Silencing Eve

  “I went at it from another angle. Tell me about the museum info.”

  “Driftwood is any wood that’s been washed onto a shore or beach of a sea or river by the action of winds, tides, waves, or man. It’s a form of marine debris.”

  “Anything about a connection between driftwood and graveyards … tombstone … death?”

  “No, actually, it’s usually considered beneficial to life. Driftwood provides shelter and food for birds. Fish and other aquatic species as it floats in the ocean. Gribbles, shipworms, and bacteria decompose the wood and gradually turn it into nutrients that are reintroduced into the food chain. The wood can also become the foundation for sand dunes when it comes ashore. On the surface, nothing sinister, Catherine.”

  “Eve saw something sinister. Where does the majority of the driftwood come from?”

  “Hard to determine exactly because of wave erosion. Most of the driftwood comes from remains of trees washed into the water by storms, flooding, or other disasters. Other causes are logging, cargoes from ships, buildings, ships themselves. There was one hell of a flood of driftwood that came ashore from the Japanese tsunami.”

  Catherine recalled seeing the news stories about the tons of horrible ghostly debris that had washed ashore. She had never thought of those huge boats, tools, and fragments ripped from the farms and seaports of Japan as driftwood. Yet evidently they were. “I don’t think that Kevin’s driftwood was from that disaster. The time frame isn’t right. Is there anything else that you found unusual?”

  “I told you, interesting but probably not of value. Let me think … Okay, you’re not supposed to burn driftwood. It produces dioxins which are carcinogenic. Very unhealthy because of the chlorine of the seawater.”

  “I didn’t even know there was chlorine in seawater. But burning driftwood isn’t an immediate killer?”

  “No.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “You’ve pumped me dry, Catherine.” He added solemnly, “No, how could I have forgotten. One more thing. According to Norse mythology, the first humans, Ask and Embla, were formed out of two pieces of driftwood, an ash and an elm by the god Odin and his brothers. Do you think it’s of any importance?”

  “Very funny.”

  “No, but I had to strike a light note. For the most part, the visit was very boring. And I only gave you the highlights. I would have invited you to come along if you hadn’t been tied up. Though I hope not literally.” He paused. “How is Zander?”

  “Stubborn.” Her gaze shifted to Zander, across the sitting room. “But I’m working on him. He’s not stupid, he must see I’m right about letting you and Joe help us.”

  Zander smiled and silently shook his head.

  “Stubborn,” she said again. “As I said, I’ve been doing some research about driftwood, too. I’ve been looking in the local newspapers to find any stories about unusual driftwood or collectors. There were a few articles about artists who use driftwood as a medium of expression.”

  “None who created graveyards with it?”

  “Not any who gave interviews about doing it. I’ve also been gently nudging Kendra.”

  “Gently?”

  “I’ve been as gentle as I could,” she said curtly. “I know she’s doing the best she can. I just need it faster.” She swallowed. “I have a feeling that we’re running out of time, Gallo. We’re all working so hard for Eve. But it’s like treading water in a whirlpool. Any minute, she could be pulled down and never come up.”

  “Then we’ll tread faster and stronger,” Gallo said. “And you’d better get Zander to do something positive. He’s still the best hope Eve has to survive.” He added. “If the bastard even cares.”

  “Oh, he cares.” Catherine met Zander’s gaze. “I know that he does.”

  “I’m not that certain,” Gallo said. “If I learn anything more about the driftwood, I’ll call you. Take care of yourself.” He hung up.

  “I’m touched by your faith in me,” Zander said with a faint smile. “Though not by your ability to read either my emotional capability or my character. Gallo was much closer in his assessment.”

  “Gallo doesn’t know anything about you.”

  “Neither do you, lovely Catherine.”

  “Enough,” she said. She hoped she was telling the truth. He was an enigma, but perhaps he had given her the tiniest glimpse. “Gallo wants some positive action from you.”

  “I heard. I really don’t care what Gallo wants. Though I’m sure that you do.”

  “It would be positive if you’d let Gallo and Joe join us here.”

  He shook his head.

  She gazed at him in frustration. “What are we doing at this damn hotel anyway? We’ve been here for hours. Did you finish your calls?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you told me that the one person that you contacted hasn’t been able to tell you anything about where Doane might be. Shouldn’t we be out asking more questions, trying more of your contacts?”

  “No, one is enough.”

  “Then let’s do something.”

  “You are doing something. You’re acting as my bodyguard. Isn’t that what you said was going to be your mission?”

  “It’s no challenge when we’re holed up in this hotel.” She paused. “You know that Gallo could probably find us if he made the attempt. He was one of the best undercover Special Forces guys either one of us has ever run across.”

  “But he won’t make the attempt because it would upset you, and he wants you to trust him. I considered the possibility of his intrusion but discarded it.”

  “He may change his mind if Joe gets desperate.”

  “You’re the one who is getting desperate. I was detecting a hint of tension while you were speaking to Gallo.”

  “More than a hint.”

  “Yes.” His smile faded. “And it was justified. Because you’re right. Time is running out, Catherine.” He got to his feet and headed for the door that led to the bedroom. “So I’d advise that you gather all your friends and cohorts who are so earnestly trying to find Eve and make magic happen.” His voice was grim. “Because she’s going to need it.”

