“Thank you so much,” Penny said. “I didn’t realize how famished I was.”
“You’re certainly welcome, dear. I apologize for the condition of this room, but I finally gave up the fight and let the big lug have his books.”
“You’re too good for me, my punkin,” Doc said in cuddlespeak.
“I certainly am,” she said, and winked at Penny and me as she hauled the empty dishes out. The way they looked at each other brought a smile to my heart. It faded when I thought of my own marriage and wondered where it was going, provided Abby recovered. Despite all I knew, I still wanted to see her, and I desperately wanted to see my girls.
We showed Doc the articles about the similar cases. I also told him about the strange red ring in Abby’s eyes that we saw on the video. I left out the part about what she was doing in that motel movie.
“Doc, what kind of drug could do something like this?” I said.
He stood and paced the tiny trail that snaked its way through the stacks of books. Halfway through the third circuit, he stopped. “I’ve studied that tissue some more.” Then he took off again. Stopped. “I just can’t reconcile the pathology with any known substance, chemical or biological.” He plopped down into his carved-out space on the sofa.
“Maybe we should go ahead and take a look at that CD player,” Penny said.
In years past, I could handle staying up all night without a problem, but I guess those days were gone. I was exhausted, and I had forgotten all about the Discman we’d found back at the shop.
“Yeah, definitely,” I said.
Penny pulled it from her purse and handed it to me. A pair of LEDs on the front flashed brightly. I opened the lid and found a homemade CD inside. Somebody had written LOVE MIX on it with a red Sharpie. I took the CD out, looking for a hidden door or compartment underneath, found nothing, put it back. Pulled the battery cover off.
Penny was on one side, looking on, Doc on the other.
“Wow,” Penny said, “never saw a battery like that.”
“May I?” Doc said, and reached for it.
I handed it to him and he removed the battery. At least, I assumed it was a battery. He held it up and whistled low. “This is incredible.”
Chapter 77
Carmen sat against the wall in the supply closet, knees drawn to her chest. She wiped the tears from her eyes and read that one sentence again in the letter from Emilio’s sister:
Emilio se fue en el tiempo correcto. Emilio left on time. Él era muy feliz. He was very happy.
Where could he be? She tried to tell herself it was nothing serious. There had been some change of destination, that’s all. Any day now, she would be waiting behind the hotel, probably during lunch but maybe the morning break, and she would look up, and Emilio would be standing there, Emilio with the smile that made her heart stop beating. And she would run to him and he would hold her and she would kiss him again and again. He would touch her stomach and they would be so happy.
But in her soul, Carmen knew. The sense of dread had been growing each day. She carefully folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket on her housekeeping uniform dress. She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled herself into a tight ball, and her body shook as she sobbed. She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew she would never see Emilio again.
Without warning, the door opened, flooding the small room with unwelcome light. She looked up, expecting to find her supervisor, Alicia, or one of the other housekeepers. Instead, she saw a man looking down at her. He had red hair and light skin with freckles. He cocked his head to one side, his forehead wrinkled.
“Miss? Are you okay?” he said.
Carmen wiped her eyes and scrambled to her feet, knocking several aerosol cans off a shelf in the process. She grabbed at the cans as they clanged onto the concrete floor. “Oh, I am sorry. I—”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the man said, his voice soft. “What’s your name?”
“Carmen.”
“Carmen, I’m Teddy. I own this place. Come on, let’s go to my office so you can tell me what’s wrong.”
Chapter 78
The object had flat metal contacts on one end, much like those on rechargeable batteries that come with many electronic items, but the similarity ended there. Three glass tubes, each about the size of a double-A, were nestled side by side. A gold cap spanning all three tubes was on one end, a transparent red one on the other end.
One tube looked empty. One was filled with a thick clear liquid, roughly the consistency of corn syrup. The third one glowed a faint red color, sort of like the chemical glow-sticks you see at concerts.
“What is it, Doc?” I said.
“The LEDs on the main unit stopped flashing when I removed this, so we can assume it’s the power source, but...” He started pacing again, holding it up in front of him, studying it intently, never missing a turn or bumping a book.
“But what?”
Pace. Stop. Pace. Stop. “I’m certain it’s a fuel cell of some sort, but it doesn’t fit any of the technology that’s out there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wrong components, no air intake. Several problems with the design. Let’s take it to my workshop and measure its output.”
We fell in behind him and watched him work when he got to the shop and hooked the thing up to two or three different pieces of equipment. He muttered “impossible” and “fascinating” no less than a dozen times each, and finally switched all the equipment back off.
“Well?” I said.
“Impossible, this device is impossible.” His eyes were wide, full of wonder, his voice shaky.
“Come on, Doc, the suspense is killing me. What the hell is it?”
“Oh, it’s a fuel cell, all right, but it makes no sense. Why on Earth would they use extraordinary technology like this in a stereo?”
“What’s the big deal? It’s a fancy battery, right?” Penny said.
