Alien Eyes (27 page)

Mel was in his face suddenly, bending close and shouting. “You watched? You brought these guys in, Cryor, you led them to their deaths. You'll be locked up forever, man. Maximum security zoo.”

“But you
said
—”

“Names,” David said. “Of the Elaki. Names, ID them, testify in court. Do that and I talk to the DA. Cooperate one hundred percent.”

“I only heard a name or two,” Cryor said. “Sky. That's the one who brings the dog.”

“And who?”

“Weid,” Cryor said. “I think … yeah, it was Weid. He was like the big one in charge. They all kind of did what he said.”

David looked at String. The Elaki was very still. “And you'd recognize him?” David asked.

Cryor frowned, then nodded. “Real patchy, like this guy.” He pointed at String. “And pretty thick for Elaki.”

“You sure you'd know him?” Mel asked.

“I'd know him. He's the one gave the kill order to the dog.”

FORTY-THREE

David came out of the captain's office rubbing his temples.

“Silver.” Della was sitting on the edge of his desk “We need to talk.”

Brownies, David thought. “I'm kind of pushed.”

“Not too pushed to talk to me.” She raised a hand, jangling a bracelet made of Elaki scales.

“Where'd you get that?”

“David, will you listen? Ogden's raising hell about the reports.”

David glanced back over his shoulder at the captain's office. “I know.”

She sagged. “What we going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“I promised I'd see to it. That'll keep them off our backs awhile.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Bureaucracy meets bureaucracy. Stonewall.”

Della folded her arms. “Sounds nice, Silver, but Ogden's got a team coming to ‘help us out with our difficulties.'”

“What? Halliday didn't—”

“He doesn't know. I got tipped off by a friend of mine. No, don't ask, let's just say she's fed up doing guard duty for his eminence.” She frowned. “What did Halliday say? We in trouble with him?”

“In so many words, he said make sure to cover our ass.”

“In other words, he didn't want to know.”

“Yeah. Ogden said anything about the reports before now?”

“Nah. Been expecting it, but no.”

David frowned. “And now he suddenly wants more detail. Sounds like he's going to turn it over to the Feds.”

“He's making noise about information content, you know? But I get the feeling he don't much care. Otherwise he'd be up our nose here.”

David bit his bottom lip. “He's giving us rope. That's fine. I need more, that's all.”

“Soon as they get that team over here, that be all you get.”

David scratched his chin. “Do this. Assign Walker, Ash, and Thinker to assist this team Ogden's sending. Any luck, that'll keep everybody confused.”

“The Elaki-Three? They'll pitch a fit, David. They're already moaning about being kept on the fringes of the investigation. Been complaining to Halliday every other day.”

David smiled. “See, Della, they'll go along with it because
they
want the files.”

“Yeah, but, David, that Thinker is no dumb bellybrain; he'll go through a stack of manuals, pick everything up, and probably redesign the whole program. And he's
already
studying manuals. I've seen him.”

“He is really?”

“Get with the program, Silver.” Della rubbed her eyes. “It's my ass on the line.”

“Mine too.” David put his arm around her shoulders and eased her down into his chair. He rummaged in Mel's desk till he found what he wanted. “Hold out your hand.”

“What is that? M&M's?”

“Yeah.”

“What's with you, Silver? You tired? Short on sleep?” Della shook her head sadly. “Pressure's getting to you, right? I mean, you can't seriously think this is going to help keep me from getting fired. Or do you want me to give Ogden some M&M's?” She stood up and smiled at the chair, nodding her head pleasantly. “Sit
down
, Commander. Coffee? M&M's? Nondairy creamer?” She slid a handful of candy in her mouth, then held out her hand for more.

David poured M&M's into her palm. He sat on the edge of his desk and leaned close. “Pay attention.” He pitched his voice low. “The Elaki-Three want into the files, right? So you assign them to the team that also wants into the files. Now
everybody's happy
. Including us, 'cause we fucked up the files.”

