Ceremony

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “They started dating in January,” Bernadette said. “Less than a month after she got to Kilbourn Tech.”

  “So why is the keylogger on this machine?” Curtis sat back. “The key logs have to have a purpose. Hackers don’t put these on systems and then not do anything with the information they transmit.”

  “What usually happens?” Maura asked.

  “They can harvest credit card numbers and login information to online financial institutions,” Bernadette responded. “Usually, the hackers buy as much stuff as they can and transfer as much money as they can and then get out of Dodge. It doesn’t look like any of that happened, though.”

  “It’s only been two months,” Curtis pointed out.

  Bernadette leaned over and tapped the screen. “The keylogger’s been on since Labor Day. That’s six months.”

  “Thompson would have been informed by now if his financial information was taken, right?” Maura said.

  “Not necessarily,” Curtis said. “Some of these hackers harvest the financial information and sell it over the dark web to the highest bidder. It could take six months or longer before the fraud gets out in the open.”

  Bernadette nodded.

  Detective Dunn re-entered the room. “Okay,” she said, “we’ve got two people from our cybercrimes unit on their way down to the lab right now. I’ve asked them to give us any information they find.”

  Maura looked around the room. “Where’s Dr. Woodhead?”

  “Met me in the lobby at eight,” Bernadette said. “He wasn’t ready—he’d just gotten back from a run. He went up the elevator and haven’t seen him since. I texted him twice, no response.”

  Maura clicked her tongue. “You showed up here without the consultant for whom you’re responsible?”

  “I did. You asked me to come into the District 5 office, and I followed your directions. Dr. Woodhead is an adult, and he knows how to prioritize his work. As well as take a taxi.”

  Maura stood unblinking at Bernadette for a few seconds, then nodded.

  The officer from the front desk—Chesapeake, that was his name—came around the corner. “Agent Becker?”

  Bernadette looked up at him and his kind brown eyes, and she didn’t bother to correct him. “Hello, officer. Do you need something?”

  “I just received a call from Dr. Woodhead. He says he’ll meet up with you later.”

  Bernadette pulled her phone out. No response to her messages. And she had four bars of signal. “He has all our cell phone numbers. Why in the world…” She raised her head. “Did he have any other information for us?”

  “No, that was the whole message.”

  “Did he at least say he was sorry for eating all the donuts?”

  Chesapeake smiled. “He failed to mention anything about donuts.”

  Bernadette nodded with a quick glance at Maura. “Thanks, Officer Chesapeake.”

  He nodded. “You’re more than welcome. And if you need some lunch recommendations, let me know. This neighborhood is residential, so you have to know where you’re going if you want something decent.” He smiled easily, and Bernadette couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Thank you.”

  Maura shook her head as Chesapeake went back toward the front desk. “All right, Curtis. I’ll see if anyone from IT can meet us at the Freshie to go through the work computer.”

  Curtis looked up from his screen and grinned. “Oh—speaking of the Freshie, I got some video from the gym across the street from the lab. It’s from Monday night, right around the time of the murder. Can’t see the back door or the parking lot, though.”

  “Anything of note?” Maura asked.

  “See for yourself.” Curtis casually turned the monitor so Maura could view it. “A few people here and there until about ten. Then nothing until a few minutes past one a.m., when a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart comes down Riverwalk and out of the camera view. But then comes back a few minutes later, like she missed her turn. Then she turns toward the university.”

  “Could that be our killer?”

  Curtis shook his head. “Not nearly enough time to go in, inject Kymer Thompson, wait for him to die, load him up in her shopping cart, and head out.”

  Dunn nodded. “I know her. She’s a homeless woman who’s always on the Riverwalk. I only know her as Rhonda. She’s always there with her cart every night about this time.”

  “Okay,” Maura said. “Let’s keep searching.” She turned to Bernadette. “While we get an address for Cecilia Carter and jump through whatever legal hoops Justice for Oceans has for us, you should interview Eddie Taysatch. He’s a grad student who worked with Thompson on the lampreys. He called in sick today.”

