Authors: Robin Parrish
Do I
attract
the crazy people? Am I putting something out there that
draws
them to me?
Dry wind whipping around him, he scratched his head of short-cropped hair while surveying the street from side to side. Were there any other stores on this side of the road he hadn’t tried yet? He glanced once again down at the bus stop, a few blocks away.
It began
there
, he thought. The further he got away from the shimmers’ points of origin, the less likely he was to find out where they were coming from. Or rather,
who
they were coming from, as he suspected.
Why can’t I find you, whoever you are?
How did you do it, when so many others have failed?
His cell phone vibrated. He flipped it open as he continued walking down the street.
‘‘What have you got?’’ He knew it was Lisa. No one else ever called him. He’d sent her to check some of the businesses in the upper floors of the larger buildings while he stuck to the storefront shops on ground level.
‘‘One juicy possibility, though it’s sort of a dead issue. So to speak.’’
‘‘What is it?’’
‘‘This snotty secretary at a consulting firm said one of their IT guys was killed a few days ago.’’
Daniel stopped walking.
‘‘Killed how?’’ he asked.
‘‘She wouldn’t say. Not sure if she just didn’t know or if she was holding out on me. But she did mention that the guy lived in Glendale, at the site of that towering inferno from a few days ago. So naturally, I’m wondering if he died in the fire.’’
He was walking again. ‘‘Yeah, yeah. I remember that on the news. Did she give you a name?’’
‘‘She didn’t want to, but I decided to make myself her new best friend until she felt like opening up.’’
Daniel found himself sympathizing with the woman at the consulting firm. ‘‘What’s the name?’’
‘‘Collin Boyd,’’ she replied.
‘‘Collin Boyd,’’ he repeated thoughtfully.
‘‘You think he’s our shimmer guy?’’ she asked.
‘‘If he is, then the best lead I’ve ever had just went up in smoke,’’ he replied.
‘‘Let me see what I can find out about the fire and I’ll get back to you,’’ Lisa said. She was always up for a challenge.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the Wagner Building’s spacious parking deck, which extended four floors below the building. Grant exited, purpose in his stride for the first time in days, and was met by a sea of Mercedes, Cadillacs, Ferraris, and Hummers.
A key chain from a kitchen drawer in his apartment looked an awful lot like car keys. Did the apartment come complete with wheels of some sort? If so, it would be here. He pressed the button on the chain.
A
boop-boop
echoed in the cement garage, and he walked toward it. He made the sound again and, turning to his left, saw where it had come from. A metallic navy blue convertible Corvette seemed to be grinning at him, as if it had just rolled off the assembly line and was hungrily waiting for him to rev the engine. He’d loved Corvettes ever since seeing a picture of his father gripping the wheel of a classic 1960 roadster. It seemed like a good omen to find one waiting for him. For the first time in days, he smiled.
‘‘Nice bracelet,’’ called a familiar voice.
‘‘Mm,’’ his shoulders drooped. ‘‘Swell.’’
He turned.
There she was again, leaning against a concrete pillar a few yards away.
Maybe she has a shoe phobia . . . Wonder if there’s a name for
that?
Eh, who am I kidding? I don’t care
.
‘‘What’s the inscription say?’’ she asked, trying to make it out from where she stood.
‘‘None of your business. What do you want?’’
‘‘Well, if what I’m hearing is true, you’re setting out on a one-way street to badness. Not only am I
not
the only one who knows what you’re planning . . . but only fools rush in to a place like Inveo Technologies. It’s not a company; it’s a
fortress
. Comes with all the extras, including one of the most state-of-the-art security forces in the world. We’re talking
guardapalooza
. Even if you somehow managed to sneak in, the only way out of
that
place is with a tag on your toe.’’
‘‘And just exactly how do know what I’m planning?’’ Grant’s feathers were ruffling with every word she spoke.
‘‘Fish gotta swim. Birds gotta fly. We all got our purpose.’’
‘‘And keeping up with my itinerary is yours?’’ he asked.
‘‘Hey, I’m the one who told you to leave town and not look back.’’
He frowned.
‘‘But your curiosity got the better of you. Don’t suppose I can blame you for that.’’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘‘By the way, for what it’s worth, it looks like you’re out of danger. For the moment. That is, aside from this big ‘storm the gates’ thing you’re working on.’’
