The Js and I looked after them.
“I couldn't go out with someone like that,” John said.
I nodded, duh.
Jonesy said, “I could.”
Alex and the rest of us said in unison, “How?”
“Ear plugs,” he said.
Sophie slugged him in the arm. “Hey!” he said, rubbing his arm.
“Girls have important things to say!” Sophie yelled.
Jade's eyebrows arched. “Her?”
Sophie looked after Christi, who had her finger in Bry's chest, berating him, the burnished red of her hair catching the light, her hotness paling before her behavior.
“Not so much.” Sophie relented.
Jonesy held up his hands like, see what I'm talkin' about. I guess Sophie had been trying to do the “stick-up-for-the-girl-thing.” But who could support a troll in a beauty queen's body?
She needed to find a new bridge. Like anywhere but Kent.
“Come on, kids. Let's book,” Smith said impatiently.
I hauled Jade over to me and laid one on her mouth. (I'd have liked to do more.) But I wasn't about the supreme PDA With an Adult Present. She giggled and tried to push me away and I squeezed her tighter.
Tiff said, “Can I sit in the front?” eying how gross the back seat was.
“Nope, keep Caleb company in the back, why dontcha?” Smith said.
Nice.
I released Jade, letting my hand slide down her arm, our fingers parting like reluctant taffy.
“Hey Bry!” Tiff yelled indelicately and he turned to her like, are you kidding? I'm talking down the girlfriend...a little help!
Apparently that fine detail was lost on siblings. “Supper's at six!” she said, emphasizing it with a nice slam of the car door.
Bry's shoulders slumped and Barbie continued. He was back to square one.
I hopped in next to her, closing my door and said, “That was helpful.”
She grinned. “I'm on a full-frontal assault with that chick.”
Smith looked at her in the rear view mirror. “Isn't that your brother?” he asked, carefully backing out.
I gave the Js the thumb signal to pulse me, John nodded and Jonesy gave me a good-natured middle finger salute. Perfect.
I looked through the dirty glass until Jade's face disappeared and turned to the conversation at hand.
“Yeah, but ever since he started dating that retarded girl...” Tiff shrugged.
“Let me tell you my theory,” Smith said.
We waited.
“She isn't that stupid.”
We opened our mouths to protest and he shook his head to silence us. “It's been my experience that someone as irritating as her...well, it's a skill. You have to be somewhat smart to have that particular skill set. You may have more than you bargained for with her.”
No shit.
Tiff humphed, crossing her arms across her chest. She wasn't gonna give up that easily.
“And, on top of that, her brother is a Fire-starter and is friends with that mouth-breather, Carson,” Tiff said.
“Brody?” Smith asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“So, it stands to reason that they're related...” he let his thought trail off and we sat on it, mulling it over.
“Brett and Carson don't need to add any IQ to their gang. Them being stupid was the best thing we had going for us,” I said.
Smith's eyes met mine in the mirror. Something to be aware of, his look told me.
Right...gotcha.
“Anyway,” he began, carefully pulling into the parking stall closest to the police station and turned to look at us, “one of the lead forensics just pulsed on my secure thread.” Excitement lit his face and I was momentarily blinded by what he said next, “They have sampled enough tissue and determined what links the children's deaths.”
We leaned forward, what could it be?
“They were all Nulls.”
CHAPTER 11
We were in a dim little room with a rectangular, Formica-surfaced table, stale crackers and CFC-free Styrofoam cups littered its surface.
The lead forensic, Sam Buckley, tried to explain his findings. “Of course, it wasn't the first thing we looked for. But, as we became more proficient in excluding the obvious, we started looking for the zebras.”
How do zoo animals come into all this?
Buckley sighed as he took in my puzzled expression and Tiff was deep into biting her nails, her eyes flitting around the dingy corners of the room, so bored that weeping was the next step.