  “Oh—Annika mentioned him,” Bernadette said. “He and Thompson didn’t get along. He called in sick, huh?”

  “Yes. He lives in the university apartments over on Juneau and Eighteenth.” Maura pulled her phone out and tapped the screen; Bernadette’s phone buzzed in her purse. “There’s the address. See if he’s really sick or if there’s something else going on.”

  Bernadette turned her head toward the hallway. “Should I wait for Dr. Woodhead?”

  Maura bobbed her head at Detective Dunn. “Kerrigan? Feel like doing a local-federal partnership interview? Inter-agency goodwill and all that?”

  Dunn stepped forward. “Sure. I’d be happy to join you.”

  “And I,” Maura said, “will do what I can to locate the wayward Dr. Woodhead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bernadette rode in a police cruiser with Detective Dunn, who drove. They turned out of the parking lot onto Vel R. Phillips, then after a couple of turns, merged onto Interstate 43.

  She looked at Kerrigan Dunn, who stared intently through the windshield. “How long have you been a detective?”

  “Two years.” Dunn looked over her shoulder and changed lanes. “Not what I thought it would be.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s a lot of paperwork. I worked my ass off to get promoted to detective, and I get assigned all the bad shifts.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Dunn turned off her signal. “Not your fault. I’m only on this case because none of the other detectives want to work with the Feds.”

  “So much for inter-agency goodwill.”

  The detective gave the windshield a half-smile. “Me, I’m here for the cases. And I gotta say, this is the most interesting case I’ve had since joining District 5.”

  “You don’t get interesting cases?”

  “Some. There were fifteen or twenty homicides in the district last year. Mostly territory shit. A couple of drug deals gone wrong. The occasional domestic dispute that turned deadly. But this! A body found in the Anne Askew Chapel on the Kilbourn Tech campus? That’s some crazy stuff. I got interviewed by Channel 58 for the first time yesterday. They never care about any of our other cases, but a white kid killed with a weird poison? They’re all over it.” She barked a laugh. “When the media finds out about the cult, that’ll be good for another week of coverage.”

  “Yeah.” Bernadette exhaled long and slow. “It’s an interesting case, though. I mean, the cult is based around Anne Askew, and the victim’s girlfriend looks like that actress who played her on TV. That’ll get a couple extra days of attention.”

  Detective Dunn chuckled. “I can almost see the interview in my head. People have been copying their looks after movie stars for decades, haven’t they? The girlfriend gets some hair dye, a pair of tinted contacts, a little makeup, and she looks like the cult’s female messiah.” She glanced at Bernadette. “I’m telling you, that religion is odd.”

  They exited the freeway at Highland Avenue, and a few minutes later pulled into a parking spot on Eighteenth Street between Highland and Juneau. The snowbank on the right side of the car wasn’t too high—Bernadette estimated she could open the door without much trouble.

  Detective Dunn turned the car off and stared wistfully at the set of three-story
university apartment buildings. “When I worked this neighborhood as a beat cop, the most I ever had to do around here was bust some kids for growing pot plants, maybe a little possession. Now that it’s decriminalized, I don’t even have to do that.”

  Bernadette’s foot slid as she was coming around the corner of the car, but she righted herself. The two of them walked across Eighteenth Street. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped her rapidly freezing finger on the message from Maura.

  “Building two, apartment 348.”

  “It’s a walk-up,” Detective Dunn said.

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, after ascending two flights of stairs, they were standing in front of apartment 348. Detective Dunn pushed the small black doorbell button. A buzz sounded inside.

  A man with black curly hair and dark brown skin answered the door. He wore a Henley long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. His handsome face was marred by swelling and discoloration around his eye. “Hey,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  “Eddie Taysatch?” Detective Dunn said, flashing her badge.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “You’re not at the lab?”

