3. The Land Before Time

. . .

Newberry, South Carolina

Chief Broward watched Groquist, his dinosaur of a medical examiner, shift at the window. The ME's short, pudgy fingers reached up to pinch apart the straight slats of the cheap off-white blinds, squinting against the morning sun. "Feds are here, Chief," said Groquist. His rumbling old man's voice was full of disapproval. "Hell, I remember the days when they'd show up and it'd be a pile of fat old turds in off the rack grey suits, falling out of a rented Caddy. Least you knew what you were getting."

"Was that before or after the meteor killed off the rest of your kind, Groquist?" Broward rubbed two fingers across his forehead, well past giving a damn. The old jackass still had three years before forced retirement. Broward didn't know if he could hold out that long. Guy wasn't bad at his job in the least, but his attitude could rust a Deere.

The ME popped him a middle finger, determined to keep drawling. "Before. Christ. One's pretty much a kid. Chinese lady drivin' the van. Got one guy with 'em, and he looks like Mr. New York metro himself." He let the blinds go, shaking his head. "Hell. This is gonna be a mess."

"It's already a mess, that's why we're playing along with the big shots. I got half the town's PTA calling me every two hours. They want somebody's butt in a sling for makin' their kids cry. Going federal ought to at least buy me a couple days of peace." Broward got up from his desk with a sigh, buttoning his suit jacket back together and uncomfortably aware that it was, in fact, one of those cheap off-the-rack numbers. County patrol paychecks didn't afford much in the way of Brooks Brothers. "Go set up the morgue. I'll meet the guests."

"Ask when the kid's curfew is. I don't wanna get a call from her mom." The ME started shuffling out of the office, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Jesus, Groquist. Get the hell out of my face." His tone held another message – don't give the feds the same horsecrap you give me, or so help me we're gonna tumble. Part of him wished the fossil would. Then when the agents bitched, he'd finally have a lever to shove under the guy. Get a new ME, someone from the same century everyone else was currently living in.

Three years to go. Groquist was gonna be a pain in his ass for every one of them. The chief shook his head and tapped an air freshener as he passed out of the room. Force of habit. Clear the air one way or another.

. . .

"You the folks from up Quantico?"

Agent May turned away from the rustling at the back of the van to look the police chief over. Youngish face on a tall frame, hair heading straight from a too-youthful peppering brown to grey middle age, his hands in cheap suit pockets. He looked already worn out. "That's us. You're Chief Broward?"

"Yes'm." The Chief looked her over in the same way she'd just done to him, giving a polite nod. He arched an eyebrow when the other pair showed up from behind the anonymous black SUV, gaze flickering all the way up to the startlingly pale face of the man in the suit with his short dark hair combed neatly back. New York metro indeed, he had to give Groquist that one. He gave a briefer glance to the pretty young woman in a pale blue shirt and there he was reminded that his ME was just an asshole. Young, yes, but she had a competent and ready face. "Welcome to Newberry, sorry about the circumstances. You folks have a good drive down?"

"Just fine." May stuck her hand out. "I'm Agent May."

Broward took it, blinking once at the firm grip. He had an immediate hunch this lady could eat Groquist alive. He felt a lot better. "And your team?"

She indicated in turn. "Agent Simmons, who will be handling our examination." The young woman gave a polite nod in lieu of a shake, her hands full with a duffel bag. "And Agent Lucas, who'll be assisting her in the lab."

Broward's gaze drifted up to the angular face again. "Sir," he said, reflexively polite. He stuck his hand out and found the meeting grip cold and iron-like. The silent smile he got in return was pleasant, even warm. And also somehow subtly creepy. Broward cleared his throat and broke his stare. None of his companions found the tall guy weird, so he made himself get over it. "Well, you all don't seem to be the type to screw around with pleasantries. My ME's getting the morgue ready right now, so I'll lead you down?"

May turned to nod at her backup. "Them, yes. I'd like to go over the file with you and whatever officers were called to the scene in your office."

"That'll be fine, ma'am. Got my calendar cleared all up for you."

. . .

Groquist kept eyeballing the young woman as he finished making sure the examination table's elevating pedestal was still locked firmly to the floor. He kept going, as he had since unlocking the examination room. "Now, I don't want to overstate or push my place, miss, but we're pretty far behind the newfangled deals the feds can afford. We're manual around here. Old-fashioned, like. Don't know what they teach these days."

