snakebyte: book 5.0 in the Byte Series (The _byte series)

by Cat Connor

  “Thank you.”

  “I have a copy of the poster he’s distributed in town. The poster features ventriloquist dummies, a large green parrot, and a crow or raven,” she said. “He also performs in the mall on fine days, prior to his shows. Little teasers to get people interested.”

  “Don’t suppose you have a contact number for Mr. Latham?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Probably easier to book a ticket and go along to his show. You might be able to get backstage after his performance.”

  “Thank you for your help.” I hung up. Might be able to get backstage, my ass. I had a badge that said I could and would be backstage.

  I also had a pair of cuffs for him if indeed it was him.

  All things being equal, the simplest solution is the best. Occam’s razor vied with H.L. Mencken in my head. There is always a well-known solution to every human problem – neat, plausible, and wrong.

  All things being equal, I wanted a neat, simple, right, solution and this whole thing over.

  I booked four tickets for that night. Delta A night out. I did some online research, looking for a list of towns he’d played in and when. Not every town had a murder while he was there, not all of them, but enough to make it suspicious and to make me think I might be on to something.

  I called out to Lee as I saw him walk by my door. “Yo, Lee.”

  His head ducked around the doorframe. “Yo, ya self.”

  “We’ve got plans tonight, to see a ventriloquist.”

  He shrugged. “Great. At least it ain’t a hypnotist or a freaky medium.”

  Damn, that reminded me of Eddie and his ridiculous quest to locate Mac. If I hooked him up with a medium maybe, he’d get off my back and find his own answers. I filed the idea away for later action.

  “Seen Sam?”

  “Yeah, he’s with Kurt. I saw them heading out of the building.”

  “I’ll call him.”

  Lee carried on down the hall.

  I called Sam and let him know we had plans. His reaction was similar except he didn’t mention a medium. Maybe for this year’s Delta Christmas party I’ll get a hypnotist. I wrote a note on my desk blotter to remind me to book one. Maybe Mr. Latham could recommend someone.

  “Hey, is Kurt with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was mumbling then I heard Kurt’s voice in my ear.

  “Getting you coffee, is there anything else you want?”

  “Thanks and no. We are all meeting outside the theater at seven-thirty. The show starts at eight.”

  “Looking forward to it. We’ll be back in the office in about five minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up then made a quick call to Sandra to find out who was working in the Delta office that evening. Turned out she was. Good to know. If we came across something that required access to our computer system, Sandra would be able to do that.

  Sam and Kurt delivered me coffee and then headed out to the bullpen. I kept working on trying to piece together the various crime scenes and search for anything else that made sense. Anything that wasn’t a raven or a crow killing people.

  Lee popped back into my office about ten minutes before it was time to leave. I planned on walking as it wasn’t far. With the sudden raven sightings out at home and the woods we’d been in since the case began, I actually quite liked the buildings, people, and traffic, maybe I appreciated them more. Less so the trees lining so many of the city streets.

  “You walking?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Want company?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sam and Kurt are meeting us out front. We may as well all walk.”

  I unplugged my cell phone from the charger cable that lay on my desk. The cable immediately slithered to the floor. I hooked it back up and plopped a book on it to secure it.

  “Stay!” I said.

  “Ready? Let’s rumble,” Lee said, lifting my jacket off the hook by the door and holding it out to me.

  I took the jacket and pulled it on. It was getting cooler out now. Daytime temperatures remained unseasonably warm, but at night, the temperature started to drop. I’d pretty much missed most of summer. Thank you, tequila.

  It was time for the seasons to change.

  The walk to the theater was uneventful. People filled the cafés and sat outside restaurants. Laughter peppered and punctuated our stroll. Sometimes ours, but most often it came from people we passed or those that passed us.

  Outside the theater, a few people milled about. I wondered how many would actually be at such a show. I couldn’t imagine it being a full house or anything near to full.

