I went through what we’d deduced about the woman’s last twenty-four hours based on the pollen and spores we’d collected from her corpse.
Next slide: an air filter from a 1991 Dodge conversion van. I explained that the first time I worked with Dr. Neubauer was five years ago, when I was consulting with local law enforcement in North Carolina, trying to work out the timing and location of a kidnapping near Durham.
“When Dr. Neubauer found out the kidnapping was in the spring he was thrilled. He e-mailed me, asking if I’d thought about pollen. I called him and asked how pollen was going to help find the kidnapper. Then he asked me if I had any air filters.”
Now I recounted the conversation as best I could remember it:
“Air filters?”
“Yes. Any vehicles involved with the crime?”
“We have a van the kidnapper used.”
“Perfect. I’ll need the air filter.”
“I’m not sure I’m really following you here.”
“Pollen gets caught up in vehicles’ air filters. Since the van was used during the spring — when plants are flowering — we can study the pollen in the air filter and work backward to figure out the region the vehicle was in and possibly even the route the vehicle took—”
“Based on the pollen trapped in the filter.”
“Yes. Well, I say we can use that air filter, I haven’t done that type of work yet. But theoretically, I can.”
“And,” I told the New Agents, “he did. It helped us solve the case.”
Afterward, though I was no expert, I fielded their questions about palynology as best I could. Then they asked me again about Basque, about how to catch him. Obviously, they were more interested in the hunt for one of the best-known and highest-profile fugitives in the country than in pollen and spores.
I pointed out that, despite our best efforts, criminals always have the advantage in at least three ways. “First, they have more to lose. We keep our jobs, they keep their freedom or, in some cases, their lives.”
In a sense, the fable Basque had told me was right — they are just another meal to us.
At least, to most of us.
“Second, criminals don’t play by the rules. We have to follow protocol, conscience, regulations, policies, procedures, ethics, all those things. It’s like trying to win a basketball game in which you have to follow the rules, but your opponent can carry the ball, run out of bounds, and never foul out. That’s what it’s like on the streets, every day. Can anyone think of number three?”
I was encouraged when the woman who’d first asked about Basque responded. “Criminals can choose the time and location for their crimes, but the investigator has to follow around after they’ve occurred.”
“That’s right. Until we catch them, they’re always one step ahead. Predicting when and where a crime is going to occur is terribly difficult, and despite what you might see in the movies, it’s extremely rare.”
“So with the odds stacked against us like that,” she asked, “how can we win?”
We declare that it’s rabbit season.
“We let it matter enough to make sure we don’t lose.”
Lien-hua’s words came back to me: “You’re saying the hound can be more motivated when he has enough anger to drive him.”
Yes, enough anger.
To drive.
Me.
Although it didn’t take us into new territory, I gave them the chance to pull out their scalpels on Basque’s case, so to speak. Afterward, we took a short break. I wanted to find out how Lien-hua was, but I couldn’t text her because her cell was still missing — taken somewhere by Basque — and I didn’t want to call her hospital room phone in case she was sleeping, so I texted Brin instead and almost instantly she replied that Lien-hua was fine and was asleep.
I checked in with Ralph to see if the team had come up with anything since yesterday afternoon’s meeting. The call went to voicemail, I left a message, and then waited for the New Agents to return from their break.
But the map of the hot zones continued to hover in the air in front of me, mocking me, challenging me to decipher it.
And, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t seem to do it.
Maybe I just needed a little more anger to drive me toward the hare.
30
Tessa had a ton on her mind.
Not only was there Lien-hua’s recovery, but also just the fact that Richard Basque had attacked someone so close to Patrick and her. It was all terribly disquieting.
There was also the awkward conversation she’d had with Patrick the other night about going to church. It’d started out just as a question she had, but had turned into something where she basically said he didn’t care what she ended up believing in, which she knew was not the case.
Of course she knew he wanted her to believe the right things, the true things.
And then there was the whole deal with this stupid graduation speech. It made her physically ill just to think about it, about getting up in front of all those people.
Yes, definitely bail on the speech.
What about Aiden?
Yeah, what about Aiden?
Prom was Friday. He’d broken up with Tymber Dotson a month ago, and Tessa had heard he wanted to ask her instead, but so far — nothing. Nada. Not even any serious flirting. Time was not on her side, and she had just about the worst history in the world getting asked out by guys who were not total losers.
If she ended up getting asked out at all.
She’d dated guys throughout high school but had never been to prom before and she hated that it bothered her, but it did. Despite how self-assured she felt in other areas of life, when it came to guys she felt so needy and unsure of herself. It was weird and it annoyed her. She’d done everything she could think of to get over it, but nothing worked and that just made it bug her worse.
And now it was looking like she would go all the way through high school without ever getting asked out to prom.
She didn’t know why she’d gotten the vibe that Aiden wanted her to give this speech, but it had definitely been there ever since he’d found out she’d been asked to write it.
Deal with that later. Just get out of the speech first.
She decided that right after AP Lit with Tilson she would tell Assistant Principal Thacker that she wasn’t going to do it.
Oh, joy.
AP Lit with Tilson.
That was just plain brutal.
He was always trying to impress the students, embarrassing those he didn’t like or who weren’t as dialed into his version of what English Lit was supposed to be all about.
His version.
Normally she held back from mixing things up with him, but there were a few times when she couldn’t help it and ended up disputing him.
Last week, for example. After he’d had Shaleigha Gage, the valedictorian, explain a poem that no one else in the class really seemed to get, he’d said, “Thank you for unpacking the meaning of that poem for us.”
And Tessa had said, “Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“It’s not a poem. Not anymore. Not to us.”
“And what do you mean by that, Miss Ellis?”
“As soon as you can explain a poem, it stops being a poem and becomes nothing more than a lesson. After you cut out its heart to get a good look at it, you kill the mystery. All you have left is a corpse of words. Poems are meant to be experienced, not explained.”
Oh, Tilson really loved that.
But she didn’t regret saying it at all. Sometimes you need to speak up when you come face-to-face with sciolism.