Z went back to her pile of clippings and dug out a Chicago magazine article from the Needle Squad"s heyday. She put a red fingernail on a picture of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West. And that was with a fair wind. Her name was Sally Finn.
"We know about Finn," I said.
Our professor nodded her head in appreciation. "Very good. You both get an A. She was the third key member of the Needle Squad. Low profile. And the only one still alive."
"She"s retired," I said. "And she"s got to be well into her seventies."
"Sally Finn is smarter than anyone in this room, and that includes you, Havens. Not to mention she"s a fire-breathing, subzero b.i.t.c.h. I don"t know for a fact, but she"s got to be involved."
"Where does she live?" Havens said.
"After she left the state lab, she disappeared."
"You wouldn"t tell us about her if you didn"t have an idea."
Z picked up a pen and scratched out an address on a piece of paper. "She lives alone. Never married. No kids. This was the last address I ever got for her. About an hour and a half from here, in Michigan."
"You ever been up there?" I said.
"I don"t know anyone who"s been up there," Z said. "If you knew Sally Finn, you"d understand why."
43.
Neither of us commented on it, but we both felt it. An urgency to get some answers before the hourgla.s.s emptied and the past caught up with our present. Maybe it would be a set of cuffs and a jail cell. Maybe they"d just kill us. Maybe both. And so we pressed on, the specter of Coursey looming in our rearview mirror as we pounded down the Indiana tollway toward Michigan.
Finn lived in a small wooded area just north of a small town called Bridgman. Her house was planted on a cliff overlooking Lake Michigan. Jake and I parked a mile away and walked up the beach to have a look.
"How much you think that goes for?" Havens said.
The house was old, its white facade long since scoured gray by the weather. A single turret spiked into the sky, and a set of stairs wound down to an empty beach. There was a dock built out onto the water. A twenty-foot Whaler was tethered at the end.
"Whatever it costs, she can afford it," I said. "Come on, let"s talk."
We found a spot a quarter mile down the beach and sat in the sand. The sun was ducking in and out of cloud cover, and there was a freshening breeze that held the promise of rain. I looked out over the rollers. Chicago"s skyline shimmered in a light haze, fifty miles away.
"So, what do we do?" Havens said.
"We get inside."
He snorted and threw a rock at the water. "Just like that."
"You think Finn"s still involved in all of this?" I said.
"Sarah thinks so. So does Z."
"Z"s guessing," I said.
"Or lying."
"I don"t think Finn has anything to do with what"s going on in Chicago," I said.
"Then why are we here?"
"Because she"s the only one left from the original group. She might have some answers about what happened after the Needle Squad disbanded. And she might be willing to talk."
Havens picked up another rock. This time he threw it at a seagull who was staring at us from atop a piece of driftwood. "Let me guess. You want to walk up there and knock on her front door."
"I was thinking more of the back door. Or maybe an open window."
"It"s called breaking and entering, Joyce."
"Come on."
We hiked up the stairs, taking shelter in a copse of trees that ran out along the edge of the property line. The house looked worse the closer we got to it. The porch steps were broken, and one of the railings had fallen into the backyard. There was a line of hedges on either side of the house and a hammock was tied off between two trees.
"What do you see?" I said.
"An old house with a beat-up back porch."
"I"m guessing we could jimmy that open." I pointed to a small ground-level window halfway down one side of the house.
"With what?" Havens said. "And why?"
Just then the back door banged open, and a woman came out. She was wearing oversize, dark sungla.s.ses and a broad-brimmed hat with a shock of white hair underneath. She was tall and bent. Her teeth flashed in the sun.
The woman pulled sunscreen from a flowered bag, squirted a good amount into her hands, and worked it into the loose, pebbly skin that hung in folds off her neck and arms. When she was done, she put the lotion away, picked up the bag, and started down a path that ran along the side of the house. The woman disappeared between a gap in the hedges.
"Come on," Havens said.
We crept down the path and peered into a cove constructed of landscaped bushes and trees. A steel shed sat in the very center. The woman was standing beside the door. It popped open, and she disappeared inside. Havens rushed forward, but the door closed well before he got to it. There was a large generator on one side of the shed and what looked like a heavy-duty AC unit. Havens pointed to a set of power lines crossing overhead.
"Two hundred twenty volts."
We made our way back toward the front of the shed. Jake touched me at the shoulder and gestured toward a keypad by the door.
"What is it?" I said, one eye on the door, waiting for it to swing open.
"The keypad," Havens said and moved closer.
The pad contained b.u.t.tons numbered zero to thirty. Four of the numbers were smeared with bits of white sunscreen. Havens grinned and pointed to a # symbol at the very bottom. It, too, had a dab of white on it.
