Chapter 24

FBI Special Agent Hank Jacoby sat chewing the short stub of a cigar in the agency’s San Francisco field office. He looked out of the twelfth floor window that overlooked Civic Center Plaza south of Golden Gate Avenue. To the north from his lofty vantage point, he could just make out the faint outline of Alcatraz as if it was hovering in the haze. With him were agents Sam Prescott and Lenny Baudelaire, and the three men sat around a conference table discussing the Millie Harbaum situation.

“I don’t know if she was tipped that we were coming or what,” Jacoby said. He removed the cigar from his mouth and sat toying with it. “But she was gone.”

“You think the other doctors might have warned her?” Prescott said. He was a balding man with thick ruddy jowls and large ears.

“The Doctors Olson?” Jacoby said. “I doubt it. They seem to be as anxious as anybody in locating her and that thing.”

“What is that thing, exactly?” Baudelaire said. He was the youngest of the three men and possessed a full head of blond curly hair.

“Hell if I know for sure,” Jacoby said. “A monster of some sort. A human and animal mixture. Don’t ask any more ’cuz I don’t have the foggiest clue otherwise.”

“Is it a threat to the community?” Prescott said.

“Like I said, I just don’t know. According to the folks at Cal Pacific and the Primate Research Facility, they don’t know exactly what to expect. However, it gets bigger and older with each passing day. The sooner we find it along with the Harbaum woman, the better.”

“Hank, any idea where she might have gone?” Baudelaire took out a pen and notebook and set them on the table.

“The crime scene technicians are finishing up at the cabin today,” Jacoby said, “so we should have some information later. That is, of course, if they’re able to come with anything.”

“What did her parent’s have to say?” Prescott rubbed his balding head, seemingly frustrated with their lack of leads.

“Not much. Dr. Olson has been there asking the same questions. Her father told the sheriff that he hasn’t had any contact with her for months. So, she could be anywhere.”

Jacoby didn’t like not having a single lead. It bothered him, causing his stomach to rebel. His frustration level was at an all-time high, and he needed some answers--soon.

Whatever the monster was, and he had no idea what the scientists were talking about, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound as though they could allow it to remain at large indefinitely.

Olson and his fellow scientists said it was some sort of hybrid, part human, part animal. And the animal part was something from the distant past. None of it made any sense. Which added to his stress. The pressure was on to find the Harbaum girl and the thing --whatever it was.

***

The morning dawned cool and overcast as Harry and Dixie drove toward Sacramento. After crossing the seven-mile San Mateo-Hayward Bridge, Harry guided their car onto the expressway and headed north toward Walnut Creek. Lunchtime found them at the Carquinez Strait at Benicia, and they located a quaint diner near the water that served clam chowder. Harry was thankful for the break and a chance to stretch his legs. While he spooned up mouthfuls of the soup, Dixie chatted.

“I’ve been thinking, Harry,” she said. “Millie has to eat and find a place to stay. She can’t work as a scientist, at least not yet. But she does have to work.”

Harry munched a mouthful of oyster crackers and swallowed.

“What’s your point?” he said. “You have an idea where she might be?”

Dixie placed her spoon on the table and looked out over the water, a dark gray mass that formed small eddies near the shoreline. Gulls and storm petrels circled lazily overhead then dove into the swift current.

“She can’t go home to her parent’s, the police would have the place under surveillance,” she said. “She knows Frisco. It’s a big city. She did most of her undergraduate work at Cal Pacific, so why not? She would certainly know her way around.”

“It’s a possibility,” Harry said.

“Any responses on the leads about a job?” Dixie said as she returned to eating her chowder.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’d love to have that position with the IAA, but I doubt my inquiry will amount to anything. I’m pretty down about it.”

“Honey, listen to me.” Dixie’s voice was soft and reassuring. “The reasons Cal Pacific let you go were entirely political and had nothing to do with your professional competency. For that reason, you’ll be able to find something, I just know it. Your anthropology skills are second to none. People in the field know that.”

“Maybe. I never thought this would happen to me, to us. When we brought those Yeti back to the facility, I felt as if I was on top of the world. I knew the Professor would be proud of me. That I had finally measured up in his eyes.”

“Darling,” Dixie said, reaching across the table and touching his arm, “I know the Professor loved you. He told me so many times. Why do you have such a hard time accepting that?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s because once I disappointed him so.”

Harry noticed the gulls were soaring lazily farther out over the water.

“That, my dear, is all ancient history. You must let it go.”

“I suppose,” he said.

Dixie thought their trip to Sacramento to try and locate George Trench would not amount to anything--a wild goose chase--and she had said as much. But her husband seemed determined, so here she was, riding beside him and hoping for the best. And who knew? Maybe they would get lucky, find Trench, and he would know where Millie was hiding.

But it was a long shot. The odds that, even if they found the man, he would remember Millie or know where she was, were astronomically stacked against them. But Harry felt he had to do something, anything, to try and track down his former graduate student.

During their brief marriage, Dixie had come to admire Harry’s deep commitment to Cal Pacific University, its anthropology program, and, most important, his students. Millie Harbaum was a rising star among them. And Harry had responded to her intellect, her curiosity, her hard work in the same manner had he had done with Dixie--with a warm and helpful attitude aimed at furthering her career.

