Kathy Reichs - Code

City Lights Coffee is a relaxed, hipster café on Market Street, in the heart of the tourist district. An easy ten-minute walk. Marchant was sitting at a window table, sipping from an oversized mug.

He waved as I entered. “Glad you could make it. Would you like something?”

“No, thank you. I can only stay a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Marchant noted my uniform with obvious embarrassment. “You’re in school today. What was I thinking?”

“I’m on my lunch break,” I lied. “It’s okay, we’re allowed to leave.”

“Regardless, that was incredibly stupid of me.” Shaking his head, Marchant slid a file across the table. “But I think you’ll find this interesting.”

I opened the file. “Were you able to ID the gun’s owner?”

“Yes and no. The weapon is registered to a business entity, not an individual.”

My eyes rose to meet his. “A business? Which one?”

Marchant reached over and flipped to the file’s last page.

I stared in disbelief.

Four words had been typed on the line marked, “Registrant’s Name.”

Loggerhead Island Research Institute.

“What the hell?”

“That was my reaction as well,” Marchant said. “Apparently, it’s an extremely high-tech facility based on an island just off the coast. A non-profit, focused on veterinary medicine. Someone in its security department submitted the snare gun for a permit exception.”

“But I thought these guns were totally illegal?”

“So did I.” Marchant stirred his cappuccino. “I wasn’t aware an exception existed, and I work for the police.”

“Why would … this place need this type of weapon?” For some reason, I was hesitant to reveal my connection to LIRI.

“The application states that snare guns are necessary to protect bird-nesting areas from predators. Since the whole island is private property, with no human inhabitants, the request was approved. The institute applied for two such permits.”

“Crazy.” I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was hearing.

Snare guns? On Loggerhead? I wondered if Kit had approved the requisition. And why would security apply for weapons intended to protect birds? None of it made sense.

First alarming thought: Whisper and her family .

These guns fire indiscriminately, at anything. If there was another on Loggerhead, the pack was in danger.

Second alarming thought: The Gamemaster’s gun was registered to LIRI .

And the first cache had been buried on Loggerhead.

My blood pressure spiked.

Did the Gamemaster work at the institute?

“Are you okay?” Marchant’s face was crimped in concern.

“I’m fine.” Calm as I could manage. “I just don’t get what this crazy zoo has to do with me. My dog, I mean.”

“I dug a bit further. Turns out, this institute is bigger than just the one island.” Marchant retrieved his file. “My guess? Some worker swiped the weapon to make a buck. A snare gun is pretty unique—they might’ve thought it was worth a bundle if they pawned it, or sold it at a local gun show. Anyone could’ve bought it off the books.”

Was it that simple? Was it coincidence that connected the Gamemaster to LIRI?

Not on your life .

Marchant ran a hand across the file. “Sorry I couldn’t score a name.”

“You can’t find what isn’t there.” I checked my watch. “Yikes! I’ve got to get going. Thanks again.”

Marchant nodded. “I’ll keep looking. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

Leaving the café we headed in different directions.

I ran all the way back to Bolton.

“You shouldn’t sneak off to meet strangers without telling one of us,” Hi admonished between bites of his Philly cheesesteak. “Don’t you watch Dateline ?”

“Marchant’s a cop.” I tried not to sound defensive. “Almost, anyway.”

Hi wasn’t swayed. “Bad policy is still bad policy.”

We were sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria. The boys were expressing their disapproval of my solo day trip.

Ben was even more blunt.

“Meeting that guy alone was freaking crazy.” He glared at me until I dropped my eyes. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Ben seemed about to say more, but couldn’t find the words. Finally, “No more risks like that, Tory. Promise me. No more secret meetings without another Viral there to watch your back.”

The scolding touched a nerve. “I’m a big girl, Ben. I think I can talk to a police official without masculine backup.” My hand shot up to forestall his angry reply. “Fine! I won’t go anywhere else alone. Ever again. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a Scout,” Hi pointed out. “No loopholes, Miss Brennan.”

I nearly ground my teeth. “On my honor as lady, Hiram.”

“Excellent! I accept.” Hi glanced at Ben, who nodded reluctantly.

“Things are tying back to Loggerhead.” Shelton pushed his sandwich aside, untouched. “I don’t like that at all.”

“You think the Gamemaster works at LIRI?” Ben scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” His dismissive response surprised me.

“Because it is.”

“From day one,” I countered, “we’ve assumed our involvement in this game was random. Pure bad luck, us finding the Gamemaster’s first cache before anybody else. But what if there was nothing random about it?”

Shelton’s forehead hit the table, barely missing his ham and cheese. “You think we were handpicked.” More statement than question.

“I don’t know. But if we were somehow … chosen to be the players, then targeting the debutante ball makes perfect sense!”

“You’re nuts,” Ben insisted. “Jumping to wild conclusions just to fit your theory. We don’t know jack squat right now. Targeted? How?” He raised both hands. “How could someone know we’d go dig up that first cache? We didn’t even know until that day! And the gun was probably stolen and sold, like Marchant said.”

“We still need something concrete,” Hi said quietly. “Hard evidence.”

On that point, I agreed. “We have to ID the body.”

“Spotter will finish its face recognition search by tomorrow,” Shelton said.

“So we go back to LIRI then.” I tapped my temple. “And we keep our eyes open.”

“Where is the ballistics report?” Hi began pawing at my bag.

“Marchant kept it.” I made a mental note to call and ask for a copy.

Hi lifted the heavy cream envelope penned with my name. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that .” Could anything matter less right now? “You guys are gonna love it.”

I passed along our invitation to Claybourne Manor.

Their groans drew every eye in the room.

CHAPTER 37

3:27 P.M. TUESDAY afternoon.

Sewee bounced across the surf, her bow rising and falling with loud smacking sounds. I rode in the passenger seat as Ben steered toward Loggerhead.

Hi and Shelton had bailed, claiming family obligations. I’d had to endure thirty minutes of instructions before Shelton was satisfied I could handle Spotter.

“Sneaking around will be trickier,” I said. “Today’s a workday.”

“We’ll just blend in with the staff,” Ben answered. “Plus, I doubt anyone uses that upstairs terminal.”

“True, but we have to avoid Hudson this time. I don’t need Kit finding out.”

“You could practice catwalk turns in the courtyard.” Ben’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Or waltz your way upstairs.”

“Are you done?” It was his third crack since we’d left the Morris dock.