‘‘Who
are
you?’’
She just smiled.
‘‘If you can’t tell me who you are, then why are you helping me?’’
‘‘Oh, you’re
so cute
,’’ she said as though she were admiring a friend’s baby. ‘‘Who said I was here to
help
you?’’
He frowned. ‘‘You helped me find my sister.’’
‘‘Did I?’’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘‘You sure of that?’’
He
had
seen her outside the UCLA police station, hadn’t he? Pointing the way to find his sister? Of course he’d seen her.
Right?
‘‘You’re really infuriating.’’ He massaged his forehead.
She nodded, unconcerned. ‘‘I get that a lot.’’ She squared her shoulders. ‘‘Look, I just stopped by to offer congrats, slugger, and a warning. Instead of this Inveo thing, you really should be looking into the other groups that are keeping an eye on you. There’s one in particular that frankly, I expected you to have already found . . .
‘‘But anyway, back to the big victory. That’s one down. Burned and buried alive. Juicy.’’ Her eyebrows popped up. ‘‘Of course, most of the others watching you have little interest in seeing you
dead
, so hopefully you won’t always knee-jerk into violence mode. But I should warn you that
very few
of these folks have your best interests at heart. And just because you defeated Konrad doesn’t mean that the ones who hired him won’t send somebody else to try again.’’
His eyes met hers, but she maintained a casual expression. ‘‘How many?’’
She didn’t answer. For a moment, he thought she might not have understood the question.
‘‘How many of these groups
are there
, keeping tabs on me?’’
She smiled without humor. ‘‘Lot more than you think, bucko. But if what you did to ol’ Konrad was just the warm-up . . . Can’t
wait
to see how you handle the rest,’’ she said, her eyes dancing.
Grant rolled his eyes and stalked to his car. By the time he checked his rearview mirror, she was gone.
Daniel and Lisa waited two days before visiting the burned-out Glendale apartment building. They figured the police and fire marshals would mostly be done by then and a curious bystander could get a look around easier. Only there wasn’t much to look at.
Daniel kept a bandana to his nose as he picked his way through the rubble of the burned down apartment building. He and Lisa had been here for hours and still couldn’t make head nor tail of anything they found. It was beyond recognition.
Lisa was wandering around, picking up various things and scanning for traces of a shimmer, but nothing spiked. The one part of the building still standing was the central stairwell, an old brick shaft that reached all three floors. Only the first-floor portion of it remained intact.
‘‘What are you thinking?’’ Daniel asked her as he continued to sift.
‘‘Well . . . it definitely strikes me as odd that nothing—not one single object—survived this fire.’’
He nodded. ‘‘Someone’s covered their tracks.’’
‘‘Didn’t the news say it was a gas main or something?’’ she said, still looking through the debris.
He eyed her. ‘‘Don’t believe everything you hear on the news.’’
She grinned.
‘‘If the police lied to the media about the cause of the fire,’’ Daniel said, ‘‘then I’d say there’s a good chance this Collin Boyd may not be dead, after all. . . .At any rate, I want to know who he is. Would you go round to the back of the building and jot down the license-plate numbers of the cars back there? We can check them later to see if one of them was his.’’
She nodded and was off.
He continued sifting for a moment before he noticed that a nearby shadow was moving.
‘‘And how did
you
know Mr. Boyd?’’ a booming voice said.
He looked up. A man stood to his right with an angry frown on his face. A large man whose bulging midsection protruded from a navy blue trench coat, though only his left arm went through one of the sleeves. His right was under the coat, held in place by what looked like a shoulder sling.
‘‘Old friend from college,’’ Daniel lied. He stuck out his hand to the detective. ‘‘Daniel Cossick.’’
‘‘Matthew Drexel,’’ the cop replied, refusing to take Daniel’s hand. ‘‘Do you contaminate the crime scenes of
all
of your college buddies’ mishaps?’’
‘‘Collin was the first,’’ Daniel said nervously. ‘‘My assistant and I— we were just . . . curious . . . about the circumstances surrounding his death. The damage here is just . . . mind-boggling . . .’’ his voice trailed off as he glanced around.
‘‘That kind of curiosity will land you in jail,’’ said the man, with a dour scowl. He adopted an authoritative swagger as he walked closer.
‘‘You’re a police officer, then?’’ Daniel asked.
