Stories by Elizabeth Bear Part 58

Falkner never sat during briefings, and today the other odd woman out was Lau, even though Brady had arrived after her, because Lau was standing outside and availing herself of the breathable oxygen which would soon be in short supply within the room.

As soon as Lau edged inside the door and shut it, Falkner started talking. "The good news is that to the best of our knowledge, n.o.body is dead."

"Great," said Brady, blocky hands folded. "Then the bad news would be the fate worse than death?"

Falkner's eyebrows were as good as a soliloquy, and Todd hid a responding smirk behind his coffee cup. From the short end of the table, where he could keep his back to the wall, Stephen Reyes replied to the covert gesture with a bushy-eyebrowed stare. His face was the color of an antique walnut table, and his expression about as forthcoming.

Todd saluted with the beverage. After a while, you just got used to Reyes noticing things. He almost never said anything to anyone about what he noticed, and certainly never to anyone whose business it wasn't.

Todd supposed that made him ethical.

There are no fates worse than death, Todd recited. One of the catchphrases they lived by, but he wasn't always convinced. Well, it was a strong theme, and worth exploring. Though maybe it should be an argument and not a statement. Are there fates worse than death? What are fates worse than death? Can you phrase your answer in the form of a question?

"Something like that," Falkner said, humorless. Chaz fiddled with his gadgety wrist.w.a.tch and Brady abruptly got very interested in his Blackberry. "Someone in Omaha is driving college freshmen crazy."

"Crazy's not exactly a technical diagnosis." Chaz wiped his fingers on his trouser leg and picked up his mug. Milk fat on the surface reflected light.

"All right," Falkner said. "Symptoms of a psychotic break. There's an epidemic of schizophrenia at the University of Nebraska at Omaha."

"Schizophrenia isn't contagious," Worth pointed out.

"It is now. Five victims that we know of. All college-age, two men and three women, who would appear low-risk at the initial appraisal."

"Who's our liaison?" Lau asked. "How did we get an in on this one? Going crazy isn't a crime."

"The university president contacted the local field office directly, asking for help. His theory was that somebody might be spiking the victims, but there's no toxicology to support it. They kicked it up the ladder to the BAU. Pete Pauley says he got it last night, stared at it, shrugged, and decided to hand it to us. Everyone be sure to send a thank- you note."

Brady raised a finger. "Omaha PD?"

Falkner shook her head. "The police have had minimal involvement. We get to walk into this one at the top, which might be helpful."

Todd watched Reyes follow the reactions around the room.

Reyes cleared his throat and spoke. "The victimology is straightforward on the surface, Brady, but the first go-round with the profiles is yours. Find out what they have in common, who they know in common. Look for patterns of low self-esteem, emotional vulnerability, anger or aggressiveness. I don't know if you'll find anything about recent changes in demeanor in the files, but look at their grades. I'll lead the team on-site."

"Regarding the mental illness. If that's what it is. Symptomatology?" Worth asked. Falkner, with a glance at Reyes for authorization, answered. "Typical of schizophrenia. Auditory hallucinations, conflation, disorganized thinking, flat affect. It's not clear if they're exhibiting consistency of hallucinations from one victim to the next."

Reyes said, "That's one of the things we need to a.s.sess when we get on the ground." Todd said, "You're thinking of the case in Augusta." A year and a half before, a gamma in Maine had been infecting his neighbors with his nightmares. Two had been driven to suicide and a third had attempted it before the WTF stepped in. "Could it be a similar manifestation?"

Reyes shrugged. "They're all the right age for first signs of schizophrenia. Victimology will tell us if they all have troubled backgrounds. And then there's the timing."

"Five victims," Chaz said. "a.s.suming for the moment that they're all linked, and it would be very coincidental indeed if they weren't." He flipped papers. "One every six weeks to two months, if you need it or not. With time off for the holidays?"

"Or," Falkner said, "a sixth victim off-campus. No cla.s.ses during winter break means no prey on the ground. He might have had to extend his hunting range. He wouldn't have wanted to break pattern. I'm sure he needs his fix."

