The NightShade Forensic Files: Echo and Ember (Book 4)

by A. J. Scudiere

  Donovan had been surprised when Eleri let Wade drive them out here. She’d sat in the backseat most of the time, not opening her eyes to notice just how out of place the shiny rental SUV was. Donovan had watched the trees go by, he’d rolled down his window and let the scents of maples and poplars waft into the car. They were spiking with late spring. They passed an open field with several types of tall purple flowers and lower yellow ones that resembled daisies, but weren’t. Donovan didn’t know his plants by name, just sometimes by look or by memory of the places his father dragged him. He had no associations with these. They were merely pretty.

  He’d been preoccupied with the flowers, with the long drive, with “getting there,” and so he’d been surprised when Eleri popped up and put her hand on Wade’s shoulder. “Don’t turn down the driveway.”

  When Eleri spoke cryptically, everyone listened. It was only about three more seconds before Wade drove past their turn. They pulled out a map and, at Eleri’s instructions, found a route around the back. It cost them nearly twenty more minutes of driving and thirty minutes of hiking.

  Now they stood quietly in the Aroyas’ house at the end of a long drive. The nearest neighbor was at least a mile up the hidden road. But they’d come in on foot and from the back, no one should know they were here.

  Eleri had remembered bug spray though Donovan and Wade didn’t need it. The scent she wafted was repellent to bugs and wolves alike apparently. He scrunched his nose at her as they all stood still inside the house and waited at the sound of a car door from the driveway.

  Who could even be here? Peter Aroya? No one had heard from him for over four years. The footsteps were too heavy to be Mina—the information on her said she was tall, around five-nine, but willowy and fine-framed. This was a deep tread. The smell said “man,” too. But there was something Donovan recognized, a lingering trace he couldn’t place. It had come with the man.

  “Fuck it, Peter. Where are you?”

  Wade turned his head to look at Donovan, though Eleri seemed oblivious to the man talking outside. She looked at them and shrugged, but it was Wade who made motions, silently suggesting that he go for a run.

  Eleri shook her head, but Wade was already peeling his clothes.

  “The door!” Eleri mouthed. They’d closed it behind them.

  The voice came again. “Peter, you bastard. Where did you go!” It wasn’t a question and this time it was loud enough for Eleri to hear.

  “Window.” Donovan looked at his two partners. There was an open one by the front porch. Though “open” was a relative term. The window itself had been pushed up by some long ago visitor or looter and the screen cut out. Wade could easily slip through it and no one would have to open the door and make noise as Eleri feared.

  Wade motioned with his hand, almost angrily, for Eleri to turn around. Donovan did, too. Didn’t need to see a grown man naked. Didn’t need to watch the strange twists and turns his own body took when changing. Though, for the first time, he began to understand Eleri’s scientific fascination with it. With Wade doing the changing, it was simply a thing that was, and not a mark of being the sole freak that did it.

  Each shift of bone and pop of flesh made him cringe, but Eleri barely seemed to hear it. The man outside did not. He was still cursing Peter.

  It had to be Peter Aroya he was talking to, muttering about. Peter Aroya was listed as the last owner on this property. The current owner was the bank, having repossessed the place almost a year ago. The lack of effort put forth to sell the place indicated their belief in the value. Even the “For Sale” sign out front looked relatively hopeless.

  At the sound of metal striking dirt, Donovan snapped his head around and looked at Wade as he moved the last few bones in his feet. Wade’s fur was brown, the same shade as the hair on his head. He looked as much like a big dog as he did a wolf.

  “Go!” Donovan mouthed the word and Wade took off. He was through the hole in the screen before Eleri could protest.

  Neither he nor his remaining partner moved. In the light filtering through the windows, he could see the floor was old and uncared for. The chances it would give away their presence was too high.

