fish and Game and the CDC had come up with a statement that bordered on the truth: Several ducks had turned up with a deadly virus and in order to prevent the spread of the disease, they had to destroy the infected ducks.

  Dr. Ian Thomsen showed Kevin Barry how to use the prototype scanner. “It’ll read fifty feet away, provided there are no obstacles.”

  “Fascinating.” Barry looked at the model. “The ones we use you have to be practically on top of the animal to get a beep.”

  “The company making this one is going into mass production next year. Part of the difference is the implanted microchip itself.”

  Thomsen and Barry started their walk around the lake with the microchip reader to see if it picked up a signal while everyone else waited at the staging area that had been cordoned off. Nora stood rigid, watching the men and not the ducks who swam up to them or waddled along the shore, looking for food. So trusting. If Nora’s hunch was right, all these animals would be killed.

  Pete and Jim Butcher were talking with the CDC representative, and Duke stood by her side. She was finding it hard to compartmentalize her feelings.

  “You don’t have to watch,” Duke said.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  How could Nora tell him anything when she barely understood it herself? It wasn’t that she felt responsible for what had happened at Butcher-Payne or what the arsonists had done with the ducks; it was a more ethereal feeling of helplessness and the need to be enraged in order to be more effective. She had to watch the end result of their stupidity to both hone her analysis and, perhaps, to punish herself. All the bad things she’d done in her past … not because she’d wanted to, but because she hadn’t known any other life.

  “Nora?” Duke said softly.

  “Not now.” Maybe not ever, but she couldn’t talk as she watched Thomsen and Barry walk toward her with the microchip reader.

  Beep.

  “Does that mean-” Duke began, but Nora put up her hand. She couldn’t explain, she needed to focus.

  It beeped again. The beeps were faint, but definitely audible. The two men continued walking along the shoreline; the beeping stopped. Barry turned and walked along an inlet filled with reeds. The beeping started again and grew stronger. As they approached, the beeping increased in both tempo and duration.

  They stopped and talked. Nora joined them, and Duke followed. She didn’t want to admit that she was glad he was with her.

  “What are these numbers?” Barry asked Dr. Thomsen.

  Nora glanced over. Numbers flashed across the device’s small display.

  Dr. Thomsen frowned, then nodded. “There’re several ducks-I’ve never used it in broad scan mode, only the individual scan. This may be a glitch, but it looks like the display is flashing all the numerical codes it’s finding.”

  Barry looked at the lake, then at the display. “Agent English, do you have that map I gave you?”

  Nora pulled out the map of the immediate area. He handed her the microchip reader and looked at the map, then talked into his radio. “We hit paydirt. Get the nets. No guns.”

  “You’re going to save them?” Nora asked, hopeful but unbelieving.

  Barry shook his head. “We don’t have a choice. They’ll be killed and sent to our lab. I don’t think we can handle this quantity, and I’m sure the CDC will insist we ship every one off to Madison.”

  “Wisconsin?”

  “Right. The lab there has everything. A regular animal CSI unit.”

  “But you said no guns.”

  “One shot and we get one duck, the rest will scatter. Then we’re screwed. They’ll go in all different directions. If all twelve are here, our job is done when we get every duck in this area.”

  Nora must have looked confused, because Barry added, “We’ll snap their neck. It’s instantaneous. Painless.”

  Nora’s phone rang. It was Quin. She didn’t want to be interrupted now, but Quin might be calling about the case.

  “Hi Quin. I’m kind of busy.”

  “Lance told me you’re with Fish and Game at Lake of the Pines. Why? Did you find the ducks?”

  “Yes. I have-”

  “What are they going to do?”

  Quin sounded panicked. Nora wished she had had the time to explain it to her sister earlier. “You know what they have to do, Quin.”

  “How can you participate in a mass slaughter?”

  “It has to be done or thousands of ducks are in jeopardy. You know that.”

  “I–I can’t think.”

  Lorraine had done a number on Quin. For some reason, Nora had never adapted to Lorraine’s way of life. She’d rebelled from an early age, knowing deep down what they were doing was wrong but not knowing how to stop. Quin had wanted their mother’s approval and attention so badly; she’d taken everything Lorraine said as gospel. It had taken Nora years to get Quin to think for herself and not spout out slogans and rants on every political subject under the sun.

