“Well what?” Hi asked. “Did you want to sock him, too?”
I pointed. “Chance has nice wheels.”
The boys followed my finger.
We watched a gleaming black BMW tear from the parking lot.
“Him!” Hi shouted dramatically.
“It adds up.” I shook my head, sliding facts into place. “Chance has plenty of spare time, and has been suspicious of us for months. Given everything he knows, following me isn’t the craziest thing in the world. Plus, he was at the art gala that night.”
“So the mystery car isn’t connected to the kidnappings?” Shelton asked.
I hesitated.
Surely Chance wouldn’t have anything to do with . . .
“No.” I dismissed the notion. “Looks like Chance was simply keeping tabs on me.”
“Because he knows too much.” Ben aimed a finger at me. “And you don’t seem very surprised, Brennan.”
I flinched. “Chance may have mentioned a few of those things at the aquarium.”
A bit guiltily, I told the boys about our showdown in the corner office. When I’d finished, they gaped at me, equal parts anxious and angry.
“How could you keep that from us?” Hi sputtered. “Chance knows about Karsten!? About Cooper!? He knows about the virus we caught!?”
“This is so, so bad,” Shelton moaned. “That punk could expose us at any time!”
“He’s a threat.” Ben had a look in his eyes that left me cold. “If Chance suspects we were infected, combined with what he’s seen this last year—”
“Calm down.” Trying to do so myself. “Chance doesn’t have all the pieces yet. He knows Coop was infected with XPB-19, and he knows we have the wolfdog. But that’s it.”
“You said yet,” Hi pointed out. “That implies he’ll put it together eventually.”
Deep breath. “Chance suspects we caught the supervirus. And given what he’s witnessed over the last year, I think he believes it affected us somehow. But he has no idea how,” I added quickly. “He doesn’t know the whole truth. And, most importantly, he can’t prove anything, or tell anyone. Not without exposing Candela’s involvement with illegal experiments. Which he obviously won’t do.”
“We’re supposed to trust Chance freaking Claybourne with our deepest, darkest secret?” Ben growled. “That’s the plan?”
“Give me some time to think it over,” I pleaded. “Come up with a solution.”
Ben fixed me with a dangerous stare. “Okay, Tory. But don’t take too long. I won’t have Chance running around, endangering my freedom. My life. He needs to be dealt with.”
I suppressed a shiver. Didn’t want to understand what Ben was implying.
“It’s time to jet,” Hi said. “People might start showing up here soon.”
I nodded, took a step toward the street.
For a brief moment, my thoughts returned to the spike of interconnectedness my mind had experienced. The frequency was increasing, the intensity escalating. Yet the attack—that’s what I was forced to call them at this point—came and went without warning. The onset seemed completely random. I couldn’t even guess at a pattern.
There has to be a trigger. Something that sets off the effect.
“Wait!” Shelton pointed to the rear of the Flying Tomato. “Almost forgot.”
“You found something?” My concern for Ella shifted back to the forefront. A deeper contemplation of Viral side effects would have to wait.
“Maybe.” Shelton led us back to the alcove. “I’m just trying to figure out what that is.”
On the ground between the folding chairs was a fist-sized chunk of red-orange rock. Pockmarked, misshapen, with a rough, bubbly exterior, the lumpy stone seemed oddly out of place.
Shelton knelt to scoop it up.
“Wait.”
I moved closer and dropped to one knee. Hi and Shelton snagged the chairs and set them aside, exposing the multi-hued rock to the morning sun.
I stuck my nose inches from the rock. It had an odd, sulfurous scent.
Something was stuck to the stone’s surface. A shiny filament, rising on the breeze.
Gently, my fingers extended, capturing the slender line. I held the wisp before my eyes.
A single hair. Black and glossy.
I carefully stretched the strand between my fingers. It was over a foot long.
Ella.
“We’ve got something.” My voice was steady, but my heart raced as I removed a plastic vial from my pocket. “Hiram, please grab a large plastic baggie from my evidence kit. It’s in the car.”
