Laura was still fuming at her son. Ben asked her, “You okay?”
“I have a terrible headache.”
“I’ll get you an Advil.”
“What I have can’t be remedied with pills.”
“Mom, I’m really sorry. But at least we’re getting somewhere.”
There were tears in her eyes. “Ben, our family has suffered horribly. In a single stroke, our lives were in shambles. A wound can’t heal if you keep picking at the scab.”
“I know. I’m sorry for all the misery I’ve caused you.”
“You didn’t cause me misery. He did. I just want some of the pieces put back together, even if the clay pot is badly damaged. Is that too much to ask?”
Ben’s dad said, “Laura, why don’t you lie down? I’ll catch you up in the morning.”
“What do they need you for, William?”
“One of us should be here. And Ro hired me as her lawyer. I have to stay.”
“So now you’re involved?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No, I suppose not.” She walked out of the living room.
Shanks was already sitting at the dining room table, booting up his laptop. Ro said, “I’ll make some coffee.”
“I’ll make it.” Ben got up and started a pot. Ro was smoothing out her prom dress. It was then that Ben realized he was still wearing his rented tux. “I’m going to change. You want some sweats, Ro?”
“That would be nice.”
They went into his room and he tossed her sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “You’ve contacted your parents?”
“It was all I could do to keep my father from charging down here.”
“He’s welcome to join the gang.”
“Not on your life, Vicks. I also told them I’m sleeping over.”
“Why? I’ll take you home.”
“I’m not going out in the dark and neither should you. We don’t know where he is. Can I take a shower in your bathroom? My makeup is itching my skin.”
“Of course. You can sleep here. I’ll use Ellen’s room.”
“That’s okay with your mom?”
“Sometimes I sleep there. Sometimes my mom sleeps there. You know . . .”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do know.”
When they came back into the living room, Ro had changed into sloppy clothes, her wet hair in a towel. Without the dress and the makeup, she looked about fifteen, especially with the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
Shanks was staring at his laptop screen. He opened up a briefcase. “Over my many, many years as a cop, I’ve learned to only ask questions if I want to hear the answers. Right now, I’m interested in getting information without landing either one of you in jail.”
“Same goal here,” William said. “I’m here as Ro’s lawyer.”
“That’s fine.” Sam took out a piece of paper. “Here is a list of scientists that I have been looking into since Ben told me his theory about the killer being involved in the labs.” He handed a sheet of paper to Ro and the same one to Ben. “Anyone strike your fancy?”
Ben scanned the names. Some were the people whom Ro and he had been looking into. “How’d you get these names, Sam?”
He gave Ben a long, hard look. “What do you think I do with my time, Vicksburg? Throw paper airplanes across the squad room?”
“Don’t take offense. You know me by now.”
“Yes, I do.” He tousled the kid’s hair, an act that was more appropriate three years ago. In Sam’s eyes, Ben was still a kid. “These names were chosen because the men on this list have been to three out of the four labs for business. We’ve investigated all of them, and by our thinking, none of them seems like a suitable candidate.” He paused. “But some of them do travel a lot. If you’re brilliant and happen to be a sexual psychopath, it’s a good deal for you. Talk to me about these names.”
Ben took a pencil and checked the names he recognized. To Ro, he said, “How are you doing?”
She made a face. “I remember looking up Peter Chesney and Neville Armand . . . Paul Arons . . . Michael Swit. I know we eliminated them, Vicks, but I don’t remember why.”
“Neither do I, but if these guys were at all of the labs—”
“Three out of four,” Sam corrected.
“At the times of the murders—”
“I didn’t say anything about that,” Sam said. “What I told you was that they’ve been to at least three of the four labs.”
“Katie Doogan?” William asked.
“Katie Doogan and two others—Julia Rehnquist, who was buried near Lawrence Livermore, and Jamey Moore, who was found not too far from Oak Ridge National Lab.”
The elder Vicksburg turned to his son. “You knew about other murders?” When Ben didn’t say anything, he said, “I suppose you’ve been doing this because I haven’t done anything. My bad.”
“No, that’s not it.” Ben put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “I started doing it so you didn’t have to.”
“Can we stick to the case here?” Shanks said. “So you’ve seen some of these names.”
“Some . . .” Ro was still looking at the names. “Why don’t you like them as the bad guy?”
“Age, rank, and serial number. They don’t fit the profile. Their time is accounted for. They didn’t rack up a lot of miles on their rentals. They didn’t stay in strange places and they don’t have a lot of unexplained absences. Milton Ortiz and Derek Whitecliffe agree. What do you think?”
Ben said, “If you don’t like them, that’s good enough for me.”
“A rare compliment.” Sam took the list away. “So . . . for the time being, we’ll put them on the bottom.” He turned to the kids. “Don’t either of you tell me more than I’m asking for.”
“Just phrase your questions in a yes-or-no format,” William said.
“Do you two have lists of more names?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously, I’d like to look at your research, Ben, but if you’ve gotten the names in a suspicious manner, I can’t. Should I look at your names?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. Did you hack into anything, Ben?”
