Coven. Part 16

"All I can say is we've got some thus far undetectable factor that has degenerated the reproductive organs of every animal on this site. Even the chickens, for G.o.d's sake." He shook his head in sheer disillusion. "Have you ever tried to autopsy a chicken?"

"Can't say that I have," Lydia said.

"Chief White's at the main office," Sergeant Peerce informed her when she walked into the substation. He quickly stashed a glossy magazine, t.i.tled Pizza s.l.u.t, into a drawer. Porker sat at the booking desk, taking care of a box of SafeWay chocolate cream wheels. He kept his face down when Lydia entered.

Peerce was smiling, flipping the cylinder of his Ruger Blackhawk open and closed. Click, clack. Click, clack. Other officers in for shift-change were smiling too. She glanced again to Porker, but he still refused to look up.

"Better get that prelim to Chief White," Peerce advised. Click, clack. Click, clack. Smiling. "He's been waitin' on it."

Lydia left for Main Administration. Something was going on and she didn't like not knowing what. White's personal cruiser was parked next to the dean's Rolls. Inside, she pa.s.sed the dean's office. The man looked up from his huge teak desk as she pa.s.sed. "Officer Prentiss! Please come in!"

Lydia hedged in. "Good morning, sir."

"And a very good morning to you. That was fine work you did at the agro site yesterday. Chief White told me all about it."

Did Chief White also tell you he's putting a lid on it? "Thank you, sir."

"And I hope you appreciate the necessity to accentuate certain details of the incident for the time being."

Sure, lie to the public for convenience sake. Lydia nodded.

"Good, good!" the dean said. He was trying to be cordial, but Lydia knew he'd only called her in to bust her chops a little. "Keep up the good work," he added. "And have a nice day!"

"You too, sir." Lydia went back into the hall. Long display cases adorned the main lobby, local relics and artifacts disinterred by Exham's archaeology department. Several battles of the Revolution had taken place nearby. One case displayed an array of sabers and bayonets. Another held firearms: flintlocks, wheel locks, cap and ball pistols. Lydia should've looked harder at the last case, which was hung with common tools of the colonial period. Rusted froes, cradle scythes, hammers, and mattocks. One s.p.a.ce was labeled "Beam hewer, St. Clement's Island, circa 1635." But the large s.p.a.ce over the label was empty.

She killed some time scanning the cases. What could she tell White? Eventually she dawdled into her boss's office. White was drinking from a coffee mug with a Confederate flag on it. "Ah, there's my girl," he said. "You get that prelim?"

"It's a health order, not a prelim," she said, and gave it to him.

White stuffed it in a drawer. "That guy Latin say what happened?"

"It's Hatton, and no, he didn't. He's taking the animals for more tests. He said whatever killed them isn't contagious."

"Well, then, that's good, ain't it?"

"Not when the papers ask about it."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. The papers don't know about it, and they ain't gonna. It's all taken care of." He gave her the eye. "You get what I'm sayin'?"

"Sure. You read my report on the burglary last night?"

"A'course I read it. What about it?"

"You want me to keep working on the prints?"

"Why? It wasn't no burgle anyway, just some two bit vandalism."

"Files were stolen, Chief. Someone specifically targeted them."

"So what?" he said. "Some punk joker probably just grabbed a handful and throwed 'em all over the Route. Big deal."

"So forget that too, huh? Like the agro site? Like the ax?"

White gave her a big shee it shake of the head. "You still thinkin' on that G.o.dd.a.m.n ax? Shee it. You wanna take a couple days off regular duty and follow up on that s.h.i.t, then go ahead. I'll even pay ya. How's that sound?"

"You're serious?"

"Sure I'm serious. Go on an' do your thing."

This didn't sound right. "Do I get a cruiser?"

"h.e.l.l, no. What I look like, f.u.c.kin' Santa Claus?"

Take what you can get, Lydia. "Okay, Chief. Thanks."

"You're quite welcome, Prentiss, but remember. Anything you find out about any of this agro business, you report to me and to me only, ya hear?"

"Loud and clear, Chief." Lydia turned to leave, but- "Oh, and Prentiss?" The chief clapped once, rubbed his knees. "I almost forgot. I heard somethin' a mite funny today, real funny."

