The Solomon Curse (32 page)

Carol Vanya looked up as her assistant entered her office. The heavyset woman's face was ashen and her hands shook as she fidgeted. Vanya bit back her annoyance and sighed impatiently. The long day patching up islanders injured in the increasing looting was wearing at her nerves. “Yes, Maggie? I thought I left instructions that I wasn't to be disturbed.”

“I know, Doctor. I'm sorry. But the police need to talk to you.”

Vanya put down her pen and gave Maggie a withering glare. “Can't you deal with anything? What do I pay you for?” she snapped irritably.

The police had left a half dozen officers at the hospital to protect it in the latest round of civil unrest driven by the rebel instigators. The impoverished islanders were easy to manipulate into looting, the class anger like dry kindling for her agents' sparks. The plan was working perfectly: the violence was increasing throughout the day, and by midnight she expected a vote of no confidence in Parliament for the current administration, creating the opportunity for a swift regime change.

“I think you need to see them,” Maggie repeated, obviously shaken.

Vanya stood up behind her desk and was rounding it when the imposing figure of Chief Fleming filled the doorway, his face impassive. Maggie stepped around him and scurried off as Vanya approached him, her professional smile firmly in place.

“Yes, Sebastian? Another emergency?” She was used to charming the chief of police, as she charmed most of the island males, with a combination of flirtation and flattery. She drew closer but stopped at the hardness of his stare. “What is it?”

“You're under arrest. Turn around. You have the right to remain silent—” Fleming began, the disgust in his voice barely contained as he held up a pair of handcuffs.

“What? Have you gone mad, Sebastian? What is the meaning of this?”

“Turn around. I'm not going to tell you again.”

Her eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, her lips a thin line as she submitted to the indignity. She had no idea what had gone wrong, but she was confident she'd be able to talk her way out of whatever the confusion was. She was, after years of thankless public service, one of the most respected figures on the island, with many allies in the government.

“I don't know what you think you're doing, Sebastian—”

“I'd keep my mouth closed, if I were you,” Fleming said as he locked the cuffs in place on her wrists and turned her to face the doorway. She gasped, and her vision swam, at the sight of four officers, glowering in the corridor, waiting to take her into custody—and Sam and Remi standing behind them. Her mouth worked like a beached fish, producing nothing but a choking sound, as realization dawned on her.

The two nearest officers pulled her roughly into the hallway. Sam and Remi watched wordlessly, Lazlo by their side. Vanya finally found her voice as she neared them, managing only a single word.

“You . . .”

“Name's Lazlo. I don't think we were formally introduced when you were telling your pet killers to murder us,” Lazlo said, his British clipping of each syllable joyous in its precision.

“What's that old expression about he who laughs last?” Remi asked Sam as the doctor was dragged away.

“Something about laughs best,” Sam replied, watching Vanya's humiliating final exit from the hospital she'd ruled with absolute authority for years.

Fleming shook his head as he approached. “I have to apologize again. I'm sorry I was so rude in our meeting . . .”

Remi shrugged and took Sam's hand. “We've all been under a lot of stress. Apology accepted.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Berry, waiting in the doorway of one of the exam rooms, and turned his attention back to the police chief. “How's the crowd control going?”

“Better. The Prime Minister was on the radio a few minutes ago, exposing the bones of Carol's scheme, alerting the islanders that they had been duped. He didn't name names, but distress calls from my men have already slowed. I'd expect that our forces will make short work of any remaining looters, once word spreads.”

“And the exhumation of the skeletons?”

“I have two forensic teams at the caves as we speak, but, because of the scope, it will be a while before they're done and we can begin removing the bones and identifying the remains.” He shook his head in disbelief at the memory from earlier that afternoon when he'd arrived at the scene with two dozen of his top officers, led to the caves by Sam and Remi after they'd barged into his office and confronted him with their evidence. “What kind of a monster could do that . . . ? I still don't understand any of it.”

“She's not like you or me,” Remi said. “She's a sociopath. No sense of right or wrong, only an instinct for manipulation, and a ruthlessness unlike anything you've probably ever seen before.”

“Or ever again, if you're lucky,” Sam said softly. “She's a serial killer, plain and simple. Perhaps with a more structured mechanism for her killing, but, make no mistake, that's what you're dealing with. Someone who has zero compunction or remorse about taking lives.”

