Taking turns, Billy and Royden poked and prodded, asking general questions regarding the doctor’s personal and professional life and associations. By unspoken agreement, they avoided sensitive areas until they’d each gotten a feel for the doctor’s normal response patterns.
“We heard you’re trying to hire a doctor from a competitor at Celtronics. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Dr. Ari Slenktock is a brilliant surgeon and dedicated scientist. I’ve spoken with him several times at conferences and seminars. I’m sure I’m one of many trying to sway his loyalty.” Nothing but sincerity radiated from a calm demeanor.
The mention of each victim’s name brought no telltale flinch, twitch, or verbal cue to create suspicion. Billy interjected Remie’s name and got an equally benign reaction. Either the doctor was innocent or had practiced his responses in front of a mirror.
“Do you manufacture organs and various spare parts here?” Royden asked.
Carrigan locked gazes with Royden as if the detective accused him of pissing in a public fountain. “No, I specialize primarily in one field and have four of the brightest minds in the country working for me. We receive samples from various organizations like HBCC, Human Brain Collection Core. Everything is legal and legit. If you’d care to see our records, my secretary can show you—”
“We understand you’re working with neural organoids.” Royden stood and padded to the bookshelves on the side, drawing the doctor’s attention. “Interesting concept.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. What an incredible opportunity to help those who would normally succumb to the likes of brain tumors, Alzheimer’s, and hundreds of other diseases.” Here was the doctor’s passion. “We have studies involving neurospheres, neural aggregates, and rosettes.” The dissertation detailed concepts that would anesthetize a normal man’s brain.
“You’re going to implant tissue constructed in a lab into people’s brains?” Nothing could suppress the shudder traversing Billy’s shoulders.
“Oh, heavens. We’re years away from human trials. If you’ll search the public records, you’ll see that neural organoids only survive about ten months. We’re still in the baby stages of development. I assure you, there’re no Frankenstein monsters coming out of this lab.” A slight lip curl preceded his next statement. “I can give you a tour if you’d like, but due to the nature of our work and the competition, I cannot allow any pictures to be taken.”
Stated as fact, the tone slurred into condescension, as if two hillbilly cops couldn’t hope to scratch the surface of their research.
He’s right.
The tour was short and more detailed than necessary. The suspect may as well have spouted Greek. When finished, Carrigan escorted the detectives back to the lobby and offered further assistance if it would help.
Billy’s phone vibrated again as he stepped out into sunshine, its disinfecting rays dissolving the intangible sludge accumulated while inside. The warmth on his face cleared his mind of the ongoing macabre research. He punched up the message from Katt. “Oh, fuck!”
“What?” Royden grabbed his arm.
“Katt can’t find Abby.”
Acid burned Billy’s throat as he raced for the car. A flap of paper stuck under his windshield wiper flipped in the breeze.
Royden snatched it up.
“Damn it.” Royden jerked his door open and sat, unfolding the note. Before closing the door, he turned to the side to vomit, a pure gut reaction.
Billy snatched the note and read, “You’ve brought this on yourself with your meddling. Now, little sister will pay the price.”
Wheels squealed in zipping off the lot. “Call Katt. See what she knows.”
Katt tugged her hat lower on her forehead. She hadn’t dressed to blend in with a bunch of lawyers and judicial types, the shock of pink hair, notwithstanding. Shit.
According to Royden, the attorney should have been in court all day. No one had seen her since recess for lunch. A guard on the front door’s metal detector said she’d gone out prior to his break. They hadn’t spoken, and he’d not seen her return, but the lawyers often entered from the back of the building.
Once outside, she glanced back at the building and noticed each corner’s eve boasted a utilitarian camera with its monocular perspective, their feeds not monitored in real time. Since her phone carried malware, she had to be careful. Someone monitored her text messages but couldn’t listen in on her phone calls.
They might not know about Lexi. The hacker answered immediately. Okay, Lexi. Let’s see how good you are. In a cliff-notes version, Katt explained the situation and disconnected.
When her cell rang, she expected a familiar feminine voice but didn’t recognize the number.
“Where in the hell is she?” The deep rumble conveyed enough threat through intensity to induce a shudder.
“Royden, I don’t know. I’m looking for her car now. It’s a silver BMW, right?” Katt’s upper teeth bit into her lower lip until she flinched.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I think I see it. Give me a sec.” Her staccato steps echoed toward the back of the large lot. “I checked with the front guard who saw her leave for lunch but didn’t know where she was headed. No one’s seen her since. I called Lexi, and she’s gonna look at their security tapes.”
Breath sawed in and out, burning her throat. “Fuck!”
“What?” The rage could tenderize the toughest beef.
“Her car door’s open and there’s a cardboard drink carrier with a spilled soda along with a mashed fast-food bag. There’s a purse spilled out on the asphalt.”
“Is the food still warm? Use the back of your hand.”
Katt knelt to touch the bag. “Yes.” Standing, she looked around. The street lining the parking lot remained quiet, lawyer’s row. “No foot traffic at the moment. No cars moving.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Remie looked at the package on the empty gurney, a small, plain box wrapped in brown paper, perhaps a paper bag. “Shit. Do I open it or call Billy?” It felt like an ordinary cardboard box. Block lettering denied forensic handwriting identification. She held a mystery she wasn’t sure she could stomach. “No return address, postmarked Portland.” That really narrows it down.
