The Probing: Leviathan, The Mind Pirates, Hybrids, The Village Page 20

  And how could anyone explain the time factor? That baby was still wet with fluids, but someone had removed it from its mother’s womb at least two days before. Of course, the baby could have come from someone else . . . but I didn’t even want to consider it.

  “Didn’t expect to find you here.” I looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Officer Chad Edwards stood across from me, his notepad in his hand. “The doctor said you were the one to find the baby.”

  “We found him,” I corrected, pointing at Tank. “We saw those odd kids again, and followed them onto the beach. The kids disappeared, but on our walk back to the car we found the baby.”

  “In the middle of a crop circle,” Tank said, eyeing Edwards. “As strange as that sounds.”

  “Strange is right,” Edwards said, “considering that no one grows crops along the beach. Legal crops, that is.”

  I smiled at his little joke, knowing that it wasn’t uncommon for locals to be busted for growing marijuana plants in their backyards. “Is the baby okay?” I asked.

  Edwards nodded. “The doctor said he’s in remarkably good condition, considering where you found him. Odd, though—he said the kid was still covered in amniotic fluid, which rules out Mrs. Diaz as the mother. We’re treating the case as an abandoned baby.”

  “I wouldn’t—” I hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much about our world of bizarre and impossible situations—“I wouldn’t make the usual assumptions in this case. I have a feeling that you may encounter evidence that runs counter to the usual laws of science.”

  “And reality,” Tank added. He gave the cop a deliberate smile. “We could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe.”

  The cop gave us a skeptical look, then leaned against the wall. “The doctor did uncover something unusual in Baby Doe’s case. Seems they found a metallic implant near the base of the child’s skull. Would you two happen to know anything about that?”

  I shivered with a chill that was not from the air. An implant?

  “What, like a microchip?” Tank asked, eyes wide. “Like a tracking device?”

  The cop shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, and neither does the doc. He’s never seen anything like it.”

  “Are they gonna take it out?” Tank asked.

  The cop pressed his lips together. “Not right now. Something about its position between two nerves—too risky to remove it.”

  I stood and walked to the candy machine, suddenly possessed of a nervous energy that made me want to run screaming through the halls. Where was the professor? If he were here, he would have answers. If he couldn’t think of an answer, he’d at least point us in the right direction. He was the calm we depended on, the voice of reason, the one who was never swayed by emotion or whim or—

  As if he’d read my mind, the cop tapped my shoulder. “Any word from your missing professor?”

  “None.”

  “Maybe he’ll be waiting when you get home. If he is, give us a call, okay? Otherwise, we’re sending an officer over. Since your guy’s been gone twenty-four hours, you can file an official missing persons report now.”

  I thanked him, then gestured to Tank. “Let’s go find Brenda and Daniel. And let’s hope Officer Edwards is right about the professor coming back.”

  We walked into a quiet house that seemed to be waiting for us. Even Abby, who was waiting for us in the foyer, skipped her usual canine fandango and greeted us with small licks on our hands.

  I dropped my house key on the foyer table, then listened for sounds of life. I heard nothing but the slam of car doors outside as Brenda and Daniel brought up the rear. Dust motes danced in a beam of sunlight from the open door, but nothing else moved.

  “Professor?” I called out, clinging to the slim hope that he would answer.

  No reply.

  I knew I ought to go to the professor’s room and start looking for clues, but something in me was not at all comfortable with going through his things. We had been good friends, yes, and co-workers, but he had never intruded in my private life and I never wanted to intrude in his. I felt free to go through his professional papers and to open any documents he placed in our shared dropbox, but I would never have dared to snoop among his personal files, paper or digital.

  “Anyone hungry?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen. “I could make a bowl of tuna salad for sandwiches. There are cold cuts in the fridge, and maybe some hot dogs, if anyone wants to nuke a couple of them. . . .”

  Brenda made tsking noises with her tongue, her way of rebuking my lack of attention to proper nutrition, but I had more important things on my mind. My boss had gone missing from my home, and I felt personally responsible. Plus, he was my boss. . . .

  I stopped, my hand on the kitchen counter, as a memory suddenly surfaced. That night, after he’d made me promise to print that group selfie, he had kissed my forehead . . . the first and only time he’d ever shown that kind of affection. What was that about? I had assumed he was only feeling nostalgic, but what if he’d known something was about to happen to him? What if he’d been receiving messages or threats, and didn’t tell me or the others because he didn’t want to worry us?

  I turned to Brenda, who was pulling cheese and mayonnaise out of the fridge. “Has the professor said anything unusual to you lately? Anything about threats or anyone who might want to hurt him?”

  Brenda scowled. “Are you kidding? If I knew someone wanted to hurt him, I’d tell them to go for it. Put the man in his place.”

  I ignored her barb and looked at Tank, who had already taken a seat at the table. “How about you, Tank? Did the professor mention anything odd to you?”

  His brow wrinkled, then he shook his head. “I don’t understand half of what he says, but none of it seemed any stranger than usual.”

