I had decided to keep Zoe's tidbit about Darren's tendency to wander in the night to myself. It was biased, I know, but I didn't want to think that we had brought the killer with us.
For the rest of the day, Roy and I worked on planning our trip back to the apartments in Gretna and our spy mission. At the peak of the memorial tonight, we would sneak out and poke around Wyatt's condo. Roy made sure to have his tools ready to go at the front door. We couldn't just kick in Wyatt's front door; we didn't want them to know we had been in there.
We found John later and filled him in. He said he would help with both, even volunteering to help us gather the people from the apartments.
"I'll be drivin' though," John said.
"Well it is your car after all," I shrugged.
"I see there are some new dents and scratches on it."
I grinned sheepishly, "Kind of a hazard of the zombie apocalypse."
"We could always hit up a dealership and get a new fleet of cars," Roy suggested.
"We'll have to keep that in mind," John agreed.
Just before supper, everyone was called to the lot towards the back of the cul-de-sac where a freshly dug grave was waiting for Reina's body. A huge crowd had formed with Wyatt and an older gentleman standing beside the grave. Judging from the bible in the older man's hand, I assumed he was a priest or someone to do with the church.
After about ten minutes, Grant, Byron, Ethan and Oscar came over carrying the body in a bare-bones coffin made of plywood. Using flat rope spread across the hole, they lowered the coffin down into the grave. It wasn't six feet deep, but the coffin lid was still about a foot lower than the lip of the grave.
"We are here to honor the life of Reina; a teacher, a friend, a sister, a pillar of this community," Wyatt boomed over the hushed voices. "Benjamin will lead with a verse from the bible."
The elderly man stepped forward and opened his red tome as he cleared his throat.
"I will being reading from Psalm 46. God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gave way and the mountains fell into the heart of the sea."
At that point I started to tune him out. I was not one to draw comfort from religion. Instead I peered around at all those attending Reina's burial. Most people had their heads down while they listened to Ben recite from the Bible. The children from her class were present, some visibly distraught; the adults around them trying to comfort them. I had no way of knowing if the adults were the kids' parents or if they were now adoptive guardians.
Wyatt and his groupies stood by, their hands clamped in front of them. Ethan had decided to join us after they had lowered the body, now standing beside Chloe with his hand on her shoulder. Grant appeared stone cold as he listened to Ben, nothing on his face giving away what he was thinking. Byron and the surgeon both looked sullen as they stared at the coffin. Oscar wiped away a tear. He had it the worst; he was the one who had to look at the body up close and personal as the town's resident doctor and medical examiner.
After Ben finished, Wyatt ushered everyone to the clubhouse where dinner and refreshments would be served in memory of Reina. It sounded almost like a party. The funeral precession took up the entire street like a morose parade, not one person must have been absent.
The clubhouse smelt like hot food and the cooks hurried to the back of the building to the dinner they must have been working on before the funeral. As soon as everyone was inside, music was played so that you could just hear it over the voices. They wouldn't dare turn it up to rock concert levels.
Once we had our food, we sat down at one of the last empty tables. I ate slowly, buying time and making sure I was seen. I made sure to make eye contact with Wyatt as he passed by. John waved to add to the illusion. Once the party got in full swing, John would slip out first then Roy and I a bit later. John then would scope out the condo and area making sure there was no one inside or around that would catch us.
After an hour, John gave me the signal. I nodded slightly to let him know I saw. John walked out the front doors, smiling politely at people as he passed; even stopping once to strike up a conversation. He was pretty good at being inconspicuous; must have been all that military training.
Next to leave was Roy. He walked over to Amanda who barely paid him any mind as she was currently playing with the other kids and told her he was just going back to the condo for a bit. She nodded absently and shooed him away. Most likely she wouldn't even notice his absence. Ten minutes after he left, I told Zoe that I was having stomach issues and said I was going to use the bathroom back at my condo.
She told me to take some Pepto and I was in the clear. Just before I could make it to the door, I was stopped by Wyatt. For a brief second I feared that our plan had been foiled.
"Where are you taking off to?" he asked, his tone friendly but firm.
I placed my hand on my stomach, "It's kind of embarrassing, but I need to use the washroom."
"Why not use the one here?"
"I'd rather this bathroom trip be in the privacy of my own washroom, if you catch my drift," I said, faking embarrassment.
He nodded, "I'm sure Oscar can grab you some medicine after."
"We have some Pepto back at the condo I was planning on taking."
"Well, I hope it helps so you can hurry back. Do you think you'll still be able to make your trip tomorrow?" Wyatt asked. Byron must have already filled him in.
"I think so, it's not the flu or anything."
"I hope your trip goes smoothly." I guess he wouldn't be seeing us off in the morning then.
With that, he turned to another person who had grabbed his attention. Looks like I'd have to come back and make sure Wyatt saw me. I hurried out the door, the fresh air slapping me in the face. The clubhouse had been stifling with all the accumulated bodies inside and heated food.
Walking at a faster than average pace, I went to meet Roy at the condo. The sun was almost done its nightly descent, casting shadows all over the road. It would have been better had the sun been completely down, but we only had a small window to do this.
"Finally!" Roy exclaimed as I opened the door.
He had been in the middle of pacing.
"Sorry, had to make up an excuse when Wyatt stopped me."
"Think we should continue with the plan?"
"If you want out, you can stay here," I said.
"No way. Besides you need someone to get you inside." He lifted the screwdriver in his hand.
"Alright then, let's go."
