Alien Rites (10 page)

David smiled, trying for warmth, and failing. He went around the back of his desk, but stayed on his feet.

“I'm Detective Silver, ma'am. Can I help you?”

She nodded when she heard his name, clutched the strap of her purse. “They said downstairs you was the one to talk to. I'm Tina Cochran?”

She had the kind of accent that gave Southerners a bad name.

“Cochran? Luke's mother?”

“I'm his mama, yes. Thank you for
not
saying ‘next of kin.'”

David shook her hand. Her skin was cool, and her bones felt tiny and fragile. The look in her eyes was eager for all that it was anxious, and David felt a prick of alertness. She was worried and afraid and ready to tell him anything in the hopes he might find her son.

Conference room C, he decided, just the two of them.

“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked.

NINETEEN

Tina Cochran was not much for coffee, but she took the cold red box of Coke with a smile of gratitude that made David decide she'd had very few pleasures in life. The look in her eyes made him go back out for a vending raid, and he came back with candy bars and potato chips and a feeling of foolishness, till he saw the red flush of pleasure on her cheeks.

Something about this woman made him want to be nice.

She sat on the edge of her chair, carefully opening a chocolate caramel cinnamon wafer.

“The wrapping on these is so pretty,” she said, talking fast and breathless. “I like this brown on black, and the gold stripe. Makes you wonder who thought it up.”

She'd be a cheap date
, came the nasty voice in David's mind.

“A detective Thurmon called me last night, Detective Silver. He says y'all found my boy's car.”

David nodded. Tina Cochran took a bite of wafer, chewed the caramel slowly. Swallowed.

“But you didn't find him?”

David leaned forward. “Detective Thurmon didn't—”

“Look, he don't like me, he don't tell me a thing.” She put the candy bar down, wiped her hands on her shorts. Small round chocolate fingerprints dotted the material across her stringy thighs.

“We found his car near Elaki-Town. It had gone over a guardrail on the exit ramp.”

She pressed the back of her hand across her mouth, but did not utter a sound.

“The car wasn't smashed too badly; it didn't look—” David hesitated.

“Fatal?” Tina Cochran said.

David rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “What I'm trying to say is, I don't think your son would have been killed by the impact.”

Her eyes narrowed. David noticed flecks of yellow in the brown.

“Go on,” she said. “There's more.”

“We did find blood in the car. Our CSU guys are testing right now to see if it's his. And we found … a tennis shoe that has been identified as belonging to your son.”

“By who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that the shoe there was his?”

“His girlfriend. Annie Trey.”

“You called her and not me?” I'm his
mama
, her voice said.

“We should have called you,” David said. “That was a mistake.”

“I guess she was the one called the trouble in. So she's the one you knew to call.”

She was consoling him, David realized. She was all hard angles, high cheekbones and knobby knees, but the impression she gave was soft.

“You don't know then, Detective Silver, if he's dead or alive?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

She looked at the floor. Kneaded the cuffs of her shorts. “Tell you the truth, I don't know what's worse. Not knowing, or finding him dead.”

He wanted to pat her shoulder, but didn't know her well enough.

She rose up off the edge of her chair. “Well, thank you much for your help.”

“Don't go,” David said. “I'd like to ask a few questions, if you think you have the time.”

Wariness hit her like a wave, and she turned sideways in the chair, smile fading. “What you want to know?”

If he'd learned nothing else, David knew when to bide his time. “Where he was born, where he grew up … how the two of you got along.”

The last one stirred her, and she flipped her hair back over her shoulder and balled her hands into fists.

“Luke was the sweetest, caringest son a mama could ever have. We had those teenage-year problems, but all families do, rich or poor, Detective. He sassed me some, and he stayed out late, and he let his schoolwork slide. But he made it to college. Luke is what you call a survivor. Always lands on his feet. He works hard, and he tries to give me money all the time. Makes him mad 'cause I won't take it, but he's got tuition to pay, discs, and books.”

