Supersymmetry (8 page)

Now it was her turn to blush. “I only met him last night.”

He stared at her, impassive.

“No,” she said. “No, I'm not in any kind of relationship with him.”

“Do you have any relationship, formal or otherwise, with the Turkish government?”

“What? No!”

“Did you promise anything to Mr. Gutierrez in return for this data?”

This meeting was not going at all how Sandra had envisioned. She had expected, if not praise, at least a pat on the back. The information she brought had the potential to crack the case wide open. “No,” she said. “I made ten minutes casual conversation with him. He sent me the data as a courtesy, and I looked into it out of curiosity. And yes, I admit it, with the hope that maybe I could discover something important, something that would help the case.”

“And did you pass this highly confidential data on to anyone who is not a member of the Philadelphia Police Force?”

“Yes,” she said, not hesitating. I showed it to my father. He's brilliant at that kind of thing, and I thought he might find something I couldn't.”

“Did you pass the data to anyone else? Any reporters, perhaps?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

Sandra felt her respect for this man's rank slipping away. “I don't understand what's going on here. I brought this information thinking you would be pleased. I'm sorry if I shouldn't have shown it to my father without permission, but have you seen his conclusions? It makes sense of the patterns; it may even pinpoint the exact location the explosion originated from.”

Gallagher nodded gravely. He pursed his lips slightly, seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, and said, “In fact, it has pinpointed the origin of the blast, to one particular seat. Section C, seat 5F, as it happens.”

He stared at her, apparently watching for a reaction. She shrugged. “That's good, right? You can at least find out who was sitting in that seat, and follow that lead.”

Gallagher's expression didn't change. “We already have. The person sitting in that seat was Jacob Kelley. Your father.”

Sandra gaped. “But my father left, before . . .”

“Exactly. He was, apparently, one of the last people to leave the stadium alive. His seat was the center point of the blast. And he has specialized knowledge about how one might create such a blast.”

She tried to answer, then closed her mouth again. Finally, she said, “But he
gave
me the equations to make sense of the data. You wouldn't even know about it, if not for him.”

Gallagher raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps our forensic specialists are smarter than you give them credit for. In any event, you have revealed critical data about our investigation to the man who is now our chief suspect.”

Sandra remembered how evasive her father had been, and how unwilling to come along with her. Had he realized that the data pointed to him? “He's at home,” she said. “He's not running. He's not acting like a suspect.”

“For your sake, I hope he's still at home when the arresting officers arrive.”

Her heart pounded. “You're arresting him?”

Gallagher gave a small cough. “Of course, Miss Kelley. I think it would be wise if you didn't attempt to contact him. And please don't leave the Philadelphia area.”

She stood to face him, pulling herself together, and tried to match his frosty tone. “Sir, I have no intention of leaving the area. I'm an officer of the Philadelphia police department, and I have a job to do here. I believe my father to be innocent, and I expect that to quickly become clear. But I have no intention of interfering with the process in any way.”

“One more thing, Miss Kelley. Have you heard from your sister?”

“My sister? Which one?”

“Your twin sister, Alex.”

Her mind raced, but she could make no sense of it. “No. Not recently. Not for a few days, anyway. She's in New Jersey; she had some kind of big presentation at work today.”

“May I please examine your cell phone?”

Sandra's breath caught. She remembered all the responses from the discussion boards on her phone that she hadn't even reviewed yet. She hadn't provided any data to them, but she doubted Gallagher would see the distinction. She was being treated like a suspect, and it was making her angry. She was one of the good guys.

“Why? Do you think my sister is involved in this, too?”

He pursed his lips again, another internal battle. “We received an APB for your sister's arrest an hour ago from the Secret Service.”

“The Secret Service? As in . . .”

“Yes, Miss Kelley. Your sister is wanted for the murder of four people, one of them Secretary of Defense Jared Falk.”

It was too much. This whole meeting was surreal. It was a test of some sort, or a dream. She must still be at home, in her old bed. She pulled out her phone and handed it to Gallagher, who caught it in a Ziploc evidence bag and sealed it shut.

“I would like to think that you are as innocent as you seem,” Gallagher said. “But I will not assume it. These two crimes are clearly connected, and they're connected through your family. As a result, you are forbidden from taking part in this investigation in any way. Furthermore, you are to be given a leave of absence, starting today—”

“I don't need a leave, sir. There's so much work to do, and—”

“A mandatory suspension, then. Miss Kelley, you are relieved of duty until further notice. Now, I have other matters to attend to. You will now report to Detective Messinger, who will question you about your family connections and your movements over the past several days. Then you will return home and stay clear of this crime scene. You are dismissed.” Gallagher swiveled his head to stare at Angel. “Mr. Gutierrez, you will stay. I have a few questions for you about how you share the data you collect.”

Sandra left Angel behind and followed the aide down the hall. Cheeks burning, she followed an officer down the hall to a conference room. He left her there, and she heard the click as the door locked behind him. It wasn't a proper interrogation room—no mirrored one-way glass—but she guessed they had it bugged. She scanned the ceiling for hidden cameras and saw none, but that didn't mean much.

If her experience was any judge, it would be a long time until anyone came back to question her. They would let her sweat, put her off guard. It's what they did with everyone. She thought about her father's strange refusal to come with her. What had he been hiding? She tried to imagine him devising a high-tech bomb to kill thousands of people, and she just couldn't do it. There was no reason in the world that might prompt him to such an act. But then why had he lied to her?

When Detective Melissa Messinger finally came in, only about a half-hour had gone by. Sandra was surprised, having expected at least an hour. Messinger was short, stocky, with a hard expression and tired eyes. She was everything Sandra admired and aspired to: a full detective, trusted with some of the department's most serious and public cases.

