Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold Read Free Page A

it, it happened.” This wasn’t always the case. Halliday believed that sometimes a less visible investigation had a better chance of uncovering the truth.
    Gladstone checked for prior arrests. Halliday pulled out the Blackberry that Festus had lifted from the Genevive security truck. He poked the buttons through the evidence bag. Both incoming and outgoing call registers were empty. Lamar’s call to Halliday at Santa Reina PD had been deleted. Festus didn’t come off as a savvy Blackberry enthusiast.
    Who had done the delete job? Genevive security? The men in black? Accessing the phone company would require special permission. The obvious answer seemed the simplest—a software glitch.
    Rich Gladstone’s “absence of reality” theory made the most sense for Festus’s behavior. Halliday suspected that would change. He powered off the phone. A professional geek employed by the Fresno PD would analyze any records. The GPS mapping information in the phone might not have been erased.
    Gladstone gave him a triumphant wave. The lad excelled at administrative duties. He wrote great reports.
    “I’ve got a positive I.D. on Lamar Festus,” Gladstone said. “An attempted assault on a Genevive executive two weeks ago. The charges were dropped. The Redwood Bluff sheriff released Festus the next day.”
    Gladstone paused.
    When Halliday remained silent, Gladstone said, “Boss, what’s this all about?”
    Halliday shook his head. “We won’t know until we find Festus. Why the in hell did you have to stomp on the gas? I think that’s what caused him to bolt.”
    Gladstone looked up into the sky. He hadn’t fumbled. The defense had committed unnecessary roughness, a ten yard penalty. His mouth opened but he didn’t say anything.
    Halliday didn’t pursue it. “What else do you have?”
    “Lamar Festus is no vagrant. He lives in Redwood Bluff.”
    Halliday hid his surprise behind a stoic face.
    Gladstone had more. Halliday knew it because he had spent his short career in the Diplomatic Security reading faces of would be antagonists against the Madam Secretary of State.
    Halliday waited. The lad had exposed all twenty-six years of his existence in one facial expression.
    Gladstone took a short breath. “Lamar Festus was reported missing last Thursday, the day after his release from jail. No one has seen him since.”

Chapter Three
    Ten minutes later Halliday sped down Genevive Parkway after responding to dispatch. A priority callout required him to quell a domestic dispute in the south end of town.
    Santa Reina Sur had been separated from the main town by a large aqueduct that fed the farm land on both sides. Aqueduct Road, running parallel, housed a row of Mexican establishments situated on the aqueduct mound like strawberry plants. Halliday occasionally bought homemade tamales at the Las Verdes Market. Alongside the market, a string of chalky hole-in-the-wall bars with names like Mucho Caliente and Margarita’s advertised Tecate cerveza .
    Beyond the aqueduct, Sur, sometimes pronounced “sewer” by uneducated locals, stretched out hard and flat, like a tortilla left too long on the griddle. Several blocks of small bungalow houses built in the 1970s suffered from neglect. Spray paint covered more walls than did house paint. Small front porches harbored unemployed Latino men. Crime resulted from boredom more than anything else.
    When Halliday arrived Sergeant Dave Garcia stood on the porch of a matchbox house yelling in Spanish at the inhabitants through the closed door.
    “What’s going on Sergeant?” Halliday said in a voice so low that Garcia had to lean over and ask, “What’s that?”
    “I said, ‘What is going on here?”
    “Detective Halliday, I can handle this. I have an eviction notice. The neighbors said the couple has been arguing. Said the husband had a history of violence.”
    Halliday nodded at the notice. “Did the chief authorize this? Let me see it.” He didn’t want to read it so much as he