The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6)

by Steven F Freeman

  They had traveled just over a hundred yards upstream when the Gooch held up his hand. “Found a footprint.” He removed the pocket tape measure and lined it up against the impression. “Yep, this is our guy.” He began to stride out of the creek but halted after two steps. “Wait…”

  “What is it?” asked Rios.

  “Look at this footprint here. And see that next one? Does anything look funny about them?”

  “Now that you mention it, they do look odd,” said Delaney. “Kind of…blurry.”

  “That’s because our guy wanted us to think he left the stream here. But he didn’t. After he walked out of this muddy section and onto that rocky ground, he walked backwards, right on top of his old footprints. But even when you’re careful, that kind of trick usually leaves a double-impression like what we see here, ‘cause you can never get your shoes to line up perfectly. Considering he was doing all this at night, he actually did a pretty good job. Without last night’s full moon, he might not have even tried this little trick.”

  “So now what?” asked Torres. “We keep going up the stream?”

  “Exactly,” replied the Gooch. “I’m betting if we go a little further, we’ll find another set of tracks.”

  The group plunged back into the water as another, louder roll of thunder swept over them.

  “Rápido,” said Rios, “or we will not see the tracks before the rain comes.”

  They quickened their pace, pausing now and then to examine suspicious markings and moving on when discovering no real evidence.

  “Over here!” called Gooch.

  The other joined him within seconds.

  “It’s just a bunch of animal tracks,” said Delaney.

  “Yep,” said Gooch, “but look here, right at the edge of the water.” He pointed with his index finger, lowering it until it nearly touched the mud. “This is the front part of a shoe tread. It’s been almost obliterated by the tracks of whatever animals came through here.”

  “These are the tracks of goats,” said Rios. “They run all over the island.”

  The Gooch nodded while a rumble of thunder boomed nearby. He took a few steps onto the creek’s bank. “I don’t see any more shoeprints. The goats have wiped out whatever tracks our man left.”

  “Lucky for him,” said Delaney.

  “Maybe more than luck,” said Gooch. “Many animals follow the same trails through the forest. If the goats came through here before, our man could have expected them to come through again—and eliminate his tracks.”

  “So you think this man know about the goat trail?”

  “It seems likely. We know he’s a local. He may have picked this point to exit the creek for that very reason.”

  “Or gotten lucky,” said Delaney. “Do you really think he planned on running headlong through the jungle in the first place?”

  “Maybe as a contingency plan, in case he was pursued.” The Gooch took a few more steps forward. “Let me check out this area for footprints, just in case there’s one or two more that didn’t get trampled.”

  Delaney surveyed the muddy field. It didn’t seem likely to yield any clues, but she didn’t object to her agent’s search. He had already proven his resourcefulness on this hunt.

  The Gooch proceeded across the right edge of the churned-up mud, bending down every few seconds to examine a particular curl or deep impression more closely. After following the trail up to a drier incline on which no prints of any kind remained, he began to work his way back down the left edge of the mud field, again squinting at the ground to make out fine detail.

  He reached the creek’s bank just as the heavens released a steady flow of rain. Water began to stream off verdant, overhead foliage, splattering the mud around them.

  “I didn’t see anything else,” said Gooch with a shake of his head. “If there’s any other shoeprints, they’ll be gone now.”

  Delaney turned to the Ecuadorian policemen. “Is there a town around here our perp may have run to?”

  Rios shook his head. “No. There are a lot of farms and houses in this area but no towns. Anyway, this is just the trail he used to escape. We don’t know if he went to one of the houses around here or to the other side of the island.”

  “True,” said Delaney. She turned to the Gooch, whose wiry hair lay plastered down the sides of his head in the steady rain. “You did an excellent job, but we’ve hit a dead-end. Let’s head back.”

  “Just a second,” said Gooch. He bent down to extract a small object from the mud. “I guess this rain shower isn’t all bad. I wouldn’t have seen this little beauty if it hadn’t washed been clean.”