  “Honey, it’s going to be okay. Are you done there?”

  “What? Yes, yes, for now. I’m coming.”

  “Go home. Call your boyfriend and have him take you out to a nice dinner.”

  “I can’t even think about eating when I know what’s happening.”

  Barry said to Nora, “We’re about to begin.”

  She nodded, and Barry motioned for his team to fan out.

  “Quin, please go home. I’ll call you later.”

  Quin hung up and Nora frowned.

  “Something wrong with your sister?” Duke asked.

  “She’s upset.” But Quin’s panic surprisingly calmed Nora. She did much better when she had a crisis to resolve; talking to Quin had put her in the proper mindset.

  Barry and his team were working along the western perimeter of the lake. They all wore protective breathing masks. Dr. Thomsen and Dr. Duncan handled the microchip reader.

  It was an assembly line with multiple approaches. Fish and Game employees captured the ducks with a net or their hands, brought them to Duncan and Thomsen. After twenty ducks, they still hadn’t found a bird from the lab. The ducks they’d captured were put in the back of an enclosed truck. If they couldn’t get a positive identification of a lab duck, all the ducks would be freed. But if they found even one from Butcher-Payne, the captured ducks would be killed.

  The work was painstaking and methodical. The wait was agonizing. The sun dipped lower in the southwest; the air grew cooler.

  Duke stood as close to her as he could without touching. She closed her eyes and wondered if she was crazy for wanting to give in to her attraction, but right now the idea of having someone come home with her, someone to hold her close, someone who understood her job and what she did and still cared … she wanted it.

  How Nora could want something she’d never had, she didn’t know.

  You wanted a home before you ever had a real one.

  A loud beep cut through the silence and her eyes opened.

  Thomsen inspected the duck, nodded. Melanie Duncan started crying silently as Thomsen handed the duck back to Fish and Game. “That’s one.”

  Barry ordered the ducks already captured destroyed, and he took the Butcher-Payne bird from his staffer. Without hesitation, he snapped its neck and placed the bird in an individual bright orange plastic biohazard bag and sealed it. The other ducks were killed and then put in large clear plastic bags, ten to twelve per bag.

  Nora stood and watched as duck after duck was scanned, killed, and sorted into an orange bag or clear bag. Even the wild ducks would be tested-blood drawn and dissected-in case the virus had spread in the day they’d swam with the contaminated birds.

  It wasn’t the sight that bothered Nora the most.

  It was the sound. />
  Like a thin, dry tree branch, each slender neck was snapped, the carcass disposed of in the correct manner.

  Nora watched with wide eyes, fearing that if she only heard the sound she’d fall apart.

  She remembered the day, years ago, when Lorraine had freed the wild horses. The horses Nora’s mother told her had been born free, and should be let free. Nora had helped. She desperately wanted to please Lorraine, who just told Nora the day before that she was pregnant.

  Nora would never forget the stampede. Hiding in the brush. The shouts and curses of men and women trying to recapture the animals. The horse falling in front of her, the snap of his leg loud enough that Nora knew he was lame.

  When a man found the distressed horse, Nora saw pain in his expression. Pain and shock and anger. He talked to the horse quietly, whispering so softly, so soothingly that Nora was almost lulled into believing what he said, that the horse was going to be okay, that he was safe. Nora didn’t hear the words, but she felt the rhythm, the tone.

  It’s okay, boy … You’re safe … Shhh, relax.

  The man, who looked like he might have been a cowboy though Nora had never seen one outside of a book, knelt by the horse’s injured leg. He gingerly touched it and the horse tried to stand, stumbled, and fell, his whinny full of agony.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The cowboy took a gun from his belt and put a bullet in the horse’s head.

  Nora froze. Stunned. She’d believed …

  Then the man turned away from the horse, looked at the sky, his face wet from tears. Before then, Nora had never seen a man cry. She’d never seen such real pain.

  Later, her mother told everyone who would listen, “That bastard just killed the poor animal in cold blood. Didn’t even try to save the horse. Probably enjoyed it. Or didn’t even think about it, just a stupid animal,” she added sarcastically.

  Nora went to her mother later and said, “He was crying, Mama.”

  “No he wasn’t,” Lorraine said. “And don’t call me Mama.”