Invasion

8

8:15 A.M.

“You’re not going to tell me where you went last night?” Cassy asked petulantly. She had her hand on the door handle and was about to alight from the car. Beau had pulled into the horseshoe drive in front of the Anna C. Scott school.

“I already told you: just a drive,” Beau said. “What’s the big deal?”

“You’ve never gone for a drive in the middle of the night,” Cassy said. “Why didn’t you wake me and tell me you were going?”

“You were sleeping too soundly,” Beau said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Didn’t you think about me waking up and worrying about you?” Cassy asked.

“I’m sorry,” Beau said. He reached over and patted her arm. “I guess I should have awakened you. At the time it seemed better to let you sleep.”

“You’ll wake me if it ever happens again?” Cassy asked.

“I promise,” Beau said. “Jeez, you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

“It scared me,” Cassy said. “I even called the hospital to make sure you weren’t there. And the police station too, just to make sure there wasn’t an accident.”

“All right already,” Beau said. “You made your point.”

Cassy got out of the van, then leaned back through the window. “But why a drive at two o’clock in the morning? Why not a walk, or if you couldn’t sleep, why not watch a little TV? Or better yet, read.”

“We’re not going over this again,” Beau said with conviction but not anger. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Cassy said reluctantly. At least she’d gotten an apology and Beau seemed reasonably remorseful.

“See you at three,” Beau said.

They waved as Beau pulled away from the curb. When he got to the corner, he didn’t look back. If he had he would have seen that Cassy had not moved from the spot where she’d gotten out of the car. She watched him turn the corner, heading away from the university. She shook her head. Beau’s strange behavior had not improved.

Beau was whistling softly to himself, blithely unaware of Cassy’s concerns as he drove through the downtown. He had a mission and was preoccupied, but not too preoccupied to appreciate how many pedestrians and other drivers were coughing and sneezing, particularly when he stopped for traffic lights. In the very center of town it was as if almost every other person were suffering symptoms of an upper respiratory infection. On top of that many of them were pale and perspiring.

Reaching the outskirts of the city on the side of town opposite the university, Beau turned off Main Street onto Goodwin Place. On his right was the animal shelter, and he pulled through the open chain-link gate. He parked next to the administration building. It was constructed of painted cement block with aluminum jalousie windows.

From behind the building Beau could hear continuous barking. Inside Beau confronted a secretary, told her what he wanted, and was asked to sit in a small waiting area. Beau could have read while he waited, but instead he listened intently to the barking, even the intermittent meow of some cats. He thought it was a strange way to communicate.

“My name is Tad Secolow,” a man said, interrupting Beau’s thoughts. “I understand you are looking for a dog.”

“That’s right,” Beau said, getting to his feet.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Tad said. “We’ve got just about any breed you might be looking for. The fact that you are willing to give a home to a full-grown dog gives you a larger selection than if you were intent on a puppy. Do you have an idea of the breed?”

“Nope,” Beau said. “But I’ll know what I want when I see it.”

“Excuse me?” Tad said.

“I said I’ll recognize which animal I want when I spot it,” Beau repeated.

“Do you want to look at photos first?” Tad asked. “We have pictures of all the dogs that are available.”

“I’d prefer to see the animals themselves,” Beau said.

“Okay,” Tad said agreeably. He escorted Beau past the secretary and through the rear of the building that was filled with animal cages. It had a mild barnyard smell that competed with a cloying odor of deodorant. Tad explained that the dogs housed inside were being treated by the vet who came every other day. Most of these dogs weren’t barking. Some looked ill.

The back yard of the shelter had rows of chain-link cages. Down the center were two long runs enclosed with chain-link fences. The floor of the whole complex was concrete. Coils of hose were stacked against the back of the building.

Tad led Beau down the first aisle. The dogs barked wildly at the sight of them. Tad maintained a running commentary on the pluses of each breed they passed. He paused longest at a cage that housed a standard poodle. It was a silver-gray color with dark, pleading eyes. It seemed to understand the urgency of its plight.

Beau shook his head, and they moved on.

While Tad was discussing the good qualities of a black Lab, Beau stopped and gazed in at a large, powerful, fawn-colored dog who returned his stare with mild curiosity.

“How about this one?” Beau asked.

