Simple Genius (26 page)

LATER THAT EVENING Horatio moved into an empty room in the mansion at Babbage Town after Michelle told him Champ had authorized it.

“I’m surprised,” he said.

“Even geniuses change their minds,” she pointed out.

“No, I’m surprised that you asked him to do it.”

“How do you know
I
asked him?”

“I’m the head doc, okay? I just know.”

After he was unpacked Horatio asked Sean to come to his room. There he filled him in on what South had told him about Camp Peary and German prisoners of war being held there. And also the phone conversation he’d had with Hazel Rose.

Sean mulled the latter part over. “What do you make of it?”

“Make of it? I
make
of it that Michelle’s mother was having an affair with this Army guy.”

“That part I figured out. I mean how does that fact tie into Michelle’s personality changing?”

“I’m not sure,” Horatio admitted.

“Did Hazel say when the Army guy stopped coming around?”

“No. Actually I didn’t ask her.”

The two men stared at each other. “You think Michelle saw something, don’t you?” Horatio slowly nodded. “Like what?”

“It’s only speculation, but something . . . bad. Like maybe her mother in bed with this guy. But what I’m really thinking is even worse. Her brother Bill didn’t believe it was the case, but I’m thinking that maybe Michelle was sexually abused by him.”

Sean looked skeptical. “And her mom would just allow that to happen? Come on!”

“Believe me I’ve seen it all. And maybe the mom didn’t know about it, or didn’t want to know about it so long as the guy kept coming around to see her.”

“So what would that do to a six-year-old kid?”

“Seeing the mom in bed with another man? At that age she might not be able to understand anything other than a strange man is with Mommy.
And if Mom was quick enough to explain it away?
But the sexual abuse?
That could be devastating.
Particularly if her mother acquiesced in it.”

“I can’t believe this, Horatio. Michelle has been very successful in life. Could she have done all that carrying around that sort of baggage?”

“Sometimes the abuse history makes a person incredibly driven and that ambition allows them to achieve a great deal. But underneath the success lies a very different picture. It represents a stark imbalance in life. And at some point that imbalance can bring everything crashing down.”

“That sounds like what happened to Michelle,” Sean pointed out.

“I know.”

Sean glanced out the window. “If Michelle saw her mom with another man or was abused by that guy and then told her
dad
about it?”

Horatio let out a long, troubled sigh. “Then you’re getting into some serious mental shit. Hazel did say the Army guy just stopped coming around. Maybe he couldn’t come around because he was dead.”

Sean blurted out, “Wait a minute. Army guy! The guy she beat up in the bar. He was dressed in military style clothing when I saw him.”

“Then that makes sense,” Horatio said slowly.

“What do you mean it makes sense?”

“I talked to people who worked with Michelle over the years, as well as friends, athletes. Some of them spoke about the fights she’d gotten in.”

“Let me guess. They were all military people?”

“Yes, as far as I could find out.”

“Horatio, we need to find out if anything happened to the Army guy.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Horatio said.

“When is the truth not a good idea?”

“This isn’t one of your investigations, Sean. This is about a person’s head. Sometimes the truth can do more harm than good.”

“At the very least I think
we
need to know so you can decide what to do next with her. She said you wanted to hypnotize her. If you do and you start asking questions you might end up somewhere you don’t want to be. Better you know all the facts before you do that.”

Horatio said, “Actually, you’re right. But how do I find out?”

“I bet South Freeman knows somebody that knows somebody that could help us out in Tennessee.”

“I’ll give him a call.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. It was Michelle. She immediately noted their gloomy faces.

“You two look like you’re planning a funeral and getting ready to go to war at the same time,” she said.

Sean said quickly, “Horatio was just filling me in on his talk with South Freeman. It appears those secret flights might be bringing in some folks that officially were never there. They have a black area there for secret diplomacy.”

“And potentially fatal for Monk Turing if that’s what he was witness to,” Michelle commented.

Sean continued, “And that’s not all. Before Camp Peary existed, the Navy held German prisoners of war there.”

Michelle said, “German POWs? That’s funny. Champ showed me a beer stein from Germany that he said Monk brought him.”

Sean sat up in his chair. “Monk Turing was in Germany?”

