Prophet of Bones (34 page)

“Hello.”

“I was told to call.”

“So this is Gavin,” the voice said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Then you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Come now, you must have heard something about me or you wouldn’t have tried to reach me.”

“This is Mr. Lacefield?”

“It is.”

“I heard you’re no friend of Martial Johansson’s.”

The man on the line chuckled. “If that’s all you’ve heard, then you’ve heard the most important thing, considering your current situation. I understand that you have some information for me.”

“More than just information.”

There was a long pause on the line. Gavin filled it. “In addition to information, we also have—”

Lacefield interrupted. “Not on the phone. We need to talk in person.”

Another pause.

“Where?” Gavin asked.

“There’s a pier on a lake. A place called Alcove Beach. You can find it on local maps.”

Gavin held the phone to his cheek but didn’t speak.

“It’s wide open there. A public place. We’ll talk.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Two o’clock. Is Paul with you?”

Gavin stiffened. “How do you know about Paul?”

“It’s part of my business to know. As you said, I’m no friend to Martial Johansson. So is Paul with you?”

“Yeah, he’s with me.”

Another long pause.

“Bring him.”

“Okay, I’ll bring him along.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you soon.” The line went dead. Gavin hung up.

Gavin climbed into the car and shut the door.

“Well?” Paul asked.

“He’ll meet with us,” Gavin said.

“You don’t sound happy.” Paul waited for him to explain.

“He knew about you. Somebody already has feelers out.”

“Is that good or bad?” Lilli asked.

“I don’t know. But at least he knows we’re serious. This is risky for him, too. If he didn’t have a lot on the line, he never would have gotten back to us.”

39

The next day, Paul was up before the sun. He stood at the curtains of the hotel room, looking out at the early morning traffic. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east; red taillights glowed bright in the semidark. He turned away and walked to the bathroom, where he shaved a five-day stubble. Not quite a beard, but well on its way to it. A trait from his father’s side of the family, hairy as Vikings. As a child he’d seen pictures of uncles he’d never met, pale men with full, thick beards. His own father had shaved nearly every day of his life. Now, holding the razor in his hand, Paul had the impulse to shave his head, too, some instinct rising up inside him. In the end, he didn’t, but only because he’d have to explain to Lilli why he’d done it, and he wouldn’t have an answer. He’d read once that gladiators had often cut their hair in preparation for battle. It was also a sign of mourning.

A Bible verse rose unbidden:
And Job arose, tore at his clothes, shaved his head, and worshipped.

He put the razor by the sink.

His morning routine woke Lilli, who joined him in the steaming shower. Water rained down on her, plastering her spiky black hair to her head. She closed her eyes and moved against him.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” He wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s not your fault. You gave me a choice, remember? I chose.”

“You didn’t choose this.”

“And neither did you. You didn’t know all this was going to happen.”

“It’s still my fault. If I hadn’t contacted you…”

“I’d still be at my job. So what? I don’t blame you.”

“I blame me.”

“Well, stop,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. Water cascaded over them, but not between.

After, they dressed and met Gavin in the lobby. They found him sipping a hot cup of coffee and reading the newspaper in a plush green chair of the sort that seemed built exclusively for use in hotel lobbies.

Gavin glanced at his watch when he saw them. “You ready?”

Paul nodded.

They walked out to the car and drove to Alcove Beach in silence. No one spoke, save Paul calling out the directions he’d printed from the hotel computer the night before. “Turn here,” he said as they approached their destination.

They paid four dollars at the booth, then followed a narrow roadway that led up to an immense parking lot. Gavin drove to the very front, where beach sand had begun to drift up onto the pavement. He put the car in park and they climbed out. The sun beat down on them. “You stay here,” Gavin said.

“I’m coming,” Lilli said.

“No.” Gavin’s voice was firm.

“That’s bullshit,” she snapped. “You think because—”

“Your gender has nothing to do with it, I assure you,” Gavin said. “You have the bone. It’s as simple as that.”

Lilli looked skeptical.

“It’s our leverage here. Someone has to stay back.”