Tad raised his eyebrows when he saw which dog Beau was referring to. “That’s a beautiful animal,” he said. “But he’s big and very strong. Are you interested in a dog that large?”

“What’s the breed?” Beau asked.

“Bullmastiff,” Tad said. “People are generally afraid of them because of their size, and this guy probably could take your arm off if he were so inclined. But he seems to have a good disposition. The word ‘mastiff’ actually comes from a Latin word that means ‘tame.’”

“How come this dog is here?” Beau asked.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Tad said. “The previous owners had an unexpected child. They were afraid of the dog’s reaction and didn’t want to take a chance. The dog loves to hunt small game.”

“Open the door,” Beau suggested. “Let’s see if we get along.”

“Let me get a choke collar,” Tad said. He went back and disappeared inside the building.

Beau bent down and opened a small feeding door. The dog got up from where he was sitting against the back of the cage and came over to smell Beau’s hand. His tail wagged tentatively.

Reaching into his pocket Beau pulled out another of his black discs. Holding it between his thumb and index finger with the index finger on the top of the dome, he pressed it against the dog’s shoulder. Almost immediately the dog let out a muffled yelp and took a step back. He tilted his head questioningly.

Beau pocketed the disc just as Tad reappeared with the leash.

“Did he yelp?” Tad asked as he joined Beau.

“I guess I was scratching him too hard,” Beau said.

Tad opened the door to the cage. For a moment the dog hesitated, looking back and forth between the two humans.

“Come on, big boy,” Tad said. “For the size of you, you shouldn’t be so hesitant.”

“What’s his name?” Beau asked.

“King,” Tad said. “Actually it’s King Arthur. But that’s going a bit far. Can you imagine trying to yell ‘King Arthur’ out your back door?”

“King’s a good name,” Beau said.

Tad got the collar on King and led him out of the cage. Beau reached out to pet him, but King hung back.

“Come on, King!” Tad complained. “Here’s your big chance. Don’t blow it.”

“It’s okay,” Beau said. “I like him. I think he’s perfect.”

“Does that mean you’ll take him?” Tad asked.

“Absolutely,” Beau said. He took the leash, then squatted down and gave King a few pats on the head. King’s tail slowly rose and then began to wag.

“I don’t have much time,” Cassy said to Pitt. They were walking down the corridor from the emergency room, heading toward the student overnight ward. “I’ve only got an hour between classes.”

“This will only take a minute,” Pitt said. “I just hope we are not too late.”

They arrived at the room that Beau had occupied. Unfortunately for the moment they couldn’t enter. Two workmen were struggling to carry out the twisted, disassembled bed.

“Look at the headboard,” Pitt said.

“Weird,” Cassey said. “It does look like it melted.”

As soon as they could they stepped inside. Additional workmen were busy removing other warped fixtures including the metal supports for the suspended ceiling. Someone else was reglazing the window.

“Do they have any idea of what happened yet?” Cassy asked.

“Not a clue,” Pitt said. “After the autopsy there was a short-lived scare about radiation, but the room and the general area was exhaustively checked and there wasn’t any.”

“Do you think there is any connection between all this and the way Beau has been acting?” Cassy asked.

“That’s why I wanted you to see this,” Pitt said. “I can’t imagine how, but after you told me he’d been acting differently, I started thinking. After all, he did occupy this room the afternoon before all this happened.”

“It is strange,” Cassy said. She walked over to look at the twisted arm that previously held the TV. It was as bizarre as the head of the bed. Just as she was about to rejoin Pitt, her eyes happened to meet those of the man replacing the glass.

The workman stared at Cassy for a beat, then eyed her body lasciviously, much the same way Mr. Partridge had leered at her the night before.

Cassy stepped over to Pitt and tugged at his sleeve. He was looking up at the institutional clock on the wall. He’d noticed that the hands had fallen off.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cassy said. She made a beeline for the door.

Out in the hall Pitt caught up to her. “Hey, slow down,” he said.

Cassy slowed. “Did you see the way that man at the window looked at me?” she demanded.

“No, I didn’t,” Pitt said. “What did he do?”

“He was like Partridge last night,” Cassy said. “What is it with these men? It’s as if they are reverting to adolescent behavior.”

“Aren’t construction workers famous for that?” Pitt asked.