As Hi hurried off, I carefully inserted hair into vial. Then, dropping to my elbows, I examined every centimeter of rock I could see without touching it.
A tiny rust-colored oval marked the left side, with a thin streak descending from the center of the discoloration, as though made by a dripping liquid.
I didn’t need Coop’s nose.
“I found a hair. And maybe blood.”
Shadows fell across the stone. I glanced up to see Shelton holding latex gloves. Hi had the ziplocks. Ben handed me a cotton swab and stopper. “Anything else?”
Despite the circumstances, I smiled. “Just one thing. The green packet in my kit.”
I pulled on the gloves. When Ben returned, I opened the packet and laid out several items. After moistening the tip of the swab with a squirt of filtered water, I gently rubbed it against the stain. Then I removed a thin plastic strip from a white pill bottle.
“This is called a Hemastix strip,” I explained, “which contains the chemical tetramethylbenzidine. TMB for short. It’s like a dipstick test for human blood, and works better than Luminol on trace samples. Bottom line—if this strip changes color, it’s a presumptive positive for blood.”
“Presumptive?” Shelton asked.
“Best we can do. But with the hair attached, and this stain appearing on an out-of-place rock at a possible crime scene, I think that paints a pretty clear picture.”
“Any more toys you’re holding out on?” Hi grumbled. “I don’t know you anymore.”
“Thank Aunt Tempe for this one,” I replied. “She stocked my evidence kit. But an entire bottle of Hemastix strips only costs like thirty bucks.”
As precisely as possible, I rubbed the dampened swab against the yellow material at the end of the strip. In seconds the patch turned blue-green.
“Bingo.” I placed the used strip into a second vial. Then, nodding to Hi, I lifted the rock in my gloved hands and placed in the plastic bag. Sealed it tight.
Hi shook his head. “Man, Charleston has the worst cops in the world. How could they miss this?”
“It’s just an ugly rock,” Shelton countered. “I’m not sure why I noticed it.”
“So we take this stuff downtown?” Ben asked.
I was about agree, then stopped myself. “Why?”
This seemed to take the boys aback.
“What are we supposed to do with it?” Shelton countered. “The cops can run DNA tests, and figure out whether that’s Ella’s hair. And . . . blood.”
His voice faltered as the implications hit home.
“I know it’s hers already.” I had zero doubt. “And those tests won’t help us find her.”
Hi scratched his head. “Then . . . what?”
“The rock.” Ben’s eyes found mine. “We should track the rock, not the DNA.”
“What? That could be from anywhere,” Shelton whined. “The rock may not even be a clue. The kidnapper could’ve scooped it from a roadside ditch.”
“It’s all we have.” I stared at the bagged hunk of stone. “The police already know Ella was abducted. They don’t need DNA to confirm it. An investigation is already going full swing.”
Hi nodded slowly. “But if the rock can be traced to somewher
e specific . . .”
“What about prints?” Shelton said. “If the kidnapper hit Ella with that, then—”
I shook my head. “Such a basic mistake? I don’t see it.”
“We can examine the rock ourselves first, then give it to the police,” Hi suggested. “No harm, no foul. Everybody wins.”
“Examine it how?” Ben cocked his head. “You mean LIRI?”
“With Kit and Hudson already on our case?” I snorted, packing up my kit. “Not a chance. Not after the video debacle. Plus, to learn anything that way we’d need the mass spectrometer, or the gas chromatograph. But you can’t even power those machines without a dozen permissions. We wouldn’t last five minutes.”
“Then let’s find an expert,” Hi said. “Some weirdo rock junkie who can eyeball this bad boy, and tell us what it is.”
I tapped my nose. “My thoughts exactly.”
Shelton’s face lit up. “CU has a geology department. We’re close to the campus, too. Maybe somebody’s working on a Saturday?”
“It’s worth a shot.” Zipping up my bag. “Let’s get moving. Today, there’s no time to lose.”
Charleston University’s Department of Geology and Environmental Sciences was eight blocks away, on Coming Street.
