“Enough with the history lesson,” she said. “Where do we start looking for Olivia?”
“We’re going to pay a visit to the owner of a local gallery who specializes in antiques with a paranormal provenance. No one knows more about the rumors circulating in the underground market of paranormal artifacts than Gwendolyn Swan. She’s got a shop here in town.”
The elevator doors opened. Catalina moved briskly out into the hall. He fell into step beside her.
“I’ve never heard of an antiques shop that specializes in those kind of artifacts.”
“Gwendolyn Swan tries to keep a very low profile, for obvious reasons. Any hint of the paranormal attracts some extremely odd people.”
“Trust me, I know exactly how she feels,” Catalina said. “I became the human equivalent of a tacky tourist attraction myself six months ago, thanks to your uncle.”
Slater followed her out of the elevator and kept his mouth shut. He did not have the time or the energy to continue defending Victor and the new management of the Foundation.
They reached the door of the Lark & LeClair office. Slater opened it and stood aside to let Catalina stride past him into the room.
She came to an abrupt halt and stared at the man standing by the window.
“Oh, shit,” she said. “This really is not my day.”
CHAPTER 10
Daniel leaped to his feet behind the reception desk. He was at once anxious and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lark. Dr. Gossard said it was really important that he talk to you.”
Slater got a silent ping as the name popped up in his memory. Dr. Roger Gossard was the head of the security consulting firm Victor had mentioned . . . What happened between Lark and Gossard after I left town was not my fault, either. Relationships fall apart all the time.
Roger Gossard looked like he had been sent from central casting to play the part of a lean and hungry CEO who was going places and taking his cutting-edge forensics investigation business with him.
Catalina regarded him with a mix of antipathy and impatience.
“What are you doing here, Roger?” she asked.
Gossard smiled, showing a lot of very white, very straight teeth, but tension and wariness shivered in the atmosphere around him. He flicked an uneasy glance at Slater and then smiled at Catalina.
“Good morning, Cat,” he said.
Catalina started to take off her trench coat. “I’ve told you before, do not call me Cat.”
Daniel was still on his feet behind his desk. He looked as if he was afraid he might have to throw himself between Catalina and Gossard in order to prevent bloodshed.
“A police detective called while you were out,” Daniel said. “He indicated that you were involved in an attempted murder sometime last night. He said to tell you that they picked up Angus Hopper an hour ago. What happened? Are you all right?”
Catalina switched her attention to Daniel. “To be clear, I was not involved in an attempted murder. I was almost murdered. There’s a distinct difference.”
Daniel grimaced. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“You said they picked up Hopper?” Catalina hung her coat on a coatrack. “That’s the first good news I’ve had this morning.”
Daniel glanced at his notes. “Evidently Hopper showed up in an emergency room with what appeared to be puncture wounds from a, um, fork.”
Roger chuckled. “Figures.”
Daniel kept going. “It’s been a tough morning, Boss. First Olivia goes missing. Then Arganbright shows up claiming he has to see you immediately, a matter of life and death. The police call to tell me that you were attacked at Matson’s house. Then, just to put the cherry on top of my latte, Dr. Gossard walks in demanding to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Catalina said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about Hopper because Olivia’s disappearance is a lot more important. Priorities, Daniel.”
“Right.” Daniel collapsed into his chair, dazed. “Priorities.”
Roger’s brows kicked up. “What’s this about Olivia?”
“Never mind,” Catalina snapped. “It’s none of your business.”
Slater cleared his throat. “I’m feeling a little out of the loop here, too. What’s this about an attempted murder and a fork injury?”
Daniel looked at Catalina. She waved one hand.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Tell him.”
Daniel straightened in his chair. “Last night one of our clients came close to getting her throat slit by an ex-boyfriend. According to the police, Catalina arrived on the scene just in time to interrupt the proceedings. Evidently there was a struggle. Catalina somehow managed to do some damage to the perp with a fork. Fortunately both women escaped.”
Slater looked at Catalina. “A fork?”
Roger snorted, clearly suppressing laughter.
Daniel eyed Catalina with a grim expression. “You may want to think about upgrading to a gun, Boss.”
Catalina ignored him. She glanced at Slater and jerked a thumb at Gossard.
“This is Roger Gossard,” she said. “Excuse me, Dr. Roger Gossard. I forget what the PhD is in.”
“Forensic psychology,” Roger said smoothly.
“Whatever,” Catalina said. “Roger, here, runs a consulting business. Does some contract work with various law enforcement agencies and is available as an expert witness for any law firm that can afford him. Roger, this is Slater Arganbright.”
Roger walked quickly across the small space and held out his well-manicured hand.
“A pleasure, Slater,” he said.
Slater shook the offered hand once and broke contact. “Dr. Gossard.” He put a little emphasis on the title.
Roger chuckled and waved that aside. “Roger, please. Any friend of Cat’s and all that.”