"Oh, yeah?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah, see, I heard you got a new boyfriend, and what's funny about it is-and I mean real funny-"

"Real funny, I heard you," she said, and now she knew why Peerce had been smiling and why Porker hadn't looked her in the face.

"I heard this new boyfriend of yours is Wade St. John." White stopped laughing. His face turned to brick.

"He's not my boyfriend," she said. "I had a drink with him, and since when does my private life have any bearing on work?"

White was rubbing his eyes. "Prentiss, Prentiss, I been dealin' with that phony con man c.o.c.k hounding rich punk for the last six years. He's a user, Prentiss. He'll chew you up and spit you out, just like all the others. That nut chase son of a b.i.t.c.h goes through women faster than I go through cigars."

"Thanks for the warning." Lydia walked out, bemused. For the first time this morning, she thought of Wade. Was he really as bad as White claimed? At least he's a good kisser, she thought frivolously. No, a great kisser. And with that frivolity she finally acknowledged what she'd been repressing since last night. She liked Wade St. John.

She liked him a lot.

She wondered if that was a big mistake.

Wade leapt from bed, swearing. The G.o.dd.a.m.n Baby Ben hadn't gone off, and now it was past 9 A.M., and he was going to be late for that humiliating parody he now thought of as "work." Besser would come down on him, literally, like a ton of bricks. Wade grabbed a towel, dashed for the shower, when someone knocked on the door. Must be Jervis or Tom, he reasoned, and, dressed only in sagging Fruit of the Looms, he yanked open the door. "Can't talk now, I'm late for-"

It was Lydia Prentiss who stood in the doorway. She did not seem shocked by his appearance; it was Wade who was shocked. Instead of the usual tan cop suit, she wore flip flops, cutoffs, and an orange bikini top. Her hair in a ponytail, she appraised him through mirrored shades. Her faint smile betrayed her amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Nice briefs," she said.

"Uh, um," he said. "Excuse me." He left her at the door and pulled on his robe, hoping that his trapdoor (a mysterious provision of all underwear manufacturers) had not disclosed what dangled within. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said.

Lydia propped her sungla.s.ses up and walked in. To his dismay, she was toting a small suitcase. "This is some dorm room," she said. "You've got your own shower, kitchen. Even a trash compactor."

"Reckless luxury is what makes Exham College unique. Too bad the same can't be said for academic performance... What's with the suitcase?"

She glanced at it, then shot Wade the biggest, brightest, s.e.xiest smile he'd ever seen. It was an angel's smile-the kind of smile, in other words, that a girl flashes when she's going to ask for something. Wade felt lost in it.

"Will you drive me to county police headquarters?"

"Sure," Wade said.

Her smile faltered. "It's only a hundred and fifty miles away."

"Sure," Wade said, still floating on the smile. But then it all came tumbling down. "Oh, no, I have to go to work. I have to clean toilets today, and I'm already late."

"Well, not to sound presumptuous, before I came over, I took the liberty of asking the dean to give you the day off. He said yes. It's all taken care of."

Wade gaped. "You mean I'm off? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Wade rejoiced in silence. No toilets today, hot d.a.m.n! He was showered and ready to roll in record time.

"I really appreciate this," Lydia said when they got into the Vette. Wade took off the sunroof and put the suitcase in back.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, starting up his 400 horses. "I'd drive you to Timbuktu if it'd get me off work." Within minutes he was out on Route 13. He noticed the same change in her composure as he had last night driving her home. The Vette seemed to unwrap some of her wires. He supposed that being a cop-particularly a beautiful female cop in a department full of shucksy Java men-had taken a toll on her. He saw that stress run out of her now, her hard edges going soft. "So what's in the suitcase?" he eventually asked.

She rested back. "A cope of impactation," she answered.

"A what of what?"

"It's a hunk of wood-evidence, in other words. The county crime lab agreed to take a took at it."

"How important can a hunk of wood be?"