“Well, I can’t be a hundred percent positive. But he brought the stein back with him on the trip he took overseas while he was working here. I can try and find out if Monk did go to Germany by talking to Sheriff Hayes. He might have convinced Ventris to let him have a look-see at Monk’s passport.”

“Germans at Camp Peary and Monk visited Germany,” Sean said thoughtfully.

“What else did Champ tell you?” Horatio asked.

She filled them in on the rest and added, “And he very clearly has a schoolboy crush on me.”

“Crush
him
if he tries anything,” Sean said firmly, drawing an interested look from Horatio.

“Might not be that easy. He has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.”

“Yeah and the man flies his own plane. Alicia told me.”

“Actually, it isn’t his. It belongs to Babbage Town. In fact I’m going flying with him day after tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you alone with that guy at fifteen thousand feet.”

“I have no interest in joining the Mile High Club if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“I know he has an alibi for the time Rivest was killed but still,” Sean said.

“No, he might not.”

“What do you mean? I checked the computer log,” Sean said. “He was in Hut Number Two until three in the morning.”

“Champ probably has override privileges on the security system. Plus he’s a super-brain. Are you telling me someone like that can’t manipulate a simple computer log?”

Sean looked chagrined. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Did you talk to a real person who was there that night to confirm what the computer log said?” Michelle asked.

“No, but I’m going to correct that mistake right away. Good catch, Michelle.”

“I have my moments.”

“Now I really don’t like you going up in the plane with the guy.”

“I know, but you’ll get over it.”

“And I found something else out,” he said. “Remember I asked people if they saw anything out of the ordinary the night Rivest was killed?”

Michelle said, “And nobody did.”

“Well, I went back and asked a slightly different question. I asked if they’d seen anybody around Rivest’s cottage, including people who
should
have been there.”

“I’m not following,” Horatio said.

Michelle interjected, “He means other scientists, guards, etc.”

“And cleaning people,” Sean said. “And one of the guards saw a cleaning person in uniform pushing a laundry cart down the road toward Hut Number Three around one in the morning.” They both looked at him. “Don’t you see? What better way to carry off wet towels, bath mats and a plunger than in a laundry cart?”

Michelle was the first to speak. “There’s no better way. Good catch right back at you.”

Horatio spoke slowly, “So a cleaning person killed Rivest?”

“No, more likely someone dressed as one. And I checked the laundry building. No soaked towels, bath mats or plungers ever showed up there.”

“But if that’s the case it was a woman who killed Rivest then,” Horatio said. “I mean it would be far easier for a woman to dress up as a woman, right?”

Sean shook his head. “I didn’t say it was a woman. In fact the person said it was a guy. I checked with the cleaning supervisor. They have about as many men as women doing the cleaning work here. But a woman could put on pants and pretend to be a man.”

“So we need to find out who was on duty that night,” Michelle said.

“Yes and no,” Sean said. “Certainly we’ll get the list and run it down, but I’m thinking it could be an outsider disguised as a cleaning person who came here and did it. You show up in a uniform with a genuine-looking ID badge, who’s going to question you?”

“Or it could be someone who works at Babbage Town disguised as a cleaner,” Michelle added.

“That could be even more troubling.”

Sean turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Michelle asked.

“To find out if our resident genius, Champ Pollion, was actually in Hut Number Two or maybe pushing a laundry cart filled with evidence after drowning Len Rivest.”

SEAN COULDN’T
FIND A LIVE PERSON who’d seen Champ at Hut Number Two until three in the morning the night Rivest had been killed. That resulted in Champ Pollion being put back on the suspect list for Len Rivest’s murder. While he was walking back to Alicia’s cottage he got a call from Joan.

“We got a communiqué from the owners of Babbage Town,” she began.

“Who are they?” Sean asked quickly.

“Don’t know.”

“Then how do you know it’s legit?”

“There are passwords and a secure channel access that was set up. It’s them. Anyway, since Rivest was killed they’ve been rethinking our presence on the scene. Now if you were showing any progress . . .”

“Joan, I am busting my ass trying to do just that. You’ve never seen stone walls thrown up like the ones down here. And we don’t even know who our client is.”

“What
have
you found out?”

Sean hesitated and then filled her in on the German POW angle.

“You really think that might have something to do with Monk Turing’s death?”

