I hated to admit it, but all the evidence so far told me we were right.
“So, use the device on someone and either induce a stroke or give him severe enough brain damage to cause him to consider suicide.”
“Probably to the frontal cortex,” she mused. “Controls inhibitions, language production, judgment. Destroy that and we’re little more than animals.”
“And remember? Hunter chose sites near trolley stops so that he could get away. So if Drake’s men were testing the device nearby, that would explain why Graysmith and Dunn noticed the high rate of suspicious deaths among the homeless near trolley tracks.”
“Don’t murder someone,” Lien-hua whispered. “Let him die from natural causes. Think about San Diego, Pat: a biotech hub with hundreds of thousands of undocumented immigrants. What better city to test this in? Here you have all the scientists you need, all the technology and biotech resources you need-”
“And all the test subjects,” I added. “People who would never be missed: immigrants, transients, the homeless.” It was terrible to say, but I knew it was true. “The system doesn’t care if a few vagrants or illegal aliens end up dead. The nameless don’t make the news.
To the system, they don’t exist.”
“And with the high occurrence of mental illness in the homeless population, who would notice if the test only caused slight brain damage?” She paused. “This device would be the perfect weapon for an assassin.”
“Wait,” I said, staring at the deadly device laying right beside us. “Think big here, Lien-hua. We can already use satellite-based lasers for tracking and targeting, and soon we’ll be able to do retinal scans from our defense satellites. If the government were able to install this technology on the next generation of satellites they’d have the ability to track people either through global video or by neural synapse patterns, and then, any time they wanted, give a person permanent brain damage or a stroke and leave no trace evidence behind. No bullets, no DNA, no fingerprints, no physical evidence of any kind left at the scene of the crime. No murder. No crime.
The person just died of-”
“Natural causes.”
“Yes.”
A long silence. Then Lien-hua said, “If what we’re talking about is actually possible, it could tip the balance of world power. Nearly all of our current security measures would be useless. Bodyguards, locks, security systems, bulletproof glass, body armor, Kevlar vests, all worthless. A government could assassinate anyone, at any time, for any reason, and never be implicated.”
We were both silent again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore the possibilities any further. It seemed like the more I did, the more disturbing the implications became.
“But Pat, I’m still wondering… why do you think Shade wanted Building B-14 burned down? Why not just steal the device?”
“The research. The government could just make another device.
The files all went up in smoke. That’s why I wanted Dr. Osbourne and the other researchers in protective custody. Now that the files and the device are gone, I figured Shade might go after the researchers next.”
We both reflected on everything for a few moments, and then she said, “But why the other fires? What’s the connection?”
Truthfully, even with all the puzzle pieces I’d been able to slide together so far, I couldn’t see a reason for the previous fires. “I don’t know. It seems like it would draw more attention to the scene than just letting the victim die. It doesn’t make sense. That part’s still a mystery to me.”
We discussed different possibilities, but neither of us could untangle any more threads of the case with the facts at hand. There was a lot to process, a lot to think through. And even though much of what Lien-hua and I had discussed was only a working hypothesis, I felt like we were on the right track. After all, John Doe’s death fit the pattern: brain damage, suicide, then a fire.
I thought once again of Dupin and the orangutan from Poe’s story. I didn’t remember the French saying Tessa had quoted, but I did remember the translation: ignoring what is and explaining what is not. We needed to explain what did happen, however impossible it might seem. And the working theory we were exploring did just that.
Lien-hua stood. “I need to let all this sink in. I’ll see you in a bit.
I’m going to take a shower, get cleaned up.”
As she stepped into the bathroom, I started wondering once again how Shade and Melice found out the device would be at police headquarters. Using CIFER to mask the origin of my call, and using my computer’s internal microphone, I phoned Angela Knight. “Can you check to see if anyone has accessed the satellite imagery of the showdown with Hunter?” I said. “Using infrared thermal imaging it might have been possible to view Hunter stashing the device. I’ll email you the exact street location.”
“I’ll check,” she replied. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
While I waited for her reply, I contacted Ralph. His phone was off, but I left him a brief message summarizing what Lien-hua and I had discussed. Then I called Graysmith: still no word on Melice, although they did find a car he’d stolen and the remnants of my little creation in an auto body shop on India Street. I tried Tessa’s number again, no answer. I left another message.
