The Innocents Nathan Senthil (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📖

Gabriel asked, a chill traversing his spine.

Bill nodded, passing the open file to him.

A newspaper article from Detroit Free Press was pinned to a page. It had colored photos of two kids on the front.

One of the kids was black. With blue eyes. Gabriel read the name under it.

Ryatt Durant.

The world stopped moving, static electricity vibrating across his skin, bristling his hair.

The rush was unlike anything Gabriel had ever felt. The lungs seemed to consume more oxygen, the heart thumped and pumped blood faster, while his brain rewarded all the hard work by releasing a soup of euphoric chemicals.

While floating in bliss, he read the newspaper article. A swimming pool contamination blinded two kids and infected dozens more. Keratitis, they had written, caused by amoeba.

“What is it?” Brooks asked.

Gabriel stood up and handed the file to her. With a tearful smile, he walked over to Bill who sat straight and opened his arms. Gabriel hugged him, whispering, “We got the fucker.”

He gave a final squeeze and let go.

Brooks asked, “Why do they have a newspaper section on a medical record?”

“The doctor was required to provide an expert witness in court,” Gabriel said. “So he must have attached each file of the infected kid with the article to differentiate them. When the case was over, he returned the files to the respective departments.”

“It says Durant is blind.”

“Eye transplant. Conor will either confirm or deny our presumption shortly,” Gabriel said. “What digestion problem does he have?”

Bill wiped his face with the heels of his hands. “Something called Dyspepsia. Symptoms include acid reflux, burning sensation, and nausea with or without vomiting. That’s why he sucks onto Zesty, a ginger-extract candy.”

Just then, Brooks’s phone blared and she answered it.

“No— I switched off their phones— It’s protocol— Please listen— What did you say? Oh screw you, pissant—” She tossed the phone to Gabriel. “It’s for you. What a prick.”

Gabriel said into the phone, “Conor?”

“You fucking did it again, Chase. There was only one person on that list who served a sentence from 85-87. You got the guy—”

“Ryatt Durant,” Gabriel said.

Conor did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, “How did you— forget it. I can’t decipher the way your brain works. Anyway I forwarded his address to you. He’s unmarried and lives with his mom, Iris Durant.”

Chapter 36

May 11, 2019. 10:49 P.M.

 

Iris Durant lived in Indian Village, an upscale part of Detroit. The streets were flanked by trees with lush low-hanging branches that sprinkled the blacktops with autumn leaves. The Camaro turned onto Burns Avenue, which really did seem like it was burning, due to the fiery orange leaves of the trees on the sidewalks. Houses had no fences or guard dogs. Old people walked briskly, holding colorful dumbbells.

Gabriel’s phone rang. Conor. He put it on speaker for Bill’s benefit.

“The CIRG finished the recon,” Conor said.

The Critical Incident Response Group was the muscle of the FBI. Trained in tactical combat, they were called in for situations that might escalate into gunfights.

“What did they find?” Gabriel asked.

“One person in the house. The mother.”

“I hope the CIRG isn’t obvious.”

“No. They used Range-R.”

“Good,” Gabriel said. Range-R radars were like x-ray vision for the law to see through walls. “You set up the cameras?”

“Will be up and running in an hour,” Conor said. “Your ETA?”

“One minute.” Gabriel turned onto Iroquois Street, where Iris’s house was located.

“There’s something you need to know,” Conor said. “Out of the nineteen kids with Alopecia Areata, only one has a criminal record. Leopold Williams Jr, convicted for setting a Ferrari on fire and sent to juvenile for six months. He hasn’t filed for expungement, so his records are accessible.”

“Found anything linking him to Ryatt?” Gabriel asked.

“Yup. Leopold visited Ryatt forty-eight times when he served a two-year sentence for attempted theft in West Virginia.”

“Alright. Keep digging.” Gabriel stopped in front of a majestic two-story house. It was a detached property, surrounded by a three-foot hedge. Two dormers jutted from the slanting roof; the right-side wall had a balcony, and flower baskets with small pink flowers hanging from them. A chimney pot on the left side of the roof blew white smoke.

“Let me call you back.” Gabriel hung up and exited the car, after which he helped Bill out.

They walked over rocky tiles, each framed with a square of grass. Bill grabbed Gabriel’s forearm as they climbed the granite steps. The teak door was massive and robust; inscribed on its plaque was 213. Gabriel lifted the brass door knocker and struck the wood thrice.

As the sound of locks being undone penetrated the silence, Gabriel scanned the place. The CIRG was indeed ultra stealthy. He couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

When the door opened, Gabriel gaped, unable to form words. Or thoughts.

“Aw, crap,” Bill muttered, looking at the old lady they met yesterday at Goodwill.

She chirpily said, “It’s you two. The police boys!”

Gabriel did not have the mind to wonder about her sense of smell and memory.

“Iris Durant?”

“The one and only,” she said.

Goddamn it!

“Sorry if we woke you up,” Bill said, seemingly less appalled by the twist of fate. She didn’t look like she had been sleeping, though. The book in her hand said as much.

“No. One of the perks of being old.”

“Perks?”

“You don’t waste a lot of time sleeping. You get to enjoy many waking hours.” Iris laughed and tapped the hardcover. “This book always makes me appreciate life.” She frowned. “Why is the other boy so quiet?”

It took a nudge from Bill to understand that she was talking to him. Gabriel cleared his throat. “Sorry, ma’am. It is just… it’s been a tiring day.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Where are my manners! Come in, please.”

She let