Doc waggled his finger and shook his head, as if she’d just given a bad answer in class. He switched one of his meters back on, rummaged in a drawer, came out with a double-A Duracell. He attached some leads to it and pointed to the digital display on the meter. “Read that.”
“One-point-five-three,” Penny said.
“Correct, one-and-a-half volts.” He disconnected the Duracell and hooked up the fuel cell, then stepped back and crossed his arms. “Now, read that.”
“Forty-two thousand, five hundred fifty-one?”
“Yes! Forty-two thousand volts!”
“Hold on, Doc,” I said. “I sell stun guns that put out fifty thousand volts from a nine-volt battery. It just drops the amperage way down. What’s the big deal?”
Doc flipped a switch and pointed to the meter. “Any more questions?”
I didn’t believe my eyes. According to his meter, which was no doubt in perfect working order—Doc is that way, a stickler on his gear—this tiny gizmo was putting out over forty thousand volts, at twenty-two amps.
“That,” I said, “is a lot of power. How’s that possible?”
“Precisely. And again, why would someone put something like this in a music machine? It’s like launching a Saturn rocket at a fireworks show.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said. I went to the living room and got the device, brought it back to the workshop. “Maybe it powers some device that makes drugs or something. Maybe it’s not a CD player at all.”
“Let’s find out,” Doc said. He reinserted the fuel cell and punched PLAY. The display showed digits just like any player, and within a couple of seconds, we heard music coming from the headphones.
“It could still serve some other purpose and just be disguised as a normal CD player,” Penny said.
Doc picked it up and examined it closely. “If it were a power supply for some external device, there would have to be an electrical output on it capable of transmitting that power. The only output here is the one for the headphones, which we can hear.”
“That signal could carry something other than sound, though, couldn’t it?” I said. “It could carry data.”
“It could, but why? There are already thousands of devices out there capable of transmitting data. Why cloak one in secrecy like this?”
I shrugged. Penny gave a facial shrug.
“Maybe we should remember Occam’s Razor, which states that the most obvious answer to any question is usually the correct one.”
“And what’s obvious?” I said.
“It’s a revolutionary power supply, incredibly valuable if these remarkable performance measurements hold up in extended tests. And, it’s tucked away where least expected. This thing could probably go through airports and borders without a problem.”
“Doc,” Penny said, “what would you say this kind of thing is worth?”
“It’s light-years ahead of any portable power technology I’m aware of. It’s worth...well...I’ve never been the sharpest tool in the financial drawer, but it’s worth a lot.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “It could be nothing more than this super-battery technology, stolen technology. There’s no way the U.S. government would allow this thing to leave the country, so maybe the plan was to smuggle it out so it could be sold to the highest bidder overseas.”
“But what about Homestead’s cooked brain, and Abby’s red-ringed eyes. That’s got to be some kind of drugs,” I said. “And, there was another one at my house, all busted up, but it was just like it.”
Penny looked at me with a why-haven’t-you-mentioned-this-to-me expression.
“Until we found this one,” I explained, “I thought it was just a CD player.”
She nodded, then pondered a few seconds and said, “Who says it’s connected to the drug issue?” Penny said. “New designer drugs hit the street all the time, and it could be pure coincidence that some of the players in this tech smuggling got on this new drug.”
“If that’s the case, why would Abby have one of these things?”
“Gray, I hate to say this, but looking in from the outside, maybe Abby was involved in the smuggling herself.”
I felt like I should be offended, like I should defend my wife’s character or something, but I couldn’t.
Chapter 79
Beatrice sat with prim posture and great patience while Ray Earl rattled on to the young officer—his nametag said Daniel Burton—taking the report.
“So, Ray,” Burton said, “you—”
“My name is Ray Earl. Ray Earl Higgins.”
“Right. Ray Earl.” Burton glanced at Beatrice and she gave him a tight little smile and a look that said, please just humor him by listening and we’ll be on our way soon enough. She had long since lost count of the times she had sat in this chair, or one in another office in the Montello Police Department, while her boy spun some long-winded tale of the gravest consequence but little truth.
It wasn’t that Ray Earl intended to lie. He was a good soul. His mind just didn’t work the way others did. Ray watched television day and night, and often got reality confused with the fictional worlds behind the screen. When he was a child, even on up to his mid-teens, she tried to reason with him, tried to make him understand what was real. It didn’t work. Nothing would work but to let him have his say. Within a day or so, he’d forget it and move on. So it had been for decades. So it would be this time.
“And how many bodies you say there were?” Burton waited, pen cocked and ready while Ray Earl tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, his face scrunched in concentration.
“Ninety-six,” Ray Earl said with a resolute nod. “Sixty-one male. Thirty-five female. I remember everything, just like Grissom.”
Burton took notes as Ray Earl continued to describe the scene in fine detail. He also thought about what a hellacious beer story this report was going to make. One for the ages.
* * *
Teddy Abraham walked into the lobby of the police station with Carmen Rodriguez beside him. “Don’t worry, Carmen, nobody’s gonna dig into your immigration business. I just want to get somebody checking on Emilio, okay?”