"Sometimes very important. Anytime you hit something with a metal object, it leaves a molecular trace of its surface oxidation-its rust. a.n.a.lyzing the rust can sometimes identify the grade of metal used, and from that, if you're lucky, you can ID the manufacturer of the metal object. Unfortunately you need special equipment and indexes, and that's why they generally only do stuff like this for a major crime. White doesn't think this is major, but he's letting me do it anyway. He just wants me out of his hair for the time being; I'm a troublemaker in his book, so he doesn't want me fanning any fires."

So Lydia's a troublemaker, Wade thought. This could be interesting. "What did he think of the break in at the clinic?"

"He's burying it," she said. "Says it's not worth pursuing. He also says you go through women faster than he goes through cigars. Is that true?"

That depends on how much he smokes, Wade thought. "You don't believe everything you hear, do you?"

"Of course I do. I'm a gullible woman. Oh, and here's something you might find interesting. I talked to the physician this morning. He told me about the files that got ripped off."

"What kind of files were they?"

"Just basic medical records, a rundown on each student's medical history, major operations, illnesses, drug allergies, stuff like that. All big campuses keep those kinds of records on their in house students. But the missing files are only those of the students specifically registered for the first summer session."

"I'm registered for the first summer session," Wade exclaimed. "One of the files must've been mine."

"That's right." Lydia began to diddle with an unlit Marlboro. "The question is, what good are medical files to a thief?"

It made no sense. Who would steal files? he wondered. But whatever this was, Wade's own files were involved, and sitting right in the middle of it was a Spaten Oktoberfest beer cap. The average burglar didn't drink expensive imports. He drank Bud. Only one store in town sold Spaten to go, and Wade knew only one person who drank it regularly.

Tom.

Tom's Camaro hadn't been in the parking lot last night, had it? Come to think of it, it hadn't been there this morning either.

Czanek walked into Andre's, surprised to find it half full at this hour. In the back booth, a shadow waved at him.

Czanek, of course, knew "Mr. Tull's" real ident.i.ty: Jervis Phillips, an upstate resident herded to Exham by rich parents. The boy had left a message on Czanek's answering machine. There'd been a problem.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tull." Czanek took a seat. A cold Heineken stood in wait for him. "Our little insect's not working?"

"It works great," said Jervis, "but I have a question. Did you plant one of those things for another client? On campus?"

What a question. As a matter of fact, Czanek had, but how could the boy know that? "I'm not obliged to say, Mr. Tull."

"Like maybe at the sciences center, in Dudley Besser's office?"

Czanek's gaunt face drooped. Right on the money. "How did-"

"I heard it," Jervis Phillips said. "My receiver picked it up; I recognized Besser's voice."

"That's impossible," Czanek declared. "It's out of range."

"If it's out of range, how come I'm picking it up?"

"I...hmm. Good question." Czanek felt inept, his pride excreted upon. "I would never have agreed to plant your bug if I thought there was a chance of this happening. And that's just it-there isn't. These things only transmit eight hundred feet or so."

"Besser's office is over a mile from my dorm," Jervis replied. He absurdly pulled the filter off a cigarette.

Czanek stared perplexedly into his beer. He was a bad man-even he would not argue that-but he had ethics. The sins of others were Czanek's treasure. He was a destroyer of reputations. He'd ruined marriages, families, careers. He'd promoted divorce, abortion, estrangement. Like an alchemist, he turned love into hate, but he was not ashamed. If he didn't do it, someone else would. Czanek's pride was his justification-to do an unspeakable task with grace. The kid had paid him to do a job, and Czanek had f.u.c.ked it up. It was this simple fact he could not accept.

"Okay," he told Jervis. "I'll give you your money back."

Jervis started his second beer. "I'm not asking for my money back, I just want to know what's going on. I heard some strange s.h.i.t last night. There were four people in that office. One guy was Besser, but there was another guy who's a friend of mine. What the h.e.l.l is a student doing in Besser's office at two A.M.?"

"I don't know," Czanek admitted.

"And the dean's wife? I made out her voice too."

Czanek gulped hard. The kid had too many pieces. "You said there were four people. Who was the fourth?"

Jervis seemed to catch a chill. "That's the strangest part. The fourth person's voice sounded like running water or something. I can't describe it. It was just...weird."

Czanek's embarra.s.sment crested. "All right, between you and me, last month I bugged Besser's office for another client. The client thinks Besser may be fooling around with his wife."