By the time I was done, Angela had sent me an email explaining that Terry Manoji was the only one who’d logged in to the network.
“He must have had the same idea you did, Pat,” she wrote.
Another dead end. I let out a sigh.
Both Lien-hua and I had been going almost nonstop since yesterday morning, and I could feel the stress and fatigue catching up with me, so I went to the suite’s other bathroom for a shower of my own, and it gave me a chance to think things through.
Lien-hua was safe, Tessa was safe, and, although Shade and Melice were still out there, the FBI and SDPD were on Melice’s tail, Osbourne was on his way to protective custody, and soon Ralph would be on his way to talk to Victor Drake.
For the moment at least, it seemed like Lien-hua and I had stepped into the eye of the hurricane. All around us, the winds were swirling, but we’d found a brief pocket of calm air. Maybe it was just the calm before the storm.
About fifteen minutes later, Lien-hua and I found ourselves in the suite’s living room. Showered. Refreshed. Beginning to relax.
I’d put on my typical jeans and a T-shirt, she was wearing jeans and a pile pullover. “So Pat,” she said, taking a seat in the recliner.
“I’m impressed with your work on this. Very thorough. Very professional.”
“You too. Very professional. By the way, how’s your leg?”
“Good. Your arm, where the guy bit you?”
“Good. Your neck?”
“My neck is good too,” she said.
“That’s good.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad we’re both good,” I said.
“Right.”
“Good.”
Brilliant, Pat. You are one stunning conversationalist.
The moment tumbled into silence, the kind of silence that asks you to turn a corner in the conversation. “So,” I said. “I guess Ralph will be calling soon.”
“Yes.”
“And until then it looks like we have a little time to…”
“Time to what?”
“Ourselves.” I could hardly believe I’d said it, hardly believe I’d let it slip out, but I had, and in the moment it felt right and I didn’t regret it.
Just the two of us.
“I think I’d like some fresh air,” she said, rising from the chair to open the sliding door to the veranda.
“I’ll get it.” I walked past her, pushed the glass door open, and let in the cool San Diego night.
I heard her voice behind me. “Wow. Thanks, Pat. I don’t think I could have managed that on my own.”
I turned around in time to see her untie her ponytail and shake her hair free. It fell like an inviting waterfall across her shoulders. “No problem.” A touch of her perfume curled around me. I motioned toward the open door. “Do you want the curtains open too?”
She looked like she was about to answer, but then curled her hand into a loose fist and nodded it at me.
“Sign language?”
She nodded with her hand again.
“And that means ‘yes’?”
One more nod with her closed fist. I pulled back the curtains.
Though it was February, the breeze drifting past me tasted like a sweet summer dream. I signed “yes” back to her. “Teach me some more signs. I think it’d be good to know them.”
“It takes a while to learn.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Lien-hua. I’m sure you’re a very good teacher.” I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch. “At least teach me the alphabet. Maybe I could fingerspell words and communicate with people who’re hearing impaired. If I ever needed to.” She glanced through the open doors toward the sea, then back to me. “It’s just as hard as learning any foreign language.”
“Tessa’s good at foreign languages. She knows Latin. She’s learning French. Maybe it runs in the family.”
That elicited a slight grin. “She’s your stepdaughter, Pat.”
“Oh yeah. I guess you got me there. So then, how’s this?” I squiggled my fingers rapidly in the air, making up my own indecipherable language.
“Not so good.”
“See?” I said. “I need help.”
“Funny. Margaret told me that exact same thing just last week.”
“Now that, I believe.”
At last Lien-hua sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch. “OK, Pat, watch. ‘A’ is like this.” She slowly curled her fingers to form the sign language letter for A.
I imitated her gesture.
“Then B.”
Again I did as she did.
“C.”
I repeated “C.”
Then she showed me D, and then E, and then on through the rest, each time waiting just long enough for me to repeat the sign.
After we’d gone through the entire alphabet she said, “OK, now you try. See how many you can remember.”
I made it to Q before stumbling.
She reviewed the alphabet for me, but this time I only made it to