“It was more than the proverbial cat-whistle and ‘hey baby,’” Cassy said. “This was more like visual rape. Maybe I can’t explain it to you. But a woman would know what I’m talking about. It’s unpleasant, even frightening.”

“You want me to go back in there and confront him?” Pitt asked.

Cassy shot him an “are you crazy” look. “Don’t be silly,” she said.

They got back to the ER.

“Well, I got to get to school,” Cassy said. “Thanks for inviting me over here, although seeing that room has hardly made me feel any better. I don’t know what to make of all this.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Pitt said. “Today is the day Beau and I play our three-on-three basketball. It will give me an opportunity to ask him what’s up.”

“Don’t mention that I said anything about sex,” Cassy said.

“Of course not,” Pitt said. “I’ll use the playing hooky to start things off. Then I’ll tell him straight out that last night at dinner and when we were walking around, he wasn’t the Beau I know. I mean the difference is subtle, but it’s real.”

“You’ll let me know what he says?” Cassy asked.

“Absolutely,” Pitt said.

The squad room at police headquarters was always busy, especially around noon. But Jesse Kemper was accustomed to the bustle and could easily ignore it. His desk was in the back, against the glass wall that separated the captain’s office from the main room.

Jesse was reading the preliminary autopsy report that Dr. Curtis Lapree had sent over. Jesse didn’t like it one bit.

“Doc is still sticking to the idea of radiation poisoning,” Jesse called out to Vince, who was at the coffee machine. Vince drank on average fifteen cups a day.

“Did you let him know there was no radiation at the scene?” Vince asked.

“Of course I told him,” Jesse said irritably. He tossed the single-page report on the desk and picked up the photo of Charlie Arnold that showed the hole through his hand. Jesse scratched the top of his head where his hair was thinning while he studied the picture. It was one of the strangest things he’d ever seen.

Vince came over to Jesse’s desk. His teaspoon clanked against the side of his cup as he stirred.

“This has to be the weirdest damn case,” Jesse complained. “I keep seeing in my mind’s eye the appearance of that room and ask how.”

“Any news from that doctor lady about the science types she was going to have examine the scene?” Vince asked.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “She called and said that no one had any bright ideas. She did say that one of the physicists discovered the metal in the room was magnetized.”

“So what does that mean?” Vince asked.

“Not much to me,” Jesse admitted. “I called Doc Lapree and told him. His response was that lightning can do that.”

“But everybody agrees there wasn’t any lightning,” Vince said.

“Exactly,” Jesse said. “So we’re back to square one.”

Jesse’s phone rang. He ignored it, so Vince picked it up.

Jesse rotated himself around in his swivel chair, tossing the photo of Charlie’s hand over his shoulder in the process. It landed back on the desk amid the rest of the clutter. Jesse was exasperated. He still didn’t know if he were dealing with a crime or an act of nature. Absently he heard Vince talking on the phone, saying “yeah” over and over. Vince concluded by saying: “Okay, I’ll tell him. Thanks for calling, Doc.”

Before Jesse could spin back around his eye caught two uniformed officers coming out of the captain’s office. What had attracted his attention was that both of them looked terrible, almost as pale as Charlie Arnold in the photo Jesse’d just thrown over his shoulder. The officers were coughing and sneezing like they had the plague.

Jesse was something of a hypochondriac and it irritated him that people were inconsiderate enough to be spreading their germs all over creation. As far as Jesse was concerned they should have stayed the hell home.

A muffled “oww!” emanated from inside the captain’s office and diverted Jesse’s attention from the two sick officers. Through the window Jesse could see the captain sucking on his finger. In his other hand he was gingerly holding a black disc.

“Jesse, you listening or what?” Vince demanded.

Jesse spun around. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said that was Doc Lapree on the phone,” Vince said. “There’s been a further complication on the Charlie Arnold case. The body disappeared.”

“You’re joking,” Jesse said.

“Nope,” Vince said. “Doc said he’d decided to go back and take a bone marrow sample, and when he opened up the refrigerator where Charlie Arnold’s body had been placed, it was gone.”

“Holy crap,” Jesse voiced. He hauled himself to his feet. “We better go down there. This is getting too bizarre.”

