Some Gave All (25 page)

She put in a call to J.T. and told him what she had found. She also asked him if he’d heard from Vincent. He hadn’t. Tess had transported Wilson to a hotel and J.T. had taken advantage of the time alone to examine Wilson’s blood as well as the two vials Cat and Vincent had given him.

“And I think I’ve found something pretty amazing,” he concluded. He paused dramatically. Cat wanted to humor him and beg him to reveal his discovery, but she was tired, cold, sore, and worried. So when she didn’t play along, he said in a slightly hurt voice, “The vials are part of a very complicated formula. If we consider multiple alleles at a diploid locus—”

“J.T.,
please
.”

“Okay, all right, jeez. You remember how Mazursky hinted that the first six murders might have occurred while some faction was trying to find the individual ingredients to create the new beast-making serum? The fear-factor special?”

“The Thornton Foundation. Yes.” She waited for him to confirm Mazursky’s suspicion.

“Well, that’s wrong.”

“
Wrong?
”

“Yes. And I think Mazursky knows it.”

He had her full attention now. “Wrong how?”

“After examining Wilson’s blood and the two vials, I think what we have is two parts of an antidote. Cat, I think those people died
protecting
that antidote.”

“Why? What’s in the vials? What’s in Wilson’s blood?”

“In the vials, there are two of the chemicals that were present in the serum your mother used on Lafferty and we used on Vincent when he started to have his violent blackouts. In the blood, there are antibodies that look similar to the ones that presented in Vincent’s bloodstream when he was almost cured.”

Cat blinked in surprise but forced herself to remain silent.

“Here’s what I think happened,” J.T. said. “The beast’s blood got into Aliyah Patel’s bloodstream during the attack on her aunt. When she went crazy at the facility, she scratched Wilson, which made him go all fugue and attack you, and then his blood got into the wound on your head when he clocked you in his kitchen. Then you went psycho in the basement. You were all responding to the beast’s biological makeup. In my sample of Wilson’s blood, antibodies began to react against the contamination. His body was attempting a cure. I’ll bet I’d find the same thing in your and Aliyah’s blood, although you’re pretty far down in the contamination sequence.”

“A cure?” She had barely heard anything J.T. had said after that.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he warned. “This is the cure for the fear-factor.”

“The fear-factor, or the fear-factor beast?” she pressed. “If this antidote were given to the person who was experimented on to become the fear beast, would they lose their beast side?”

“I knew you’d go there. If I had the entire antidote, which I don’t, and Vincent took it before another encounter with the beast, would he succumb to the fear pheromones? I don’t think so. And then he could kill it.”

“But you don’t think the antidote would…” She licked her lips, too hopeful to finish her sentence. Because yes, she
was
jumping to conclusions. How could she not?

“Would the serum de-beast him forever? I don’t know. Maybe yes.” His voice dropped as he moved into thoughtful scientist mode. “Maybe the triggers that induce the change could be deactivated. Vincent reacts to stress and threats by beasting out. If, when he began to feel stressed, he had something in his body that shut down response to some of the physiology…”

Cat winced. “Are you talking about some kind of tranquilizer, or a chemical that makes him less… him?”

“A cure would make him less… him.” He cleared his throat. “I do know what you’re asking,” he said more kindly. “But right now, we need to find all the pieces of the antidote before anyone else does. I think the six people on the list each had something, and I think you and Vincent need to find out what the other five had, and collect the items if you can.”

“But first we find Aliyah.”

“Any leads?” J.T. asked.

“They were going to shock her brain, J.T. Because she saw a beast. Because it emitted pheromones that scared the wits out of her, literally. And I know how she felt, because I felt it too. I think I didn’t succumb because I was able to think logically about what was happening, and as you say, I wasn’t contaminated by beast blood, like she was. But she’s just eight years old. She’s probably still trying to figure out if monsters are real. And Santa Claus.”

“What,
what
about Santa Claus?” he cut in, and Cat took a second to smile.

“What I’m saying is, she didn’t have any defenses to put up. I did. I think that’s why I could fight the fear away.”

