Kathy Reichs - Virals

I sat on the floor stroking Coop’s back. The last saline bag was dry, so I removed the needle from his paw and took off the bell collar. He began gnawing the hated thing with relish.

Coop looked better, had even eaten some solid food. His energy level was up. I tried to stay detached but couldn’t. Coop’s improvement helped balance the horrors of the evening.

“Why tonight?” Ben asked. “Tomorrow’s fine. I don’t want to bother my Dad this late for no reason.”

Hi pulled a face. “For no reason? Did you miss the human bone display?” He looked around, incredulous, expecting support. But on this point I agreed with Ben.

“Ben’s right,” I said. “If we confess tonight, our parents will make us go over everything a hundred times. Then we’ll have to ride down to Folly Beach and convince the cops as well. I’m too exhausted to answer a barrage of questions right now. The morning will be okay.”

“Does anyone even work a night shift at Folly PD?” Ben asked. “They’re a small department.”

No one knew. Folly Beach was a sleepy town.

“Those guys aren’t exactly CSI,” said Shelton. “Without proof, they might not believe us. Even with our parents.”

I nodded. “They’ll be more receptive in the morning.”

“Fine,” said Hi. “I guess Heaton’s not going anywhere.”

The instant the words were out, Hi cringed, regret clear on his face. I waved off the impending apology. Everyone was tired.

“We need to get our stories straight,” I said. “We should tell the truth as much as possible, but steer clear of the lab break-in. Let’s just say the first tag was legible when we found it.”

The dog tags!

I rifled my pockets. Empty. Where could they be?

Oh no.

I remembered. I put them in my duffel. Which was still out in the woods.

“Shit! I left the dog tags with my tools.”

“So what?” said Ben. “They’ll use DNA to ID the bones.”

I shook my head. “If the police see the first tag, they might notice that someone has cleaned it off. Karsten definitely would.”

“Did we clean the sonicator before we split?” asked Shelton. “If not, that could lead to some bad connections.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll have to guide the police to the grave,” said Ben. “When we get to the clearing, go straight for your bag. The adults will all be gaga over the dead body. You’ll have a free moment.”

“Good idea,” Shelton said. “The cops don’t need both tags anyway.”

“One minor thing.” Hi’s finger tapped the bench. “Who the hell just tried to kill us !?!”

The subject I’d been avoiding.

“Take it easy,” Ben cautioned.

“Take it easy?” Hi’s voice hit an all-time high. “A death squad just tried to off me! I’m not ‘taking it easy.’ What the hell were they doing there?”

“Were we followed?” Shelton asked. “Seems impossible. We took our own boat.”

“Maybe the encounter was random,” Ben said. “Monkey poachers?”

I hadn’t considered that. There must be a black market for stolen monkeys. Could the answer be that simple?

Shelton shook his head. “One guy yelled, ‘Over there!’ like we were the target.”

“Not necessarily us ,” I said. “Maybe he meant the clearing itself. That field could be a monkey hotspot.”

“ Or . . .” Hi drew out the word. “They knew the body was there. And why we were there.”

Scary. But was it possible? How could anyone have known about our plan? My brain was running in circles.

“Let’s deal with this tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll tell Kit at breakfast, then come get the rest of you.”

Three nods.

“Remember.” Ben ticked off his fingers. “We found the dog tag, visited the library, and noticed the satellite photos. Got it?”

Everyone did.

But Hi wasn’t finished. “For the record, you guys seem way too comfortable with the fact that someone just tried to murder us.”

“Shut it, Hi!” I’d had enough for one night. “Tomorrow. First thing.”

Hi frowned but went silent. Finally.

With nothing more to say, we headed down to the runabout. I hoped I’d be able to sleep.

The next morning promised to be wild.

CHAPTER 27

Iambushed Kit before his morning coffee. No choice. It was already seven o’clock. The others would be waiting.

Kit sat speechless, Frosted Flakes forgotten. When I’d finished he tried to process my words. After many long seconds, he found his tongue.

“Someone shot at you , last night? On Loggerhead Island?”

I nodded.

“You found a dead body ?” Incredulous. “You dug it up?”

Nod number two.

Another pause. Then Kit rubbed his eyes. “Tory, if this is about me not spending enough time with you, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been the best—”

“I’m not making this up! We uncovered a skeleton. Then thugs stormed in shooting. Maybe to kill us, maybe to chase us away. I don’t know. But it happened.”

“Okay. Okay.” Kit scratched his temple, thinking hard. “Did you see who they were?”

“No. They wore black and it was pitch-dark.”

“And the body you found, you think it’s this missing Keaton girl?”

“Heaton. Katherine Heaton. I know it’s her.” I didn’t say how. First I needed to recover the incriminating dog tag.

A third interlude while Kit’s mind fought to catch up.

“So we go to the police,” Kit finally decided. “Right now. You get ready; I’ll go talk to the other parents. Then we’ll drive down to Folly Beach. You’ll explain everything to me on the way.”

The next hour was a blur.

Kit started with the Stolowitskis. Ruth didn’t take the news well. After grilling Hi, she was convinced that masked executioners would soon be storming Morris Island.

Shelton had already told Mr. and Mrs. Devers. Lorelei agreed to accompany Kit and Ruth to the Folly Beach station.

Kit caught Ben’s father on the dock, preparing his boat for the day. When informed, Tom Blue looked askance at Ben, but agreed to meet the group on Loggerhead after his morning ferry run.

Folly Beach stretches for six miles along a barrier island fifteen minutes from downtown Charleston. Far from high end, the area is a haven for young hipsters seeking good surf and cheap flats by the sea.

Since Morris Island’s sole road runs through the tiny community, the FBPD is responsible for law enforcement out our way. Loggerhead Island is private property, so jurisdiction there is less clear. But Folly seemed the best place to file our report.

We found FBPD headquarters on the first floor of City Hall, a pink stucco building with blue-and-white shutters. The place looked more vacation rental office than government epicenter.

The department takes up very little space. In the offseason things are quiet, but come summer, tourists roll in and the phones start ringing. There are only a handful of full-time officers.

Eight in the morning. Wednesday. Late spring. We were the only citizens present.

If Tom Blue had been skeptical, Sergeant Carmine Corcoran was downright suspicious. And far from happy to see us.

Corcoran was a big man, probably in his mid-forties, with mutton-chop sideburns and a bristly black moustache. His large frame wore his bulk like a sack of wet hay.

Kit and Corcoran shook hands. The sergeant gestured to a metal chair facing his desk, then unfolded two more for Lorelei and Ruth. The three adults took their seats.