“I’ve got a hit for you, but I don’t know how much it’s going to help. I can tell you that it’s got our lab guys all worked up.” Jerry Taylor was on the screen from Quantico, and Danny Spaulding sat up straighter, eager for the rest of the news.

“Let me have it.”

“Your perp wasn’t in any of the usual databases, so I started checking further afield. Thanks for sending that paperwork, by the way. Covers my butt when I go snooping into other agencies’ databases. Anyway, I started checking some civilian databases, and then I checked the military ones, and that’s where I found him. It is a him, by the way. If this is a match, of course. I’ll get to that in a sec.”

Spaulding nodded and Taylor continued.

“The closest match, which is pretty close, was active duty about twenty years ago, worked at several military medical and research facilities, then honorably discharged, a load of medals and citations. And here’s the thing: clean as a whistle. It doesn’t add up. There isn’t anything in here that points to this guy as your perp.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dr. Bruno Abrams. Like I said, it’s not a perfect match, which is what the lab guys are twisted up about. The sequences that don’t match are strange, not anything they usually see. There’s long stretches that are exactly the same, then pieces that not only don’t match, but aren’t like anything they have in their libraries. They’re still running it down.”

“But it’s close enough to serve him? Did you find anything else on background?”

“The most recent thing I can find on him anywhere are some published papers about genetic research from a while back, nothing in the last five years or so.”

“You got them?”

“Yeah, hold on, here they come.”

The files came across and Spaulding opened the documents. A bunch of scientific gibberish, a number of co-authors, something about gene regulation and network effects. He read the first few paragraphs and quickly got lost. Spaulding shook his head.

“Greek to me.”

“Yeah, I can understand some of it, but it’s pretty high level. Seems like a stretch for him to be behind a home invasion homicide.”

“Yeah, but I….. hold up a sec.” Spaulding peered closely at the fine print at the bottom of the first page, then gave a long low whistle.

“What is it?” Taylor asked.

“Sonofabitch. He’s right here, right in my backyard. Research Laboratory. Look at that legal disclaimer on the first page.”

They sat in silence while Spaulding fiddled with his mustache, thinking.

“What do you think? Close enough for me to get a warrant?”

“What are your judges like? You can make an argument, but I can’t say it’s a lock, at least not yet. Can it wait until tomorrow? I think I can pin my guys down by then.”

Spaulding hesitated, then nodded.

“Thanks, Jerz. I think this might be it.”

“Good luck.”

Spaulding worked his resources, methodically building a profile of Dr. Bruno Abrams, right here in Rexburg. Local address, position at the lab, employment history, military history, and, as Jerz stated, clean as a whistle.

It didn’t make sense. There wasn’t anything remotely like a probable cause in this guy’s background. Why would a scientist be in Cyrus Link’s kitchen, much less murder him? Spaulding would need the weight of the DNA to make the case for the warrant. The local judges were pretty flexible, but he didn’t want to take a chance given the other screw ups on this case so far.

He picked up his tablet and opened a link to Ben Davis.

“Are you still on the reporter?”

“She’s out at the school right now.”

“She make you yet?”

“I’m staying back. She seems pretty distracted.”

“She was out at the lab?”

Davis nodded. Spaulding thought for a moment.

“Listen, slight change. Hand her off to Carlson. I want you to go sit on a different location. I’m sending the details. This guy could be our perp, but it’s not soup yet. Just make sure he doesn’t rabbit. He works at the lab, and here’s his address.”

He broke the connection, mulling the possibility of the reporter tracking down his suspect before he had a chance to fix the mess.

Chapter 47

Michelle sat on the swings in the fenced playground at the school and stared off into the distance, unsure what to do. Mrs. Sherfy’s explanation sounded so ridiculous, but for some reason, she couldn’t summon the energy to do anything about it. She knew on the surface what she’d seen didn’t make any sense and that this was not the place for her brother. Part of her reached the conclusion that she should just go in there and grab Adam, get in the car, and head back to the safety and stability of Chicago. Forget this little town, forget the murder, forget the investigation and those weirdos out at the lab who were obviously lying to her about something, but knew she couldn’t prove it.

The warm comfortable feeling from Mrs. Sherfy’s fingers playing on her skin was the cause of her inertia, she knew. And she also knew, in her way, that what Mrs. Sherfy said was true. But the pieces of information remained unconnected. Adam, the school, the lab and the secrets there – part of her said run, this doesn’t make sense, we’re in danger. But now another part of her, because of the interaction with Mrs Sherfy, said, wait, watch, it’s okay.

She sat on the swing, scuffing her feet in the dirt, gently rocking back and forth, staring out at the rolling hills and the mountains off on the horizon. The voice in her head saying ‘get Adam and go’ was like a little radio, tinny and far off, the volume turned down too low. The rest of her was stuck in some kind of molasses, warm and sticky, too thick and heavy to pull herself free.

She didn’t notice someone joined her on the swings until she looked over and saw one of the children from the school, the little girl with straight brown hair, big dark eyes, and expressionless face. She sat in the swing next to Michelle staring at the ground in the middle distance, no word of greeting or acknowledgement. Michelle looked at her and was about to say something when the girl spoke.

“Adam says he’s sorry he bit you.” Like a bucket of ice water, the words freed her mind from its torpor.

“What did you say?” she responded, leaning toward the little girl.

“He says he loves you very much and he’s sorry he got angry.”

Michelle stared at her. “He told you this?”

The little girl nodded, still not making eye contact. “He shared it. He says he can’t make the words to tell you himself, so I should do it. The teachers said it was okay.”

“How do you know Adam?” At this the little girl looked at Michelle, the first eye contact of the interaction.

“My gangly. We’re together.” Michelle sat dumbfounded, struggling to comprehend her words. The little girl went back to staring.

“Your…what?”

“My gangly. We’re together.”

“How…how do you know me? That I’m Adam’s sister?” Michelle finally stammered.

“He showed me. I know your face.”

“A picture? He showed you a picture?”

The little girl shook her head. “What he sees. Shapes and numbers. The sharing.”

They sat in silence.

“Can you push me?” the little girl asked.

Michelle got out of the swing and stood behind the girl, giving her gentle shoves, gradually higher. As she ascended, the little girl hummed to herself, eyes closed, a small serene smile on her face. She swung for several minutes like that, Michelle standing behind her giving gentle pushes, then suddenly, she let go of the swing and sailed clear, landing lightly like a cat on all fours. She sprang up and dashed away.

Michelle sat down in the swing and put her face in her hands, shuddering sobs wracking her body as the little girl’s words echoed.

Adam loves you.

Chapter 48