Over the Darkened Landscape (14 page)

Simone looked up from the papers. “Jesus,” she said. “This is for real?”

Captain Munro nodded and then turned his attention back to Mike. “That was indeed a vial of Slow that you found at the apartment, Mike. But there’s a difference in the chemical makeup, and, while they’re still trying to confirm their initial impressions, they are pretty sure that the stuff retains its ability to counteract the Line but is no longer so lethal. If it’s even lethal at all.”

Mike took a second to let this news travel around inside his head. Then he asked, “How come we don’t already know about this stuff? Why isn’t it on the streets big time?”

Munro shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it’s just hit, and only the special people have it. I talked to the folks on the drug squad, and they’re just as surprised as we are. They’ve got people out snooping around right now, but we’re going to have to do our own checking as well.”

“Where do we start?”

The captain fixed Mike with a stare. “I know you’re still new at this, detective, but try and remember that you were also a cop on the other side of the Line. Try and
think
like one.”

Mike scratched his chin, feeling the unfamiliar stubble growing there. “I guess I should go make myself look pretty and then go talk to Mrs. Hayes, for starters. At least I assume there’s a Mrs.”

“There is. I’ve already made an appointment for you to see her, at 11:30.” The captain slid another piece of paper across the table to him. “Here’s her address. It’ll give you plenty of time to fix yourself up.” He turned and looked back at Simone. “And Perez, your day off just ended. Get yourself dressed like a detective again, so you can ride along.”

Two hours later, Mike was shaved and wearing a new, although cheap, suit, and they were back in the car after stopping at Simone’s apartment so that she could get changed. “Makes me sick,” said Mike, “thinking that Hayes and Sandy were getting it on like that. There’s no place for that sort of thing, anywhere in the world.”

Simone scratched her head. “It’s a weird situation, though, Mike. Here on this side of the Line, pedophilia is illegal. But how does it work over on the other side?” She looked uncomfortable, but pressed ahead. “I mean, do the kids over there make it with each other?”

Mike shook his head, feeling more than a little weirded out by the question. “Nuh-uh. No way. If anything like that happens to you, you know you’re a candidate for crossing the Line and not coming back. And since no one wants to do that, even the teens don’t go the distance.”

“What do you mean, ‘Go the distance?’” Simone gave him a half-smile. “Are you telling me that there’s heavy petting in Templeton?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” replied Mike. He felt himself squirming a little, hating where this was going. “Just that sometimes a couple of the older kids might get together for a date, because they like each other. Hell, there’s a few who even live together, although that tends to bring funny looks from everybody else. Never lasts too long.”

“So where . . .” She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. “So where do new kids come from? I mean, I know that Templeton isn’t overpopulated or anything, but it’s always been there, it seems. If they lose kids every once in a while, like what happened to you or worse, what happened to that girl, Sandy, then eventually some kids have to replace them, or else Templeton becomes a ghost town.”

Mike shrugged. “They just show up.”

“They just
show
up
?” Simone looked disgusted.

Mike was feeling defensive now. “Hey, don’t blame me for not knowing. I never thought about it when I was a kid. Never had any reason to, did I? When you live in Templeton, every day’s a new day, y’know? The big questions don’t need to be dealt with, not too often, anyways. Kids go about their lives, do what they want or sometimes even need to do, but usually life is just one long game, even when they’re doing what they call work.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even remember where
I
came from. As far as I know, I was always there.”

“Always there? Jesus.” Simone pulled the car over to the curb and stepped heavily on the brake, slamming Mike forward in his seatbelt. “We’re here.”

Mike unbuckled himself and climbed out onto the sidewalk, choosing to ignore her mood for the moment. It wasn’t a topic that made him particularly comfortable, thinking about what little he knew of his past.

The house was smaller than he had expected, a simple gray bungalow set close to the street. Only the four-car garage and the professional landscaping gave it away. The front door of the house was already open and a man in suit and tie was standing, waiting for them. “Lawyer,” muttered Simone.

“Detectives,” said the man as they arrived at the door. “I’m Colin Singh, Ms. Hayes’s attorney. Please come in.”

