Chapter 12

The girl at the café had been right – the poor girl who'd ended up some psycho's victim on the beach did look a lot like Rachel. Or rather she had, before…but that part's not entirely relevant to the story, and to be honest, I just don't want to think about it.

Rachel was directly over the crime scene. I was staggered out to the east a good ways; if I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times – you don't have to be right on top of something to see it in raptor morph. They listen to that about as well as they listen to my advice on cross-breezes and nor'westerlies. (So, see anything out of the ordinary?) I called to Rachel.

(Other than the fact that someone went to town on a kid our age with a knife?) she sounded disgusted, but in control of herself. (I see a bunch of wannabe CSI detectives – the knock-off Ray-bans and tight blazers are a dead giveaway. Seriously, man, it's like eighty-five degrees out here, and you're wearing a nylon jacket?) She had that special tone of amused contempt that she seemed to save entirely for the fashion-impaired.

(Yeah, I don't see much, either,) I agreed, even though that hadn't been exactly what she had said. (I don't see any tire tracks, so whoever did it must have parked and carried the body. But I don't see any footprints, either, just the ones the cops have made, and they only used that one strip of sand.) But as I was talking, I was noticing something.

It wasn't exactly at the crime scene. Actually, the guy was almost directly under me, and I was a half a mile away. He was wearing a baseball cap, which made it tough to get a look at him. What caught my attention was the glint of sunlight off of lenses – he was looking out over the crime scene with binoculars. What was weird about it was he hadn't gotten out of his car, like the other bystanders. Some people were standing on things, trying to get a better look, but this guy didn't even want to roll down his windows.

Then I started paying attention to the car itself. It was a rental, according to the sticker on the bumper. It was a no-color gray with slightly-tinted windows. None of these things on their own were overly suspicious; the heeby-jeebies came when the man in the driver's seat lowered the binoculars for a second and I recognized the face. (Chapman!)

(What?) Rachel asked, already turning to head my way. (Chapman?)

(Yeah, down here. Spying on the crime scene. In a rental car. In disguise.)

(Okay, that's not shady,) Rachel said sarcastically. (But why is he here? It doesn't make sense, a high-profile Yeerk like him risking exposure out here at a big deal crime like this.)

(In a rental car, in disguise,) I reiterated. For some reason, that was bothering me way worse than the fact that he was here in the first place. (I mean, why not just drive out in his sedan? If anybody even noticed him, he could just claim to be here on behalf of the Sharing, and what a tragedy this is to the community or whatever.)

As I was talking and Rachel was drawing closer, Chapman started up the little rental car and left in a hurry. Luckily, he was heading north, and the wind was with us. It's pretty tough to try to keep up with a car, but when the wind is working in your favor and you've got some altitude, it's not impossible. Besides, he didn't go very far.

(The second crime scene?) Rachel blurted when she realized he had stopped on the fringes of a scene almost exactly like the first. (Okay, this goes beyond curiosity. Chapman definitely had something to do with this. And that means the Yeerks had something to do with it.)

Rachel has a very definite way of seeing the world – once she jumps to a conclusion, she sticks to it until she's proven wrong. I'm a little more open-minded when it comes to figuring out a puzzle. (It's starting to look that way,) I agreed. (But why? Why is Chapman so interested in this? The Yeerks are the definition of the words "low profile." They're getting ready for the jewel heist of the century. Why would they risk that now with some senseless violence like this? Not to mention they've always preserved host bodies before – they might be cold, but they're not wasteful. These poor girls…wasteful is the only word for it.)

(That, and evil,) Rachel said darkly, but she didn't contradict anything I'd said. She knew I made some good points, but I know how Rachel works. She was looking for anything to back up her suspicions that the Yeerks were, for whatever reason, behind these horrible crimes.

Me? I was the opposite; I was almost positive that the Yeerks weren't behind this, despite Chapman's interest and creepy behavior. I've been a hawk for a while now, and I've seen things about humans that I'd never noticed, back when I was one.

As bad as the Yeerks are, they always have a reason for the atrocious stuff they do. They don't just randomly do anything. They came a long, long way to play this chess game of theirs, and they intend to win it. Every move is plotted out in advance.

I didn't say this to Rachel, but I knew the truth. Humans are the ones who commit violence and meanness for seemingly no reason at all. As horrible as the Yeerks are, I was convinced that only homo sapien had it in him to do something like this.

A/N – Thanks again to everyone reviewing! Especially Sweetbriar, love the detail of your reviews, really helps. Please don't add my fic to your alerts if you don't want to leave a word or two – it's crazy. You have to click the same button to do that as to review, and the review box is already up…if you like it enough to want to follow it, please write a few words with your thoughts in the box! Hope you're still enjoying!