by Matt Rogers
Chapter 33
The interior of the Hillcrest Blood Bank was an array of rooms with beds and blood drive instruments. Every corner was taken up with equipment necessary for the removal and storage of the life-preserving liquid and Wesson was getting the creeps as he walked down a hallway toward a back room where Priscilla and Vincent Sanguine believed they’d be more comfortable. It was probably all for her enormous partner’s sake but the detectives didn’t call her on it because they’d look like inconsiderate guests and the guy did look uncomfortable sitting on the floor. Also, he probably could’ve ripped their heads off at the same time if they insulted him.
“Please sit down, Detectives” she said after they’d entered a rather extravagant room with a large wooden table in the middle accompanied with sturdy looking chairs. Vincent was finally able to set his size down so they all became comfortable before the real process began.
“Ma’am?” Wesson began.
“Please, Detective, once again, just call me Priscilla” she interrupted.
“Okay, um, do you mind if I call you Mistress Priscilla instead? For some reason I get the impression it’s what you normally go by.”
She merely did her nodding thing again and Wesson knew he was right. Whatever these people wished to call themselves was fine with him because they surely didn’t fit into a Mister or Misses mode of title acknowledgment.
“What would you like to ask me, Detective?”
“Well, Mistress, I’d like to know if you could tell us where Mr. Johnson is.”
He was hoping for a competed Hail Mary but was prepared for the incompletion.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where Johnny is.”
Her first name use caught his attention.
“Did you know Mr. Johnson?”
“Of course, he’s mated to Melissa.”
The answer seemed a bit murky to Wesson but since he wasn’t familiar with the waters he was wading in he let it slide.
“Okay, we know Melissa worked here in the past. Can you tell us what she did?”
The woman’s smile returned and with it the room seemed to lighten.
“She was a blood screener.”
For some reason Wesson felt the information was more important than he knew. Unfortunately what he didn’t know outweighed what he did so his assumption was pretty useless.
“And what does a blood screener do?”
“They screen blood.”
He was wondering if she was going to be one of those passive-aggressive answerers. The kind which provide just enough information to make things interesting but never enough to make it enlightening. Happily she laughed instead.
“I’m just kidding, Detective. A blood screener checks to make sure the donor’s blood is not compromised in any way. It’s run through a series of tests to discern there are no diseases or malformations and to see what type it is.”
He figured as much. He still wasn’t sure why he felt the blood screener information was important but he at least had a general knowledge of what a screener did. He decided to change subjects.
“Mistress Priscilla, was Mr. Johnson ever employed here?”
He was looking for the connection. Somehow Melissa had met Johnny so he thought the blood bank was as good a place as any.
“We have no records of Johnny ever being in our employ, Detective” she said with a grin.
He knew he was on to something and got the impression Priscilla Sanguine was hoping he’d figure out what it was.
“You have no records?”
“No.”
“Do you employ outside employees? You know, independent contractors who work for someone else but from time to time are used here to perform a service?”
“Yes” she said.
“Do you keep records of outside service companies you use?”
“Yes.”
“May I see those records?”
“I am sorry, Detective, you are not privileged to that information.”
Another stinking brick wall. He knew he was close. He believed Johnny did indeed work there sometime in the past and he felt for certain it’s where he’d met Melissa. He was still having a hard time grasping the fact someone as beautiful as the previous blood screener would willingly partner with a man of Johnny’s stature but he’d been surprised before. Sometimes it wasn’t just money which could cause a ten to mate with a one, sometimes they generally fell in love and lived happily ever after. But the norm was the money thing which was pretty sad from his point of view.
Wesson looked over at Smith to see if he wished to take over the questioning but the response he got from the look on his partners face said he should keep on trudging along because he had no idea what to ask either.
“So Mr. Johnson could’ve worked here as some kind of third party temporary help but you can’t tell me because I haven’t made a connection to the outside service, is that correct?”
