Alien Eyes (25 page)

Sweat started in the small of his back. He took slow, steady breaths.

Mel glanced back at him. “Hang on, David.”

The way narrowed and David had to stoop. The walls were close enough that his jacket scraped rock on both sides. He was hot suddenly, and wanted out of the jacket, but the passageway was too constricted. Rock slid beneath his feet, and the air clouded with the dust they were kicking up. There was a bad smell here, faint, but noticeable. They were getting close to the pump.

The tunnel closed tighter, slope sudden and sharp. The air warmed up, and the smell was strong. David had to tilt sideways. He took small steps. If he fell, the walls would hold him in place. He didn't like being in a place so tight you couldn't fall.

The farther down they went the warmer it got. David's back was itchy with sweat and heat. The pump was back in operation. Pulse and vibration resonated through the rock like surf at the beach. David sagged against the wall. He closed his eyes, thinking of the press of solid rock miles over his head.

He needed air. Air and light and open space.

Total darkness ahead. The noise from the pump was louder, and the smell made him gag. He stumbled forward, trying to catch up. The passage jogged and he hit solid rock. His breath came out like a sob.

David braced his arms on the rough rock walls and went forward, feeling his way. There, ahead, a glow of light. The pump was loud here. He felt the vibration in his bones.

The passage ended in a large, open chamber, with a pit that dropped down from the center. A column of steel, ten feet thick, plunged from the levels above, then disappeared into the depths. It hissed and groaned like a gigantic lung.

The chamber was lit over the pump, the walkways around hidden in shadow. The floor was hard-packed dirt and rock. The barricade of wire mesh that encircled the pump had been torn open and thrust aside. David went to the edge.

It was something like a well, a deep cylinder in the earth dropping God knew how far to collect and be pumped out for treatment. Current accusations said the sewage went directly into local water tables.

Halliday had tied a handkerchief around his nose, and Mel was looking ill. The noise of the pumps made it impossible to talk and be heard. Rose beckoned, then disappeared behind a rock fall. David followed.

The Elaki, cushioned by loose rock and mounds of shed scales, had been tied together and neatly stacked. They were male, or females who had not borne young. They were grey and flaccid, naked and raw without their scales, like plucked birds. David was taken aback. Did Elaki always lose their scales so soon after death?

He knelt close to the bodies. He saw cuts and swells of flesh, but no wounds that struck him as mortal. The eye stalks had shut and filmed over, and the belly slits had spilled a yellow-pink fluid. David thought of poison. He poked the smaller Elaki. A movement sent him reeling backward, and he slipped from his haunches to the floor.

Not one rat, but a mass. Huge and fat, red-eyed and moving slowly. What he'd taken for rubble was a living mass of rodents and cockroaches, so huge and bloated they could barely move.

David scrambled up and backed away. Rose watched him, her eyes glassy. He thought of her down in this pump room, scrabbling in the dirt for her life.

David sidestepped the shiny, black-brown wave of roaches. Some were as long as his hand. They were feeding regularly and happily, and not on sewage. David looked at Mel, who held a handkerchief to his nose. Rose stared off into space, her arms folded.

David pointed to the mass of rats. She nodded, a shudder rippling across her shoulders.

“Why?” he mouthed.

Mel brought his light, shining it into the dark, shadowy corner. Scales and vertebra and more rats.

Twenty-seven Izicho missing. David glanced down at a rat that was so fat its stomach dragged across the rocky dirt. He thought of the old Elaki female who had stood day after day in front of his office, waiting for someone to find her son.

FORTY

David sat in Halliday's office, picturing the moving mound of rats and cockroaches. He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. He'd wanted to take Rose home himself, but he'd done good to convince the captain to let her go tonight and make a formal statement in the morning.

Mel shoved a bag of brownies under David's nose. “Have one.”

David stuck his hand in the bag. The brownies were iced, chewy, full of nuts. A little bit stale, but who was he to complain?

“Where'd you get these?”

Mel grinned slowly. “Found them sitting on Della's desk.”

David snatched his hand away.

“Coward.”

The brownies were small. David took two more.