“Yeah, but—”

David held up a hand. “Ogden isn't in any big hurry for us to get to the bottom of this. You know why?”

Della shook her head. David poured more M&M's into her palm.

“Because he thinks the Izicho did it.”

“So does Walker.”

“True. But while Walker wants it made public, Ogden knows it's going to land him in a shitload. Because the powers that be aren't going to want to create Elaki diplomatic problems. See? So he's got to disengage, but not cover up. He'll either disassociate, or find a sacrifice. Right now, I'm not sure which way he'll fly. But now Walker, see. Long as Walker knows Ogden's team is an FBI deep-six operation—and you'll make sure she knows that, right, Della? So she's going to get in their way. She may actually be useful.”

Della grinned. “I was just thinking. About Walker and the FBI, going head to head.”

David smiled. “They have their agenda, Walker has her agenda.”

“And this way we give them what they want, and still meet our agenda.” She swiped the box of M&M's out of his hand. “David?”

“Yeah?”

“Good boy.”

FORTY-FOUR

David sat behind the wheel of the car, grinding his teeth. He looked at his watch.

“Ten after nine, David,” Mel said. “And we ain't moved since eight-thirty.”

“Have the priority switch?” String asked. He was folded into the back seat and his voice was muffled.

“Did that twenty minutes ago,” Mel said.

“In the van,” String told them. “We would be high on a clear view.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“What time is it?” David asked the car.

“Nine-twelve.”

David looked back at his watch.

“She'll be there,” Mel said. “And in case you want to know what I think, she's been in on it from the start.”

“The Angel will know,” String said wisely.

“Suppose—”

“Come on, David. Her bodyguard is in it to his eye stalks.”

“She's retired,” David said. “Just listen. Consider her past. Maybe she's given up. Maybe she's burned out, she's just been going through the motions the last years. At the restaurant—”

“Yeah, what about the restaurant?” Mel said. “You never talked much about that.”

“She said she was afraid,” David said. “Tell me what could scare a revolutionary leader who's been tortured, whose children have been murdered? What could scare her now?”

“The bill at the Café Pierre.”

“Maybe she's afraid because she's just beginning to suspect the problems come from within. From her group.”

“My point exactly.”

“She does not fear,” String said softly.

“Yeah, yeah, we don't know till we see her.” Mel opened the window and stuck his head out. “There's cops up there. Something's up. Hang on.”

David glanced into the rearview mirror at a sea of deadlocked headlights. “Sure, Mel. We'll stay right here.”

Drizzle collected on the windshield, and every few minutes the wipers slid across the glass. David found the irregular rhythm annoying.

Mel came back wet. He slid into the car, bringing the smell of damp streets.

“What's up?” David asked.

“Stink bomb in the Philharmonic.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Broke it up, they got a bomb squad in there, but looks like nothing more dangerous than a seriously disgusting smell.”

“Donovan and Dreamer,” David said.

“Those two kids you talked to?” Mel said. “They stink bombed the dorm, didn't they?”

“My money says so.”

“Maybe that is practice run,” String said. “Rehearse for this. Dreamer and Donovan new baby Guardians.”

“Looks like they broke their cherry tonight.”

“What is this cherry?”

The radio crackled, emitting their signal.

“Thank God,” Mel said. He punched the radio. “
What
.”

“Code A100,” dispatch said. “Dr. Stephen Arnold, location Bonaduce.”

“Arnold. Shit.”

“What is it?” String asked. “I cannot hear this.”

“It's Arnold,” David said. “Homicide.”

“We go?”

“Yeah,” Mel said. “'Less somebody wants to call a cop.”

David accelerated, guiding the car up on the sidewalk and turning around.

“Detective Silver,” the car said. “Bad driving procedure, causing unnecessary wear on my tires, and risking the undercarriage.”

“Shut up.”

Bonaduce Road was a narrow country lane with no track to guide the car. The drizzle of rain jittered in the headlights, and the tires made swishing noises on the broken pavement.