Agent Simmons drifted around the room, her quick gaze picking out the fastidious organization of the autopsy tools and where all the electronics were plugged in. Then she turned to regard the matte steel door that held the late Mr. Stutgart, not needing to look at the local ME. "This is all perfectly familiar to me, sir, please don't worry on my account." She plucked a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter next to a sink and snapped them on with well-practiced confidence. The room stank of the usual antiseptics, covering thoroughly the other smells that permeated the business of death.

The examiner blinked again at the crisp English accent, ignoring the dark shadow next to the door. "'Course. Well, you got my assessment." He tapped the folder on another long shelf beside him. "You need a hand getting the body to the table? He's kinda heavy, and summer's been comin' in. Kind of a rough combination on the senses, hon. The Carolinas ain't always nice to the dead."

She shot him a brief glance as the figure shifted impatiently behind the medical examiner. "I've got it, sir. Thank you very much." She beamed by way of a sincere attempt to shoo him out the door.

Not a complete idiot, Groquist let himself out, sparing an unreadable glance for her fancy-looking 'assistant.'

Loki pushed the door shut behind the old examiner, latching its lock shut with a little jolt of magic just to be privately tweaky. "Is that common?" he asked, voice falsely mild.

Simmons looked over her shoulder at him, fingers curling around the freezer's handle. "How's that?"

"The subtly insulting tone he had, talking to you. How dare you be a fraction of his age and not require his, no doubt, robust experience? What an atrocity," he droned. "Kids these days. Heavens forfend and majestic weeping." He put a hand atop his chest to underline his words, then adjusted his tie with an unconscious tug.

She tutted, a little amused by his sardonic performance. "It's background noise, Loki."

"It's rudeness. I have no trouble being rude, it must be confessed, but not unnecessarily." He unfolded from the wall, careful to mark where the low-hanging lights would be in his way. "Did you wish assistance moving him to the table?"

She tugged open the narrow freezer cube, looking at its contents. "Well, since you have the taste to ask politely, do please. Here, there's that metal plate under the bag. Help me tug that."

The bodybag made its gentle journey to the examination table, where Simmons unzipped it to reveal the victim. She stepped back instinctively, breathing through her mouth until she readjusted to the smell. A finger tapped towards the box of gloves. "Please get a pair of those, I'll ask you to help as I re-open the torso." She looked up at him, his expression still mild and unaffected by the new odors. "Probably more boxes underneath the shelf there, if you think those will be too small."

. . .

Loki's basic strength made a few things gruesome but more efficient. Pulling the torso open for the start of a fresh reassessment was no trouble with him handling the tools under her guidance, and as a grim bonus, he never once looked like he was about to toss his cookies. Simmons glanced up at him as she examined organs in turn. "I had teachers at the academy that would give a lot for an assistant like this."

The compliment was absorbed with a considering look. "I think they'd change their minds once they realize how sorts like me get jaded enough to be uncaring about these matters. Long time and long violence."

She inclined her head, considering that. Her eyes were thoughtful behind the protective plastic goggles. "Perhaps." She set aside the pair of toothed forceps, looking for a fresh and smaller set and being careful to not jostle the sample vial that she'd taken near the neck wound for later testing. "Pragmatic types in this narrow little industry, however. A few might still bid." A little chuckle as she deftly moved a kidney. "Particularly anyone that's been a few turns at being a combat medic. Needs must, and all that."

"Like yourself?"

She shook her head. "I'm hardly one of those."

"But you've done such work under fire."

"Well, yes. But not really the same thing." She shrugged, leaning in to peer. Then she pulled back to pick up a tiny penlight. "That might be interesting," she said, her thumb on the control and her attention tightly focused. She pinpointed the narrow beam into a space in the lower cavity, behind the kidney she'd just adjusted. "Do me a favor and take a peek."

"Entirely the same. As you yourself say, needs must. The why is less important, only that it must be." He leaned in, sharp eyes that only appeared human narrowing to follow the light. "Yes. You've got a series of tiny holes. Pinpricks, essentially." He reached in with a single gloved finger to prod gently. "I'd guess they might lead somewhere." He leaned back as she picked up their digital camera, offering to take the light from her with an outstretched hand. He focused the light for her as she took a series of photos.

