Fringe - the Zodiac Paradox (7 page)

“We have to contact the authorities,” Walter said. “I just don’t see any other option.”

“That’s brilliant, Walt,” Bell replied. “What are you going to do? Tell the police that you saw the future while you were on acid? That’ll go over well—I’m sure they’ll leap into action.”

“I’m going to tell them the truth, Belly.” He picked up the receiver of the bedside telephone. “I have a moral obligation, as a scientist.”

“Would you just stop and think for a moment...” Bell began.

Walter ignored him, dialing the operator.

“Yes, hello,” he said when she came on the line. “Give me the San Francisco police department.”

“Just a moment,” she replied.

“Come on, Walter...”

A gruff male voice answered on the first ring.

“SFPD,” it said.

“I’d like to speak to someone in charge of the Zodiac case, please.”

A long, weighty sigh on the other end, then, “Please hold.”

Bell looked away, exasperated, and started studying a Xerox copy of one of the ciphers.

Walter waited patiently until a woman came on the line. She had a gentle voice, like someone’s mother.

“Hello and thanks for calling the Zodiac tip line,” she said. “Please state your information.”

“Yes, I...” Walter looked over at Bell, who was deliberately ignoring him. “I need to speak to someone in charge of the case. It’s extremely urgent.”

“I’m sure it is, sir, and if you’d go ahead and let me know why you’re calling, I’d be happy to pass your information on to the detectives, right away.”

“But...” Bell was still ignoring him. “Well... This is probably going to sound pretty out there.”

“Go ahead, honey,” the woman said. “It can’t be more out there that half the cranks I hear from every day.”

“I’m a scientist,” Walter said. “Specializing in biochemical processes within the human brain. I believe I may be responsible for bringing the man you’ve been calling the Zodiac into our world.”

A moment of silence on the line, then, “I’m listening.”

Walter told her everything about the trip, the gateway, and the vision he’d shared with the strange man. When he was done, he felt exhilarated—and a little bit sick to his stomach. He hadn’t realized how it had been eating away at him, keeping that awful vision bottled up inside him for so many years. It felt like such a tremendous relief to let it all go, and put the burden of responsibility in the capable hands of trained law enforcement professionals.

“So what you’re saying is that the Zodiac Killer is a radioactive alien from another dimension?” the woman said slowly.

“Well, not exactly...” Walter frowned and switched the receiver from his left ear to his right. “I mean, there’s really no way of knowing precisely where he’s from until he can be captured and questioned, but that’s hardly the issue. I think it’s infinitely more important that he be stopped from killing those people tomorrow. Naturally, I’m happy to work closely with the detectives in order to deduce the location of the shooting, but time is of the essence. It’s imperative that investigation begin immediately.”

“Thank you very much for your interest in this case,” the woman said, her tone rote and dismissive now. “I’ve recorded your information exactly as given, and will pass it on to the detectives as soon as they come back on shift tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Walter said. “But that will be too late!”

“Hello?”

He was talking to a dead line.

“So,” Bell said, without looking up from the cipher. “When does the cavalry arrive?”

Walter slammed the receiver back into the cradle.

Walter lay on his back, staring balefully at the ceiling. Several hours had passed, and they were no closer to devising a plan than they had been when Walter had first shown the article to Bell.

Clearly, there would be no help from the police.

“We did this, Belly, can’t you see that?” Frustrated, he ran a hand over his eyes. “It’s up to us to save that poor old woman.”

“But how?” his friend replied. “We have no concrete data.”

Any answer Walter might have come up with vanished with a sharp rapping on the hotel room door.

Walter got his bare feet under him and walked over to the door, leaning against it and opening it as much as the security chain would allow. Peering through the gap, he saw two men wearing identical suits and serious expressions. The man closest to the door was a grim, gray, older man. Gray hair, gray eyes, and gray skin. His companion was younger, with slick, black hair like patent leather, and pale blue eyes magnified by thick-lensed glasses.

“Walter Bishop?” the gray man said.

“Yes.” Walter, looked back over his shoulder at Bell. “Can I help you?”

The gray man held up a photo ID inside a slim leather wallet.