  Lee, Sam, Kurt, and I leaned our backs to the theater wall and watched with interest. The people milling about and heading inside were the ones we’d be sharing the next two or so hours with. They were a colorful assortment of folk. I decided that was a good description. It beat toothless inbred hands down. My observations remained trapped in my own mind. Toothless inbred some may be but I would defend their right to be so, to the death.

  With five minutes until show time, we sauntered in to the heavily draped, dimly lit, theater foyer through the double doors on the street. The ambience and decor didn’t bode well for the rest of the place. Shabby but not shabby chic, the dim lighting didn’t conceal the torn wallpaper and chipped paint. The foyer was in need of a full redecoration. If this was what greeted patrons and meant to entice them further in, it wasn’t working for me.

  Sam lifted a heavy curtain aside after noting a sign that said auditorium. I suspected it to be a fancy word for cruddy claustrophobic curtained hole. I fully expected my foot to go through the floorboards, or the plaster off the water-damaged ceiling to collapse on me any second.

  Tentatively slipping through the gap into the world beyond confirmed my thoughts. Ahead of Lee and Sam, Kurt and I edged our way between tables, stepping over legs, handbags, and picking my way around chairs until I found a table with enough legroom for the four of us. Unfortunately, it was up front and on the other side from the exit. “Trapped” sprang to mind. Trapped in a dim curtained coffin with large birds.

  Unimpressed.

  I scanned the curtained walls looking for a fire exit sign, or light, or something that would offer a glimmer of hope in case of a catastrophe. Either the bulb had blown or there was no other way out.

  Crap.

  People around us chattered and drank. The room reminded me of somewhere. The smell and the heavy drapes conspired to bring back one of my last memories of my mother. Before it could take over there was a flash on the stage, then a spotlight from the back of the room illuminated a man sitting on a stool with a dummy on his knee.

  “Nice dummy,” Sam whispered.

  “Yeah, but why would he let that creep put his hand up his ass?” Lee replied.

  I bit my lip to stop myself laughing. Kurt chuckled.

  The man spoke. He introduced himself and his little wooden friend. Goddamn, I couldn’t believe I was watching a ventriloquist. And he sucked out loud. I hoped he’d get better, but half an hour into the drivel it seemed to get worse and there were was no sign of the freaky bird or the parrot.

  Lee was sitting so he could see the stage and half the room. Sam had the other half and the stage. Kurt and I could see only the stage. It would’ve been too suspicious to have us all watching everyone at once.

  After Ronald Latham antagonized his puppet for nearly an hour, he got to his feet and thanked the audience, so did the puppet. There is something intrinsically evil about ventriloquists’ dummies. Latham’s puppet had wild crazy hair. It stuck out at all angles and was a multitude of shades and colors. He was in need of a good hair stylist.

  The man and puppet disappeared off stage. Minutes later Ronald Latham reappeared with a covered cage. He set the cage on the floor and sat on the stool next to it. He whooshed away the cover revealing a large green and red parrot. The parrot looked like it should’ve been on Johnny Depp’s shoulder as he staggered about
flapping his hands in Pirates of the Caribbean. Latham didn’t look the pirate type, No patch, no funny hat, no limp, no cool accent, and he didn’t seem drunk. Drunk might’ve been an improvement.

  “This is painful,” I whispered to Kurt.

  “Yes, it is,” he replied.

  We watched as he made the parrot talk. Thankfully, his hand stayed away from its feathery ass. The bird was either really talking, or liked moving its beak up and down for no reason while Latham threw his voice to the bird. From what I’d seen, I doubted he had the talent to throw his voice like that.

  It was unconvincing and the banter predictable.

  Polly wants a cracker.

  So far, there wasn’t a lot going for Ronald Latham. Not a lot at all. He announced via the parrot that there would be a ten-minute interval. I groaned.

  We watched in silence as he covered the cage, people clapped and cheered. I stifled a yawn behind my hand. Ronald Latham smiled sickeningly and bowed, before whisking the cage away. The stage lights dimmed down as the house lights came up.