  I drew a deep breath. “I miss him,” I confessed. “It feels strange for us to be together without him. I feel like we’re kids bumbling around in confusion because our father’s been taken away.”

  Brenda rolled her eyes. “He ain’t no father of mine. And if he decided to walk out on us, that’s fine with me. Maybe we can finally get a little peace and quiet around here.”

  I dropped to one knee so I could look Daniel in the eye. “Little buddy,” I said, gripping his hands, “can you see anyone else in the room? Anyone besides me and you and Brenda and Tank?”

  He lifted his gaze and scanned the space around us, then checked out the corners of the ceiling. “No,” he said finally, lowering his gaze to meet mine. “Just us.”

  “No professor?”

  He shook his head as the doorbell rang.

  Officer Edwards stood outside, along with a man and woman in plain clothes. “Hello,” Edwards said. “Ms. Goldstein, meet Lewis and Brandolini, crime-scene techs. If you could show us to the professor’s room . . .”

  I nodded, then led the way to the bedroom the professor had been using. “Everything’s just as he left it,” I said. “I looked around in here, but didn’t want to mess anything up in case—well, you know. So you might find my fingerprints, and my grandparents’, but—”

  “I doubt we’ll be fingerprinting,” the woman, Lewis, said, “since this doesn’t appear to be a crime scene. We’re just going to take a look around and see if we can pick up any ideas about where your professor might have gone.”

  “I don’t think he went anywhere,” I insisted. “He’s not from this area, so where would he go? He wasn’t the type to sit in a bar, and as a recovering alcoholic, he didn’t drink. He didn’t particularly like the beach—”

  “What does he like?” Brandolini asked. “Everybody likes something.”

  “He likes books.” I crossed my arms and nodded toward the stack of books on the desk. “He likes to read. He’s super intelligent. Committed to academia. He doesn’t have hobbies like most people.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind.” Lewis pulled a pair of rubber gloves from her pocket, then drew them on. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

  Taki
ng the hint, I went back to the kitchen.

  By the time the police had finished in the professor’s room, Brenda, Daniel, Tank, and I had cleared out the kitchen and gone to the living room. Officer Edwards led the two techs down the hallway, then stood by the fireplace and kept his head down as he held a sheet of paper with two fingers.

  “I’m glad you’re all together,” he said, lifting the paper. “I found this document on Professor McKinney’s computer and saw that his laptop had been wirelessly connected.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I set it up so he could print the speech he gave at UT.”

  Officer Edwards looked directly at me. “The file was saved as ‘For Andrea,’ but this letter seems to be addressed to everyone. Maybe you should read it.”

  I tried to stand, but my legs suddenly felt as solid as marshmallows and I sank back into the sofa. Edwards saw my predicament and stepped forward, handing me the note.

  I skimmed the heading, saw that the letter had been dated on the day he took our group photo, and began to read:

  Dear friends,

  I have come to feel a profound respect for all of you, even you, Ms. Barnick, so perhaps you should consider this my tribute to the courage that resides in each of your hearts.

  Tank, you are a prime example of how appearances can be deceiving. Though you look like an overgrown fireplug and have the intellect of a tree stump, you possess a wisdom not often found in more educated and cultured men. I salute you, sir, and give you my respect. And as to that flaming brightness for which you hold great affection, I must warn you—men have been burned by such passions. Do not be like the man who spent all he had on a treasure he could neither hold nor handle.

  Daniel, while I was at first unconvinced that a child could be of any practical use in such a motley crew as ours, I have come to appreciate your gifts and your sense of timing in particular. Furthermore, your attachment to Ms. Barnick has proved useful in that it has shut her mouth on more than one occasion. Good lad. Grow in peace, Daniel, and if it is possible for me to peer through space and time in order to keep tabs on you, know that I will do so.

  Brenda, my sharp-tongued, nicotine-stained, misanthropic acquaintance: as much as I hate to admit it, your particular gift has saved my shriveled and cynical behind more than once, so for that I thank you. And if the passing years sprinkle your waspish nature with the proverbial spoonful of sugar, be a dear and dust it off, will you? I cannot imagine you other than you are.

  Andrea—first, dear girl, please accept my apology for any worry or trouble this has caused you, especially considering that I am writing this in your home. But though you have never pried or queried, you surely must know that I have made many regrettable choices on my journey along the path of life. I have therefore decided to end this path. I have learned all I need to know.

  I digress. So sorry. I am giving my old apartment the boot—key inside ceramic ant. Landlord has been busy traveling so don’t expect him to repaint. Rent due on seventh. File speech copy under “dimension,” please, for others may wish to read. Remember—unlike me, you never needed help. Godspeed.

  I bid all of you a fond farewell.

  Sincerely,

  James McKinney

  I lowered the printed page as the professor’s words tumbled and leap-frogged in my head. What was this about? The letter read almost like a last will and testament, but the professor had left us no property, and he certainly hadn’t—

  “We think this may be James McKinney’s suicide note,” Edwards said, locking his hands.

  Suicide? I blinked at Edwards, then turned to the others. “That’s impossible . . . isn’t it?”