“It might be” she said with a lovely twinkle in her eye.
Wesson thought his options over on the subject. He could probably call around and find all the service companies who did temporary work for blood banks and he might even be able to get some of them to reveal if they contracted with Hillcrest Blood Bank but he also knew the probability of them complying with his request would be closer to zero than any other number. They weren’t cops. They didn’t have subpoena powers and if an outside company did not want to provide information on one of their clients they were under no obligation to do so. He decided on a different tactic, the one percolating in his grey matter which was screaming incoherently the answer had something to do with the blood screening process.
“Do you keep computerized records?” he asked and her eyes twinkled brighter in delight.
“Yes, of course.”
“May I see them?”
Her expression changed and he jumped in before she could answer for he realized his mistake.
“I don’t mean all your records. Only the ones related to Melissa and the blood she screened.”
Her reaction proved he’d been right. Her face literally glowed with enthusiasm as she nodded and smiled her assent. He’d figured out the process. He had access to Melissa and if she had files on record then he had access to them. He probably had access to any files Johnny Johnson had on the premises but since he couldn’t find a connection and prove he knew Johnny visited the place before he was denied the chance.
“Hey, Vincent?” Smith asked the giant sitting quietly at the table.
“Yes?”
“Did you know Melissa?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like her?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me anything more about her?”
“Yes.”
Smith realized right away he would be doing the hundred question game of asking in detail and receiving in single syllable response so he went in another direction to hopefully open the man up.
“Hey, Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“You want to get a pizza? I think we’re going to be awhile and it’ll be on me.”
“Heck yeah!”
Smith left with Vincent to do some phone-ordering pizza-bonding and Priscilla went to retrieve whatever she was going to retrieve to allow him access to Melissa’s blood-screening work leaving Wesson sitting alone trying to determine just what in the wide world of blood banking he was looking for. He was still in the dark, unable to come up with a reason why blood screening would be somehow linked to the location of Mr. Johnson. He looked up from his internal contemplation when Priscilla reentered carrying a flash-drive.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s the information you are privilege to” she replied.
He’d always been amazed at the size of technical progress for it went inverse to what he figured most evolutionary processes did. Instead of growing ever larger it went in the opposite direction. The tiny little plastic device, no larger than a nutter-butter cookie, could possibly contain informa
tion which in years past would’ve taken a warehouse to store.
“Do you have a computer I can use?”
What followed left him pondering the possibilities of past and future for her response was the push of a button on the wall behind her and right in front of him the wooden table he’d previously thought was nothing more than a beautifully crafted antiquity transformed itself. A portion of the table-top lifted to reveal a screen with digitalized keyboard ready for programming.
“Cool!”
“Yes, it is cool” she replied with a grin.
Wesson inserted the flash drive which revealed only one program available so he moved the curser over it and clicked. What appeared was a list of numbers next to an index table. There were five columns. The first was headlined ‘Date’, the second ‘Subject’, the third ‘Type’, the fourth ‘Abnormalities’ and the fifth ‘Comments’. Underneath them everything was blank.
“What is this?”
“It’s the information you requested.”
He believed she might have taken the definition of information either too liberally or conservative because a list of nothing was definitely not what he’d been expecting. He looked at the screen again and found at the top-right corner a small box where two lines appeared. The first read ‘Username’ and below it on the second line read ‘Access Code’.
“Dangit!”
As he uttered his mild oath both Smith and Vincent walked back in.
“What’s wrong?” Smith asked and Wesson answered by signaling for him to come over and look at the screen.
“I’m assuming you’re not going to tell us what to enter to access the information?” Smith said to the lovely lady watching with a bemused expression.
“I am afraid I’m forbidden to do so, Detective.”
Once again both detectives believed her. It really did appear she was rooting for them.
“All right, let’s just do the obvious” Wesson said as he entered his name next to the ‘Username’ box.