“Then what about Sky Wilson? He
is
more impressionable. Look at all the woo-woo stuff he’s into. And by the way,
what
was going on between you and Tess while he was telling us about his boss from hell?”

Cat knew he’d ask, and she’d already known that she would guard Tess’s privacy. She and Vincent had made a promise not to keep secrets from each other, but she did believe in the concept of the kind lie and the harm you could cause in the name of full disclosure.

“You know how it is, J.T. It’s really infuriating when you’re a woman in a traditionally male-dominated field and you’re dedicated to playing fair, but then you see another woman doing all the stereotypical ‘femme-fatale’ maneuvers to get her way.” That much was true. It was just that there was more. “And we knew her at the academy and we were very supportive of her, so it really pissed us off to hear about her behaving that way.”

“Got it,” he said and to her relief, he sounded as if he had bought her explanation and would let the matter rest. “You know, I thought Sky was some kind of a plant. He’s so over-the-top I figured it had to be an act.”

“What I’ve learned is that it’s the nice, normal, friendly ones you have to look out for. People you wouldn’t look twice at. You bump into them at parties or while you’re ordering a coffee.” People like her biological father.

“Hey, I have a call on the other line,” J.T. announced. “Hold on.”

Let it be Vincent.

J.T. came back on the line. When he didn’t speak right away, she pushed back from the desk and got to her feet, as if bracing herself for the very worst news she could hear.

“That was Vincent. Lena Mueller’s dead. Shot at point-blank range. By Mazursky.”

“
Mazursky
?” Her blood ran cold. So not the news she had been hoping for. “And Aliyah?”

“He took her. Vincent said he’s trying to track them and he’s not staying in one location long enough for you to rendezvous. He did ask me to call Mr. Riley, which I did, but he isn’t answering his phone. It could easily be out of service because of the storm.”

“Or he could be in trouble.” She typed in his address and got directions and subway schedules. “I’m going there now.”

“The mayor just announced that the city might issue a Snow Emergency Declaration. If that happens, all public transportation will stop. You might wind up stuck someplace. Vincent said you were hurt pretty badly at the brownstone. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

She was touched. Of the quartet, she and J.T. had perhaps the most prickly relationship, a holdover from when he saw her as nothing but a threat to Vincent’s safety. It meant something to her when he dropped the sarcasm and showed real concern for her.

“I’m fine.” She had to be. That was the way she did her job… and ran her life.

After she hung up, she found Farris and told him that she had a lead and she’d share it as soon as she could.

His expression darkened. “I would never have hired Lena Mueller in the first place. In fact, I tried to get her transferred to another facility, and that was only because I knew I could never get her fired. Her union is too strong.”

“Why didn’t you like her?” She heard herself using the past tense. “Don’t like her?” she amended. Mueller’s body had not yet been discovered by anyone except Vincent. As far as this man knew, she was alive.

“There’s just something about her, I could never trust her.”

“Your instincts about her were right,” she said. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Yeah, that’ll look great on my application for food stamps.”

There are a lot of steps between there and here
, she wanted to tell him. Maybe he’d be able to keep this job… or get another in another state. If they were right, that’s what Joe Bishop had done.

He gestured to the magazines. “What are those?”

She filled him in, and together they paged through one. He was quiet, intense, angry. “Those men who came around. I figured them for old army buddies.”

“They could have been.”

“Let me put those in a bag for you,” he said. “Hold on.”

She didn’t want to cool her heels any longer than was necessary. But she couldn’t exactly hand-carry half a dozen slick magazines under her arm in a storm, so she waited while he left his office, then returned a few minutes later with a nicely plasticized, reinforced shopping bag from an organic grocery store chain. He held it open while she slipped the magazines in. Then he added his card. She had already given him one of hers.

“I’d appreciate any information you can share,” he said. “I only saw that little girl a couple of times, but when these poor folks are here, they’re mine, you know?”

“I get that. We are doing everything in our power to find her.”

“And
I
get
that.
”

S
ince Lena Mueller had left the facility via the back way, Cat did too. The guard gave her a wave as if he knew her. He didn’t ask her for any identification, nor to sign out in his register. Lax. Did Farris know that one of his weak links was sitting right here?

