McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two

by Reily Garrett

  “Dunno. Lab in the basement? Maybe if we figure it out, we’ll have more time off, too.”

  The stone structure conveyed snobbish sophistication embraced by a pretentious sprinkling of architecturally shaped boxwoods. The steeply pitched roof and dominant, front-facing gable held sway over cutaway bay windows and partial-width porch.

  In the front yard, an elaborately trimmed hedge bordered a marble water fountain. In the center, upshot fiber optic lighting bathed the twisted folds, hills and valleys of the replicated gray matter taking center stage.

  “Elitist wanker. Is that what I think it is?” Royden nodded toward the intricate statue.

  “I’d say it’s a brain judging by the overall shape. Frankly, I find that terrifying, considering his studies in bioprinting.”

  “Don’t antagonize him with snark, okay?”

  “At least not until we’re done with questions.” Billy grinned.

  A brick herringbone walkway maintained the air of vogue leading to the massive structure. Under the portico, an expensive chandelier graced the entrance to chase away evening shadows.

  “Jesus, Royden. Ring the doorbell. I’m getting hives just standing here.” No stranger to the nicer amenities life offered, he preferred calmer aesthetics that furnished more comfort than the vulgar display of wealth.

  When the door opened, a gray-haired butler displayed the practiced semblance of a smile below a well-trimmed mustache. “May I help you, gentlemen?”

  “Yes. I’m Detective Patterson.” Royden parted his jacket to reveal his shield. “I’d like to ask the good doctor a few questions.”

  “Very well, please come in.”

  A formal living room presented tigerwood flooring peeking from under a thick antique rug. Dark, heavy furniture contrasted gray walls. Not a speck of dirt or dust bunny dotted the floor. A miniature replica of the front lawn’s statue dominated a coffee table.

  “Ah, Detective McAllister. I wondered how long it would be before you dropped by.”

  Billy whirled in time to see remnants of the doctor’s sneer. It wasn’t often anyone took him by surprise. He grinned, unable to resist a taunt. “Good to see you, too. We’ve been busy. Had to see a man about a horse.” A conspicuous sniff and exaggerated motion of checking the bottom of his shoes elicited a groan from his partner.

  Dr. Farabee’s expression hardened, but he failed to voice the aggravation. “What do you want? I’m a busy man.”

  “Oh, are we pulling you away from work? Billy looked around the room as if to spot some arcane tool of a forgotten trade.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Patterson. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. Nice place you have here.”

  The briefest of smiles curved their host’s lips.

  “Questions about?”

  “Bioprinting.”

  “Ah.” With a directness pointed at Billy, he added, “And here I thought you’d ask about nanotechnology. I understand that’s your specialty and something with which you have intimate knowledge.”

  Billy’s thoughts stuttered at the reminder of his brush with death. That a stranger held said knowledge raised the hair on his nape. Someone needed to wipe the shit-eating grin off the doctor’s face and take him off the map. His partner’s hand on his shoulder halted Billy’s first step forward.

  “And what makes you associate my partner with nanotechnology, Farabee?”

  No official record referencing the attack and unauthorized surgery existed. Only a couple of federal officers, the McAllister family, and several employees of ClickChip knew about the conspiracy. Said employees were either dead or incarcerated.

  “Word gets around in select medical communities.”

  “How about a tour of your home lab?” Royden plastered on his inquisitive façade.

  “Who said I have one? You’re not getting a tour without a warrant. What are you looking for?” A dismissive wave denied divulging details. “Ari told me what happened. I don’t know what his pathologist is mixed up in or why.”

  “It’s not about that. This concerns the murder of two college kids and a biology professor.” Billy took a slow, deep breath.

  “Since I have no connection to any of this, I’d say you’re looking in the wrong direction. Perhaps more time spent working and less time fraternizing with those out of your league might help.”

  The reference to the association with Remie coincided with a condescending grin and arched brow.