  The second time he heard the noise, Donovan couldn’t deny what it was: shovel striking earth. Stuck inside, he couldn’t see, but he remembered several holes dug up in the back of the property when they’d hiked in. Though they’d traveled from the side of the big yard, skimming the backs of the neighbors’ homes, they’d come around the house and walked in the front door. Plain as you please. He didn’t know if Eleri had seen the holes, but he’d smelled the fresh-turned earth, and the slightly older piles. They had taken a while to achieve.

  Catching Eleri’s attention, Donovan mouthed, “He’s digging.”

  “Digging?” she shook her head, the conversation passing without sound a human ear could detect. Eleri had learned to speak at his level. She could likely barely hear her own voice, but Donovan could hear her. It was speaking back to her that was the problem.

  Eleri looked at him, confused, as though she was about to say something else, ask another question, when she gripped the countertop and nearly rolled her eyes back.

  Donovan leaped, not caring about the sound, not caring about giving away their position, only needing to be sure that his partner didn’t hit her head on the way down.

  Only, she didn’t go down.

  Her eyes glazed, unfocused as her neck jerked up. She appeared to be looking into the middle of the empty room, as though she were watching someone who wasn’t there. Her gaze darted frantically. More than one someone.

  Seeing that she was okay, if in the grip of something, Donovan focused elsewhere. The best way to keep her safe was to monitor the area beyond. He heard Wade, slowly stalking through the trees. He turned his head to look down the hallway, his sense of smell telling him that no one occupied the back rooms they hadn’t yet had time to check.

  Once, it had been a nice home. Small, just two bedrooms, but plenty of land. It was solid construction. The wooden front porch held two dusty, but originally nice, wicker chairs. In the kitchen, pots hung from a metal grid overhead, suggesting that someone here enjoyed cooking. The couch in the living room wasn’t worn, but well cared for. Sturdy. Clean before being abandoned. The TV was large with several pieces of tech hooked up, including wires that led to surround sound speakers. These people had lived relatively well out here. Peter Aroya had commuted quite a distance to his job, but it must have been worth it.

  “Donovan!” The hiss of Eleri’s voice was too loud. The man outside might hear her. But Donovan was just grateful that she was okay, she was alert, and herself again.

  He looked up at her and as he watched she let go of the counter and walked up to him, unconcerned with whether her feet made any noise. “That man out there, he’s been here before.”

  Donovan nodded at her once, as if to say, “Go on.”

  “I almost recognize him. I can’t tell you if I ever met him before but he feels familiar.” She was speaking in low tones, rapidly doing her best to convey anything and everything she’d gotten from whatever she’d seen. “He came and he argued with Peter and Mina. At least I guess she’s Mina.” Eleri shrugged.

  Donovan understood. They had reasonably recent pictures of Peter Aroya—less than ten years old. The Bureau had dug them up from his work, from traffic cameras, his driver’s license. Wilemina—Mina—had been harder to find. She had an old driver’s license photo as well, but she must have had it made in Soviet Russia, the pixilation was so bad. It was recognizable only so much as it was of a human female with pale brown hair. It said her eyes were blue, but the picture didn’t have enough information to support that.

  Unlike Peter, she had a yearbook photo and graduation pictures. Her school remembered her. Her college did, too. But their IDs? Not saved that far back. She didn’t participate in any clubs that could be found, nor did she attend parties that had been captured online or in the paper at the time. She’d held
a job in Rosedeer, when the couple lived there. But only part time. Only half shifts. Those who remembered her described her as having pale brown hair and blue eyes. Nothing the awful driver’s license photo hadn’t already told them.

  Mina Orlov Aroya had managed to stay out of sight. And her history before she came to the US? Unknown still. Though the analysts were still trying to crack that one wide. It was hard because she and her mother came in under political asylum doctrines.

  “He was here.” Eleri said, referring to the man outside. “More than once. They argued all the time. Mina was afraid of him. . . . No. Not of him, but afraid of something he . . . brought with him?” She searched for words, unable to fully form what she’d seen.

  “When?” Donovan pressed.

