Page 33 of Identity Unknown
“Most of the speakers I’m seeing have their damn wires hanging out,” Marino says. “And the power’s been turned off for years. Let’s get out of here.”
I’m on his heels as we hurry down the stone steps, back through the main floor, over broken glass and out the front door into the downpour. Following him across the wooden drawbridge, I keep looking back at the castle feeling something watching, lightning shimmering, the windows gaping like empty eye sockets.
We reach the blue tent, ducking inside where Tron and Lucy wait with two Secret Service crime scene investigators I’ve not met. They’re ready with towels for us to dry off. Marino begins unpacking Level-A PPE, chartreuse green with vapor-tight seams. The two of us will be wearing full containment coveralls and breathing apparatuses. Our equipment will protect us from most hazards.
But not gamma rays should the body be radioactive after an exposure to a vehicle of nonhuman origin, for example. If that’s the case, other measures will have to be taken. What those are, I’m not sure. The prospect of a UAP isn’t something I’ve dealt with in practice. I pass around the snacks I carried in my briefcase, helping myself to peanuts that taste divine, my breakfast with Benton a long time ago.
Sitting down on top of a Pelican case, I take off my boots, tucking my pants cuffs into my socks. I pull on the PPE coveralls as a Secret Service investigator named Rob begins explaining what’s been done so far.
“The state police assisted in securing the scene until we could get here from the closest field offices,” he’s saying in a West Virginia accent, his face boyishly cute, his carrot-red hair cropped short.
“Let’s hope they don’t run their mouths,” Marino says, chugging Gatorade.
“Good luck with that,” replies the other investigator, Daniel, gray-haired with piercing blue eyes. “I’m surprised it’s not all over the news already.”
“The cops here earlier don’t know much beyond the likelihood that the victim is Sal Giordano since he’s missing,” Tron replies, signaling that the detail about the UAP hasn’t been shared.
“What do they think happened to him?” Marino wants to know.
“They were spinning a lot of theories while waiting around, including that someone killed him and made it look like extraterrestrials did it,” Tron explains. “You know, because he’s known as the ET Whisperer. They speculated that the crop circle was faked to create a panic.”
“What about the vinegary smell Lucy described to me?” I ask.
“I noticed it too when we first got here,” Tron adds. “It’s long gone now.”
“By the time we rolled up, I didn’t notice any smells. But when I saw the pink circle of flowers around the body?” Danielsays. “That was pretty freaky. Do we have an explanation that makes sense?” He looks at Lucy.
“I don’t know how you’d fake what I saw. It was caused by a rotating force that bent grass and blew flower petals in a clockwise direction,” she answers.
“Unfortunately, the crop circle’s been disturbed if not completely destroyed by the rain,” Tron explains. “But we’ve got plenty of video and photographs of what it looked like.”
“Whatrotating forcemight we be talking about?” Rob asks Lucy as I zip up my coveralls. “Something like a helicopter?”
“Speaking of?? You sure yours didn’t blow shit all over the place when you found the body?” Marino pins Lucy with a stare. “Maybe you hovered over it not realizing it was causing a crop circle. That’s the most logical explanation.”
“Not possible,” she says. “Tron and I spotted the body at two hundred feet above the ground. I didn’t fly directly over it and landed in the parking lot where the chopper is now. We went the rest of the way on foot. And the main rotor blades spin counterclockwise. Not clockwise.”
“I’m assuming the body has been protected from the rain.” I get back to what’s most important to me. “What else do I need to know before taking a look?”
“It’s been inside the other tent almost the entire time,” Rob replies.
“Before that I was here with the state police,” Tron says. “I made sure they stayed away from the body. No one’s touched it.”
“Or been near it without appropriate PPE protection?” I make sure.
“I was suited up when I took the temp with an IRthermometer,” Rob says. “You know, point and shoot at the forehead. I didn’t have to touch anything, the temp ninety-six degrees.”
As I’m listening, I’m hoping like hell the body’s not contagious with some unknown virus. And dear God, don’t let the scene be radioactive. Otherwise, everyone is in trouble.
“And the ambient temperature?” I ask.
“Seventy-five degrees,” Rob replies.
“At what time?”
“Around ten.”
“Was the body in the sun at that time?” I’m making calculations in my head.