Hotwire (17 page)

She was thinking about this while waiting for Kunze to criticize, to lecture, to humiliate her. But he said something totally unexpected.

“How can I protect you if you constantly keep getting yourself into these messes?”

“Excuse me? What exactly do you think you’re protecting me from?”

Even as she said it, she examined herself in the bathroom mirror. Under the stark fluorescent lights the scar on her abdomen and the one on her side seemed to pucker up, betraying her. Dirt from underneath the Boshes’ house smudged her face. Remnants of cobwebs still tangled her hair. She had rubbed holes in her shirtsleeves and her elbows were caked with blood and dirt from crawling. Okay, perhaps at this moment she did look a bit frazzled, but she was not someone who needed protecting.

She realized Kunze was silent and wondered if she had lost the connection just as she heard him sigh.

“You have three sessions at the Denver law enforcement conference starting tomorrow.”

“Any seasoned police detective who’s gone through Quantico’s training could substitute for me.”

“But I didn’t send any police detective. I sent you. Please make sure those attendees are not sitting there without an instructor. I’ll see you on Monday, Agent O’Dell.”

“Actually I fly back on Monday.”

“I’ll see you on Tuesday morning, Agent O’Dell.”

She heard the click, and then silence. Typical Kunze, he ended his calls as abruptly as he began them.

Minutes ago she had made the same decision as her boss had. Why did she argue? Was it his statement about protecting her? What the hell did he mean by that?

Ever since Kunze replaced Cunningham he had been riding her, questioning her, sending her into killers’ warehouses and into the path of a hurricane. He had bluntly told her that he thought her negligence had contributed to Cunningham’s death and that she would need to prove herself to him. But how many times did she have to do it?

In just the last year, she had solved a major piece of the puzzle to a bombing at Mall of America. But it had placed her and Kunze on opposite sides of a political fallout. Then last month she had survived a category-5 hurricane only to uncover a ploy that made the U.S. Navy look bad. Again, tripping up her politically correct and politically connected new boss. Whatever happened to doing the right thing, no matter what the consequences were? Cunningham always understood. Okay, yes, sometimes he’d be mad as hell at her, but he’d understand. He might question her means but never had he questioned her intent.

She cleaned up in the small sink, doing as good a job as possible with stiff, brown paper towels that scraped the dirt off rather than wiped. Then she pulled on fresh clothes. Brushed her hair. Already she felt better.

She rolled up her dirty clothes and started shoving them into a side pocket of her suitcase when something tumbled to the floor.

Johnny’s cell phone.

She had forgotten all about it. She shut the toilet lid and sat down. She remembered Dawson’s eyes last night. Johnny’s eyes just moments ago.

That’s when she decided.

Kunze said he didn’t want the conference attendees sitting there without an instructor. She would make sure they had someone.

She grabbed her cell phone and punched through her Contact menu. While in Florida last month she had met a detective from the Denver Police Department. Glen Karst was a seasoned homicide detective who had been through the criminal behavior training course at Quantico. She found his phone number and hoped he wasn’t busy this weekend. She’d owe him a steak dinner, some cheesecake, and a bottle of Buffalo Trace. It seemed like a bargain.

THIRTY-ONE

“Did your techs find anything more in the forest?” Maggie asked Donny as soon as they were back on the road.

“We did find the live wire Dawson Hayes ran into. Someone must have cut it, rigged it from the fence post, and strung it between two trees.”

“Like a trap.”

“The fence line they took the electric wire from actually cordons off pasture land from the forest. The kid must have run into the trap wire and the shock was enough to throw him into the barbed wire. We could see where it snapped from the posts.”

“And the momentum kept him rolling, taking the barbed wire and wrapping it around him.”

“Yup. That’s what we’re thinking. We left the hotwire coiled and out of reach. I’ll need to find and talk to the rancher who leases that pasture. Have him shut off the current.”

“How did you touch it without getting a shock?”

“Whoever rigged it left pieces of plastic—they’re sort of safety guards so you can handle it hot without getting shocked. That’s why we know it was rigged on purpose. Ranchers don’t use anything like that.”

“Is it possible the other two boys ran into the wire, too?”

“We’ll have to wait and see what Lucy says, but I’m guessing no. Not enough juice to electrocute. Just enough to knock you on your ass. Remember, ranchers just want to discourage cattle, not fry them. Sorry,” he said, his ears turning red. “Didn’t mean to be crude.”

“I guess that’s why Dawson’s alive.”

“The crime team also cast some of the footprints.”

“So the tarps held?”

“Yeah, the tarps preserved them from the rain but I’m not sure it’ll matter unless we confiscate all seven kids’ shoes.”

When she didn’t respond he glanced at her and winced. “You want me to confiscate all seven kids’ shoes?”

“We already have three pairs.”

“There’s one set of prints that looks like a size thirteen work boot. I don’t remember any of the boys wearing anything close to a work boot.”

“So it may come in handy collecting the shoes, after all.”

He didn’t argue.

“We did find some animal tracks up on the ridge. Rain made a mess of them. Could be a cougar. Maybe a coyote or large dog. Hard to tell.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Hank said there were a few sightings of a cougar reported in the last several weeks. Nothing confirmed. Still, doesn’t add much to the story. None of these kids had injuries that come close to a cat attack.”