  “Oh.” A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Uh—no. I called in sick.”

  “You don’t look that sick to me.”

  “I’m—I don’t have the flu, if that’s what you mean. One of my co-workers died on Monday, and—well, things are weird there. I need some time to process it.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Mr. Taysatch.”

  “Because I’m taking a mental health day?”

  “No—because of Kymer Thompson’s murder.”

  Eddie’s eyes widened. “You’re calling it a murder? Lightman didn’t tell me that.”

  Detective Dunn nodded. “Mind if we come in? It’s cold out here—and you’re letting all the heat out.”

  “Uh—sure.”

  Behind the door, a kitchen table was shoved under a window, with two lonely-looking wooden chairs pushed haphazardly underneath. The kitchen itself was spare: two burners and a small oven that would have barely fit a baking pan. A small refrigerator and a stainless-steel sink with an old-looking chrome faucet completed the kitchen—not very much cabinet space, and from what Bernadette could tell, no dishwasher.

  Looking to her right, the small living room had wall-to-wall burnt orange carpeting, a small blue sofa, and a single chair with an odd, concave shape.

  Eddie shut the door behind them. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Detective Kerrigan Dunn. This is Agent Bernadette Becker of the CSAB.” Dunn gestured to Eddie’s face. “Nasty black eye you’ve got there.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Got sucker-punched coming into work Sunday afternoon,” Eddie said. “The guy from the fishing collective, or whatever they call themselves.”

  “Piscary Association,” Bernadette offered.

  “Right. I opened the front door and the guy turned and punched me as hard as he could. I fell down—almost hit my head on the sidewalk, and he walks away.”

  “You didn’t call the police?”

  Eddie laughed. “Sure. Me, a twenty-five-year-old Black guy, filing an assault charge against a fifty-year-old white guy who probably lives in the suburbs, whose wife belongs to the Junior League. How do you think that would go for me, Officer?”

  “Detective,” Dunn said absentmindedly. “And, yes, I can understand your reluctance to contact us.”

  Eddie looked at Bernadette. “Who did you say you were with?”

  “The Controlled Substance Analysis Bureau,” Bernadette replied.

  “What are the Feds doing here?” Eddie leaned against the wall.

  “Investigating the death of your co-worker,” Dunn said.

  “I mean, sure, homicide is serious, but why the Feds?”

  Bernadette took a deep breath. “CSAB protects communities from dangerous substances. Kymer Thompson was killed by one of those dangerous substances. That makes it federal business.”

  Eddie nodded, fascinated. “Cool.”

  Detective Dunn arched an eyebrow. “Cool?”

  Eddie blanched. “Well—no, I mean, the fact that Tommy’s dead isn’t cool.”

  Detective Dunn took out her notebook. “Let’s start with something easy. Where were you on Monday night between ten o’clock and one in the morning?”

  “In the Byron Library on campus. Grading papers for Dr. Obermeyer’s organic bio class,” he said, sitting in the concave chair and motioning to the sofa. “Well, until about midnight—then I bundled up and left.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you being in the library?”

  Taysatch turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. There were a lot of other people there. Midterms and all. Maybe one or two of them would recognize me.”

  “But you didn’t talk to anyone?”

  “No.”

  Detective Dunn nodded. “How did you get along with Kymer Thompson?”

  Taysatch pressed his lips together. “We were work colleagues.”

  Dunn tilted her head. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t.” Taysatch leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I suppose you’ll find out anyway. He and I didn’t get along.”

  Dunn nodded. “And why was that?”

  “He had an annoying tendency to take credit for work I’d done.”

  Dunn tilted her head sympathetically. “And that made you—what? Angry?”

  “Annoyed,” Eddie said evenly.

  “What did he take credit for that you’d done?” Bernadette asked.

  “We altered the larval diet to enrich the ferritin in the silver lampreys’ livers. It was my idea, but Thompson took the credit.”