It was the second one he was worried about. He was debating whether he should ask his partner to do something he detested when he was pleasantly surprised to hear Smith already doing it.
“Hello, Nat?” Smith said into his telephone.
“Hello, Detective Smith, have you found our man?”
“Um, you know, I think we’re pretty darn close but we’ve run into a slight roadblock and we were hoping you could help us out.”
Smith didn’t enjoy asking for help because it was not in his nature to do so. Either luckily or unluckily for him he didn’t need to.
“If you are asking for an access code to the computer files at the Hillcrest Blood Bank then I suggest you look at the information you have in hand.”
Smith was a little taken aback at the crass response and was going to ask why the man was being so cryptic when realization dawned.
“He hung up on me again!”
Wesson smiled inwardly at his partner’s indignation but swallowed his outside grin for he needed to know what Smith heard.
“What did he say?”
“He said if we’re looking for the access code to this place then we should look at what we’ve got in hand.”
Wesson looked harder at his partner.
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
The two dwelled on it for a few seconds until Smith broke the silence.
“You think maybe we should just enter things we think might be the access code?”
“Can’t see why not.”
So Wesson placed his fingers on the digital keyboard and was about to enter the first thing which popped into his head when he heard something.
“Vincent!” Mistress Priscilla Sanguine snapped.
“Sorry, Mistress, just clearing my throat.”
The sound was anything but a throat clearing one. It was the same growl the detectives heard earlier from the blood bank behemoth and both knew it was the kindly response to the friendly gesture of pizza purchasing.
“Uh, Mistress?”
“Yes, Detective Wesson?”
“Is there a security protocol on this computer?”
She glanced at Vincent with a strange look which showed both annoyance and gratitude at the same time.
“Yes, Detective, there is.”
He should’ve figured. A blood bank was probably one of the few organizations where virtually everyone but the insurance companies felt the need for a layer of privacy protection.
“Okay, I’m going to take a guess here and assume there is a set number of times I can enter an incorrect code, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Is the number of times three?”
“Yes.”
Now Wesson became worried. He had three shots at access and then the computer would deny any further attempts.
“If I enter three wrong ones will it lock down?”
“Yes.”
“And only the authorizing individual can open it back up?”
“Yes.”
“Are you the authorized individual?”
“Yes.”
He was pretty sure he knew the answer but wanted confirmation anyway.
“Will you re-authorize it if I lock it up?”
“I am sorry, Detective, I am not authorized to do so.”
He at least knew where he stood. Three tries for unlimited income and if he failed then he could go back to what he’d been previously doing which was also on shaky ground if the outside world didn’t wise up and quit playing war games.
“Um, Smith?”
“Yes, Wesson?”
“What exactly did Nat say again?”
The answer was in their hands, he could feel it, he just couldn’t grasp its meaning.
“He said we should look at the information we have in hand.”
It still don’t make any sense. They didn’t have anything in hand. All they had was two somewhat helpful individuals who were at times furthering their progress and then inhibiting it. He was about to enter what he thought was a good guess when a mental image came to his mind.
“Smith?”
“Yes?”
“Did he use the singular or plural form?”
“Huh?”
“Did he indicate both of us or just you?”
“He… oh, crap! I can’t believe I could be so stupid.”
The answer, of course, was the cell phone. Smith touched the screen to activate it, went to ‘Contacts’, entered ‘Nat’ and Wesson typed in the number for the butler with horrible phone decorum. The screen flickered and a new box appeared.
PATIENT NAME
___________
“Yes!” Wesson yelled.
“All right!” Smith yelled.
“Yay!” Priscilla delightfully chirped while clapping her hands.
“Where’s that stinking pizza?” Vincent moaned.
The question Wesson faced was who to enter first?
“Enter Johnny Johnson” Smith answered after the question was posed.
Wesson didn’t like the idea. He had a sinking sensation in his gut that doing so would only cause them further grief. He explained his reservations to Smith who grudgingly agreed to go along with Wesson’s plan of attack.