“What about him?” Lilli asked, gesturing to Paul.

“They already know about him. Mentioned him by name, in fact—remember?”

Paul raised his hand to shield his gaze from the sun and looked out toward the pier. “This congressman of yours seems particularly well informed,” he said.

“And what if things go badly?” Lilli asked.

“Then you coming along certainly wouldn’t help. In fact, it would be even worse, because then the bone would be compromised. You’re our insurance policy.”

Gavin tossed Lilli the keys. “If there’s a problem, don’t hesitate. Just go.”

Paul and Gavin climbed up onto the sand. Just over the rise, people played volleyball and lounged in the sun. Two teenagers tossed a football back and forth, while children seemed to run everywhere. Lifeguards sat on huge white chairs, surveying it all with an air of casual disinterest. Paul saw the water—children splashing in the shallows, toddlers sitting at the waterline with their mothers.

Paul and Gavin veered to the left as they trudged through the loose sand, walking until they eventually came to the edge of a low cement walkway. The long sidewalk ran parallel to the beach, extending for a hundred yards before ending at a short stairway that led up to the pier. The pier was weathered old concrete, ten feet wide, jutting a quarter mile out into the lake.

“Do you see them?” Gavin asked as they walked.

Paul nodded.

There were already men in position. It was easy to pick them out once you knew they were there. A man in a sport jacket and a baseball hat, sitting on the low cement wall. Another man leaned with his back against a pavilion, casually reading a newspaper. A third man, standing on the beach, gazed out at the water. His hand rose to his ear for a moment, and his lips moved. That one wasn’t even trying to be inconspicuous. He was the one they were
supposed
to see.

Halfway to the pier, they passed another man. This one was sitting with his legs draped off the side of the walkway, flip-flops dangling from his feet. Paul wasn’t sure about him.

And past them all, up ahead, standing alone on the pier, casting a line out into the water, was a lone fisherman.

Paul and Gavin climbed the six steps up to the pier.

Even from a distance, Paul knew it was him. He might have recognized the man from pictures, or maybe it was something in his stance. Like he was waiting. He was in his mid-fifties, tall, and stocky without being fat. He wore a fisherman’s cap and a fisherman’s vest. A bright orange tackle box sat next to him on the pier. He was halfway out on the pier, an eighth of a mile from the beach. Plenty of time to see people coming. Plenty of privacy from prying ears. It took them a full three minutes to walk out to him.

As Paul and Gavin approached, the fisherman glanced briefly in their direction, then threw a long cast out onto the water.

“Not so much as a nibble yet,” the man said as Gavin and Paul closed the distance.

“Sorry to hear that,” Gavin said.

“Well, what’s the old saying? That’s why they call it fishing, not catching.”

“Congressman Lacefield, I presume?”

The man responded with the slightest nod while reeling in his line.

“This is Paul,” Gavin said.

“I know who he is,” the congressman said curtly. “Grab a pole, the both of you.”

That’s when Paul noticed two poles lying along the cement, wedged against the riser that ran the length of the pier. He picked up both and passed one to Gavin. The one Paul kept for himself was slightly larger, an open-face reel, cork handle. It gleamed. It was probably ten times more expensive than any fishing pole he’d ever held.

He checked the lure. Green spinner bait. He thought of lures dangling over ice but pushed the thought away.

“So this is some serious business you find yourselves in,” the congressman said.

“Serious business,” Gavin agreed.

“I’ve been in politics for twenty years now. I’ve seen other politicians come and go. Some voted out. Some sent to jail. Over the years, I’ve even seen one or two die under less than clear circumstances. Yet I remain. Do you know how I’ve managed to do that?”

“I wouldn’t presume to guess.”

“I stay
out
of serious business. I see serious business coming, and I step aside, and I let it pass. Live to fight another day.”

“Yet here you are,” Gavin said. “Out here fishing.”

