The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Read online

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it. I grew up in the south side of Guayaquil. There are plenty of gangs hanging around the ports in that area. But here, we don’t see so much of that.” The captain stopped to ponder. “We’ve always had a problem with people selling exotic species from our islands, so at first I thought this was a poaching case, but none of the animals at Summit’s facility are missing.”

  “What kind of animals?” asked Mallory.

  “Tortoises,” said Fuentes. “Very rare…and very valuable.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The two-vehicle convoy approached a side road with a sign reading “private.” Taking a right onto the private drive, Captain Fuentes drove past an unoccupied guard shack and traveled a few hundred yards up a narrow road. He pulled his police SUV to a stop in front of an unadorned brick building. The Gooch pulled the Americans’ rental in beside him. A uniformed policeman standing in the parking lot nodded at Fuentes.

  Alton emerged from the SUV, stretched his bad leg, and looked around. A double row of parking spaces and neat landscaping fronted a sprawling, single-story research building constructed of red brick. A splash of yellow and white tropical flowers at the building’s corners disappeared around its sides, and more of the same flowers grew wild in surrounding fields. In the distance, Alton spotted a three-foot, split-rail fence separating the property’s manicured grounds from palm trees and dense, jungle foliage lying beyond. Across the parking lot from the building, a breeze pushed the tops of an especially large grove of palm trees, causing the fronds to sway.

  Alton turned to Mallory. “That fence bordering the grounds is pretty, but it isn’t going to stop an intruder.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  Alton turned his attention back to the building. A series of large, glass windows collared the left two-thirds of the edifice. He could make out a series of work tables behind the windows, indicating that section of the building housed the lab, most likely the room where the scientific research had been conducted. One of the lab’s center windows had been smashed, and a triangle of yellow police tape cordoned off the space directly in front of it. The right third of the building contained narrow windows with mini-blinds, probably housing the administrative offices.

  Everyone began to travel down a short sidewalk towards the facility’s main entrance. Alton hesitated for a moment. Peering through the lab’s broken windowpane, he could make out a jumble of beakers, petri dishes, incubators, a spectrum analyzer, and other random pieces of equipment. He rejoined the rest of party as they neared the door.

  Alton noticed a placard attached to a small, granite marker placed in the middle of the landscaping. “‘Lexington Labs’?”

  “That is the name of the company Dr. Summit works for,” replied Fuentes, “the one that is paying for her research here.”

  “In that case, I’m surprised they haven’t sent their own team down here to investigate.”

  “They wanted to,” said Delaney, “but Vega warned them off—told them we’d have a better chance of finding Summit if we kept the team comprised of a small number of expert investigators.”

  “That’d be us,” added the Gooch.

  Fuentes ushered the Americans through the entrance. “We have not moved anything since the night she disappeared.” The police captain then confirmed Alton’s initial impression. “This large room is the lab, where Summit and her team conducted their experiments.”

  The full extent of the lab’s disarray now grew apparent. Dozens of glass containers lay in pieces on the ground, where they joined a sheet of glass shards covering the floor beneath the broken windowpane. A scientific scale and two incubators lay sideways on the floor, apparently knocked off in the chaos, while other pieces of equipment remained scattered around the twenty or so lab benches. Once-locked overhead cabinets circling the room and dozens of lab-bench drawers had all been forced open, their contents now lying in piles on the floor. Only a set of windows and a door on the rear wall had escaped the destruction.

  Alton noticed half a dozen scorch marks on the floor’s tile, about ten yards in front of the broken window. He turned to Fuentes. “Did CS—tear gas—grenades come through the window and land over there?”

  Fuentes nodded, reluctant approval glowing in his eyes. “Yes, exactly.”

  Alton turned to Mallory. “Looks like a full-on assault,” he murmured, his chest tightening in a minor version of the PTSD-induced episodes he had experienced in Afghanistan during their last case. And why shouldn’t he react? People had died during the Kabul mission, and there was no guarantee against violence on this trip, not after witnessing the level of destruction in this room.