  “I don’t know. But the house was clean and the lights were on. It was immaculate. Mina was nervous. He made her very nervous.” She’d found a good word and latched onto it.

  Just then, they heard a sharp bark from Wade, followed by the man’s voice.

  “Get back!” The sounds indicated he was shuffling around, probably facing off with Wade, given the answering growls.

  Donovan moved. It didn’t matter now if they gave away their location. Wade was out there and the man had at least a shovel with him. In a fight, it wasn’t a weapon to be trifled with.

  Donovan burst out the back door, into the area behind the house. Into the thicket of trees that made just enough border to suggest the property line separating this house from the open fields behind it. Eleri stayed hot on his heels. He heard the zip of metal and plastic on nylon and knew she had her weapon drawn.

  She managed the words before he did. “Stop. FBI. Put your hands—”

  She was interrupted by a burst of swear words and a flurry of motion. The shovel came at her causing her to retreat so as not to get hit. Donovan had jumped in front of her, thinking to knock it out of the way, but he missed. Even as close as he was, he only managed to catch the edge of it with his arm. It hit her in the shin, but she didn’t flinch. When she wanted to be, Eleri was all badass.

  Even as the shovel clattered to the ground, the man whirled and ran.

  It was a bold move with two FBI agents with guns drawn on you.

  It was Eleri who dropped her weapon first, who motioned Donovan to put his own gun down. She waved Wade off and let the man go.

  Then she walked around the side of the house where he’d disappeared. Then, seeming to change her mind, Eleri began running. She yelled out, “FBI, Stop!” and put a bullet in the ground near the car.

  Donovan came around the corner just as she shot, missing in spectacular fashion. “Don’t shoot,” she warned him, sotto voce. Then she yelled again, “FBI, stop!” and fired again.

  Donovan watched as gravel sprayed from the force of the bullet, about fifteen feet behind the car.

  “What was that?” He asked her, utterly confused as the car pulled out onto the main street.

  “I know who he is.” She answered as Wade stepped up beside her, panting.

  25

  Eleri felt her ribs heaving from the exertion of the encounter. She’d not just stayed tense inside the house the whole time, she’d also had that weird vision. Add to that any encounter in which she drew her gun left her dealing with the aftereffects of adrenaline.

  Donovan stood beside her, his own breathing rough at the edges. “Why did you miss? You didn’t even get his tires.”

  “Just taking shots.” She took a deep inhale and worked on slowing her breathing. “Once I recognized him I realized I could let him get away. Then I realized that I couldn’t let him know I’d let him go. So I fired randomly to make it look like I was trying.”

  Donovan looked around into the open space. “Do you think the shots will bring the police department out? —Sheriff’s office?” He’d immediately corrected himself.

  “Nah.” She shook her head. “Out here?” Eleri gestured and realized she was still breathing more heavily than she would like. “I’m sure gunfire is just written off. Also, nearest person should be about a mile away, if not farther. So it may not even register. That’s why he could come here and dig up the ground with no one the wiser.”

  “Who is he?” Donovan asked.

  And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “Dr. Benjamin Kellogg—”

  “He’s in his nineties!” Donovan protested before she could finish.

  “Junior.” Eleri finished with some satisfaction.

  “Oh.” Now that she’d said it, he was seeing the similarities in the men’s faces. Like father, like son. “So Dr. Benjamin Kellogg—the one who ran the Atlas program—it was his son came out to dig in Peter Aroya’s yard?”

  Donovan sounded incredulous, and well he should. Eleri understood.

  “Dr. Benjamin Kellogg Junior is a geneticist, just like his father. My guess is that he’s keeping tabs on Daddy’s progeny.” She looked up at her partner, “Just in case you were still wondering if this case connects back to the Atlas project. The answer is now unequivocally ‘yes.’”

  “Jesus.” He breathed it out and Eleri recognized the expression, the exasperated sigh, the skyward look as things he’d picked up from her. “What was he doing here?”