"c.r.a.p," said Worth. "Hafidha, can you check police blotters?"

Reyes made a gathering gesture, right-handed. "Belay that until Omaha. We'll interview known a.s.sociates when we get there. Todd, Lau, Gates, you're with me on this one. Hafidha, bring your gun."

He might have been ostensibly talking to Hafidha, but he was looking right at Todd. In response, Todd let the corner of his mouth twitch. There was Reyes, letting him know Reyes knew he had never liked carrying. But he was the best detail man on the team when it came to extracting secrets contained in mounds of paperwork. Professional slogger's skill from his journalist days. Like constructing narratives. Surprising how much carried over.

Reyes finished, "I have no idea what we're walking into, and I want everybody combat- ready."

"Hafs?" Worth, looking startled.

"Universities have computers," Reyes said, intentionally thick-headed. "So do university students."

Worth leaned over to Hafidha and murmured, "You're field-certified?"

Hafidha's blonde-black braids made a whispering sound over one another when she shook her head. Todd looked down at his hands while she answered. "I'm a sworn officer, honey. Six years in the Secret Service. Fraud and counterfeiting, mostly. I know which end to point at the bad man."

"She's a certified small-arms instructor," Falkner said, dryly. "Don't let her yank your chain, Worth. You head out in ninety minutes; Hafidha, show Worth what she needs to run com from here?"

"I can do that," Hafidha said. "But I can't give her my eyes. So I'll start going over blotters on the plane. Maybe a disturbance will come over Technicolor and we can find number six. If there is a number six."

"If there isn't," Falkner said, "there will be soon. It's nearly the end of the term. He'll want to get one more before summer."

"British royal family?"

Hafidha was pleased to discover that Daphne had mastered the gentle art of watching the screen without leaning over Hafidha's shoulder. Good for her. Reyes still hadn't figured it out. "I had detail on Princess Anne, once."

"Boring."

"Sweetie pie, it was the Secret Service, not the staff of People magazine." Daphne looked forlorn, so Hafidha gave her hand a pat. "Be a good girl and focus on the nice database search parameters, and I'll give you a truckload on the Pretzel Incident."

"Oooh!" Daphne poised the stylus over her Palm obediently.

Brady, leaning on the back counter and drinking coffee, looked up from the victim files. "If you compromise national security, I'm telling."

"You pay attention. You might need to know this someday, too."

"Do I look like a search string kind of guy? Or a Pretzel Incident kind of guy, for that matter?"

Hafidha slid her gla.s.ses down her nose and looked at him over the top of the frames. "What, you're too pretty to be smart?"

Daphne snickered.

"Okay, okay." Brady sounded grudging, but he grinned. "I'm paying attention."

As Hafidha was setting permissions on Daphne's login, Chaz wandered in, a crisp- creased sheet of paper in one hand. It fluttered with the soft sound of high-rag-content laid. Her overhead light shone through the translucent watermark: Crane's Bond. Spendy.

Chaz looked from Brady to Daphne, frowning for a moment before correcting his face into a smile. Hafidha guessed he'd hoped to catch her alone, but the paper in his hand was a confession of intent, and he wasn't about to back down where anybody could see him. "Hey. Not just Velma, it's Fred and Daphne, too!"

Daphne pointed a finger at him and tipped her head; she packed an effective glower. "That still makes you s.h.a.ggy."

"I would still rather be the dog." Chaz smiled disarmingly, then set the paper down on the console beside Hafidha's keyboard. Daphne backed away, giving him room. Chaz hated to be crowded; funny how anybody with any sense picked up on that right away.

He said, "Hafs, I want to know if this is a scam." His fingers moved nervously as he reached to smooth the letter, as if he had to find an excuse to touch it.

It looked real. Letterhead for an attorney in Tyler, Texas, the language just what it ought to be from a law office to notify the beneficiary of a will. Namely, Chaz.

Hafidha leaned back in her chair, hands clasped in her lap. "And this is work-related how?"