He looked at his father, who said, “No, he did not.”
Sam said, “When Ben told me his lab theories, I called up hotels in the area that deal with Los Alamos. Then I got a court order that allowed me to look at the guest lists from those hotels for certain dates. Now I know the Jackson deals with Los Alamos.” He looked at Ro. “And I know that you work at the Jackson. Am I right about that?”
“You are correct,” she said.
Ben was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me you got lists from the Jackson?” he asked Shanks.
“Because you’re not a cop, Vicks, and you’re not privy to the same information that I am. And while I could get a court order for some dates, I couldn’t exactly justify looking through three years’ worth of registry. But unlike you, I can get court orders for hotels in addition to the Jackson. So I have some advantages. The way I figure it, you have some advantages and I have some advantages.” Sam smiled. “I’m going to show you a lot of lists of names. I shouldn’t be showing them to you. But we’re not going to tell anyone, right?”
“Our lips are sealed,” Ro said.
“Will, does this make you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.”
“Great.” Sam opened a briefcase and pulled out sheaves of paper. “It’s a long list. I want you to point out anyone who you think I might want to investigate further.”
It was a long roster of names, presented in alphabetical order. Kevin Barnes hadn’t made the cut. Ben cleared his throat and handed it back to him. “Do you have the original rosters? The ones directly off the hotel computers?”
“This is the original list. I just alphabetized it.”
“It isn’t complete.”
“Yes it is.”
“No it isn’t, Sam. It’s only men.”
His eyes widened.
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“Do you have the lists from before you winnowed them down to men?”
“They’re not organized.”
Ro said, “We know who we’re looking for.”
Sam rubbed his forehead. “Hold on. Let me bring up the files. I’ll link them all together . . . it’s forty-five pages.”
“That’s okay.”
“They’re alphabetized. That should help you out.” He showed the kids his screen. “Knock yourself out.”
Ben and Ro sorted through the names. She spotted one first. “Venika Berns . . .”
“Who?”
“This one.” Ro pointed it out. “And Senna Berkiv. And here’s Karen Bevins again.”
“Eva Birnskin,” Ben said.
Ro scrolled down and down and down. “Oh, here’s one. Anne V. Kerbis.”
“What are you looking at?” Sam stared at the names. “They’re all anagrams.” He looked at their faces. “Who?”
Ben said, “The name is not on your list, so do you really want me to say something out loud?”
“I should be able to figure it out.” Shanks was talking more to himself than to anyone else. “It’s an odd combination of letters . . . V-I-K . . . is it Vik . . . wait, don’t answer.”
Ben said, “I could write an algorithm that would spit out all the possible combinations of names.”
“How long would it take you?”
“There might be something I could download off the Internet. Give me about a half hour.”
“Go. I’ll keep working at this.”
Ro yawned. Ben said, “Do you want to go to bed?”
“Not on your life.” She smiled at Mr. Vicksburg. “Do you mind if I stay over? I don’t feel like traveling the open roads.”
“Of course, honey.” William stood up. “I’m going to check on my wife.”
“Sure, sure,” Shanks said.
Ro said, “I think I’ll lie down on the couch for a moment and dream about a real prom . . . where there’s a disco ball and a king and a queen and they dance together while everyone applauds.”
Shanks was muttering to himself. “Vik . . . Kiv . . . Ben . . . is it Ben?”
Ro said, “It’s not Ben.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“Stop asking me.”
“I’m talking to myself. Ben . . . Benk . . .”
Ben said, “I’ll go try to figure out an algorithm.”
Shanks went on, muttering to himself until a half hour had passed. Ben returned with a printout in his hand.
Shanks said, “Kiv . . . Kev . . . Kevin? Is it Kevin?”
“It’s very warm in here.” Ro made a point of fanning herself. “You must be very warm as well. As a matter of fact, Detective, I think you’re sizzling.”
“I’m sizzling,” Ben said.
Shanks said, “Okay, it’s Kevin. Kevin what?”
Ben handed Shanks the printout. He spotted the name right away. It was the combination that made the most sense. “Kevin Barnes.” When neither of the kids said anything, Shanks grinned. “Okay. Now we’re cooking with gas. He’s not the football player.”
“Unlikely.”
“There’s an art dealer, a shop owner, a lawyer—”
Ben cleared his throat. Shanks looked up and then back at the screen. “Why would I be interested in a lawyer?” More taps on the keyboard. “I can’t even find out what kind of lawyer he is.”
“Just off the top of my head, it might be immigration,” Ro told him. “He might get foreign visas for visiting scientists, but that’s just a guess.”
Shanks was stunned. “How’d you find that out?”
“Just a guess.”
“Kevin Barnes works for the national labs?” No one spoke. Shanks closed his laptop and stowed it in his briefcase. “I’m going down to the station house to make some phone calls.”
“Who are you going to call?”
“There are just a handful of people you know who could give you that information, Vicks. Specifically people who work for the lab.”
“If you’re thinking about George Tafoya, don’t call him. His lines are bugged.”