“It’s possible. If you can get a list somewhere of the POWs held at Camp Peary during the war, and what happened to them, that would be very helpful. And you tracked his trip in England so any chance you could do the same for Germany? I can follow up on my end by trying to get a peek at his passport, if I can pry it from the Bureau’s greedy hands.”

“I’ll see what I can do.
Any idea where in Germany?”

“No.”

“I see that you’ve requested funds for some equipment down there.”

“That’s right.”

“However, you neglected to specify what the equipment is.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, I can assure you.”

“Then you’ll have no problem telling me what it is.”

“Joan, if you won’t approve the funds just
say
so. I got everything for a good price, and some of the stuff is just leased.”

“I’m not debating the cost.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

“Just put it down to me feeling left out of the loop.”

“When I have something to report, you’ll hear about it.”

“How’s your
mental
sidekick?”

He stiffened. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I have my sources,” Joan said cryptically.

“She’s just fine.”

“I’m sure. But if you want my advice, you don’t need a fragile person covering your back in a crisis situation.”

“My back is just great.”

“Don’t I know it, along with your other
parts.
But seriously, Sean, friendship is one thing, but would you bet your life on it? Three people have already been killed. I don’t want you to be the fourth.”

She clicked off leaving Sean hating himself for suddenly having doubts about Michelle, but doubts they still were. What if she cracked when they were on CIA territory? What if she did something that might end up getting them killed?

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Michelle was trying to find Viggie, only no one knew where the girl was. Alicia was at her hut working, and the guard assigned to watch Viggie had somehow lost track of his charge. However, something Viggie had said earlier came back to Michelle and she set out at a dead run for the river.

Five minutes later she reached the boathouse and right away noticed that one of the kayaks was missing. Her gaze swept the river. A storm was rolling in, the wind was gaining strength and the water current was fast. A rumble of thunder reached her ears and the smell of rain coming swiftly was suddenly thick in her nostrils.

The next sound she heard froze Michelle.

“Help me! Help me!”

Michelle grabbed a two-person kayak and
paddle
from the holder next to the boathouse, threw a loop of rope in it and raced down to the end of the dock. A few moments later she was in the kayak and cutting through the frothing chop of the river with each stroke.

“Help me!”

She saw the speck of red in the distance. As Michelle drew closer she saw that Viggie’s kayak had capsized. The girl was clinging to it, but she was being swept along by the accelerating river current. Michelle redoubled her effort and the kayak flew through the water. Michelle hadn’t rowed this hard for many months and even for her, the pace was grueling. A moment later she had all the incentive she needed. A lightning bolt struck the other side of the river with such force that the ground shook. This was followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

Viggie’s shrieks became louder now. Michelle kept her gaze steadily on the girl, letting the muscles of her arms, back and legs do the rest. Five minutes, and several hellish cracks of thunder and vicious lightning strikes later, Michelle pulled alongside the girl. As she put out her paddle for Viggie to grab the skies opened up and the rain came pelting down with such force it stung their faces and arms.

Viggie didn’t even make a grab at the paddle; she clung stubbornly to the side of her overturned kayak.

Michelle said as calmly as she could, “Viggie, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Do you understand?”

The girl shook her head. She said in a trembling voice, “I’m going to drown. I don’t have a life jacket on.”

“You’re
not
going to drown. Take your free hand and grab hold of the paddle.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can, Viggie.”

Lightning struck so close to them that the hairs on Michelle’s neck stood up.

“Viggie, grab the paddle.
Now!”

Viggie didn’t make a move, but the current did. It ripped the kayak out of her hand and sent it spinning off. She screamed and started to go under.

Michelle tied the coil of rope she’d thrown in the boat around one of her ankles and attached the other end to the carry loop on the kayak.

“Help me!” Viggie screamed as she floundered in the water and then went under.

Michelle dove in and shot under the surface. The water was murky and Michelle was searching more with her hands than her eyes. Finally, she felt her. Gripping the girl by her hair, she pulled her to the surface. Viggie was kicking, screaming and coughing up dirty river water.

Michelle looked around. Her kayak was twenty yards away and moving fast. The length of rope attached to Michelle’s leg was almost taut.