“I'm partly to blame,” Fleming growled, and his voice caught. “She's obviously been getting away with it for years on my watch. I'll never forgive myself—I didn't pursue the disappearances with nearly the vigor I should have . . .”

Dr. Berry glanced at his watch and signaled to them. It was busy at the hospital and he had an unending stream of patients continuing to arrive with every variety of trauma from the rioting. They left Fleming to his recriminations and approached Berry, who needed to finish stitching up Sam's head now that the results of the CT scan were in.

“I wish I was seeing you again under more pleasant circumstances,” Berry said, and then his demeanor changed to all business. “As I suspected, you've suffered a minor concussion from the blows, but nothing you won't recover from. You may experience dizziness and weakness over the next few days, but it should pass.” He eyed Sam disapprovingly. “I wish you'd consent to staying overnight for observation like your Russian friend.”

“How is he?”

“He also has a concussion, more severe than yours, but nothing terminal. And, as you know, many cuts and bruises. I've given him painkillers and antibiotics and he's resting comfortably.”

“After complaining every step of the way, I'll bet,” Lazlo said. “What about the girl?”

Berry scowled. “She's in pretty bad shape, but I think she'll make it. We've got to figure out what poison they were pumping into her and take measures to counteract it, but right now we're focusing on keeping her hydrated.” He studied Sam's head with a disapproving expression. “Sit down here and I'll finish cleaning this gash up and stitch it closed. It's clotted, but it will need sutures.”

Remi offered Sam a smile and looked to the doctor. “While you're busy with him, do you have a phone I can use for a long-distance call?”

Berry fished under his exam coat and handed her a cell phone. “This shouldn't take more than a few minutes, then he'll be right as rain again.”

“I'll wait in the lobby,” Lazlo said. “Bit squeamish and all.”

Remi went into the hall and nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the remaining police sealing Vanya's office with crime scene tape in anticipation of evidence collection. She was raising the phone to her ear when Lilly's mother materialized at the end of the hall and rushed toward her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving my baby,” she said, hugging Remi, tears in her eyes. “I knew she not run off like that evil woman say.”

“I hope she'll be okay,” Remi managed between heartfelt squeezes from Lilly's mother.

“God will provide. Lilly's one of His children. He not send you if He not want her to live.”

Remi offered a smile. “She's a beautiful girl. You're very lucky.”

“Today a good day for everyone, I say. 'Cept that demon woman. Devil stokin' hellfire for her, that for sure.”

Remi nodded in agreement, and then a nurse waved to Lilly's mother from the other end of the corridor. The relieved island woman gasped and hurried to the nurse, leaving Remi to make her call. She dialed Selma's private line from memory and waited as it rang.

“Oh, good. Did you get everything sorted out?” Selma answered. Remi had phoned her earlier to give her a hurried update.

“Sort of. They just took Carol Vanya into custody. Sam's being tended to, and Leonid's in the hospital for the night.”

“And Lazlo?” Selma asked, a slight softness in her voice.

“Hardly a scratch on him. The man has the luck of the devil,” Remi said.

Selma chuckled. “That he does.” Her tone grew serious. “I've been researching your doctor's background and I've found something you'll be interested in.”

“Nothing would surprise me about her.”

“This might.” Selma paused. “It's actually about her grandfather. Apparently, he was charged with war crimes by the Allies, but once the war was over, the charges were dropped. There aren't many records, but, near as I can tell, he had been working with the Japanese and was accused of coordinating medical experimentation on his fellow islanders, as well as on prisoners.” Selma let that sink in. “He was also a doctor.”

“My God . . . the other bodies—the older ones. Hundreds of them. Her grandfather . . .”

“That's my guess. He probably took her into his confidence when he recognized the psychopathology ran in her, too.”

“What about the father?”

“Died a decade ago. It appears he spent his entire life trying to atone for his father's sins, doing community work for free, tending to islanders . . .”

“And the grandfather?”

“I haven't found anything about his passing yet. It's like he disappeared once the war was over.”

“You . . . you don't suspect he's still alive, do you?”

“I'm not going to speculate. He'd be older than Moses, though, if he is, so it's unlikely.”

“Keep on it, Selma.”

“Oh, you can depend on that. I'm sorry you didn't find the treasure.”

“Don't be. We've been able to confirm a remarkable historical discovery and we foiled a monstrous plot in the bargain. I'd say that's a full day's work, wouldn't you?”