Carmen’s eyes were red, puffy. She nodded. Teddy smiled and said, “Good girl.”
He stepped to the wide counter that separated the lobby from the office area, and tapped an old-style call bell. No one came. He tapped again. A door behind the counter opened and Danny Burton walked out, followed by Beatrice Higgins and her Forrest Gumpish son, Ray Earl. Ever the small-town businessman, Teddy recognized all three and spoke to them all by name.
“Be with you in a second, Mr. Abraham,” Burton said and raised a hinged bar so Beatrice and Ray Earl could pass through. Teddy gave a gentlemanly nod to Beatrice as she passed, and she returned it. When they were halfway to the door, Ray Earl turned around and stared straight at Carmen.
“Officer Burton?” he said, gaze still locked on Carmen.
Burton looked his way, a wary look on his face. “Sir?”
“Did I mention that all the dead bodies looked like Mexicans?”
Chapter 80
The conversation turned repetitive and my eyelids sagged. Angela led me to a bedroom. I don’t even remember lying down but when I woke, I could tell by the soft golden color of the light streaming through the window that it was near sundown. I had slept for hours. I stretched and yawned my way back to the living room, where Penny seemed to have become fast friends with both Doc and Angela.
“You sleep any?” I said to Penny.
“Yeah, I’ve been up about an hour. Having a blast talking to Frankie and Angie.”
“Good. Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
She excused herself and followed me through the sliding glass doors, onto the patio.
“Any word from Jimmy?” I said.
“I missed his call while I was asleep. Tried calling back. No answer, so I left a voice mail.”
“What do you think we should do now?”
“Work from here.”
“That’s asking a bit much from Doc and Angie.”
“They offered.”
“When?”
“While you were still asleep.”
“I hate to put them at risk.”
“We won’t. Besides, where else would be better? We’re close to Montello here, where it all started.”
Truth be known, I liked the idea of staying. I detest motels. I sure couldn’t stay at home. So unless we were going to start sleeping beneath the stars, our options were limited. I still didn’t like the notion of bringing danger to their house, though.
“Well?” Penny said.
“I’ll talk to Doc, and as long as I get the feeling they really don’t mind, okay.”
* * *
Doc and I were in the kitchen, and he insisted that we stay. “I’m serious about the danger, Doc. People are trying to kill us. I already have you deep enough in this thing, what with Freezer Freddy out—”
Angela walked in and I clapped my trap, hopefully soon enough. “Freezer Freddy, huh?” She was looking straight at me.
I said nothing. Doc said nothing. My mind was running, trying to come up with an explanation as to what “Freezer Freddy” was, having no luck. I swallowed hard.
“I like that,” she said, and burst out laughing. “I’ve been calling him Popsicle Pete.” She kept laughing, and Doc joined in. I just stared.
“For heaven’s sake, Gray, I know what’s in the freezer. Mind you, he startled me something fierce when I went out there looking for a bag of butterbeans and found him, but I’m used to him now.”
She and Doc looked at each other, and simultaneously said, “Freezer Freddy!” Then the laughter rolled again. Although I had started the ruckus, I could not bring myself to join in. It occurred to me that you may think you know someone, but you may be surprised at how they behave regarding a corpse in their freezer.
Chapter 81
I woke the next morning thinking about Lucille Boggs, the old lady in the shop. After twenty-five years of listening to
hard-luck stories, sentimental tales and situations bounce off me like a BB off a locomotive. But, for reasons unknown, Lucille’s story got me. She cared for her Alzheimered husband day and night for fifteen years. Six months after he died, she’s still paying fifty bucks a month on the funeral expenses and some kind of mold is growing on the headstone.
A hundred twenty-five bucks to fix the problem and she’s desperate, pawning trinkets that her husband gave her. Things not worth jack to anyone else. Worth everything to her, and she put it on the line to take care of that headstone. Tough stuff, but after it all, right there in the shop, I could still see the love in her eyes, but what really got me was the determination. No quit. She can barely get around, but Lucille Boggs is still taking care of business. That kind of grit impresses me.
Outside, the sun was brilliant yellow in a blue crystal sky. Doc had been on the internet since dawn, researching fuel cell technology. Angie announced breakfast at seven, and after a lengthy turn of thanks by Doc, we dug into the mammoth spread: eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage, hash browns.
“Find anything new?” I said.
“No,” he managed to say through a mouthful of butter and biscuit. “Like I told you, there’s nothing like it. It’s a decade ahead of everything else.”
“What do we do with it?” Penny said.
I forked up a load of hash browns. “I have an idea.” I chewed, looked around the table at the eager faces, swallowed. Took a long pull of orange juice. “It’s safe to assume all this rigmarole with me comes from them wanting this thing back, right?”
Penny nodded. Doc and Angie chewed and waited expectantly.
“Actually, let me rephrase. They want to find out if we have one, and get it back if we do. I’m sure they have more of them; they just don’t want one floating around outside their control, and they probably don’t want any witnesses who know about the technology.”
Pawnbroker: A Thriller Page 15