  * * *

  “YOU’RE RESTLESS,” Stang said quietly. “That’s unusual for you, Zander. Well, actually not an unusual state, just unusual for you to show it.”

  “You regard it as a form of weakness?” Zander asked. “A break in the armor?”

  Stang was immediately wary. There was something seething beneath that surface that he didn’t wish to explore. “I didn’t say that. It was just an observation. You know as well as I do that you’re careful not to let anyone see too deeply.” He smiled. “I’ve worked for you for years, and you’re still a mystery to me.”

  “But you always said that you liked it like that. You prefer it,” Zander said mockingly. “It’s safer for you not to get involved. Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right.” Stang’s gaze narrowed on Zander’s face. “But you’ve wanted me to be involved since Eve Duncan was taken. I still don’t know why, but here I am. I thought for a while it was that you wanted me to be Eve’s advocate. You’re a hard man, Zander, and you won’t let yourself bend. You might have wanted me to strike a balance and give Eve her chance.”

  “Oh, another sign of weakness?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “Humanity.”

  “An even worse insult. I’m not fond of the human race, Stang.”

  “I know.”

  “You know too much about me. Perhaps it’s time I rid myself of you.”

  “Go ahead. There was always that risk when I came to work for you. But it’s been interesting when I wasn’t terrified of you.” He grimaced. “Which wasn’t very often. Most people are frightened of you, Zander.” He nodded toward the door of the sitting room. “Even Catherine. I think she fights it every moment, but the fear is there. She just doesn’t let it stop her from trying to manipulate you. It’s quite fascinating.” He paused, then asked the question that h
e’d wanted to ask for days. “Was she frightened of you, Zander?”

  Zander didn’t pretend not to understand. “Eve? No, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of me or Doane or anyone in the whole damn world. We sat together in front of that campfire for hours, and there was wariness but no fear. And she’s not afraid now. No matter what he’s done to her, she wouldn’t let fear enter into it.” He stopped, thinking about it. “I’ve always used fear as just another weapon, but lately I’ve not—it’s a weapon that isolates and she wouldn’t let me be isolated.”

  “A very special person?”

  “You’re acting as her advocate again, Stang.”

  “Yes. As you wish me to do.” He tilted his head. “But I’m not sure it’s necessary any longer. Is it?”

  “You’ll have to decide that for yourself.” He turned away from the window. “You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”

  “May I ask a question?”

  “Why not?”

  “What are we doing in this hotel room when you’re restless, foul-tempered, and obviously wanting to strike out?”

  “That’s what Catherine asked. However, without the personal insults.”

  “Did she get an answer?”

  “Not really. But since you ran the risk, I’ll give one to you.” He shrugged. “We’re doing something I totally detest.” He turned back to the window. “Waiting. We’re waiting, Stang.”

  Wrigley Field

  “THERE’S A BALL GAME GOING ON. The Cubs are playing,” Trevor said as he saw the people streaming into the stadium. “That may mean problems, Margaret.”

  “No, it’s better. Crowds are always better. Buy tickets. Enjoy the game.” She turned to Jane. “Look, you and Trevor meet me at the car in the parking lot in two hours.” She grinned. “Or if you hear a ruckus, you come running and keep them from throwing me into jail. Okay?”

  “What?” Jane was frowning. “No, it’s not okay. I’m going with you.” She looked at the huge clock on the scoreboard. “Though how the hell are we supposed to get inside?”

  “I’m going to look for the maintenance man and have him take me. Did you think I was going to climb it and break in?”

  “Maybe,” Trevor said. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Forget it,” Margaret said. “It’s easier to rely on persuasion than force.” She turned to Jane. “And it will also be easier for me if you aren’t with me. You’re beautiful. You attract attention. I need to lull, not stir.”

  “How will you get maintenance to let you up there?” Trevor asked.

  “Most people can be handled. I’ll make up a story. I’m good at that.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he murmured.

  “So take her away.” Margaret waved a hand at the ticket booths. “And buy her a hot dog. She didn’t eat much breakfast.” She started to turn away. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

  “Margaret, dammit,” Jane said in frustration. “Let me go.”

  “No, this is my job,” Margaret said quietly. “It’s what I do. You’d be in the way.” She moved quickly away and slipped into the crowd. She didn’t look back. She knew what she would see. Jane worried and frustrated and Trevor, a rock, guarding her from every danger. What would it be like to have someone care that much about you, she wondered. She would probably never know. It was the Janes of the world who attracted love and romance and all that other stuff. They were like lightning rods.

  Margaret chuckled. But she attracted a few lightning bolts of her own every now and then. But her strikes were confined to dogs and wolves and sundry other creatures. And now she had to explore the minds of the wild rats running around this stadium.

  She sighed as she moved toward the tall security guard standing near the refreshment stand to ask where she could find the maintenance chief. She was not looking forward to dealing with rats. She would have preferred a dog or a cat, but you had to take what was available in the animal world. There might be a feral cat, but a rat was far more likely.

