Raven, Red

by Connie Suttle

  "I keep forgetting about that," Lance sighed and shook his head. "You'd know, wouldn't you? Speaking of scent," he turned back to Ari, "Did you smell anything off about the one who broke into your house?"

  "Do you remember what I told you—that he smelled awful?" Ari replied. "He smelled—rancid. Like rotted meat," she shrugged.

  "I recall your comment that he smelled as if he'd rolled in roadkill," Lance agreed.

  "Yeah. Except he may be the roadkill. How is that even possible?"

  "We don't know. I worry that whatever the FBI and the state bureau find, they won't give us the full picture."

  "What about the officers who were doing surveillance?" Ari thought to ask.

  "Oh. That." Lance shifted uncomfortably.

  "They're dead, aren't they?"

  "We pulled the car with both bodies still inside it from the Trinity River a few hours ago," Lance looked down at his hands, which were dangling between his knees. "No word on how they got there, yet, or whether they died by drowning or in another way."

  "All of this is far from normal," Ari rose and paced away from the window. "Is Nico talking to Burke?"

  "Yes. Mona gave his phone back," Lance tossed over his shoulder. "They're going over the insurance policies and everything that needs to happen from now on."

  "Keep Nico's name out of the press," Ari turned back to study Lance. "I think you and I know how much danger he's in, and we can't even describe who or what his enemies are at this point."

  "My question is why he has enemies in the first place," Janie slapped a hand on the arm of her chair. "This makes no sense at all. No previous threats—no ransom notes, no accusations, just death and destruction."

  "Now that you put it that way," Ari nodded. "Why wouldn't somebody make demands if they had problems with Nico's parents—or with him?"

  "He says they weren't acting different, like they were hiding something," Lance rose and stretched. "They were going about their business as they normally did. And, to find out we've got zombie-like symptoms in two attackers, now? The homeowner in the Austin case—his last name is Garcia," he added. "Nico says he has no idea who the man is, and Garcia is a common name."

  "Do me a favor, if you can," Ari rubbed the shell outline in her palm, which refused to smooth out.

  "What's that?" Lance lifted an eyebrow.

  "See if anyone in Spain has been murdered under unusual circumstances."

  "I'll ask, but we may not get results."

  "Ask some of those FBI agents. I'll bet they can get answers. Besides, they'll come looking for Nico before long, don't you think? To ask him questions?"

  "I figure they will. Val will ask Burke to be with Nico if that happens."

  "I want to be there, too, if it's possible."

  "What about Mac?" Janie rose from her chair.

  "I think the less the FBI knows about Mac, the better, don't you?" Lance turned a concerned gaze on his aunt.

  "Probably. Still, you ought to talk to Mac about this. That bird knows more than he lets on; I'd bet money on it. I also think that had Mac met any other detective, he may not have fared so well," Janie observed.

  "Do you think there are any of our kind in the FBI?" Ari asked.

  "It's possible," Lance appeared thoughtful. "But finding that out? It would take one to know one."

  "Another reason to let me go with Nico if they question him."

  "I'll see what I can do. Now, if you start feeling bad, let Aunt Janie know. She'll get a doctor here right away."

  "I'm fine," Ari reassured him.

  "Come on, then. Let's see if Burke is done with Nico yet."

  "I had no idea how complicated all this is," Nico's voice betrayed sadness and a bit of confusion. He and Ari sat at the kitchen island again, having a dish of cobbler and ice cream. Mac had some of each on a small saucer and was enjoying his dessert.

  "What did Burke tell you?" Ari asked.

  "He had me sign a power of attorney, and he says he can take care of everything from here, but he has to talk to me before he accepts any settlements or makes major decisions on my behalf."

  "That's good, I guess," Ari told him.

  "Ari, since this has gotten so complicated," Lance and Mona walked into the kitchen after having a private conversation with Burke, Val and Janie.