Pitt changed into his basketball gear and used his bike to travel from the dorm to the courts. He and Beau played frequently in the intramural three-on-three league. The competition was always good. A lot of the players could have played intercollegiate had they had the motivation.

As was his custom, Pitt arrived early in order to practice his shooting. He felt it took him longer than others to warm up. To his surprise Beau was already there.

Beau was dressed to play but was off to the side, behind a chain-link fence, conversing intently with two men and a woman. What was surprising was that the people appeared professional and in their middle to late thirties. All three were dressed in business suits. One of the men was carrying a fancy leather briefcase.

Pitt picked up a ball and began shooting. If Beau noticed him he didn’t give any indication. After a few minutes something else about the situation seemed surprising to Pitt. Beau was doing all the talking! The others were simply listening, occasionally responding with nods of agreement.

The other players began to arrive including Tony Ciccone who made up the third person on Pitt and Beau’s team. It was only after everyone had arrived including the opposition team and had warmed up that Beau wound up his conversation with the three businesspeople and joined Pitt. Pitt was now doing some stretching exercises.

“Hey, man, good to see you,” Beau said. “I was afraid after that marathon you put in at the ER you weren’t going to make it today.”

Pitt straightened up and lifted a basketball in the process. “The way you were feeling the day before yesterday, you should be surprised you’re here,” he said.

Beau laughed. “Seems like ages ago. Now I feel terrific. In fact, I’ve never felt better, and we’re going to cream these pansies.”

The other three players were continuing to warm up down at the other basket. Tony was tightening the laces of his high-tops.

“I wouldn’t be too cocky,” Pitt said, squinting against the sun. “See the muscle-bound guy in the purple shorts? Believe it or not, his name is Rocko. He’s a ball-breaker and a good shot to boot.”

“No problem,” Beau said. He snatched the ball away from Pitt and let it sail toward the basket. It went through the goal with a snapping sound having hit nothing but net.

Pitt was impressed. They were standing a good thirty feet away.

“Best of all, we have a cheering section,” Beau said. Putting the tip of his thumb and index fingers together and puckering up his mouth, he let loose with a shrill whistle. About a hundred feet away an enormous light-brown dog got up from where he’d been lying in the shade and sauntered over. He collapsed at the edge of the tarmac of the court and lowered his head on his front paws.

Beau squatted down and gave him a series of pats on the top of the head. The tail wagged briefly then went limp.

“Whose dog?” Pitt asked. “If you can call it a dog. It looks more like a small pony.”

“He’s mine,” Beau said. “His name is King.”

“You got a dog?” Pitt asked incredulously.

“Yup,” Beau said. “I felt like some canine companionship, so I went out to the pound this morning, and there he was, waiting for me.”

“A week ago you said you didn’t think it was fair to have big dogs in the city,” Pitt said.

“I changed my mind,” Beau said. “The moment I saw him I knew he was the dog of my dreams.”

“Does Cassy know?”

“Not yet,” Beau said. He scratched King enthusiastically behind his ears. “Won’t she be surprised?”

“That’s an understatement,” Pitt said, rolling his eyes. “Especially a dog that size. But what’s the matter with him? Is he sick? He seems lethargic and his eyes are red.”

“Ah, he’s just having trouble adjusting,” Beau said. “He’s just been let out of his cage. I’ve only had him a few hours.”

“He’s salivating,” Pitt said. “You don’t think he has rabies, do you?”

“Not a chance,” Beau said. “Of that I’m certain.” Beau cupped the dog’s large head in his hands. “Come on, King. You should be feeling better by now. We need you to cheer us on.”

Beau got to his feet, still gazing at his new companion. “He might be lethargic, but he’s a good-looking dog, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose,” Pitt said. “But listen, Beau. Getting a dog, much less a huge one like this, is an awfully impulsive act, and knowing you the way I do, I’d have to say very unexpected. In fact, from my perspective you’ve been doing a number of unexpected things lately. I’m concerned, and I think we should have a talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“About you,” Pitt said. “The way you’ve been acting, like not going to class. It seems like ever since you had the flu... ”

Before Pitt could finish Rocko had come up behind Pitt and given him a friendly slap on the shoulder that sent Pitt staggering forward several steps.

