The Curiosity Killers (19 page)

“What do you mean?”

But Wheaton never got the answer. The first slash caught him in the right kidney, and the second whisked across his throat, cutting off his scream to a gurgle.

Saturday, August 28, 2100, Avon, Vermont, NBE

Two weeks later, Claudio was making do without Ambrose, who was gone from both the Vermont and South Carolina offices and laboratories for days at a time. For the surveillance of the agency house today, he resorted to a false moustache and an ancient pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Still, it paid off. The connection was now clear.

Young Jonson’s assistant left on errands one afternoon. She was a slender girl with close-cropped dark hair. Claudio didn’t know her name, but he’d come to think of her as Elizabeth, the girl from so long ago, the girl with the flower in her hair whom he’d stolen from that other worthless sort, Rupert Cob. Elizabeth Short, all Snow White features and crimson blood. He thought it so beautiful the poetic nickname they gave her in the press after he’d done his work.

Too beautiful, more poetry than these girls deserve, all of them whores…

Claudio watched this one walk six blocks to a modest neighborhood, shabby houses and ill-tended gardens, children fixing bicycles right in the middle of the street. Skeletal cats slipped between untrimmed hedges, running away as he followed the girl.

She stopped at an orange house with purple shutters and a yard full of withering phlox on the wrong side of its season. He tucked himself behind a parked hovercar across the street. At her knock, the door opened, and Claudio could hear murmured voices. The room beyond the foyer was too dark, however, and he couldn’t make out who let the girl inside.

He walked up and down the street a few times, always keeping his gaze pinned on the house. At last, the girl left, skipping down the front stoop. Claudio ignored her. She was of no particular consequence now that she’d led him here.

Claudio strode down to the corner and around to the rear of the house. An alley-facing garage was painted the same shade of purple as the house’s shutters. Beside the garage was a gate, locked from the inside of the yard, but short enough to be scalable. Claudio made a furtive check for observers, but only the scrawny neighborhood felines watched. A dingy tabby plopped down on the gravel next to the garage and stared at Claudio, pinning vertical black slits of pupils on him as it licked a dusty paw.

“Keep a lookout, won’t you?” Claudio said. He planted his hands on the top of the gate and groaned as he pulled himself over.

The backyard was all brick, a few weeds poking through the grout, with a small circular fire pit in the middle. At the back of the house were uncovered windows, but Claudio fretted about peering in where he could be seen. He crept along the right side of the house, past the side closest to its front door, and crouched at every windowsill before peeking up enough to catch a glimpse of movement.

He saw him in the dining room.

There, plain as day, sitting at a long, polished wood table, a chess set laid out in front of him, was a hollow-cheeked man in his early forties, a fringe of ashy blond hair circling a smooth, high forehead. He had a long nose and creases about his mouth, and he lifted the white rook with slender, elegant fingers before moving it to another space on the chessboard. He smiled and mouthed words to his unseen opponent.

That’s him
.
Wilbur Wright.

And if Wright still worked for Vere, if he’d been the one to wipe Wheaton’s memories, then Claudio knew where to find the missing weapon.

~

“And you’re sure you’re all right, Miss Lessep?”

“It’s been quite a while since you restored my memories. I’m fine.” Violet hopped off the examination table. “Honestly, Doctor Vere, you worry more than my father.”

Vere packed away his retinoscope in a small black bag. “Unlike your father, I have to determine if you’re suffering ill effects of changes to your neurological system. Changes I created.” He slid the bag into a cabinet over his desk and closed the door. “I don’t expect Mister Lessep has to worry about having given you permanent brain damage.”

“No, just emotional damage.”

“Oh, now, now.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not Michael’s fault. It’s Ambrose’s. Or Claudio Florence’s. Or, God, who knows anymore, right?” Violet gestured to the spiral staircase leading to the agency’s main floor. “We all need to discuss the next stage, don’t we? I’ll find Ben.”

“I’ll be after you in a moment.” Vere nodded at Violet and heard her quick footsteps on the stairs.

So it’s Ben now, is it?

Vere thought of the slim volume of photographs he kept in the cabinet next to his medical equipment. He thought of the photograph of himself and Alison Keller, all smiles—even him—at his induction into the NBE Physicists’ Union. He thought of another photograph, one much more recently taken, giving Alison away at her small wedding. Alison looked the same in both pictures, but Vere went from black hair to gray, deep shadows visible under his eyes in the second photograph. A hardness crept into his mouth, jaw, and eyes in his intervening years.

I’ve become my father
.

He didn’t need to look at the photographs to know what they proved—he’d let decades of his life go by, and though others around him found love in the most unlikely places, Vere himself was alone.

