Ground Zero Read online

LONDON (AP) - On March 30 scientist David Sands climbed into his car, the trunk packed with tanks of gasoline, and drove into the front of a vacant restaurant. He died in a fireball that incinerated him almost beyond recognition, the fifth British scientist involved in security-related research to die in mysterious circumstances since August. A sixth scientist has been missing since January. Together the cases add up either to a series of bizarre coincidences or to a cloak-and-dagger conspiracy.

  Eileen stretched. She finished her taco and took a big swig of her pop. The murders were fascinating, but there didn't seem to be much connection to Terry Guzman. She bent to the article.

  “Eileen, what are you reading?” Harben asked from behind her shoulder. “Oh. I see.”

  “Procell's stuff is interesting, but still.” Eileen snorted.

  “How much is there?” Harben asked.

  Eileen measured the remaining papers with her fingers. “An inch and a half, boss,” she said gloomily. “I'll be here all night.”

  “Don't be here all night. You've got some work to do tomorrow. They might come up with some prints from your discovery, or perhaps not. You need to talk to those Gamers again. Someone will crack.”

  Harben tapped a finger on the file. “Good work, by the way. In most mystery novels, however, once the good detective figures out the locked room mystery, he knows immediately who has committed the murder.”

  Eileen grinned at Harben. Harben's congratulations always made her feel good.

  “I'll get there.”

  “See that you do.”

  Harben turned and went back to his office. Eileen crumpled up the taco papers and tossed them in the wastebasket. She turned to the next article, and began to read.

  Hours later, Eileen glanced up at the clock and winced. Eleven. Betty would be hungry. She’d missed the local news again. She rubbed her forehead and stacked Doug Procell's papers. John Richmond's article was not accompanied by a picture, mercifully. He must have died instantly when the garbage truck slammed into his little commuter car. The other deaths were all at other military bases, sometimes mysterious but mostly just common accidents. Eileen lingered over a picture of an unsmiling, curly haired woman with dark eyes. Harriet Sullivan. Sully. The notice was her memorial service, and Joe Tanner was not mentioned in the survivors list. They probably weren't officially engaged. Eileen put the picture in the file and shut the cover. She sighed.

  “Done?” Harben’s voice startled her.

  “I'm done. I don't think I learned a damn thing.”

  “Could she have been executed?” Harben asked quietly.

  “Yes, I think so,” Eileen said, and looked up. Harben was sitting at the desk next to her own, a cup of coffee in one relaxed hand. The man was uncanny, he was so silent. Eileen should have heard him walk up and sit down, but she hadn't. “Major Blaine would have to be involved, I think. I saw him tape the door shut. But who's to say he couldn't have smuggled the murderer out before he sealed the door?”

  “More importantly, who was brought in to commit the murder?” Harben asked quietly. “Where do you hire a killer with a security clearance?”

  “You're right,” Eileen said. “They'd have to bring someone new on base to do that. A mole. A spy. Maybe there's a trail there.”

  “I find the scenario unlikely, Eileen,” Harben said. “A killer who has a clearance, who is brought onto the base to kill someone, who is hidden in the dark and the cold for hours...with no guarantee he won't be discovered and shot to cover the whole mess up. Then the killer is smuggled out of the area with no one spotting him?”

  “Accidents are much easier to arrange,” Eileen said grimly.

  “Which is why I don't believe this is an execution,” Harben responded. He leaned back in his chair and sipped from his coffee. “I think you've met your murderer already, Eileen. You just have to find out which of your Gamers it is.”

  Eileen was opening her mouth to speak when the on-duty phone rang. The Investigation's office was quietly busy with the nighttime shift, but just the same the phone cut through the air. Harben took a small measured sip of his coffee as the on-duty officer picked up the phone. The officer was Rosen. New detectives always pulled the worst shifts. Eileen hadn’t even noticed he was there, she’d been so absorbed in the case. Rosen spoke for a moment and then glanced over at Eileen and Harben. He nodded his head at them, and waved for them to come over.