“Are you dorks going to play or forfeit?” Rocko jeered. “Pauli, Duff, and I have been ready to take you guys to the cleaners for the last half hour.”

“I think we better talk later,” Beau whispered to Pitt. “The natives are getting restless.”

The game commenced. As Pitt guessed, Rocko dominated the play with his bulldozer tactics. To Pitt’s chagrin the burden of covering him had fallen on his shoulders since Rocko had selected to guard Pitt. Every time Rocko got the ball he made it a point to crash right into Pitt before dropping back to put in a jump shot.

Halfway through the game with Rocko et al. in the lead, Pitt called a foul after Rocko purposefully elbowed him in the gut in order to get a rebound.

“What?” Rocko demanded angrily. He threw the ball forcibly against the ground so that it bounced some ten feet into the air. “Is the little chicken-shit going to call an offensive foul? No way. Our ball! No way I’m going to honor a call like that.”

“It’s my call,” Pitt persisted. “I say you fouled me. In fact, it’s the second time you pulled the same cheap trick.”

Rocko stepped over to Pitt and purposefully butted him with his chest. Pitt took a step backward.

“Cheap trick, huh?” Rocko snarled. “All right, tough guy, talk is cheap. Let’s see the crybaby take a swing. Come on! I got my arms at my side.”

Pitt knew better than to get into a fight with Rocko. Others had tried only to end up with chipped front teeth or black eyes.

“Excuse me,” Beau said congenially. He stepped between Pitt and Rocko. “I don’t think this issue is worth any hard feelings. I tell you what. We’ll give up the ball, but we’re going to change who guards whom. I think I’ll take a turn guarding you, Rocko, and you can guard me.”

Rocko gave a short laugh as he looked Beau up and down. Although they were both about six feet, Rocko outweighed Beau by more than fifteen pounds.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Beau asked Pitt.

“Hell no,” Pitt said.

With that settled, the game resumed. Rocko’s thin-lipped, hard face had settled into a slight smile of anticipation. The next time he got the ball, he charged directly at Beau with his heavy thighs pumping.

With uncanny coordination, Beau managed to step out of the way at the instant Rocko expected contact. The result was almost comical. Expecting the collision, Rocko had his torso way out in front of his center of gravity. When no contact occurred, he sprawled on the pavement.

Everyone, even Pitt, winced, as Rocko skidded across the asphalt. He suffered several large abrasions that were liberally sprinkled with embedded gravel.

Beau was at the downed man’s side instantly with an extended hand.

“Sorry, Rocko,” Beau said. “Let me help you up.”

Rocko glared up at Beau. He ignored the gesture for help and got to his feet under his own power.

“Oww,” Beau said with a sympathetic wince. “You got some nasty scrapes there. I think we’d better call the game so you can go over to the infirmary and have them cleaned.”

“Hell with you,” Rocko said. “Give me the ball. We’ll finish the game.”

“It’s up to you,” Beau said. “But it’s our ball. You lost it with your little tumble.”

Pitt had watched this interchange with growing concern. Beau didn’t seem to realize what kind of bully Rocko truly was, and Beau was taunting him. Pitt was afraid the afternoon would end with trouble.

As play resumed Rocko continued to try to use his strong-man tactics, but on each occasion, Beau was able to avoid contact. Rocko fell several more times, which clearly irritated him, and the angrier he got, the more easily Beau was able to deal with him.

Offensively Beau turned into a dynamo. Given the ball he could score at will despite Rocko’s efforts to restrain him. On several drives, Beau had gone around Rocko with such a sudden burst of speed, Rocko was left in the dust with a confused expression. By the time Beau put in the final basket to win the game, Rocko’s face was suffused with an angry blush.

“Hey, thanks for letting us win,” Beau said to Rocko. He stuck out his hand but Rocko ignored it. Rocko and his fellow teammates slunk off to the sideline to towel off.

Beau, Pitt, and Tony walked back to where King was lying in the grass. King seemed even more lethargic than before the game.

“I told you King was going to help,” Beau said.

Tony broke out some cold drinks. Pitt was particularly glad to get some fluid, and despite his panting, downed a can in record time. Tony handed him another.

Pitt was about to start on his second drink when he noticed that Beau was casually staring off at a couple of attractive co-eds coming along the track. They were wearing skimpy running gear.

