A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(43)

Keesing pressed both damaged hands to the jittering knee. “He claimed the government was into bad doings. Said he had proof.”

I felt my pulse accelerate but didn’t push.

“He said the CIA had secret labs all over the country. That they was trying to figure ways to control people’s minds, to get them to crack under pressure. Ask me, they should’ve squeezed the Vietcong on that when they had the chance.”

A long mosquito moment. Annoyingly, Keesing seemed OK with being used as a food source.

“Did Vodyanov ever discuss specifics?” I asked.

“Mostly, he’d ramble. Could be the guy was a junkie.” The stub of finger rose again. “But wait. Once he named names. Most I didn’t catch, but a couple stuck, ’cause of my having been to those places. Philadelphia and Montauk. Yep, those I remember. And there was one sounded like some kinda sci-fi movie.” Pause. “Stargate. That was it.”

“Did he ever mention MKUltra?” With absolutely no inflection.

“Sounds right. Once he was all on about the government creating a disease to wipe out the Chinese. Something about mixing measles and mumps to create a superbug.”

“SARS?” I used the acronym for severe acute respiratory syndrome. A deadly outbreak hit China and the Far East in 2003. Beyond that, I knew little.

“Bingo. He said it smacked the Chinese and Canadians, but—here was the thing boiled his nads—the U.S. had very few cases and no fatalities.”

Why would Vodyanov be privy to information about the SARS epidemic? I made a mental note to do some digging.

“Another occasion, he was in a dither about the government hiding secret military bases. Places that lit up bright on some kind of maps. Didn’t seem likely to me, what with my experience serving.” Lowering both his head and his voice, Keesing added, “The dude also had intel on ops involving kids.”

“What intel?” Little tingle at the base of my skull.

“I was never clear on that, didn’t want to listen. Something about vaccines and holding kids in special camps to train ’em up for something. Maybe sex.” Repulsion sneaking into the rust-colored irises. “Sounded devo, so I tuned out.”

“Did he say—”

Keesing stopped me with a raised palm. “No, ma’am. Don’t want to talk none about hurting kids.”

I decided to switch topics.

“Was Vodyanov living across the road?”

“Hell if I know. Truth be told, I wished he’d just leave me alone.”

“Why?”

“He was nuts.”

“When did you usually see Mr. Vodyanov?”

“At night.”

“He drove?”

“Roger that.”

“What type vehicle?”

“Lots of different ones.”

“A black Hyundai Sonata?”

Shoulder shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know much about cars.”

“Did you ever see anyone else entering or leaving the property?”

“Look, lady. I’m no snoop and no snitch. I mind my own p’s and q’s. Mostly, I’d half listen. Not sure why. I guess I felt for the guy. He seemed kind of lonely.”

“When was the last time you saw Vodyanov?”

“Two, maybe three weeks ago. Came to tell me he was sorry. I figured he was referring to how he’d deep-sixed the signs along this stretch of the road. Hell, I was good with it. Makes it hard for folks to find us out here.” He seemed about to continue, caught himself, and fell silent.

“What is it you’re not saying?”

“It’s probably nothing.” Keesing scratched his neck. Crossed his arms. “The guy was section eight all the way.”

I raised both brows in question.

“A loony tune.”

My eyes drifted past Keesing to the far side of his trailer. Fell on a barrel with a picture of a crab in an aquarium painted on one side. Pink shells at the base of each claw. Or maybe they were eyes. Between the charring and the flaking, it was hard to know.

“Did you do the art?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very nice.”

A renegade puff of wind shifted the leaves overhead, throwing spiderweb shadows across Keesing’s face. When I thought he’d shut down for good, he spoke, voice again low.

“Your mentioning the barrel does bring to mind one thing. One night, maybe five, six years back, I was out securing the lid against the damn coons. I’d forgotten to do it, had to haul ass back outta bed. If the seal’s not tight, come morning, there’s trash from here to tomorrow. Anyways, it was late. A car passed. Don’t get much traffic this way, so I took note. The car turned into the driveway yonder, idled while the driver leaned out to open the gate.”

“Was it Vodyanov?”

“It was pitch-black, so I’m catching mostly taillights and headlights.” Keesing swallowed. Swallowed again. “But I swear to God I seen a kid peering out the rear window. A small little face with a tiny hand to either side.”

Keesing pantomimed the vision, then dropped his hands and closed his eyes as if feeling pain. Guilt?

I waited.

“I been to hell and back. I know fear when I see it.” The russet eyes locked onto mine. “That kid looked terrified.”