Beyond Belief

by Roy Johansen

  “Which is why I'll give you ten thousand dollars to arrange a face-to-face meeting with this guy.”

  “Cash?”

  “Nah, I'll cut you a check. And in the ‘memo’ section, I'll write ‘For personal introduction to interstate drug trafficker.’ Of course it'll be cash.”

  Ryland turned to one of his men. “Check him for a wire.”

  The man patted Lyles down, paying special attention to his chest and collar. Satisfied that he was clean, the man nodded to Ryland.

  Lyles chuckled. “FYI, Ryland, listening devices have gotten very, very small. If I wanted to record you, I could be wearing a mike disguised as a shirt button. That pat-down was absolutely worthless, unless, of course, your guy was doing it for his own enjoyment.”

  The man glared at Lyles.

  Ryland closed Natalie's hatchback. “There are other pilots, you know.”

  “Not like Michael Kahn.”

  “What are you planning? It must be pretty big.”

  “Big to me.”

  “Maybe I should just cut myself in for a piece of it.”

  “I'm already cutting you in. Ten thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “Make it twenty-five, and I'll take you to see him within twenty-four hours.”

  “He's in town?”

  Ryland checked his watch. “Not yet, but he soon will be.”

  Joe glanced around Nikki's bedroom, trying not to look dazed. In the past few hours he'd lost one of his best friends and almost lost his daughter. It didn't seem real.

  Hold it together, man. Keep moving.

  He picked up a stuffed bear and held it over Nikki's open suitcase. “Should I pack Mr. Cuddles?”

  She shook her head. “I'm not five.”

  “Sorry.”

  She sat on her bed. “I wish you could come with me.”

  Joe caressed her cheek. Her face was still red from crying. “I'm sorry, honey. You said you were okay with this.”

  “I know.”

  “You'll have fun with Grandpa. He'll let you sit in the projection booth and eat yourself sick on Milk Duds and Jujubes. I forgot to ask what the movie is this week. If he'd known you were coming, I'm sure he would have booked Breakfast at Tiffany's.”

  She didn't look at him. “That's okay. I've seen the tape a million times.”

  He sat next to her. “You know why we're doing this, don't you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Until we know what's going on, you're not safe with me. I'll worry about you, and I won't be able to do my job.”

  “I know.”

  There was a sharp knock at the front door. Joe and Nikki walked into the living room, and before he could check the peephole, a voice called out: “It's Carla!”

  He threw open the door, and Detective Carla Fisk rushed inside and hugged Nikki. “Oh, baby. I'm sorry.”

  Nikki squeezed her. “Hi, Carla.”

  Joe hadn't seen Carla since that night at Nelson's murder scene, but when he called and asked her for a last-minute favor, she didn't hesitate before agreeing.

  She flashed Nikki a smile that was crooked, yellow, and wonderful. “Don't you worry about anything, hon.”

  Joe walked back to Nikki's room. “She's packed up and ready to go. My dad will be expecting you. I can't tell you how much this means to me.”

  “My pleasure,” Carla drawled. “I have the next three days off, and I'm going to visit my sister. She lives in Savannah too. You're sure there's nothing else I can do?”

  Joe came out with Nikki's suitcase and knapsack. “You're doing enough by taking her away from here. My dad was on the force, and he's one tough hom-bre. He can take good care of her.”

  “Yeah, I've heard stories about your old man.” Carla subtly moved her jacket to the side just enough to show him her shoulder holster. “I can take good care of her too.”

  “Thanks, Carla.”

  They left the apartment, walked downstairs, and loaded the luggage into Carla's Chevy Nova.

  Nikki hugged him. “When can I come back?”

  “Soon, I promise.”

  “When?”

  “I'm not sure, sweetheart. When we know it's safe.”

  “I'm gonna miss you.”

  “Nowhere near as much as I'm gonna miss you, honey.” Joe raised her chin. “Don't give Grandpa too hard a time, okay? No matter how much you ask, there's no way he's going to run a week-long Leonardo DiCaprio film festival.”

