PRAISE FOR ANDREW MAYNE
“In Mayne’s exciting second Jessica Blackwood novel, the cunning FBI special agent applies her magician training to investigating a bizarre explosion . . . A fast-moving thriller in which illusions are weapons for both good and evil.”
—Publishers Weekly on Name of the Devil
“Science supersedes the supernatural in this action-packed follow-up . . . With snappy prose and a smart protagonist, this is an adrenaline-fueled procedural with an unusual twist. Great reading.”
—Booklist (starred review) on Name of the Devil
“Mayne, the star of the A&E show Don’t Trust Andrew Mayne, combines magic and mayhem in this delightful beginning to a new series . . . Readers will look forward to Jessica’s future adventures.”
—Publishers Weekly on Angel Killer
“Professional illusionist Mayne introduces a fresh angle to serial-killer hunting . . . Mayne forgoes gimmicks, instead dissecting illusions with human behavior, math, and science without losing sight of the story’s big picture.”
—Booklist on Angel Killer
OTHER TITLES BY ANDREW MAYNE
JESSICA BLACKWOOD SERIES
Black Fall
Name of the Devil
Angel Killer
THE CHRONOLOGICAL MAN SERIES
The Monster in the Mist
The Martian Emperor
Station Breaker
Public Enemy Zero
Hollywood Pharaohs
Knight School
The Grendel’s Shadow
NONFICTION
The Cure for Writers Block
How to Write a Novella in 24 Hours
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Andrew Mayne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477824245
ISBN-10: 1477824243
Cover design by M.S. Corley
To my friend Gerry Ohrstrom, for his contagious support and enthusiasm for science.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE 1989
CHAPTER TWO ICE MACHINE
CHAPTER THREE SAMPLE
CHAPTER FOUR SELF-INCRIMINATION
CHAPTER FIVE INDEX
CHAPTER SIX FIELDWORK
CHAPTER SEVEN ISLANDS
CHAPTER EIGHT FRONTIERS
CHAPTER NINE MIDNIGHT
CHAPTER TEN THE BEAST
CHAPTER ELEVEN THE PHILANTHROPIST
CHAPTER TWELVE BUTTERFLIES
CHAPTER THIRTEEN WALKING DISTANCE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN YELLOW LINE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN RESTING PLACE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN SNIPER
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN GENBANK
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN APEX
CHAPTER TWENTY FRAMED
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE TROUBLEMAKER
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE GRAPH
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE THE HUMAN CIRCUIT
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR THE PITCH EXPERIMENT
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE HUDSON CREEK
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX THE LAWN MOWER MAN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN TROUBLED YOUNG THINGS
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHERRY PIE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE OPEN WOUNDS
CHAPTER THIRTY LOST GIRLS
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE STALKER
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO BESTIES
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE BAD PRINCE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR FIELD TRIP
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE DARK PATHS
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX BIODIVERSITY
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN REMNANTS
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT INFORMANT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE ACCESSORIES
CHAPTER FORTY PROBABILITY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE STASIS
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO RESURRECTIONIST
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE FALL GUY
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR INPATIENT
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE DEPARTURES
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX ACADEMIC
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN BAYESIAN CASUALTIES
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT INERTIA
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE BODY COUNT
CHAPTER FIFTY ANTHROPOLOGIST
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE SHARK TEETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO UNSOLVED
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE SHADOWS
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR ENCOUNTER
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE GEOSPATIAL
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX THE RAVINE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN LAIR
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT EXTREMOPHILE
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE HAUNTED
CHAPTER SIXTY SCENERY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE INTERNIST
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO NEXT OF KIN
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE HOMESTEAD
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR ACCOMPLICE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE JUNKER
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX ALIBI
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN FOUNDLING
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT COUNTERMEASURE
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE ADMISSION
CHAPTER SEVENTY SURROGATE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE FATALITY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO BREAKING
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE DEAD MAN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR REALITY CHECK
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE STALKER
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX PROTECTION
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN PERIMETER DEFENSE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT SAFE HOUSE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE CRASH
CHAPTER EIGHTY VALIANT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE HUNTED
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO VIGILANT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE ADAPTATION
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR THROMBOSIS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
1989
The woods were wrong. That was the only way Kelsie could describe it. There was just something not right. She stared off in the direction Trevor had gone, unsure if she should try to track him down or stay put next to the tiny red tent and wait for him to return from his bathroom break.
He’d laugh at her if she said she was scared, so Kelsie dug through her backpack, searching for the roll of toilet paper she’d borrowed from the Conoco station restroom thirty miles back. She found it wrapped up in the cords of her Walkman, resting on the mixtapes Trevor had made for her back at Boston College.
