Kathy Reichs - Virals

Despite my euphoria, I’d shown self-control. I hadn’t so much as peeked inside the backpack. We had to be careful. Katherine’s bag hadn’t been opened in over forty years. Who knew what condition the journal was in?

Or if it was even there.

Of course it would be there. I didn’t climb a gazillion stairs, gag, sift through filth, and uncover something lost since the first moon landing, only to come up short. No way, José.

We reached the Morris dock just as full night took charge. I stood with Katherine’s stinky bag hugged to my chest, waiting while the boys fixed the lines. Growing impatient. It was time to unwrap this bad boy.

“Where to now?” I asked.

“My place,” Shelton said. “Pops converted our garage into a workshop. He takes computers apart, so he’s got tweezers, gloves, that kind of stuff. Plus my parents went to see La Bohème in town. They won’t be back for hours.”

Ben glanced at my scum-covered arms. “Does it have a sink? A hose?”

Ha ha.

“Perfect,” I said. “Lead the way.”

“Not a chance,” said Shelton.

“Clean up,” said Hi.

“Now,” said Ben. “We’ll wait.”

I stuck out my tongue, but hurried home to scrub up.

Each unit on Morris has a single-car garage. Neither of the senior Devers ever parks in theirs. The walls are lined with metal shelving. Plastic containers cram every inch, carefully labeled, holding an oddball assortment of screws, wires, plugs, cables, adapters, and circuit boards. Nelson’s workshop looks like a RadioShack jammed into a phone booth.

Ten minutes later I joined the boys there, freshly showered, neatly changed, and raring to go. They were clustered around a drawing table. True to their promise, the backpack lay untouched.

My dirt-free attire got a round of applause. Ben whistled.

“Much better,” Shelton proclaimed.

“I don’t know.” Hi pooched out his lips. “The avian excrement added a certain je ne sais quoi .”

“Very funny,” I said.

“Sir.” Shelton stepped aside with a bow. “I yield to your superior skills with scientific protocol.”

“Why, thank you,” said Hi. “Now let’s please open this thing.”

Hi positioned a magnifying lamp over the parcel. Fluorescent light bathed the tabletop.

“You smelled this bag?” Shelton still couldn’t believe it. “Under a floor grate? Through a half foot of bird crap?”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I sniffed Katherine’s sweater in Sylvia’s apartment, then picked up the same scent in the tower. I was flaring both times.”

“Amazing,” Shelton said. “I wanna try that. Sounds awesome.”

“Believe me, it didn’t smell awesome. Bird funk nearly killed me.” But I had to admit, my bloodhound act excited me. These flares might be useful after all. Very useful.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Ready.” Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Hi reached inside the crusty pack. A smile spread over his face. He carefully removed a crumbling notebook.

My heart leapt. Success! Unbelievably, we’d found a clue the police had missed.

I’d found it, thank you very much.

The journal’s cover was cracked, its pages rippled and swollen. When Hi lifted a corner, dirt poured from its spine.

“Careful,” I scolded. “The paper is disintegrating.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hi set the notebook down, gently raised and jostled the bag. Out came a pencil and a barrette. Nothing else.

“Can you read it?” I crowded close, anxious to see if the journal’s pages were intact.

“Back it up!” Hi shooed me with gloved hands. “I can’t work like this.”

Reluctantly, I retreated a step. Inched forward again.

Using tweezers, Hi teased the front cover open.

Nature had taken a devastating toll. Rainwater. Salt spray. Bird droppings. The abuse had rendered the entries indecipherable.

Hi leafed carefully, a page at a time. Nothing was legible.

The air slowly leaked from the room. It seemed impossibly cruel, that we could locate Heaton’s notebook after forty years, yet be unable to read a single word she’d written.

“Here’s something.” Hi sounded excited. “Look!”

He’d reached the very back of the notebook. The last two sheets were better preserved than the overlying ones.

Hi was pointing at what appeared to be a sketch of a bird. The caption underneath was too smeared to read.

“What is that?” Shelton was tipping his head from side to side. “Robin? Woodpecker?”

“Eagle,” Ben said with conviction.

“How can you be sure?” I squinted at the wavy lines, barely visible on the stained page. It looked like any old bird to me.

“The body is uniformly shaded, but the head and tail are white,” Ben said. “And look at the beak. The talons. That’s a bald eagle.”

“Why was Heaton drawing eagles?” Shelton asked.

“Who knows?” Ben said. “Maybe she was super-patriotic.”

“There’s writing on the back of the page.” Hi squinted. “I think I can make it out.”

Peering through the magnifier, he read aloud:

I found them! A bald eagle colony! Three enormous nests, way up in a stand of longleaf pines, just off the Stono River. Who would’ve guessed that bald eagles were living on Cole Island? An endangered species, right on our doorstep! This is perfect for our science project. Abby will be thrilled! The University will probably send people to study-

The rest of the entry had washed away.

“Bald eagle.” Ben pumped his fist. “Told you.”

“Cole Island?” Shelton’s face scrunched in thought. “There aren’t any bald eagles on Cole Island. Hell, there aren’t any trees on Cole, much less eagles. The only thing out there is a factory.”

“This was written in 1969,” Hi reminded him. “Things have changed since then. Some moron probably clear-cut the trees.”

Data bytes connected in my brain.

“Oh no.” My hands flew to my mouth. “Oh damn!”

“What’s wrong?” Hi asked.

Ben and Shelton just stared.

“Don’t you guys see?” It all made sense. Brutal, tragic sense.

“See what?” Ben asked.

“I know why Katherine Heaton was killed.”

You could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

For a moment I was overwhelmed by the terrible truth I’d discovered. I couldn’t speak.

“Well?” Hi crossed his arms. “Enlighten us, Agent Scully.”

“Katherine found an endangered species on Cole Island,” I said. “And not just any species. She found bald freaking eagles! The symbol of America.”

“So?” All three at once.

“Heaton’s discovery would’ve been a big deal,” I said. “It was the hippie sixties. Everyone was suddenly into saving the Earth. Protecting habitats was a hot topic.”

“But that’s a good thing.” Shelton was clearly perplexed. “I don’t follow.”

I paced, thinking out loud. “Maybe someone was unhappy to learn that an endangered species was living on Cole Island.”

“An eagle colony would cause problems if the owners wanted to develop the land,” Ben said. “Displacing or killing the birds would cause mucho bad press.”

“Or maybe the birds were being raised illegally,” Shelton suggested. “It’s against the law to own or sell a bald eagle without a permit.”

“And killing an eagle is a crime,” I said. “The law even protects their nests.”

“Guys,” Hi interrupted. “I found more writing. Last page. There’s an entry at the top, then some chicken scratch at the bottom.”

I tapped Hi’s shoulder. He screwed his mouth sideways, but stepped back. I moved to the table and read to the group: