Shift (tory brennan) Read online

  Color. Shape. Grain. All a flawless match.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Trey Terry.” Shelton triple-jabbed his index finger. “You. Are. Busted.”

  “We’re gonna be studs,” Hi crowed. “Maybe there’s a cash reward? How should we tell everybody?” He stroked his chin. “Should we be all like, ‘Hey Kit, come check out this awesome garden hose we found,’ and then BAM, we’re holding microscopes over our heads? Or should we play it ultra-cool, like cracking this case is no biggie. I’m torn.”

  I looked at him strangely. “Hi, we’re not taking credit for this.”

  “Do what now?” Hi’s forehead creased. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Are you taking stupid pills?” Shelton snapped. “We can’t draw that kind of attention to ourselves. Any attention. You should know that by now, Stolowitski.”

  “We’re still Viral,” Ben said quietly. “We’re only one mistake away from being caged like lab rats. Always. The best thing we can do is go unnoticed. Period.”

  I nodded. “For us, there’s no such thing as good publicity.”

  “Oh, come on!” Hi actually stamped his foot. “We can explain this one! Step by step! The world won’t suddenly suspect we’ve got superpowers, they’ll just think we’re awesome and brilliant. And I, for one, like that idea!”

  Hi searched faces, hunting for an ally. Found none.

  Go easy. You’re the one who wanted to impress Aunt Tempe.

  “Hey, I know you’re awesomely brilliant.” I offered a high five. “What more do you need?”

  “Fame. Glory. A book deal.”

  “I’ll buy you a Twix.”

  Hi buried his face in his hands. A beat, then, “I do love those.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Deal.” Slapping my palm with his. “But I want the full candy bar. None of that mini, Halloween-sized crap.”

  Shelton was tugging his earlobe again. “But how do we put it together for a dope like Hudson without tipping our involvement?”

  I grinned.

  “That’s the fun part.”

  Chapter 9

  F ire hazard?

  I read the email a third time.

  To: LIRI Director Christopher Howard.

  Re: Fire Suppression Alert, Vehicle Depot A.

  Subject: WARNING

  The automated sprinkler system at LOGGERHEAD ISLAND, LIRI COMPOUND, VEHICLE DEPOT A has been disengaged. This constitutes a preventable fire hazard under the terms of LIRI’s property insurance agreement. Immediate remedial action is required.

  Note: This message is part of the automated warning system. Do not reply.

  I rubbed my eyes with both palms. Pinched the bridge of my nose.

  What a day.

  I’d been director for weeks, but this was a first.

  Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to do.

  This job is going to kill me.

  But I knew I had to investigate. We’d already been robbed. I didn’t need a fire.

  Frustrated, I stood and strode from my office. Being Sunday, the rest of the director’s suite was empty. The rooms still made me uncomfortable — I still thought of this area as belonging to my predecessor. Probably always would.

  “One thing after another,” I said aloud.

  I took the elevator to the ground floor and crossed to the security desk.

  Carl was on duty, not Chief Hudson.

  Why am I relieved? I hired the guy.

  “Any word on my daughter, Carl?”

  The portly guard shot to his feet. “No sir, Dr. Howard. Director Howard.”

  He snatched off his cap and began spinning it in his hands.

  I suppressed a sigh. Carl and I used to swap jokes.

  “Relax, Carl. And, please, call me Kit. It’s no big deal, I was just curious. The kids show up without warning, then they drop off the grid.”

  This only made Carl fidget more. “Should I look for them, sir? I mean, Director. Er, Kit.”

  “Forget I asked.” I waved the guard back to his seat. “If anyone needs me, I’m heading over to Depot A for a sec.”

  “Yes, sir, Director Howard.” Carl winced. “Doctor. Kit.”

  I slipped through the glass doors, shaking my head. Things would never be the same. The price you pay for being in charge, I guess.

  A part of me missed how things used to be.

  Sometimes, I felt like fraud. A little boy, sneaking around in Karsten’s impossibly large shoes. I worried the other LIRI veterans thought the same about me.