And Millie betrayed his loyalty and helpfulness with her deceit and treachery. She took Harry’s support and used it for her own selfish purpose, without first confiding in him or asking his opinion. She knew Harry would have stopped her chimera project so, instead of trusting his judgment, she proceeded on her own, in violation of university policy.

And yet, here was Harry, trying to locate her to help her salvage her career.

Dixie was not feeling generous now as she and Harry ate their lunch.

Later, as they passed through the outskirts of Sacramento, they crossed the river and exited the expressway into downtown. The first address on Dixie’s list turned out to be a flophouse in a rundown neighborhood, and the two men they questioned were covered with tattoos and had long greasy hair.

Neither had heard of George Trench, and they shot malicious glances at Dixie. Her heart pounded, and she tugged on Harry’s sleeve, signaling him with her eyes that she wanted to leave. He finally relented, and the two of them returned to their car and sped away.

“Whose next on the list?” Harry said.

“Didn’t you see they way those goons were eyeing me?” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “They looked as if they could assault us any moment.”

“They were probably hoping you had drugs on you,” Harry said. “I don’t think they found you attractive,” he added, laughing.

“What?” The hurt was obvious in Dixie’s voice.

“Naw, you were way too clean and well-groomed for those two.” He continued to chuckle, and Dixie punched him in the arm.

The next address for a George Trench was in an East Sacramento office building overlooking the American River. The directory in the building’s foyer showed that there was a George Trench, Investment Counselor, who had an office on the third floor. As they rode the elevator, Dixie’s palms felt moist.

“This is beginning to look like a waste of time, honey,” she said. “I will be surprised if this guy is any help.”

“Then we’ll be on our way back home in a short time. This office is certainly upscale. Didn’t Eagleton mention this Trench and Millie were friends at one time?”

“More than friends, Harry. More like lovers. Eagleton thought she left him because he roughed her up a couple of times.”

“And now he’s an investment counselor?” Harry said, incredulity showing in his voice. “I doubt if it’s the same guy.”

The elevator door opened onto a carpeted hallway lined with several office doors. Harry led Dixie to Trench’s. The two of them entered and were greeted by a smiling, redheaded secretary seated behind a desk. She peered at them over large glasses.

“May I help you?” she said in a mousy voice.

“We would like to see Mr. Trench,” Harry said, “if we could.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the redhead said, her demeanor changing to a formal tone.

“No,” Harry said. “But it’s important.”

“Are you clients of his? I don’t remember you.”

“No, we are not,” Harry said. Dixie squeezed his arm and he continued. “We are--”

“Well, I’m sorry,” the secretary said. “But Mr. Trench isn’t taking on any new clients at this time. If you care to--”

Dixie’s impatience got the better of her, and she interrupted.

“Please,” she said in an imploring tone. “We’re university professors in San Francisco and are looking for one of my husband’s faculty members who has disappeared. We think your boss may have known her in the past and we’re hoping we could have a few short minutes of his time.” Dixie tried to put on her most forlorn expression and smiled weakly at the secretary.

“Well...”

At that moment a door opened, and a tall, well-dressed man in his thirties came to stand next to the secretary’s desk. She looked at him with a sad face.

“Miss Dalrymple, what is all this?” the man said.

“Mr. Trench, these two came in wanting to see you. They don’t have an appointment and are not clients. I told them--”

“That’s fine,” Trench said. He looked at Dixie and Harry and smiled. He was dressed in a tailored gray suit and sported a maroon tie. His dark hair was combed straight back, and he gazed at them with hazel eyes. A tanned complexion completed the successful look.

Too much tennis, Dixie thought.

“As my wife was telling this young lady,” Harry said, “we are looking for a colleague. We’re professors at Cal Pacific University in Frisco, and one of our faculty has turned up missing. We were hoping you might be of help.”

Trench’s eyes narrowed, and a frown appeared on his ruddy face. “Me? How?”

“The girl’s name is Millie Harbaum,” Harry said. “We understand she dated or lived with a man named George Trench. Is it possible you are him?”

Trench hesitated and shifted his weight. Dixie thought he was suddenly uncomfortable and the air of superiority had dissipated.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “Are the police involved?”

“They are,” Harry said. “As well as the FBI. We just want to find her. She could be in danger.”

“I dunno--”

“Look, Mr. Trench,” Dixie said. “We need to find her, and soon. It’s extremely important. If you can help us--”

Harry stepped closer to Trench. “If you are the man who knew her, the authorities will be here sooner or later, and you will have to tell them what you know. We just want to locate her before something bad happens to her.”

“Has she broken the law?” Trench said.

“Not really,” Harry said.

“But she’s in danger?”

“She could be, yes,” Dixie said. “That’s why it’s imperative that we locate her as soon as possible. Please, if you know anything.”

Trench exhaled, and Dixie noticed his shoulders relax.

“We can talk in my office.” Placing a hand on Miss Dalrymple’s shoulder, he said, “Bring us some coffee, please.”

And he led Dixie and Harry into his opulent office.