Obsidian Prey (28 page)

SHE MOVED TO STAND IN FRONT OF THE BLANK WALL. She could feel Jeff’s intense scrutiny and curiosity.

“The boss never mentioned that you could open this kind of gate,” he said.

Lyra looked back over her shoulder at Cruz. “He was trying to protect me.”

Jeff frowned. “From what?”

“Whoever killed the lab tech and stole the relic was believed to have disappeared into the jungle, using a gate he had opened,” Lyra explained. “That person was also doing his best to set me up. If it got out that I could open jungle gates, it would be one more piece of evidence against me.”

“Right,” Jeff said, obviously satisfied.

She gave him a quick, sidelong look. He did not appear the least bit startled, let alone appalled, by the knowledge that Cruz had deliberately concealed evidence that might have been used against her. Just the opposite, in fact. Jeff was acting as if such an action was perfectly normal, the sort of thing he would have expected Cruz to do under the circumstances. It was enough to make you wonder if there might be something to all that nonsense about the deeply romantic nature of the men of the Sweetwater family.

Jeff’s eyes lit with sudden excitement. “Hey, that means the killer probably knows you can open jungle gates. Right? How many people are aware of that?”

“Not many,” she assured him.

“Well, that could narrow the list of suspects,” he said, glancing at Cruz for support.

Cruz moved forward to stand beside Lyra. “Maybe, maybe not. It may have just been a coincidence.”

Lyra and Jeff looked at him. Neither said a word.

“Okay,” he said. “Probably isn’t a coincidence. But either way, we know one thing for sure about him now.”

“Right,” Jeff said. “
He
can open them.”

Vincent reappeared and bounced up and down at Lyra’s feet, red beret flapping wildly. He was impatient to get on with the game.

She concentrated for a moment, rezzing energy until she caught the latent patterns within the quartz wall. They became crystal clear to her senses almost immediately. She went to work tuning the wavelengths with her amethyst charms until they resonated in such a way that she could control them.

A large section of wall dissolved, revealing a luminous, almost impenetrable mass of green. Warm, humid air and the sounds and smells of the verdant world on the other side greeted them. Vincent dashed forward and tumbled up onto a fallen log, all four eyes open. Cruz and Jeff followed more cautiously.

“Don’t forget the killer has a mag-rez,” Lyra reminded them quickly.

“Guns are like any other high-tech gadget,” Cruz said somewhat absently. “They won’t work in the rain forest, just like they won’t work in the catacombs, because of the heavy psi.”

She relaxed a little. “Right. For a moment there I forgot.”

Vincent muttered and hopped off the log. He disappeared into a maze of green vines.

“He’s onto something,” Lyra said.

“Looks like it,” Cruz agreed. He slipped a jungle knife out of its sheath on his pack and went toward the vines. “But it’s going to be tough to follow him.”

Jeff freed his own knife and went after him.

Lyra followed the rough path the men created. Vincent was no longer in sight, but she could hear him chortling excitedly.

A few minutes later, Cruz and Jeff came to a halt. Lyra heard the roar and splash of water. She pushed aside a veil of green orchids.

“Careful,” Cruz said. He put out a hand to keep her from moving forward. “It’s slippery up here.”

They were standing at the top of a waterfall. Vincent was on a nearby rock, all four eyes fixed on the pool below. Cruz and Jeff were studying the bottom of the falls, as well. There was the same air of fixed intensity about them.
Hunters,
Lyra thought,
all three of them.

She took a cautious step closer to the edge and looked down. A body floated in the grotto pool at the foot of the cascading water. Shock reverberated through her. There was no mistaking the standard-issue Amber Inc. jungle uniform.

“Good grief,” she whispered. “Who is it?”

“Let’s find out,” Cruz said.

He and Jeff made their way down the rocky incline to the pool. Wading knee deep into the water, they caught hold of the body and hauled it back to the edge of the grotto. When they got the man onto dry ground, they turned him onto his back. His neck flopped at an unnatural angle. Several hours of soaking had taken its toll, as had a bad gash in the forehead, but the features were still recognizable. So was the distinctive goatee.

“That’s Dr. Webber,” Lyra said. “The head of the AI lab. The one who kept calling me, demanding that I assist with his experiments.”

