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“Terry, when are you going home?”

“Soon.”

“Jeez, buddy, you Brits work too damn hard.”

“It’s what put the
great
in Great Britain.”

“I suppose,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me know when you go?”

“Will do,” Terry said and saluted.

He still didn’t make his move until his gel was done. He didn’t have a choice. If he did, the data would be ruined. He was glad of the delay. It stopped him from being too impetuous. The clock nudged eight and his gel was done. He stained it, photographed it, and tossed it in the biohazard can. He didn’t shut down his computer or put away his equipment. He needed props if he was disturbed again.

He opened the refrigerator where he’d put last week’s FedEx delivery. It wasn’t there and neither was Frosty’s container from Nevada. He wasn’t surprised. If the contents were anything remotely valuable, Frosty or Pamela would use them the moment they had the chance. Most likely, whatever was in the containers would have been tested and frozen or even incinerated in the autoclave by now. But the manifest should still be around.

Terry tried Pamela’s office door first. It was locked. He didn’t fancy forcing the lock, not just yet anyway. Frosty didn’t have an office and offered less of a problem. Like Pamela’s door, his lab bench drawers were locked, but the locks weren’t bank-vault quality. Terry snatched a twelve-inch steel ruler off Frosty’s bench. He jammed the ruler into the gap between the drawer and the bench top. Glancing furtively between the lab doors and the desk, he applied pressure on the lock, shredding the ruler’s cork backing. The lock didn’t budge.

“Sod it.” He yanked out the ruler. It twanged as it exited the narrow gap.

Terry found a chunky paper clip, and he fashioned it into a crude skeleton key. He worked the tumblers with his paper-clip key. It stood up to the punishment, but it didn’t trip the lock.

“Bloody thing,” he growled, removing the now mangled key from the lock. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted hours waiting for everyone to leave only to be thwarted by a crappy lock. Obviously, safecracker wasn’t a skill he could add to his résumé. In disgust, he scooted Frosty’s stool back. It collided with the coat rack that had Frosty’s lab coat hanging on it. The coat jangled.

The jangle sounded familiar. Terry smiled. He delved in the pockets and tugged out a bunch of keys.

“You moron, Frosty. Why lock your desk if you’re going to leave your keys in your coat?”

It was easy to tell which one he needed. He slotted the key in, turned it, and hey, presto, the drawer was open. He flicked through the various project files, careful not to disturb anything
he couldn’t return to its rightful place. The first drawer didn’t churn up anything of interest, so he turned his attentions to the other locked drawers.

In a bottom drawer, he found a file. The file contained test procedures and results, the manifest for the FedEx delivery he’d taken in the week before, a newer manifest with Sunday’s date, and a wad of others dating back several months. The deliveries had been regular and the contents the same. The file told him everything he’d suspected.

“Human tissue,” he muttered under his breath. “Children’s tissue.”

Terry snatched up the file and ran the contents through the photocopier. While the copier duplicated the evidence of a federal crime, he powered down his computer and tidied his desk. When the copies were made, he locked the file in the drawer and put Frosty’s keys back before pocketing his paper-clip key and tossing the cork fragments. He jammed the damning documentation into his backpack and got the hell out of Genavax.

Driving out of the parking lot, he spotted Pamela’s car parked on the far side. Had she left her car there for the night or had she returned to the office? If she had returned, had she seen him?

T
erry’s headlights lit up the sheriff’s department cruiser parked across the street from his house. He groaned.
Not again
, he thought. Holman and Deputy Pittman weren’t subtle. But it could have been worse. They could have been parked in his driveway. Terry hit the garage-door opener and guided the Monte into the garage.

He stood at the garage’s entrance, waiting for them to approach. They didn’t. They just watched him watching them.

“Have it your way,” he muttered and closed the door.

It was a couple of minutes before they rang the doorbell, enough time for him to collect the mail, switch on the lights, and draw the curtains. He put down the mail and opened the door. The porch light illuminated two grim faces on the other side of the screen door.

“Sheriff Holman. Deputy.”

“Mr. Sheffield,” Holman said. “Could we come in?”