Chaz craned his gazelle neck to look over his shoulder, scanning for Falkner or Reyes. He turned back and tapped the paper with fingers that had not left its surface when he turned. "Look, you can have the thirteenth doughnut, okay? Just please can you run the search before you go?"

She cracked her shoulders against the back of the chair, and grinned. "Smarty-boy, you know better than to ask that question."

"You're right. Bad choice of words. I meant 'would you.'"

"See?" She sat up and skittered fingers across keys. "It's all in how you ask. So, property description...aaand t.i.tle on file...and there you go. Yep, you are the proud owner of forty acres of Tyler County, Texas. Says so right there." Hafidha poked the screen. "Ooh, real estate. I smell money."

Chaz snuck a handful of chocolate-the good stuff; Hafidha didn't hold with slave- labor candy-out of her stash, no doubt to make up for the sacrificial doughnut. He leaned over her shoulder without touching her. "Charles Travis Villette. Would you look at that."

Hafidha read up the screen. Deeded to Adeline Mary Villette (deceased). Previous t.i.tle holders, Francis William and Mary Perault Villette.

And Chaz said, "Huh. I own a ranch. Small ranch. Real small ranch, for Texas."

Brady said, "Kid, that's East Texas. It's not a ranch. It's a farm."

Chaz chuckled. "Wonder if it comes with a mule."

Hafidha said, "Your grandparents?"

"Dunno," he said. "I guess." The candy pattered back into the bowl. Apparently he'd thought better of it. Hafidha didn't mind; Chaz's hands were always clean. "Adeline was my mom."

He might have said more, Hafidha thought. She could feel his confusion hanging in the air between them. But Brady, the Texas boy, cleared his throat. "You don't sound like Tyler County."

The expectant moment snapped. Chaz straightened up, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. "I've never been there. But my mom sounded like Tyler County. Well, she didn't sound like Vegas."

Daphne cleared her throat. "So what's Tyler County sound like?"

Chaz, shaking his head, picked up his letter even as Hafidha was pulling up Google Earth, Google Maps, TerraServer, and a few less public satellite imaging systems. He said, "Can't do it. Never could. So... the Tyler County seat would be in, um, Tyler?"

She knew a subject change when she heard one. "Oh, you'd think. But the Lord and the state of Texas work in mysterious ways, honey. Tyler's in Smith County. The biggest burg in Tyler County is..." Typing. "Woodville." She snickered. "Population 2,415."

"Good grief. How do you get there?" He'd grown up under the approach paths of the seventh-now sixth-busiest airport in the U.S, she recalled.

Warm plastic smoothed under her fingertips, the action of her vintage M-series keyboard clicking rewardingly with every keystroke. They didn't make 'em like this anymore.

"DFW to a regional airport two hours away. If you drive really fast. Oooh, I bet they have killah speed traps." She turned and caught his gaze, the left eye brighter than the right, with the green streaks in it. Funny to think it used to weird her out, and now it was just Chaz.

"Sweetie, I think you inherited the location where they shot Deliverance. Sshh..." She held up a hand. "Paddle faster, I hear banjos."

"Could you maybe not have quite so much fun with this?" But he was grinning.

"Want me to Google the directions for you?" Her fingers hovered the keyboard. "Want to see the house?"

"Ngh. No, thanks. It's been there since-" Hafidha recognized the hesitation. The date was on the t.i.tle, which was now in Chaz's head. "-1952. It'll stay there for a while."

She had already started typing. Her fingers stumbled on the keys. "Don't you want to get in touch with your roots?"

"G.o.d, no." He backed away. She'd lost him. And the profilers in the room were both looking up curiously as he sidled towards the door. "My mom grew up in a Steve Earle song. I get it. I get it."

He didn't make three steps before Danny went after him, calling, "Hey Chaz. If you're not busy, help me with the victimology!" leaving Daphne and Hafidha standing in an uncomfortable silence in Hafidha's office.

It was hard being the new kid. All these dynamics, all this implied knowledge, and no way in to it unless you picked it up from context, or asked.