“Great legs,” Beau said.

That was when Pitt noticed that Beau was not out of breath like he and Tony were. In fact Beau wasn’t even sweating and had yet to take a drink.

Beau caught Pitt staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “Something the matter?” Beau asked.

“You’re not sucking air like we are,” Pitt said.

“I guess I was loafing out there, letting you guys do all the work.”

“Uh oh,” Tony said. “Here comes the Sherman tank.”

Both Beau and Pitt turned to see Rocko sauntering across the court in their direction.

“Don’t taunt him,” Pitt whispered forcibly.

“Who, me?” Beau asked innocently.

“We want a rematch,” Rocko growled when he reached the group.

“I’ve had it for today,” Pitt said. “I’m through.”

“Me too,” Tony said.

“I guess that’s that,” Beau said with a smile. “It wouldn’t be quite fair if I played all three of you guys.”

Rocko stared at Beau for a beat. “You’re mighty arrogant for a little prig.”

“I didn’t say I’d win,” Beau said. “Although I’m sure it would be close, especially the way you guys were playing toward the end of that last game.”

“Man, you’re looking for it,” Rocko snarled.

“I’d rather you didn’t raise your voice,” Beau said. “My dog’s sleeping right next to you, and he’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

Rocko glanced down at King, then back up at Beau. “I couldn’t care a twit about your bag of turd of a dog.”

“Wait a sec,” Beau said. He got to his feet. “I’m a little confused. Are you calling my new dog a ‘bag of turd’?”

“Worse than that,” Rocko said. “I think he’s a f—”

With hand speed that shocked everyone, Beau reached out and grabbed Rocko by the throat. Rocko reacted quickly as well, clenching his left hand into a tight fist and unleashing a powerful left hook.

Beau saw the blow coming but ignored it. It struck him on the side of his face, just in front of his right ear. The sound was a solid “thunk” that made Pitt wince.

Rocko felt a stab of pain from his knuckles after hitting up against Beau’s cheekbone. The punch had been a hefty one and right on target yet Beau’s facial expression didn’t change. It was as if he’d not felt the blow.

Rocko was shocked by the seeming ineffectiveness of what heretofore had been his best weapon. People never expected a powerful left hook to be the first contact in a fight. It had always worked for Rocko, and more often than not, finished the fight. But with Beau it was different. The only change in Beau’s appearance after the punch was that his pupils dilated. Rocko even thought they began to glow.

The other problem Rocko was experiencing was lack of oxygen. His face got redder and his eyes began to bulge. He tried to twist out of Beau’s grasp but couldn’t. It was as if he were being held by a pair of iron tongs.

“Excuse me,” Beau said calmly. “I think you owe my dog an apology.”

Rocko grabbed Beau’s arm with both hands but still couldn’t break Beau’s hold around his neck. All Rocko could do was gurgle.

“I can’t hear you,” Beau said.

Pitt, who moments before had been worried about Beau, was now concerned about Rocko. The man’s face was turning blue.

“He can’t breathe,” Pitt offered.

“You’re right,” Beau said. He let go of Rocko’s neck and grabbed a handful of hair instead. Exerting an upward force, he was able to bring Rocko up onto his tiptoes. Rocko was still clutching Beau’s arm with both hands but was unable to free himself.

“I’m waiting for the apology,” Beau said. He increased the tension on Rocko’s hair.

“I’m sorry about your dog,” Rocko managed.

“Don’t tell me,” Beau said calmly. “Tell the dog.”

Pitt was speechless. For a second it almost appeared as if Beau had lifted Rocko off his feet.

“I’m sorry, dog,” Rocko squeaked.

“His name is King,” Beau said.

“I’m sorry, King,” Rocko echoed.

Beau released his hold. Rocko’s hands shot to the top of his head. His scalp was burning. With a look that was a combination of anger, pain, and humiliation, Rocko slunk away to join his shocked teammates.

Beau brushed off his hands. “Ugh,” he said. “I wonder what kind of goop he uses in his hair.”

Pitt and Tony were as shocked as Rocko’s teammates and were staring at Beau with their mouths hanging open. Beau noticed their expressions after reaching down for the end of King’s leash.

“What is it with you guys?” Beau asked.

“How did you do that?” Pitt asked.