  Worry about that later. Now her main concern was getting into that scoreboard clock. Take the first step and go from there. And the first step was this security guard, who was smiling politely at her. Change that politeness to sympathy or empathy.

  “Hi.” She beamed at the security guard, carefully noting his name on his badge. “I wonder if you could help me, Officer Warren? I’m Margaret Simpson, and my daddy is head of maintenance at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Well, actually, he was head of it, but he was laid off a few weeks ago. I thought I’d talk to the maintenance head here and get an application for him to fill out. Daddy’s always been so impressed with what a great team you all have up here in Chicago.” She gazed up at him pleadingly. “Do you suppose that would be possible, sir?”

  * * *

  “YOU CAN’T STAY HERE very long,” Tom Foster, the maintenance engineer, said testily as he frowned at Margaret. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into bringing you up here. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for this.”

  “You brought me here because you’re a kind man, and you know that we all have to help each other,” she said quietly. “I can’t tell you how grateful my daddy will be that you took your valuable time and gave me that application. Even if you all can’t find it in your heart to give him a job, I’ll tell him how nice you were to me. He’s always wanted to see the workings behind this scoreboard. Wrigley is a part of history.” She held up her iPhone. “I’ll just take a few pictures and make a few notes to take home to him. Will that be okay, Mr. Foster?”

  “I guess it will have to be,” he said sourly. “We’re up here now.”

  “Don’t let me get in your way. I’m sure you have things you have to check,” Margaret said as she curled up on the floor beside a huge metal support beam. The area was cramped in this old, iconic scoreboard. “I’ll just stay here and make my notes.”

  He gazed at her uncertainly, then muttered something beneath his breath as he turned and walked away.

  She’d probably have fifteen or twenty minutes tops, she thought. Foster impressed her as being hardworking and conscientious, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity to accomplish his work now that he was here. He’d been hard to convince to bring her up to the scoreboard clock, but he’d finally relented.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the sounds of the crowd and the announcer, the clicks of the scoreboard …

  Open your mind.

  Life. There was always so much life surrounding you if you let it into your consciousness.

  Pigeons. Lots of pigeons.

  Nothing there.

  A feral cat. Maybe …

  No, he was young and more accustomed to haunting the downtown restaurants than the stadium. A visitor, not a regular.

  A raccoon? Unusual.

  She spent five minutes on him before she gave up. Intense but not a decent memory.

  Okay, the rats.

  And she didn’t have much time. She’d have to throw open her mind and do a general scan. Not pleasant. With rats, it was like having your brain devoured.

  She drew a deep breath and tried to armor herself.

  Then she opened her mind.

  And was swept away by impressions.

  Darkness.

  Hunger.

  Yellow teeth gnawing, biting. Some short, some long. Try to isolate the rats with the long teeth. They would be the oldest. Rat’s teeth continued to grow until the day they died.

  Savage, hunting, scavenging.

  Where?

  Dark hallways, a hole near the scoreboard. Across the field and behind the kitchens of the refreshment stands.

  Where else?

  By the river, plastic, death. But not any longer.

  Why?

  Doesn’t matter. Only the cold. Only the cold …

  Running.

  Clock.

  Wires. Eat the wires.

  Run.

  Eat.

  Eat …

  * * *

  “YOU’RE PAL
E,” TREVOR SAID as Margaret strolled across the parking lot toward their rental car. “Something go wrong?”

  “Nah, I guess I’m a little tired.” Margaret jumped into the backseat. “Was it a good game? Did the Cubs win?”

  “We wouldn’t know,” Jane said. “Do you really think that we’d be able to concentrate on a ball game? Not likely, Margaret.”

  “Did Caleb call? Anything on Harriet?”

  “She went back to the hotel after she left the bank. No other calls or visitors,” Trevor said as he started the car. “And why are you asking questions instead of answering them?”

  “I’m trying to get my head together.” She shrugged. “I’m a little … scattered. I feel…” She tried to find the right word. “Chewed.”

  “Pleasant,” Trevor said.

  “No, it wasn’t. Believe me, it wasn’t.” She was silent a moment. “But it was productive. At least, I think it was.” She added. “The nuke is not in that field scoreboard and clock or anywhere around it. I didn’t think it could be when I saw the interior, but there’s always a possibility. But the rats know that scoreboard and surrounding areas inside and out, and they’re not familiar with anyplace that could house a device.”

  Trevor’s brows lifted. “They told you so?”

  “Trevor,” Jane said. “She’s having enough trouble with this.”

  Margaret smiled. “Thanks. I don’t like rats much. I have a hard time dealing with them. They … drain me.”

  “And it was all for nothing?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said the nuke wasn’t at Wrigley Field.” She paused. “But there’s a good chance it might be at the other clock tower.”

  Jane stiffened. “What?”

  “There are a couple of the older rats that evidently commute back and forth between the baseball field and the other clock tower. The pickings are richer here during the summer and fall. But when the stadium closes up, and it gets cold, the office complex is the place of choice for the winter.”

  “So?”

  “There’s a death memory in the lower level, near the river. Several rats were killed when they tried to gnaw through the wires surrounding a box that had been slid into a cavity in the walls.”