Missing: The Body of Evidence (25 page)

Booked into a motel, having bought some
blonde hair dye on the way, Nancy collapsed on the bed exhausted. Her mind
flipped over events, not wanting to believe any of the situations.
An
alternative… astral travel… secret mind control program… Kennedy conspiracy and
magnetic aura, for Christ’s sake?
All spun around in her mind until she
felt as though someone had twisted a corkscrew into her skull and extracted her
brain.

Her stomach didn’t fare much better when
the realization dawned she had not eaten. The words, ‘magnetic aura’ alluded to
by Dora stuck in her thoughts like a fly to jelly, buzzing away, frantically
trying to escape, but the notion simply would not go away.

The paper clip in the office and the
compass spinning to her touch skipped through her mind. Then the purple patch
on the televisions and the monitor screen when interviewing Kelly. Everything
pointed to her having some capacity to produce a static electric field beyond
the norm. She wondered if this could have caused the glass to shatter in the
doorway, the truck’s windshield; and somehow her aura had caused the MRI scan
to malfunction.

Curiosity drove her to the mirror in the
bathroom. Placing her hands on the hand bowl, she raised her head and stared at
the mirror. Holding her breath, her eyes popped with the strain that she
thought would induce some kind of result. Nancy broke wind and snickered.
Nothing else had happened, but then she expected nothing would and slapped her
cheek with her palm.

‘Bah, stupid idea, girl.’

She touched the side of her head with her
fingers. The pain she had suffered had gone. All the events had happened when
she had been under severe emotional stress and her headaches were at their
height. She wondered if these factors could have played a part. Quickly she
dismissed the idea, preferring to place more significance on logical explanations,
but the doubt remained. The only thing that seemed feasible was that the shady
astral program played a part in events. Nancy knew that she needed to find out
where their base was and what was so secret that they could possibly be
involved in murder and destroying her career.

Nancy picked up the hair dye, scoffed and
tossed it in the wastebasket.

‘No way.’

With the young gang member murdered, the
event had its bad and good side. On the one hand, he would take the secret as
to who killed him to his grave and on the other hand, he wouldn’t be around to
testify his lies against her. His death could hold some clues as to who was
behind the attempt to frame her, and she decided to take a ride and to phone
Logan from a payphone. She headed to her car.

After a twenty-minute ride, Nancy pulled
into a gas station and parked. She loaded the payphone with coins, dialled
Logan’s number and he picked up the call.

‘Hi, it’s Nancy. I was just wondering if
there were any clues as to who had murdered the guy who tried to frame me.’

‘How did you know about the murder?’

Nancy wanted to end the call and to pretend
it had not happened, but she knew she had messed up with repeating what Bill
had told her.

‘Never mind that, have you any clues.’

He ignored the question.

‘Where are you, we need to talk. Your car
is at home but no one answers. Tell me where you are and I’ll have someone pick
you up.’

Warning bells rang. What they were doing,
offering to go to her home and pick her up, meant only one thing. She was a
suspect for something, and they needed her to come in for questioning, but with
Bill delaying his interview, she reckoned it could not be about the case
against her.

‘I took a bus ride to get some medication.
Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

He didn’t answer but started to ask
questions about her health. The questions were totally out of character and she
took it into her head he was trying to have the call traced.

‘Sorry, I’ve run out of coins. Speak to you
tomorrow.’

Nancy placed the handset in the cradle,
aware that she was visibly shaking. She grabbed a sandwich pack, a carton of
juice, asked for a new operator card for her cell phone, paid for them, rushed
to her car, and drove away at speed.

After ten minutes of driving, she pulled
over to the sidewalk. Tearing at the packaging, Nancy grasped and devoured the
sandwich, hardly taking the time to chew. There hadn’t been time to phone her
dad and she needed to talk to him. Aware Logan had her cell phone number; she
knew she had to change the operator card. Fumbling to take off the back of the
phone, she caught the ON switch and the message function sounded. Turning it
over, her heart skipped. The screen displayed a text message from Kyle.

In a panic, she turned off the phone, not
knowing if they could trace her from the brief moment she had pressed the ON
button by mistake, though she suspected they could. Tossing the phone on the
passenger seat, with her foot pressed hard on the gas pedal, she accelerated,
burning rubber and sped off down the road. Her heart rate gathered speed in
tandem with the engine picking up momentum. A safe distance between her and the
gas station, she pulled over and turned down a side street, parked between two
cars and turned off the ignition and lights. Nancy slouched down into her seat,
her heart still beating rapidly as a reaction to what Kyle may have sent as a
message. She picked up the cell phone and stared at the blank screen, her
finger hovering over the ON button.