Trevor was a lanky journalism major with a mop of black hair that usually covered his eyes. They’d met at an off-campus party and bonded over a mutual love of prog rock and board games. The first evening they spent in his dorm they listened to Tubular Bells, played Stratego, and drank cheap wine. She was pretty sure she was in love right there but waited two months to tell him.
Her parents hated him. Her father, a bank executive, couldn’t get over the phrase journalism major and her mother still hadn’t gotten over her own first marriage, made in college. Trevor was just another fling to them. No more significant than Kelsie’s date to junior prom.
Trevor’s parents were divorced and lived abroad. He barely spoke to them, and Kelsie soon followed suit with her own. When he proposed
a cross-country hiking trip during summer break, she said yes without hesitation. To further her independence from her parents, she only told them she wouldn’t be returning home for the break. She ignored the phone messages left at her dorm. To hell with them.
That was two weeks and a thousand miles ago. As Kelsie looked out into dark-blue forest, she wished very much she’d gone home and tried to talk them into accepting Trevor. The trip had been fun, mostly. But she saw Trevor’s temper occasionally and was terrified of doing anything that might make him roll his eyes and remind her of how ignorant she was of the most basic hiking and camping skills.
“Trev?” Kelsie called out as she started along the path she’d seen him go down.
There was no reply.
“You bring any TP, babe? I got you a roll . . .”
She walked ten yards, looked back to make sure she could still see the tent, then went a few more.
The woods were transitioning from day to night. Crickets chirped, and some enormous, shadowy bird—an owl?—flew overhead, returning home or heading out somewhere.
Kelsie still got chills thinking about their hike in the Appalachians, when she saw a huge flock of black birds and pointed them out to Trevor as they flew across the dusky sky. There were so many of them. She’d stared up in awe as they swarmed past.
“Those are bats, babe,” he’d explained.
“Bats?”
“Yep. There’s probably a huge cave nearby.”
“Cool,” she’d replied, trying very hard to pretend she meant it. She didn’t sleep at all that night. Every flicker of shadow on the wall of the tent sent a shiver down her spine.
That was nothing compared with now.
She reached the spot where Trevor should have been. It was a V formation of logs and formed a natural barrier where even she’d feel somewhat comfortable.
But he wasn’t there.
Maybe he took another way back?
Her body was half-turned when she noticed the pale leather of his hiking boot. She knelt down and picked it up.
It had been wedged under a root, as if he’d tripped and slid out of the shoe. Only he wasn’t lying in front of it. He wasn’t anywhere.
“Trev?” she called out timidly. She was too afraid to raise her voice.
The trees were growing darker and the twilight fading. Kelsie decided to go back to the tent and tried to visualize Trevor waiting for her, smiling. She took the boot and headed back to the campsite.
For a moment she panicked when the tent wasn’t visible, but as she got closer she could make out the red fabric in the dim light. There was still no sign of her boyfriend.
“Babe?” she called out.
He’d pranked her once, and she’d denied him sex that night in retaliation. She was pretty sure he’d gotten the message but hoped that this was just a relapse.
Kelsie set the boot by the front of the tent and tried to decide if she should go inside and wait or try to make a fire.
Make a fire, she decided.
It was when she knelt down to the small circle of rocks to ignite the dry leaves that she noticed a tree stump that hadn’t been there before. Half the height of a man and as black as night, it was standing between two evergreens in a spot she would have sworn was empty a moment ago.
Her breath frozen in her lungs, she quickly looked to her left and then her right to make certain that she wasn’t mistaken. When her gaze returned to the stump, it was gone.
The woods were moving.
There was an explosion of motion, as if a shadow leaped out at her.
The next thing she knew, she was on her back and the frozen breath was trapped under the incredible weight of something standing on her chest.
Her fingers felt thick, coarse hair, like on her mother’s paintbrushes. The smell was coppery and rancid.
She saw the flash of claws but didn’t understand what happened until seconds later when she felt her warm blood drip down the cold flesh of her stomach.
Trevor had told her that there were bears and mountain lions in these woods. Kelsie had no idea what attacked her. All she knew as she lay paralyzed, bleeding out, was that she’d never heard of an animal that wounded you, then just sat there, watching you die.
CHAPTER TWO
ICE MACHINE
A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, a mere heart of stone.
—Charles Darwin
Red and blue police lights splash off the chipped chrome letters spelling ICE MACHINE. I’m standing in front of the motel vending machines with my plastic pail in my hand, lost in thought. Where does the water for the machine come from? Is it from some local stream? Do they filter it? Is the water sealed inside an internal reservoir before it’s frozen into cubes?