  Carla opened her door. “That does it. Nikki and I are going to Florida instead. Did you bring your sunscreen, hon?”

  Nikki smiled and got into the car. “Be careful, Daddy.”

  “You know I will. I'll call you tomorrow.”

  Carla started the car, and Nikki's gaze clung to Joe's until they drove out of sight.

  Joe let out a long breath. He felt like bawling like a baby. He felt like crying for Nikki, for Vince …

  Vince.

  The poor kid. He'd always been there for anybody who needed him, eager to prove himself. Even though he had nothing to prove, at least in Joe's eyes.

  Dammit. Anyone who thought there was any order or meaning in the universe needed only to look at deaths like Vince's. There was no meaning there.

  Joe knew there was someone he still had to tell about Vince's death. Sam Brewster, who'd taken a chance and given Vince the job at his magic shop. He'd also given Vince more love and respect than anyone had ever given him in his life. Sam would take it hard.

  Joe checked his watch: 11:45. Sam would be asleep, but it didn't matter. He'd want to know right away.

  Joe pulled out his keys and walked toward his car.

  You're late,” Kellner said as Joe strode into his classroom at 9:15 the next morning.

  “Late for what?” Joe's head was throbbing. He'd spent most of the night at Sam's, looking through pictures and programs of Vince and his performances. It had been a long, sad night.

  “You missed Suzanne Morrison's demonstration. It was in the testing room, just as you requested.”

  Joe turned away. Shit. He'd forgotten all about it. He was supposed to meet the team at eight.

  “It was spectacular,” Kellner said. “I was just about to watch her tape. Would you like to see?”

  “Sure.”

  Kellner inserted the cassette into the classroom's video player. A shadowy infrared-enhanced image of the testing room appeared on-screen. Suzanne, Kellner, and three other members of the team were seated in the room. An empty chair tumbled across the floor, hit the wall, then rolled up to the ceiling.

  It bounced off the ceiling twice, then fell to the floor.

  Joe stepped back from the monitor. What the hell was that?

  The entire table shook. An old spiritualist's trick, but Suzanne was nowhere near it. One by one, the members of Kellner's team backed away. Its vibrations became more and more intense until it abruptly flipped over with a sharp crack.

  “How long ago was this?” Joe asked.

  “We just finished fifteen minutes ago.”

  Joe flew out of the room and ran down the hallway. He gripped the testing room's doorknob. Locked.

  He glanced up the corridor. Kellner was walking toward him. “Let me in there,” Joe said. “Now.”

  Kellner pulled his keys from a retractable wire cord at his waist. “What do you think you're going to find?”

  “I'll know when I see it.”

  Kellner unlocked the door, and Joe pushed past him. The table was still upside down, and the chair was lying against the wall.

  Joe's eyes darted around the room. “Were you the last one in here?”

  “We all left together. I locked the door myself.”

  Joe ran back into the hallway and grabbed a coat rack from a nearby classroom. He raced back into the testing room and rammed the rack through the suspended ceiling, knocking one of the panels out of place.

  Kellner gasped. “What are you doing?”

  Joe squinted at the opening, then knocked away several other ceiling p
anels with the rack. One of the panels almost struck Kellner on the head.

  “You can't do this!” Kellner shouted.

  “Watch me.”

  Within a minute Joe had knocked away every panel. He jumped on a chair and peered through the ceiling rails.

  Nothing.

  Other than an air duct and wiring for the light fixtures, the area was clear. He jumped off the chair.

  “Satisfied?” Kellner asked caustically.

  Joe picked up a chair and tossed it into the corridor.

  “What was that for?”

  Joe's only response was to pick up another chair and toss it out.

  “Jesus, Bailey!”

  Three of Kellner's students gathered in the doorway to watch.

  “Get out of the way!” Joe said as he tossed a chair between the startled students. He gestured toward the table. “Can you guys give me a hand with this? I want to move it out.”