  “Dr. Farabee, can you verify your whereabouts last Saturday night into Sunday morning.” Royden’s all-business attitude redirected the target’s attention.

  “What? I was in Chicago as the guest speaker at USC’s Stem Cell Seminar on Saturday. I caught an early morning flight back.” A tiny cast of spittle landed on his lapel either unnoticed or ignored. “Not only do I have receipts, but there were over a hundred attendees.”

  “We’ll be checking into that. Thank you.” Royden’s professional façade remained in place.

  “I suggest you do some real detective work and find out who’s attacking these women instead of pestering me and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I suppose you can vouch for your time the night Remie was attacked?” Royden didn’t break eye contact.

  “Yes, I was home. Talk with my valet,” gritted out between clenched teeth. “Now, if that’s all, I have work to do. Kyle will show you out after you verify my alibi.”

  “We have evidence linking you to the professor.” Royden waited to let his words sink in.

  “If that were true, I’d be in handcuffs now.”

  “We hear you’re into bioprinting, Doc. You seem the type to bring your work home with you. What’cha cooking up in your spare time?” Billy glanced across the room where a solid-looking door blocked sight of what lay beyond. He wouldn’t explain that someone bioprinted false evidence to throw suspicion of the murders on a cop, muddling the investigation.

  “Nothing you’d understand. Science passed the stick figure and paper doll stage centuries ago.” Beneath the condescension lay the need to brag, accompanied by the straightening of his spine and the hard glint in his eye.

  Secrets kept at a cost always surface.

  “You’ve given seminars on bioprinting and you’re a surgeon. In my world, one plus one still equals two.” Billy hadn’t expected a tour, but a face-to-face interview granted access to the suspect’s body language.

  Farabee’s frame stiffened, his lips thinning as his gaze slid briefly to one of the closed doors. Whatever the prick worked on, he didn’t want others to know. It seemed likely the Brit did have a home lab of sorts.

  “Got a basement here?” Billy ambled toward the far door only to have the doctor sidestep into his path.

  “No, why? Do you have a particular aversion to them?” The smirk was back. “Perhaps you need some type of upgrade?”

  The bastard knows everything. Frustration and something a little redder clouded his judgment and prevented an accurate assessment. He wasn’t usually one to lose his temper.

  “I generally think of them as housing things in need of termination or blowing up.” He didn’t care if the doc interpreted the thread of steel infusing his voice as a threat. If the prick knew about the past ordeal, he knew what happened to ClickChip’s building. And now he knows how I dealt with it.

  “Hold on.” Royden stepped forward to draw the suspect’s gaze. “I understand you have a partner, but who funds your research.”

  “None of your business without a search warrant. Good day, detectives.” Emphasis on the last word was expected.

  As if on cue, the suited valet stepped forward. “Gentlemen?”

  The butler responded to questions in near monotone, monosyllable utterances, a shadow of condescension rubber-stamped by his employer.

  When Billy stepped outside to inhale his next breath of fresh air, the sun’s warmth on his face failed to soothe his frustration.

  “Oh shit. I know where I’ve seen a picture l
ike that freaking statue.” Royden nodded to the gaudy structure in passing.

  “Where?”

  “In a science magazine. They are bioprinting brain tissue, you know… Calling them neural organoids.”

  “What the fuck?” If that was the bastard’s nod to a needed upgrade, science just stepped into the realm of horror. “Hell, he’s a general surgeon, not a neurosurgeon. We need a fucking warrant. Did it say in the magazine how they’re coming by supplies?” Billy felt the blood draining from his face.

  “I dug further online after listening to the girls talk. For research purposes, they’re using something called hPSCs.”

  “In English for the uneducated,” Billy grit out.

  “Stands for human pluro—no—pluripotent stem cells. I’ve no idea what they are, but using them, scientists can generate human neural cells in a relatively simple and cost-effective method.”

  “Fucking science fiction shit. I used to love it.”

  “Until you lived it?” Royden paused before opening his door and sliding behind the wheel.

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn, you get into some weird shit despite your brothers’ best efforts.”