  “Oh, no,” Eileen said, and got to her feet. She knew, she always knew. She saw the shy smile of Joe Tanner as he handed her a can of pop, and swallowed past a lump in her throat.

  She took the phone.

  “Detective Reed here.”

  “Oh, Miss Reed, thank god,” Major Blaine said in hoarse voice. “Thank god. Can you get out here?”

  “What happened?” Eileen said tightly.

  “It's Art. Oh, god, it's Art. Art Bailey,” Blaine choked.

  Eileen had spoken to Art just a few hours ago, when she’d told the sad-eyed Truth Team leader to clear out of the Gaming Center.

  “What about Art?” Eileen asked.

  “It’s -- I -- He's been murdered,” said Blaine.

  Colorado Springs Investigations Bureau

  “I'll be right there,” Eileen said. She hung up the phone. She stood there for moment and then turned to Harben.

  “It's Art Bailey. He's been murdered, too. I didn't let him help me with the floors,” Eileen said. “I didn't let him look at the tapes with me. He must have thought of something. He must have figured it out.”

  Harben looked down at his coffee cup, his mouth tight.

  “This will not be an unsolved case,” Harben said coldly. “I'll send officers out to the other Gamer's houses. You have the names and addresses in your file? What's your file and code name access?”

  “The file is TGUZMAN,” Eileen said, reaching for a scrap of paper and writing it down. “And the code name access is MEDEA.” The software system picked the code names and assigned them to case files. Eileen had felt a chill when she first saw the code name. Medea was the mythological queen who murdered her own children.

  “Dave,” Harben said. Rosen looked up from his desk and got to his feet at Harben's nod. Eileen had thought over the past few weeks that perhaps Harben was going to assign Rosen as her partner. She’d worked without a partner for nearly six months, ever since Jim Erickson moved to Denver. Eileen liked working without a partner but that couldn’t go on much longer. There was too much to do, working alone. Harben had given her a chance to get her hands on the “Senior Detective” position, and now it was time to see if she could keep it with a new partner. Dave Rosen looked like a good choice. He was smart, and he was green. This was a test, then, for both Rosen and herself.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Eileen’s file on the Guzman case. Get the other Gamers listed here on the phone. Find out where they are. Read the file. You'll be assisting Eileen on this case. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir,” he said quietly, and took the scrap of paper. His eyes glittered, and Eileen remembered that was Rosen’s way of smiling. He was a rookie, but he was going to be good.

  “I've got to go,” Eileen said. She had to get to Schriever. “I’ll contact you by radio.”

  “All right,” Rosen said, as evenly as before.

  “Keep in contact,” Harben said. “Watch your back, Eileen.”

  “I will,” Eileen said, and headed for the door.

  The drive out was one of the longer in Eileen’s life. She wished she'd trusted Art. Why had she told him to clear out of the Gaming Center? How often had she wished she'd made Bernie tell her what was going on? Or that young detective, Stan Jabowski, the one who'd been killed so quickly on Nevada Avenue, how often had she wished she'd been nicer, shown the boy the ropes a little better? Eileen made the last turn onto the long stretch of highway 94 and thought about Art's hurt expression when she made him leave the Gaming Center.

  “What did you think of, Art?” Eileen said to herself, an
d struck the wheel with the palm of her hand. “What did you do? Who did you call?”

  Or was Art a suicide? Did he kill Terry and then kill himself out of remorse? Major Blaine said Art was dead, didn't he? Or did he say he was murdered?

  Eileen chewed on her lip. She was driving as fast as the Jeep could go.

  “9704 this is CXO, please come in.”

  Eileen took the phone from its hook. “This is Reed.”

  “This is Rosen. I've contacted Sharon Johnson at her home. She was apparently asleep. I've instructed her to remain in her home and ask a neighbor to come over since she is alone except for her children. I've also contacted Doug Procell, also apparently asleep, also at his home. He will stay at home as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I'll let you know as I contact more. Out.”

  Schriever loomed in the distance, brilliantly lit in the dark plain. Eileen spun the wheel and took the exit off Highway 94 with a long squeal of her tires.

