Gladstone’s shoulders slumped. “It was horrible what they did to him.”
“They?”
“He? They? It? I don’t know. Fresno PD couldn’t make an ID or locate the perp. None of the local vagrants knew the victim.”
“Where did they find him?”
“A group of hikers stumbled on him near the sierra foothills. The media picked up on it like flies on shit. Fresno PD released a statement that the MP had been mauled by a black bear.”
He saw disbelief in the young man’s face. “But you don’t believe it.”
“I’m no expert. It seems to me that bears maul, they don’t mutilate. Before I left, the Fresno chief read me the riot act. They’re not revealing any details about the body to the press.”
Halliday couldn’t help thinking how much Festus resembled a vagrant. Hopefully, Festus had gone into hiding.
Gladstone gave him a grave look. “I’ve got more.”
“What?”
“Another missing vagrant, this one reported in Visalia within the last seventy-two hours.”
The vagrants troubled Halliday. He was aware that the skid row population got preyed on, sometimes for weird reasons. “What’s the physical description of the Fresno vagrant?”
“Middle-aged black male. Five-ten, a buck sixty.”
“I don’t believe Festus should be included on the MP list.”
“Well, he’s already on it. Visalia Chief Daley showed me the county report. Besides the two MP’s I mentioned, there’s Festus and a Merced vagrant. A Merced farmer found the vagrant wandering around in his corn field. The vagrant claimed he had been abducted by aliens. A detective at Merced PD said the vagrant keeps babbling unintelligible words.”
Halliday grunted.
“I’m telling you, Halliday. It’s ‘absence of reality.’”
Gladstone stole another sip of coffee. He squinted and said, “What do you think we should do?”
“I suspect you’ve already discussed this with the chief.”
“He caught me in the hallway yesterday evening. But we didn’t discuss any path forward. He said Festus is in our jurisdiction so we should concentrate on finding him while keeping the other MPs on our radar.”
Halliday wondered if the Fresno chief had come to the same conclusion he had. Could be, they had a serial killer running around. “In the meantime, visit Merced PD. Talk to the vagrant. See what you can get out of him.”
Gladstone’s light bulb illuminated. “Halliday, are you thinking serial killer?”
He wouldn’t go there yet. “No, I’m thinking we should perform our due diligence. Contact all the county PDs. You can begin with a simple e-mail.”
Gladstone held out the folder. “Here’s a copy of the Fresno PD report on the John Doe.”
Halliday laid the report on his desk.
“Do you know Chuck Bibby?”
Gladstone showed a spark of recognition.
“I questioned him yesterday,” Halliday said. “Friend of Lamar Festus.”
“Bibby, sure. Sheriff Barnes said Bibby is an educated AG expert and a social activist. He’s no space cadet, either.”
“What else?”
“He believes that the federal government should deed back all the land in the east county to an Indian tribe and the Foxworth family, the original white settlers. He’d like to see Genevive Labs forced out of town. Sheriff told me Bibby thinks Genevive Labs is conducting weird experiments on animals. Bibby might have heard that from Festus.”
“Go on.”
“Bibby is part Miwok Indian. They’re the Indian tribe that settled in this area over two hundred years ago.”
“What about the Foxworth family?”
“They sold out thousands of acres to Genevive.”
Halliday wondered why Bibby didn’t mention about the Foxworth family. He made notes to Google MIWOK and have the office clerk Benita research the Foxworth family.
“Sounds like Chuck Bibby may help us find Lamar Festus,” Gladstone said.
“How so?” Halliday knew. He wanted Gladstone’s interpretation.
“Sheriff Barnes told me that Festus lived in a cottage behind Bibby’s house. He knows all the ranchers in Redwood Bluff. I don’t think we can count on a whole lot of cooperation from Sheriff Barnes, though. He’s doesn’t get along with Chief Brayden.”
“I heard. Do you have any relatives or friends in the area?”
“I’ve got a cousin who lives in Redwood Bluff. Sure, I can talk to him. Sheriff Barnes may be crude to outsiders but he’s done a lot for the community. His wife died not long ago. It took him down a notch.”