"Keep the light, please," she said, setting the camera down with a distracted thunk and rustling for a set of much smaller forceps. "Now that's recorded, I'm going to see where this goes."

He controlled the beam of light as she continued to slowly, cautiously follow the holes and the miniscule distortion they'd left in the flesh. "Right to the spine. And..." She nudged carefully, then gave a soft whistle. "Whatever it was this man's killer sought, they found it." She reached up and took the light from him without looking, examining the edges of the tiny cut all but hidden behind one of the lowest vertebrae. "Do you see? Get the camera. Steady focus, go in tight. Okay... I'm going to pull it open very slightly to get an idea of the dimensions. My goodness." She nodded. "Tiny, tiny work."

"What was it?"

She set the light down, taking the camera from him to make sure the pictures were good. "He had a bundle of wiring, slight, damn near microscopic wiring inserted through his body. We're going to be here for a little bit; I want to know where else they pulled the cord from. I wager they went to the cortex at the very least. But that's settling out the borderlines – the important part is this slice, I think. That was their focus." She looked up at him, looking through him as she thought quickly. "He had an implant. Chip, most like. Oh dear, that is our wheelhouse." The gaze focused on him. "Miniaturization on this scale isn't too commonplace, and this was certainly not medical. Something else was going on."

"So much for our pleasant little no-one teacher?" He arched a bemused eyebrow.

"And the station owner, and that poor nurse, like as not. I must definitely examine both if at all possible. But yes, Loki." She took up the forceps again. "The body speaks as long as it can, if you listen. This man was murdered for a quite specific purpose." She tutted. "Now we've the hard part of putting together why."

. . .

May studiously ignored the offered coffee mug, scanning the print-out testimony of the attending officers to the crime scene for a fourth time. "And that's it. Nobody."

"Last talked to a girl in his class, last seen by a soccer mom comin' back from the Food Lion, yes ma'am." The cop looked tired and disheartened by the situation, darker creases forming under dark eyes. "Can't tell it to you any other way."

"Walk me through one more time. Who called in the body?"

"Phelps, doing the morning mail. He's run early for decades, ma'am. Got halfway up the street and damn near gave himself a coronary when he saw Mr. Stutgart on the sidewalk. Been givin' that guy his ton of coupons and handful of bills for a long time." The cop shook his short-cropped hair, pinching the thick bridge of his nose with two brown fingers. It was clear he was getting a stress headache from the rundown.

"Any record on Phelps?"

There was a soft, insulted inhale from behind her. Broward shot the detective a look, taking over the answer. "No, ma'am. Phelps is a town institution. He lives a few doors up from me. The kinda old guy that gives out full size candy bars at Halloween. I don't even have a dusty citation for jaywalking on him."

May shook her head, amused and disbelieving. "Must be real nice around here."

"We try, ma'am. It's a good neighborhood."

The cop shifted his weight. May glanced up at him. "All of it?" she asked him. Beat cops knew more, and this one was not only pure beat, he knew what went on in the areas the detectives didn't see as much.

"'Bout as good as you get in the Carolinas, ma'am," he said, catching the real question with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "But Phelps was about as genuine as you could ask for. Treated everyone fine."

That was the answer she wanted. Okay, no Phelps. No need to rattle that guy's day. She looked up and marked the guy's badge again. Tomlinson. She picked up a pen. "First name, Officer Tomlinson?"

"Darnell."

"Alright." She jotted that down and then looked to Broward. "I'll do what I can to keep your office in the loop, but as you know we're multi-state on this. While we're here, I'm gonna commandeer Officer Tomlinson as our intermediary. Free you up to deal with what you can. That okay?"

Another rustle from behind her. The detective clearly thought he was going to get that nice mark on his yearly report. He'd added absolutely jack in comparison to the street cop, and May wasn't going to play politics. Broward nodded, earning him another point on May's private scorecard. "Just fine with me. You need help around the neighborhood, Tomlinson's one of the best guides I could give you anyway."

"Perfect." May turned at the knock at the office door, watching as her backup filled the entrance. "You got something fresh?"

Simmons nodded, a slim medical file clutched in her hands. "I think we do."