The road climbed, twisting left and right, a sheer drop to one side. David glanced at the guardrail. Too flimsy to stop a car moving at speed.

He rubbed his eyes. A car rounded the corner in the oncoming lane, crowding David toward the dropoff. Headlights glared off the wet pavement. David squinted and leaned forward.

“You want me to drive?” Mel asked.

“I'm okay.”

The car dipped and smacked into a pothole. String hissed loudly.

“Sorry,” David said.

Both sides of the road had been sprayed in the highway defoliant push years ago, and the ground was brown and burned. David rounded a corner, and was hit with the brilliance of flashing red and blue lights.

Mel whistled. The guardrail had caved and broken, leaving a jagged six-foot gap. Mel leaned out the window, looking at the sheer drop.

“I got an idea what killed him.”

The homicide van, dirty white, was half into the road. The tires were caked with mud. David parked next to a grey Citro. Miriam's car. There was another van. David saw Thinker cross in front of the headlights.

The rain was negligible now, fine and chilly. The wind was blowing, but not hard. David examined the guardrail, then looked down the brown, slippery slope. Mel and String headed down the hillside, holding on to the rope that had been strung like a rail.

The scene was familiar enough to feel like memory. The spotlights lit the cliff side, illuminating the scene in harsh yellow angles. Uniforms tramped up and down the slope.

Arnold had been dead awhile. Even from the top of the hill, David could smell him. He checked his pockets for nose filters, found nothing but a wad of thread and lint, a folded piece of paper, and a half-finished roll of breath mints.

David opened the paper.

Hi! Daddy! Miss you.

Yours sincerely, Kendra.

David smiled and refolded the note, tucking it back in his pocket. Yours sincerely?

He went through the break in the guardrail, hanging on to the rope. The ground was wet, muddy, slick. Farther down the hill it was easier going. The ground had recovered from defoliation, and weeds and grass gave traction. But it was still a seventy-degree angle, and David's left knee began to ache.

The car was right side up, angled sideways, the roof smashed and the windshield broken out. David figured it had turned over at least twice, probably more. He glanced over his shoulder. This was a remote spot. He wondered who'd called it in.

The passenger door gaped open. The driver's door had been wrenched off. David pictured the killer walking alongside the car, steering it over the edge.

The trunk lid was up, the center of activity. Mel and String were looking in and Miriam was there, holding a splash meter. She looked up and saw him.

“There you are.” Her hands were encased in thin rubber gloves, and her fingers were bloody. She pushed rain-damp hair off her neck. “Come on over, so I don't have to answer everything twice.”

David held a handkerchief over his nose.

Arnold was curled sideways. From the looks of it, he'd bled to death in the trunk.

Mel grinned at Miriam. “So what you know, condom fingers?”

“I know you're wasting your time asking my sister out.”

“Ain't you girls got better things to talk about than me?”

Miriam leaned over the trunk, rolling the body till it rested on its back.

Arnold's eyes were open. His features were thick and swollen, and his skin was going brownish-black. The contents of his stomach had been forced through his mouth, and had mixed with the hardened moon of blood that coated his shirtfront where his vocal cords had been cut. His shirt had ridden up and there were gas blisters forming on his belly.

“How long?” David said.

“Three or four days. It's been rainy. And hot in that trunk. Get me the vitals of where he was last seen and all, soon as you can.”

David nodded.

Miriam held up Arnold's hands. The fingers had been slashed, just as they connected to the palm. She flipped the hand over, showing a gash on the forearm.

“Fought them,” Miriam said.

David nodded. Defense wounds always hit him hardest. The cut to the vocal cords had been vicious and finally fatal, but it would be the deep gashes in the palm of the hand that stayed in his mind.

A fly buzzed his ear. David waved it away.

“I put the laser meter in,” Miriam said. “Just to get a preliminary look. His prints are all over the place.” She looked at David, making sure he caught her meaning. “He was pretty deliberate about it. He wanted you to know he was here.”

“Hard to miss,” Mel muttered.