“Find out what your cousin knows. FYI: Jim Rogers, a local rancher was the last to see Lamar Festus.”
He handed Gladstone a copy of the list Chuck Bibby had made.
“I’ll check them out.”
“After you visit Merced.”
“Time permitting,” Gladstone said.
After Gladstone left Halliday Googled, “Miwok Indians.” He read a fascinating account about Miwok legends. The Indian tribe believed in animism. Their legends were all about people turning into animals and vice versa. Their leader had been a coyote. The raven was significant because of the belief that the Miwok evolved from ravens.
Halliday found little useful information about the Miwok so he checked e-mail.
He was going to delete an e-mail as spam until he read the subject line: GENEVIVE LABS VP BRAD PALMIER HAUNTED BY DECEASED WIFE’S RETURN.
The e-mail message was short. The words were, “Detective Halliday, check your voicemail.”
Part Two
The Message
Chapter Ten
Halliday sat in the PD conference room with Bergman and Gladstone. He clutched a flash drive that premonition told him could end his three year career at Santa Reina.
Halliday inserted the device into the laptop’s USB drive. A floor fan ruffled papers on the conference table. The wall clock’s second hand crept along. The minute and hour hands had stopped weeks ago during a late summer heat wave.
Leo Bergman and Gladstone dug their elbows into the conference table below rolled up sleeves and droopy ties. They appeared as if they were preparing to arm wrestle. Halliday leaned toward them and tapped on the laptop.
The screen came to life and displayed a six month old newspaper headline: FEMALE CAVER PRESUMED DEAD AFTER SIX DAY SEARCH.
“That’s her,” Halliday said. He tapped the PLAY button to begin the voicemail message.
A female voice cooed, “This message is for Detective John Halliday of the Santa Reina Police Department.”
“Okay, listen.” Halliday cranked the volume up.
“My name is Laurel McKittrick,” the haunting voice resonated in the room. “Months ago my life ended in a New Mexico cave after the calls from my would-be rescuers became faint whispers in the dark.”
Halliday nodded his head. She had captured the detectives’ attention.
“My ex-husband, Genevive Lab’s executive Brad Palmier, treated women around him with special attention. An affair with his personal secretary unraveled into a patchwork of hotel receipts, weekend business trips to San Fran, and shirts that reeked of her perfume… before I tossed them into the washer.”
Rich Gladstone muttered, “This broad needs a proper burial.”
Halliday increased the volume a notch.
“My ex-husband, in collusion with Genevive Labs, is guilty of unspeakable crimes. I intend to expose Brad Palmier for the deceitful coward he is. I have returned to haunt him and Genevive Labs.”
The long pause lifted Leo’s white eyebrows.
“I’m in your hands, Detective Halliday. I am not going to murder Brad Palmier, but soon I will incapacitate him and you will never see me do it.”
A feedback screech ended the message. Halliday disconnected the audio.
Leo Bergman straightened up in his chair. “What’s going on here, John? Is this some mentally disturbed woman impersonating the late
Laurel McKittrick?”
“You’re our personality disorder expert here, Leo,” Halliday said. “The article on the screen states that all the newspapers carried the story. Soon after the messy divorce Palmier’s wife disappeared in a New Mexico cave. She was a caver—a spelunker.”
“I remember,” Leo said. “Several months ago they searched for days and found nothing. The gal was presumed dead. Her body was never found.”
“Yeah, that was her,” Halliday said with a conviction in his voice that belied his knowledge of the incident.
“Then we have a nutcase impersonating Miss McKittrick,” Leo said, shaking his head. “So, what’s the motive?”
“She could be a relative,” Gladstone said.
Halliday had received the voicemail twenty minutes ago. “I haven’t had a chance to do any background.”
Leo Bergman shook his head. “Her stated intentions are downright disturbing, John. The woman said she was ‘in your hands.’ Then the challenge she laid on you that you’d never see her incapacitate Palmier. Did you ever run into Laurel McKittrick?”