“Heads up,” Mel said. “Eh, String.” The Elaki was moving slowly, midsection sagging. “You get Aslanti squared away? How'd it go?”

String faltered. “Aslanti, medical does not like me. A sentiment I share in she direction.”

“Sure,” Mel said. “That's why she drove eighty miles in the middle of the night to look at your nephew.”

“Is her calling,” String said. “Human doctor would not do also?”

“Would not's about the size of it,” Mel muttered. “Maybe you should have showed her a couple magic tricks.” Mel winked at David. “I got a few tricks I like to show my sweethearts. Like you say she's got a flower in her shirt pocket, and she says no I don't. So you bet her she does, and you stick your hand in there, and by golly—”

“I talked to Rose a couple minutes ago,” David said. “Biachi is resting.”

“Not awakened?”

David shook his head.

“Best to rest,” String said.

David offered the bag of brownies. “Have one, String. Chewy chocolate cake things.”

“Ah, chocolate. Most prized among human females.”

“Shit,” Mel said. “Hide the bag.”

David looked up. Pete had come into the bullpen. He stopped by Della's desk.

David slid the bag behind his back just as Pete stuck his head in the door.

“Hey, Pete,” Mel said. “Been waiting to hear what you guys have come up with.”

“The forensics team is still down there.” He leaned against the wall. “But Della and I are doing records with the Elaki-Three. We've been spinning the implication wheel.”

“Yeah?”

“You know these leaks? The sewer leaks from Little Saigo? We called up the EPA analysis, and we got
fragments
. It's a protein soup—part Elaki, part shit.”

“Why didn't anybody let us know?” David asked.

“They did. They filed memos. Probably stacked in somebody's reader right now.”

Mel looked at the ceiling and forced air between his teeth. “We going to catch hell on this one. How many bodies you think been dumped down there?”

“Who the hell knows?” Pete said. “But no question somebody's been dumping Elaki down there and doing it wholesale.”

“The jewelry,” David said.

Pete looked at him. “Jewelry?”

“String, do Elaki always shed their scales when they die?”

“Depend. After some kind of death, or certain period of time. Depend on what stage of molt Elaki scale cycle in.”

“I saw an article,” David said. “In that local magazine
Saigo City
!. And they had a piece on some woman from Little Saigo.”

“Little Saigo?” Mel said. “In a chamber of commerce promo rag?”

“She was selling jewelry made of Elaki scales.”

“Most bad taste,” String muttered.

“I was just wondering,” David said. “Where she got all the scales. Pete, call the magazine and find her. Bring her in.”

“Nastier and nastier,” Pete said. “Listen, you guys seen—”

The telephone rang.

“Homicide,” Mel said. “
What
. Yeah? Sleeping like a baby. Thanks, Vanelli. Nah, hell, don't disturb him. We'll be right down.”

David looked at Mel. “Got one?”

“You bet.”

“Which?”

Mel frowned. “They forgot to tell me.”

“You forgot to ask.” David stood up and grabbed the jacket from the back of his chair. The empty brownie bag fell to the floor, scattering crumbs of chocolate.

Pete picked up the bag and looked inside. He was quiet for a long moment. “Do I have to be the one to tell her?”

“Blame it on String. He said the magic words, and we made them disappear.” Mel followed David out the door.

“Make me disappear,” Pete muttered. “Hey, where you guys going?”

“Basement. Bunco.”

“Is dangerous?” String asked, sliding close to Pete. “Coming between the female and her chocolate?”

FORTY-ONE

A row of holding cells lined the far wall of the Bunco bullpen. The first three were locked up tight. Biachi had gone through three market stalls after he'd been picked up in the EDC. Halliday had pulled in one human employee of each stall. More justice, David supposed, in picking up the Elaki owners. But Elaki were hard to arrest, and David and Mel had no idea how they would react as prisoners.

There would be a number of extortion charges, after the day's work in the market. Halliday had gifted the collars to bunco, so long as it was understood that homicide had dibs on the perps who snaked in and around the extortion sideline as a cover for Izicho murder.