  Tank grunted. “The professor wouldn’t kill himself. He was too smart for that.”

  “The big guy is right,” Brenda said, thrusting out her chin in the professor’s defense. “The professor wasn’t the type to off himself. No way.”

  “There’s no proof,” I pointed out. “And this letter says nothing about killing himself.”

  Edwards took the letter from my hand. “‘I have therefore decided to end this path,’” he read. “That’s the language of suicide.”

  “He wasn’t suicidal,” Tank repeated. “No way.”

  “He was clearly distraught,” Edwards said, bracing one arm on the fireplace mantel. “And distraught people often write or say things that don’t make much sense. They’re confused. They’re upset. They ramble, they put down words that don’t fit. They’re set on checking out.”

  “But how would he do that?” I challenged. “There’s no body. No blood. No empty pill bottle.”

  “There’s an ocean.” The female crime tech pointed to the water beyond the sliding doors. “All he had to do was walk across the beach, enter the water, and swim toward the horizon. Eventually he would have gotten tired and drowned.”

  “But the body—”

  “Will wash up eventually . . . or not.” Edwards clamped his lips together. “I hate to be indelicate, but sometimes the body is devoured by predators.”

  I lowered my head as a vein began to throb near my temple. None of this could be happening. Nothing made sense to me, and though I was usually quick to spot a pattern in any series of events, numbers, or diagrams, I couldn’t see any pattern in the past few days.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “If . . . you find anything—”

  “If we have any news, we’ll be sure to call or come by,” Officer Edwards said, his face grim. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.” He looked around the group. “I’m very sorry for all of you.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  After the cops left, I went outside and sat on the deck. The usual ocean breeze had turned into a real wind, riding the edge of an approaching thunderstorm. Dark clouds loomed over the Gulf, and the wind pushed at my cheeks as if urging me to go inside.

  Fat chance. I wasn’t ready to face the others.

  As the professor’s assistant, I felt a mantle of responsibility hovering over my shoulders, and I wasn’t ready to be the leader, the hostess, or anything else I was expected to be. All I wanted was time alone to sit and feel whatever it was I had to feel as my emotions sorted themselves out.

  We were all struggling. Brenda had gone immediately to her room, and soon the sounds of cursing and crashing objects came through the door. Of course she would be angry—she had only begun to open that steel door around her heart, but with this loss, she’d probably slam it shut again.

  I worried about Daniel. He didn’t respond well when stressed, and I had no idea how he would react to the news that the professor would no longer be with us. But after the police left, Daniel got up and went into the professor’s bedroom. I followed, curious about what he might do, and watched from the doorway as Daniel ran his hand over the desk, the laptop, the notebooks, even the professor’s pajamas and suitcase. Finally he moved to the nightstand, where he ran his hand over the professor’s phone and watch.

  Daniel picked up the watch and turned to look at me, a question in his eyes. “Yes,” I said. “You can have it.”

  I helped him strap it on his slender wrist, then watched as Daniel went back down the hallway, his right hand holding the bulky watch securely on his left wrist.

  We all mourned in different ways.

  I heard the rumble of the sliding doors behind me, but didn’t turn to see who was coming out. Maybe if I stayed quiet, the intruder would realize that I didn’t want company.

  I brushed the wetness off my cheeks and turned my head toward the south, then heard a heavy creak of a board behind me. Only Tank was heavy enough to creak boards like that.

  Next thing I knew he was sitting beside me. I looked at him, about to tell him I wanted to be by myself for a while, but he spoke first. “A person shouldn’t have to cry alone.”

  “No, no—I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  And then, while I watched in total astonishment, Tank covered
his face with his hands and went completely to pieces.

  We wept together, of course—the big lug in my arms and I in his. And when we had cried long enough for the clouds to start weeping in sympathy, we got up and walked onto the beach, both of us ignoring the rain that felt like cold needles on our faces.

  I couldn’t stand thinking of the professor in the past tense. I’d admired and respected him deeply. I also—though he would not have wanted to hear this—pitied him in many ways. He could be charming, warm, loving, and paternal, but few people ever saw those traits because he hid them beneath a veneer of bitterness and cynicism.

  Tank was no longer crying, but those broad shoulders were slumped beneath the weight of grief he carried. We were all feeling the loss, and if we stayed together, we’d feel it for years to come. The professor’s absence would be visible every time we sat at the dining room table and every time we rode in a car. No one would sit in his favorite chair when we gathered in my grandparents’ living room, and we would still tiptoe past the bedroom he used out of respect for the hours he spent studying there.

  Officer Edwards clearly agreed with the crime techs; the professor had committed suicide. He must have seen me punch in the security alarm code, so after kissing me good-night, while I was noisily brushing my teeth, he had disarmed the system, then re-armed it, taking advantage of the thirty-second window in which he could open a door and slip out without sounding the alarm. According to Officer Edwards’s theory, the professor had been walking across these sands as I got ready for bed, and he had been swimming for Mexico by the time I fell asleep.

  He would have been dead by the time I woke the next morning.