  The room and décor didn’t improve with the addition of strong lighting. The lighting gave us a chance to get a good look around the room.

  The faces were familiar. We’d seen them all outside.

  “Ellie, two tables back – who does that look like?” Lee asked.

  I wasn’t facing the back of the room, so contrived a way of getting a peek. I knocked something off the table then bent to pick it up.

  It was Blanchard. He must’ve come in behind us, or maybe was already in. I kept my back to him. I wasn’t wearing anything that screamed FBI, my hair hung loose down my back. I wore a tailored leather jacket that sat two inches below my hips, and dark blue tight stretch bootleg jeans. Last time he saw me, I was a mess from the woods, wearing an FBI jacket, with my hair pulled into a ponytail and a cap on my head. I’m sure the addition of twigs, bloodied boots, and general dirt and grime would’ve helped disguise my actual appearance. Lee was more recognizable than I was. But he too scrubbed up well. He went from Rambo to rock star.

  “Wonder why Mr. Blanchard is here?” I muttered to the guys. “Quite the coincidence.”

  “Ain’t it?” Lee replied.

  Sam and Kurt hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Blanchard yet. He snapped a few sneaky pictures with his camera phone, making sure he had some of the man who was with Blanchard as well.

  “Email those to Sandra and see if she can run them through the data bases. She might be able to get something on him without too much fuss,” I suggested in a low conversational tone. I didn’t want anything I said to enlist interest from those around us.

  Sam tapped away on his phone. A few seconds later, it vibrated in his hand. I heard the buzz.

  “That’ll be your girlfriend.”

  He smiled widely. “How’d you know that?”

  “I saw how you watched her drive into the park,” I replied. “What’d she say?”

  He read the text. “She said she’s running the photo now.”

  “Tell her thanks.”

  The lights dimmed.

  What fresh hell would Latham subject us to now? He arrived on stage and settled himself on the stool. The spotlight came up and revealed another dummy on his knee.

  “Oh good, he’s got his hand up another doll’s ass,” I whispered to Sam.

  Ronald Latham looked right at me. He didn’t blink once before looking away. Freaky.

  Another round of pointless banter between the man and the hunk of wood erupted. While he rambled on, the wooden doll called him names and told all his dirty little secrets I considered the implications of Blanchard’s presence. They ranged from coincidence to him being a partner of the ill-favored Ronald Latham.

  He really was ill-favored, and even spookily bird like in his facial features. A giant hooked nose hung over his top lip, casting his narrow mouth into shadow. His mouth fell away to nothing then became a long thin neck. His chin was all but absent. I presumed the thin mouth hidden in shadow and lack of chin made it easier for him to disguise any movement when he did his act. His hair was almost non-existent. Wispy strands started above his right ear and swept across his barren head to his other ear. A comb-over. How delightful. Bet that was fun in the wind. It was difficult to determine coloring, maybe a light brown with a hint of red.

  Beady eyes darted back and forth under thick orangey brows. I searched for a redeeming feature but found none. His sparkling personality appeared as wooden as his dolls. Actually, they had more personality sitting there than he did himself.

  I tried to concentrate on his act. It took forever before he signaled with his hand and the lights dimmed. A few seconds later, they rose again, his spotlight moved across the stage to him.

  On his arm sat a big black raven. It wasn’t a crow, not unless it was a crow on steroids.

  The bird looked out over the audience and cawed then turned to our direction and said, “Help! Help!”

  Sam growled but only we heard him.

  The bird repeated the same words to the other side of the auditorium. Then took off and flew around the room. I fought the urge to cower and cover my head. As the big black raven flew another circuit, I had to sit on my hands to stop myself drawing my gun.

  It flew back to the stage and perched again on Latham. He chatted away to the bird, this time I knew the bird was talking back. It was obviously a rehearsed speech and the bird’s answers were trained. The crowd was riveted and cheered with joy at each clever response given by the bird. I wasn’t so impressed, not until Ronald Latham asked the bird a question.

