Кэти Райх - A Conspiracy of Bones

“We will. If the little cretin did set that fire, we’re talking B and E, arson, assault, maybe manslaughter, attempted murder—”

“I doubt anyone wanted to kill me.”

“You know where you were those ten hours?”

I didn’t. “Were you able to test the sun tea?”

“The jar was in the sink. You probably poured or spilled the stuff down the drain, so that won’t be happening.”

“Are you questioning Kimrey’s associates? Other dealers? Sex workers?”

“I don’t know how I’d do this job without you.” A small, tired pause, then, “We’re poking down every hole. Hooking every snake squirms up.”

“How can someone just vanish like that?”

“You managed.”

“If Kimrey did bust into my place, torch it, I doubt he was acting on his own. Who do you suppose directed him?”

“Can’t say. But I can say the little turd links to that bunker you’re so hot to toss.”

Maybe did toss? I couldn’t be sure. Had I actually gone there? Or were my memories fantasies spawned by my own rebellious blood? By a bad acid trip?

“Kimrey mugs you in the boonies, now his print turns up at your crib.” Slidell was still talking. “Might be enough for a warrant.”

“Have you determined who owns the fenced property?”

“We’re working on it. Look, I’m not sitting with my thumb up my ass. While you were sleeping off your concussion—”

“Maybe concussion.”

“—or Lucy in the Sky jaunt, I did follow-ups with some of your other pals. Marguerite Ramos ain’t getting my vote for citizen of the year.”

“You talked to Ramos again?”

“That about sums it up. I talked to her . This time, she barely said shit.”

“I may have loosened her tongue by implying I might alert ICE.” I still wasn’t proud of that.

“Gee, I’d never think of something so devious.”

I held back a retort.

“Ramos says the guy in number six was named Vance. That Vance was a sterling tenant, then he moved on. She thinks maybe Slovakia. She never heard of Felix Vodyanov.”

“She told me she spoke to Vodyanov several times. Overheard him on the phone. She said Vodyanov was afraid for his life.”

“All of which I stated to jog her recall. Seems the señora ’s memory is no longer so bueno .”

“Why the about-face?”

“It gets better. I drove to Mooresville to see Barrow.”

“She was more forthcoming with me than Ramos.”

“It appears Nurse Ratchet is seeking broader horizons.”

“She stonewalled, too?” Not mentioning that Asia Barrow wasn’t a nurse.

“The house was boarded up, the generator off, the truck nowhere to be seen.”

“Barrow is gone?”

“Yep.”

“Did you question her cousin?” This was making no sense. “The receptionist at the ashram?”

“E. Desai quit her job last Tuesday. Called it in.”

“Why?”

“Personal reasons. FYI, the E stands for Eunice. Also FYI, the new receptionist makes Eunice look like Alfred Einstein.”

“Did you question Yuriev?” Again, not bothering to correct Slidell.

“The good doctor wasn’t there. But he’s topping my agenda.”

“The ashram must have contact information in Desai’s personnel file.”

“Eunice lives alone in Winston-Salem, has for four years. Or had. The landlord wasn’t thrilled to see she’d packed up and split without notice.” I started to interrupt. Slidell rolled on. “Her cell phone was also disconnected. On Tuesday, the day she resigned.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sirens were rising in my head. “So Ramos isn’t talking, and Kimrey, Barrow, and Desai are in the wind.”

“Eeyuh.” Slidell’s fallback when frustrated.

“Barrow was renting that house. Said she didn’t like being tethered. Maybe she and her cousin just decided to move on.”

Slidell said nothing.

“Or maybe something spooked them.”

“Thought crossed my mind.”

“Have you talked to Yates Timmer? Nick Body?”

“My other headliners, right behind Yuriev.”

“You could go back at Duncan Keesing. He’s the disabled vet who lives down the road.”

“He’s OK.”

“You saw Keesing?”

“He claims to know nothing about Vodyanov beyond what he told you. Zip about Body. Says he’s never heard of Yates Timmer. I believe him.”

Guilt pulled like undertow in my chest. The possibility of attacks against me had spurred Slidell more than I’d realized. He was pushing hard.

“Now what?” I asked, tone gentler.

“You said you had news.”

“Have you gotten DNA results on the bone I liberated from the raccoon?” I asked, voice carefully neutral.

“What dream you living in?”

“The more I think about it, visualize it, the more I doubt that fragment is human.”

“Don’t matter. We’ll have colonies on the moon before we get a report.”

“Any developments on Jahaan Cole?”

There was silence, followed by a sigh. “No.”

“You’ll keep me looped in about the warrant?”

“Eeyuh.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Promise one thing, doc.”

I said nothing.

“Stay busy doodling Ryan until you hear from me.”

A good doodle didn’t sound all that bad. Certainly kept Mama purring along. But Ryan had his own worries, was now cloistered in the bedroom with his laptop.

No hard-copy files. No stored images or documents. No physical evidence. Cut off from most witnesses.

Eeyuh.

I fed the cat and returned to my groovy new Mac. After logging back on, I downloaded the TOR browser and nosedived into the dark web.

No surprise. I was still blocked from DeepUnder.

I dredged for a while, netted nothing new on Yates Timmer. Nothing at all on Nick Body.

Who was this arrogant loudmouth who always hid in the shadows? I decided to resurface and spend time listening to Body’s podcasts and reading his blogs. Some of his rants were more toxic than I’d imagined.

Over the past decade, Body had been particularly vehement on two themes. Plots involving kids. Plots involving medical wrongdoing. Occasionally, his insane theories managed to combine both elements.

I began with titles suggesting misconduct through manipulation of public health.

There were numerous variations on the evils of vaccination. In the old tried-and-true, Body alleged that vaccination causes autism. In a somewhat more creative twist, he argued that Bill Gates was behind a plot to use immunization for population control. In another series of tirades, he insisted that the government was sneaking RFID chips into children via inoculation.

Many of Body’s harangues focused on disease. Over and over, he returned to the theme of government conspiracy. A sampling: He claimed that the Ebola epidemic in West Africa was a biological-weapons test performed by America. That SARS was a germ attack against the Chinese. That AIDS was created and distributed by those in power in the U.S. That the anthrax attacks following 9/11 were orchestrated by the government. That banning DDT was a scheme to depopulate the earth by spreading malaria. That Huntington’s disease is caused by a microbe and the government is conspiring to suppress a known cure. And, my personal favorite, that chemtrails are responsible for mad cow outbreaks.

Ryan popped in now and then to ask how I was. To offer a drink or a back rub. To say he was sallying forth to forage for a late dinner.

By the time I sat back, the windows were dark and my stomach was growling. I cruised through the annex, checking security and turning on lights. Was just finishing when Ryan returned bearing pizza.

Birdie joined us as I made the first cut. I gave him a tiny slice, Ryan and myself large ones. As we chewed pie and slurped cheese, I shared snippets of what I’d read and heard.