Asking was one of the things Daphne seemed pretty good at. "Hafs, what just happened?"

"Ah." Hafidha snagged a handful of chocolate from the bowl and held it up for Daphne, who accepted. "At a guess? Chaz just inherited forty acres of nowhere from a relative he didn't even know he had, and he's a little freaked out about it."

"How can you not know you have grandparents? Everybody has grandparents."

"But not everybody knows their grandparents, honey. Chaz's mom died when he was a wee bitty child. So based on that letter he showed me, I'd also guess his grandparents didn't know their daughter was dead, or that they had a grandson. It'd rattle anybody."

"s.h.i.+t," Daphne said. "I'm glad I didn't ask him-"

Hafidha shrugged. "Long time ago. Want another chocolate?"

"No, thanks." She popped the last one from her hand into her mouth. When she spoke, the smell of candy followed. "Hafs, can I ask you a question that's totally inappropriate for the workplace?"

"Honey, inappropriate is my internet ident.i.ty. Unless you're going to ask for a date, in which case, flattered, but I like boys."

Daphne laughed, strained and nervous. Not uncomfortable with Hafidha flirting, but with whatever she was about to say. "No, I'm seeing someone. But while we're on Chaz. And his family. Does Chaz, er, what I mean is-"

"Does he have an ethnic ident.i.ty?" It was the question everybody asked, sooner or later. Hafidha arched one eyebrow like Mister Spock. She could do the Bewitched nose- wriggle, too, if called upon.

From the way she winced against the red tide rising across her cheeks, Daphne was probably wis.h.i.+ng she had an ethnic ident.i.ty at that particular moment. But she held it together and asked, "I thought he was just white-maybe Mediterranean French, or something-and funny-looking. And then he came to the thing on Memorial Day weekend a different color. In just a couple of days. Most folks don't tan that fast. But Villette isn't any kind of Hispanic name I've ever heard of..."

Hafidha winked. "Well, Reyes is, and the nefarious Doctor Stephen's darker than me."

"Afro-Cuban. Sure. I get that. I just wondered about Chaz."

"Ah, and you see, sweetie, you're going to keep wondering. Because from what he tells me, n.o.body knows for sure. When he first got here it was September, and I thought he was a brother. But now I suspect it's something complicated back there. Black, white, Latino, Indian, the other kind of Indian-who knows? Some kind of Creole. He's too pretty not to be mixed-"

"Pretty? Chaz? The amazing frog-boy?"

Hafidha frowned pityingly. "There are none so blind as will not see. Anyway, he's not done getting brown yet. Our Chaz is a sun-wors.h.i.+pper; I bet he spent that long weekend baking on the roof of his apartment building, to which he has-I happen to know- picked the lock. By the end of the summer he'll be caramel-sauce-colored, and you can watch the convenience store clerks try to speak to him in Spanish. It's fun. He goes, you know, like the top of the creme brulee, when they've burnt it just right so there aren't any black spots, but it's all nice sweet crunchy melty brown sugar?"

Hafidha watched the emotions cross Daphne's face, and guessed that first, she was considering the possibilities. And then, she was considering just walking away from that one. But she said, "Isn't it politically incorrect to refer to people of color as food objects?"

Hafidha laughed. "Just don't expect me to stop calling you Peaches, Peaches."

Through the open door, Hafidha could see Reyes coming up the corridor from his office. Nearly time to go. She kicked off her shoes, scuffed on the flats, and unlocked the lower drawer of her desk. Her jump bag was in there, flowered green nylon wearing a thin coat of dust. And under it, lying beside the holster, was a field-stripped Glock and a box of ammo. She lifted the latter items onto the blotter and began to a.s.semble her sidearm, aware Worth was watching curiously.

When she stood up and clipped the holster to her belt, the weight tugged that side of her slacks down. She sighed and clipped the Treo, the work cell, her nerd-light, and her Leatherman on to the other side, where they counterbalanced it... and further ruined the line of her suit.