  “Have we any special guests in the house tonight, Jack?”

  The bird’s name was Jack. I filed that away in case I needed to call the bastard thing by name, or interrogate it, or stuff it into pastry and bake a pie. Although I do believe it was four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, not ravens.

  Jack cawed in raven fashion. A harsh raucous noise grated on my every nerve. Jack turned to our table and said, “FBI, Ronald, FBI.”

  I wanted the crappy floor to open up and swallow me. Lee and Sam slid further down in their chairs.

  Ronald replied, “Why Jack, how do you know it’s the FBI?”

  The freaking bird said, “Guns and badges …”

  Lee, Sam, Kurt, and I looked at each other. No one had a visible gun or badge. This was crap. I swallowed. The raven which flew out of the woods could’ve seen my gun and badge. Can they actually remember stuff like who is who?

  I tapped Lee’s foot with my own. He looked at me. “That’s the bird that was in the parking lot at Rock Creek, that’s the only way it could know.”

  “You want me to arrest the bird?” he whispered.

  “Yes!” I said with a grin. “Let’s see where this is going and keep a mindful eye on Blanchard. I don’t wanna be caught out and end up shooting our way out of this hell hole.”

  “You think he’s involved?”

  “I didn’t think so initially but look where he is now …”

  “True enough,” Sam said, leaning in to hear what Lee and I were discussing.

  Latham noticed his movement. It would be hard not to, he wasn’t exactly a small guy.

  “And how are the FBI enjoying the show so far?”

  Damn! A question directed right at us. Neither Lee nor I wanted to answer, so far Blanchard hadn’t had a good look at us. I kicked Sam.

  He broke into a weird-assed grin, which made him look maniacal. His brilliant white teeth shone in the dim light as he readied an answer for the sideshow freak on the stage.

  His deep voice penetrated the distance to Latham.

  “I’m enjoying it fine. Used to see something similar back home when I was a kid.”

  “Where you from sir?” Ronald Latham asked.

  I was surprised it wasn’t the bird asking.

  Then the bird spoke, “Virginia.”

  How the hell could a bird pick that? The bird seemed considerably smarter than the ventriloquist did. In all truthfu
lness, the wooden dolls were smarter than he was.

  “Is that right sir? You from the Dominion?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Not northern, though … no, not northern. You from down near North Carolina?”

  Sam nodded.

  I slipped my phone into my hand and concealed it with the table. Texting Sam so I didn’t have to speak and distract Ronald Latham.

  Me: How does he know that?

  Sam: Maybe he’s good with accents.

  “There was a fair we went to every six months down in Greensboro, North Carolina,” Sam said.

  “I know that fair,” Ronald Latham said. “It’s still operating.”

  I was beginning to wonder how old the odd-looking man was, forty-five to fifty, perhaps. Or thirty-five and a very hard life.

  I text messaged Sam again: Do you remember him?

  Sam: no, but there was a guy like him.

  Nice to know there’s more than one.

  My next message was to Sandra back at the office. I asked her to look for murders in North Carolina in the last six months, especially those involving strangling in parks.

  The patrons were growing restless. Ronald Latham returned to his scripted act. The bird flew a couple more disturbing circuits then picked on a few different audience members. Some woman with a feather sticking out of her hat garnered special attention.

  “I don’t wear people fur,” the bird squawked indignantly; the crowd laughed. Jack the bird stalked up and down the stage cawing and protesting. He did a good display of outrage.

  Ronald Latham tried placating him, obviously part of the act. I wondered if the woman was a plant. She laughed too loudly and clapped with too much gusto throughout the very mediocre show.

  My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Sandra. There was a murder the week before our last one. In a park, not far from Greensboro. She found it by searching news sites. Police hadn’t yet loaded the murder details onto ViCAP.

  I texted her back and requested that she contact the police handling the investigation and find out if they had a list of suspects or had perhaps arrested someone for the murder.