  “9704 this is CXO.”

  “Reed here.”

  “I've contacted Roberto Espinoza, also at his home. He claims he was in a class this evening, until nine or so. He's given me the names. Evidently it was a church meeting. I'll verify.”

  “Nelson Atkins? Lowell Guzman? Joe Tanner?”

  “No response.”

  “Call Sharon Johnson. Ask her if she knows where they are.” Suddenly that heavy feeling was back in Eileen’s throat.

  “Affirmative. Out.”

  Eileen pulled up to the guard gate and showed her badge. The guard waved her through and she drove towards the lighted building of the retinal scanners. There was a flashing military police vehicle waiting on the other side of the scanners. Blaine sat inside, head lowered and his forehead resting in one hand.

  Eileen scanned her way through the glass booth and walked up to Blaine. She carried her police phone with her.

  “9704 this is CXO.”

  “This is Reed.” Blaine sat up and looked at Eileen, his eyes bloodshot. Eileen held up a hand as Blaine opened his mouth to speak.

  “Sharon Johnson said that Joe Tanner’s class didn't get out until 9:30. He is possibly on the UCCS campus in the computer lab. It stays open all night. I've sent a patrol car to check.”

  “Copy,” Eileen said. The heavy thing wouldn't let go of the back of her throat.

  “Nelson Atkins is not responding to phone. I've sent a car to check his home. I have contacted Lowell Guzman. He is disoriented and said he didn't hear the phone because of medication.”

  “He's the husband of the first murder victim,” Eileen said.

  “Okay. He is at home and says he has been there all evening. No witnesses. Maybe neighbors, but he's not sure. We'll verify. Out.”

  “We're checking on the Gamers,” Eileen said to Blaine. “We've contacted almost all of them.”

  “Art's in the Center,” Blaine said. “The night guard thought he heard something but didn't have the key combination to get in the door. Loud voices, he said. Then a shout, like a scream.” Blaine gestured for Eileen to get in the police car. Eileen held on as Blaine turned the car on the soft sod of the lawn and headed towards the Space Command center.

  “They called me at home, I'm the only one with the combination besides the Gaming staff.” Blaine's voice was flat.

  “Why doesn't anyone but you have the combination? What if there were a fire?”

  “Anyone in that room would have the combination,” Blaine said dully. “Anyone else couldn’t get in. This is a compartmentalized base. That means, nobody has access to particular rooms unless they have the right need to know.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “No, I saw it was Art and I saw he was dead and I got out.”

  “Are you sure he was dead?”

  “I'm sure,” Blaine said, and swallowed hard. He stopped the car in front of the building, and they got out.

  “CXO, this is 9704,” Eileen said, before she entered the building. She remembered Procell's speech on the building's construction, how it was made to block out electronic signals.

  “This is CXO.”

  “I am entering a shielded building. You can reach me at --” Eileen looked at Blaine.

  “Oh, uh, the center number is 344-8814.”

  “344-8814, got that?”

  “Copy.”

  “Anything on Atkins or Tanner?”

  “Negative.”

  “Copy,” Eileen said, and turned off her phone.

  “Let's go,” she said, and thought of Joe Tanner. She wondered if Art had asked him to help do whatever he had done to get himself killed. She wondered if Joe Tanner had killed Art. Or if he were lying in some darkened corner of the Center, as dead and still as Terry.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Great Falls, Virginia

  The phone rang in the darkness. Ted Giometti sat up, instantly awake, instantly afraid. Who was dead? He picked up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “I need to speak to Lucy Giometti, please,” Steve Mills said crisply. Ted sighed and his shoulders slumped. He'd completely forgotten his wife, the warm hump of covers at his side. His aunt and his cousin had been in an car wreck when Ted was thirteen, and the doctors hadn’t known if they were going to live or die. His Aunt Mary did die, after the first long week. The phone became the family's enemy. The phone was still the enemy, even though Wilson recovered completely. He was happily married now and had a child of his own. Still, Ted never forgot the feeling when the phone rang, and he never forgot his mother's face when they told her about her sister.

