Page 8 of Identity Unknown
“At the moment I have no idea what to think.”
CHAPTER 4
As Fruge and I end the call, I’m distracted by the security video screens on my office walls. Something is going on with the cameras inside the vehicle bay, those images suddenly replaced by black squares. I send a text to Security Officer Wyatt Earle asking him what’s wrong.
Just noticed they’re out. Got no idea,he texts me back, and as if on cue the cameras are working again just like that.
The blacked-out squares are replaced by images inside the vehicle bay, the white cargo van I noticed earlier parked off to the side, a logo on the door that I can’t make out. Someone in a tan jumpsuit is walking around to the open tailgate. The metal bay door is retracted all the way up, bright sunlight and blue sky filling the huge square opening.
Cameras seem to be working fine now.I send Wyatt another text.
Don’t know what that was about,he answers.
I tell him to expect a few police cruisers showing up to help us keep an eye on our place. Explaining why, I give him the white Escalade’s plate number. I’m closing the window shade when my cell phone rings,out of areaappearing on the display.
“Hello?” I answer, waiting several seconds, hearing radioor TV chatter playing quietly in the background. “Hello?” Ending the call, I think about who might have my personal cell phone number.
I don’t give it to many people. I also don’t share the direct number for the autopsy suite, and in my mind, I see security officer Norm Duffy’s thin lips and icy pale eyes. I can hear him calling me a fucking bitch after I fired him last fall. He was taking yet another break when an armed intruder entered the building. Norm did nothing, and I suspected he was stealing.
One of the worst employees I’ve ever had, he was a huge liability. His aggression and negligence placed everyone at risk, and not a day passes that I’m not grateful that he’s gone. For a while he left messages threatening to sue for wrongful termination. There’s been nothing from him this year, and I’m hopeful he’s moved on. But what if he hasn’t?
If not him, someone else.
Sadly, the list is long of those who can’t resist causing trouble. I step inside my private bathroom, perhaps the biggest perk that goes with being chief. Shutting the door, I take off my surgical clogs and scrubs. It’s now half past noon, and there’s no time to shower. I douse a washcloth with hot water, adding a dollop of antibacterial soap that claims to have a pleasant herbal scent. It doesn’t.
I’m gargling with an antiseptic mouthwash when my husband, Benton Wesley, calls, and I’m relieved and happy to hear his voice. I turn off the water in the sink and switch to speakerphone.
“I wanted to check on you while I could,” he’s saying. “I know you’re on your way to meet Lucy at Washington National.”
“I was going to try to reach you shortly but didn’t think I’d be so lucky, figuring you were locked away with the CIA.”
“I’m at my headquarters now because of what’s happened,” he says.
A forensic psychologist, my husband is the Secret Service’s top threat analyst. I have no doubt he’s aware of everything Lucy’s told me, and knows details that she doesn’t.
“As terrible as I feel about Sal, I can imagine how this must be for you,” Benton says, and he really can’t imagine what I’m feeling. No one can. “Nothing about this is going to be easy, Kay.”
“It already isn’t.” I rub moisturizer into my face and neck. “I can’t stop thinking about what I might have done to prevent it. I was just with him and am replaying every second.”
“There’s nothing you could have done.”
“I think of all the times I lectured him about security.” I open the bathroom’s closet, not much bigger than a locker.
“I warned him every time the three of us were together.” Benton’s voice is all around me. “He wouldn’t listen.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” I collect cargo pants, a polo shirt from hangers. “And I stopped saying much after a while. But I shouldn’t have.”
“He saw the good in people even when it wasn’t there.” Benton has always been gracious about Sal when most husbands wouldn’t be. “Which might give us a hint about why he stopped his truck while heading up the mountain to check into the lodge last night. Maybe someone pretended to have car trouble, for example.”
“He’s the sort to bend over backwards to help.” I close the toilet lid, sitting down on it.
“Whoever’s responsible knew enough to appeal to his selfless nature,” Benton says in his pleasant baritone, rarely sounding rushed or stressed. “The first rule of being a good assassin is to know your victim.”
“Sounds like you’re not buying this UAP business.” I pull on the black cargo pants.
“We know there was one,” Benton says. “A moving blip on radar and multiple other sensors that can’t be explained.”
“I’m concerned. It’s a dangerous distraction from what’s really going on, and maybe that’s the point.” I pull on the polo shirt, black with the medical examiner’s crest embroidered on it.