The question caught him by surprise. “Not that I recall.”
“Maybe she has a partner who is abetting her,” Bergman said. “I’d say this this broad is mentally disturbed. She’s fucking with your mind.”
“Why do you say that?” Halliday said, although he had already decided on his own that this smelled like a hoax.
Leo brushed back a full head of white hair. “The eerie tone of voice had to be a put on. So was that cheap novel dialogue she used to grab our attention. When she cuts to the chase about her ex-hubby, my sense is she’s out for revenge. Money? Who knows?”
The veteran cop rose. “Whoever this person is, she’s confident she won’t get caught. The cyber world is a vast universe. You need to identify the person or persons behind the voice. When you do discover who she is, I’m betting you won’t find a criminal record on her.”
Gladstone smirked. “I vote nutcase. Check if the call came from Atascadero State Hospital.”
Halliday nodded, even though Atascadero, the notorious state hospital for the criminally insane, only housed males.
“What do you know about Palmier?” Gladstone said.
“About as much as you do. He’s an executive with Genevive Labs.” He glanced at his watch. Gladstone took the hint.
As Gladstone left, Leo said, “John, my gut feeling is that this is bogus. Someone has gone out of their way to mess with you, that’s all.”
“I think you’re right,” Halliday said. He removed the flash drive. “This will end up in the dead file by the end of the week.”
In a lowered voice Leo said, “I’d keep the lid on this, John. Jesus, this is a direct threat against Genevive.”
Halliday nodded. He caught the headline on the laptop screen. His eyes froze on the words, PRESUMED DEAD.
# # #
Betsy poked her head in the doorway of his office. Before she could utter a word Halliday said, “Don’t tell me. The chief wants to speak to me.”
She searched the bleached adobe. “Do these walls have ears?”
Ten minutes later Halliday sat in front of the chief’s desk. The big man looked at his watch. “I’ve got fifteen minutes until I meet with Mayor Gallagher.”
Rumors had the mayor in Genevive Labs’ pocket, too.
“What’s this mysterious voicemail all about?”
Halliday didn’t mind that Gladstone had leaked the recording to the chief. It saved him the effort. “The recording is short.”
He clicked the “play” button on his laptop.
The chief’s impatience was abated by a newly acquired “stress ball” that he squeezed in his left hand.
Halliday sat in silence while the recording played. The chief’s stern face didn’t soften at Laurel McKittrick’s narrative—a voice that could put a tiger to sleep. The young woman’s accusations against Brad Palmier, Genevive’s poster boy, caused the veteran cop to chew the inside of his mouth. The chief caught Halliday’s gaze and said, “This is fucking bullshit,” seconds before Laurel promised to haunt Genevive Labs.
“What the hell is this woman up to?” The chief rearranged his bulk in the large swivel chair after the recording ended. He looked at the ceiling and murmured, “Jesus, I’m getting too old for this bullshit.”
When Halliday didn’t respond the chief cleared his throat. “Well?”
“Leo thinks the recording’s bogus. I agree with him.”
The chief transferred the stress ball to his right hand. He leaned over, discharging a wad of phlegm into the spittoon.
Halliday took a long sip of water.
“Laurel McKittrick lost her way in a New Mexico cave in October last year,” the chief said as if responding to a reporter’s question. “Genevive hired expert cavers. They conducted a thorough search, well beyond what was expected.”
“She was never found,” Halliday added. “Presumed dead.”
“This recording is the work of an imposter. It may well be a group of people. As you know, it’s possible to do anything these days with the aid of computer technology.”
Halliday nodded.
The chief wrinkled his brow. “Why did she send it to you, John? What’s her motive?”
Because he was the outsider? “I don’t know chief. Maybe it’s some form of harassment. Maybe I stepped on someone’s toes during a past investigation. Too many maybes.”
“Did you ever run into her before she died?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Do you know Brad Palmier?”