  At times like this, I missed being plain old Dr. Howard, the nerdy marine biologist who obsessed over loggerhead turtles. People liked that guy. They didn’t stammer, or grow quiet when he approached the water cooler.

  Those days were gone. But if the cost of saving LIRI was being forced to manage it, I was willing to pay.

  Plus, let’s be honest. Being the boss does have its perks.

  Once outside, I followed the path to Vehicle Depot A. I tried my key, but a shrill beeping erupted the moment I touched the knob.

  Hudson has the system back online. Thanks for the heads-up.

  Moving to the keypad, I punched in a seven-digit code and swiped my card. There was a hum, then a flash as the sensor took my photograph. The door swung open.

  I entered a narrow corridor. To my left was a door leading to the garage. To my right was a row of employee lockers, a pair of offices, and a storage closet. My objective was straight ahead: a maintenance room housing the sprinkler controls.

  I didn’t bother with the lights, and soon regretted it. Halfway down the hallway something snagged my pants.

  Rip.

  “What the heck?” I retreated a step and fumbled for a switch.

  The halogens sputtered to life, revealing a long black cable jutting from one of the lockers. The casing had been cut, exposing the copper wire within.

  The cable had snared me.

  Dang it. I just bought these Dockers.

  Extricating myself, I shoved the cord back inside the locker.

  Unsafe. I’d need to have a word with… Glasnapp? Johnson?

  Mental note: Find out who runs this department.

  I proceeded to the maintenance room and opened a sleek black panel.

  At least I know where the sprinkler controls are, right?

  A message was blinking in red: Water supply manually disengaged.

  I frowned. The shutoff valve was in the main garage.

  I closed the panel, retraced my steps, and entered the mechanics’ bay. The water pipes were in the corner, beside several large bins that stored monkey feed.

  The problem was immediately apparent — the emergency handle had been turned perpendicular to the pipe. Which meant the valve was closed, shutting off the system’s water supply. A tiny red sensor was flashing like a railroad signal.

  Why had the flow been disengaged? When? By whom?

  This makes no sense.

  Was someone goofing around in there?

  My mind leapt to Tory and her friends. I wouldn’t put anything past those four.

  Don’t get me wrong, they’re great kids. Bright, energetic, polite. Tory especially — with my daughter, every day was a learning experience. I no longer doubted her IQ was higher than mine, and I hold two PhDs.

  But honestly, I couldn’t believe the things they got into.

  After a moment’s reflection, I dismissed my suspicion.

  Even with security down, they’d have had no way of getting in here.

  Baffled, I stretched to my tiptoes, grabbed the handle, and repositioned it parallel to the pipe. The sensor blinked twice, then stopped altogether.

  One issue solved.

  I’d taken two steps toward the door when I saw it.

  Black cable. Hanging from the corner feed bin.

  Like that cable in the locker.

  Curious, I climbed to the bin’s opening and tugged the handle. And nearly toppled off the steps as the entire door came free in my hand. It dropped to the floor
with a reverberating clatter.

  Irritated now, I peered inside.

  My head nearly exploded.

  Stolen lab equipment nearly filled the space.

  What are the odds…

  Then a second thunderbolt struck home.

  I hurried out to the lockers and found the one that attacked me.

  My hand froze an inch from the handle. Could I legally open it?

  Did I need a warrant? Probable cause? A witness?

  Screw it. I’m responsible for this facility.

  I engaged the latch, was surprised when the locker opened easily.

  Inside were three lengths of cable, a LIRI laptop, and a router.

  “You are so busted!” I shouted at no one, angrier than I’d realized.

  Slamming the door, I scanned the locker’s face.

  Found a name.

  Trey Terry.

  Chapter 10

  I was sorting email when Kit burst into the guest office I was using.

  “Can you help me with something, Tempe?” Brusque. “Outside?”