“Absolutely. I'm thinking more of Lazlo. He must be dejected.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that. He'll recover easily enough. He's nothing if not resilient, I'll give him that,” Remi conceded.

“Still. It's out there somewhere.”

Remi stared off down the hallway at the police going about their grim business and nodded to herself.

“Yes, it is, Selma. Yes, it is. But you can't win them all, right?”

“I'm sorry. You must have dropped out, I didn't catch that last bit . . .”

They laughed together, the sound musical and easy, and Selma reminded Remi again to call that evening and let her know how Sam was faring, and to be careful—she'd been following news of the rioting online and was clearly worried.

“I will, Selma.” Remi smiled. “And thank you. For everything.”

“What did I do now?” Selma asked warily.

“Just for being you.”

Morning mist hung thick in the air the following day as Remi motored along the logging road into the mountains, Lazlo and Leonid in the backseat, Sam riding shotgun. Sam had slept fitfully but after an early breakfast insisted he felt fine, and when they'd stopped in at the hospital with Lazlo before heading to the caves at Fleming's request, Leonid had been waiting to be released, grumbling at the staff as he signed the discharge papers.

As Fleming had predicted, the civil unrest had run its course once the Prime Minister had addressed the nation and by morning the only evidence of the prior day's rioting were a few smoldering storefronts on the southern end of the city and a notably increased police presence in town. The police chief had called on the Fargos that morning at their hotel to invite them back to the caves to walk him through and offer their impressions, which they'd only briefly discussed during the controlled chaos of the previous day.

Remi looked over at Sam as they neared the end point of the logging road, where a wall of police vehicles was visible in the distance.

“How's the head?” she asked. She'd been trying to minimize the bouncing by swerving around the worst of the potholes—a tactic doomed to failure because of the deep grooves scored into the mud by the police trucks.

“I'm not going to be taking up the drums anytime soon, but I'll manage,” Sam said.

“How about you, Leonid?”

“Compared to sleeping on that Australian rust bucket, I feel fine,” the Russian griped.

“Tell us again how you managed to get back to the main cave and then track us down and save us,” Lazlo said.

“Easy. I came to, climbed up, followed the islanders, and then whacked one when the rest were outside with the woman,” Leonid explained as though it was all as ordinary as taking a stroll around the hotel grounds.

Lazlo stared at him in amazement and shook his head. “Must be all the vodka.”

“My body is temple,” Leonid declared, exaggerating his Russian accent.

“Yes, well, mine too, albeit heavily supplemented by the fermented grape until recently.”

The Mitsubishi rolled to a stop near a forensic van, and a stern-faced island cop stared them down as they climbed out of the SUV. A dozen journalists sat in the shade, their vans nearby, watching the police watch them.

“Is Chief Fleming around?” Sam asked. “He invited us out.”

“Up that way. Who should I tell him is here?” the officer asked, holding his radio.

“The Fargos.”

The officer's face changed. “Oh. Of course. One moment.” He
mumbled into the radio and was greeted by a burst of static followed by a terse instruction. He eyed the journalists briefly and then pointed the way to the first cave. “You know how to get there?”

“I think we can find it,” Sam said. Remi had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Fleming was standing at the cave entry when they arrived, talking to two other officers with dour expressions. When Fleming spotted the Fargos, he broke off his discussion and moved down to greet them.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“You're welcome. How's it going?” Sam said.

“Slow but steady. Forensics should be done soon enough.” He scowled up at the cave. “We've compiled a list of all missing children and we've begun matching them to skeletons.”

“No doubt you've seen that some were bound with zip ties.”

Fleming nodded. “Yes.” The distaste on his face conveyed more than words could.

“Has she talked?” Remi asked.

“I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, but let's just say that she denied everything, and then changed her story three times, before admitting that she might have been an unwitting pawn in several foreign drug companies' schemes.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam said.

“Oh, you don't know the half of it. She's quite a piece of work.”

“How many on your list?” Lazlo asked.

Fleming looked away. “Thirty-eight. Spanning six years.” His eyes darted to the side before settling on Remi. “Off the record, she admitted that sometimes the drugs she was experimenting with caused unexpected complications, but she insists that she was just trying to save lives.”

“Of course. By killing some of her patients with medicine she hadn't told them was experimental and then hiding the evidence,” Remi fired back.