He closed the door behind them and then asked them to follow him. It turned out the house seemed a lot larger from the inside, and soon Mike was feeling somewhat adrift. Soon enough, though, they were brought to a small office. Singh sat behind a large metal desk. “Please sit down, detectives.” He gestured, and they sat at the two chairs placed across from him. Before either could start, he raised his hand and said, “Ms. Hayes will be with us shortly, but will not be answering any questions at this time. If you wish to formally question her, please deliver a subpoena to my office so that we can arrange an interview.”

“Then why are we here?” asked Simone.

“First, because you need to know that Ms. Hayes is not terribly interested in knowing who killed her husband.”

Mike blinked in surprise. “Um, can I ask why not?”

“You were the boy,” came a soft voice from behind.

They turned their heads, then all three stood as one. A young woman in simple dark blue slacks and matching blouse had entered the office, walking around them to stand beside the lawyer. She was petite, very slender in her hips and her bust, almost childlike. Which, Mike assumed, was likely the point.

“You were the boy,” she repeated. “The one who came over from Templeton.”

Mike nodded, unsure where this was going. Simone put a reassuring hand on his forearm. “I was . . . I am.”

“This is Ms. Hayes,” said Singh. She sat without offering to shake hands, and the rest of them followed suit.

“I’m sorry this had to happen to you,” Ms. Hayes continued. “Enough innocence was lost without you being added to the mix.”

Mike swallowed, wondering if he would have the nerve to ask the obvious question. But he didn’t have to; Simone beat him to the punch. “Ms. Hayes, I know we’re not supposed to ask you questions, but we need to know . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sounded very uncomfortable.

“I’m twenty-two,” was the reply. “We married when I was sixteen.” Her voice turned bitter and cold. “Apparently I was too old for him. It worked better if his partners didn’t age.”

Singh held up a hand. “That will be enough questions
and
answers.” He looked pointedly at his client. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out two small wooden boxes, slid them across the desk. “This is why Ms. Hayes doesn’t want to know.”

Mike reached over and grabbed the boxes, knowing full well what it held. Sure enough, more Slow. One held two small vials of the stuff; another dozen were in the other. In little fabric pouches tucked alongside the vials were fresh syringes as well.

“Where did you find these?” asked Simone.

“In Mr. Hayes’s office,” said the lawyer, putting his hand on his client’s arm. “Don’t worry, as soon as Ms. Hayes found them she called me. Aside from doorknobs and drawer handles, these were the only things she touched. His office, across the hall,” he pointed, “is otherwise unmarred, and ready for your experts to search. Any other rooms you wish to check, you’ll need to come back with a warrant.”

“And what do we need to do in return?” Mike closed the box that only held two vials and slid it into his pocket, knowing damn well this was against procedure. The other wouldn’t fit, so he just tucked it under his arm.

“Nothing. Your bosses will be made aware of things shortly. I don’t know if you’ll find names in there, but chances are good there’s a path to them. I imagine there are some people who won’t want their affiliation with Mr. Hayes known after this comes out.”

“
If
it comes out,” said Simone.

“That’s a big word,” agreed Singh. “But between the three of us and your bosses, Ms. Hayes and her husband were not living a very happy marriage these past few years. As soon as the will is cleared up, she has plans to liquidate assets and leave the country for good.”

“We should probably rule you out as a suspect, first,” said Mike, trying to look apologetic as he glanced at Ms. Hayes.

“Already taken care of,” countered the lawyer. “Ms. Hayes was out of town, with friends. Here are her travel tickets, receipts, and a list of phone numbers.” He handed Mike a manila envelope. “I’ll also tell you now that she had no hand in her husband’s business, took no notice of any people he chose to entertain, and, as you’ll see in the envelope, was away for almost two weeks. She has no knowledge of any people who may have visited during that time.”

Mike riffled through the contents of the envelope, then put them back to be checked later. “Are we done here then?”

“Mr. Hayes’s office, detectives. One of my associates will wait in the hall for you to finish and then show you out.” He nodded his head at the two of them; Ms. Hayes gave a slight smile and then turned to look out the window. “Good day.”