We snuck back down the path. I was tempted to take a chance on the house, but Havens pulled me into the tree line. Smart move as the woman in the hat appeared on the path less than two minutes later. She went back into the house. Twenty minutes after that, the garage door opened and a Lexus pulled out. The woman was in the front seat, alone. We watched her drive away.
"I think that was Finn," Havens said.
"Has to be," I said. "What about the shed?"
"You get the numbers?"
I nodded.
"Can you do it?"
"I can try."
"Let"s take a look."
a.s.suming no numbers were repeated, four digits and a # symbol generated one hundred and twenty possible combinations. I sat against the wall of the shed, closed my eyes, and lined up the numbers in my head. Havens stood by the keypad, waiting.
"You ready?" I said.
"f.u.c.k, yeah."
I read a combination off the inside of my eyelids. Havens punched it in. Nothing. I gave him another. Still nothing. I could hear the rush and suck of the waves as they hit the beach below us. Otherwise, my world was quiet. Just Jake"s voice. Asking for another number. Then a fourth. Combination thirty-eight proved to be the charm. The door to the shed popped open, and we stepped inside.
It was dark. A current of cold air dried the sweat on my chest and raised the hair on my arms. Havens found a light switch and turned on the overheads. We were standing in a room that could have only belonged to a scientist. A countertop of black granite ran the length of the facing wall. Above it, a row of blond-wood cabinets. Two deep sinks of stainless steel sat in equipoise at either end of the counter. In between was a row of test tubes, a rack of pipettes, a computer monitor, and three microscopes in front of three stools. From somewhere to our left came the soft thump and groan of a compressor.
"Come on," Havens said.
We found our way into a small, adjoining room. A walk-in cooler took up half the s.p.a.ce. Beside it was a row of three black cabinets. We moved closer to the walk-in. It, too, was locked, with another keypad set just above the handle. This one, unfortunately, wasn"t covered in sunscreen.
"What do you think?" Havens said.
I punched in the numbers from the front door. Nothing. I dropped off the # symbol. More nothing.
"Try reversing them," Havens said.
"Why?"
"Just try it. And put the symbol back in."
I did. The door popped open.
"Scientists," Havens said. "No f.u.c.king imagination."
We pushed into the cooler and a small light clicked on. The s.p.a.ce was filled with long, low metal racks-each containing as many as ten to fifteen test tubes. I picked up a tube filled with a yellowish liquid and looked at the tag on it.
SUBJECT 26D.
8/25/06.
s.e.m.e.n ... NO EXPIRATION DATE "What do you think?" I said.
"Pretty f.u.c.ked up."
"That"s it?"
"I think s.e.m.e.n dies within a few hours after it"s e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed."
"How about its DNA signature?" I said. "Planted at a crime scene?"
Havens picked up another vial. The tag read: SUBJECT 3B.
BLOOD ... COLLECTION DATE 2010 ** SEE SUBJECT"S CHART.
Havens placed the tube back in its rack. "I got an idea." He walked out of the cooler and over to the black cabinets. "These guys are locked with a key."
"What are you looking for?" I said.
"There"s gotta be a chart that decodes what"s in the cooler. And who belongs to what. How long have we been in there?"
"About five minutes."
"We"ve got time."
Havens ran out of the shed, back along the path, to the main house. The door on the back porch was locked. A small window next to it was cracked an inch. We jacked it open and squeezed through. The living room was large and shabby, with a long velvet couch at one end, two matching chairs, and a couple of bare tables. No pictures anywhere, no sign of life except for a cat who meowed at us from atop a mantel. Havens pa.s.sed through the living room and walked down the hallway. I followed him to a small study. A metal desk took up nearly the entire room.
"Gotta be here," Havens said.
"What?"
"I told you. Finn"s a scientist. No imagination. So she either has the keys with her or leaves them in her house. In fact, I bet she does both."
Havens dug through the desk. In the bottom left-hand drawer he found a small ring of keys and dangled them in front of me. "What do you think?"
"Worth a try."
"d.a.m.n straight."
We sprinted back down the path and into the shed. Everything seemed as we left it. Havens tried a couple of keys in one of the cabinet locks. The third one turned easily, and the door slid open.
"f.u.c.k me," Havens said. I crowded closer. The filing cabinet was filled with videotapes, stored on shelves and labeled by subject matter: DEATHS (INCLUDING DUIs, ACCIDENTS, MURDER) RAPE (INCLUDING DATE RAPE).
s.e.x (HOOKERS, WIVES, GIRLFRIENDS, ALL ADULTS).
KIDS.
I pulled out one of the tapes from the s.e.x shelf. It was labeled in much the same manner as the test tubes.
SUBJECT 11A.