“Don’t call me Cat,” Catalina said.
Roger chuckled as if the protest was an old joke they had often shared. He fixed Slater with a deeply curious expression. “Are you one of Catalina’s clients?”
It struck Slater that the explanation was as good as any he could have come up with on the spot. It had the advantage of being the truth. Sort of.
“Yes,” he said.
Catalina gave him a startled look but she did not correct him. She returned her attention to Roger.
“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Roger. Why are you here?”
“Got to admit I’m curious about what happened at your client’s home last night,” Roger said.
“You can’t expect me to discuss that with you,” she said. “Client confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Roger said, annoyed but evidently resigned. “I came here to discuss some business. Shall we go into your office? I just need a few minutes of your time.”
“No,” Catalina said. “I’m in a hurry. Say whatever it is you have to say so that I can get back to work.”
“Fine.” Roger’s mouth and eyes tightened at the corners, but he kept his voice as smooth and polished as his attire. “I dropped by this morning because I want you to look at a scene for me.”
“You have got to be joking,” Catalina said. “You want me to consult for you? After what you did to me?”
“I admit I didn’t handle things well,” Roger allowed. “I apologize. But I’m sure you can appreciate my situation. It’s critical that my consulting work be viewed as cutting-edge technologically and rigorously scientific. I couldn’t afford to have my name or my firm’s name linked with that of a woman who claims to be psychic.”
“I never claimed to be psychic. You told Brenda Bryce, Girl Reporter, that I was a flake who claimed to have paranormal talents. You got me fired from my career counseling job. I ended up dealing with a stalker because of those stories in the press.”
Roger finally displayed some
emotion—outrage.
“I had nothing to do with you losing your job, and you can’t blame that crazy stalker on me,” he said. “It’s not my fault that your former boss was afraid you might attract the wrong sort of clients at that counseling agency. I heard he wound up with a line of people demanding an appointment with the psychic who could talk to the dead. He had to dump you. You were ruining his business.”
“Really? You’re going to blame what happened on me? In case you didn’t notice, I was the innocent victim in that fiasco.”
Roger regained control with a visible effort. “Look, I said I’m sorry. But you’ve moved on.” He swept out a hand to indicate the office. “Looks to me like you’re doing great.”
“That is not the point,” Catalina said between her teeth.
Roger shot another uncertain glance at Slater and then turned back to Catalina. “This is not the time or the place to discuss the past. I am prepared to pay you your usual consulting fee—”
“No.”
“Charge whatever the hell you want,” Roger said. “I’m just asking for some of your time. This is a straightforward murder-for-insurance-money case. I want you to confirm my own theory of the crime.”
“You mean you want me to provide you with a theory of the crime so that you can look brilliant. Forget it, Roger. Even if I was in the mood to give you some help, I don’t have time right now. I’ve got other problems.”
Roger still appeared annoyed, but he was managing to come up with a little concern as well.
“Is this about Olivia?” he asked. “Are you sure she’s missing?”
“Positive.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“She hasn’t been seen since yesterday evening.”
“That’s not even twenty-four hours. Odds are she’s fine. Probably took off with a new boyfriend. Look, can you just let me have five minutes to lay out my case for you?”
“Nope.” Catalina folded her arms and gave Roger a smile that looked as if it had been carved out of the heart of a glacier. “I’m sure you can understand that I have to put my own business interests ahead of yours.”
Roger’s lips thinned. “You’re making this personal, Cat. That’s a mistake. If you’re serious about your business, then consider the fact that I am in a position to bring a lot of additional work here to Lark and LeClair. We’ll keep our association confidential, of course.”
“So that Lark and LeClair won’t get any credit for solving your cases and so that your firm won’t be embarrassed by having the media find out that you sometimes ask a psychic investigation agency to consult for you.”
“We’re talking a lot of money, Cat. Many of my clients are lawyers. When it comes to defending one of their wealthy clients, cash is no object.”
“That does it.” Catalina unfolded her arms and yanked open the door. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll call the police and have you thrown out. There must be some legal grounds I could use.”
“Loitering,” Daniel said. “Trespassing.”
He reached for the phone.
Roger looked as if he was going to make a stand, but he must have realized it was pointless.
“You’re making a mistake, Cat,” he said. He went toward the door. “I’ll be in touch when you’ve had a chance to cool down.”
Catalina did not deign to respond to that. She simply closed the door very firmly behind him and turned to Daniel.
“Anything else about the arrest of Angus Hopper that you can tell me?” she said.
Daniel glanced at his notes. “The detective who called said they’ll want another statement from you. Evidently there are a few questions regarding your weapon of choice—”
“That is not amusing.”
“Just kidding,” Daniel said quickly. “The detective told me he thinks they’ve got more than enough to keep Hopper off the streets. Your turn. Did you get any leads on Olivia?”
“One very tiny lead,” Catalina said. “According to Marge, the two men who grabbed Olivia may be twins.”
