J Duncan: Deadworld

“Okay,” Denny said and zoomed in closer. He clicked the play button again, and they watched him continue walking away. A few seconds later he stopped and looked back.

“Look at where his gaze is,” Jackie exclaimed. “He’s not interested in the tree at all.”

Laurel straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hmmm, you’re right. He’s looking back at us.”

The still frame zoomed in more, and the image blurred. Denny began to go to work. “I’ll get this cleared up and enhanced. It should give us a pretty good shot of his face to work with if you want.”

“Do it,” Jackie said. “Run it if you get a good one, and see if anything pops up.”

“Sure thing.”

Laurel shrugged. “He’s probably just wondering if I’m all right.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But he could be wondering a lot more than that, too.”

“Paranoid.”

“Innocent.”

“Ha! My title is better.”

Jackie clapped Denny on the shoulder. “Thanks, Den. Figure out who he is, and I’ll buy you a shot.”

“I’m there.”

She stepped away from the desk. “I want to see about that penny they found. Maybe the geeks can tell us what it is.”

After acquiring the penny, Jackie and Laurel went down to the basement and tracked down Mark Hauser, head of the Geekroom, where all things information were acquired and processed. Jackie never ceased to marvel at the kinds of things the FBI was capable of finding out. It was almost disturbing.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair when Jackie knocked on the open door to his office. “What brings the FBI’s sexiest agents down into the depths?”

Jackie took in the sprawling desk with its three thirty-inch monitors and grimaced. “Seriously, Hauser? Can you ever greet us without mentioning looks?”

“Why? That would be boring.” He gave her a smug grin. “Besides, who else around here can get away with it besides us harmless geeks?”

Laurel laughed. “He has a point. Hauser’s about as harmless as they come.”

He pointed at Laurel. “Exactly.”

Jackie thrust the bag containing the coin at him. “You guys are also the sneakiest, most conspiratorial bastards in the agency. Everything has a plan.”

He plucked the bag from her fingers. “It makes us more interesting. What have we got here?”

“It’s a coin found under a dead boy this morning. Only real piece of evidence we found at the scene, so I’m hoping you might give us some info on it.”

“Cool. Let’s have a look.” He grabbed a pair of tweezers from a drawer and withdrew the coin from the bag. After turning it over a couple times, he arched his brows. “It looks like an Indian Head Penny, 1862. Perfect condition, by the look of it.”

“Worth much?”

“One sec, and I’ll find out,” he replied and spun back around to type on his computer. About thirty seconds later he tapped his screen. “If it’s real and as pristine as it looks, it’ll fetch about twenty-five K.”

Laurel whistled softly. Jackie could hardly believe it. “For a damn penny? Wow.”

“Coin collecting is serious business, Jack,” he said. “And this was just found on the ground beneath a dead body?”

“Yep.”

“Robbery gone bad?”

The image of loose, gray skin washed through Jackie’s mind. “Don’t think so. We think it was left on purpose.”

“Really.” He nodded and reexamined the coin. “Someone sending a message, perhaps?”

“What sort of message requires killing a twelve-year-old boy?”

He winced. “Ouch. That sucks. I’ll look into this and see if I can find anything-coin collectors, auctions, that sort of stuff. Maybe something will pop.”

“Thanks,” Jackie replied. “Let me know the second you find something.”

Back on their floor, Jackie sat down at her desk to the sound of Denny’s voice coming from the other side of the cubicle’s wall. “Check your e-mail, Jack. Got some interesting stuff on your guy.”

“Already? Nice going, Den. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Jackie turned on her computer and accessed the e-mail, downloading a picture of what turned out to be a photo ID card. Laurel leaned over her shoulder, her head next to Jackie’s.

“He’s a PI?”

“So it would seem,” she said.

“Man, would you look at those eyes. Those have to be colored contacts.”

“Maybe. So why would PI Nick Anderson be interested in the body of a dead boy from the Chicago burbs?”

“Coincidence?”

Jackie shot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s been known to happen, you know.”

“Not in my lifetime.” Jackie scrolled to the next page, where another picture greeted them.

“Whoa, he cleans up nice,” Laurel said.

It was a newspaper clipping dated over a year earlier. Jackie scanned through the article. “Nicholas Rembrandt Anderson? What the hell. Hey, Denny!” she shouted. “Are these the same guy?”

“Yeah. Interesting guy. Wait till you see the next page.”

“CEO of Bloodwork Industries,” Laurel said. “Wonder what that is?”

“Curious, isn’t it? I think we might want to have a little chat with Mr. Anderson.”

“He donated two million dollars to the children’s hospital.”

“So he’s a saint.”

“Bet he likes tough FBI types.”

Jackie smirked. “Rules you out then, doesn’t it?”

“Screw you. I’m tough in the ways that matter.”

“Like an Annabelle’s cream puff.”

“Oh, Annabelle’s! We’re stopping, right? Where’s this Anderson guy located?”

“Um, I don’t know where this address is,” Jackie said, pointing at the screen.

“Just type it into Google maps.”

“What?”

“Oh! Look at this.” Laurel had scrolled to the next screen, which was another newspaper clipping. This one was dated April 1970.

Jackie stared at the picture. It was the spitting image of Nick Anderson. “Wait a sec, that can’t be right. That the same guy?”

Denny’s voice piped in again. “It’s his dad, keep reading.”

“Creepy,” Laurel said. “Looks just like him.”

“Acquitted of murder.” Jackie tapped the screen. This was getting better by the word. “In the slayings of five people…”

Laurel chimed in at the same time. “… who were drained of all their blood.”

Jackie leaned back in her chair. “Holy shit. Coincidence, my ass. We really do need to go have a chat with this guy.”

“Okay,” Laurel admitted. “Got me there. This is too strange.”

“So where’s this guy at?”

“Just Google it and see.”

“I only Google after about six drinks.”

Laurel shook her head, chuckling. “You really should try using your computer once in a while. They’re actually useful.” She pulled up the Google screen and located their address. “See? Ten seconds, and presto! Special Investigations, Inc.”

“Shit. That’s almost an hour from here. Call and see if he’s there. Otherwise track down his home address.”

“We’ll need to hit Annabelle’s first.”

“You know, I hope your ass gets fat. Where the hell do you put all the crap we buy from there?”

Laurel grabbed at her breasts. “Boobs, baby. You should eat more cream puffs.”

There was snickering from nearby cubicles. Jackie rolled her eyes and got up. “Let’s go, you bitch. You’re buying.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Fuck you,” Jackie grumbled, walking away. She never won these things.

The call to Nick Anderson’s office let him know they were to be expected. It was located on the barest outskirts of what could properly be called “greater Chicago.” It was virtual farmland, carved out in places with wealthier subdivisions.