“You think it’s too small to be some kind of bomb? I’ll open it if you want.” Jonathan was sweet to offer.
“Dr. Tallin, there’s a call for you on line one.” The receptionist’s nasal twang rubbed some of the employees the wrong way. Remie barely deciphered the words. Today was another one of those days.
“I’ll be right back. Do not open the box, Jonathan.” Anxiety took a breather with each step away from the working area. The office was warmer, on a separate circuit. She plopped down at her desk.
“Hello. Dr.—”
“Remie, everything all right there?” Billy’s urgency slid through the phone like a fire-breathing entity.
“Yes. Fine, well, we did just get a weird package in the mail. What’s going on?”
“Abby’s missing. I’m heading toward the courthouse now so sit tight with your guard until I pick you up. ‘Kay?”
“All right. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Just stick with your officer so I don’t have to worry. And don’t open the package until one of us gets there.” He disconnected before she could reply.
“Damn.” Instant nausea generated from a host of impressions she couldn’t assimilate assaulted her soul. It can’t be a coincidence—the package arriving the same time Billy’s sister goes missing. It also can’t be from Abby, since she just disappeared. The timing is wrong. Deliveries were common but never addressed to one person, always the office. She headed back to her workstation after grabbing her letter opener.
Maybe the killer made a mistake this time. To date, it appeared he orchestrated everything with great attention to detail and anticipated movements with unerring precision. Everybody makes mistakes. She prayed she was good enough to catch the psycho when he slipped.
/>
“Jonathan, I want you to stand out in the hall, just in case.” The assistant was loyal to a fault. Remie’s shortcomings didn’t include reckless endangerment. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves.
“How about I just go to the other side of the room?” In doing so, he proclaimed his stubbornness and support.
Remie gripped the blade’s handle tight to avoid broadcasting her fear through trembling fingers. Clear packaging tape held the flaps closed tight. The box weighed less than a pound.
“Maybe you shouldn’t open it…”
After the first rip, the paper revealed a nondescript cardboard flap which opened to reveal a clear plastic container big enough to hold an ounce of fluid. Only it wasn’t an ounce inside. A generous estimate pegged it as a smear. Biohazard.
“What is it, Doc?” Jonathan approached, his puzzlement producing a hmmm in the back of his throat.
“There’s a note with it, printed in block lettering. “’Since your boyfriend failed to follow directions, this is the penalty. In the interest of saving time, I’ll give you a hint. It came from Abagail McAllister.’”
“It’s some type of fluid sent by the killer. There’s not enough to discern much about its consistency. I’ll open it under the hood, just in case.”
In her heart, she knew before confirming the sample, what she’d find. She’d witnessed the same findings on women’s thighs after rape. It can’t be Abby’s.
If the sender’s intent was to cut the McAllisters off at the knees, he would have killed Abby. Instead, he was taunting, warning them in a way they couldn’t ignore. Like any game, it wouldn’t last forever, which limited Abby’s time.
The next call, one to request a sample of hair or other form of DNA from Abby’s home, was the hardest she’d ever made.
“Why in the fuck did she leave the courthouse? She knew better.” Royden slammed his fist against the dash.
Billy echoed the sentiment but kept a cooler head. Time was critical in finding a lead. When his brakes squealed to a stop on lawyers’ row, Katt was waiting, twisting her fingers in a knot while speaking to a sheriff’s deputy. Billy recognized the face of the officer normally stationed at the front door. The name eluded him. Red and blue strobing lights from two PPD cars splashed the building and surrounding cars.
Spectators gathered on the sidewalk, recognized as staff working in nearby offices while one of the court’s security personnel gathered information.
Billy took in the scene; discarded food, open car door, and the familiar purse with lipstick, hairbrush and cell phone, strewn in haphazard fashion beside it.
Katt stood to the back of the vehicle, her gaze flicked from the officer to Royden then to Billy on their approach. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I called Lexi. She said she’d call you as soon as she found something. Anything.”
Billy couldn’t spare the empathy to provide comfort. “When was the last text to your employer?”
“Last night. I’m supposed to watch Remie again tonight.”
Pulling her away from the knot of people, he hissed through clenched teeth. “Are you absolutely certain he hasn’t made you?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I haven’t talked with him a lot and he uses something to modify his voice, but I’d feel his hesitation.”
“All right, good. I want you out of here. One of us will call you with instructions.” Billy patted her on the shoulder and nudged her away. It wouldn’t take long for someone from the press to pick up the radio chatter and converge. Katt’s pink-streaked hair would make her stand out in the crowd. The last thing their investigation needed was a neon sign flashed on the front page of the local paper.
Royden, working in sync, spoke with the officer present and explained Katt would give a formal statement later.
Two more cars slid to a stop beside his vehicle. Matt and Ethan jumped out, each assessing the situation on the fly.
The familiar ringtone from Billy’s cell represented an ominous toll as his brothers spoke at once. He held up his hand for silence.