“In med school they told us, 'When you hear hoof beats, it's probably a horse, not a zebra'. This is what we did in this case. We had all these children, viciously dispatched. But for what reason? That's when we started running the DNA analysis. Our forensic geneticist,” I rolled my eyes at this and he gave me arched brows, “found the anomaly right away.”
Smith held his chin in his hand, thinking. “One thing that doesn't make sense.” He looked at Buckley. “That one victim, Mason's brother, he was killed a decade ago. How could he be classified as a Null, now?”
Buckley looked at me for a heartbeat. “When Dr. Hart and his team mapped the genome, well... that was the determining factor. Those kids are gone, but they were predestined to be Nulls. We have the technology to identify that marker. Their deaths don't negate the inevitability of their ability. We have someone targeting Nulls.”
That made no sense.
Smith was nodding, pacing around in a large circle in the room, Buckley tracking his nervous tension as he walked it off. “Someone would have to know these kids were Nulls. How?” Smith said, turning to Buckley.
Buckley shrugged, responding. “That's not my area, I just report the findings and offer my speculative opinion based on the science of it all.”
Smith stopped pacing. “What do you think, though? As an opinion.”
Buckley stood there, his lab coat rumpled, his bald head gleaming under the old, now-illegal (think grandfathered) florescent lighting.
“I'd have to say that it's an insider.”
“Wait a sec. If the first victim, Brett's brother, would've been what, four?” I asked.
Smith nodded.
I was on the edge of a revelation. “It would be someone at the school.”
Buckley shook his head. “No. I was thinking law enforcement or maybe government.”
Certainly the government sucked eggs but it didn't feel right for this. It didn't fit.
Smith scrubbed his face. “Okay, I think it's obvious that it's an insider. Someone that either 1) had access to confidential records or 2) had someone identifying the paranormals.”
The men stood there thinking and I felt like I was circling around the answer when Tiff threw in, “Aura Reader, brainiacs.”
Aura Reader.
Smith's smile broke across his face, snapping his fingers and turning to Tiff like he'd hug her.
“No touchy,” she said, warding him off with a hand.
“Right,” he said.
“Okay, I'm going to pulse Gale and Garcia and report this,” he said as his hover-pulse floated to his hand.
I didn't think I'd ever get used to the hover feature. Judging by Tiff's face, she felt the same.
Buckley was oblivious, thumbing our conversation onto his pulse-pad. “Okay, you kids,” he looked at us. “You should be looking at Nulls as targets, all Nulls. This criminal has most likely been doing this since the first of the paranormal markers were labeled. Why are they after Nulls?” he shook his head.
John.
Panic gripped me and as I looked at Tiff, knowledge bloomed like a horrible flower on her face. “John,” she breathed out.
John would be a target, John was in danger.
“Smith!” I yelled, Tiff coming to stand beside me.
Startled, he looked up from his pulsing.
“My friend, my friend, John Terran, he's a Null.”
Smith stopped pulsing.
“We nee
d to get over there. Now,” I said.
He shook his head. “These began with older deaths, Caleb. There isn't sufficient evidence to indicate that it's the same killer. Except, of course, they were all Nulls.”
Yeah.
Buckley looked at him. “I think Caleb may be right. Just because this is what we've found, thus far,” he shook his head, “it may mean that the killer has found another site.”
“What site?” Tiff asked.
“Another burial site,” Buckley said.
Oh my God. There were possibly more?
“You're right; we can't assume this guy is done. He may be actively taking out Nulls.” He looked at me. “We'll go by Terran's house, okay? First, I need to tell Gale to go back five years on missing kids reports, see if there are others and try to make a connection on Null manifestation discovery and subsequent disappearance.”
“Well, get hot, I mean, John is busy at his house doing some tech- love with Alex and doesn't know some creeper is smelling blood in the water.”
“Shark,” Tiff said.
Yeah, like that.
“Aren't his folks home?” Smith asked.
“Yeah, but they're like one hundred and five,” Tiff said.