“Against my own better judgment, yes. And against all counsel. Here I am on this fine, clear day, drowning worms off this pier.” He swung his arm back and threw a long cast out into the choppy water. The lure made a splash and then disappeared. He reeled it in slow and steady, the line carving a slight ripple on the water. “The thing about fishing, though. If I hit a snag, I can cut bait anytime.”

Gavin considered this. “Fair enough,” he said.

“So I hear you have information for me.”

“We do. We think you’ll find it interesting.”

“I’m interested in a lot of things. And while I’m always keen to keep my ears open, there is an important distinction between information that is interesting and information that is useful. I trust you understand this distinction.”

“Information is information. What you do with it is up to you.”

“Spoken like a man who knows that his information is useful. Convince me.”

“Martial is a thorn in your side.”

“True.” The congressman took a breath and released it slowly, the long sigh of resignation—like a middle school teacher about to discuss his most difficult student. “Martial is a difficult man. A driven man.”

“And you want him neutralized.”

“I stay out of his way.”

“That’s not what I understand.”

“When I
can,
I stay out of his way. Lord knows he doesn’t make it easy. Our constituencies are at odds, it seems. I have friends who would like nothing more than to see Martial taken down.”

“Martial is behind a series of murders and cover-ups that stretch back over a period of years.”

“I’m afraid that if Martial could be neutralized for something as simple as a few murders, it would have happened a long time ago.”

“The cover-ups are scientific in nature. He’s covering up the discoveries of new bones. Suppressing the release of new research.”

The congressman frowned. “You tell me things I already know. So this is what you come to me with? Rumors?”

“And there are things going on at the compound. Experiments that would never be sanctioned—”

“Speculation. Sensationalism.”

“Facts.”

“Facts.” The congressman spit the word with contempt. “I’m a lawyer by training; perhaps you weren’t aware.”

Gavin shook his head.

“Before politics I spent ten years as a trial lawyer, and even I can’t tell you what a fact is, exactly. The more time I spent in law, the more malleable that term became. Facts change with the telling. Squeeze a fact hard enough, and it’ll change shape in your hand. Facts don’t mean anything.”

“Proof, then.”

The congressman raised an eyebrow. “Proof,” he said, “is an altogether different animal.”

Gavin cast his line out on the water. In the distance, a powerboat rumbled a slow arc across the water. It was the second time the boat had made that exact pass, a half mile out from the pier. Paul could see two men on board. It occurred to Paul that this boat, too, might belong to the congressman. He wondered how many eyes were trained on them right now.

“Proof of what, exactly?” the congressman said.

“Of the conspiracy. Of the suppression.”

“I’m listening.”

“We have a piece of bone.”

“The bone of what, exactly?”

“The bone of a tool-using hominid that isn’t human. A bone that Martial has conspired to keep hidden. A bone that he’s killed people to keep hidden.”

“Why?”

“Because his congressional benefactors wish it to remain so.”

“The churches, you mean?” The congressman looked at Gavin. He stopped cranking on his fishing pole. His lure sank deeper in the water until the ripple disappeared altogether.

Gavin didn’t answer.

“Where is it?”

“Not with us. Not here. But we have it.”

“A piece of bone,” the congressman whispered to himself, and then cast his line out into the water again.

“Yes.”

“It corroborates your story?”

“Yes. We also have a DNA sample and a flash drive with genetic results.”

“That might be something.”

Paul reeled his lure in.

The congressman’s face was unreadable now. Gone was the irritation, replaced by a blankness that seemed carefully cultivated. “I’ll need to make some calls.”

“Sir, you understand … we can’t—”

The congressman stopped Gavin with a raised hand. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a phone.

“Disposable. Untraceable. Just answer it tomorrow morning when it rings. Wherever you are staying now, you need to move. Use a different hotel. Hell, leave town if you want. I don’t need to know where you are, but I need to know you’ll answer that phone when it rings. Can you do that?”

Gavin stared at him. “We can do that.”

“I was pretty sure you’d be full of shit,” the congressman said. “But I brought the phone just in case. It pays to be prepared.”

Gavin slid the phone into his front shirt pocket. They laid their fishing poles on the wet cement.