  “Captain Fuentes, I can see there is a lot to take in here,” said Delaney. “Would you mind getting us up to speed on the evidence you’ve already gathered?”

  “Yes, I can do that. But let’s move into that hallway over there so we don’t disturb any evidence in here or in Summit’s office.”

  Fuentes ushered them out of the lab and into the first part of a corridor containing doors to the administrative offices, a spot from which they could see both Summit’s office and the lab. He motioned them over to a collection of aging lab stools arranged in a semi-circle, apparently an impromptu, on-site command center for the investigation.

  “You’ve already dusted for fingerprints, right?” asked Delaney.

  “Yes, we found lots of prints of the people who work for Summit, but we did not find any prints that don’t belong.”

  “So they wore gloves,” said Mallory. She leaned towards Fuentes. “Did anyone witness the attack?”

  “Yes. Summit summoned Dr. Martin Tuttle to the building. He arrived before the criminals could escape.”

  “Dr. Tuttle? Is he one of the researchers?” asked Mallory.

  “No. He is the facility’s on-site doctor…and Summit’s personal physician.”

  Delaney took a turn leaning in. “Why does Summit need a personal physician?”

  Fuentes studied the ceiling in an apparent attempt to explain in a second language. “She suffers from…how you say…asthma. Sometimes it got pretty bad, so Tuttle would take care of her.”

  “Can we speak with him?” ask Delaney.

  “You don’t need to. I have my notes from my interview with him, the ones you were reading on the way over here.”

  “The notes were excellent,” said Delaney, “but I’d like to talk with Tuttle in person.”

  Looking nonplussed, the captain shrugged. “Okay. I’ll ask him to meet with us.”

  Cragmire spoke up for the first time. “For me to do my job, I’ll need to speak to the members of Summit’s staff, especially any scientists who could answer questions about the nature of her research.”

  “There is only Dr. Gromov,” replied Fuentes. “Cesar Pavia works for Summit too, but he is not a scientist. He manages the facility.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Cragmire.

  “Pavia is the site manager,” said Fuentes. “His job is to ensure a steady inflow of supplies and local labor for the non-scientific work, like custodians and repairmen.”

  “Can you invite Gromov and Pavia in for interviews, too?” asked Delaney.

  “As I said before, I have already interviewed these two,” said Fuentes. “You have the notes.”

  “Yeah, but you said Gromov is a scientist, right?” said Cragmire with a note of exasperation in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I am, too. Maybe Gromov can tell me about the current state of their research. That might shed some light on the reason for the attack.”

  Fuentes shrugged. “Okay, I will invite her, too.” He switched on his cellphone and conducted a brief conversation in Spanish. “They will all be here soon.”

  “In the meantime, what else have you learned?” asked Delaney.

  Fuentes gazed at the ceiling as if taking a mental inventory of facts. “Like you said, the party that carried out this attack threw CS grenades in through the broken window.
They tried to enter through the front door, the one we came through, but it was locked. So the attackers came through the broken window.”

  “The tear gas would have been incredibly thick,” said Mallory. “They must have worn gas masks, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, that is what we were thinking,” said Fuentes. “They must have ordered them from off-island. Gas masks and tear gas are not the kind of things you can buy here.”

  “Is there any way to track who might have received the packages?” asked Alton.

  Fuentes shook his head. “No, we get a lot of supplies here for all the tourists. The person ordering must have put false information on the shipping manifests. If we didn’t find these things when they arrived here, there’s no way to go back and look now.”

  “Bummer,” said the Gooch.

  “In any case,” continued Fuentes, “after the attackers entered, they tried to gain access to Summit’s office, but it was locked.” He pointed to her office door, just over Cragmire’s left shoulder. “You can see how the door has been broken in. Summit’s office is a mess, just like the lab. In both places, the attackers seemed to be looking everywhere.”