Like anyone would put up with me. Stop being a foolish old man, Eddy.

He clicked the lights off in the lab and followed Violet upstairs.

~

“Wait, you’re the history expert.” Violet looked up from the map. “Why do you think I should go?”

“You’re, um…” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know, the FBI thing. You investigate for a living. You should get investigative.” He nodded at the map. “Don’t think of this as going back in time. Think of this as catching a serial killer. Isn’t that an FBI deal?”

“Yeah, but usually there’s a team,” Violet replied. “There’s not usually a lone agent tracking some dangerous criminal without backup.”

“Benoy, why are you trying to have her go without backup?” Vere was now behind Ben, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

Ben turned around. “Hey, d’you bring one for me?” Ben asked. He pointed to Vere’s cup.

Vere gave Ben a withering look. “Are you still pretending I’m thoughtful, son?”

Violet whistled. “Wow, you act protective of my brain cells, but that’s how you treat your business partner?”

“I’ve learned to expect nothing less from Eddy,” Ben said.

“You’re a client, dear,” Vere said. “I’m more polite to you because you help me earn money. Though I don’t let that stop me if a client is breaking rules.”

“He can get damn scary when he needs to,” Ben said. “Trust me.”

“Am I still a client, though? Really?” Violet looked around the conference room. “Hell, is this still going to be open to the public at all? Or, well, you know, the
referred
public. The carefully trained public.” She walked around the room. “I mean, if we’re going to get on board this crazy train and try to
do
something with your technology rather than just you two using it for financial gain, then isn’t that the first step shutting down your commercial operation?”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve already had Kris put off any potential clients, even the repeat ones.”

“I, ah, that is…” Vere coughed. “Not all of us are as well-off as Mister Jonson here, so perhaps a cessation of commercial operations isn’t yet warranted.”

“Eddy, your salary’s not going anywhere,” Ben said.

“On the other hand,” Vere continued, not missing a beat, “commercial operations are highly overrated.”

“So who’s coming with me, if I go try to stop this guy?” Violet asked. “Come on, I’m not going alone, and I can’t exactly tell the rest of the bureau the truth, right? Talk about
definitely
ceasing commercial operations. As in forever.”

“Some sort of treason, I suppose,” Vere said. He shook his head at Ben. “Not wise, Benoy. That’s why we’ve employed the Wrights, after all.” He walked from the conference room. “I have an idea of who you should bring, Miss Lessep,” he called.

“Wait, no, Eddy, nobody’s going with her.” Ben scrambled after him. “Unless you mean that Richards guy or, hell, even her dad or something.”

“I am
not
bringing my father on an investigation.” Violet followed the others to the lobby. “I’m a perfectly capable adult with several years’ experience in law enforcement. I don’t need my parent along on the field trip.”

“It’s not your parent, Miss Lessep.” Vere sat down at the desk and rummaged through the top drawer. “Where does Miss Moto keep her—ah ha!” He withdrew a flat container covered in a plastic film stamped with faux chatoyant amber. Along the side of the container was a tiny triangle of metal. He moved the triangle down the side of the container, pressed a recessed button on its side, and activated a spring. Now the device opened to reveal address cards. Vere fussed about with the pages before pulling one free and handing it to Ben. “There you are. Give this one a call.”

Ben studied the card. “I don’t know,” he said. “His last trip didn’t go well at all.”

Violet looked over Ben’s shoulder. “Rupert Cob?”

“A client,” Ben said.

“An
adventurous
client,” Vere amended. “Mister Cob has gone through the Bermuda Triangle, spent the night in not one but two haunted houses, tracked several serial killers, and knows who killed Kennedy.”

“John?” Violet asked.

“
All
of them,” Vere said, “and Marilyn Monroe as well.”

“He’s a thrill seeker, sure,” Ben said, “if you, um, like that sort of thing…” His voice trailed off to an inaudible mumble.

He glanced at Violet. There was a wild look in her eyes.

“Wow, who killed Marilyn Monroe?” she asked.

“You’d be shocked,” Ben replied. “It all started when Peter—”

“Children, focus,” Vere interrupted. “Mister Cob would be ideal for this. Shall we consult him?”

Ben dropped the address card. “Eddy, Rupert Cob was decidedly not okay when we brought him back from West Virginia. He had memory loss even before the usual procedure, and he couldn’t report what he found out about the Mothman.”

“Whoa, the Mothman?” Violet picked the address card up. “I think I’d like to meet this Cob guy.”

Of course you would
.

“Fine, but Eddy, you have to give him a full physical and make sure he’s okay. He takes risks. He’s going to be on board when we tell him everything, he’s going to want to go, and I don’t want him hurt.”