Cruz crouched beside the body and went swiftly through the pockets. Within seconds he withdrew a drenched mag-rez gun. “What do you want to bet this is the weapon that was used to kill Fairstead?”

“That would be a sucker bet,” Jeff said.

Lyra collected Vincent and scrambled down the rocky incline. “What happened to him?”

“Looks like in his hurry to escape, he didn’t see the grotto until it was too late,” Jeff said. “He fell, hit his head on the rocks, and drowned.”

“That’s sure what it looks like,” Cruz said, straightening.

A familiar tingle fluttered Lyra’s senses.

“It’s here,” she said.

“What?” Jeff asked.

“The amethyst artifact that was taken from Fairstead’s vault. It’s somewhere nearby.”

Vincent made excited little sounds and wriggled free of her grasp. He hopped onto the rim of the pool, jumped into the water, and promptly disappeared beneath the surface. A moment later he reappeared, the relic clutched between his two front paws. He paddled with his other four feet to the edge of the pool. Cruz leaned over and took the relic from him.

“Thanks, Vincent.” Cruz examined the softly glowing block of carved amethyst. “This is it, all right. The one that went missing from the lab.”

“Looks like that’s a wrap,” Jeff announced. “Webber stole the relic. He didn’t have the kind of connections needed to sell such a valuable artifact, so he took it to Fairstead. Fairstead tried to sell it to Wilson Revere yesterday, but you showed up, and everyone involved got nervous.”

Lyra frowned, thinking. “Dr. Webber got scared because he thought that Cruz was closing in on Fairstead and that Fairstead would lead straight back to him. So he retrieved the relic and killed Fairstead, the one person who could identify him. He escaped through the gate. But he was in a rush. He didn’t see the waterfall until it was too late. Broke his neck.”

“Works for me,” Jeff said.

Cruz studied the relic. “Doesn’t work for me.”

“Why not?” Lyra asked.

Cruz looked up. “It’s just too damn neat.”

“Got another theory of the crime?” Jeff asked.

Cruz raised his brows. “ ‘Theory of the crime’? Have you been watching
Psi Crime Investigation
again?”

Jeff reddened.

Lyra glared at Cruz. “I love that show. All that psi forensics stuff is fascinating.”

“They say it’s very accurate,” Jeff said earnestly. “Real cutting-edge psychic crime-scene investigation techniques.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about a rez-screen program.” Cruz slid his pack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and shoved the relic inside. “Forget I even mentioned it and start looking for some indication that someone else was here.”

Jeff surveyed their foliage-choked surroundings. “That’s going to be a little tough. You know how this place eats evidence. Drop a gum wrapper on the ground, and the next day it’s gone.”

“Webber’s body is still in pretty good shape,” Cruz said. “The rain forest hasn’t turned him into compost yet. That means he must have died recently. If the killer got careless and dropped something, it will still be here.”

“Assuming there is a killer,” Lyra said.

Cruz looked at her with eyes that burned with a cold emerald fire. Energy seemed to shiver in the air around him.

“This was no accident,” he said quietly. “There was a killer. The spoor is still on the body. You can’t wash off the taint of murder with water.”

A chill of awareness slipped through her. He was fully rezzed, she thought, running on his talent.

Jeff studied Vincent. “Maybe the bunny can find some evidence for us the way he found the body.”

They all contemplated Vincent. He was still on the rim of the pool, busily fluffing his wet fur. The little red beret was soaking wet.

“I don’t think that will work,” Lyra said. She leaned down to remove the wet cap. “I’m pretty sure that he thought this was a game of fetch the relic. As far as he’s concerned, it’s finished.”

She squeezed the excess water out of the beret and pinned it to Vincent’s damp fur.

“Looks like we get to do this the old-fashioned way,” Cruz said. “We’ll establish a search grid and walk it shoulder to shoulder. Nobody moves out of visual range of the others. Understood?”

Jeff grinned at Lyra. “That means don’t go wandering off on your own.”

“Thanks,” Lyra said. “I did sort of wonder. All that technical jargon, you know. A girl gets confused.”

Cruz ignored her and started up the steep incline. “We’ll try the top of the falls first.”