  “That, I don’t know.” She didn’t want to think about what it might mean. The holes in the back weren’t wide or deep, so she was curious what he might have buried here or maybe Peter and Mina had buried it.

  “I need to get into the back of the house.” Donovan told her and at last she turned around, looking away from the now empty, long shot of the driveway.

  “Okay.” She almost sighed it. She reminded herself that she loved her job. “Let’s go inside again.”

  They headed back down the gravel drive, and Eleri was surprised to see she’d run after the car farther than she’d expected. No wonder she’d been out of breath. She pulled the front door open and waved Donovan inside, noticing the shift in him.

  He slowed his steps, lifted his nose a little, breathed slower.

  He was scenting and it was fascinating to watch. Donovan didn’t stick to the front room this time.

  “What did you get back there?”

  “I—” He started but then pulled back. “Let me be sure. It’s been a long time.”

  The back rooms stood with doors open, the hallway hooking to the right and around toward the kitchen, toward the back screen door they’d plunged out of at Wade’s bark. Eleri stepped into the room and noted that she didn’t see Wade outside. Getting closer to the window, she spotted him through a few of the trees, still sniffing around. Nose to the ground, he walked a line, turned, and headed back the other way. He was running a grid pattern, making sure he didn’t miss anything. Eleri aimed herself and her thoughts back toward Donovan.

  Her partner stood first in the center of the room and turned a full three-sixty. She might not have his sense of smell, but she did the same.

  The walls were beige, dulled with age and sun. The windows had been thrown wide and left that way for over a year at least, according to the bleaching patterns on the furniture. A white, metal daybed was pushed into a corner, dust clinging to the bare mattress. Louvered closet doors sat open on an empty space, the rack bare save for a few mismatched hangers.

  Donovan ducked his head and stepped into the closet, sniffing as he went. He walked across the room and aimed his nose at the empty white bookshelf, then the plain wooden desk. He leaned over the bed, checking the mattress in a few places. Then he stood up. “I can’t tell for sure. It’s still eluding me, but I think the woman was here.”

  “You think she stayed with Peter and Mina?” Eleri asked.

  “I think she is Mina.” Donovan stared back at her.

  “This isn’t a couple’s bedroom.” She shook her head at him then crossed the hall to the other room. “That is a couple’s bedroom.”

  In the other room, a queen bed filled the center space—stripped bare, just like the others. This time the closet held men’s and women’s cloth
ing, but looked like it had been raked through before it was abandoned. Eleri pulled open dresser drawers and found they held clothes, but Donovan sniffed around.

  “It’s the same in here.”

  “The other room looks like a guest room, or maybe an office with a guest bed. You’re suggesting Mina slept in there?”

  “It happens.” He said, and he was right. Married couples often slept in different beds for a variety of reasons.

  “You can’t pick his side of the bed from hers?” Eleri asked, wondering if she was being dumb for even asking.

  “Usually, but not here. Not this long, with the window open—” he pointed to the five-inch gap in the sash of the window leading to the backyard. There was a gray area on the carpet indicating that sometimes rain came in and maybe animals. “It’s washed the smells out. And from what I can pick up, I’m not sure they had a his side and her side. I can’t pick distinct smells out anymore. I’m not even sure that two people lived here.”

  “The closet says they did.” Eleri waved her hand that way. “And it says only two people.” She didn’t have to remind him that the analysts were convinced Peter and Mina remained childless. She didn’t point out that the house showed no evidence of anyone other than the two of them. “It really pushes Mina as our best suspect.”

  Donovan nodded.

  A bark came from the backyard and the two of them headed down the hall and out the back doorway, the screen slapping behind them. The bark wasn’t frantic, it wasn’t deep or harsh, and they went willingly if not quickly.

  They found Wade, still in wolf form—though she’d expected nothing else—standing in an open spot in the backyard. His right front paw rested at an angle and as they approached, he tapped the spot. Then tapped it again.