Free Twisted by Jay Bonansinga Page A

lives.”
    â€œHow do we know this?” Detective Brenniman asked in a smoky baritone.
    Grove pointed to one of the forensic shots of De Lourde’s upper palate, then indicated a lab report thumbtacked to a bulletin board on the wall. “These ridged wounds here, I’m convinced, were all man-made, the teeth removed by an instrument, and the increase in serotonin and free histamine levels in the wound sites indicates that the victims lived for at least fifteen minutes after the teeth and eyeballs were extracted.”
    Stony silence in the room.
    A long pause.
    â€œLet me jump in here for a second, gentlemen,” Geisel’s voice crackled from the squawk box.
    Grove looked at the speaker. “Go ahead, Tom.”
    â€œFor the sake of argument here, let’s say we were going to allocate resources on this thing—”
    â€œWhoa there, Tonto,” Chief Marvin Pilch broke in, glaring at the talk box. “LBI is pretty near tapped out, and we have been since Katrina... . I mean, shit, we got dozens of active case files right now screamin’ for attention.”
    â€œI understand that, Chief.” Geisel’s voice was monumentally patient. “I’m not saying we’re going to funnel anything away from state or local. I’m just trying to figure out where we stand here. Ulysses, hypothetically speaking, what exactly would you need from us on this situation?”
    Grove’s chest tightened with nervous tension as he measured his words. He needed Geisel right now. He needed the section chief to be on his side on this thing. It had been over a year since Grove had worked on an active case, and now he was being drawn into one whether he liked it or not. His gut burned with urgency as he said, “I’m not asking for resources, I’m just asking for access. Access to files, to crime scenes, to databases. Basically, Tom, I’m asking to be put back on active duty here. That’s all.”
    Now there was a long, agonizing silence, during which throats were cleared and gazes were averted.
    Grove knew he had developed a reputation over the years as a flake. And his last case had only cemented this image in people’s minds—this notion of Grove as an eccentric egghead who had been pushed over the edge by too many scuffles with the monster. Rumor had it that Grove was damaged goods now, a shell-shocked head case who should just retire and write books or teach abnormal psychology at some junior college in the sticks. But what nobody at the bureau knew was that Grove had been changed by the Sun City debacle.
    The mysterious sickness that had overtaken Grove at the end of Sun City—the strange “psychosis” that could only be cured, ultimately, by ancient ritual—had somehow launched Grove on a new trajectory. He was now being tugged along by something unseen, something unspoken, some kind of secret conflict that he had yet to figure out. But it was there, it was present at all times now, in the shadows around him, in the clues being left behind, purposely , by this bizarre lurker in the wind.
    â€œI’m going to have to get back to you on this,” Geisel’s voice finally informed the room.
    â€œFine, fine ... whatever. ” Grove slammed his briefcase shut, his face stinging as though it had been slapped. His life was on the line here. Hundreds of future victims of this escalating murder machine ... and Geisel was going to have to get back to him on this?
    â€œUlysses—”
    â€œNo, that’s okay. I understand where you’re coming from, Tom. I do.”
    Then Grove strode across the room to the door. He paused before leaving, turning back to the others. “Gentlemen ... I thank you for your time.”
    Then he walked out.
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    Grove got halfway across the parking lot, the edges of which bordered a swampy landfill, the sky low and dark above it, when his cell phone began chirping. He dug it out of