  "What Lance is trying to say is that we can list you as missing under suspicious circumstances, and pack and bag up the contents of your gallery as evidence." Mona placed air quotes around the word evidence. "Janie says there's plenty of room in the basement to set up a studio, if you want to finish your painting."

  "It won't have natural light, but it's a workspace," Nico sent Ari a hopeful glance.

  "Fine," Ari agreed. "Say I'm missing, then. Nico and I can paint together. The lease is paid through the end of next month, anyway."

  "Stay. Here," Mac croaked, sounding as wise as any raven might who had blackberry cobbler clinging to his beak.

  Claudio studied the email he'd received from First Scholar. Once, when he was human, his fingers would have shaken while opening such a message.

  Now, he was no longer subject to those rushes of adrenaline, but he did view the email with trepidation. Seventh seldom received a message from First, generally because Seventh—Claudio's designation—lived in the inhospitable wilds of North America.

  That hadn't been his description of his homeland; Third had stuck that clever insult on his back, like a kick me sign he couldn't reach to remove.

  Working up his courage, Claudio tapped the message to open it on his laptop. Only three words appeared. Three words that held an encyclopedia of hidden information, and none of it good.

  First had sent a terrible warning—a warning to him specifically, because it would inevitably spread terror across his homeland.

  That knowledge sent a numbing fear through Seventh.

  Find the Raven, the message read.

  Chapter Four

  "Do you think Val is right—that we could be followed if we come this way often?" Mona asked.

  "We come this way a couple of times a month, at least—it's nothing new," Lance replied. They'd gotten on the road late, and both had an early morning ahead of them.

  "But this new faction may not know that," Mona began. Lance, paying attention to his driving, forced down growing irritation.

  "Have you gotten much sleep since this mess started?" He changed the subject.

  "Not really. I wish we could have gotten the security images from that electronics store. I get the idea that our original perps came through the back door of the restaurant, since we didn't find anything on Ari's security recordings."

  "I think we can consider those recordings lost forever," Lance replied. "Those were stolen, plus the employees and Norm were killed over it."

  "Where's Norm's body?" Mona asked.

  "Still in the morgue," Lance began. "Shit," he muttered angrily and increased his speed.

  "What?" Mona demanded, before turning to look behind them. She didn't see anyone close enough to look like a tail.

  "No. We know where Norm is. What about those two store employees? Where are they? Are they going to crawl out of their morgue drawers and cause a riot?"

  "Oh, for the love of," Mona shuddered. "Please, don't let that happen," she whispered.

  "Call Belwether," Lance directed. "See if he knows what's going on. How long does it take for whatever this is to take hold?"

  "That one from Corpus—they said he'd died three days earlier," Mona hauled out her cell phone and tapped Belwether's number.

  "How long did it take him to get from there to here?"

  "Captain," Mona said when Belwether answered. He didn't give her time to speak—Lance could hear the captain's voice from where he sat.

  "All hell is breaking loose at the morgue," Belwether snapped at Mona. "We've put up barriers and every tactics team we could find is already there, surrounding the building. Get ahold of Lance and come to the station as quick as you can—the FBI is h
ere and they have plenty of questions. I don't have answers."

  "On our way," Mona said before ending the call.

  "Fuck." Lance's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly while his gut churned. "We don't know what's happening, either," he reminded Mona.

  "Yeah. I doubt that sleep is gonna be in the forecast for a long time to come."

  Lance and Mona were forced to show their badges before entering the station. Outside, regular uniforms guarded the perimeter, some armed with rifles.

  "Is Belwether expecting a coup?" Mona hissed as she and Lance walked through the door.

  "The same situation is happening in Austin," Officer Gray met them at the elevator. "The Governor is considering calling out the National Guard."

  "How did this get so out of hand—and this fast?" Mona asked him.

  "Whatever disease these perps are carrying—it's really contagious," Gray replied. "I was raked over the coals by an infectious diseases doctor before I was hauled in here to talk to the FBI."

  "You didn't touch the body, did you?" Lance asked.