  “You’re saying they can actually reproduce someone’s brain using specific cells? Why? Brain tumors make up what—less than two percent of all cancers.” Billy sucked in a long breath, as if that would slow the frenzied if frightening ideas from conquering rational thought.

  “Think about this. Set aside all the normal deterioration your brain goes through with aging and the fact some would step up for a younger brain the same way models struggle to appear young. Think about all the types of neurological diseases, degenerative diseases such as Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. Then flip the switch and look at diseases of the blood vessels, such as stroke. Injuries would be an inconvenience, not a life changer. Seizure disorders such as epilepsy, infections such as meningitis, scientists could wipe out so much pain and heartache. Hell, even migraines.”

  “Sounds as if you’d like an application.”

  “No, but I respect the possibilities. We need to search their lab. The only problem is—once the word bioprinting comes into play, and it will, we’ve lost all traction in the legal gears.” Royden keyed the ignition.

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. They’re called warrants, not tickets to a fishing expedition.” Billy scratched at the bristles of his jaw, trying to come up with a usable angle. “We have to try, just the same.”

  “What about Ari? Think he’d try to implicate Farabee to push him out of the picture? Maybe he has somebody else he’d rather work with. Someone who’s not as arrogant, someone on a more equal playing field intellectually speaking.”

  “Worth looking into. As smart as Remie is, she doesn’t play in this arena. Why involve her?”

  “Who knows, Billy? Who knows?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “A dead end to a fruitless fucking day.” The door to the state’s attorney’s office swung shut behind them. “Any ideas, Royden? I’m no closer to figuring this out now than I was this morning.”

  “Hey, we knew going to the DA probably wouldn’t grant us legal access to a prominent lab with the evidence presented.”

  “We had to try. I’d hoped either Ari or Farabee would give us something to go on,” Billy grumbled.

  “We’ve learned Remie’s ex is into manufacturing spare parts and has some type of fascination with brain tissue. Strange that both docs had similar artwork depicting brain tissue.”

  “None of this shit is adding up. Ari’s jealous, yes. He thinks he can rekindle an old flame. That would explain why he’d go after me. He thinks I’m in the way. But if Remie’s instincts are right, and I believe they are—he wouldn’t have gone into a homicidal rage and wanted to kill her or risk her health by leaving her unconscious in a stream.” Deeply rooted factors skewed Billy’s observational skills. The fact Remie persevered under a mountain of stress that would threaten any woman’s sanity proved her strength of character and earned respect. Mutual attraction and a common bond to see justice done sealed their fate. With great difficulty, Billy cleared his mind and let the known facts drift and rattle against each other in hopes of making a connection.

  “Hell, Farabee was vibrating with the need to squash you.”

  “It may have stemmed from my antagonism.” Something about the man’s arrogance dictated taking a stand. Billy had always been one to challenge bullies and root for the underdog.

  “You mean since you started in on him the moment you walked in the door? Possibly. And for the record, can we avoid words like stem? The whole idea of reproducing brain tissue gives me the creeps. I’ve never had any illegal surgeries. Do you think he’s actually implanted anything into a person?”

  “They both have the cajones and the education to try. I’m not sure which one is more arrogant. Experience is just a slice away.” He wondered how many unauthorized surgeries had been performed. “I wouldn’t put it past either one to do or be in cahoots with someone who is performing horrific operations. Those sculptures make me question their endgame.”

  “Neither is a neurosurgeon,” Royden’s soft growl negated his normal equanimity.

  “Like that would stop them from producing the parts and aligning with someone who does have the training? Who puts a statue of a brain in their front yard, anyway? I’m glad I took a pic of that shit to show my brothers.”

  “You think it’s a reminder when coming home that one day he’d be inserting manufactured material into human skulls?”

  “For now, instead of scalpels and saws, maybe his current tool set includes electrodes, injectable dyes, and scanners. Small stuff by comparison. Baby steps.” Billy’s gaze scrutinized the public parking lot of the DA’s office.