“Where is your father, Miss Kelley?” she asked without preamble.

“He wasn't at his house? That's the last place I saw him.”

“We sent officers to question him, but he was gone. Your mother claims to have no idea where he is. We need to understand the nature of this conspiracy between your father and your sister, why they committed these crimes, and what they hope to gain.”

“There's no conspiracy—”

“Where is your father?”

“I honestly don't know.”

“Where is your sister?”

“I don't know that, either. She's not a killer, though; I can tell you that.”

“Over a hundred people saw her shoot Secretary Falk in the chest. So either she did it, or it was her twin sister.” Messinger smiled, but there was no humor in it.

Sandra didn't take the bait. “I haven't talked to Alex in days. I haven't seen her for weeks.”

Messinger was meticulous. She walked Sandra through every part of her conversation with her father: exactly what he had said, whose idea it had been that the destruction had followed a multidimensional pattern. She asked for every detail Sandra could remember about recent conversations with Alex, including dates and times, and wrote it all down in a notebook. Then she went through the same questions all over again.

“Fifteen years ago, your father was charged with murder, and then acquitted. How much do you remember of that experience?”

Sandra frowned. “Very little, actually. It was Alex who spent a lot of time with Dad during that time.” In fact, that had been the main difference between them, from the beginning. Alex had been there with Dad, had hunted the varcolac with him, while Sandra had not.

“Would you say, then, that Alex and your father shared a special relationship?” Messinger said.

“Yeah, you could say that.” It came out with more emotion than Sandra had intended.

“More special than his relationship with you?”

“Yes.”

“So there might be secrets he and Alex have together. Things they think about and talk about that you wouldn't necessarily know.”

“I can see where you're going,” Sandra said. “Yes, they were close. No, I don't think either of them are capable of the crimes you suspect them of committing.”

Though she wondered. Not whether they would intentionally kill. She was certain they wouldn't. But a ten-dimensional explosion? It had to have been done by someone—or something—with a deep understanding of quantum physics. Alex and Dad wouldn't have been so stupid as to try to bring back the varcolac, would they? Could they actually have been so foolish as to tamper with those forces again, after it had nearly killed their whole family fifteen years ago?

“If you had to guess where your sister is, if you wanted to find her, where would you go?”

Sandra shook her head. “I honestly don't know.”

It wasn't exactly true. She didn't know where Alex was, but there were places she could look, places from their history. But Alex was her flesh and blood. More than that, really. Alex was
her
, what she might have been if things had been different. There wasn't anyone else in the world who shared the same kind of bond that they did. She couldn't just betray her.

And yet, Sandra was a police officer. It was her duty to report what she knew, sister or no. She felt angry at Alex for putting her in this position. If she was innocent, why had she run? And if she was guilty, why should Sandra cover for her?

Fifteen years ago, Alex had very nearly given her life to save Sandra's. Alex had been in a wheelchair for months, and ever after, Sandra had felt the imbalance between them. Alex had saved the family when the varcolac would have killed them all. In truth, she had always resented Alex a bit for it. For the special bond she had formed with their father during that time, for the hero status she had enjoyed ever since. For the sense of inferiority Sandra always felt. It sometimes seemed like Alex was the real daughter, while Sandra was just a fluke of nature. A mistake.

Even so, she stayed silent. She owed Alex, and she couldn't rat her out, not even if it meant her job. On the other hand, she knew the resources the police could bring to bear to track down murderers, and this case would be their first priority. Alex would be caught eventually, whether Sandra helped or not. If she was innocent, it was better for her to come forward and tell her side of the story. If not . . . Well, if she wasn't innocent, she would have to accept the consequences.

A sharp knock on the door made Sandra jump. Three men in black suits came in, wearing serious expressions. Two of them were just what Sandra would have expected: tall, well-muscled, dark-suited, with bulges that spoke of lethal weaponry. The third was skinny and balding, with a pockmarked face and an easy, salesman's smile. Messinger seemed profoundly irritated that they were there.

The third man introduced himself as Sanford Liddle. “Everything I'm about to tell you is classified and protected under the Espionage Act,” he said. “As a United States citizen, you are bound not to share this information with anyone else, no matter what their nationality. Failure to obey this law is punishable, depending on severity, with sentences up to and including life imprisonment or death. Do you understand this restriction?”

Sandra nodded numbly. She wondered if that would actually hold up in court, or if it was just something he said to intimidate people. If so, it was working.

She heard a ping, indicating that Agent Liddle was trying to share a view to her eyejack. She accepted the view, and suddenly she was in a building like a huge warehouse, watching her sister tearing guns out of soldiers' hands and diffracting bullets around herself. She gasped. She knew that technology, had seen it fifteen years ago, and had thought it destroyed. Was Alex working to revive it? Was she out of her mind?

Then she saw her sister firing into the crowd. What was she doing? She saw a blur that at first seemed like a problem with the video, but no. She had seen that before. Her sister's bullets tore into the Secretary of Defense and he toppled, but at just that instant Sandra could see his face in the light reflected from the more brightly lit demonstration area. He had no eyes.

By the time the clip was over and her awareness returned to the room around her, Sandra was tight with anger. “She didn't murder anyone. She probably saved all those people's lives.”

Liddle held up a hand. “We're inclined to agree with you,” he said. “But there are two points against her. One, she ran. That doesn't look good. Two, we're dealing with technology that not many people understand.” He shrugged. “And your sister appears to be one of them. Whoever made this happen must have been one of those people, and the list is pretty short.”

The two big agents stood on either side of the doorway, flanking the exit. Messinger still sat with her arms crossed, a mutinous expression on her face. She didn't like her interrogation being taken over.