  “Sure, Kit.” Intrigued. “Should I bring a weapon?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Kit’s jaw tightened. I could tell he was barely keeping his agitation in check. “I think I solved our break-in. Looks like an inside job, but I need to be certain.”

  “Really?” My interest piqued. “That was quick work.”

  “Dumb luck, mostly. But I put the pieces together on my way up here.”

  “Let’s talk while we walk.” Logging off Gmail. “I’m all ears.”

  “I need you to compare some wires down at the vehicle depot.” Kit shook his head in exasperation. “My prime suspect appears to be both deviously clever and a complete idiot.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first criminal to fit that mold.”

  We descended to the ground floor, exited Building One, and turned left.

  The September sun felt warm on my face. It would be cold in Montreal by now, maybe even frost at night. Even Charlotte could get chilly this time of year. But not Charleston — summer still lingered down here by the coast. I had no complaints.

  Kit gestured vaguely up the flowered-lined path. “The garage is two buildings down.”

  “You said something about dumb luck?”

  In clipped tones my nephew explained what he’d discovered and outlined his theory. “Terry must’ve planned to sneak the stuff out during a feeder run.” Kit’s frown deepened. “Scary thing is, I think it would’ve worked.”

  “Makes sense. A crafty scheme, actually. Except for jamming incriminating evidence inside his locker. And leaving more hanging from the hidey-hole.”

  Kit’s brows shot up. “That’s the part I don’t get. How can you be that cunning and then botch the whole thing with such foolish mistakes? If he’d kept everything tucked inside the bin, I’d never have found it.”

  “These dolts get sloppy all the time.” Don’t I know it. “Wipe down a steering wheel, but forget the turn signal. Buy quicklime to dissolve a body, but pay with a credit card. It’s the little details that sink them.”

  Still, what Kit was describing was odd.

  Such basic mistakes. The skeptical part of my brain rose and stretched.

  We reached the depot and made our way to the vehicle bay. A spectacularly round security guard was stacking equipment in the center of the room. Chief Hudson hovered behind him, cataloging and photographing each item.

  Two piles of short black cables sat on opposite sides of the gear.

  I didn’t need instruction.

  I knelt beside the first pile. “These came from the locker?”

  Kit nodded.

  Scanning the garage, I spotted a circular magnifying lamp attached to a workbench. I lifted a single cable from the first pile, then snagged another from the second. I carried both pieces to the workbench.

  Thumbing on the light, I brought the cables into focus under the lens.

  It took only seconds. “We have a match.”

  “You’re positive?” Kit asked, crossing to me.

  “See how the plastic casing is scored in the exact same fashion?” I moved so Kit could see. “And there was an irregularity in the cutting edge — the encased wired is frayed identically. That’s practically a signature. I can check the other samples, but I have no doubt. These two cables were clipped by the same blade.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Tempe.” Kit jammed a hand into his pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”

  Kit hurried off, already punching his cell. “Detective Hansen, please. It’s Kit Howard from LIRI…”

  When Kit had gone, out of habit, I let my eyes rove the “scene.”

  Something caught my attention in the feed bin corner.

  The floor. An unnatural reflection of light off the concrete.

  “Chief Hudson?” I called out.

  He glanced up from his clipboard. “Yes, Dr. Brennan?”

  “The missing equipment was discovered over there? In one of those bins?”

  Hudson paused before answering. “Yes. In the farthest container.”

  “Thank you.” I walked to the corner and knelt before the bin in question.

  Hudson watched, but didn’t interfere.

  I was right. There was something on the floor.

  A pattern, pressed to the concrete.

  Like a waffle iron.

  I pulled out my iPhone and snapped a picture.

  “Anything amiss, Dr. Brennan?” Hudson’s tone was frosty. “Please don’t touch anything.”

  This freaking guy.

  “Of course not.”

  The impression could be nothing. But I had that itch.

  I moved my eyes slowly across the floor, foot by foot, expanding the radius outward. A similar waffle mark lay by the mechanics’ workstations.

  “Hmm.”