  “Sure, Steve,” he said. “Hang on.” Ted shook his wife's shoulder gently. Mills was such an asshole. Couldn't he just ask to speak to Lucy? What, did he think there were two Lucy Giometti's at this address at 3 o'clock in the morning?

  “Wha--?” Lucy said. She didn't wake easily.

  “It's Mills,” Ted said. Lucy brushed a sheaf of her silky dark hair away from her face and took the phone.

  “Lucy here,” she said. “What? Okay. Yeah, okay. I'll be in at 8 a.m., Mills.” There was a silence, and Ted could hear the tiny buzzing of Mill's voice.

  “Steve, I don't know why you would want me in at -- “ she paused and glanced at her clock -- “three a.m. I'd be a useless wreck by two o'clock in the afternoon. I'll be in at eight and I'll get right on it. Bye.” She hung up the phone and laid back in the bed.

  “What an asshole,” she said to her husband. He leaned over her and kissed her.

  “Hmm, three a.m. until eight a.m. Just enough time,” he said.

  “What?” she protested, laughing. “That's what got me fat and sick in the first place, you brute.” She fought against his hands, giggling, then relaxed under him. Her face grew serious as she looked into his eyes.

  “Kiss me,” she said, as his hands caressed her. “It's the middle of the night and I think I hate my boss. Kiss me and make me forget what he just told me.”

  Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base

  The Gaming Center door was attended by a familiar looking guard. After a moment, Eileen realized it was the same guard who'd been there the previous morning. It seemed like days ago. This must be the night guard.

  “At ease, Airman,” Blaine said.

  “Where's the SID unit?” Eileen asked. Blaine looked at her blankly for a moment, as though Eileen were speaking in a different language and he was translating in his head. “The Special Investigations Division guys. Crime Scene. Dr. Rowland. Photographer. You know?”

  “They're on their way,” he said. “Dr. Rowland didn't want to get out of bed.”

  “Are you all right, Major?” Eileen asked.

  “I'm fine,” Blaine said. “Let's go inside.”

  Eileen didn't feel that Blaine was fine. Blaine looked like a man who'd just been woken up. Or he was stoned. Or he hadn’t slept in days. Anything was possible.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Eileen said heavily. They walked up the sloping hallway and she felt the tight
ness in her chest she always felt when she knew the victim personally. Most times it was another cop. Once a neighbor, an older woman Eileen used to speak to occasionally when she brought in her mail. Seeing a body like that was the ultimate indignity. In most cultures the family members would bathe and prepare a body before visitors were allowed to see. Eileen knew why, after the first time she'd seen the sad sprawled form of a person she knew. Her instincts were to cover the poor person, to arrange their clothing, to give them some dignity that murder robbed. She wanted to close their eyes, and say good-bye, and she had to leave their bodies in disarray, in their own blood and wastes. She hated to see the body of someone she knew.

  Art was lying on his side near the door. It had been a hard death. The wheat colored hair was matted and dark with sweat and blood. He’d been trying to crawl to the doorway after the murderer had stabbed him. The murder weapon was lying on a table, set carefully there, almost contemptuously left out in the open. It was wiped clean. A sharpened screwdriver. Eileen took a handkerchief from her pocket and flicked the main banks of lights to brightness, using the handkerchief so she wouldn't disturb prints. A useless exercise. Blaine, standing in her shadow in the doorway, winced at the light and looked away from Art.

  “There's no one else here,” Eileen said. “Check anyway, behind these desks, look around.”

  “OK,” Blaine said.

  “Don't touch anything. You see something, you call me.”

  “OK,” Blaine said again.

  Eileen looked down at Art.

  “I'm sorry, Art,” she said softly. She started to bend down when the phone rang. Eileen spent an endless minute searching before she found the phone in the television studio room.

  “I need to speak to Detective Reed,” a voice said crisply.

  “This is Eileen, Rosen,” Eileen said.

  “We've located Joe Tanner. He was in the UCCS computer lab with several members of his class. They had some assignment due that they were all working on. He didn’t leave the lab.”