I just read a paper that described a new bacterium found deep inside ice caves. It evolved from photosynthesis to chemosynthesis—literally eating the rocks to survive. It could also chew through the charcoal used in most filters like soft ice cream.
So far it hasn’t been shown to be harmful to humans . . . which makes me wonder if it would be useful for dissolving the mineral buildup of kidney stones. So many questions . . .
So many questions . . . I barely notice the squeal of tires as a vehicle comes to a stop behind me. I turn and see that it’s an armored van and that the parking lot has filled with a half dozen police cruisers, each with a pair of county deputies ducked behind, guns drawn and shotguns pressed to their shoulders. Every eye and weapon is trained on the rooms across the lot from me.
“Get down,” someone whispers harshly.
A man in black slacks and a tie covered by a bulletproof jacket is hiding behind the driver-side door of a Ford Bronco parked beside me. I can see a badge on a pendant, but his gun isn’t drawn.
He waves me away. “Go back to your room.”
Everything is happening in slow motion, but I can’t move. All I can do is crouch and watch from behind his rear bumper.
Four men in black tactical gear with metal face masks leap out of the back of the van and run toward the row of rooms across from us. One of them is carrying a thick metal cylinder. He rams it against a lock, and the door bursts open. Guns pointed inside, two men rush into the room while the others keep them covered.
There’s a tense silence.
From inside someone shouts, “Clear!”
One of the armored men steps outside and makes some kind of hand signal while shaking his head.
The other armored men exit after him, letting three deputies enter, followed by a tall woman wearing a jacket and a cowboy hat. She’s got tan skin, like leather, with laugh lines and crow’s-feet I can see across the parking lot.
After peering into the motel room, she steps back into the parking lot and scans the cars in the lot. She points to one, and a deputy calls out its plate number on his radio. Everyone is quiet as his voice carries across the parking lot.
The man who told me to get back relaxes and stands up from behind his door. He catches my reflection in his driver-side mirror and wheels around to face me. “Didn’t I ask you to go to your room?”
“I . . . can’t.” I look to the deputies surrounding the door. “I don’t think they’ll let me.”
It takes a moment for this to register with him. I’m still processing what just happened.
“Holy shit.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you Dr. Cray?”
“Yes . . . Theo Cray. What’s going on?”
His hand touches his hip where a gun sits. He doesn’t draw but keeps his palm on the handle.
The man’s voice is low and measured. “Dr. Cray, for your safety, may I ask you to slowly set down the ice bucket and place your hands in the air where I can see them?”
I don’t think. I just follow his directions.
“Now would you get on your knees?”
I’m wearing shorts, so gravel digs into my knees, but I’m too numb to feel any pain.
He steps over to me, his hand never leaving his pistol at his side.
“I’m going to stand behind you to make sure you don’t have a weapon.” I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His free hand goes to his other hip. “May I put handcuffs on you for my safety?”
“Okay.” He has a gun. I’m not sure I can say no. I’m too afraid to ask why he feels the need to cuff me.
After the cold metal restraints are quickly, but not forcefully, clicked around my wrists, he asks, “Is it okay if I lift your shirt?”
“Sure,” I say weakly.
I feel cold Montana air on my sweaty back.
“I’m going to pat your pockets now.”
“Okay.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, pinning me down as he feels both my pockets. “What’s inside there?”
I panic as my mind blanks. “Um . . . my room key. Wallet. Um . . . phone.”
“Anything else?”
I think for a moment, afraid of getting the answer wrong. “Uh . . . a Leatherman.”
I smell the scent of latex as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “May I remove them from your pockets?”
“Yeah. Yeah . . . of course.”
In movies there’s a lot of yelling when this happens. This man talks to me like he’s a doctor. He never raises his voice. He never threatens me.
He removes everything from my pockets and sets them several feet away from me. Close, but out of my reach.
“I need you to wait here for a moment while we clear this up.”
“Clear what up?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he puts his fingers to his lips and makes a loud whistle. The woman in the cowboy hat looks to see who made the noise.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Cray?” she shouts.
The man nods. Dumbly, I nod, too.
Everything up until now has unfolded with the disorienting calm of a medical exam. Now things go into overdrive as all the energy and attention aimed at my motel room pivot toward me, like the barrel of a cannon.
I feel scores of eyes staring at me.
Some of them angry.
I’m being scrutinized. Judged.
I have no fucking idea why.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
The woman in the cowboy hat walks over in quick strides. She’s imposing as she stares down at me like I’m a sample in my lab. I catch a glimpse of a blade on her belt.
“Did he try to run?” she asks with a slight drawl, never breaking eye contact with me.