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44.
Linsey kissed Jack hurriedly goodbye in the morning as he sat having his morning coffee and reading his e-mail. "I'll call you if anything exciting seems to be breaking."
"I need a total rundown to start a journal," he called after her.
"Okay—tonight!"
Cleve waited at the curb in the unmarked car. He wore jeans, combat boots, a rugged-weave black sweater over a white shirt. "No suit today?" she asked while buckling in as he pulled into traffic.
"Nope. I see dirty work ahead. I won't ruin my good suit."
"Smart man."
"Where to?"
"Let's start with the Lima Voyager today. I want to check the visitor logs for the past week. I’m sure it's been covered, but I want to see if Mr. Collwood and Mr. Morton have been down to see their cargo."
They stopped at the main U.S. Navy gate, and with a phone call to Louise's office and an admiral's office, Linsey got to check both the manual, paper logs and the digitized, on-network lists of people who had shown I.D. It was a side effect of the age of terror—everyone's comings and goings seemed to be increasingly under scrutiny.
"Here it is," Cleve said. He loomed over a service counter with looseleaf binders stacked all around him. "Three days ago, Collwood and Morton came through here with several assistants. They stayed a little over two hours and then left."
Linsey checked the verifying initials. The young Navy petty officer who had checked them in and out remembered them. She was an attractive blonde woman with blue eyes and a slight Heartland drawl, wearing her white pants uniform and green web gear including a holstered automatic, a whistle, and various belt kits. On her left upper arm was a large black leather sleeve with an American flag and the words Security Police. "I remember those guys," she said. "They were all excited, almost rude, the way they rushed in and rushed out. I noticed it because they seemed so upset. Especially the tall, handsome one with the cold fish eyes. I think that's Collwood."
"Did you overhear any of their conversation?" Cleve asked.
The petty officer shook her head.
"Thanks. You've been a great help," Linsey said. Leaving the young woman looking pleased, they returned to the car.
"We're slowly tying the threads together," Cleve said, "and we still have no idea what the big picture is."
"Right," Linsey said. "I'll drive. Let's go see Ernie Walesky. He crewed on this last trip, and I know his brother Joe."
As she drove to the Linda Vista section of town, Linsey called Harbor Police dispatch and had herself patched through to Joe Walesky, who happened to be working the boat channel off the old Naval Training Center that morning. "Joe?"
"Linsey? What on earth—I haven't spoken with you in over a year. How are you?"
"Good, Joe. How are you? Hey listen, I'm working something, and your brother Ernie's name has come up. Nothing big, just a friend of a friend. I'm wondering if you've seen Ernie."
"Not the past few days. I understand he's been missing a bit."
"Missing?"
" Ernie is fond of the bottle. Meek as a lamb, even when drunk, but hard to take. He and Nellie have had it out many times. Usually, when he comes back from a long sea voyage, he goes off on a bender for a few days, gets it out of his system, goes home to Nellie, takes a week to recover. Is he in a jam?"
"I don't know. His car is sitting abandoned near Volcan Mountain. I'm going to interview his wife—Nellie?"
"My sister in law. Holy Jeez, Linsey, maybe I should take the day off and see what's what."
"Why don't you wait until I talk with Nellie?"
"You got me worried now. That's my brother."
"I understand. I didn't call to get you alarmed, Joe. I'm sorry. Does he by any chance fly planes too?"
"Oh yeah. Ever since we were kids. Me, I get air sick. Ernie can handle planes the way a country boy handles horses."
"Does he ever do jobs for people as a pilot?"
"Sometimes. Don't tell me he's flying drugs or something."
"No. That's not even up for discussion. Hey, while I have you, do you know anything about Anaconda Chemicals?"
"Who?"
"Never heard of them?"
"Nope."
"Nevermind. I'll call you after I see Nellie."
As she had expected, by the time Linsey got to Nellie, Joe had already called. It worked that way in large, close-knit families. It didn't bother her. She found the small house on a side street in a quiet neighborhood. Linda Vista had some rough spots, but this one was good. Nellie was a rough-hewn but salt of the earth gray-haired grandma, long-ago probably a blonde surfer or beach bunny from the seams in her face. Shame what the sun did to its worshipers.
Nellie was a housewife, an old fashioned stay at home mom. She had a daughter, Maribel, 10, and a slightly younger male cousin named Jimmy Mendez on the premises. Nellie had Linsey and Cleve sit out on the back patio, in the breezy sunshine but under an outdoor café style umbrella. Moments later, she appeared with a tray of iced tea for three. All the while, her hands seemed to shake, and she looked terribly nervous.
