SECRET RADIO blog

"Well," a happy voice greeted them as Rolande and Courtney, both taller than Carrie, led the way into the roomy ground floor kitchen of REACH Research.

She looked around and saw two men of about her own age standing by the large Bunn coffeemaker, coffee cups in hand. The taller of the two men had his eyes fixed on her. "Hello," he said to her with far too much warmth. He had sandy hair and pale blue eyes, which lingered on her.

She frowned, and at his, she felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. And then, amazingly, that place in her midsection, the shameful place, twinged, like something against her will, like the flush on her cheeks.

But the Director, always a gentleman, shot an angry stare at the detectives. "Can you put your partner on a leash or something?" Courtney asked, irate.

The shorter man threw a look of caution at his friend. "Rusty talks before he thinks."

"Sorry," the taller one said immediately. "I apologize. I have to admit, when I heard we were meeting with two scientists, I didn't---well, I pictured---"

"Someone more like me," Rolande said dryly. "Yes all right, this is Professor Caroline Drake, our newest researcher, and I am Dr. Rolande."

Supina extended his hand to Rolande. "I've heard of you in the department. You've helped us before. I'm Matt Supina."

His partner offered a sheepish hand to Carrie. "I beg your pardon ma'am. I'm Rusty Makevitch."

"Well," Courtney said. "I think I can leave the four of you to your discussion. There's a table 'round the corner if you'd like to sit down.

"Yes, come sit down," Rolande said. "The Director tells us that Raleigh police came into this case from a bank robbery. I do think I heard about that robbery attempt," He gestured at the cheap plastic chairs around the break room table. "Some divinity or pastoral student interrupted it, didn't he?"

Supina gave a brief nod. "Something like that. Here it is." He pulled a manila packet up onto the table, opened it, and extracted a sheet of newspaper.

Rolande glanced at it. The page captured his attention, and he reported on it. "Openly defied an order to stay down on the floor." He unfolded the paper and squinted at the tiny print on the third page. "Broke the nose of a robbery suspect on his first punch. Hmm. Quite a boxer for a divinity student."

Carrie's comment was acidic. "Not much for turning the other cheek, eh?" Czerwinski glanced at her, surprised, but she had her arm across her midsection, trying not to be obvious, but using pressure to make that scraped sensation go away.

Rolande went on with his summary. "Caught in a bank robbery that was set up like a semi-military assault. But he wouldn't let a perpetrator take a young woman hostage. Really admirable." Rolande shot a glance Carrie. Like her, he was a complete atheist and liberated in his views, but there was a wide streak of the chivalrous knight in Rolande, right alongside the imperious temper and broad egotism. He admired men who rescued helpless women.

Supina supplied the missing details. "This group opened their assault by killing one security person right off. A stone right in the head. Dead on the first shot from the sling. The fellow who slung the stone was then shot by a second guard---took the bullet high in the right leg, lodged in the bone. And then, from the ground, he got off another shot from the sling that killed the second guard."

Now Carrie was incredulous. She forgot herself for a moment. "They tried to assault a bank with---with slingshots?"

Czerwinski, anxious to contribute, said, "Two of the five perpetrators had guns but they used the slings and stones to open the attack."

Rolande passed his judgment. "And one of them got off a throw after taking a bullet? He must have been loaded with cocaine."

"I should think it impossible," Carrie said. "To move with that much precision and strength after suffering a bullet wound, no matter what drug he would use."

Rolande scanned the page. "Witnesses said it was as though the assailant were somehow able to reject the pain. The patrons were down on the floor, and bank security entered and opened fire from covered positions. They kept the two perpetrators who had guns pinned down. One of the other intruders who was close to a door converted his sling to a garrote and dragged a woman out by her throat, as a hostage. The young divinity student pursued him to an outer hallway and intervened." Rolande lifted his eyebrows. "Good for him."

Supina took up the story. "He is a bit worse for wear. Hospitalized. The man he attacked was good at martial arts and was padded with body armor against bullets, but the preacher finally brought him down after one tremendous fight. But with so many bank customers on the floor, the gun fight inside the main room had to be terminated, so the others got away. But this pastoral divine, or whatever he is, managed to keep his man down."

Rolande's eyes were warm. "I'd like to meet that young man."

Supina shrugged. "His name is Stephen Dunn. He's still in the hospital. You're welcome to talk to him."