“So he's generous,” David said, pretending to make a note. And he thought, again, of the car.

“Always trying to give me something.”

David scratched his cheek. “Is he working his way through school?”

She nodded, shoulders back. “And you must know how hard that is. Not every boy would work so hard. Last time I saw him, he was so tired he couldn't eat. Came for dinner, then fell asleep watching the TV. And that was eight o'clock at night. We're talking about a boy who likes to stay up late and have his fun—falling asleep by eight at night.”

“What does your son do?” David asked.

She was still wrapped up with the martyred child, and at first did not comprehend the question. “What do you mean, what does he do? For fun, you mean, or—”

“For a living. How is he working his way through school? Are you helping him?”

“No. I wish I could, but I barely pay my own bills. It gets down to groceries some weeks.” Her voice was soft and hard to hear.

“Does Luke have a job?”

Her chin lifted, but she would not meet his eyes, and her skin went dark pink across her cheeks.

“Ma'am?”

“He works, yes.”

“Where?”

“At school. The university. Some kind of work-study program.”

“What does he do?”

“I don't know exactly. Lab work, I think, for one of the teachers. I don't know the ins and outs; I didn't get my high-school diploma.”

David studied her, letting the silence fill the room. With or without the high-school diploma, she was an intelligent woman, and shrewd. It was an old trick she was using, one that probably worked well. Her accent was thick, her hands callused, that hungry look in her eyes eloquent. People would let her get away with playing dumb.

“Mrs. Cochran, I'm a little …” David hesitated, scratched his head. “I guess I'm puzzled, so maybe you can help me out.”
Two playing dumb
, went the voice in his head. “I have to say I'm impressed that he's got the stuff to work his way through school, and I admire that. I'm sure you've raised a fine boy.”

She chewed a lip, the trace of a nervous smile coming and going.

“But how can he afford tuition and books, and a car as expensive as the one he had? How can he afford to offer you money?”

In a split second, she was up out of the chair, leaning over him. “I didn't say I took his money. He's got a job at the school. And sometimes I do give him something.” She went red again, to the roots of her hair. “What are you trying to say, anyhow?”

He shook his head at her slowly, and she took a step backward and bit her lip. Overreacting, David thought. He was on the right track.

“I'm not trying to
say
anything, Mrs. Cochran. It's an expensive car, that's all.”

“He didn't steal it.”

“Of course not. Sit down, please.”

“Why should I sit down? Why should I let you make him out to be some kind of bad guy? My
boy
disappeared, he's been gone for days, not a call, not a note, not a message.” David saw the tears film her eyes, and he felt tired suddenly, muscles tight and achy.”

“Please, Mrs.—”

She sat down suddenly. “When he was two years old I used to take him to the park every day before lunch. And if he'd fall off the slide or get hurt on the swing, he'd come running across that playground and grab my knees.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “It was me he needed, his mama, and back then I could make it all better. But kids grow up, and they quit looking at you like you're the one person who has all the answers. And I don't. I don't have all the answers. How come you don't ask me about any of the good stuff?”

“I'm asking you right now.”

“What?”

“About the good stuff. Tell me.”

He saw it in her face, the urge to sit and indulge in an orgy of stories about her son. But she shook it off, the temptation, and David felt disappointment and relief.

“I got nothing else to say.”

That in itself was interesting. “I see.”

“I mean that. Can I go, please?”

David nodded. “If you decide you have more time to talk, here's my card. Just ask, it'll tell you the number.”

She took the card, nodded stiffly.

David looked at the pile of candy. “Nobody here eats much chocolate,” he lied. “You might as well take those along.”

He had meant to be kind, but it was the wrong thing to say.

Tina Cochran lifted her chin. “Thanks, but I couldn't. And I can
read
your card, it doesn't have to talk.”

David watched her go, wondering if Luke Cochran was dead or alive, and in what particular flavor he was dirty.