After pleasantries, Linsey honed in on the visit's purpose. "Have you heard from your husband yet, Mrs. Walesky."
"Why yes, Ernie called and said he'd be home any time now. That was two days ago—the time seems to be stretching."
"Interesting." Linsey told her about the abandoned car at Volcan, without mentioning the rest of the story. "I'd say the car has been there a number of days, judging from the amount of dirt on it. So why would your husband call you when he's not close to his car. We're Americans, after all. The car is to us what the buffalo was to the Indians."
"You don't know Ernie. He could be holed up somewhere three or four days at a poker game, as long as he's got whiskey and beer going down."
"Must be very frustrating."
"You get used to it. He's a good provider. Been kind to Maribel. She loves him dearly. It would tear her up if anything happened to him."
"Mrs. Walesky, how long was Ernie at sea this last time?"
The haggard woman thought about it for a minute. "I'd say three weeks, maybe, he's been gone from here. Not a long time by merchant sailor standard—much worse back in Navy days."
"Joe, from the Harbor Police, says Ernie is a pilot."
"Oh yes, he loves planes. Makes extra money flying things for people, or just flying people."
"Do you have any idea where he might be right now?" Linsey began to feel a frustrated sense of going in circles. The woman seemed sincere and probably wasn’t covering up for any illegal drug activities. It seemed like a very safe, pleasant middle class home. Something was troubling Nellie, however. Linsey sensed it, and was determined to work at the edges of it until Nellie spilled the beans. Cleve sat quietly by, sipping his tea.
The woman shook her head, and they sat in silence for a moment. "You ain't asked about the other thing, have you? Maybe you don't know."
"Know what?"
Nellie rolled her eyes toward the children playing quietly in a far corner of the yard. "The boy, Jimmy, he's staying with us. His dad was on the same ship with Ernie."
"Really?" Blood rushed in Linsey's ears. Alarm bells rang.
The woman's eyes had a tragic cast. "Poor little fellow. He was always such a strong, regular kid. All of a sudden he got hysterical, saying his mom and dad took off on him."
"Oh? We seem to have a lot of missing persons here."
"I'm not sure he means they are missing."
"What does he mean?"
"He has some fantastic story that landed him in the psychiatric ward at Children's Hospital before they farmed him out to me. Claims his dad returned but wasn't his dad, and then his mom stopped being his mom."
"Can I talk with the boy?"
She shrugged. "Sure," she said, slurring her Ss because she was missing a couple of crucial teeth. "Jimmy!" she called.
The boy came running. "Yes?"
"This police detective lady wants to talk with you."
Jimmy stood panting. "Yes?"
He seemed like a very sharp little guy, Linsey thought. "Jimmy, what's been going on in your life?"
"If I tell you, you won't believe me. Nobody does."
"Jimmy, I'm not here to judge. I'm here to ask questions."
He told her his story. The girl, Maribel, who was slightly taller, stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
Linsey let him tell his story, and was aghast at the implication that—she had to fight herself to even formulate the thought—some nonhuman life form had taken over Jimmy's parents—if one took the boy's story literally. Of course there were bound to be psychological explanations—transference, sublimation, whatever—but one thing he mentioned made Linsey's blood run cold. Very innocently and truthfully, the child described a strong fungal odor or mushroom smell. She remembered the odor around the harbor pilot's house. The ship Lima Voyager seemed to be at the heart of a dark mystery whose tentacles kept spreading.
"So what do you think?" Jimmy asked challengingly.
"I am starting to think there is a lot of truth in your story."
Instantly, the boy became a pleading child. "Can you help me find my mommy and daddy?"
"I'll do what I can," Linsey said. She didn't feel very positive about the prospects. "Let's keep in touch, okay?" She rose. Nellie extended her hand. They all shook hands and Linsey left each of them—Nellie, Maribel, and Jimmy—a copy of her business card.
As they spoke, there was a knock at the door. Maribel ran to answer. A tall, attractive young woman in high heels and red business outfit stood twirling her sunglasses in one hand and holding a thick leather portfolio under her other arm. A long, thin black leather purse was tucked under the portfolio arm. "May I come in?"
"It's Annette!" Maribel yelled.
Jimmy's face went through a range of contortions, from pleasure to fear.
"Don't worry, Jimmy, I didn't come to take you back to Children's Hospital. I just came to say hello—see how you are."
"I'm fine," Jimmy said, ready to fight or flee. But he stayed sitting on the couch. He picked up a rubber softball and squeezed it so that Linsey thought it must break.