Halliday shook his head. “I’ve seen him around, never met the man.” He remembered that Palmier had been in Washington DC during the Santa Reina PD rape investigation last spring that involved a Genevieve security guard.
Halliday fiddled with the laptop mouse. “Techno nerds are a strange breed. They’ll spend hours on activities designed to hurt individuals they’ve never met. They’re the epitome of ‘bottom feeders.’”
Brayden leaned back in his chair, blinking at the ceiling. The strange voicemail had the chief miffed.
Halliday prepared to file the flash drive into the archives. Since it could be damaging to Genevive Labs he figured the chief would tell him to lay off investigating.
“How long ago did you receive this?”
“Less than two hours ago.”
“Have you had any other communications from her?”
Halliday felt an underlying tension in the room. “No.”
The chief appeared to struggle with his thoughts. “Anybody else know about this other than Leo and Rich?”
Halliday rued Gladstone’s big mouth. “Not that I know of.”
The chief slicked down a bushy eyebrow. “I’ll call Genevieve Labs. I want you to have a talk with Brad Palmier. Find out if he received this recording. See if he knows about the threat. Report your findings back to me.”
The chief stretched his neck, flattening out folds of fat. “You read me, Detective Halliday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This morning I received an official bulletin. Morning Glory, a bio-extremist group, is planning a peaceful demonstration outside Genevive Labs next week. You be our point man. Coordinate with Palmier. I’ve emailed some of the details to you.”
Now Halliday better understood the chief’s tension caused by the possible connection between the recording and bio-extremists.
The chief folded his arms like he did when ending department meetings. “The bulletin emphasizes the public’s growing mistrust over the secretive nature of biotech facilities. Let’s make sure we don’t give the extremists any kindling for a fire.”
He nodded.
“Coincidence? You receiving the recording from the deceased woman days before a bio-extremist group announce its plan to hold a demonstration at the gates of Genevive Labs?”
The chief didn’t believe so and that explained why he couldn’t bury the issue. “There could be a connection.”
“I’ll text you with an appointment time for Palmier.”
“I’ll clear my schedule this afternoon.”
Halliday left the chief’s office with a bad feeling in his gut.
Chapter Eleven
Due to budget constraints, there had been no vehicles available in the motor pool. Halliday reset the trip odometer on his old Saab 9-3 Aero to record the mileage. Genevive Labs was located fifteen miles east of Santa Reina.
Halliday sped down the county highway. Pine trees skidded past, their trunks like a brown picket fence until a large open meadow signified the exit to Lake Santa Reina reservoir. Leo kept a bass boat at the marina. Halliday had joined the veteran detective on several occasions. They drank more beer than caught fish. Leo told great war stories.
The final five miles, Genevive Parkway, led straight to the labs, where miracles were commonplace. The road ran through thick forest, like nature’s attempt to hide any evidence of the big deal up ahead.
Private cars weren’t allowed in the Genevive complex. Halliday parked in the visitor lot. He locked up and hoofed to the front gate. Three identical white Ford pickup trucks were lined up outside all loaded with chain link fencing.
“Got a hole in your fence?” Halliday asked. The driver wore dark sunglasses. He stared at him, expressionless. It reminded Halliday of coming face to face with a fly. All of the security men wore similar outfits: blue jeans, light-blue cotton long-sleeved shirts and a black and orange SECURITY vest. They all wore the pitch black sunglasses, too.
When an answer wasn’t forthcoming, he let it go. After all, security people weren’t paid to be friendly.
Halliday had never been inside Genevive Labs. At the front gate he flashed his badge. After verifying his appointment, the guard issued him a visitor’s badge. He instructed him to take trolley number five up to the admin building.
Genevive had a slew of open air trolleys with canopied roofs that warded off the rain, along with falling pinecones. They were all driven at slow speeds by retirees who reminded him of Wal-Mart greeter’s gone mobile.
He jumped on number five, half expecting to hear Disney’s, “It’s a Small World,” through the speakers. A folksy voice announced, “Admin building is the next stop on the left.”
Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold Page 6