  Detective Dunn nodded. “And did that make you angry?”

  “I didn’t say I was angry. I said I was annoyed.”

  “I know you said you were annoyed,” Dunn said, raising her eyebrow. “I’m asking you if you were angry, too.”

  “Fine, I was angry,” Eddie said. “But now that he’s dead, I have no chance to prove that I’m the one who suggested it first.”

  “Really?”

  “How do you think it will look to the media and the public—not to mention any future employer? I’ll tell you how it will look—it’ll look like I’m trying to steal glory from a dead guy.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t the first idea of mine he took credit for, either, but now that he’s gone, we’ll probably name the damn medicine after him.”

  “TommyContin,” Bernadette suggested.

  A smile played at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Yeah. Heh.” He leaned forward in the weird chair. “If I wanted to claim what were rightfully my ideas, I needed that asshole alive.”

  Bernadette scooted forward on the sofa. “Did you do anything to try to get proof?”

  Eddie frowned. “Like what?”

  “Maybe recording a conversation?” Bernadette glanced over at Detective Dunn. “Or getting information off his computer?”

  Both women watched Eddie carefully as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I tried to get him to admit it. I recorded a couple of our conversations on my phone.”

  Bernadette looked over at Dunn again. “I believe Wisconsin’s a one-party consent-to-record state,” she said, and Dunn gave a slight nod. “There’s nothing illegal in what you did. Do you still have the recordings?”

  “Uh—I guess so. There’s nothing useful on there. He was paranoid.”

  “Paranoid?”

  “Yeah. Kept saying he knew what they were up to.”

  Dunn raised her eyebrow. “What who were up to?”

  Eddie stood and started pacing. “He didn’t tell me. Hell, I didn’t care who he was talking about. I wanted him to talk about the idea for altering the larval diet, but he kept talking about the lampreys. He walked out of the room. It was like he wasn’t even listeni
ng to me.”

  “Would you be able to send us those recordings?”

  “What—like over email?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is there anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tommy?” Bernadette asked.

  “Hurt? Yes. Killed? No.”

  “Who’d want to hurt him?”

  Eddie paused. “I wanted him to admit what he did, for sure. I can’t deny it—I complained about him all the time. But I didn’t kill him. I’m sure there are cameras around the library. I know people saw me.” Eddie sat on a straight-backed chair across from Bernadette. “I should have taken that job at Parr Medical instead.”

  “A job? Instead of grad school?”

  “I could have left after last year,” Eddie said. “Parr offered me a lot of money. But I’d come this far—I thought finishing my degree was more important.” He sighed. “But sometimes finishing what you started isn’t the right move.”

  Dunn nodded. “It’s a nice story, Eddie, but I know it’s not always easy to keep your anger in check. Even if it’s the smart, sensible thing to do. Kymer Thompson’s been stealing from you. Kymer Thompson’s been getting busy with a cute girl who looks like a movie star. You’ve got nothing to show for your hard work.”

  “I’ll still get my degree in June.”

  “Still,” Dunn said, “I bet you’ve thought about how great it would be to punch him in the face. Just once.”

  Bernadette watched Eddie’s face as his eyes lost focus, and he stared at the wall. Yes, he was picturing it.

  “And,” Dunn continued, “maybe the two of you were working late on Monday night. Maybe he was down there in the aquarium area, shuttling his precious lampreys from one tank to another. And maybe something snapped. Maybe you’re not the one who got the first punch in.” She tapped her eye. “That’s quite the shiner there, Eddie. You sure it was the guy from the Piscary Association?”

  “Positive,” Eddie said through clenched teeth. “I even filled a form out with HR. It didn’t have anything to do with Kymer Thompson.”

  “Okay, Eddie,” Detective Dunn said. “What did you do after you left the library at midnight?”

  Eddie bristled. “You have some nerve accusing me. Just because I’m—”