We drove past Ella’s house on the way. It was all I could do not to cry.
Ben found a spot out front. We entered a three-story brick building and took the elevator up one floor. Stepping into a small lobby, we asked a passing student for the office of Professor Wiley Marzec.
Marzec was younger than I’d expected—no more than forty. A bit thick around the middle, with a round, friendly face and a mullet of brown hair. He wore lime-green shorts and a brown T-shirt that said “Rocktastic.” When he spoke, his voice filled the room.
“Come in, come in!” Half rising, Marzec waved to a pair of wicker chairs facing his desk. His office was small, but cozy, lined with wooden bookshelves holding an assortment of stones, fossils, and thick textbooks. Something called the International Stratigraphic Chart was taped to one wall. A fantastic geode rode his desk as a paperweight.
“Cool!” Hi zoomed to the sparkling rock.
“I know, right?” Marzec waved permission for Hi to touch it. “It’s amethyst, which is the purple version of quartz. And check out that red streak circling the core. That’s pure hematite under the crystalline surface. Found it at Thunder Bay, up in Canada. All the other rock-jocks are jealous.”
“Dope.” Wisely, Hi didn’t attempt to pick it up. “Five bucks?”
“Not on your life.” Marzec smiled as he turned to me. “Tory, I presume?”
“Yessir.” Slipping into a seat. “And thank you so much for seeing us on short notice.”
“My father’s name was Sir.” Wiley leaned back in his creaky office chair. “I’m Wiley. Or Professor Marzec, if you must. Now, what can I do you for?”
“We found a rock that seemed out of place.” I snapped for Shelton, who was standing behind me. Hi had filled the other seat, with Ben looming over his shoulder. “We were hoping you could tell us what it is.”
Shelton handed me the ziplock. Hesitating only slightly, I passed it to Marzec.
“Ah!” Marzec smiled wide. “A phosphate nodule. Were you guys down by the river?” His fingers found the bag’s seal. “May I?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I said quickly.
Marzec’s brows quirked, but he set the bag on the desk and peered through the plastic.
“You said something about a river?” Hi prompted. “Which one?”
Marzec’s whole focus was on the stone. “Copper. Wando. Edisto. Any of them. But I was mainly thinking of the Ashley.” He sat back. “What do you know about phosphate mining in the Lowcountry?”
Our blank faces gave him his answer.
Marzec glanced at the ceiling in thought. “Where to start?”
“How about the Cliff Notes version?” I suggested.
“Sounds good.” Marzec tapped the plastic bag. “What you have is called a phosphate nodule. A real beauty, too, must weight five pounds. Can’t you smell that odor? These rocks are found throughout the Charleston Basin, and along the banks of the tributary rivers. Their ages range from the Oligocene to the Pleistocene epochs. In South Carolina, phosphate deposits run parallel to the coast for about seventy miles, extending south from the Wando to the Broad River, and then inland for approximately thirty miles.”
My heart sank. That sounded like a lot of real estate.
“What exactly is phosphate?” Shelton asked.
“Let’s start with phosphorus.” Marzec’s voice became professorial. “One of the seventeen nutrients required by all living plants and animals, it’s absolutely crucial for growing food. If the dirt you’re farming lacks phosphorus, that deficiency will severely limit production. To compensate, farmers use various fertilizers to correct any shortfall and increase crop yields.”
“Soil needs phosphorous to grow crops,” I summarized. “Got it.”
“Exactly. Phosphorus is essential to life—there’s no substitute for it in agriculture. The element readily combines in nature, forming crucial organic compounds. For example, it’s a vital component of nucleic acids—DNA and RNA molecules—from which all life springs. It’s also a key component of phospholipids, plasma membranes, and solid structures like bones and teeth.”
“Need phosphorus to live,” Hi said. “Roger that.”
Marzec winked, perhaps acknowledging his long-winded style. “I’ll cut to the chase—phosphorus itself is highly reactive, and doesn’t appear naturally in its elemental form. Instead, it occurs in phosphates—charged groups of atoms. Basically, a phosphorus atom hooked to four oxygen atoms.”