Together we took the long way around to Wyatt's condo to avoid being seen. We dashed into his little backyard where John was crouched waiting for us.
"'bout damn time," John said quietly.
"Anyways," I ignored his comment, "is it all clear inside?"
"There's no movement or light inside and no one's come or gone since I've been waitin' here."
Roy went up to the bedroom window and jimmied the window latch with the screwdriver. After a few tries he was able to slide the window open and pop out the screen. Once again I was glad I had lost weight, it would make it easier to fit through the window.
"I'll give you a boost," John said dropping to one knee and clasping his hands together on top.
I stepped on John's hands and scrambled inside as he raised me up, knocking over a lamp during my entrance. I managed to dive and catch it just before it smashed on the ground. Roy came through as I was putting the lamp back, hopefully in the exact same spot.
John stuck his head through the window, "I'll make a roaster caw if anyone approaches the house."
I nodded as Roy handed me a flashlight from the tool bag he brought. I shot the beam across the room. Wyatt's bedroom was bigger than the one's in our condos. We rooted through the closet and dresser drawers coming up empty handed. I headed out into the hallway, spotting the door to the other bedroom which was closed and the bathroom. Roy tried the handle to the other bedroom but it was locked.
He put down his tool bag and positioned the screwdriver at the apex where the door met the frame by the handle. With a stiff smash of his hand like he was working a chisel, the door swung open.
"You got to teach me how to do that," I whispered.
The door was unscathed, but now open. We flashed the beams inside revealing a smaller bedroom filled with junk. There was a desk covered in radio equipment along with shelves after shelves of electrical odds and ends. It looked like the room of a crazy man trying to contact aliens.
"I think we've hit the jackpot," Roy whistled.
We examined the gear on the desk. It all seemed to be in working order, two large black radios and a mic dominated the middle of the desk. Roy pointed to a silver box.
"This piece is a range extender for frequencies. This thing could help pick up broadcasts and send them out for miles."
"Can you turn it all on?"
Roy looked at me, "You sure that's a good idea?"
"We're here, might as well."
Roy examined the setup a bit more, explaining that Wyatt even had a Chekhov's radio that was police or military issued.
"That's great, but how do you turn this stuff on?" I prodded him along.
He flipped a silver toggle switch and the room was suddenly filled with the hiss of an empty radio frequency. Roy quickly turned a dial and the volume dropped. He turned another set of dials, scanning to see if we could pick up anything. While he was doing that, I thumbed through the scribbler on the desk.
There were various speeches written in neat scrawl. These looked like the announcements that Wyatt made about Hargrove. I came across a page with a bunch of numbers, but that's not what caught my eye. The hand with the eye drawing did.
"Roy!" I grabbed his arm.
"The symbol." Roy leaned over the scribbler, shoving me out of the way.
"What are all those numbers?" I asked, pointing to the page.
"I could be wrong, but I think those numbers are RFID tags."
"Think these are for the mercenaries?"
"Only one way to find out."
Roy started to fiddle with the equipment again, turning dials and mashing buttons. He picked up the mouth piece and hit the button. The hissing cut out.
"Hello," Roy said into the thing that looked like an old timey microphone.
He released the button and the hissing resumed. We waited for a good five minutes before Roy tried it again.
"Hello," he repeated.
No reply.
"Can anyone hear me?" Roy asked.
We waited again, barely breathing as if we would miss the reply. When none came, I turned to Roy.
"Probably for the best. We don't want Wyatt to know we were using his equipment."
Roy's shoulders slumped. This was his only way of finding out where they took his wife.
"Just give me a few more minutes," Roy asked, his voice barely a whisper.
I sighed and decided to look around the room some more while Roy chased a ghost. I scanned the shelves, most of them filled with old equipment, making Wyatt look like a hoarder. His personal appearance was always so neat and fresh-pressed, but this room was the exact opposite of his persona. The closet barely opened it was so full of random junk. I shoved clear some debris revealing a medium sized chest at the bottom.
My hands flew to open it only to be stopped by a brass padlock. Dammit. Chances are Wyatt had the key to it on his person.
"Roy, you know how to pick a padlock?"
He put down the microphone piece and shuffled over to me with his tool bag. Roy kneeled down and examined the lock, turning it this way and that.
"I think I might be able to."
He pulled out a couple of small metal tools, one looking like tweezers and the other like a dentist pick. Placing one tool in the center and the other at the top of the key hole, Roy tried to turn the lock. It took him a few seconds but the lock clicked and popped open.
"Were you a criminal before all this?" I asked, slightly impressed.
"I did some stupid stuff as a teen," Roy admitted with a shrug.
He removed the lock and opened the top, pointing his flashlight inside. An old afghan covered the top, so I ripped it to the side. Underneath, there were bloody clothes tossed haphazardly like an incriminating laundry basket. That explained the sour smell that wafted out once the top had been opened.
"You have gloves in that tool bag?" I asked.
"No, but I got tongs."
That seemed like a weird thing to have in a tool bag. He passed me them and I fished around. The clothes were clearly female. I lifted a bloody ripped shirt to reveal a sharp, slightly curved-tipped knife. John once explained the differences between certain knives to me, this one looking like the kind that was used to gut a fish.
"That's dried blood on there too."
Royand I shared a look. We had just stumbled upon something incriminating. EitherWyatt was the killer or he was hiding the evidence. I jumped, losing my grip onthe clothing when the radio crackled, catching us both off guard.
"Hello?"