Donn Cortez - The Killing Jar

“Then he went back to whatever he was doing,” said Catherine. “At one point, he was using one of these portable butane torches-maybe to smoke some more meth, even though we didn’t find a pipe. Of course, that’s the sort of thing that might get disposed of if someone else noticed it…” She cocked an eyebrow at Wornow. He swallowed but didn’t say anything.

“But when he was done with the torch,” said Greg, “he didn’t bother turning it off. He just set it down. At the edge of this table-and right beneath the necklace.”

“Did you know about the cyst on Kanamu’s spine?” asked Catherine.

“Cyst? No. I knew he had a bad back, though. He said he hurt it in a fall back in Hawaii. Someplace called Hualalai-he was always complaining about it.”

Catherine nodded. “Well, that fall resulted in a condition called syringomyelia. One of the symptoms is an inability to detect extremes of temperature with the hands or feet.”

“Which is exactly what was being produced,” said Greg, “in the chunk of obsidian dangling from the end of the necklace. It got hotter and hotter, until the solder that attached it to the chain melted. At that point the rock dropped to the table. It probably made a noise when it hit, which got Kanamu’s attention.”

Catherine walked over to the table. “So he came over. He saw the rock lying on the table but didn’t understand how it had gotten there. So he picked it up.”

“Normally, you pick up a really hot object, you drop it right away,” said Greg. “But Kanamu’s syringomyelia had destroyed his ability to detect temperature. He actually turned around and took several steps toward the rim of the volcano. That’s when he noticed the smell.”

Catherine pointed at the disassembled grinder. “He’d been using the grinder to work on something, because the motor was running. When he realized that what he was smelling was his own flesh burning, he reacted instinctively-he flung the obsidian away.”

“And right into the flywheel of the grinder,” said Greg. “Which spat it back at him much harder than he’d thrown it. So hard that when it hit his forehead, it not only ricocheted but splintered-leaving a very hot shard in his skull, while the rest of the obsidian went straight up.”

“And Hal Kanamu went over the edge,” said Catherine. “Despite the heat, it knocked him cold. And into the volcano he went.”

Wornow stared at Greg, then Catherine. “So it was an accident?” he said. “A one-in-a-million accident?”

Greg shrugged. “That’s what it looks like to us. And that’s what we’re going to be putting in our report.”

Wornow shook his head in disbelief. “Man. I can’t… I mean, yeah, okay, I guess you’ve got all the facts. But still, it all sounds so…”

“Unlikely,” said Catherine. “Believe me, Mr. Wornow-in our line of work we run into the unlikely all the time.”

“And it was all because of that damn chunk of rock,” said Wornow. “You know, this project has had all kinds of bad luck from the beginning. I used to joke that we were cursed, but Hal didn’t like that.” Wornow walked over to the rim of t he volcano, stared down into its now empty mouth. “Hal told me that anyone who removes lava from the islands was said to be cursed by Pele. He thought he could get away with it, though. Told me we’d be fine as long as we were respectful-that she’d protect us. He was going to put that rock into the volcano itself when it was done, had a whole ritual all planned out. Guess he waited too long…”

“I know a little bit about Hawaiian mythology myself,” said Greg. “And the curse you’re talking about? It isn’t part of it. It was invented by a park ranger who was trying to stop tourists from taking souvenirs.”

“Urban legend, as opposed to volcanic,” said Catherine. “Your friend was the victim of bad judgment, not an angry goddess.”

Wornow sighed. “Yeah, I know. But either way, he’s still dead.”

Riley drew her gun and advanced on the abandoned greenhouse.

She knew she was exposed. The smallest tear in the newsprint covering the windows was enough to let anyone watch her without being seen, and if they had a gun… well, out here in the desert there was no one to hear a shot.

She went back the way she came, ducking around the corner of the building housing the offices and flattening herself against the wall. Quickly, she considered her options: she could call for backup, she could check it out herself, or she could leave.

Calling for backup because she simply heard a noise would get her branded a rookie forever. Leaving just wasn’t an option.

She changed direction, creeping past the locked front entrance and the rolling steel door and around the other corner. She could see a long brick wall with windows set into it; keeping her head below the level of the glass, she kept moving.

At the far end of the wall, she peeked around the corner. Most of this side of the greenhouse was also covered with newspaper, but the first third had sheets of plywood nailed over it instead. Shards of broken glass lay scattered on the ground beneath. One of the sheets looked as if it had come loose at one end or been torn partially free.

The wind gusted, catching the plywood like a sail. It strained one way, then swung back with a loud thump as the gust died away.

Riley replayed the noise in her head, compared it to the one she’d heard a moment ago. They matched.

She sighed. It was a very quiet sigh, though, and she didn’t put down her gun. Instead, she moved closer.

There were footprints in the dirt around the opening.

She peered through the crack, pushing it open wider with one hand. The smell that met her nostr ils was immediate and powerful: decomp, but mixed with something else. Something herbal.

She sneezed violently and backed away from the opening. Whatever was in there, she wasn’t going any farther without a respirator.

She headed back to her vehicle to call it in.

“Well, well,” said Brass, leaning against the fender of one of the black-and-whites parked outside the greenhouse. “The gang’s all here. Doc, good to see you up and around.”

Doc Robbins nodded at Brass and Grissom. “Good to be back. You’re sure this guy hasn’t left any surprises behind?”

“We’ve cleared the site,” said Brass. “Nothing in there but DBs-I can’t make any promises about what’s in them, though. Maybe this time they’re stuffed full of balloon animals.”

Grissom put on the hood of his hazmat suit. “We’re not taking any chances,” he said. “Nick, Riley, and I are going in to examine the bodies first. I know it’s a breach of protocol, but these are unusual circumstances.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Robbins. “In fact, I brought my own hazmat suit. Excuse me while I get ready.” He limped away, muttering under his breath. “Stupid spider, turning me into a goddamned tripod…”

Nick and Riley walked up, already suited up . “We’re good to go,” said Nick.

“Riley?” said Grissom. “You were the one who found it.”

Riley took a deep breath. “Follow me,” she said.

They mounted the steps to the entrance. Police bolt cutters had sheared the chain in half; it lay discarded to one side. They walked in.

The front office held only a counter, with a rough slit hacked into the front of it. Grissom went behind it and peered underneath, then reached down and rapped one interior wall. It rang hollowly. “Reinforced with metal cladding.”

“A shooting blind?” said Nick.

Grissom straightened up. “A guard post. Hives always post guards at the entryway…”

A short hall connected the lobby to the greenhouse. There were two offices on either side of the corridor; their doors had been removed. Grissom looked in the first one to the left.