Vere raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you cared much for Mister Cob.”

“I…no, no, he’s a good client,” Ben said, “but no matter what I think of him personally, I don’t want to see the guy dead. He’s told us a lot of good tales, after all.”

“Florence has left enough dead bodies throughout history, huh? Don’t need one more, no matter who it is?” Violet patted Ben on the shoulder. “Yeah, there was this agent going through Quantico North with me. Brody. She annoyed me to no end, but then when we were shadowing a senior agent in the field, this guy pulled a Taser on her. I pushed Brody out of the way and took the hit.” She shuddered. “It was the fourth model, too, jacked up and powerful as hell. I could’ve been paralyzed if the perp got me just a few inches up, but I didn’t even hesitate. I’d do it again, too.” She quieted briefly. “Now that I think about it, Brody later slept with this researcher I liked, so maybe in hindsight I made the wrong decision.”

“Is that the problem, Benoy?” Vere closed the desk drawer and stood up. “Did Mister Cob—”

“Let’s go.” Ben took the address card and held out his arm toward the front door. “Why don’t you join me on an errand, Miss Lessep?”

“I think fieldwork earns you a first name basis, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Ben smiled, hoping it didn’t look too eager. “Violet. Sure.” He followed her through the front door and out onto the sidewalk.

“Why does your partner always call you Benoy?” she asked. “Does anybody else?”

Ben looked up and down the street for a hovercab. “I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it,” he said, “but I think he enjoys making me feel like a kid, the whole full name thing.” A stamper slowed down as it neared Ben.

“Oh, jeez, no. These things are so slow,” Violet said. She eyed the vehicle. The main body was the same size and shape as a hovercar, but it rode higher, not on the magnetic lines but via four clockwork legs, horse-like, that whirred and bucked and propelled the vehicle along at an average speed of only thirty miles an hour.

“Yeah, but they’re cheaper than hovercabs and faster than pedis,” Ben pointed out. He withdrew a flat cap from his jacket and waved it at the stamper driver before setting it on his head. “Cob doesn’t live too far, just too far to walk. This keeps us out of the weather.”

The stamper slowed down, and the front legs swerved in to meet up with the sidewalk. The driver was now close enough for Ben to see his movements on the
control panel. He was young, too young for a hovercar license, and he danced around the cockpit moving wheels and pulling levers at a frantic pace. After a few tugs of an overhead fob on a chain, the vehicle came to a wheezing halt. The gears on the legs groaned as they telescoped down, bringing the passenger area to street level.

The driver wound a crank on his dashboard, and the right hand porthole opened up on a hinge in response. “Last run of the day,” he called. “If you’re goin’ south, I can take you, so long as it’s not beyond mid-town. My garage is by the cemetery off Route 24, and I don’t want to backtrack.”

“No, we’re just going to Avon Heights,” Ben said.

“That’ll do well, then.” The driver wound another crank, and the vehicle’s back door sprang up. A rectangle of metal slid from the vehicle floor to the sidewalk. “Mind the escalator, folks. It’s runnin’ a mite slow, but if you step on before it’s done, it’ll take your feet off. Wait for the green light.”

The rectangle whirred and panels opened up on each side. Four steps now connected the passenger area to the sidewalk.

Ben climbed each step instead of waiting for the escalator to pull him along. Behind him, Violet stepped on, but she waited for him to get settled before ascending.

“Avon Heights, huh?” she asked. “This guy must be loaded.” Violet pulled on her harness. “But then, that’s what Vere…well…” She shook her head. “Never mind, it’s rude.”

The door slid down and the stamper rose back up on its legs. Ben felt his stomach flip flop at the movement. He cringed, wishing for a mint to ease the faint nausea.

“Oof, see, that’s the other reason I hate these things.” Beside him, Violet leaned over and held her head against her knees. Beneath her long skirt, one leg was bouncing with nervous energy.

Ben reached a hand out toward her, his fingers pausing in the air above her back. He’d been about to pat her, comfort her against the jerky motion of the stamper, but that was too familiar.

Don’t be creepy
.

He withdrew his hand just in time; Violet soon sat back up and gave him a weak smile.

“What, ah, what’s rude?” he asked. He watched the scenery move as the stamper made its slow way from downtown Avon to its southern suburb.

“Well, you pay Vere’s salary, but he treats you like a kid.” She blanched. “I don’t even know why I’m curious.”

“You’re a curious person,” Ben said. He’d neglected to pull on his own harness and he now busied himself with remedying that. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be an FBI agent, you wouldn’t have ever wanted to go find out about D.B. Cooper, even.”

“I guess.”