The back way was a parking garage. That meant security footage with license plate numbers—Christmas, to a cop. She made a mental note and added it to the list of items she would request if and when she found it necessary to give Vanek Memorial another look.

She went through a door into what was becoming a full-fledged blizzard. Her battered bones ached with the cold and she half-walked, half-hobbled to the subway entrance with her fingers crossed. The heat and a squeal of brakes told her that the trains were still running. So far, so good.

Had Mazursky shot Lena to get Aliyah away from her? If his intentions in doing so were good, why hadn’t he informed Cat of what he’d done? Why didn’t he call her now? There was always a chance that his and Aliyah’s safety would be compromised if he checked in. She had to table that for now.

She got on the next train and headed for Mr. Riley’s. Although she was underground, she whipped out her phone and checked it. No bars. Then she awkwardly dropped it in the shopping bag, and decided to leave it there. It was actually easier to get to.

The car was nearly empty. A scrawny kid cocooned in a selection of hoodies scrutinized her, then looked away. A man wearing a thick overcoat was determinedly reading a newspaper. The rhythm of the car lulled her; she was exhausted and sore. It was tempting to transfer to the B train for Bleecker Street, which would take her mere feet from her building.

Determined, she made the necessary transfers to Mr. Riley’s house, oriented herself, then climbed to street level, grimacing when she entered an Arctic blast. She was the equivalent of six city blocks from Mr. Riley’s front porch and now, with all her heart, she wished she’d dared to drive so she wouldn’t have to do this. Supremely glad that she told J.T. she was going to Mr. Riley’s, she imagined herself lying half-frozen in a snow bank, and Vincent discovering her and digging her out. Everyone had limits, and maybe she should have been more honest about what hers were.

Except… Mr. Riley might be in trouble. And maybe she could have asked Tess to send a squad car, but what if the beast sent out its pheromones on unsuspecting unis?

She slipped the grocery bag over her shoulder as she sank up to her thighs in the snow, which was still falling. Glowing squares bobbed like balloons—windows. She pictured the houses on either side of Mr. Riley’s home—the one that would be closer to her sat approximately fifty yards away. Next came the tree swing and then the path to the porch. Almost there, then.

Shivering, she quickened her pace as best she could, but felt as though she was staggering along at a snail’s pace. She kept her hand extended to feel for landmarks and as her gloved hand made contact with fence posts, her numb fingertips burned.

She had to stop twice to catch her breath, and then she groped her way onto the porch. This time, her boot went through the porch. She grabbed onto a wooden post and slowed her descent just enough to save her ankle from twisting. Then she fell forward against the door, the noise serving as her knock.

“Mr. Riley!” she shouted, but the wind swallowed up her words. She knocked with a double fist and then grasped the doorknob to extricate herself from the hole in the porch.

The knob turned; the door swung open, then canted sideways as it ripped away from the topmost hinge. The room inside was dark and as icy as a tomb.

Cat reached behind herself and closed the door as much as she could, which wasn’t much. She pulled her gun and with her free hand, searched the magazine bag for her phone, intending to use it as a flashlight. Her fingers closed around what felt like a fuse. She set it on the floor, then pulled out her phone and shone the light on the object.

It was a transmitter.

Catherine repeatedly smashed her heel against it. Rapidly she searched the house, clearing each room as she went. And then, in the back bedroom, there was a shape on the floor. Mr. Riley.

She cleared the room, holstered her gun and crouched beside him. She laid two fingers against his neck. He had a pulse.

“Mr. Riley, it’s Detective Chandler,” she said clearly. “Are you hurt?”

“Men,” he rasped. “The flag.”

She panned her phone across his face. There were bruises on his forehead and cheeks. A cut on his cheek.

“Where is the nearest phone?” she asked.

“Nightstand.”

She rose, grabbed the handset, and called 911. She identified herself, described Mr. Riley’s condition as best she could, gave his address, and added that a home invasion had been committed. The dispatcher promised police and rescue units but cautioned Cat that they would be delayed because of the storm.