  "Nope. Thank goodness. I heard a rumor that those two officers, plus Norm and the electronics store employees, are involved in this mess, now. I'm not an alarmist, and I'll be the first guy to say zombies don't exist—but this? Who the hell understands any part of it?"

  "We don't," Mona agreed as she and Lance boarded the elevator. "Take care, all right? Make sure you're not followed. Call us if you have problems."

  The elevator doors dinged shut, blocking their view of Officer Gray.

  "You like him," Lance accused.

  "And what if I do?" Mona barked.

  "No reason. I know nothing. How's the weather?" Lance attempted to lighten the mood.

  "Get in here," Belwether bellowed as they stepped off the elevator and onto the third floor.

  Exchanging a quick glance, Lance and Mona hurried into the Captain's office. A man and a woman were already there, having coffee and talking with Belwether.

  "Lance, Mona, these are Special Agents Del Reeves and Laronda Abrams of the FBI," Belwether introduced his guests.

  Del Reeves was pale and thin, with brown-hair-going-gray, and in his early fifties, in Lance's estimation. Laronda Abrams was as dark as Reeves was pale, appeared to be in her early thirties, and looked as if she worked out in the gym twice a day.

  Lance found that he and Mona were under a great deal of scrutiny from both agents before Reeves held out a hand to shake.

  "I hear you work in forensics," Laronda Abrams shook with Mona.

  "I do—mostly computer work, file recovery, cell phone messages, security camera recordings, that sort of thing."

  "You've gone through the boy's phone, then?" Reeves asked.

  "Yes. I have a copy of everything, if you'd like to take a look."

  "We'd appreciate that," Abrams nodded. "We'd also like a look at the security recordings from Leone's gallery."

  "Not a problem," Mona told her. "All of that is in my lab."

  "We'd like to ask questions, first, since you're the ones who found a place for the boy and the woman after her home was compromised," Reeves began.

  "I'll bring in more chairs," Belwether offered, before going to the door and motioning for an officer outside to do it for him.

  "What's your connection to the Jordan Ranch?" Abrams began her questioning while Lance and Mona waited for extra chairs.

  "We're related to the family," Mona replied. "I'm sure you've discovered that already—it's no secret."

  "Yes—we ah, checked when Captain Belwether told us where the boy was."

  Inwardly fuming, Lance kept a retort behind his teeth. So far, FBI Special Agents Abrams and Reeves weren't making friends or playing nice.

  "Do you honestly believe the boy doesn't know anything about why his parents were killed?" Reeves took up the questioning. "Or why those killers appear to be hunting him and the Leone woman, too?"

  "He doesn't know anything," Lance said as a uniform carried two chairs into Belwether's office. Lance thanked the officer and took the chair, positioning it so he could stare directly at his interrogators.

  Taking her cue from him, Mona did the same. Belwether took his seat behind the desk, leaned his elbows on it and waited for the next question.

  "You know we can make your life unpleasant if we find you're withholding evidence or information?" Abrams' eyes bored into Lance's.

  "I have no doubt you could do almost anything you wanted," Lance agreed. "It won't change the fact that the boy and the woman have no idea why the Garcias died or why their house was bombed or why Ari's house was broken into by a fucking zombie. Now, can you explain any of this zombie shit to me? Because I sure as hell would like to understand how that's even possible."

  "Calm down," Belwether's voice was low and threatening.

  "Right," Mona took up Lance's argument. "We haven't found a shred of evidence in any of the recordings and information we've gotten so far, and yet the ME's office is having a riot involving dead people even as we speak. And, the last I heard, Austin PD is experiencing the same thing. I don't see you down there, belittling them over any of this."

  "Corpus is ah, dealing with the same situation," Reeves admitted.

  "Fucking hell." Lance rose from his seat and stalked out of Belwether's office.

  Mona watched as Belwether cursed under his breath and strode out of his office to go after Lance. "You shouldn't piss Lance off," Mona pointed her words at Reeves. "He's the best detective on the force. Belwether knows it, too."