“Really?” Smith asked, eyebrows raised to his hairline.
Tiff gave a hard eye-roll. “Aren't you the cop here? No...they're really not that old, but they're ancient.”
Yeah, John's folks were older than Gramps.
“I guess they could do a fair job of bludgeoning with their canes,” I said.
Buckley laughed. “Well, maybe your sense of humor will stay intact as you visit the next burial site.”
“You're saying that like it's an absolute, Sam,” Smith said.
He nodded his head. “I've seen this type of death rampage before, and this type of killer continues until he's shut down. They don't want to stop. There is some kind of compulsion. They feel they're doing some kind of service for the 'greater good'.” he finished, his hands falling from the airquotes he'd just done.
“Could it be a girl?” Tiff asked suddenly.
Buckley shrugged but it was Smith that answered, “Typically, serial killers are almost always men.”
“From the evidence I have, it would have had to be a formidable woman to execute these murders.”
Smith gave him the look. I knew what that stood for: watch it, these guys are just kids.
Buckley hesitated, looking at Smith. “Listen, you guys brought these teens in on this, they're old enough to know the details.”
Smith sighed.
Buckley gave his full attention to us. “The perpetrator separated, in all but two of the deaths, the cervical vertebrae,” he reached to show Tiff on her neck and she backed away. He shrugged and put a finger on me instead, it gave me the flesh crawl. “Here, at C-7 and here, at C-6. That separation caused immediate paralysis and then the blunt force trauma was administered,” he paused, “causing death.” His hand slowly lowered and he made eye contact with us.
Tiff and I were quiet, thinking about an adult that felt they were somehow doing something right by killing those children.
“Okay, enough. I'm taking the kids by their friend's house. And,” he looked at Buckley, “Gale will be slogging through the missing person's reports. We should have some commonality soon, if there's any to be found.”
The men shook hands. Smith jerked his head at the door and we moved out. Tiff gave a last look at Buckley. He was worth a stare. After all, he spent more time with the dead than the living.
My kind of dude.
CHAPTER 12
We stood awkwardly at John's front door, waiting for a parent (or way-better, John himself) to answer.
No luck, it was John's mom. She peeked out from behind the doorway, saw it was me and opened the door. “Why, Caleb, it's a pleasure to see you again.” she said, sweeping her hand in front of me and Smith and Tiff trailed in after us.
I was always super-nervous at John's house. One great reason was the plastic on the furniture. Mom would have done back flips with the petrochemical off-gassing on that. It brought a smile to my face. They were über-tight-ass adults. I think she dusted fifteen times a day. John's room looked like Kid Museum to me. I sighed, this would take some thinkin' on my part.
Just then Alex and John came out. Alex's glasses still hung by a broken thread on his face and the arm wrapped in the gauze with a sling. John gave me The Look: what's up?
Oh nothing, pal. Just some psycho with a hard-on for Nulls. Nothing special.
Out loud I said, “We've had a break in the case.”
Smith stepped up beside me. “Maybe we could sit down somewhere,” he said, eying the yards of plastic with trepidation.
Tiffany let about twenty bubbles snap and burst in a row, causing all of us to jump. Mrs. Terran was on it, she held out a small trash separator casually, beefing it up about a foot under Tiff's mouth.
Pointing a finger toward the top she said, “A new home for the nastiness we call gum.”
Tiff looked at her and she stared back, her gray eyes bright and unruffled in her wrinkled face. Wow... Tiff was so not prepared for the intellectual force that was John's mom. I was thinking she should cave now and not bother. Tiff deliberated. Finally, she spit the gum out in an unladylike glob that hit the rim, and slid down to the bottom, leaving a gross snail-trail of green ooze on the way down. Geez.
Smith watched this all with fascination.
Mrs. Terran spun on her heel and said, “Of course, how rude of me.” The tone of voice did not sound like she felt rude. “Join me at the table.”