It was not just the fear of being located
that worried her if she switched on the phone. Thoughts that she would find a
‘Dear, Jane Doe’ message, that Kyle was calling off their relationship, sent
her mind in a spin. Her sweaty hands started to shake. She could hear the sound
of her heart beating and felt cold shivers run through her body as adrenalin
kicked in once again. A pain slammed her in her chest and she grimaced. The
immediate thought was a heart attack at the relentless assault of adrenalin
flushing through her body. She groaned and then whimpered.

‘Help… Mom. Please help.’

Her eyes moistened. She grasped at the
source of the pain near her left shoulder and wondered if it was God’s way of
ending her torture. Nancy slumped forward, banging her forehead on the steering
wheel, still gasping at the pain and breathing rapidly.

The pain in Nancy’s chest intensified,
spreading to her stomach. She slouched down in her seat, grimaced and reached
out for her cell phone. Her mind fought the pain through furrowed brow and eyes
squeezed tight, drifting through recollections of a life filled with nothing
but isolation. She dropped the phone and held her stomach with one hand while
still grasping at her chest. If it was her time, she thought it ironic she
would die alone with her thoughts, in the same empty universe she had lived her
life in, without anyone giving but a fleeting-damn.

A voice in her sub-conscious told her not
to be so stupid. Her morbid aspirations at resigning to her fate came to a
halt, at the realization it was probably heartburn, no doubt brought on by
devouring the sandwich. Through the tears, laughter, she fought the pain until
it subsided, leaving her saying a silent thank you to her mom and breathing in
rhythmic shallow breaths until the stabbing finally dissipated. The voice had
been correct; she was stupid, with the source of the pain in her chest nowhere
near her heart.

Nancy wiped her moist eyes, and feeling
composed, twisted the ignition key. She manoeuvred her car from between the
parked cars and set off in the direction of Compton. Briefly, she touched the
butt of her gun in her waistband. Eyes fixed on the road ahead she drove with a
determination and a plan to find where Astral was based. Even in the familiar
territory of South Central, it wasn’t time to relax. Graffiti on walls flashed
by and mapped out the gang territories, changing from one corner to the next.
Children posted as lookouts stood guard, more concerned for rival gangs
encroaching on territories than a police hit, mountain bikes and cell phones at
the ready.

Ominously, as she turned down a side
street, a pair of sneakers, laces fastened and strung over the telephone cables
crossing the road above in her vision, told her the likely fate of an intruder
crossing the line. Undaunted, but wishing she had the usual backup of a partner,
she pulled over at a dilapidated block of apartments.

The smile of a young African American boy
greeted her. No more than ten-years old, he sat on the steps to the apartments
with a friend.

‘Five-dollars to look after your car,’ he
said, and playfully elbowed his friend, who gave him a dig in the ribs in
retaliation.

‘I’ll go one better. Five dollars now for
your friend to look after the car, and five dollars for you to knock on number
two. After knocking, wait outside and when I return, I’ll give you both another
ten dollars to share.’

The twenty dollars must have sounded too
good to miss and his friend held out his hand for the first instalment. Nancy
handed it over and the other boy walked ahead of her holding out his hand.

‘Just knock on the door and when you hear
the chains, go and wait outside,’ she said, and handed him the five-dollar
bill. The hallway light flashed as she stood to one side of door to number two.
Her back to the wall, a nod of the head and the young boy knocked. She had not
reckoned on who was behind the door asking questions.

‘What d’ya want?’

‘Message for ya. It’s private, Man,’ said
the young boy, thinking on his feet, no doubt spurred on at the second round of
bounty coming his way.

At the rattle of door chains, the young boy
signed with a thumbs-up and scurried down the corridor and out of the building.

Nancy slipped her gun from the waistband,
grasping the handle with both hands. Remarkably calm, she stepped out as the
door opened and aimed her gun.

‘I need a word.’

A look of panic spread on the person’s face
and he attempted to slam the door closed. Nancy shoulder charged and the door
flung open to the sight and sound of her target landing spread-eagled on the
floorboards.

‘That was stupid. You need to start eating spinach,
Weasel.’

‘I’m clean honest,’ Weasel said, and
scrambled to his feet using the table for support.

He backed over to an open door and reached
for the handle.

‘Back off.’

With the barrel of the gun pressed to his
temple, he withdrew his hand. Nancy kicked open the door to reveal a bank of
computers and a pile of the latest blockbuster covers.

‘See you’re back to your old tricks.’

His shoulders drooped and he dropped his
backside onto a chair.

‘Look, I got nothing else to give ya. I
thought I bought favour snitching the last time you shook me down?’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not here for your
counterfeiting scams. I’m here for your reputation as a computer hacker.’

His sticky-out ears perked out even more,
and as he raised his head, his pointed-thin nose sniffed the damp air in the
apartment, leaving no doubt where he got his Weasel nickname.

