That bit was news to me, but Yummy was on a roll, so I let her talk.
“There’ve been whispers that others of the Europeans came ashore during the attack, and found shelter and safety. Rumors that they called those they sired or bound. Mithrans have gone missing.”
“Some of yours?” Yummy didn’t reply to that one. “And you think they might come after you and Ming of Glass, to harm or kill.”
“It’s not an impossibility.”
I debated telling Yummy what we knew about the arson and the shooter. Vamps were flammable, much more so than humans, so the likelihood of the attacker being vampish was not very high. However, she had told me about the situation in New Orleans and her fears for the Knoxville area. Rick would call it quid pro quo. “For your ears only. Would it help if I told you, without question, that the attacker is not a vampire?”
“You’re so certain?”
“Yep. There’s no maggots at any of the sites except yours.”
Yummy gave a low, mocking laugh. “I’m not sure if I’m happy at the information or insulted at the comparison.”
“Whatever it is, he, she, or it burned the foliage everywhere he moved, with what reads like a chemical burn. You ever hear of a creature able to do that?”
“No. Chemicals strong enough to kill foliage might damage a Mithran’s flesh. I have access to Ming’s records. I can do a search.”
“Couldn’t hurt. Might help. If we knew what it was, we might know where to search. Might know when to expect another attack.”
“If I find something pertinent, I will call.”
I almost said thank you, but that might put me in her debt. I settled on, “Any information you might provide could prove useful.”
Yummy laughed again, her tone telling me that she knew exactly why I had phrased it that way, and ended the call.
I wrote a report on my laptop and sent it in. If I failed to mention Yummy and her information about the Mithrans, well, I could consider the vampire a confidential source because nothing she’d said impacted the case at this time. I felt a little guilty, since Rick had told us to share anything about paranormals, but I squished the guilt down, and then ignored the guilt that came from ignoring guilt.
Satisfied, I put the truck in drive and motored on over to my assignment for the night, at the home of Senator Abrams Tolliver. I read the earth there too, and it told me nothing it hadn’t before, except that no maggoty vampire had been stalking the premises.
? ? ?
The investigation went on all night, and I kept up with it on my government-issued encrypted cell phone, reading files and reports, in between walking rounds with the feds and the Secret Service. While on dinner break, sitting in the truck with the heater roaring and a cup of coffee steaming on the dash, I ate a sandwich I had picked up at a supermarket and read deeper into incoming reports.
Arson had been confirmed at Justin Tolliver’s house, though the type of accelerant had yet to be determined. Rick checked out the paranormal scents and told me things smelled odd but not definable or species specific.
My reading of the land notwithstanding, the attacker had been deemed possibly paranormal, the possibly keeping PsyLED from assuming charge of the case. Based on the possibility, however, PsyLED would have a bigger investigatory role. PsyLED and the FBI were still operating under the auspices of the Secret Service, and for now, we had access to files not compiled by us, cooperation still taking place.
At least one of the Tolliver family was also deemed likely a paranormal. Justin’s wife Sonya had been outed, though none of the Tollivers knew it yet. Nor did the feds or the Secret Service. Soul was holding that information close to the vest for now, since Sonya wasn’t a suspect.
PsyLED’s focus had currently shifted to the research facility, DNAKeys. Which seemed like the wrong way to go to me, because interest in the facility was based on the rumored presence of paras in captivity, not on physical, direct, or circumstantial evidence. But my opposition to DNAKeys as an investigatory focus was a gut feeling based on precisely nothing. I didn’t include that in my comments on the report.
I reopened my notes for tonight’s readings and into the “Comments” space I typed, Ground at Holloways’ and Justin and Sonya Tolliver’s feels wrong. Damage is beneath the surface, not on top, as it would be if chemical or physical agents had burned the ground and plants. This has nothing to do with vampires or were-creatures. I thought about adding the words in my opinion, but that urge was church-think left over from my upbringing as a woman in God’s Cloud. My readings were not opinions. They were fact. So I hit enter and read on.
JoJo had discovered that there was a fire at DNAKeys fifteen months past, one answered by the East Tennessee Rural/Metro Fire Department. That was when the tales of the creatures imprisoned there began to surface, probably gossip spread by the responders. I doubted that the paid firefighting employees would chatter, but maybe a volunteer had gossiped. Surely Rural/Metro had a roster of volunteers. Since the forest fires of 2016, most rural departments had a list they kept on hand.
I texted the office and asked for someone to obtain a roster of volunteers at the stations that had answered the fire call at DNAKeys. Tandy texted back that JoJo had already acquired it. I didn’t ask if it was obtained legally or if she had found a backdoor and acquired it on her own. Hacking was illegal, but so easy, according to our IT specialist. Tandy sent me the list and on it, I found two names I knew.
Thaddeus Rankin Sr. and Thaddeus Rankin Jr., or Thad and Deus, father and son, who had put in the windows on my house. Volunteer firefighting sounded exactly like something the two would do. I texted HQ that I would be stopping by the Rankins’ place of business as soon as my schedule permitted. Tandy texted back that I could leave the night shift in the hands of ALT Security and the other government guards. With PsyLED now in an improved investigatory position, my talents could best be used elsewhere, and Soul wanted an initial interview with the Rankins tomorrow. Meantime she had another job for me.
I walked the grounds again and said good-bye to the guards before heading back to HQ to prep and organize for a nighttime op.
EIGHT
It was the operation I thought to be foolish: Rick and Occam were going to approach the DNAKeys research facility and scope out the place with cat eyes from tree-limb level. The whole idea was stupid, but a probie couldn’t say it to the SAC, or to the man who had asked her to dinner.