Page 51 of Go Now
She knew that was crazy.But it was how she felt.
‘What’s been going on here?’
She’d been dreading that question.Because they’d made progress in his absence, but the most recent development was something she still struggled to process.She’d already hidden it from Chen.She was compromising the investigation, her safety, everyone’s safety, if she didn’t disclose the message from the Law-giver.
She took a deep breath and filled him in.The Blackstone Foundation’s tax issues.The continuing search for Ray and/or his sculptures.The latest intel on the source of the clay. And finally, Elvira Meg White and the message hidden in her name.He took it all in.Solid, like a rock.Bad news just seemed to bounce right off Marcus.Which was what made him such a good person to talk to.
‘The stupid thing is, I lied to Chen.I said I couldn’t find anything in that name.’
Marcus nodded.‘Because of what you said before?You didn’t want it to be true?’
Something in her broke then.Maybe it was hearing someone else say it.Maybe it was just his deep, patient voice.She felt tears running down her cheeks.‘Why does it have to be me, Marcus? What does this freakin’ creep called the Law-giver want with one dorky FBI code-cracker from Buffalo Grove?Why won’t they leave me alone?’
Silently, he opened another bottle and gave it to her.Passed her a tissue from the box by the bed.
‘You’ve told Winters, right?’
She sipped the beer.
‘Right, Kate?’he repeated.‘Don’t make me pull rank on you.’
She laughed, in spite of herself.‘What rank?You’re the same rank!’
‘Big brother rank then.’
‘I’m older than you.’
‘Well, I’m still bigger.’
‘Well, I surrender then.I haven’t told her.’
‘Tell her.’
‘I will.I promise.’
+ + + + + +
Judging by the coffee cups and the sheer quantity of paper accumulated on the desks and chairs, as well as on top of the printer, Chen had come into work very early that morning. Or possibly she hadn't even gone home to her apartment in Queens. Her eyes were ringed with red, and her ponytail had come loose. She had a slightly wild look, like a scientist who has spent too long caught up in their own research.
‘I found it!’she declared triumphantly, as Marcus and Kate arrived. ‘Or them.I mean them.’
Based on the specific mineral make-up of the clay used in the crime scene statues, Chen had narrowed the origin point down to three sites around a forest creek that fed into the Hudson river, about a hundred miles from the city.
'It's all thanks to poop,' she said, stumbling slightly over her words.She was either exhausted or overdosed on caffeine, or most probably both. 'From various wildlife, but especially bobcats.They've got a specific diet, and they're very particular about where they go to the toilet, so you get these hot zones, where there's like this massive build-up of bobcat waste, which inevitably leaches into the surrounding soil and groundwater, and thus ends up in the clay.Luckily for us, the forestry department keeps a very close eye on the bobcat population, because they're endangered, so I was able to access a whole treasure-trove of data about their preferred sites, which I could then cross check with geological mapping of the related areas.'
‘How long would it take to drive there?’Kate asked, taking advantage of a pause in Chen’s breathless monologue.
'Probably a couple of hours,' Marcus said.'But what are you planning to do?Go up there, hide in a bush, and wait for a guy with a spade?'
‘Fair point,’ said Kate. ‘I guess we should do some research.’
She looked at the map. The clay-sites were all remote, to a degree, miles into a thickly forested wilderness reserve, but that was also only a short drive away from a small town called Kampen, which straddled the Hudson river.She looked it up. Like a lot of the state, Kampen had been founded by Dutch settlers towards the end of the 17thcentury.Quarrying, lumber, ice and agriculture had been its principle economic focus, right up until World War One.More recently, it had found a niche hosting various different annual festivals, including one devoted to potatoes, and another for go-kart enthusiasts. Quite a number of Kampen’s population – 17,000 just before the Pandemic – were employed in retirement homes dotted around the town and neighbouring settlements, as well as at a psychiatric facility bearing the name of its early 20th-century founder, Adams Mayhew.
They divided up the workload, Chen looking at past crimes in the surrounding area, Kate focussing on useful people to interview. Marcus began a lengthy phone conversation in Spanish, which suggested he was talking to his associate in La Paz about Ray Blackstone.
‘It’s quiet here, and we like it quiet,’ said Arno Walters, the Chief of Police – echoing the views Kate had heard from the principal of the high school and a senior nurse at the hospital.‘We might get a bit of trouble in the stupid season.You know, tourists who can’t hold their liquor, some chowderhead forgets to put the campfire out.Occasional theft of equipment from farms – had a spate of them a few years ago.Turned out it was the veterinarian’s assistant, selling the stuff online.’
The guy was happy to talk for hours, it seemed, and Kate wished she could have listened to him for as long.Who even used the word ‘chowderhead’ anymore?It sounded like something that her grandmother might have said. But there was a kind of ease in the man’s words that she found almost magnetic. He had the time to make a connection with her, the time to listen to what she said in return.Barely two hours east of New York City, but so different, none of that tough edge, none of the impatience or wariness of urban dwellers.Especially not of urban law enforcement.