“FBI,” he said. “Please get dressed. We’ll need you to come with us.”

“Belly,” Walter called back over his shoulder. “There are men here from the FBI.”

“William Bell?” the gray man said, leaning into the crack in the door. “We need to talk to you, as well.”

Bell was on his feet in a heartbeat, eyes wide with alarm.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Walter said, struggling to get his sockless feet into his shoes without toppling over. “But we’d better do what they say.”

“Let’s go, gentlemen,” the gray man said. “
Chop chop.”

“I don’t like this,” Bell said. “Why are they here?”

“This must be about the Zodiac,” Walter stage whispered to Bell, slipping the chain off the door and opening it all the way. “Is that what this is? The Zodiac Killer?”

“Sir,” the gray man replied, “I’m not currently at liberty to discuss the details of why we’re here. Please come with us.”

Walter looked back at Bell, suddenly anxious and unsure. Only minutes ago, he’d been longing for someone in a position of authority—someone who would step in and take this whole awful mess out of their hands. Now he was afraid.

It wasn’t as if there was any other option, but for some reason he felt certain that going with these men was a terrible idea.

Bell stepped up beside him and slung his arm around Walter’s shoulders.

“Don’t tell them anything, Walt,” he whispered between clenched teeth. “Not a goddamn thing.”

The FBI men led them to an unmarked black car waiting in a no-parking zone. They were placed in the back seat, and it wasn’t until the doors were closed that Walter noticed there were no handles on the inside.

“Not a goddamn thing,” Bell repeated.

Walter nodded, hands twisting anxiously in his lap.

* * *

He wasn’t familiar enough with the Bay Area to have any idea where they were being taken. Since they hadn’t crossed a bridge, he assumed they were still on the Berkeley side of the bay. They drove along several different, unremarkable streets through forgettable neighborhoods, and then down into the underground garage of a bland, beige office building with no visible sign or company name.

Walter’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch as they pulled up beside a bank of elevators. The man with the shiny black hair stayed in the car while the gray man got out to meet two more men—presumably agents—who were waiting by the elevator. Both of them looked like they had been grown in the same cloning vat as the gray man. Same conservative, dated haircuts, and same colorless, lifeless complexions.

They looked like men who spent way too much time under florescent lighting.

“Which one is Bishop?” one of the new agents asked the gray man, as if Walter wasn’t standing right there. Like he was livestock, incapable of speech.

“I’m Walter Bishop,” Walter said, indignant. “What is this about? I know my rights!”

“You’ll be fully briefed in due time, Mr. Bishop,” the gray man said.

“Listen,” Bell said, placing himself protectively between Walter and the stone-faced agents. “My friend, he’s a little bit... eccentric.” Bell touched his temple. “Reads too much science fiction. He gets... weird ideas sometimes, but it’s nothing serious. Really, he’s harmless.”

“We’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Bell,” the gray man said.

“No, really,” Bell persisted, gripping Walter’s arm and looking into his eyes like he was trying to tell him something other than what he was actually saying. “He’s crazy, get it? Crazy.”

Walter got it.

The elevator door opened and the two new agents each took one of Walter’s elbows, escorting him with gentle but implacable force. The gray man stepped in front of Bell, preventing him from entering the elevator with his friend.

“Hey, wait a minute—” Bell was saying, but it was too late.

The elevator doors closed, and Walter was alone with the two agents.

His mind was racing, wondering where he was being taken, and what was happening to Bell. He thought about what Belly had said, telling him to act like he was crazy. But why?

Bell harbored a powerful but understandable distrust of police and government agents. He had watched friends and fellow students being tear gassed and arrested for protesting the war in Vietnam. But perhaps these agents were the people in charge of the Zodiac case, and they wanted Walter’s help.

Maybe they would be able to help stop the bus killing.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a long, institutional green hallway. A short, chubby man in a lab coat poked a Geiger counter at him before he was allowed to exit the elevator.

“What is the meaning of this?” Walter asked. “I’m not radioactive!”

“Just a precaution, sir,” the man in the lab coat said. “Right this way, please.”

He was led down a hallway, then another, through several turns and into a small, windowless room, empty except for a metal desk, two folding chairs, and a boxy camera bolted above the door. The agents withdrew, leaving him alone.

