There were enough buildings in these quarters to do something awful, but would the guy be brazen enough to rape and murder in the confines of the lab?
Ben realized he was sweating and turned down the heat. Eventually, the blue signs gave way to the actual town. Los Alamos was a nice place. It had schools, its own police and firemen, and a little outdoor skating rink. It had cafés and parks and an outdoor stadium, a few motels and its own little municipal airport, and more than one museum that gave comprehensive histories of the lab and the technology behind the first A-bomb. It also had streets with names like Oppenheimer Road or Bikini Atoll and even Highway 502, as it passed through the town limits, was known as Trinity Drive. The town wavered between being proud of its heritage and making excuses for it.
Ben drove aimlessly through the streets and roads, passing motels—did you stay there?—passing the airport—did you come in through there?—passing restaurants—did you eat there? His excursion took hours. As the sun started sinking, he turned around and headed home, dejected. As if things weren’t bad enough, it started to snow, making visibility a blur, causing him to slow down and take each curve with care. He was fighting depression along with an undeniable urge to speed up and crash into the mountainside.
But then a cooler head prevailed.
He crawled his way back to River Remez.
Ro drove while Ben sulked, which, except for sex, seemed to be his high-rate behavior. Through the windshield was a white landscape, the sunny sky was an incredibly bright blue that was New Mexico’s trademark. But it was deceptive because it was freezing outside. She said, “Do you miss California yet?”
He was still sulking. “I still don’t understand why we have to involve Shanks. It’s just a stupid theory. It’s not going to make a difference in the investigation. He’s as hamstrung as we are.”
“Just tell him, okay.”
“He’s totally pissed at me for going to Berkeley behind his back.”
“You wounded his pride. Who cares as long as he sent the DNA profile to Berkeley?” Silence. “Did he do it? Send in the profile?”
“Yesterday.”
“And?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Vicks said.
She pulled into a parking spot at the station. They got out, and slipped on their jackets, entered the adobe building, and took off the jackets. It was blazing inside. The secretary greeted Ben by name and ushered the two of them into an interview room. It was brightly lit. There was a table against a wall, three or four chairs, and nothing else. Sam Shanks came in a moment later, carrying coffee mugs. His chest strained the buttons of his shirt. Wordlessly, he handed them to Ben, who got up and left.
Shanks’s eyes hardened as he looked at Ro. “I thought you were on my side. He’s got to stop.”
“Sir, he was going to Berkeley with or without me and I figured the least I could do is make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble.”
“How long have you known about his trip to Berkeley?”
“I found out right before Christmas break.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he didn’t want me to tell you. And, for the record, I wish he’d stop too. It isn’t leading to a good place.”
“If he keeps going, it may lead him into a very dangerous place.” Shanks scratched his head. “Why does he keep holding back? Last thing I need is another person riding my tail.”
“Did Nora Rehnquist call you?”
“The Berkeley PD called at the behest of Nora Rehnquist, who is no doubt riding their tails.”
Vicks came back in with three cups of coffee. He distributed them and sat down. “What did I miss?”
“Nora Rehnquist is riding his ass,” Ro told him.
“I said ‘tail,’” Shanks said.
Ro smiled. “Yes, you did.”
Vicks sipped his coffee. “Nora called you?”
“No, Berkeley called after you called me. They’re not happy with you either. It seems you have awoken the sleeping giant in Nora Rehnquist.”
“Nora and I are on the same side.”
“Vicksburg, we’re all on the same side.”
Ben said, “Did you get a match with my sister and Julia Rehnquist?”
Shanks laughed. “That’s Vicks. Cut to the chase.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes, we got a DNA match on one of the profiles Berkeley had pulled off Julia Rehnquist with your sister, Ben.”
Vicks clapped his hands. “I knew it!”
“You were right and I thank you for your persistence. This is a really good break. If Katie Doogan matches, it’ll blow the case wide open. Of course, if you had told me about your theories, I might have done something months ago. And yes, we sent the profile through CODIS again. No hit.”
“Damn!” A sigh. “Not that I expected anything.” He perked up. “Are you going to contact Knoxville on Jamey Moore’s case?”
“I have a call in to them.” Shanks gave Ben the full force of his stare. “Vicks, this is what I want right now. I want you to park your tail down and give me every reason you came up with to link these two cases together.” Shanks took out a notepad. “Go.”
Ben obliged with a half-hour recitation. He went through all the similarities. He went through everything he and Ro had done in California, from walking the pathway to the dump spot at Mount Diablo to his outhouse explorations and his theories about how Julia was abducted. He went through everything in detail, except for one important fact. Ro cleared her throat. Both of the boys looked at her. “Can I have a minute alone with him?”
“What’s going on?” Shanks asked.
Her smile was grim. “Just a few minutes, please.” Reluctantly, Shanks left. Then she turned angry and hard. “Why do you do that, Ben? Why do you give him almost the whole thing? It’s like a woman leaving out a crucial element of a family recipe.”
“Because even if I told him about the labs, there’s nothing he could do about it.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, what are your plans? Breaking into a nuclear facility? Maybe that’s the real agenda here. Because jail would give you plenty of time for your research.”
“C’mon, give me some credit.”
“Why are you withholding vital information from him?”
“Because—” He suddenly stopped talking. “You’re right. I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you. I’ll go get him.”
When Shanks returned, his eyes darted between the two teens. “Yes?”
Ro looked at Ben, and reluctantly, as if he were parting with a wad of money, he slowly told the detective about the murders’ proximities to the national laboratories—Los Alamos, Sandia, Lawrence Livermore/Berkeley, and Oak Ridge. As Ben spoke, Shanks’s complexion grew gray.
Vicks said, “I could be wrong.”
Shanks glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to tell you the wrong information—”
“Cut the crap, okay? Just stop doing that!” Vicks said nothing. He looked chastened. Shanks was clearly still digesting the information. “A scientist serial killer.”
“Possibly,” Ben said.
“Okay.” Silence. “Okay . . . let me think about how to handle this. I’ve got to talk to some people.”