“Remie, what’s up?”
“I opened the package.”
“Shit. What was it?” Dry heaves threatened his composure, the cool breeze failing to dry the moisture beading his forehead. His hand shook such that he tilted his head to wedge the cell between his ear and shoulder.
“It was fluid. I put it under a scope—”
“Yeah, and…”
“I don’t have a DNA match, but it’s vaginal cells mixed with lubricant.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Billy dropped the phone and turned aside. His knees wobbled until Royden gripped one shoulder and Matt steadied him on the other side. “This can’t be happening.”
“What?” Royden spun him around to stand face-to-face.
“The bastard has Abby. He says he’s raped her, but he couldn’t have. He left a sample—so we’ll back off the investigation.”
“From Abby? Impossible. She has just disappeared.” Royden’s guttural bellow held the pent-up rage of a monster straining at his leash.
“It’s a warning of what’s in store for her. The prick got hold of Abby’s blood to obtain her DNA. She donates on a regular basis. Any evidence has to be more of that fabricated shit or from someone else.”
“I’ll kill the bastard. Just because he may not have raped her yet doesn’t mean he won’t kill her.” Matt stood stock still, rage shaking the fisted hands by his side, his chest heaving with the cost of maintaining control. As the oldest sibling, he held responsibility for them all. “Billy, go find Ari Slenktock. He’s the only certain connection we have. Find out what he’s hiding, whatever you have to do. Royden, go with him. You watch each other’s backs. Got it?”
Billy contemplated shoving the barrel of his gun in Ari’s mouth and redecorating the doctor’s kitchen. One black eye later, Ari Slenktock blubbered his confession to the tiled floor. Eternal love for Remie mandated he keep her safe at all costs. Hiring Katt was his way of tracking her movements.
“Why bug Katt’s phone? Do you not trust her or are you that fucked up?” Royden stood over the doctor, ready to pound him into the floor.
“What? Why would I do that when I can make a call and get up-to-the-minute details?”
“Fuck this screwy mess. Where. Is. She!” Billy roared.
“I don’t know! I swear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Abby woke to a loud drumbeat pounding against her skull. The accompaniment of excruciating pain prevented her from opening her eyes. Lack of crimson burning closed lids equaled a dark room. It smelled of earth, concrete block, and undefined filth. When able to take a peek, she stared into oblivion with nothing to give shape or reason to her surroundings except the pebbly soil beneath her hands defining part of her environment.
A dirt-floor basement? Immediate thoughts entailed finding a makeshift weapon and an exit. Both required movement. Ugh.
Movement was costly but necessary. Like a rat caught in a maze, she probed her environment to form a mental template and search for any weaknesses in her confines, finding none. Dirt caked the scabs forming on her fingers, raw from scraping the rough walls and feeling for loose mortar. As if expecting her puny efforts, her captor had left a bottle of water by a pile of blankets. She cleaned her hands before huddling in a jagged corner to think.
Scratchy wool buffered the cold seeping into her shoulder and hip while her extended hand rested on dirt. No amount of concentration could shut out the images her mind conjured, the likely creatures cohabitating with her during her stay in hell.
Memories assaulted her mind, a trickle that morphed into a landslide; opening her car door, a man approaching from the front, then the snap of a bottle cap from behind. She hadn’t sensed anyone else until he smothered her mouth and nose with a damp cloth. Then a black void.
Time moved in weird increments with no reference points. Somewhere along the line, she’d forfeited her watch to leave her without a resource to mark time’s passage. The prick
s had even taken her shoes and bound her wrists.
She’d attained semi-consciousness on a floor of a moving vehicle, but her eyes had refused to obey the command to open. Carpet underneath her head hadn’t protected her skull from bouncing on the floor’s hard ridges with each pothole jostling the vehicle.
An old dirt road with no traffic noise, no railroad tracks. At one point, just before they stopped, a whirring noise overhead with a change in tone caught her attention. We’re near an airstrip. Lack of normal vehicular traffic fetched the likeness of a private runway.
Oblivion returned.
When she awoke again, she’d found herself curled in fetal position, her hands free and a hard surface biting into her shoulder. Her neck was stiff from the unnatural angle of sleep.
She remembered the door’s creak and the whoosh of small air currents testament to an exit. A soft voice had announced the arrival of food. Without sustenance, she couldn’t fight when the time came.
She ate.
Minutes after ingesting the sandwich, she realized the food contained some type of drug, something her body couldn’t clear.
She slept.
With no windows and no method to mentally mark a schedule, she pictured sunrise and sunset, using the time between meals to investigate her surroundings and formulate a plan.
The perimeter of her cell yielded no break in continuity except for flowing around a crude wood-plank door roughened by age. A small chamber pot, plastic, sat in one corner.
Despite her small stature, she could touch the ceiling, a little over six feet high. She’d found a small vent overhead near the door. The corner was where she nested the blanket on which she sat, afraid to lay down.
High on the side in another corner, she’d found a small box affixed to the wall where it met the ceiling. It was square but felt divided with tiny holes on one-half. The other side was glass smooth, like a lens.
McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two Page 49