Page 67 of Identity Unknown
We carry our plates to the table, the curtains drawn in thewindow. Sitting down, both of us are ravenous. I tell him about the helicopter ride in terrible weather, and the chain breaking free as we sling-loaded Sal’s truck out of the ravine. I describe the large African cat that disappeared in the fog, and what happened when we were leaving in the storm.
“We’re lifting off from the parking lot as tornadoes are touching down nearby,” I’m saying between bites. “When suddenly the lights, rides and music turned on. Not all of them, of course, because much isn’t working anymore. But how could anything at all turn on when the power’s been off since the place was shuttered?”
“We’ve since discovered it was turned back on two weeks ago.” Benton twists the cap off a bottle of water.
“Turned back on by whom?”
“The park’s original account was reactivated over the internet, the charges invoiced to the owner’s credit card.”
“Ryder Briley’s credit card?” I ask.
“Briley Enterprises specifically.”
“And the explanation?” I dip another piece of fried chicken into honey mustard.
“Ryder Briley pleads ignorance, claiming someone must have gotten hold of his company’s credit card information. He went on to say that he’d been planning on putting Oz on the market this spring. But now because of themurder there,he won’t be able to sell it.”
“How convenient. Another hefty business loss he can deduct.”
“He’s claiming that Sal Giordano’s death has tanked the property value.” Benton sprinkles pepper on a drumstick.
“Do you believe that he’s the victim? That he had no idea about the power being turned back on?” I reply as Carrie circles my thoughts.
“Hard to know. But I believe he’s in the mix somehow.” Benton drops bones into an empty box. “I have a bad feeling he’s gotten tangled up with her.” He means Carrie. “And no one better at hacking and creating a spectacle.”
“The power was turned back on two weeks ago even though there appears to be no work going on. Then suddenly this afternoon, the lights and other things go haywire.” I give him the chronology. “Just like things have been going haywire in my office.”
I tell Benton about the parking lot’s security gate. And the cameras inside the vehicle bay turning on and off for no apparent reason. Also, the elevator is having fits, all of it happening rather much at once.
“Just when I’m certain it’s deliberate, I start wondering if I’m paranoid,” I explain.
“You’re not.”
“Do you think she’s hacked into my building?”
“It’s been five months since she resurfaced, causing her usual mayhem.” He tears open a packet of ketchup. “She didn’t accomplish what she wanted then, and now she’s at it again with a vengeance. While at it, she’s having her fun. That’s what I think we’re going to find out.”
“And whatever her ultimate goal, she didn’t get started yesterday.” I add. “She’s been thinking about it for a while.”
“That’s part of the thrill. Premeditating. Fantasizing in advance.” He bites into a buttermilk biscuit, melted butteroozing from it. “Lucy needs to sweep your building for anything that might have been planted there,” he adds, and I think of the exterminator on top of the tall ladder.
It wasn’t the usual person, someone unfamiliar, I’m telling Benton as I get an incredulous feeling. The cargo van parked inside the vehicle bay was white with a logo on the side. The florist’s van was white with a bogus logo, and those can be attached with magnets. Plastic signs can be 3-D printed these days.
CHAPTER 24
The next morning, I open my eyes in the dark and wouldn’t know where I am if Reveille wasn’t playing through outdoor speakers. It’s five o’clock, and Benton doesn’t stir next to me even as trumpets blare. We stayed up much too late, and agreed there was no rush to hit the road this morning.
I sneak out of bed without disturbing him, the carpet rough beneath my bare feet as Reveille stops. The quiet is restored except for the sound of water running overhead in pipes as other guests stir. Closing the bedroom door after me, I carry my phone into the kitchen. I turn on the lights, filling the coffeemaker’s reservoir.
Opening the refrigerator, I inspect our leftovers. Fried chicken and biscuits sound good. The mashed potatoes I can turn into fritters. Not perfect without cheese and onions, but they’ll be delicious, and my stomach growls. Wrapping the chicken and biscuits in foil, I begin warming them in the toaster oven.
As coffee brews, I scroll through messages and emails, and have several from Fabian. I’m surprised to learn that he and Faye spent the night in the on-call room inside my building.
Hope you don’t mind that we helped ourselves to what’s in the fridge,he texted at oneA.M.
I wonder what possessed them to have a sleepover, and I answer him, not expecting he’ll respond at this hour. But my phone rings right away.
“I hope you’re getting enough rest and not drinking so much coffee,” I say to Fabian first thing. “Are you feeling better than you were yesterday, I hope?”