  “Shit, we need eyes in their workspaces.” When they’d visited earlier, the lab’s parking lot had held a scattering of vehicles with no visitors or deliveries.

  “Not gonna happen, Royden.”

  “All my years of schooling amounted to shit this morning. I always get some kind of—something from a suspect. A vibe, muscle twitch, something in their gaze that gives away their thoughts. I got nothing, nothing at all from Farabee, except hostility toward you. What a cold, fucking fish. You pick up anything?”

  “Nada. I got the same.” Billy shook his head, pausing as he reached for the passenger side door. He just wanted to get in the car and go, without visions of mad scientists and serial killers on his mind.

  “Anything else you want to check out before we call it a day? I need a cold tea on the patio while sorting all this crap in my head.”

  “No. It’s about time to swing by the ME’s office. Join us for dinner tonight?” Billy froze in opening the door. “Shit.”

  “What—” Royden followed his partner’s gaze through the driver’s window. “Oh hell. I remember locking the doors. Ballsy to leave a souvenir when we’re parked in front of the State’s Attorney’s office.”

  “How considerate of someone to leave the note inside the car so the wind wouldn’t blow it away.” After sheathing his hands in gloves, Billy opened the note.

  “See what happens when you don’t listen? People die. Your family is next.”

  “Oh, hell no. Anybody goes after my family, they’re dead meat.”

  A child could have created the note printed in block letters. Each letter appeared carefully crafted, straight on an invisible bottom line.

  Few cars plied the roadway while sparse foot traffic entered the county office building. No one lurked around nearby business offices.

  Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Here, I’ll take care of it. You need to pick Remie up from work. I’ll give you a call later.”

  “Think it was Ari?” Billy lowered himself to the pavement to check the vehicle’s undercarriage. “Check the other side.”

  “Wouldn’t be a stretch for either of them to figure we’d go to the DA’s office to apply for a warrant.” Royden inched forward at
a crawl to inspect under the vehicle then brushed his hands off after standing. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Neither struck me as the type to get their hands dirty. You?”

  “No, they wouldn’t do it themselves. What we need is a peek at their phone records and communications. Know anyone who could take a look-see?” It was Royden’s first indirect request to access Lexi’s skillset. His southern drawl hissed out with an edge. Obvious concern over Abby comprised a larger portion of his life than worry over blurred legal lines.

  The reference to Lexi’s hacking skills incited Billy’s protective mode. “That’s risky.” He had every intention of discussing cursory details within her earshot but realized she’d probably already hacked the work notes he kept on his tablet and gone from there. Each of the McAllisters had learned to take it for granted.

  “Only if she gets caught… Just saying. I worry about your sister,” Royden’s concern issued in hushed tones.

  “We need information on organizations funding their research. On both statues, I saw the words, Eanchainn Chill engraved.” Royden started the car then sat back in the seat to stare at his partner.

  “You know how Eanchainn Chill translates?” Just thinking the words circled a chill around Billy’s vertebrae.

  “No. Do I want to know? You’re the one into all this science crap.”

  “Brain cell. It means brain cell in Gaelic.” Billy imagined the surgeons lobotomizing their victims before implanting manufactured and improved neural organoids.

  “Shit. You would know that.”

  “I looked it up. Listen, Matt said they got no hits on talking to the working girls in town again. Nobody knew Wendy or Gena, but I’m thinking maybe we should take a run at them. You can use your psychic voodoo.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. I’ll ask Matt to cover Remie while we’re gone. Pick you up at nine, city boy.”

  “Fine. Dress casual and drink an expresso so you can stay awake past your bed time.”

  The likelihood of obtaining useful information from a seasoned working girl paralleled pulling teeth with a pair of tweezers. Dressed in worn black jeans and a chamois shirt, Billy pulled to the shoulder in front of Royden’s Cape Cod. The front porch lamp backlit Royden’s approach. He’d dressed for the occasion. “I was wondering if you’d break out the denim.”