“What are you talking about?” Beau asked.

“How were you able to handle Rocko so easily?” Pitt asked.

Beau tapped the side of his head. “With intelligence,” he said. “Poor Rocko uses only brawn. Brawn can be useful but its power pales compared to intelligence. It’s why humans dominate this planet. In terms of natural selection, there’s nothing that comes close.”

All of a sudden Beau looked off across the grass toward the library. “Uh oh,” he said. “Looks like I’m going to have to leave you guys.”

Pitt followed his line of sight. About a hundred yards off and coming in their direction was another group of businessmen types. This time there were six: four men and two women. All were carrying briefcases.

Beau turned back to his teammates. “Great game, guys,” he said. He stuck up his hand and high-fived with both. Then he turned to Pitt. “We’ll have to have that conversation you suggested another time.”

Responding to a tug, King got reluctantly to his feet and followed his master out across the grass to the impromptu conference.

Pitt looked at Tony. Tony shrugged. “I never knew Beau was so strong,” he said.

“How the hell can a body disappear?” Jesse asked Dr. Curtis Lapree. “I mean, has it ever happened before?” Jesse and Vince had ridden over to the morgue and were standing on either side of the empty refrigeration compartment where Charlie Arnold’s body had been.

“Unfortunately it has happened before,” Dr. Lapree admitted. “Not often, thank God, but it has happened. The last time was a little over a year ago. It was the body of a young woman, a suicide case.”

“Was the body ever recovered?” Jesse asked.

“No,” Dr. Lapree said.

“Was it reported to us?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t know, to be truthful,” Dr. Lapree said. “It was handled by the commissioner of health, who dealt directly with the commissioner of the police. It was an embarrassment all around and hence was kept as quiet as possible.”

“What have you done on this case?” Jesse asked.

“The same thing,” Dr. Lapree said. “I’ve turned it over to the head medical examiner, who’s turned it over to the commissioner of health. Before you do anything you’d better check with your bosses. I probably shouldn’t have even told you.”

“I understand,” Jesse said. “And I’ll respect your confidence. But have you any suspicions of why someone would steal the body?”

“As a forensic pathologist I know more than most people that the world is full of weird people,” Dr. Lapree said. “There are people out there who like dead bodies.”

“You think that was the motivation in this instance?” Jesse asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Dr. Lapree admitted.

“We’re concerned that the disappearance of the body adds weight to the idea that the man’s death was a homicide,” Jesse said.

“Like the perpetrator didn’t want to leave a trail,” Vince added.

“I understand,” Dr. Lapree said. “But the problem with that line of thinking is that I’d already done the autopsy.”

“Yeah, but you were coming back for more tissue,” Jesse said.

“True,” Dr. Lapree said. “I’d failed to take a sample of bone marrow. But that was just to add more weight to my acute radiation theory.”

“If the reason the body was taken was to keep you from getting this final sample, then it sounds as if it were an inside job,” Jesse said.

“We are aware of that,” Dr. Lapree said. “We’re in the process of reviewing everyone who had access to the body.”

Jesse sighed. “What a case,” he moaned. “The idea of retiring is sounding better and better.”

“You’ll let us know if you learn anything,” Vince said.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Lapree said.

Jonathan closed and locked his gym locker. For that semester he’d pulled gym as the last period of the day, and he hated it. He much preferred to have gym sometime in the middle of the day as an oasis between academic subjects.

Leaving the gym wing by the side door he started out across the quad. In the distance he could see a group of kids grouped around the flagpole. As he approached he could hear them cheering. When he got to the base of the flagpole he saw what was going on. A ninth grader, who Jonathan vaguely knew, was in the process of shinnying to the top. His name was Jason Holbrook. Jonathan knew him because he’d played on the freshman basketball team.

“What’s happening?” Jonathan asked one of his classmates who was standing off to the side. His name was Jeff.

“Ricky Javetz and crowd have found some new ninth-grader to harass,” Jeff said. “The kid’s got to touch the eagle on top or he’s not going to be allowed in the gang.”

Jonathan shielded his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. “That pole’s damn high,” he said. “Must be fifty, sixty feet or more.”

“And it’s pretty skinny at the top,” Jeff said. “I’m glad I’m not up there.”