  Hudson appeared at my elbow, a stony expression on his face. “We’ve already searched Mr. Terry’s workspace. Please don’t disturb it.”

  Ignoring him, I glanced toward the interior door. “Can I access the employee lockers through there?”

  “Yes, but the door is locked.” Hudson didn’t move.

  I waited.

  With a grunt Hudson produced a key ring and opened the door.

  “Knock for reentry.” Lips so tight they blanched at the edges, Hudson resumed cataloging evidence.

  Locating the lockers, I squatted for a closer look at the floor. Saw immediately.

  Two more waffle prints. I snapped another iPhone shot.

  These marks were fainter than those in the garage. More recent?

  A bit puzzled, I returned to the door and knocked as instructed.

  Waited. Knocked again.

  Finally, the heavy guard opened the door. “Chief Hudson headed back to his office.”

  “Of course he did.” I read his name tag. “Thank you, Mr. Szuberla.”

  Time to find Kit.

  On the driveway, another gleam caught my eye. I dropped down once more to inspect it. Waffle print. Barely perceptible.

  As I snapped my third pic, the answer struck me.

  “A sneaker.”

  The police should check for a matching shoe.

  I did a thorough 360, but found no more shoe prints.

  “These suckers always leave a trace.”

  I slipped back into the depot. One more pass wouldn’t hurt.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I found Kit in his office still on the phone.

  He twirled a wrist, indicating I should sit. A minute later he hung up with a grunt. “We got him. Trey Terry, one of our environmental techs.”

  “That was quick. You’re certain?”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “Terry folded as soon as the cops appeared on his doorstep. Confessed to everything. Not that it matters, since a LIRI laptop was sitting on his table.”

  “Not a bad day’s work.”

  “The guy’s been with us seven years.” Kit sighed. “We paid him well. I�
�ll never understand why people do things like this.”

  I shrugged. “Greed. Opportunity. Some perceived slight.”

  Kit’s expression grew thoughtful. “I checked Terry’s file. He was passed over for a supervisor’s gig last spring. The job went to Glasnapp, who has more experience. Maybe that pissed him off.”

  Kit leaned back in his chair. “I just can’t believe how sloppy he was.”

  I debated how much to share. Decided to go full out. “About that. I found some distinct—”

  The phone rang. Kit answered, then covered the mouthpiece. “Police,” he mouthed.

  I nodded, rose, and slipped from the office. My discovery could wait.

  Exiting the director’s suite, I walked to the elevators, admiring the modern offices populating the floor. Despite the morning’s excitement, I couldn’t help being impressed with LIRI. What a wonderful place to work. Nicer digs than mine in Charlotte or Montreal, that’s for sure.

  On a whim, I snuck into a corner office for a bird’s-eye view of the grounds. Gazing through the glass, I saw the entire complex laid out below.

  And spotted my grandniece and her pals, lounging on benches in courtyard.

  Watching Tory, feelings of love and pride surged through me. Such a terrific young lady. So smart! There was a fire in her eyes that reminded me of… me.

  Kit was doing a great parenting job, though I wasn’t sure who actually ran their household.

  The kid’s a pistol.

  Impulsively, I decided to join Tory and her friends.

  I swung back into Kit’s office just as he was finishing his call.

  “Tory’s in the courtyard. Thought I’d go say hi.”

  “I’ll come, too.” Kit popped from his chair. “I have no idea why she’s out here. Not a novel state of affairs.”

  I smiled sympathetically. “She’s headstrong. Ambitious. Those are good things.”

  “She’s a rampaging rhino and I’m a parked car.” Kit laughed. “Life is certainly more interesting since she came to live with me. You know she wants to become a forensic anthropologist? Must have good taste in role models.”

  When they spotted us coming, whispers flew.

  Teenagers. Always changing. Never changing.

  “Why, hello there, guys!” Kit spoke with exaggerated animation. “Fancy meeting you here!”

  “Hi, Dr. Howard.” The skinny black kid was fidgeting with his earlobe. I struggled to remember his name. Sheldon? Elton?