She strode over to a table that gleamed under a hanging LED chandelier with polished arms. We all stood uncomfortably around it and she said, “Sit, please.”
John and Alex slid into place and Smith stuck out his hand. “I'm Officer John Smith from the City of Kent Police Department.” She shook his hand and the rest of us sat.
“What I say must be held with the strictest confidentiality for now,” he began, “but, due to the nature of what we've discovered and your son's proximity to Caleb, we feel you're on a need-to-know basis now.”
I looked at Smith and he nodded. “Garcia knows. It's okay.”
Huh, maybe he was off his period now, I thought uncharitably.
“What does this have to do with John? He is not one to participate in anything untoward,” Mrs. Terran said, her eyes unwavering.
No. He was just too smart to get caught.
John gave me big eyeballs across the table. I gave an imperceptible nod back. Don't worry about it, the nod said.
Smith sighed. “It's not anything he's done, Mrs. Terran.”
“Please, call me Joan.”
Huh, I guess adults got status rights, she was still Mrs. Terran to me.
He nodded, continuing, “You may have heard on the news about recent developments on the murders of the children at that old cemetery by Hwy 167?”
“Clemen's Cemetery. Yes, I was aware. We remain updated about current events, especially those which impact us locally.”
John was busy dying in his chair across from me. I guess there were more embarrassing parents than having one that was famous.
Almost.
Smith leaned back against the chair, folding his arms across his chest. He decided something. “Mrs. Terran,” ignoring the Joan-thing entirely, “the killer is targeting Nulls.”
Comprehension flooded Mrs. Terran's face and she gave John a piercing stare, as if somehow he had caused the eagle-eye of the killer to fall on him.
His face suffused with a dull brick color and I saw Tiff squirm out of the corner of my eye. This was awkward.
“He is in danger. All Nulls are in danger. We suspect that the killer may be in a position in which he's in close proximity to kids, access to confidential records and such. John's association with Caleb makes him even more vulnerable because Caleb and Tiff, as AFTDs, are helping track the killer through his death trail.”
“And y
ou, Mr. Smith; you are a part of this investigation in what capacity?” she asked, carefully folding bird-like hands with blue veins captured in milky skin.
“I'm a Null.”
“How many points are you?” she asked.
“Five.”
“I see. Are you not afraid yourself, Mr. Smith?”
Smith shook his head. “I am their protector, their advocate. He has no pattern of killing adults that we're aware of.”
“I think that may change, Mr. Smith. As you circle his lair, pressing in upon his complacency, he may lash out, capturing all the Nulls together... making us essentially vulnerable here.” She gestured with a palm, taking in the greater space around us.
John jerked straight up in his seat, he'd thought of something. Alex nodded alongside; they both got hit by the intellectual whammy at the same moment.
“It's anarchy,” John said.
Smith looked at him sharply. “Explain.”
John was excited, his elbows glancing the table top, so thrilled to tell his idea that he totally missed his mom's frown. “If all the Nulls were not here, this would be an oasis of chaos.”
Huh, kinda poetic, Terran.
Alex expounded, “We'd have no protection. No way of policing the paranormals. They'd have to be stopped with...”
“Force,” Smith said.
We all looked at one other.
It was Mrs. Terran that summed it up, “If the Nulls were extinguished, then that would leave us undefended and stronger action could be taken. By whom?” she paused rhetorically. “By the same people or another entity like them, waiting for this moment to squeeze their fist-of-control, taking out the paranormals as a group. By death, containment or worse.”
“What's the 'or worse'?” I asked.
She looked at me in the only way she knew how, with condescension. “That, Caleb, would be experimentation with the blessing of our government.”
Back to that again, I thought, remembering the Graysheets.
Tiff was remembering too, giving me wide, frightened eyes.
“What concession of protection are the police willing to provide?” she asked, her arms carefully steepled on the table, sweatered elbows causing no mar upon its perfection.
The Death Series, Books 1-3 Page 50