This answer evoked a question from Rolande. "What, exactly, do you want from us? Source of the talisman---"

Supina leaned back. He had the darkest hair Carrie had ever seen, cut short, and fair skin. "We think these people are part of some sort of serial killing ring that was active in Durham County--perhaps linked to drugs or perhaps linked to a revived pagan cult. And even if their robbery attempt failed, these perpetrators certainly showed a frightening degree of expertise in executing a military assault against a bank that's been designed like a fortress."

He had hazel eyes, and he looked from Rolande to Carrie. "You have a history of impressing law enforcement with your speedy and accurate assessments. We need any information on any of the equipment that will help us track it: metallurgy, manufacture, any significance in any item, including where they came from." He looked from Rolande to Carrie. "Any idea what the Chinese symbol means?"

"Not yet," Rolande said. "My colleague tells me the talisman was probably made in the USA, probably here in the South." And Carrie nodded. She preferred straightforward lab work to going out and tracking down interview subjects, but Rolande was a historical and cultural expert, as well as being an excellent pathologist. There was a chance that he would see to Stephen Dunn alone and let her focus on tracing the metal casting impregnation of the piece of die cast metal.

Supina continued his summary: "The suspect that Dunn knocked out has been questioned, but the investigators can't get much from him. He denies being connected to any drug selling operation and continues to identify himself as one of 'The Fighting Dead.'"

Carrie echoed the term in disbelief. "The Fighting Dead?" Rolande frowned and looked thoughtful.

"Well we do know it's the name of a book. Out of print," The Detective told her. "Written by an A.T. Thomson, who---I have been told---was a gold medalist in the World Games in martial arts competition year before last. The book has something to do with the mental aspects of fighting. But we can't locate a copy. It sold out quickly in the martial arts community last year and has not been reprinted."

"World Games? Thomson's an American I hope?" Rolande guessed.

Supina nodded. "And living locally, as good luck would have it. Here's the address." He set a slip of paper down on the edge of the table. "Except the address takes you into the heart of a storage facility. Maybe you can make heads or tales out of it. We verified it with her former publisher."

"You think Thomson is a player in this Fighting Dead cult?" Rolande asked.

The young Detective shook his head. "I don't think that Thomson is mixed up with these people, but I think they have taken the book as a sort of textbook on invincibility in personal combat. We need a quick study into the heart of these concepts. Maybe you can find a link between that symbol---" And he nodded at the talisman, still in Carrie's hands. "And any martial arts schools."

Rolande crossed his long legs and laced his fingers behind his head. "Oh I see. You'll question Stephen Dunn, and then you'll track down Thompson. And then for good measure we'll all go visit a lot of kung fu and karate schools and pass around that mass produced, manufactured trinket and ask what it means. Then on the way back here we can fight off a gang of the tong--no doubt assisted by Jackie Chan and the ghost of Bruce Lee." He glared at Supina.

Supina and Czerwinski let out laughs at the prediction. "One thing at a time, Dr. Rolande," the dark haired detective said.

Rolande glanced over at Carrie. "Well, since you've just about solved the origin of the talisman anyway, would you care to visit Thomson's address and track down the confusion?" he asked. "I want to see Dunn as soon as possible."

She frowned. She didn't like it that Rolande simply directed her to do things as though she were his assistant. Of course, he also treated the Director this way. Sometimes it was easier not to have an argument. They stood up. But he knew that she was annoyed with him.

"Do you want an escort?" Czerwinski asked as they exited through the doorway. "That storage place is big and empty."

She glanced up at him. "Oh, I assure you, Detective Czerwinski, I can manage. I've been driving for ever so long." Her British accent startled him, but he said nothing. Supina laughed again,

Rolande suddenly smiled and tapped Carrie's wristwatch. "You know, if you time it right, you can do a little tracking and come back by way of that bakery you like so much. They put those huge cinnamon rolls in the window just at ten, don't they? Or should I call them scones?"

Rolande liked to practice his British-isms on her, though he was usually incorrect when he tried to use London parlance. "They're not quite scones," she said. She sometimes wondered if he had not urged Courtney to hire her simply because her accent. Have a Brit in the lab. Give the place an international feel.

She arched an eyebrow up at him. "I suppose you'll want one?"

"Two," he said. "Extra dusting of cinnamon if you don't mind."

"Right. I'll see to it." They said goodbye to the detectives, and she hurried to her office to check maps of Durham and compare them against the last written address for Thomson. If there had been a mere error in the transcription, she might be able to tease out a couple alternatives to check. Perhaps she could find A.T. Thomson within a few hours.