anarchist terrorist groups. And I know quite a bit. This is more like the work of a psychopath.”
Duke frowned. “How was Jonah killed?”
“It’s inconclusive, but the M.E. believes he died from massive blood loss. There were multiple shallow cuts on his arms and torso. No major arteries were hit, but when Dr. Coffey dried his jeans there was a substantial amount of blood.”
It sounded like torture to Duke. He couldn’t figure out why-Jonah was a scientist. A bit absentminded maybe, but brilliant and dedicated.
Nora said softly, “I just don’t understand. Everything about this case is textbook perfect for a standard environmental extremist group. The arsons, the spray-painting, the messages they sent. Everything … except premeditated murder.”
“You said this sounds like a psychopath. Are anarchists exempt from being psychopaths?”
Something changed in Nora’s expression. “No. I knew one a long time ago.”
Taken aback by this admission, Duke wanted to ask her about it, but Nora abruptly entered the building. Again, he followed her. He’d make certain she’d tell him later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Under other circumstances, the beautiful Lake of the Pines community-predominantly populated with the vacationing and the retired-would have enticed Nora into a long walk along the shore, or renting a paddle-boat to soak in the sun, or taking a cold swim. Though it was a popular spot for picnics and outdoor recreation, the area was well maintained, with numerous garbage bins encouraging people to throw their trash where it belonged. For the most part, people complied-probably driven to comply by the signs prominently posted advertising the steep fine for littering.
A light breeze cooled the heat from the day, and Nora remembered why she loved Indian summer best. The remnants of summer during the day, the hint of winter at night, warm colors and vibrant life surrounding her wherever she went. The time for harvest, the cycle of life, the greens and golds, reds and browns. Autumn was a time for reflection, of celebrating the end of one year and anticipating the next.
It was late in the afternoon, nearly five, and early commuters had stopped at the sight of police activity. The media had arrived; there was no stopping them from reporting. Fish and Game and the CDC had come up with a statement that bordered on the truth: Several ducks had turned up with a deadly virus and in order to prevent the spread of the disease, they had to destroy the infected ducks.
Dr. Ian Thomsen showed Kevin Barry how to use the prototype scanner. “It’ll read fifty feet away, provided there are no obstacles.”
“Fascinating.” Barry looked at the model. “The ones we use you have to be practically on top of the animal to get a beep.”
“The company making this one is going into mass production next year. Part of the difference is the implanted microchip itself.”
Thomsen and Barry started their walk around the lake with the microchip reader to see if it picked up a signal while everyone else waited at the staging area that had been cordoned off. Nora stood rigid, watching the men and not the ducks who swam up to them or waddled along the shore, looking for food. So trusting. If Nora’s hunch was right, all these animals would be killed.
Pete and Jim Butcher were talking with the CDC representative, and Duke stood by her side. She was finding it hard to compartmentalize her feelings.
“You don’t have to watch,” Duke said.
“I’m not going anywhere. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
How could Nora tell him anything when she barely understood it herself? It wasn’t that she felt responsible for what had happened at Butcher-Payne or what the arsonists had done with the ducks; it was a more ethereal feeling of helplessness and the need to be enraged in order to be more effective. She had to watch the end result of their stupidity to both hone her analysis and, perhaps, to punish herself. All the bad things she’d done in her past … not because she’d wanted to, but because she hadn’t known any other life.
“Nora?” Duke said softly.
“Not now.” Maybe not ever, but she couldn’t talk as she watched Thomsen and Barry walk toward her with the microchip reader.
“Does that mean-” Duke began, but Nora put up her hand. She couldn’t explain, she needed to focus.
It beeped again. The beeps were faint, but definitely audible. The two men continued walking along the shoreline; the beeping stopped. Barry turned and walked along an inlet filled with reeds. The beeping started again and grew stronger. As they approached, the beeping increased in both tempo and duration.
They stopped and talked. Nora joined them, and Duke followed. She didn’t want to admit that she was glad he was with her.
“What are these numbers?” Barry asked Dr. Thomsen.
Nora glanced over. Numbers flashed across the device’s small display.
Dr. Thomsen frowned, then nodded. “There’re several ducks-I’ve never used it in broad scan mode, only the individual scan. This may be a glitch, but it looks like the display is flashing all the numerical codes it’s finding.”
Barry looked at the lake, then at the display. “Agent English, do you have that map I gave you?”
Nora pulled out the map of the immediate area. He handed her the microchip reader and looked at the map, then talked into his radio. “We hit paydirt. Get the nets. No guns.”
“You’re going to save them?” Nora asked, hopeful but unbelieving.
Barry shook his head. “We don’t have a choice. They’ll be killed and sent to our lab. I don’t think we can handle this quantity, and I’m sure the CDC will insist we ship every one off to Madison.”
“Wisconsin?”
“Right. The lab there has everything. A regular animal CSI unit.”
“But you said no guns.”
“One shot and we get one duck, the rest will scatter. Then we’re screwed. They’ll go in all different directions. If all twelve are here, our job is done when we get every duck in this area.”
Nora must have looked confused, because Barry added, “We’ll snap their neck. It’s instantaneous. Painless.”
Nora’s phone rang. It was Quin. She didn’t want to be interrupted now, but Quin might be calling about the case.
“Hi Quin. I’m kind of busy.”
“Lance told me you’re with Fish and Game at Lake of the Pines. Why? Did you find the ducks?”
“Yes. I have-”
“What are they going to do?”
Quin sounded panicked. Nora wished she had had the time to explain it to her sister earlier. “You know what they have to do, Quin.”
“How can you participate in a mass slaughter?”
“It has to be done or thousands of ducks are in jeopardy. You know that.”
“I–I can’t think.”
Lorraine had done a number on Quin. For some reason, Nora had never adapted to Lorraine’s way of life. She’d rebelled from an early age, knowing deep down what they were doing was wrong but not knowing how to stop. Quin had wanted their mother’s approval and attention so badly; she’d taken everything Lorraine said as gospel. It had taken Nora years to get Quin to think for herself and not spout out slogans and rants on every political subject under the sun.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay. Are you done there?”
“What? Yes, yes, for now. I’m coming.”
“Go home. Call your boyfriend and have him take you out to a nice dinner.”