  “What is it?” asked Delaney.

  Gooch turned up his palm, revealing his find. The frayed ends of a black, nylon necklace looped through a silver pendant fashioned in the shape of a tortoise. From the looks of it, the pendant was far from new.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a completely wasted trip,” said Gooch, now dangling the jewelry at eye level. “We find the owner of this, we might be one step closer to finding Summit.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Several hours after returning to the research facility, Alton raised his head from the characters dancing across his laptop screen at the sound of colleagues entering through the lab’s main door.

  The Gooch, Captain Fuentes, and Delaney headed for a side table on which Pavia had placed bottled water and several varieties of fruit. Tuttle, who sat at the table eating a banana, waved hello.

  Delaney made her way directly to Alton’s impromptu work area. She greeted Mallory at the adjacent desk and turned to Alton. “How’s the decryption coming?”

  “Pretty good,” he replied. “I cracked the codes to the third day’s research notes not long after I got here.”

  “Excellent. Has Cragmire weighed in on their significance yet?”

  “No. I think despite what you said this morning, he’s checking out more than just the scientific findings. I get the feeling he’s annoyed at having missed some of the key evidence yesterday.”

  “Wouldn’t any of us be?” said Delaney. She thought for a moment. “I guess I don’t mind him looking at the other content a little, but if he doesn’t come back with anything by mid-afternoon, I’ll remind him of his priorities: the scientific angle.”

  “Okay. Mallory has the same files, too. She’s still combing through the sections you assigned to her. No word on any findings yet.” He stopped to stretch his back and left leg just as the Gooch approached and handed him an apple.

  “How did your search for the scarred man go?” asked Alton.

  “We didn’t find him,” said the Gooch.

  “It wasn’t from lack of trying,” added Delaney. She nodded at her rain-soaked subordinate. “This man wasn’t kidding about having some tracking experience. He’s quite the expert.” Delaney provided a brief summary of their search.

  “I wonder if you would’ve found more shoeprints on the goat trail if the rain hadn’t started when it did,” said Alton.

  The Gooch shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t really matter now. We’re back to square one, except for this little beauty.” He displayed the tortoise necklace, now sealed in a clear evidence bag, to Alton.

  “Can I see that?” asked Alton.

  “Sure,” said the Gooch, handing it over.

  “The cord looks pretty worn. I wonder if any DNA from the owner’s skin cells has worked its way into the fiber. If it has, maybe we could match that DNA to our suspect—if we ever catch him.”

  Delaney nodded and turned to Mallory. “Can you send this cord to the FBI’s forensics lab?

  “Sure,” said Mallory, taking the evidence bag. “I’ll ship it out now.”

  The group looked up at the sound of the lab’s main door opening. Captain Fuentes entered and headed straight for them.

  “Hola, Captain,” said Delaney. “Have you learned anything about Summit’s mysterious meeting companions?”

  “You could say that,” replied the officer with the faintest trace
of a smile.

  “What is it? You’ve discovered something important?”

  “Yes,” said Fuentes. “Charles LeFlore and Wendy Chin are both here on the islands. My men tracked them down in the last few hours.”

  “Terrific,” said Delaney.

  “At this moment, LeFlore is at a bar in his resort. I suggest we go talk to him now. It’s only a thirty-minute drive.”

  “Sounds good—and Chin?”

  “She is sightseeing on Isabela Island. After we talk with LeFlore, we will use the police speedboat to pay her a visit.”

  “We’re going unannounced?” asked Alton.

  “Yes.”

  “Does that mean you think they may be flight risks?”

  “Is the same question I asked myself,” said Fuentes. He rubbed his chin. “You know, I didn’t get that feeling. They are both staying in good hotels under their own names. It doesn’t seem like they are trying to hide. On the other hand, maybe they don’t expect anyone to know about their meetings with Summit. In either case, I have men following them, just to be safe.”