  “What were they looking for?” asked Alton.

  “It’s hard to say,” replied Fuentes. “Maybe anything of value. Ecuador is not a rich country. Many people here in Santa Cruz know of Summit’s research. Perhaps they figured there would be raw materials or valuable equipment they could sell on the black market.”

  “If that’s the case, they sure left a lot behind,” said Alton, letting his gaze drift back to the scientific equipment scattered around the lab.

  “That is what bothers me,” admitted Fuentes. “If this were a robbery, why did the thieves not take everything? Or were they looking only for simple items—raw materials, perhaps—that would be difficult to trace back to this specific lab?”

  “That’s possible,” said Delaney. “Captain Fuentes, we’ve been told that Summit’s research notes could be valuable. Could the thieves have come here looking for that information?”

  “I suppose, but if that is the case, why did they look all over the lab? Wouldn’t they just steal Summit’s computer and leave?”

  “Good question. Is her computer missing?”

  “Come in here,” said Fuentes, gesturing to the smashed office door. “She had a computer in here. The monitor is still there in the middle of her desk. But look under her desk. You see how there is an extra-clean section of tiles that forms a rectangle? That is where her computer used to sit. I confirmed with Gromov that there used to be a computer there. So maybe you are right that the thieves came for it. But it still doesn’t explain the reason for searching in the drawers and cabinets. Why go to the trouble?”

  “A diversion?” said Mallory. “Maybe they wanted to hide their true objective.”

  “That’s possible,” said Fuentes.

  “Captain Fuentes,” said Alton. “I noticed you stationed an officer outside. Do you think there’s a risk of another break-in?”

  “Considering Summit and her computer are both gone, I doubt it,” said Fuentes. “But just in case, I assigned Sergeant Muro to patrol the grounds on foot. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Good idea,” said Alton.

  “Hello,” shouted a voice from the front entrance. “Is it okay for me to come in?”

  “Yes,” shouted Fuentes. “Come in, Dr. Tuttle.” Turning to the others, he added, “Like I said earlier, he is the only eyewitness to the attack.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A portly, bespectacled gentleman pushed open the door and picked his way through the floor’s debris with light steps, as if afraid of waking a giant. Wisps of brown hair on his sweaty temples seemed to be losing the battle against a receding hairline. In contrast to his otherwise timid appearance, a prominent wound on his left cheek had already started to heal.

  Martin Tuttle reached the group of investigators and broke into a tentative smile. “Other gringos, I see.”

  “That was quick,” said Delaney. “Captain Fuentes just called you five minutes ago.”

  “I live in an on-site bungalow,” said Tuttle, “so it doesn’t take long to get here.”

  Delaney introduced each of the investigators to the middle-aged doctor, then addressed the man himself. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Dr. Tuttle. I’d like to ask you some questions about the day of the attack, but I’d prefer to wrap up our crime-scene examination first, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. I’m at your disposal.”

  Delaney led the others back into the lab. Alton studied the stains left from the CS canisters. He traveled outside and examined the grass in front of the broken window.

  Returning to the lab, he approached Delaney and Mallory. “I don’t see any indications of someone directly outside the window, but the grass there is pretty healthy. It just springs back up when I step on it, so it probably wouldn’t have reacted to the perps’ tread, either.”

  “Some of the grounds adjacent to the parking area are just dirt,” said Mallory. “One of our perps could have left a footprint if they traveled in those areas. We should probably check out there later.”

  “Agreed,” said Delaney, “although the amount of outside vehicle and foot traffic may make it tough to discern anything we can specifically trace back to the attackers.”

  After examining the lab for another ten minutes, the investigators moved back to Summit’s office.

  “Did you put this tape on Summit’s door?” Alton asked Fuentes, pointing to an outline of thin, yellow tape marking off a tiny, soiled section of the wood paneling.