“Okay.” This was getting more technical than I’d expected.
“You can’t mine pure phosphorus,” Marzec simplified. “It doesn’t exist anywhere. Instead, you have to look for phosphate rocks—like this one—dig them up, then break the stones down.”
“Okay.” I shifted, not totally sure I understood. “Phosphate rocks contain phosphorus, which is essential for making good fertilizer. So people dig them up for sale.”
“Perfectly stated.” Marzec spread his hands. “This was a major industry in the late 1800s. The amount of available farmland was limited, which meant the same tired plots had to be replanted over and over. Overuse was leaching essential nutrients from the soil. Farmers were desperate for a way to get those minerals back. Enter phosphate mining.”
“They needed prehistoric rocks to make fertilizer?” Hi asked. “Nothing else worked?”
“Before the mining boom, farmers were dependent on guano for fertilizer. But that had to be imported, and was very pricey. Finding high-quality fertilizer buried right beneath their feet was a godsend for local sharecroppers.”
“Wait. Guano?” Hiram’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying—”
“Yes.” Marzec grinned. “Farmers were buying the droppings of seabirds and bats, which are high in both phosphorus and nitrogen.”
Shelton crinkled his nose. “Man, farming is just nasty. For real.”
“Are phosphate rocks widespread?” I asked.
“Actually, no.” Marzec jabbed a thumb at a multicolored map behind his desk. “There are large deposits in central Florida, certain regions of Idaho, and along the North Carolina coast. Smaller ones in Montana, Tennessee, and, of course, here in the Lowcountry. Phosphate rock was so prevalent along the Ashley River that many landmarks in that area still bear its name.”
“Ashley Phosphate Road,” Ben said. “I’ve driven there.”
“Correct.” Marzec stroked his chin. “The banks of the Ashley River were riddled with phosphates. Once their utility was discovered, mining companies sprang up along the waterfront. For the next fifty years, strip mining for phosphate rock was the major industry in that area.
By 1885, South Carolina was producing half the world’s supply. Some folks got rich, although Mother Nature won’t be sending them any thank-you cards. Entire sedimentary layers were dug up, ripped out, and then barged downstream.”
There was a pause as Marzec seemed to run out of steam.
“Is phosphate mining still a big business today?” I prompted.
“Oh no.” Marzec took a long pull on a Diet Coke. “Most of the local deposits quickly tapped out. By the 1900s, the vast majority of operations had shuttered. Fertilizer production had all but ceased in these parts by the 1930s.”
I shifted again, thinking hard. “So are these phosphate sediments still prevalent near the riverbanks?”
“I wouldn’t say prevalent.” He tapped the bag once more. “Honestly, I’m surprised you found a pure nodule of this size just lying around.” Marzec eyed me curiously. “Where did you pick this up?”
“Wake-boarding off Folly Beach,” Hi inserted. “I was attempting a heel-side five-forty when I wiped out. Found this little guy bouncing in the surf.”
“I see.” I could tell Marzec was skeptical, but he let it pass. “Well, any other questions?”
“No, Dr. Marzec.” I flashed my very-grateful smile. “Thanks so much for your time.”
“Delighted.” Marzec scratched behind his ear with a snort. “I’ve been working here five years, and you’re the first non-students to ever ask me a thing. Come back anytime.”
We gathered our things, Hi gently scooping the rock from Marzec’s desk, then exited with another round of thanks. I waited until we were safely inside Ben’s SUV before speaking.
“What do you guys think? Marzec kept mentioning the Ashley River.”
“But these rocks were everywhere,” Hi said. “He listed every other river in the area, too.”
Shelton shook his head. “We could maybe narrow our search to locations near a riverbank. But that’s still miles and miles. And for all we know, the kidnapper just picked up the stupid rock while out driving around. It might not lead to anything.”
I looked at Ben. He glanced away.
No one wanted to say it straight out.