  “Good,” said Delaney. “We can’t take any chances. One of these people may be the key to Summit’s kidnapping—or murder.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Captain Fuentes pulled his police SUV onto a side street, stopping just before the entrance to the Tortuga Tranquila Resort.

  “I will walk behind you,” he said. “I don’t want this man seeing my uniform in time to run away.” He turned to Delaney as they walked across the resort’s parking lot. “I checked with my immigration department. LeFlore carries a Canadian passport. That means he probably speaks English. If that is the case, I would like for you to lead the questioning since English is your native language. I think you will probably get more out of him…and be more likely to catch him if he lies.”

  The NSA manager nodded, and the group continued into the main building.

  Delaney moved next to Tuttle. “I’d like for you to look closely at this guy. Afterwards, you can tell us if you’ve seen him before.”

  Tuttle nodded but didn’t speak. Despite their measured pace, he puffed a little to keep up.

  The investigators sauntered though a broad lobby and entered the resort’s oval barroom, an open-air affair decorated with the earthy colors of traditional Ecuadorian art. Soft, pan-pipe melodies issued from speakers mounted high on the walls, and the murmur of quiet conversation from the bar’s patrons drifted around them.

  Fuentes pointed towards a solid, mid-thirties man with a fair complexion. The man sat at the cherry-wood bar with crossed legs, gesturing with his hands as he chatted with another resort guest, a pretty blonde occupying an adjacent barstool.

  The investigators walked across the room, stopping directly behind their target. Fuentes stepped to the front of the group. “Charles LeFlore?”

  For a split second, LeFlore’s face registered panic. The expression transformed into one of practiced nonchalance so quickly that Alton questioned whether he had truly witnessed the distressed look at all.

  “My friends call me Charlie,” replied the man.

  “I am Police Chief Rodrigo Fuentes. Me and my friends would like to talk to you for a few minutes. Why don’t you join us at that table on the back wall over there?”

  LeFlore turned to his companion. “Will you excuse me for a minute?”

  The group walked across the room’s central open space. Despite his six-foot stature, LeFlore moved with surprising grace. He maintained an air of easy assurance, and once or twice, his eyes darted to Delaney and Mallory with practiced charm. Possessing a muscular frame and a set of blue eyes complemented by coffee-colored hair, he seemed to be accustomed to such charm working in his favor.

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” said Fuentes, gesturing to a cast-iron chair squeezed between the table and back wall.

  LeFlore lowered himself onto the chair and cocked his head, seemingly unperturbed by the proceedings. A shaft of afternoon sunlight pierced through one of the open windows and splashed across his chest.

  The rest of the group took seats around the rectangular table. A waiter approached, but Fuentes waved him away.

  Delaney sat directly across from the Canadian. “Mr. LeFlore, I’m Cynthia Delaney. I’m a field manager with the United States’ National Security Agency, and these are the members of my team. You’re not required to speak with us, but we’d appreciate your answering some questions about Dr. Jan Summit.”

  The man shrugged. “Okay. Fire away.”

  “You know Dr. Summit is missing, right?”

  “Yes. Everyone on the island has heard, I think.”

  “Do you know anything about her abduction?” asked Delaney.

  “Just the rumors I hear in this place,” replied LeFlore with a sweep of his hand. “But who knows what is really true?”

  “Where were you between eight o’clock and midnight last Thursday night?”

  “Ha! So I am a suspect!” The man closed his eyes in concentration. “Let me see…Ah, I had a pleasant conversation with a young lady here at the resort—Linda, I think her name was.”

  “You had a four-hour conversation?” chimed in the Gooch from down the table.

  LeFlore smiled and glanced at the redheaded agent. “Well, we talked here at the bar for a little while, then we returned to my quarters and shared some…intimate moments for the rest of the evening.”

  “What time did you leave the bar?” asked Delaney.

  “I don’t know. About eight or eight-thirty, I guess. And before you ask, I pay my bar tab only once per week, so there’s no receipt from last Thursday to reference the time.”

  “Can anyone corroborate these statements?”