“No. For my own protection, it’s best you stay out there on the doorstep. What’s the problem now?” Holman sighed, but didn’t argue.

“We’ve had a tip saying your wife has been seen entering the premises,” Deputy Pittman said.

Terry aimed his remarks directly at Holman. “Not that one again. You’ve pulled that stunt before, and it didn’t do either of our reputations any good.”

Holman’s tanned skin tightened, creating more lines on his face than normal. “Regardless of past history, I have a duty to investigate the allegation.”

“Who made this claim? Another anonymous tip?”

“Not this time,” Holman began before being cut off.

Osbourne appeared behind the police officers and barged past them in an attempt to open the screen door. “It was me who called.”

Deputy Pittman did her best to hold back the neighborhood watch chairman, but his bulk and personality beat her. Holman was a different matter. He halted Osbourne’s attempt with his arm. Terry did nothing to disguise his contempt.

“While you’ve been seeking public sympathy on TV, your so-called missing wife has been coming back and forth for days,” Osbourne accused.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Terry said with a dismissive wave.

“Mr. Osbourne, this is a police matter, and it is being dealt with accordingly,” Holman said in a commanding tone, putting a professional bearing on the brawl.

“I have a right to be here,” Osbourne said.

“Do I have to listen to this crap?” Terry moaned.

“I’m an American citizen.”

“Mr. Osbourne, please control yourself,” Deputy Pittman demanded. She had both hands on the old man’s chest, forcing him back. Holman rose above the fracas, letting his deputy deal with the interference.

“Ask him, Sheriff,” Osbourne blurted. “Ask him to produce his wife.”

“Sheriff, get that man off my property,” Terry insisted. “This matter has nothing to do with him. I didn’t invite him. He’s trespassing.”

“Mr. Osbourne.” Holman’s spoke with the commanding tone of God speaking from Heaven. Osbourne must have been a God-fearing man, because he finally did as he was told. “Mr. Osbourne, you’ve done your civic duty. It is time for law enforcement to take over.”

“He lied to me.”

“That may be so, but I would like to investigate without your obstruction.”

“You want me to go?”

“Yes.”

Osbourne hesitated. Deputy Pittman kept him restrained, just in case he launched a second attack.

“Will you update me, so I can report back to the neighborhood committee?”

“Yes,” Holman replied. “Deputy, please escort Mr. Osbourne home.”

She nodded.

“Sheffield, my offer to join our committee—consider it withdrawn,” Osbourne said.

Deputy Pittman hooked one of Osbourne’s arms in hers and led him across the street.

“We don’t need criminal types contaminating our attempts to stop crime,” he called.

“If we could only bottle that kind of energy,” Terry said, “he’d keep us warm this winter.”

Holman waited until his deputy returned. “Now that there are no distractions, can we come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No, I don’t have a warrant,” Holman admitted. “Would you like me to return with one?”

“What is it you want?”

“We just want to look around and ask a couple of questions. We’ll be five minutes, maximum.”

“You don’t need a warrant. Come in.”

Terry stood back and they let themselves in. Deputy Pittman overtook her boss and headed for the master bedroom. Holman checked the guest bathroom, then Sarah’s office.

Terry let them do their thing and switched on the lights in the kitchen. He unhitched his backpack and put it on the countertop. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he noticed his hands were shaking.

“Home late tonight?” Holman called from Sarah’s office.

“I had some work to finish.” Terry steadied his trembling hand on the copied Genavax documents hidden inside his backpack. No one could know what he’d been up to tonight, but he wondered if he’d made a mistake and Holman knew. The thought did nothing for his nerves.

“You’re a dedicated man,” Holman said, returning to the living room.

So are you
, Terry thought.

Deputy Pittman marched through the house and into the backyard.

“So is there anything to Mr. Osbourne’s claim?”

Terry flung his arms wide. “Is she here?”

Holman nodded. “So what do you think Mr. Osbourne saw?”

“An alien invasion?”

Holman frowned.

“Okay, I don’t know who the old bugger could have seen, but I know it wasn’t Sarah.”