TWENTY

David sat alone in the conference room, thinking. He did not feel well. He was hot all over, had an odd tightness in his chest. Tired, he decided, and got up to leave, colliding with Della in the hallway.

“David? I been looking for you. Mel just got back from the lab.”

Something in her voice stopped him cold. “Miriam?”

“Definite match. Blood from her and from Cochran.”

“Okay. Get Mel down here. Grab String.” He felt a throb of pain like a noose tightening around his temples, and he grabbed the door handle.

Della was halfway down the hallway. “We're not on the schedule for C, Silver, let's move our stuff upstairs.”

“Just get them,” David said. He took a breath. Coffee, he thought. He and Mel could use a pot.

“It's what we expected, Mel.” David handed him a cup of coffee. His partner was stiff-shouldered, movements slow and jerky, mind everywhere but there.

Mel looked at the cup of coffee. “No thanks.” He took a sip.

“Sugar?” David asked.

“Black is fine.” Mel took another swallow, folded his hands on the table. Stared at his sleeves.

The door opened and String slid through, the door catching his bottom fringe and scattering scales.

“Have talk to this Capering Sam in the lab of bits of bone.” David winced, but Mel did not register. “And this blood of the Miriam is in quantities very small.”

Della put her fingertips together, spotted the chocolate, gave it a second look, then turned to Mel. “The car hit the guardrail, so she's banged up just a little. Chances are good she's still alive.”

Mel's voice was flat. “If she's still alive, where the hell is she? Lookit. She's supposed to meet this Cochran kid and Annie Trey. Why at night like that, after dark?”

Della shrugged. “Annie works, Luke is in school. Miriam herself is on leave and working out of her apartment and the university lab.”

“But why meet with them? She's going out of channels, talking directly to them like that. Something funny there; something's not right.”

“Is the funny odd, yes please.” String was still this morning, not jittering around. Mel and the Elaki were both weirdly calm, while David could hardly bear sitting still. His back ached, and he shifted his weight. He shivered.

“David?” Della said.

He looked up dully.

“It
is
funny about that. Her talking out of channels, like Mel said.”

David moved sideways in his chair. “She doesn't seem to think Annie did it. I looked through some of the stuff at her desk, gave her computer discs to Sam. She seemed to be looking for a virus or a bacterium, as opposed to a toxin of some kind. So she must have already ruled poison out.”

String's eye prongs twitched. “What is thing that the Miriam could find to justify the nighttime meet? To talk to the Annie direct?”

“What hospital Annie say she took her baby to?” Mel asked.

“Meridian branch of University,” Della said.

David looked at String. “Your chemaki mate still working in the ER?”

“Yes, Aslanti work all the hours, but this is at Bellmini Hospital.”

“Yeah, but I bet she hears the scuttlebutt. She familiar with the Trey case?”

“Much of the gossip, no fact.”

“Which is?”

String slid back and forth across the floor. “That baby die very sick, very fast, of no known disease. That poison not be detected, but odd bodily damage found. Still trying to detect source. Some weird hush hush, no one can be understood. People discouraged from getting the involvement, when opposite would normally be. But medical opinion is that the autopsy be for the benefit of mother, to prove innocence. Doctors do not think she be culpriting here. Dissatisfaction with media big and fat.”

“So nobody on the medical side thinks Annie Trey was involved?” Della asked.

“This is just said,” String replied.

David rubbed his eyes. “Give Aslanti a call, tell her we're coming over. Sweet-talk her, String. Maybe she can save us some time, if she's willing. Della, how goes the background on the Cochran boy?”

“Still on it. What I got so far is school schedule, finances, like that.”

“And?”

She picked up a chocolate bar, unwrapped it slowly. “Grew up hard, he and his mother. He was into some small-time scrapes. Nothing real nasty, just kind of an operator. You know, the kid who steals your hubcaps and sells them back to you. He'd take the credit tally out of your wallet, but mail back the pictures of your kids.”