“What about Amanda Vicks’s arm?”

“That didn’t look like an animal bite to me. I think we got a photo of it if you wanna take a look.” He glanced over at her. “What’s this all about?”

“Dawson Hayes said this morning that a wolflike animal came at him.”

“Really?”

“Did you find any tracks down in the campsite area?”

“Not a one.”

“Anything that could have produced a light show?”

He shook his head. Glanced at her again but this time it looked as if he was trying to decide how to say what he wanted to say.

“I have to tell you, I think some of those kids were stoned last night. We didn’t find any bottles or cans. A few cigarette butts. No joints. But I know from their stories and that spaced-out look, it wasn’t just shock and awe.”

Maggie hadn’t told Sheriff Skylar about the salvia because of his holding back evidence of drugs in a previous case. Allegedly he’d rather have the girl’s parents believe she accidentally fell from the bridge instead of knowing she had tripped out on salvia and jumped. But she couldn’t hold out on Donny.

“Lucy did find a baggie. She thinks it may be
Salvia divinorum
.”

She left it at that, letting him believe Lucy could have found it today while she prepped the two boys for autopsies.

“I thought so,” Donny said, tapping the steering wheel in triumph of being correct. He didn’t even question the how or when of the discovery.

“Do you know much about salvia?”

“It’s a hallucinogen. I’ve heard it compared to LSD. Supposed to be nonaddictive with no long-term side effects. The big trend right now is with kids filming their trips, posting them on YouTube.”

“You think that’s what was happening last night?”

“It would certainly explain their stories, the fireworks and laser light show. I had one kid telling me how loud the purple was.”

“We didn’t find a camera, though,” Maggie said.

“Nope. No camera.”

“And isn’t it a little strange that they would all see fireworks and a light show?”

“Kids are easily influenced. The drug might make them more impressionable. If one kid claimed he saw fireworks, maybe they all thought they did.”

Maggie noticed they had driven for miles on the rolling ribbon of two-lane asphalt and yet they hadn’t crossed a single intersection. The only breaks were a few long driveways to ranches or farms or cutouts to pastures. She couldn’t help thinking that even in the middle of nowhere these kids knew about salvia and were able to purchase it illegally. Donny was right. Teenagers were easily influenced and not much different no matter where they lived.

“If we’re right,” Maggie said, “chances are this wasn’t their first trip, so to speak, in the forest. Can we get ahold of Trevor’s and Kyle’s text messages and their computers?”

“I can probably do that.”

“When we were looking at the cattle mutilation … ” Maggie started but paused. Was it only yesterday? “Nolan Comstock mentioned lights in the night sky. Said people were used to seeing them.”

She watched as Donny’s jaw twitched.

“He didn’t seem to be a crazy, old rancher,” she said, choosing the two adjectives that Skylar had used to describe Lucy. “Do people see lights in the night sky? And if so, what are they?”

He was quiet for a while then said, “We really are smack-dab between two major air force installations. It’s no secret they fly maneuvers over this part of the country. They probably test drive all kinds of strange new technology. And of course, they’re not going to be announcing it or admitting it.”

“Any chance that’s what these kids saw? Some sort of clandestine war game.”

“No. The government wouldn’t purposely hurt kids.” He looked offended by the idea.

She didn’t push it. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but she needed Donny Fergussen on her side. She remembered the look Sheriff Skylar had given her when she told them Johnny Bosh was dead. There was something about it that made Maggie realize a lot of people would be taking sides before all this was over.

THIRTY-TWO

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Benjamin Platt carried a hard-shell case filled with an assortment of samples. He was anxious to get back to a lab at USAMRIID. Bix had overnighted a set to his CDC scientists in Atlanta as well. Platt would, no doubt, be cross-checking what Bix’s experts had looked for at the Norfolk high school, including a variety of strains of E. coli and salmonella along with norovirus and a few other sneaky bacteria. He also had more than a dozen baggies filled with leftovers and garbage that he and Julia Racine had carefully scavenged.

He was still smiling at Julia’s last remark: “I’ve never seen a guy get so excited about vomit. Your mother must be very proud.”

She stood beside him now, shoulder holster in full view as if providing backup while he loaded the samples into his Land Rover. They ignored the media that had followed, tossing questions and sticking microphones in their faces. That’s when Racine pushed back her jacket to show her badge as well as her firearm. She shoved one reporter off the curb then held out her hand like a running back, strong-arming anyone else who dared get in their way.

Finally inside the vehicle, Platt was ready to make a getaway. He revved the engine to warn the Channel 5 news crew at his hood that he wouldn’t hesitate to roll over them. He accelerated forward, braked hard. Watched the big guy with a camera jump-step out of his way. Suddenly the back door to the Land Rover opened. Racine turned ready to pounce over the seat. Roger Bix slid inside.

“Go,” Bix said. “Run these assholes over if you have to.” Halfway down the street Platt said, “I’m taking Detective Racine to her car. You want me to take you to yours?”

“USDA just invited us over to their house to play a game of information swap.”

“Really? I thought they had to assess your request.”

“Evidently they’ve assessed it. My guess, our new Miss Undersecretary watched a little television this afternoon and is now as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”