“What?”
“Honest to goodness. When we talk, we talk in my car.”
Shanks just shook his head. “What is he doing for you? Specifically?”
“He said he’d poke around quietly. He told me to stop doing anything I’m doing. And now I’ve told you everything I know. Can I come back to the station house with you?”
“Absolutely not.” He stood up. “This guy . . . whoever he is . . . you think you know something about him. But after tonight, I suspect he knows even more about you.” His eyes turned to Ro. “And you.” Back to Ben. “I know you can shoot. You might want to go down to the range.”
“I was thinking about doing that tomorrow . . . if I get a car.”
“What about you?” Shanks was addressing Ro. “Will you be joining him?”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” Ro told him. “I don’t believe in guns.”
Shanks licked his lips. “Young lady, maybe it’s time to change your religion.”
Chapter 9
It was an idiotic thing to do, so unlike him. He was, above all, methodical and calculating and conservative in thought as well as action. He planned meticulously. Something that impulsive was way beyond his understanding of himself.
Why did he do it? He obsessed about his actions as he drove through the darkness, through fog and shadows, until the wee hours of the morning were upon him. Why had he done something so moronic when he knew the kid was onto something? As soon as the girl took the job . . . something was up. He could tell.
Maybe he did it to scare the little shit, let him know that his actions were not without consequences. He knew the kid wouldn’t give up—after going in and out of the police station for years—but sometimes you had to show someone who was boss.
He drove on and on, through miles and miles of darkness: north through New Mexico, passing near Farmington and the Four Corners until he slid over the border into Colorado. As soon as he got to Denver, he’d camp out for the night. He had driven by mountains and flatlands and areas that were remote and perfect for his passion except they were far away. The next day he’d pass the Great Salt Lake and drive on until he reached Idaho.
It was two days of driving, but none of that bothered him much. He loved to drive as much as he loved to hunt. Not that he expected to find anyone on this lonesome highway and at this time of night. He didn’t even want to find anyone because then the temptation would be just too much.
Once every nine months: his season, his quota, his passion, his obsession. Any more than that, he’d be making a spectacle of himself.
Ben aimed and peeled off six shots in rapid succession. He pushed the button and the paper felon came forward, pierced like a sieve: two between the eyes, two elsewhere in the face, and two in the top half of his head.
JD studied his handiwork. “You’ve been practicing?”
“Here and there.”
“Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Too late for that.” They both laughed. Ro was not amused with ther camaraderie. Nor was she happy to be at a shooting range. She fiddled with her earmuffs. She examined her nails. She alternated between being bored and being sulky, talking in monosyllabic grunts.
JD put his paper felon on the line and pushed the button. Mr. Criminal was about thirty yards away. He loaded his pistol and took aim, sighting down to the target. His nose was just about healed, but there was a slight tilt as well as a chink in the bridge. He’d been playing contact sports since he was five, but it took a girl to screw up his perfect Roman slope. JD claimed he liked the result, that the asymmetry made him look tougher.
Ro said, “When is this going to be over?”
JD put the pistol down. “What’s your problem?”
“The problem is I’m bored. Let’s just leave.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Ben s
aid. “We’re doing this for your protection.”
JD said, “You could act a little grateful. I spent a fortune on a tux, a corsage, a limo, a room, and a great bottle of champagne, and you crapped out on me last night.”
“I’d much rather have been with you than where I was.” She glared at him. “And may I add for the record that you looked very happy to be with Lisa.”
“I didn’t screw her.” JD looked at Ben. “Can’t say the same for him.”
“I didn’t screw her either,” Ben said. “Don’t get me involved in your spat.” He turned to Ro. “You didn’t have to come here.”
“You insisted I come.”
That was true. “I thought you might want to learn something.”
“I hate guns!”
“Your loss,” JD said.
Ro knew she was acting bratty, but it was a cover-up. Secretly, she was fascinated that the two guys in her life were doing something she absolutely abhorred, and doing it for her.
JD sighted down to his target and emptied the chamber. When he was done, he’d hit two in the face, two in the body, and missed two altogether. “He’d still be dead. That’s all that matters.”
Ben said, “Give it a go, girl, even if it’s just this once.”
“A gun in my hand is a weapon for someone else. I could never shoot it. I’d freeze.”
“Which is exactly why you should learn to shoot a gun,” JD said. “So you won’t freeze.”
Ro didn’t say anything. Instead she gave both of them the full force of her steely eyes. It was weird. When she first started at Remez High, all she wanted was to rule the student body, be adored, and as an afterthought, she hoped that JD and Vicks would get along because she really did like them both. Now that they were friends again, it irritated her. Sometimes it seemed that they enjoyed each other’s company more than hers.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try it.”
JD put another paper felon on the line. He started at ten yards. He gave her his gun and stood behind her. He showed her how to hold the weapon, how to brace it with both hands to avoid kickback as much as possible. He said, “See that little thing sticking out? That’s the sight. Line it up with where you want to shoot.”
Killing Season Page 46
