“ He sells this shit on his Internet website,” explained Max Strand. “Gets the noodles from a gourmet shop downtown.”
Jessica ripped open one of the bags. The pasta was shaped in the form of crosses. “Deitze warned us about all this, but seeing it up close is something else.”
They moved on toward the interior of the house.
Their lights revealed no furniture in the living room area, only a small TV and VCR, along with a makeshift chair of blankets where one might prop against a wall amid the squalor and stench.
“ I don't get it,” said Strand. “If he's got the fridge on a generator, why aren't the lights hooked up to it?”
They ventured forward.
“ Damn sure stinks in here,” said J.T.
“ Coming from a coroner, Dr. Thorpe,” said Owens, “it must be true.”
The few videocassettes Cahil had were copies of TV programs if the labels could be believed-The Learning Channeclass="underline" Brain Matters. Another was entitled This Is Joe's Brain, and a third read Realms of the Mind.
Owens looked the titles over as well and muttered, “Looks like our boy is still fixated on one thing.”
“ Put these in an evidence bag for me, will you, Owens?”
“ Sure thing, Dr. Coran.”
As Owens alternately protected himself with a handkerchief over the nose and stuffed the cassettes into a large evidence bag, Strand returned. “No generator in the basement. Maybe a fuse blew, but I couldn't find any problems in the box.”
“ He must have the fridge on a generator located somewhere here,” said Owens.
J.T. had wandered off alone, and suddenly he called out from deep in the house, shouting, “In here, Jess!”
The others instantly located J.T.'s flashlight. He had gone exploring through a hallway that led deeper into the nightmare. Along with streetlights that pierced the transparent newspaper-covered windows, the flashlights created an eerie ghostly glow flooding through the house, even as their eyes became accustomed. Careful of every step over the litter-strewn floor, they inched their way toward J.T.'s light, which led them toward a bedroom.
Strand slipped, almost lost his footing but righted himself. “Shit,” he complained. “I think I slipped on some damn clay. I found maybe fifty of those clay brains in the basement workshop.” They reached J.T.'s location, and Jessica saw what had so excited him. In the bedroom with a makeshift tent of blankets, a green glowing light filtering through the tent. Cahil had covered over some furniture against the far wall. J.T. stood pointing at the light, saying, “Look, electricity.”
The others now saw the green light filtering through the weave of the blanket. Removing the blanket, J.T. displayed a chair, a wooden desk and a state-of-the-art computer.
J.T. sat at the computer and said, “Here's his nerve center you were telling us about, Strand.”
“ Wait a minute, this thing's got juice,” said Owens.
“ Selective electricity,” said Jessica. “Food and communication. From the fridge to the computer. It has to be a generator.”
“ Your earlier search didn't uncover the computer?” asked Strand of Owens.
“ I guess it was missed. I didn't know it was in here.”
“ Don't tell me… you didn't get this far.”
“ Agent Donaldson found the credit card bill, and we got out. I just follow orders, and I wasn't in charge.”
J.T. examined the computer hookup. “This is no wireless. He's got electricity in here from some source.”
Jessica immediately went to the nearest wall receptacle and with her gloved hand, she stuck a scalpel deep into it. An electrical spark shot out, jabbing at her. “Son of a bitch. Just for the hell of it, Owens, try that lamp beside you.”
Owens, sniffing at an ammonia stick that Jessica had handed him, tried the lamp with no result.
Jessica stepped to the lamp and put her hand below the shade, learning there was no bulb. “Hold on… wait a minute. Are we stumbling around in the dark because the bastard's too lazy to replace his bulbs?” she asked.
J.T. suggested, “Maybe he abhors light?” “That would figure,” said Strand, eyeballing Owens.
Owens, embarrassed by this turn of events, said, “I'll go back to that pantry in the kitchen, see if there're any bulbs.”
After pushing aside books and papers on the desk J.T., with Strand and Jessica looking over his shoulder, went to work on the computer. “See what I can uncover here.” With that, J.T. got comfortable and began a search. He was locked out; the machine asked for a code word.
“ Three strikes and we're out,” said J.T. “We're going to have to crack it at Quantico if we can't come up with the right code tonight.”
Owens returned, saying, “No bulbs but cans and cans of this stuff.” He held up a can of Hydar's animal brains and hash.
“ Gets it from a specialty deli downtown, buys it by the case,” said Strand, turning his attention back to J.T. and the computer. “Try 'brain food,' “ said Strand.
“ What?” asked J.T.
“ It's a thing with him, brain food. These people who plug into his site swap brain-food recipes.”
“ Then the password could just as well be brain bran or brain clusters or brain cuisine,” countered J.T.
“ Just try it.”
“ Right… right.”
Jessica stared across the filthy room at Owens. “Local FBI never gave Cahil serious consideration as a candidate for the Digger, right?”
“ Ahhh, correct.”
“ Why not?”
He whispered, “Well… Strand there's been crying wolf for so long about this boob, that, well… nobody in the Morristown PD or the local bureau takes Strand seriously anymore. We all thought…”
“ Spit it out, Owens.”
“ We thought it'd be a-you know-a kind of embarrassing joke once Chief Santiva was led down the primrose lane by Strand's obsession over Cahil.”
“ Embarrassing for Santiva, you mean. I see. Local joke becomes national headlines. Somebody in your department have it in for us?”
“ Not you. Your boss, Santiva. Our SAC, Fromme. Over some beef a few years back.”
“ A perfect setup. Santiva doles out valuable man-hours, two M.E.'s and field operatives, and God knows how much in currency on a raid your boss believes is a waste of time. Is that about it?”
The preppy-looking Owens nodded. “What can I say? I work for an asshole. Fromme thought he'd let out enough rope for Santiva to hang himself with the bureau heads. The order was to leave everything intact, for your eyes only. Except I was told-ordered-to give Max a call to bring him in.”
“ I get the picture.” Santiva had said on countless occasions that you could never divorce the FBI from politics. Jessica had briefly met Morristown's Special Agent in Charge Marcus Fromme. The man did have the look of a savagely ambitious politician.
“ Fromme doesn't believe Cahil's the Digger. He wants to discredit Santiva, not you, Doctor.”
“ Should be interesting to see who wins this pissing contest.”
“ It was out of my control. When I heard they'd nabbed Cahil, and that you were on your way here, well… none of us could muster much enthusiasm… consensus was…”
“ I get it, Owens. The picture comes clear now.”
“ From the get-go, as far as Fromme was concerned, we didn't have enough probable cause-a phone call to you from the girlfriend. That's all we were told. Fromme then told me to”-he brought it down to a whisper again-”rope in Max. We all know how Max feels about Cahil. Fromme even arranged for Strand's trip to see you in Philadelphia- at Quantico's expense. He thinks Max is a lunatic for Cahil, obsessed with him.”
“ So he throws Max in as another wrench in the works?”
Owens bit his lower lip and nodded. “Fromme was at Quantico when you all began the chase for the Skull-digger. He never looked under this rock because he never believed Cahil a worthwhile lead, you see.”
Strand, overhearing snatches of the conversation, pulled away from his argument over the possible code word long enough to say, “What're you talking about, Owens? You idiots in the bureau think you're using me? You all know I am the authority on Cahil.”