“Why?” Jeff asked.

“Because regardless of where he killed Webber, the killer had to drop the body from that point in order to make the accident look real.”

“Sure,” Jeff said. “And maybe there was a struggle. That would be good.”

“Yes, it would,” Cruz agreed.

Lyra grabbed a trailing vine and used it to haul herself up the incline behind the men. “Why?”

“Because where there’s a struggle, you often find some evidence,” Jeff explained.

“Oh, right,” she said. “I knew that.”

“Except where there’s a lot of water and a lot of jungle,” he added grimly. “Talk about a great place to hide evidence and bodies.”

“We found Webber’s body,” she reminded him.

Cruz looked back over his shoulder. “That was because someone wanted us to find him.”

“How could the killer have known that we would find the jungle gate in the catacombs?” she asked. “Let alone conduct a search?”

“He must have assumed that I’d check out the murder scene with a PF team and pick up the psi trail,” Cruz said. “He knew that trail would dead end at the gate and that I’d figure it out from there. Once inside, it would have been hard to miss the waterfall. No offense, but we didn’t really need Vincent.”

“Don’t say that.” She looked at Vincent, who was already at the top of the falls, playing with a palm frond that dipped into the water. “He thinks he won the game.”

Cruz came to a halt at the edge of the falls and gave Vincent another considering look. “Are you sure you can’t convince him to play a new game?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, scrambling up to stand beside him. “One that involves finding evidence of some kind.”

“I don’t know how to go about it,” she said. She watched Vincent bat the palm frond with his front paw. “It’s not like he’s telepathic or anything. He’s a dust bunny.”

“Forget it,” Cruz said. “Let’s start the sweep. We’ll stick to the area immediately around the perimeter of the falls.”

They moved out side by side, arm’s length apart. Vincent tumbled after them but showed no interest in the new game until they passed a small cave in the rocks. At that point he chortled to them and disappeared into the shadowed opening.

They stopped.

“Now, what?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know,” Lyra said. “Maybe he spotted some small animal that passes for dust bunny prey.”

Vincent reappeared with a piece of foil in one paw. He looked quite pleased with himself.

“He’s into bling,” Lyra explained.

“Will he give it to you?” Cruz asked.

“Sure.” She picked up Vincent. “Can I see that?” she asked.

Vincent let her take the scrap of foil. She handed it to Cruz.

“It’s a wrapper,” he said. “The kind used to package candy and snack bars.”

Jeff whistled softly. “Someone dropped it. The killer?”

“Yes.” Cruz smiled his cold smile of satisfaction. He rubbed the wrapper between his thumb and forefinger. “His psi is all over it.”

“Could be a piece of foil from something Webber ate,” Jeff said. “If there was a struggle, the killer’s psi could have ended up on the snack bar or anything else in the vicinity.”

Cruz moved to the edge of the rocky opening and crouched to study the interior. Then he reached inside and withdrew what looked like a plastic sack emblazoned with a familiar logo.

“That’s an AI rain poncho pouch,” Jeff said. “The rain gear is standard issue in every AI pack.”

“Same psi traces,” Cruz said.

“Again, could have belonged to Webber,” Jeff said. “Maybe he got caught in a downpour, put on the poncho, and waited out the storm inside that cave. You know what it’s like when it rains in the jungle. You can’t move. Maybe he was wearing the rain poncho when the killer attacked.”

“On
Psi Crime Investigation
they make it clear that, although the courts are starting to admit testimony from psychics, it has to be backed up with hard evidence,” Lyra said.

Cruz gave her and Jeff a narrow-eyed look. “That does it; no more
PCI
for either of you. You want proof that the poncho and the snack bar wrapper didn’t belong to Webber? Fine. I’ll give you proof.”

Jeff frowned, curious. “How will you do that?”

“Watch and learn, Mr. Hotshot Psi Crime Investigator,” Cruz said.

He went back down the side of the falls to the body, removed Webber’s pack, and unzipped it. A few seconds later he pulled out an unused rain poncho still tucked neatly inside its plastic pouch. Next he went swiftly through the remaining contents of the pack. After a moment, he straightened.

“There aren’t any energy bars missing, either,” he announced.