  The Canadian produced a frozen smile. “I don’t know. Maybe the bartender. Linda left the resort the next day, I’m sorry to say.”

  “We’ll check it out,” said Delaney. “In the meantime, I have a few more questions about Dr. Summit. We’re aware you met with her several times.”

  LeFlore raised his eyebrows but said nothing, instead maintaining an inquiring gaze on Delaney.

  “Can you explain the nature of your relationship with Dr. Summit?”

  The man smirked. “If you know I met with her, I’m surprised you don’t already know the reason.”

  Alton detected the trace of a French-Canadian lilt in the man’s speech. The accent probably didn’t hurt his chances with the ladies. He had already caught LeFlore staring at Mallory more than once, perhaps sizing her up.

  LeFlore continued. “But clearly you don’t know why I met with Dr. Summit, so I will tell you. Have you heard of Beauchamp Pharmaceutique?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” offered Alton. “Medium-sized biotech firm, right?”

  LeFlore snorted. “More like large biotech firm. Beauchamp is my employer. I have been in negotiations with Dr. Summit on its behalf.”

  Delaney shifted her weight. “What kind of negotiations?”

  “You know the nature of Dr. Summit’s research?” asked LeFlore.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know she has developed a potential new therapy for curing Alzheimer’s. I don’t need to tell you that this medicine, if properly developed, would be exceptionally valuable. My employer is interested in purchasing Dr. Summit’s research results from Lexington Labs.”

  “Even though it’s still in development?” said Delaney. “What if Dr. Summit is never able to find the cure?”

  “That is a chance every biotech company takes with any new drug, whether developed in-house or bought from another company. If we wait until the drug formula is final, the price will increase tenfold. Dr. Summit’s work appears to be sound. We’d like to buy now, while the price is still cheap.”

  From his corner seat, Cragmire nodded in agreement.

  Alton shifted in his seat. “Mr. LeFlore, how long have you been meeting with Dr. Summit?”

  “About two or three months.”

  “And all these meetings involved hagg
ling over the price for her work on Alzheimer’s?”

  “She and I don’t discuss the price. That’s for corporate suits to decide. My job is to ensure her research is scientifically sound.”

  “And is it?” asked Alton.

  “Yes,” replied the biotech rep. “It’s certainly promising enough to make an offer. That was my conclusion after our last meeting.”

  “Which was when?”

  “The beginning of last week. Monday, I think.”

  “It was late in the evening, wasn’t it?” asked Alton.

  LeFlore’s eyes narrowed. “You know a lot for someone who claims ignorance of my purpose here.” A finch with tan and olive plumage lit on a nearby windowsill of the open-air restaurant and began to chirp. LeFlore paused to gaze at the bird, and his eyes softened. He continued, “Yes, I met Dr. Summit in her office that night. She instructed me to arrive no earlier than nine o’clock.”

  “Did you notice anyone else there besides Dr. Summit?”

  “No. It was just me and her.”

  Alton nodded. The comment confirmed Tuttle’s earlier assertion that Summit had hurried him out of the lab on a few occasions. “Dr. Summit seemed to go out of her way to keep her meetings with you secret. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that she would do that if you and she were engaged in a simple business dialog?”

  “Not for a scientist who is immersed in her work almost nonstop. I’d be more surprised if she wanted to halt her research in the middle of the day to discuss the details of her project with a competing firm.”

  “Now that you mention it, I’m surprised you could get her to talk about it at all,” said Alton. “She maintained a lot of secrecy, even within her own team.”

  “It wasn’t her choice,” said LeFlore. “At first, she wouldn’t share any details, so I issued an ultimatum to the Lexington Board: disclose enough research content for me to make a fair assessment of her work, or Beauchamp would walk away from the table. It didn’t take long for them to order Dr. Summit to start talking. So she met with me, but only after her day’s work was complete. To be honest,” LeFlore added with a grin, “the privacy of our meetings was good for me, too. Beauchamp doesn’t want to have any more guests at this party.”