Few of the merchants would be involved in the deaths. One, David figured. Maybe two.
Which
one or two was the problem. David headed across the squad room, String rolling along behind him.

Vanelli looked up from her desk and waved at David. She scooted her chair back and grinned, face enormously round. She stood up, a supple and graceful fat woman, balancing on very high heels.

“Where's Mel?” she asked.

“Went to take a look on the observation deck,” David said. “Wanted to see which one was asleep.”

Vanelli pointed to the door on the far left.

“That one,” she said. “Name of Jon Cryor.”

David nodded, wishing he'd forgone the last brownie. He was feeling queasy again.

“You ask them a lot of questions? Let them get a feel on what's up?”

Vanelli nodded. Her neck overflowed her shirt collar. “All about extortion, intimidation. You know the drill.”

“Nothing about murder?”

“Nope. The other two are pacing and screaming for lawyers. Cryor's sound asleep.”

“But
why
does the human sleep?”

David smiled and waved String toward the holding cell. “Because he's the one who's relieved.” He looked over his shoulder at Vanelli. “My ID code work on one of yours?”

“I think so. If it doesn't, give a holler.” She settled back down in her chair.

“I do not follow the logic,” String said, tagging close to David's heels.

David paused outside the grey-metal door and dropped his voice to a whisper. “The other guys are upset, but it's all routine. They've been brought up on extortion, and they know the drill. This guy's involved in murder. He's been lying awake at night, sweating that he'll get caught. He's short on sleep, and guilty as hell, but when he does get caught, it's for bunco and nothing else. He's relieved, he's tired, he falls asleep.”

“Ah. And this is how you decide which is one?”

“This is how we decide.”

David punched his ID into the knob and let his thumbprint register. He waited for the metallic click of the lock release, then cautiously opened the door.

The holding cell was small, six by six, furnished solely with a white metal bench that was anchored to the wall. Cryor was tall, thin, unshaven. Wispy blond hairs sprouted from his chin. Too bad, David thought, juries couldn't see these guys before their lawyers cleaned them up.

Cryor was tucked into the corner, head against the wall, hands folded under the side of his face, like a child at prayer. The smell of his sweat was faint, but unmistakable. David had interrogated worse. Cryor's black T-shirt had ridden up on his back, exposing sallow, pitted skin. His jeans sagged, and the ridge of his black cotton underwear showed over the waistband of his pants.

“Mr. Cryor?”

Cryor opened his eyes and focused on String.

“
Jesus
.” Cryor sat up and rubbed his eyes, rattling the handcuffs that encircled his wrists. He started to stand, then settled back on the bench. He waited, eyes flicking back and forth between David and String.

“Am I getting bail?” Cryor licked dry, chapped lips.

“You haven't been formally charged,” David said.

“Oh, yeah. You got me a paralegal?”

“Mr. Cryor, it's four o'clock in the morning. It'll be a while before we can get someone in.”

“Sure,” Cryor said. “Makes sense.”

David smiled. He was amazed at how often prisoners were reasonable, even pleasant. He raised a hand, waving it vaguely. “We could go ahead and talk now.”

“Yeah. Get it moving.” Cryor stood up and held out his cuffs, stretching the chains that were attached to a ring set in the wall.

“Thanks.” David unlocked the cuffs, pulled them free of the chain, then put a hand on Cryor's elbow, guiding him out of the cell. He led him past Vanelli, toward the elevator.

“Ain't we talking down here?” Cryor glanced at Vanelli, and nodded hello.

“Hey, Cryor,” she said amiably.

“Going to talk upstairs,” David said. “I'm Detective Silver, by the way.”

Cryor raised a hand toward Vanelli's desk. “Better get my file, then.”

Vanelli grinned, picked the top folder off a thick pile, and handed it to David. David prodded Cryor and he shambled forward.

“You new in bunco?” Cryor asked.

They stopped in front of the elevator to wait.

“Homicide,” David said. Cryor's eyes widened. David waved a hand at the elevator. “Homicide's upstairs. Third floor.”

Cryor looked from String to David. The elevator door slid open. David took hold of the boy's bony elbow.