“Don't forget the grief she caused by covering up their
disappearances,” Sam reminded. “Imagine how the parents felt when their sick children just vanished.”

“Yes . . . Actually, that's one of the prosecutor's big fears—retribution by relatives. It's a very real danger that she'll be lynched.”

“Ironic that you'll wind up having to protect her,” Lazlo said.

Fleming gave him a dark look. “The islanders who were working for her all tested positive for stimulants. She was supplying them with speed, keeping them dependent on her for their fixes, which we believe was part of how she was controlling them. They were addicts, and dangerous ones—it explains why they were willing to live out here and risk everything to torture their fellow man.”

“She probably also promised them that they'd be rich. She was bragging about how she'd be worth billions, when she held us captive,” Sam said.

“Any progress on matching the bones in the cave with the list?” Remi asked.

“We started with the largest skeletons, figuring they'd be easiest to identify. The one that's not completely decomposed was named Aldo Cosgrove. A teenager who disappeared a couple of weeks ago after undergoing treatment for malaria by the good doctor.” Fleming shook his head. “The abuse he was subjected to . . .” His voice trailed off and he rubbed a hand across his face, his eyes bleak. “Lilly's fortunate you got to her when you did. She wasn't far behind him.”

“We believe that the older skeletons in the pit were victims from the war,” Remi said. “Our researcher discovered that Dr. Vanya's grandfather was helping the Japanese with medical experiments on islanders.” She told the chief about Selma's findings.

“It just gets worse, doesn't it?” Fleming said, staring at the cave opening.

“Do you know if the grandfather's still alive?” Sam asked.

“I don't think so—he'd have to be ancient—but I'll check. I remember her saying something about all her relatives being dead.”

“We think the grandfather might have shown Carol his old stomping ground, probably bragging. That's the likeliest explanation for how she found the cave used for the experiments.”

“It's funny,” Fleming said. “I grew up here and heard plenty of stories about monsters in the caves. I never suspected that the monsters were walking among us every day.” He paused, thinking. “We're going to be getting help from Australia. They're sending a team to work the pit with us and try to make sense out of the skeletons. But it sounds like that will be a long process, trying to match bones to POWs or islanders killed during the war.”

They moved to the second cave where the medical experiments had been conducted and paused at the entry. Down the hill, a diesel generator rumbled, providing power to the spotlights strung through the caverns. Sam saw Remi shiver as they drew near the opening and he took her hand.

“Do you need any more for the police reports?” Sam asked. They'd given their statements the prior day, explaining the obvious self-defense in the rebel killings.

“No. Nobody doubts what happened here. I just wanted to hear from your own lips how it all went down as we walk the site.”

“I'll just as soon stay out here, if you don't mind,” Lazlo said, fidgeting with his cell phone as he peered into the cave.

“No problem,” Fleming said. “How about you?” he asked Leonid.

The Russian shrugged. “All the same to me.”

The caves looked smaller in the wash of light from the work lights. The corpses of the gunmen were gone, replaced by chalk outlines and crime scene tape. They moved through the area slowly, noting the number of beds and the age of the equipment, before entering the cell where they'd been imprisoned only a day earlier, rust-colored smudges on one of the walls evidence of Sam's head wound.

When they had finished with the nightmare scene an hour later, Lazlo was pacing excitedly outside, his face flushed as much from
agitation as the sun. The Fargos could see that he was waiting for them to detach themselves from the police so he could talk to them in private and they wrapped up their time with Fleming before joining Lazlo on the trail leading to the logging road.

“I'm a fool. A blind fool,” he blurted as they made their way through the brush.

“What are you talking about?”

“The diary. Something's been eating at me and I couldn't put my finger on it. But now I have.”

Remi eyed him. “And?”

“The translation of the encoded message. I botched one of the words. As it turns out, a critical word.”

“Botched?” Sam said, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Botched. The key to the whole riddle.”

“Out with it, Lazlo,” Remi said.

“It wasn't ‘beyond' at all. ‘Beyond the fall,' remember?”

“Yes, Lazlo. Very well,” Sam said impatiently. “What was the word?”

Lazlo paused and slowed to a stop. “It was an easy mistake to make. I was going too fast. Too sure of myself.”

“Spit it out, Lazlo,” Sam urged.

“‘Behind.'”

“‘Behind'?” Remi repeated, puzzled.

“Behind the fall,” Lazlo said solemnly. “
Behind
it, not
beyond
it.”