She forced Viggie to lie on her back, placed her arm around the girl’s chest and said as calmly as she could, “I’ve got you, sweetie. You’re okay. I’m going to get you to the kayak and then we’ll be fine, okay? You just have to relax. If you fight me, it just makes it harder. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Realizing that she was not going under, Viggie grew still. They were not out of danger yet, Michelle clearly understood, because the kayak was moving fast and pulling them along with it. She had two options. She could cut the line and swim back with Viggie, or she could try to pull the kayak to her with her one arm and attempt to get her and Viggie in it. Neither option was without its complications. Meanwhile, the storm was only getting worse.

Michelle was a very strong swimmer, but she could already feel herself growing a little tired. And it was a long way to shore. She could swim with the current, but at some point she’d have to cut against it to get to land. By then she might not have the strength to do it. She was not going to let this come down to choosing saving herself over Viggie. As soon as she had jumped in the water Michelle had made up her mind that it would be both or none.

The rope tied to her leg was pulled so taut that it made it impossible for her to keep a good grip on Viggie. She finally kicked the rope free and the kayak sailed away from them.

Michelle eyed behind her. She had to get them to shore, fast. She gripped Viggie tighter with one arm, kicked hard with her legs and pushed against the current with her free arm. It was no use. She simply couldn’t swim across the current while holding on to Viggie.

The storm was right over them now. All she could hear were the cracks of the thunder, the swirl of wind and the groan of the trees as they were bent back and forth. Viggie started to squirm, perhaps sensing the rising panic in Michelle’s tense limbs.

She never heard the sound of the motor until it was right on them. Strong hands reached down, grabbed Viggie and pulled her up. Then Michelle was being pulled in as well. As she perched on one of the seats, her arms around a whimpering Viggie, Michelle looked up at Champ Pollion, who had turned his attention back to piloting the boat. He set a direct course back to Babbage Town’s dock.

After making sure Viggie was all right Michelle rose and stood beside him. “Thanks. It was getting pretty crazy out there.”

“I was out for a walk; saw Viggie capsize first and then you heading out to rescue her. That’s when I ran to get the powerboat. I figured the best way was to grab you both as fast as I could.”

He smoothly docked the boat and helped Michelle get Viggie off. The girl was still pretty much deadweight at this point.

“Sure she’s okay?” Champ said anxiously.

“Yeah, just scared.”

“Can’t blame her.”

Michelle took Viggie gently by the shoulder and led her up the path to Babbage Town. Champ walked with them to Alicia’s cottage.

Michelle said, “If you pilot a plane as well as you do a boat, tomorrow should be very pleasant.”

“Uh, do you mind if we push our flight back a day? Something came up.”

“That’s fine, Champ.
Whenever.”

Champ smiled shyly, mumbled something incoherent and hurried off.

“You saved my life, Mick,” Viggie said after they had both changed into dry clothes.

“Mr. Champ deserves a lot of the credit,” she said. “And what were you doing out on the river all by yourself?” she added in a scolding tone.

Viggie studied her hands, her face drooping like a rain-soaked flower. “I . . . I just wanted to be by myself.”

“I can think of lots of ways to do that that don’t involve putting yourself in danger.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” Viggie said.

“I’m just glad I was there.”

Viggie stood, went over to the piano and started playing.
Softly, not frantically, as she had last time.
The notes were slow, almost mournful. She looked up at Michelle as she
played,
her features inscrutable.

After she finished, Michelle said, “Thank you,
Viggie, that
was beautiful. What was it?”

Viggie didn’t answer. She turned and walked up the stairs. A moment later her bedroom door closed.

Back out on the York River, a twenty-foot RIB or rigid inflatable boat, the backbone of the military’s light amphibious assault teams, was cruising around, Ian Whitfield at the wheel. The man seemed oblivious to the storm raging around him. On the deck of the RIB was Michelle’s kayak, with the rope still attached to its stern
ring.
He hit the throttles and the RIB sprinted toward the Babbage Town side of the water. He docked the boat, climbed out and slid the kayak up onto the floating pier. He
grimaced
a bit as he jumped back into his vessel. He wore a yellow rain slicker and khaki shorts. His lower legs were muscular and deeply tanned. The right one, though, was also heavily scarred. Chilly rain always made it throb.

He hit the throttle and the RIB took a huge leap forward; its bow at a forty-five-degree angle as it rode up the wall of chop. In another minute the RIB and the head of Camp Peary
were
just a speck on the river as the storm continued to slam the area.