Daniel frowned. “Weird. When do we call the police?”
Slater decided it was finally time to insert himself into the conversation.
“I don’t think there’s any point bringing in the cops,” he said. “Not at this stage. For one thing, we haven’t got much to go on. I’m sure that Marge was telling the truth, at least the truth as she sees it, but I doubt if the police will take it seriously. They’re more likely to focus initially on the man Olivia was supposed to meet last night.”
“Emerson Ferris,” Daniel said.
“I’m convinced now that Ferris had nothing to do with grabbing Olivia,” Catalina said. “The problem with concentrating on him is that we’ll lose valuable time looking for the kidnappers.”
“It does seem unlikely that this Emerson Ferris is behind the kidnapping, but we can’t overlook the possibility that he’s involved,” Slater said. “We need someone to keep an eye on him while you and I chase other leads.”
“That would be me,” Daniel said. “Stakeouts are my specialty. I’m on my way.”
He punched a key to send the phones to voice mail, pulled a small black backpack from a drawer, grabbed his jacket and went out the door.
Catalina looked at Slater.
“Before we go off to see that gallery owner, I want some more answers,” she said. She swung around and went briskly down the hall. “My office, Mr. Arganbright.”
It was not a request.
CHAPTER 11
Catalina dropped into the chair behind her desk and watched Slater set his backpack on the floor. He cast a longing glance at the pot of coffee sitting on the burner.
“Mind if I have a cup?” he asked. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Help yourself,” she said. “It’s not exactly fresh. Daniel made it first thing this morning. Pour a cup for me, please, while you’re at it. I could do with a stiff jolt of caffeine myself.”
Slater nodded. He picked up the pot and poured two mugs. He put one of the mugs on her desk.
She wrapped both hands around the large mug, taking comfort from the warmth. “Tell me why you think Olivia and I are involved in the murders of those two collectors. And then explain how this relates to what we saw fifteen years ago.”
“I don’t have all the answers,” Slater said. He sank down into the client chair, took a healthy swallow of the coffee and slowly lowered the mug. His eyes got very intent. “But I agree that you need some background. I came here today to ask you to assist me in what was supposed to be an unrelated inquiry. Obviously the situation has changed.”
“Obviously.”
“What do you know about the Bluestone Project and the lost labs?” Slater asked.
“Not much. The project and the labs associated with it are more or less an urban legend in the paranormal community. Conspiracy theory might be a more accurate term. Supposedly, back in the late nineteen fifties, the government established a highly classified program to explore the possibilities of various forms of psychic energy.”
“Bluestone was not a legend or a conspiracy theory. It was very real. It was designed to be a paranormal version of the Manhattan Project.”
“The research and development program that produced the first nuclear weapons during World War Two?”
“Right,” Slater said. “During the Cold War that followed World War Two, certain government agencies were concerned because it appeared that what was then the Soviet Union was engaging in serious paranormal research.”
Catalina wrinkled her nose. “Imagine that. Someone in the government actually took the woo-woo thing seriously.”
Slater gave her a bleak smile. “Who knew?”
“Go on.”
“Like the Manhattan Project, the various labs associated with Bluestone were established in rural locations. We believ
e that most, if not all, of the Bluestone labs were located in the West and the Southwest. The theory was that if the enemy discovered one lab and sabotaged it, the entire project would not be destroyed.”
“You think that Fogg Lake was one of those sites.”
“We assume so, yes.”
“Because of what happened that night decades ago,” Catalina said.
“Whatever went wrong that night apparently made the government agency responsible for overseeing Bluestone extremely nervous. Ultimately the decision was made to shut down the entire project. Orders were given to destroy the labs. Every record and file, every scrap of paper associated with the project was supposed to be burned. There were no digital records in those days, so it was assumed that it would be a relatively simple matter to erase every trace of Bluestone. But this was a government project, so . . .”
“So of course some paperwork survived.”
“And some of the artifacts associated with Bluestone survived. Hence the collectors’ market.”
Catalina studied him for a long moment. “Are you a collector?”
“Yes.”
“You said collectors tend to be eccentric and weird.”
Slater nodded and drank some coffee. He lowered the mug. “I try to disguise my little obsession by working in the Foundation’s museum. I’m in the security department. I’m in charge of tracking down potentially dangerous artifacts with a paranormal provenance and transporting them to Foundation headquarters in Las Vegas.”
“I can see how a job like that might give you a convenient cover for collecting just about anything.”
“Works for me,” Slater said.
“Have you recovered a lot of artifacts?”
“We have a number of objects stored in the museum vaults,” Slater said. “But only a few are considered dangerous.”
“Have you ever found an actual lab?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be certain they even existed?”
Slater’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “To repeat, Bluestone was a government operation. It was highly classified, but it required funding, a lot of it. Money, even dark money, always leaves a trail.”
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