“Not a girlfriend, then.”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

Holman shrugged.

Deputy Pittman slid the patio door back and let herself in the house. “All clear, Sheriff. She’s not here.”

“I told you that,” Terry said.

“Thanks, Debbie.”

Deputy Pittman stood at Holman’s side.

“Can we look under the house?” Holman asked.

“Not without a warrant.”

“Is there something you don’t want us to see?” Deputy Pittman asked.

“No, but last time you were here, evidence magically appeared from thin air. I want my lawyer here when you do an in-depth search. And now that we’re on the subject, that’s something you haven’t answered. How come there was evidence planted in my home for you to find?”

Deputy Pittman huffed and turned her back. Holman’s jaw muscles flexed, but he kept his temper.

Terry didn’t care that he was antagonizing them. He still needed their support to help find Sarah, but what had they done for him lately? He hadn’t heard anything about the search for Sarah since they’d held him for questioning.

“So you have no idea who would have been poking around your house?” Holman said, keeping the questioning on track.

There were candidates. There was the person who’d broken in and stolen Sarah’s confidential notes, the Honda driver who had a garage-door opener, the voice on the phone, and the person who planted Alicia Hyams’s belongings in the house. But that could be four people or just one.

“There could be someone.”

“Ah yes,” Holman said, nodding. “If I remember correctly, you had an obscene caller.”

“I never said it was an obscene caller.”

“My mistake. You’re correct. Let’s call him your mystery caller, as he never told you his name.”

Holman’s tone was condescending. It wasn’t surprising after the swipes Terry had made.

“And you think it was him, correct?”

“It’s possible.”

“Well, I’m willing to believe that Mr. Osbourne was overzealous and could’ve been mistaken, but I’m pretty sure he can tell the difference between a woman and a man, don’t you think?”

Terry didn’t reply.

“I think we’re done,” Holman said. “Deputy, please tell Mr. Osbourne the outcome of our investigation.”

“Don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Deputy Pittman asked.

“No, I’ve got something else to talk over with Mr. Sheffield.”

She hesitated before leaving. Holman waited for Deputy Pittman to close the door after her. Terry flopped into an easy chair. If Holman was going to make some veiled threat, he might as well be sitting comfortably.

“I believe you’ve been getting friendly with my son.”

“You could say that.”

“I know it’s none of my business with whom you choose to associate.”

“It isn’t,” Terry said.

Holman frowned. “But take it from someone who knows Jake well, he’s not the sort of guy you want to have as a friend.”

“Are you telling me to stay away from him?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything. You’re an adult and capable of making your own decisions. I’m just saying, watch your step. Jake isn’t someone to be trusted.”

Terry smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s exactly what he said about you.”

Holman left. Terry eased the curtains to one side and watched the sheriff cross the street to Osbourne’s house. The neighborhood watch chairman wasn’t happy with the news Deputy Pittman was giving him. There was a lot of arm twirling and finger pointing, which was stemmed when Holman intervened.

“Sort it out, Holman,” Terry said and let the curtain go. The last thing he wanted was Osbourne banging on the door all night demanding to conduct his own search.

It was getting late, and Terry was hungry, but he wasn’t in the mood to start cooking from scratch. He found something packaged in the freezer and preheated the oven. While a limp version
of the cannelloni pictured on the packaging bubbled in the oven, Terry dug through his notes from the weekend. He found the sheet with Javier’s phone number on it and dialed. The phone rang. Terry knew if Oscar were here, he’d be trying to stop him. Oscar was a good friend, and Terry understood his reservations, but Oscar couldn’t understand Terry’s desperation. Javier Rivera could. Myda Perez’s godson answered.

“Javier, it’s Terry Sheffield.”

“You find something out? You know who took our women?”

“No, but I might be on the right track.”

“You’re not holding out on me? We have an agreement. You promised me.”

“I know, Javier, I know,” Terry said. “When I know, you’ll know.”

“We are from different cultures, and you may not understand the value of a promise.”

“Trust me, Javier, I do understand the value of a promise. We aren’t as different as you might think.”

“As long as we’re clear. What have you found out?”