Allison Brennan - Cutting Edge

If Nora had taken the ducks, she would have found a place for them where people came to toss bread crumbs. A place with a lot of water, so the ducks could escape little kids who didn’t know better when they chased them, and teenagers who did. But people were a must, because anyone worth their salt in the animal-rights movement knew that captive animals would have a difficult time fending for themselves. These birds needed food, water, safety.

“They won’t be able to tolerate any quacking, thinking they were hurting the animals by caging them,” Nora said. “And the ducks would have been crammed tight in the cages they took-they can’t hold more than four ducks each. The arsonists would be nervous as well, having evidence in their possession.”

“Well-how many miles?”

“I’m not sure, but not more than thirty minutes away. They wouldn’t risk being pulled over if someone called in the arson quickly and the police were looking for a specific vehicle. A body of water off a freeway-preferably a protected area.” That reminded Nora to check with Sanger about the canvass his men were doing earlier and if they had tracked down any potential witnesses.

“Hmm.” Barry pondered his map.

Nora looked at the map upside down. If she had a dozen semidomesticated waterfowl and wanted to give them the best chance of survival in the wild, what would she do?

Steady supply of food. Lots of water. A park.

Finding such a place would be secondary to getting out of the vicinity, so they would pick a place along their escape route. She speculated that the route would be in the opposite direction of their final destination.

Barry said, “There are several ponds in this area. Some are seasonal and dry now, but-” He pointed to three less than two miles away. There wasn’t anything special about them-no parks, no people. They bordered industrial areas. No, the arsonists would be concerned about toxins in those ponds.

She shook her head.

“How about Lake Arthur?” Barry pointed to a larger pond-hardly what Nora would call a lake-east of their location, right off I-80.

That was a possibility, ideal for escape. So was a group of man-made ponds in Newcastle, about ten minutes west. Except there wasn’t a nearby park. It was also a new development near a light industrial area. Less pollution from business, convenient to dump the ducks, but it wasn’t good enough for the animals. Nora would never have left them there.

“Here.” She pointed to Lake of the Pines. “That’s it.”

“There’re at least a dozen locations just as good that are closer.”

The more Nora thought about it, the more convinced she was that she was right. The other locations just weren’t as good . Lorraine would have chosen Lake of the Pines. Nora thought it ironic that she was thanking her imprisoned mother for lessons learned.

Nora said, “From Lake of the Pines they can head up Highway Forty-nine to Highway Twenty and cut across to Maryville, then head north to Chico or south to Sacramento. It’s longer than going virtually anywhere via I-Eighty, but it gets them out of the area and they don’t have to backtrack past the scene of the crime.”

“You’re amazing,” Duke said.

Surprisingly she’d forgotten Duke was standing next to her. He usually wasn’t so quiet. “Thanks.” She was trying to be sarcastic, but it came out differently, almost as if she cared what he thought of her. Which she didn’t.

All right, she did. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

“This is a huge recreational area,” she continued. “There are people, pets, kids-the ducks will be well fed. They’ll be concerned about that. They don’t want the ducks to die of starvation, and that’s always a risk.”

“Well,” Barry said, folding up the map, “they’ll be dead any way you slice it. And all the other ducks on that lake. We’re talking hundreds of ducks. I hope you’re wrong.”

Nora’s heart thudded in her chest and she felt sick. It pained her that innocent animals had to die, but the risk of the virus getting into the duck population was far too great to chance it. Thousands of wild ducks could die, species decimated from Canada to Mexico, and there was the additional risk to humans if they didn’t quickly eliminate the threat.

“We’d better go now,” she said.

“I hope you’re wrong,” Barry repeated as he folded his map.

“Me, too.” But Nora knew she was right. “I’ll meet you there. Take Dr. Duncan and Dr. Thomsen with you. They’ve agreed to assist.”

“It’ll take us a bit to set up, and I hope Dr. Thomsen’s reader works. I’ve never heard of one working more than a couple feet away from the source.” He walked off to dispatch his team.

To Duke, she said, “Did you see Pete?”

“He’s talking to Jim Butcher across the street.”

Duke followed her. He’d seen the worry on Nora’s face. He was hugely impressed with her analysis, and not a little curious how she came up with it. He’d always admired Nora’s intelligence and quick thinking, but this was different. It was as if she could read the minds of the anarchists. But of course that was silly. And Duke knew, from working with Kane, that good soldiers became great warriors when they could put themselves in their enemies’ shoes and anticipate their every move.

Good cops weren’t much different.

They stopped outside the building where Jim had set up temporary shop.

“We’ll find them,” Duke said.

“The ducks or the arsonists?”

“Both.” He reached out and touched her chin, lightly, but he couldn’t help himself. She was so sad. “Chin up, Nora.” She was so drained. Not a surprise; she’d been up since before dawn.

“Jonah Payne was murdered.”

“I know. We-” He stopped. “You mean he was intentionally murdered? That his death wasn’t an accident?”

“Pete and I came here from the autopsy,” she said. “Dr. Payne was dead long before the fire started-six hours or more. And based on the evidence, he was killed somewhere else.”

Duke tried to wrap his mind around what Nora was saying. He spoke almost as if to himself.

“It’s far too coincidental that someone disconnected from the arson killed Jonah and dumped his body in his office the same day that a group of anarchists came to burn down the lab and free research animals.”

“That’s exactly what I thought. But this behavior is completely out of character from what I know about anarchist terrorist groups. And I know quite a bit. This is more like the work of a psychopath.”

Duke frowned. “How was Jonah killed?”

“It’s inconclusive, but the M.E. believes he died from massive blood loss. There were multiple shallow cuts on his arms and torso. No major arteries were hit, but when Dr. Coffey dried his jeans there was a substantial amount of blood.”

It sounded like torture to Duke. He couldn’t figure out why-Jonah was a scientist. A bit absentminded maybe, but brilliant and dedicated.

Nora said softly, “I just don’t understand. Everything about this case is textbook perfect for a standard environmental extremist group. The arsons, the spray-painting, the messages they sent. Everything … except premeditated murder.”

“You said this sounds like a psychopath. Are anarchists exempt from being psychopaths?”

Something changed in Nora’s expression. “No. I knew one a long time ago.”

Taken aback by this admission, Duke wanted to ask her about it, but Nora abruptly entered the building. Again, he followed her. He’d make certain she’d tell him later.

Under other circumstances, the beautiful Lake of the Pines community-predominantly populated with the vacationing and the retired-would have enticed Nora into a long walk along the shore, or renting a paddle-boat to soak in the sun, or taking a cold swim. Though it was a popular spot for picnics and outdoor recreation, the area was well maintained, with numerous garbage bins encouraging people to throw their trash where it belonged. For the most part, people complied-probably driven to comply by the signs prominently posted advertising the steep fine for littering.