‘What d’ya need.’

‘I need some information from the CIA
server.’

‘Hell, Nance, I don’t do anything like
that.’

‘Fair enough, assume the position.’

Nancy moved one hand to her jacket as if to
retrieve handcuffs, and revealed the police badge hung over her waist belt.

‘Wait… what information?’

He moved over to his computer desk and sat
on a swivel chair. Nancy started to cold sweat, relieved he hadn’t called her
bluff.

‘I need you to find out about a CIA program
called
Astral
.’

‘Whoa… steady on there.’ He held up both
hands in a form of surrender. ‘No way. No hacker worth his salt would go there.’

‘Why?’

‘Because serious shit happens, that’s why.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like that kind-a-shit.’ He pointed to a
twisted computer on the floor at the side of his desk. ‘God knows how they do
it, but they fry your computer when you try to access. At least they don’t send
the FBI as a follow up. I can get you a pay raise on the police computer instead.
Will that do?’

Nancy raised her eyebrows.

‘No thanks. Surely some of your hacker
friends can help?’

‘Seriously, no one will go there.’

‘What about CIA personnel?’

‘Now you’re talking. Name?’

‘Professor, Tom, or Thomas Reynolds.’

‘Give me a little time. I need to route
access through China, then Russia and onto a British university super computer.’

Nancy left him typing on the keyboard and
sat on the sofa. Weasel had been a good snitch for her over the years, but he
had to bargain with the DA to keep him out of prison the last time she had had
an encounter with him, when she had to pull him in for cloning credit cards.
She just couldn’t understand why someone with his computer skills couldn’t get
a regular job.

‘We’re in.’

The screen lit up, requesting a name. He
typed in the professor’s name. Text appeared. “ACCESS DENIED, re-route to
Astral Chemicals Inc. Level-one security.” Weasel reached down and pulled the
power plug to his computer.

‘Sorry, that’s as far as I’m going.’

At least it confirmed the connection
between the professor and Astral Chemicals , but more importantly, it confirmed
Astral existed within the structure of the CIA. With the professor and the
janitor having their condo’ charges paid by Astral, she deduced the facility
had to be somewhere in LA.

‘Is that it, we done?’ Weasel asked.

‘Err… yeah… I mean no. I need a cell phone
that can’t be traced. Get me one and it’s the last you’ll hear from me on the
subject of those films.’

‘Sure, I’ll throw in a film if you like.’

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a
phone.

‘It’s cloned, but only use it for twenty
four hours and don’t stay on it for too long before moving on.’

He looked puzzled and then a smile spread
on his face. ‘I’m guessing you owe me more than I owe you for all this. Show
your face around here again and I may just talk to my friend the DA.’

Nancy’s could detect heat rising in her
cheeks.

‘Whatever.’

She turned and left his apartment, slipping
the gun back into her waistband and teased a ten-dollar bill from her jeans
pocket. The young boy snatched the bill as she walked down the steps and ran
along the sidewalk with his friend. Instinct told her to clutch her shoulder
purse with one hand and her gun with the other. Her eyes flicked left to right.
Youths approach from either side maybe thirty yards along the sidewalk and
quickened their pace. Straight ahead, another gang of three youths stood in the
doorway of the apartments across the street and sent stabbing looks at her.

She inwardly cursed at being so generous
with the young boys. They must have gotten word out there was some crazy woman
throwing money about like confetti at a wedding. Nancy skipped down the steps
and, fumbling with her key, finally unlocked the door, throwing it open for
cover and withdrawing her gun, she pointed it at the youths approaching from
her open side.

‘Police. On the floor, or I’ll shoot.’

They did what she hoped all self-respecting
youths would do in that hood, they ran away in the opposite direction,
disappearing down a side street. The youths opposite in the doorway, melted
into the darkness inside the open entrance to the apartments. A flash of light
from the shadows in the hallway and the sound of a shot rang out, hitting the
brickwork behind her.
Shit.
Nancy fired back, but aimed high. As she
turned to where she had seen the youths to her right, they were back in the
street.

The distinct sound of a high-velocity round
passed her and ricocheted off the asphalt; digging up debris in front of the
rapidly approaching youths. The incoming round stopped them in their tracks,
before they scattered in the opposite direction like headless chickens.

She dived into her seat, fired up the
ignition and reversed down the street at speed, breaking and spinning the
steering wheel to face in the opposite direction. To the sound of screeching tyres,
she dropped the gears into first, and pressed down hard on the gas pedal. A
glance in the rear-view mirror and she could see the youths growing ever
smaller as she put burning rubber between them and her, and she took deliberate
breaths to calm her quivering body.

‘Who in the hell took that shot?’