  The students stepped into the room but were stopped by Kellner's glare.

  Seeing that no help was forthcoming, Joe gripped one of the table legs, slid it across the carpeted room, and pulled it through the door.

  He gathered the remaining chairs and tossed them into the corridor. The room was empty.

  “What now?” Kellner snapped.

  Joe glanced around the room, sweat covering his face. He furiously kicked the metal carpet guard in the doorway. It finally came loose. He gripped the carpet's exposed edge and ripped it from the floor.

  “Are you nuts?” Kellner shouted.

  Joe pulled up the carpeting all the way to the far end of the room, pushing and kicking until it separated from the concrete slab beneath.

  More students had gathered in the hallway, craning their necks to witness the Spirit Basher's meltdown.

  Kellner pointed a pudgy finger at Joe. “If you don't stop this right now, I'm calling security.”

  Joe cut his hand on a carpet staple. Blood ran down his fingers, but he couldn't feel it. He pressed the wound against his shirt. “Don't call security, call Professor Reisman. He'll back me up.”

  “Don't be so sure. He has a weird prejudice against the destruction of school property.”

  “Call him.” Joe looked up to see that Kellner and the kids were staring at him with morbid fascination, the same way they might look at a man who was setting himself on fire.

  He turned away and ripped up another section of carpet. There was an answer in there somewhere. There had to be.

  Kellner backed away. “I'm calling Reisman right now. If he's not in, my next call will be to security. You can't do this.”

  “Looks like he's already done it,” one of the students cracked.

  Kellner shoved the kids back. “Everyone, get out of here now. You hear me? Go.”

  There was some reluctance on the part of the students, but they scattered. Kellner hurried back toward his office.

  Joe pulled up the last of the carpet, pushing it all into a large clump in a corner of the room. There was nothing there. Just a big concrete slab and glue stains. How could that be?

  He beat on the walls, listening for any hollow cavities. He knew he should sweep them with his sonar reader, but at the moment his car seemed so far away. And even without the reader he could tell there was nothing behind the damned walls.

  Exhausted, he sat on the cement floor and nursed his bloody finger. His gaze wandered around the room. Christ, what a mess. Had he lost his mind?

  “Are you all right?”

  He looked up to see Suzanne Morrison in the corridor, carefully stepping over the ceiling panels. “What happened here?”

  “Just looking for a lost contact lens,” he dead-panned. “Don't you hate that?”

  “Missed you this morning.”

  “Yeah.” He let out a long breath. “This room was unattended a full fifteen minutes after your session. You could have removed your rigs.”

  “Without anyone seeing me?”

  “The test was over. No one was looking.”

  “I didn't come here to argue with you.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  “I ran into some of the kids outside, and they told me you were in here. I wanted to invite you to a concert. One of my chamber pieces is being performed at Kennesaw State University. I thought you and your daughter might like to come.”

  He stared at her in bemusement. “Do you realize how weird that invitation is under the circumstances? I just tore apart this test facility because of you, and now you're inviting me to a concert.”

  She smiled. “You can't help being stubborn. Do you want to come or not?”

  “Nikki can't make it. She's out of town.”

  “What about you?”

  “I really don't know.”

  “If it's crowds you're worried about, believe me, it won't be an issue.”

  Joe managed a smile.

  She knelt next to him. “You look tired, Joe. Really tired. Are you sure you're okay?”

  He closed his eyes. He still hadn't absorbed it all: Vince's death, the thought of almost losing Nikki, and his complete inability to explain Jesse's and Suzanne's tricks. He had never felt so weak, so powerless.

  “Just tell me how you do it,” he said.

  “You know how I do it, Joe. Even if you don't want to admit it to yourself yet.”

  “I don't know. I wish I did.”

  “I wish you did too.” She stood and moved toward the door. “There will be a ticket for you at the box office tonight. I hope you can make it.”