The man flipped open a badge. ‘‘Detective. I’m investigating the arson/homicide on these premises, which I believe to be connected to . . . another case I’m working on.’’
‘‘So it
was
just the one death, then?’’ Daniel probed.
‘‘Just one
body
,’’ Drexel replied slowly, still warily watching Daniel.
The detective narrowed his eyes and took another step closer. They were standing in the sun, but to Daniel it felt like a third-degree heat lamp.
Drexel gestured with his chin toward Lisa. ‘‘You want to tell Ms. Moneypenny over there to stop rifling through my evidence?’’
‘‘What?’’ Daniel blustered, then caught on. ‘‘Oh! Lisa, this nice officer wants you to quit whatever you’re doing back there!’’
She appeared from behind the central stairwell wall. ‘‘You really a cop?’’ she shouted.
‘‘You really this guy’s assistant?’’ Drexel replied.
Lisa rolled her eyes at his attempted joke, but then was all business. ‘‘You better come see this.’’
Daniel and Detective Drexel both circled the stairwell until they reached Lisa’s vantage point. Sticking out from the other side of the wall was a tiny foot with a black shoe on. As they continued to circle, the full body came into view: an elderly woman with graying purplish hair, her short frame lying facedown, unmoving. Her wrinkled face was turned too far to one side, her eyes closed. She still clenched a large, pearl-white purse with both knobby hands.
Drexel’s eyes became tiny slits, and he examined the woman for several minutes without approaching. Then he knelt and seized her hand. It was limp. ‘‘Hasn’t been dead long. And no burn marks, so she definitely didn’t die in the fire.’’ He pushed aside her hair. Dark bruises were visible along her neck. ‘‘Her neck is snapped,’’ Drexel concluded.
‘‘Either of you know this woman?’’ he asked softly.
Daniel exchanged a clueless glance with Lisa, but her eyebrows appeared knitted together.
‘‘I think . . . she’s the landlady,’’ she said.
Drexel swore. ‘‘You sure about that?’’
‘‘No,’’ Lisa answered honestly. The way she effortlessly held the larger man’s gaze . . . It occurred to Daniel that Lisa wasn’t intimidated by Drexel. Not at all.
While
he
had become unhinged the moment the large man had spoken.
But then, she has no reason to be anxious around a policeman. I, on
the other hand . . .
‘‘I’m going to need you both to come with me,’’ Drexel was saying, rising to his feet. ‘‘Your knowledge of the victim may be . . .
useful
to my case. And frankly, the fact that you knew him at all means that
you
may not be safe—’’ The detective’s phone rang, interrupting his speech. ‘‘Excuse me,’’ he mumbled, and turned away, moving back toward his brown sedan. He was trying to keep Daniel and Lisa from hearing, but it was a quiet Sunday morning in the old neighborhood. They clearly made out the words ‘‘cut off his
head
?’’ as Drexel’s voice rose involuntarily as he said it.
Lisa carefully and innocently walked to Daniel’s side.
‘‘You’re white as a sheet,’’ she whispered. ‘‘You all right?’’
Daniel wiped sweat from his brow with one hand while whispering back to her. He eyed the cop again, who was now speaking on his car radio, the cord snaking out through the side window.
‘‘I think things just got a lot more complicated.’’
Three days later, Grant sat with Julie in a diner across the street from the Inveo Technologies corporate headquarters, trying not to look nervous. It was one of those tiny truck stops stuck in the middle of desert sprawl like a ship bottomed on a dry lake. They were the only non-regulars in the ramshackle building, which looked like it could collapse in on itself at any moment.
But Grant’s attention was elsewhere. The barefoot girl had been right again. This was no simple facility he was looking at. It was a
campus
.
Grant and Julie had spent every waking minute carefully considering his covert entry into Inveo. Hours upon hours they pored over books at the local library, on the computer, digging up old architectural plans from county and district records. It wasn’t easy, but they needed every last detail they could find. Of particular interest was the structure’s layout and security.
The campus was located well outside of L.A., cozied on the gentle slopes of a mountainside, on a big plot of undeveloped land north of Big Bear Lake. A modest town had sprung up around the Inveo plant, but the town was dwarfed by the scale of the plant itself. The entire Inveo property struck Grant as akin to some kind of modern citadel.