Walter sat in that room for what felt like an eternity, giving him plenty of time alone with his thoughts. Every second that passed brought September 21st closer and closer. He kept on seeing that old woman in the red coat, looking up at him with that terrible questioning look in the endless second before she was gunned down in the street.

He tried to distract himself with a mind game, in which he was working his way through the periodic table, seeing how many different words he could make by rearranging the letters that spelled each element. He was up to selenium, which was a great word with plenty of vowels and nice common consonants, but he couldn’t stay focused. His mind kept returning to that awful vision over and over, like a scab he couldn’t stop picking.

He checked his watch, then checked it again.

The passing minutes felt like a slow torture. Each minute gone left them less time to find and stop the killer.

Finally, after what he estimated to be nearly three hours, someone came in to talk to Walter.

Where the previous men had been grim, gray and serious, this guy was tan, hearty, and way too friendly, with twinkly blue eyes and a big, rubbery smile like a used car salesman.

“How you doing, Walt?” he said. “You don’t mind if I call you Walt, do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “My name is Special Agent Dick Latimer.” He gripped Walter’s hand and pumped it exactly three times, then took a seat in the empty chair. “I understand you have some information that you think will help us with the Zodiac murders. Is that right?”

“Um...” Walter pressed his lips together. “I... well...”

“Why don’t you just start by telling me what you told Mrs. Berman on the tip line.” Latimer leaned forward, predatory smile still at full volume.

Walter was torn, unsure. He still wanted desperately for someone in a position of authority to step in and take care of this terrible situation, but there was something about this guy Latimer that he just didn’t trust. He wished that Bell was with him. Belly would know what to say. He always knew what to say.

And what not to say.

“I don’t recall exactly,” Walter said. He had hoped to sound confident, but his voice felt constricted in this throat.

Latimer’s thousand-watt smile dimmed for a heartbeat, and his blue eyes went cold.

“Come on now, Walt,” he said. “This is no time for games. You told Mrs. Berman that you had urgent information for us. Something to do with...” He leaned in even closer, so close Walter would have scooted his chair defensively back if it hadn’t already been pressed against the wall. “Radioactivity?”

“I did, didn’t I...” Walter paused, looking down. Then he looked up again. “Would you happen to have any grape Nehi?”

“I’m afraid not,” Latimer replied. “But there’s a soda machine down the hall. I’d be happy to get you a 7 Up or something, as soon as you explain exactly what you meant by the suggestion that the suspect has been giving off an unknown type of radiation.”

“I’m afraid it has to be grape Nehi,” Walter answered. “Only grape Nehi contains the precise balance between citric and phosphoric acid to adequately protect us from the cosmic radiation from the future.”

Latimer narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“Don’t you watch
The Outer Limits?”
Walter asked. “It’s just like ‘Demon With a Glass Hand,’ only this guy has a radioactive hand. He’s a soldier from the future, like Robert Culp. I’m from the future, too. That’s how I know.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of Necco wafers, offering one to the increasingly annoyed Latimer. “Candy?”

“Look, Walt, why don’t you just take it easy and try to stay focused.”

“I was hoping to get boysenberry pancakes at the Howard Johnson’s, but they only had blueberry,” he said earnestly. “Do you suppose that’s some kind of regional thing? When I was a kid, my mother used to make the best boysenberry pancakes. The trick is to coat the berries in powdered sugar before you add them to the batter. Of course, you can substitute lingonberries, but I’d increase the amount of sugar to compensate for the radiation.

“Have you ever been to Vienna?”

Latimer stood up, metal chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor.

“Enough,” he said.

“Enough?” Walter asked, on a roll now. “That’s a pretty subjective concept, enough. It’s really relative to how much you already have, and how much more you imagine you might want. It’s not a good solid concept like, for example, a number. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you have three of something. Like three rolls of Necco wafers. You might think three is enough, while someone else could reasonably argue that three is too many. I, on the other hand, may believe that three is not anywhere near enough. And although we are each right in our own minds, none of us is right in the minds of the other two. Therefore, we are all both right and wrong at the same time.