  He nodded.

  “Get some rest, okay?”

  He didn't reply. His eyes were fixed on one of the ceiling panels lying on the floor of the hallway. He walked over and picked it up.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He held the panel up to the light. There were four circular indentations in its soft upper surface, forming the corners of a square. “Something was resting on this.”

  “My hydraulic crane,” Suzanne said sarcastically. “You caught me.”

  Joe shook his head. He dragged a chair back into the room, jumped on it, and peered through the ceiling. A shaft of light appeared about thirty yards away, poking through another dislodged ceiling tile in another room.

  He jumped off the chair and quickly walked down the hallway. Suzanne followed him as he measured his paces to a storage closet. He tried the knob. Locked.

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  Joe pulled out two rigid pieces of wire from his wallet and began working on the lock. “Maybe nothing.”

  There was a sharp click, and he turned the knob and opened the door.

  Suzanne nodded her approval. “I'm impressed.”

  “Don't be,” Joe said. “I used to be able to do this submerged upside down in a tank of water.”

  He walked into the janitor's closet and glanced up at the ceiling. One of the tiles was slightly askew over a high shelf. He turned over a bucket and stood on it, peering at the top shelf. There were four marks on the dusty surface.

  “I'm telling you,” Suzanne said, “I've never been in here.”

  Joe stepped off the bucket. “I believe you. You'd have no reason to put a VCR in here.”

  “A VCR?”

  Joe walked back toward the testing center, and she followed. “I think so. Something the size of a VCR was sitting up there until recently. If that's the case, I have a pretty good idea what was sitting on that panel above the testing center.”

  They walked into the testing center's observation booth and he lifted a small receiver unit that picked up signals from the array of wireless video cameras. He placed the receiver on the ceiling tile, and the feet perfectly matched the size and layout of the indentations.

  “We have a winner,” Suzanne said.

  “I think somebody was using a receiver unit to intercept the tests done here and record them on a VCR in the closet down the hall. They probably strung a video cable from here to there.”

  “Someone else was recordin
g my test sessions?”

  “Yours, Jesse Randall's, everyone's.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “Good question.”

  Joe went to headquarters, where almost every cop he met asked about Nikki. He knew they weren't just paying him lip service; they cared. That spirit was one of the things that had brought him to the force in the first place.

  He bypassed the third floor and went straight to the A/V lab, where a technician helped him grab a frame from one of Jesse's test sessions. The video printer spit out the enlarged picture, and Joe took it down to Jennifer Li, a sergeant in the special investigations unit. Jennifer cracked most of her cases seated at a large computer workstation, where she pieced together paper trails with blazing speed. She also possessed a memory that rivaled the array of hard drives at her fingertips. A glance at a tire tread was usually all she needed to reel off the make and manufacturer, and a tiny piece of a receipt was often enough for her to pinpoint the retailer that had issued it.

  She looked up from her monitor. “How's your girl, Joe?”

  “Shaken up pretty bad, but she'll be okay. I need your help.”

  “Anything.”

  He handed her the print, a zoomed-in image of the red-haired man at one of the test sessions. “I'm trying to figure out who this guy is.”

  Her eyes zeroed in on the keys clipped to the man's belt loop. “You want me to look at the key chain?”

  “Yes. See that bar-code card attached to it? Is that a supermarket discount card?”

  She picked up a magnifying glass and examined the picture closely. “I don't think so. It's a little too large. It could be a health club membership tag or …”

  “Or?”

  She moved her mouse over the pad and brought up a page of bar-code key tags on her monitor. She scrolled down the collection, comparing the low-resolution print to the images on her screen.

  “What are those?”

  “Security cards. You wave them at a scanner to get into building garages, elevators, offices, those kinds of places.”

  “There must be thousands of buildings in this city that use cards like that.”

  “Yes, but there are only a few dozen security companies that service those buildings.” She clicked on one of the cards to enlarge it, then held the picture next to the monitor.