The other office door was open. This one was much larger, more sumptuous than the first. The desk was oak, and immense, and expensive prints or even actual paintings inhabited the walls. Several thousand hardcover and leatherbound books sat in floor to ceiling shelves, and curios and knick-knacks and antiquities covered desk and shelf space everywhere else. The office was larger than his wife’s, but it felt smaller, much more crowded.

“I’ll call forensics to come and do the dirty work,” said Simone. She pulled out her cellphone and rolled her eyes. “Shit. Battery’s dead. If I’d known I was actually going to be working today . . .” She handed Mike a pair of gloves as she walked by. “I’ll call from the other office, in case there are prints on his phone. Be right back.”

Not really knowing what he was looking for, Mike put down the box he had under his arm and carefully lifted papers and books and opened drawers, hoping something might catch his eye.

Not the eye; the nose.

In the small tin garbage can sitting on the floor beside the desk, a familiar smell. Mike squatted down, slowly pulled out pieces of trash, sniffing each one before piling it on the floor beside him. Simone had come back in and was also searching. Now she stopped what she was doing—grabbed the chair and pulled it over, sat and watched.

Halfway through, Mike stood, grimacing as his knees popped and cracked. “What’s with the knees?” he asked, groaning in pain.

“Middle age,” replied Simone. “Usually your body gives you enough time to get used to the fact that you aren’t as supple. This aging overnight business brings all sorts of nasty surprises, I imagine.”

“Ow ow ow.” Mike walked around the office, stretching his legs and rubbing a new sore spot in the small of his back. “I wanna be young again.” He knew he sounded whiny, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

“Don’t we all.” Simone picked up the can and put it on top of the desk. “What were you onto with this?”

“I dunno.” Mike came back to the desk and picked up the can, waving it under his nose. The smell was still there, faint but familiar. “Something . . .” He rummaged around a bit more, came out with two cigarette butts and a rock-hard piece of well-chewed gum, held them up to his nose. “Jesus.”

“What?”

Mike looked at Simone, still holding the butts and the gum. “I have to cross the Line again.”

She made a face and grabbed his arm. “Hell no, you don’t! Once was enough, dammit, and you know it! If you cross again, you’ll be just about ready for retirement when you come back.
If
you come back; if your heart can handle the stress.”

He fumbled in his pocket, looking for baggies for the evidence, instead found himself pulling out the second little wooden box. He stared at it for a moment, then looked into Simone’s face. “I can do it.” He tossed the full box into a desk drawer and then turned and stepped quickly to the door, gloves still on, box in one hand and cigarette butts and gum in the other.

The lawyer waiting in the hall led the two of them out, assuring them that no-one would enter the office until the forensics officers arrived. When they reached the car Simone turned on him. “You can’t be thinking that; you can’t. Beside being fucking illegal, it’s dangerous. We still don’t know enough about this shit.”

“Just get me to the Line,” said Mike, finally getting the evidence into some baggies and pocketing them. He fumbled through the box, pulled out a vial and syringe, stuck the needle through the lid and drew the green liquid up. “Same location as last time.”

“Then tell me what you know.” She swung hard on the wheel, taking a corner fast enough to throw Mike’s shoulder up against the door. He eyed her for a second, then waved the syringe in the air before recapping it.

“I know who did it. But I don’t know why, and I can only place him and Hayes in the same room. No real proof.”

“Yet.”

“Yet. Someone has to cross the Line to get a handle on the rest of this, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be you, or the captain, or anyone else who’s never been there before.”

Tires screeching, Simone brought the car to a stop by the Line. A couple of well-dressed men were standing across the street; one look at the car and both turned and walked away. The street was otherwise empty.

Mike undid his tie and wrapped it around his arm, pulled it tight until his veins were bulging. “Hope to hell this works.” Twice he stopped short, little baby pinpricks that made him wince more in fear than in pain. But finally he worked up the nerve, plunged the needle into a vein.

The rush was almost instantaneous. Back arched, Mike squeezed his eyes shut, falling into the flood of images pouring across the blackness. He felt his body shudder once, twice, three times, and then he reopened his eyes.