Diablo Mesa(66)

Corrie nodded. She still felt a burning sensation. It was so unfair. By all rights Lathrop should be locked up. On the other hand, she realized Lime had arranged this brief discussion to give her some closure, even if incomplete. And for that, she was grateful.

“Thank you, Agent Feeney,” said Lime.

The fire investigator rose and left. Lime waited until he was gone before speaking again. “I know this is a lot for you to handle right now. But it’s important to move forward, and I’m confident you agree. So: tell me how the case is going. I understand you interviewed Dr. Eastchester this morning?”

Corrie made a mental effort to get back into the groove of the case. She told Lime about the visit, and explained she’d be sending the serial number of the strange device to Quantico for tracing. She hadn’t yet made further progress on the dental records but hoped to find time for that in the very near future—and she’d decided to conduct the search herself, rather than delegate it.

Lime listened intently, nodding, then congratulated her on the excellent work.





43



WHEN NORA ARRIVED back in the vehicle pool, she saw a pickup truck with a sheriff’s decal emblazoned on the side. A big-bellied man in a cowboy hat stood nearby, notebook in hand, with a young sheriff she recognized immediately as Homer Watts.

Tappan got out of the jeep and strode over, Nora and Skip following. “I’m Lucas Tappan,” he said, his hand extended with artificial cheer. “And these are my associates, Nora Kelly and Skip Kelly. Can I help you?”

“Nora, good to see you!” Watts said, coming over. She saw he was wearing his trademark rig: six-guns, fancy cowboy hat, and boots. The other man, who wasn’t nearly so colorful, followed.

“Sheriff Randall Buford, Chaves County,” said the man, extending his hand and shaking theirs in turn. He was about sixty, clean-shaven, triple-chinned, wearing aviator sunglasses.

“Now, Mr. Tappan,” Buford said. “Just the man I wanted to see. Sheriff Watts here has volunteered to assist me in investigating the disappearance of…” He consulted his notebook, flipped a few pages. “A Mr. Noam Bitan.”

“Right,” said Tappan.

“Great. And we’d like to speak with Mr. Elwyn Kelly, who was with the person who disappeared.”

“That’s me,” said Skip.

“Why don’t we do this in my trailer,” said Tappan. “I’d also like to bring along Nora, who’s our lead archaeologist.”

“Sure thing.”

Nora and the rest walked through camp to Tappan’s trailer.

“A/C, now that’s a welcome change!” said Buford after they’d gone inside, sitting down heavily on a sofa and laying his notebook on the table. “This is some kind of fancy ride you’ve got for yourself.”

Watts took a seat near him, while Nora, Tappan, and Skip occupied chairs on the other side.

“Okay, let’s start with Mr. Elwyn Kelly,” Buford began, consulting his notes. “Tell me what happened, Elwyn. You were with the subject when he disappeared, correct?”

Skip ran through his story, clearly displeased to be called by his given name. Then Tappan told of their fruitless search, while Buford jotted a few notes.

“I understand this fellow was Israeli?” Buford asked.

Tappan nodded.

“What was he looking for out there?”

“An archaeological feature related to our current dig.”

Tappan was being deliberately vague, but Buford didn’t seem interested in detail. “So what kind of visa did this guy have? To be working here, I mean?”

“It was an H-1B, because of his specialty occupation.”

“Which was?”

“An expert in SETI.”

“I’m not familiar with that ‘specialty occupation.’”

“The search for evidence or signals coming from extraterrestrial intelligence.”

“And you couldn’t find an American to do this?”

“Bitan was one of the experts in what is a quite rarefied field.”

“Right. Searching for little green men.” Buford gave a chuckle and glanced at Watts, whose face remained impassive.

“So what’s your theory?” Buford asked Tappan. “About what happened to this guy?”

“As you heard, lights were seen in those foothills the night he vanished. I think he was picked up.” Tappan hesitated, and then said: “A survey of the area revealed fresh tire tracks in the area where the lights were seen. They headed north toward the old Pershing range.”

Buford nodded, scratching out notes. “Lights seen in area at time of disappearance,” he said out loud as he wrote it down. “Fresh tire tracks.” He looked up. “Ninety-five percent of missing persons turn out to be missing by choice. It seems to me that’s what we’re dealing with here. Would you agree?”

Tappan nodded. “I would.”

Buford slapped the notebook shut. “It’s pretty clear he skipped out on you…for whatever reason. Maybe he was engaged in espionage for the Israeli government. Maybe there was a woman. Maybe a family emergency. Maybe he just wanted to go home.”

He heaved himself up. “Well, Sheriff Watts, I think we’re probably done here.”