  "We heard that," Reeves turned away from Mona's accusation. "We're under fire because people in DC are demanding answers, and we don't even have the right questions, yet."

  "Anything else happening other than Corpus' morgue being overrun by zombies?" Mona asked with false sweetness.

  "Two tankers dead in the water outside the ship channel. And I mean dead—as in there's nobody alive onboard either one," Abrams admitted. "And a cruise ship that left Houston two days ago was found drifting about five miles off the coast. Everybody on board died of some unusual disease. We're keeping it out of the news for now, and higher ups are working on a more plausible excuse for families of the deceased and for public consumption."

  "Where are the tankers from?"

  "One is registered in the UK—the other in Spain."

  "Ah. You should have led with that one," Mona pointed out. "The kid's parents went on a trip to Spain last year—in September. They may have upset somebody. There's nothing on the kid's phone to indicate that and he says they only did touristy things, but somebody, somewhere, got their britches in a bunch. Whatever this is, they're hunting people named Garcia, now."

  "We can't say for sure it was these Garcias, and we don't know that it originated in Spain," Abrams said. "Maybe they were hunting the guy in Austin all along."

  "Sure is a strange way of going about it, then," Mona sniffed. "Have you checked to see if anything is happening in Spain?"

  "We've got feelers out," Reeves acknowledged as Lance and Belwether walked back in.

  "That means you've heard a rumor or something, and it just doesn't make sense," Mona surmised.

  "How much do you know about Spain?" Reeves asked. "About their folk tales and such?"

  "Not much. Enlighten me."

  "There are tales there about ghosts that wander crossroads at night," Abrams shrugged. "There've been more sightings than usual lately and not just at crossroads, but that's all they can tell us for now."

  "Ghosts? That doesn't fit with zombies here," Belwether returned and sat heavily on his chair with a sigh.

  Lance, his face set and expressionless, took his chair again and refused to take the bait.

  "One has to believe in ghosts to begin with," Reeves observed. "I doubt one has anything to do with the other."

  "Maybe we should find an expert," Mona suggested.

  "A ghost hunter? You're joking," Reeves frowned.

  "No—somebody who knows about Spanish myths and lege
nds. We've already seen the impossible in the last two days. What can it hurt?"

  "I can get someone to do research. Maybe a professor or two here in the States can help us out," Abrams told Reeves.

  "You get on that, then—after we talk to the boy."

  "The boy is in bed," Lance growled. "You can talk tomorrow. He's been through enough already, without having to look at your sour faces tonight."

  "Touché, Detective," Reeves huffed. "Tomorrow morning, we'll meet here at oh-seven hundred, and we'll go see Nicolas Garcia and Arianne Leone."

  "Fine." Lance didn't bother to get up or see the Agents out of the Captain's office.

  "Since you're both related to the Jordan family, I'm putting both of you on this case until further notice," Belwether waved them out of his office. "Be here at six-forty-five in the morning for a brief meeting before you leave."

  "Right." Lance was first out the door, leaving Mona frowning at Belwether. "They could have been polite, and they weren't," she said before following Lance.

  "Duly noted," Belwether said to her retreating back.

  Val called while Lance drove Mona home. "Val?" Lance put the call on speaker.

  "The kid insists that you and Mona have guards, or come back here tonight," he said.

  "We're bringing two FBI agents tomorrow morning to question Ari and Nico," Mona said. "I wouldn't turn down a guard, though."

  "Stay in one place or the other, then, and I'll arrange it," Val agreed.

  "Lance can stay at my place; it's neater than his," Mona said.

  "Good. I'll send two your way."

  "Tell them not to confront an attacker," Lance said before Val could end the call. "Just tell them to get us up and we'll get the hell out of there, okay?"

  "Any suggestions on how to identify the one you're talking about?"

  "They'll smell like rotted meat. Ari described it as roadkill."

  "I'll give them specific instructions. If you have to leave, make sure you have a secure place to go and take the guards with you."