Linsey rose and shook hands with the elegant woman. "I'm Annette Lewis, Jimmy's social worker."
"Linsey Simon. I'm a police lieutenant."
"Investigating the situation that brought Jimmy here?"
"Pretty much, yes. Just following up, mostly, because I don't have very much to work on yet."
"I drive by Jimmy's house every day, and there is nobody home. I assume there is a missing persons case in progress?"
"We're doing the best we can." Linsey noticed Cleve looked a bit put off, and frowned at him to keep his cool.
"Of course you are. I apologize for interrupting. May I ask Jimmy a few questions?"
"Go ahead. We were just finishing up. I'd be interested to hear what he tells you."
Annette turned her attention to Jimmy. "So, big guy. How's the chow here? Getting your three hots and a cot?"
Jimmy grinned. "You're weird, Annette."
"Ex-Army officer. Sorry." Annette grinned and sat next to him. She flipped open her portfolio and started writing with a gold pen. She had perfectly shaped, ornately decorated fingernails that made Linsey wish she could afford to dress like that. Not in police work, unless maybe undercover. "Jimmy, are you still having nightmares?"
A tear ran down his cheek. "Yes."
"Miss your mom, dontcha?"
He nodded.
Linsey felt a bit choked up, and Cleve looked as if he'd swallowed a golfball—his eyes were bulging.
"Tell me about the nightmares."
"It's dark" (sniff) "and I'm walking down this tunnel" (wiping eyes with sleeve) "and" (quaver) "I hear my mom's voice but" (sniff) "when I get to the room at the end of the hall, there is something else in the bed."
Maribel handed him a box of tissues, and sat with her arm around him. Jimmy's shoulders slumped as he dabbed his nose. "My mom is gone, and there is some kind of fake in the bed. Dad is there, but he is fake too."
"What are they doing?" Annette said.
"They are lying here. Spooning."
"Are they dressed?"
"Yes."
"What else?"
"He has his head turned down like he's kissing her from behind, under the ear, here—" He put his finger on his neck.
"The neck," Annette said.
The jugular vein, Linsey thought.
Jimmy said: "There is a shiny black tube sticking out of his mouth and it goes into her neck. He's not my dad but some imitation and he's sucking the life out of her, but she's not my mom, she's some phony imitation."
He broke down sobbing, and couldn't speak anymore. Linsey and Cleve rose. Linsey said: "I'd like to give you a call, Annette, if you don't mind."
"Sure," Annette said, extending a business card with two immaculately groomed fingers. "I'll stay with him a while and see that he feels more comfortable."
Linsey and Cleve were both glad to leave. Linsey drove.
Cleve said: "The kid could be stark raving nuts."
"I don't think so."
"I don't think so either," Cleve admitted. "Up to the black tube part, anyway."
Linsey said: "The child could be imagining things to cover up something really horrible that may have happened."
"Like someone broke in and murdered his parents?"
"Yes, that kind of thing. Something like that." Rape, or some oher form of violation.
"That's the social worker's job, to help him figure out what's wrong, or get him to a shrink for therapy."
Linsey's mind went back to mushrooms: "I think it's time we start assuming the worst."
"Which is?"
"Some kind of virus, some kind of disease, maybe even a form of mass hysteria is at work. Maybe the zillions of tiny yellow mushrooms don't mean a thing, or maybe it's a terrorist plot, or even the end of the world. Who the hell knows."
As they drove back through the suburbs to their downtown office with Louise Trost, they noticed suddenly that the yellow mushrooms had begun to disappear. Where they had formed a carpet in some places, they were now hard to locate.
However, what they began to notice was that there seemed to be large mushrooms everywhere. They first noticed it when they were stopped at the red light at Genesee and Balboa. On two of the corners, where cultivated plants grew, erect cap mushrooms reared up inches tall.
"I've never seen them this large," Cleve whispered.
"And they look strong," Linsey said, "healthy."
The phenomenon was not going unnoticed on the radio. Every news station had some mycology expert on. The fungus gurus cited global warming, climate change, exceptional marine layers and moisture, for the robust mushroom crop.
Cap mushrooms reared up in bunches. On lawns, flat mushrooms grew in colonies of a dozen or more. Trees began to show shelf or bracket mushrooms at their bases. It was a subtle thing at first, but now it was becoming noticeable.
According to the news, twenty persons had now died from the yellow mushroom dust in the air, but the yellow mushrooms had begun to disappear. In their place, thousands and millions of mushrooms were cropping up in rich yields all over town.
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