  “Yes,” replied the captain. “This stuff inside the tape is dry now, but it was wet when we first arrived, so it must have been new. We think a perpetrator left this behind when he smashed open the door.”

  Delaney nodded in agreement and examined the substance. “Yeah—a transfer. It looks organic. Any guess what it is?”

  “No,” replied Fuentes.

  Mallory leaned to within a few centimeters of the stain and took a long sniff. “Ug. It smells terrible. Fish, maybe? Or something decaying in general.”

  The Gooch leaned in and inhaled deeply. “I think you’re right about fish. Not that that’s a big surprise, considering we’re on an island, but it’s no fresh-water species, at least not one I’m familiar with.”

  “What are you, the fish whisperer?” asked Cragmire.

  The Gooch looked hurt. “I was three-time tri-state angling champion before my stint in the Marines. I know my bass from my trout. And I’m telling you I don’t think that’s a freshwater fish. You never know, that may be helpful information.”

  Delaney turned to Fuentes. “Do you mind if I take some samples to send back to my lab in the US? They should be able to tell us exactly what this is.”

  “Is okay, I guess. I don’t have the equipment for that kind of analysis. And I have already taken a lot of photos.”

  Delaney removed an evidence kit from the duffle bag she had carried into the building that morning. Donning latex gloves and removing a stainless steel, flat-edged instrument from a sterile wrapper, she scraped a bit of the substance into a clear plastic tube, then capped the cylinder with a white lid and secured it with a twist. “I’ll send this on the fastest flight back to the FBI forensic labs in Washington. Captain Fuentes, is there any other evidence from here or the lab you’d specifically like to point out?”

  “No. My men and I have spent a long time inspecting the inside of this building. We haven’t had much time to review the outside, but I have shown you the most important pieces of inside evidence I’m aware of.”

  “In that case, I doubt we’ll find anything else. But before I send this off, let’s do one last sweep of the building, just to be sure. I’d hate to find out later there was something else we should have sent to Washington immediately.”

  The NSA team members and Fuentes entered Summit’s office. The office contained piles of scientific books and journals
, stacked to great heights on the desk, floor, and two bookshelves. An eclectic mix of objects—a globe, a kaleidoscope, a stuffed finch, and a deck of playing cards with pictures of wildlife on the back—adorned the few spots that had escaped the deluge of paper.

  The investigators conducted a methodical examination of the office, collecting potential evidence as they went. They recovered a handkerchief from the trash, a half-empty can of Coke from the desk, and a mascara tube lying between the trashcan and the wall, all of which were deposited into sterile bags and labeled.

  “Okay, I think we’re done in here,” said Delaney while Fuentes nodded in agreement.

  While the rest of the team moved into the lab to continue the search for trace evidence, Alton moved back outside the building. He examined a grove of palm trees and an accompanying undergrowth of whitehair manzanita, an endemic shrub with heavy green leaves and pale, white blooms. The foliage grew directly across from the broken window, on the other side of the double row of parking spaces and the location’s solitary road. Bending down to study a patch of discolored leaves, Alton shook his head in surprise. He hadn’t expected his Army background to help in this investigation, but sometimes insight arose from unexpected sources. He settled in to study the spot in more detail.

  Alton returned nearly half an hour later, just as Delaney gathered the investigators and Tuttle around her.

  “Has anyone found anything noteworthy?” asked the NSA mission manager.

  “I found this latex glove pushed up against one of the lab tables,” said the Gooch. “It might be a discard from Summit or her workers, but it could have been a perp’s. You never know, right?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s bag it. Whoever wore it probably left some organic residue inside it.”

  “I made an interesting discovery outside,” said Alton. “It’d probably be easier to explain if I show you what I found.”

  The group exited the building and angled over to the palm-tree grove located across the parking lot.

  “We haven’t had time to check this far away from the building,” said Fuentes. “We’ve been concentrating on finishing the examination of the interior crime scene.”