Jonathan looked around. He was surprised that no teachers had materialized to put a stop to this ridiculous situation. Just then he saw Cassy Winthrope emerge from the north wing. Jonathan elbowed Jeff. “Here comes that sexy student teacher.”

Jeff turned to look. Cassy was dressed as usual in a loose-fitting simple cotton dress. As the sun angled through it, the boys could see a silhouette of Cassy’s body, including a distinct outline of her high-cut panties.

“Wow,” Jeff said. “What a piece of ass.”

Mesmerized, the boys watched Cassy melt into the crowd then reappear at the base of the flagpole. She tossed some books she was carrying onto the ground, cupped her hands, and shouted up to Jason to come down.

The crowd hissed at Cassy’s interference.

Almost three-quarters of the way to the eagle, Jason hesitated. The pole was beginning to wobble. It seemed higher than he’d expected.

Cassy looked around. The throng of students had closed in. Most of them were seniors and significantly larger than herself. It went through her mind that teachers were assaulted on a daily basis in schools across the United States.

Cassy looked back up the flagpole. From its base the wobbling was apparent.

“Did you hear me,” Cassy called again, ignoring the crowd. She had her hands on her hips. “Get down here this instant!”

Cassy felt a hand grab her arm. She jumped. Surprisingly she found herself staring into Mr. Ed Partridge’s leering, smiling face. “Miss Winthrope, you’re looking delightful today.”

Cassy peeled Ed’s fingers from her arm. “We’ve got a student three-quarters of the way up the flagpole,” she said.

“I’ve noticed,” Ed said. He chuckled as he tilted his head back and gazed up at the now scared student. “I bet he can make it.”

“I hardly think this kind of activity should be condoned,” Cassy said in spite of herself.

“Ah, why not?” Ed said. Then cupping his hands he called up to Jason. “Come on, boy, don’t fink out now. You’re almost there.”

Jason looked up. He had another twenty feet or so to go. Hearing the crowd urging him on, he recommenced climbing. The problem was that his hands were perspiring and moist. With each shinny, he slid back half of the gained distance.

“Mr. Partridge,” Cassy began. “This isn’t... ”

“Calm down, Miss Winthrope,” Ed said. “We have to let our students express themselves. Besides, it’s entertaining to see if a prepubescent boy like Jason up there is capable of accomplishing this kind of feat.”

Cassy looked up. The wobbling had increased. She shuddered to think of what would happen if the boy fell.

But Jason didn’t fall. Benefiting from the crowd’s support, he managed to get to the top, touch the eagle, and begin the descent. When he reached the ground, Mr. Partridge was the first to congratulate him.

“Well done, lad,” Ed said, giving Jason a pat on the back. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Mr. Partridge then looked out over the crowd. “Okay, everybody, time to break it up.”

Cassy didn’t leave immediately. She watched as Mr. Partridge herded many of the students toward the central wing while maintaining an animated conversation. Cassy was confused. Encouraging such an act seemed irresponsible and certainly out of character for Mr. Partridge.

“I believe these are your books,” a voice said.

Cassy turned to see Jonathan Sellers extending her texts to her. She took them and thanked him.

“No problem,” he said. He looked off at the fading image of Mr. Partridge. “He’s become a different man all of a sudden,” Jonathan said, mirroring Cassy’s thoughts.

“Just like my parents,” another voice said.

Jonathan turned to see Candee. He’d been unaware that she’d been in the crowd from the beginning. Stumbling over his words, he introduced her to Cassy, and as he did so, he noticed her eyes had a red-rimmed, sleepless appearance.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked.

Candee nodded. “I’m all right, but I didn’t sleep much last night.” She stole a self-conscious glance at Cassy, concerned about talking in front of a stranger. At the same time she had a strong urge to unburden herself. As an only child she’d not spoken with anyone, and she was troubled.

“How come you couldn’t sleep?” Jonathan asked.

“Because my parents have been acting very strange,” Candee said. “It’s like I don’t know them. They’ve changed.”

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” Cassy asked, thinking immediately of Beau.

“They’re different,” Candee said. “I don’t know how to explain it. They’re different. Like old Mr. Partridge.”

“How long have you noticed this?” Cassy asked. She was amazed; what was happening to people?

“It’s been just the last day or so,” Candee said.