“Let’s start with what we know. We’ve got access to this database but, I bet, like every other thing we’ve encountered on this freaking case it’s going to deny us information unless we’ve already received privilege. Am I right, Mistress?”
“I am not authorized to give you that information, Detective.”
“Oh come on! We’re so…” he began.
“But if I were a betting girl I believe I would go along with your line of reasoning.”
He thought it over some more.
“And even though we’ve got authorization to view Melissa’s records we will not be able to authorize Mr. Johnson’s because we haven’t made a connection between him and this place, correct?”
She merely smiled.
&
nbsp; He returned her inaudible answer with his most winning smile in acknowledgment of at least trying to help.
“Is something wrong, Detective?” she said.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Oh, well it looked like you just had indigestion or a toothache or something.”
Wesson decided to work on his dental charm later and get back to the business of entering information on a line which hopefully would allow them to enter a number onto another line which was printed on a piece of paper sitting in the wall-safe of Craft and Sons. He entered Bob Simpson’s name because they had access to his file and he felt safe doing so. It was a reach but he felt if Melissa had worked at the blood bank before the prison then she might very well use its services for the process of identifying prisoners who wound up in the isolation ward with infectious diseases. Also, if he were wrong and Bob’s name wasn’t in the system he felt generally okay there wouldn’t be some catastrophic computer failure which would result in wall-safe paper becoming toilet paper due to location failure.
“Well, look at that!”
“Hello, Bob!”
The screen showed the promised land. Bob Simpson was patient number two-hundred forty-seven, the date coincided with the time Warden Tiffany said he’d contracted Bird Flu, his blood type was O positive and in the ‘Comments’ column was typed ‘Mabank Correctional Facility’.
“Okay, what does that tell us?”
“It tells us Melissa was using this facility when she was working the Isolation Ward of the prison. Mistress Priscilla?”
“Yes, Detective Wesson?”
“Did Melissa still have access to this facility after she went to work for the prison?”
“Of course, Detective.”
“Really, why?”
“Because at the time she was still employed with us.”
The answer should’ve shocked the detective but by that time he’d been through enough revelations to go to the electric chair and dismiss his feelings.
“You’re saying she was still employed by you while at the same time working for the prison?”
“Yes, well, technically she was working for the prison but they were contracting her labor from us. It was a mutual understanding between our two heads of industry and was quite beneficial to both.”
Smith was getting a little lightheaded with the conversation and asked for some clarity.
“Okay, let me get this straight. Melissa worked first for Land Surveyors Incorporated who just happen to be in the business of finding oil. She then works in a blood bank who lends her services to a company which just so happens to run a prison pumping oil out of the ground. While there she just happens to be in charge of the Isolation Ward where the previous heir to the land pumping out that oil happens to find himself when he contracts Bird Flu. Am I right so far?”
“Spot on correct, partner” Wesson replied.
“Okay, let’s assume for the moment this isn’t just some huge coincidence. What’s the time line?”
Wesson sat back and thought on his partner’s question.
“Steve Wazziznaim hires Land Surveyors Incorporated to do a sonar search for oil on his property adjacent to Bob’s mom’s land. Melissa, who works for Land Surveyors Incorporated finds out about the oil and decides to do something about it.”
While Wesson thought out loud Smith watched Priscilla and Vincent. They had a previous relationship with the woman and it appeared to be on good terms. He was watching to see if they were going to be trouble. He didn’t know what he and Wesson were going to do about it if they did because he got the opinion neither he nor his partner would be a match for the incredibly attractive blood bankstress let alone the goliath she called her partner. Surprisingly they appeared more curious and interested than alarmed. It seemed as though they could’ve cared less if Melissa had performed some kind of notorious deed.
“Someone informs on Bob and his migrant tax evading hotel program which allows Commercial Property Management to get their foot in the door on Bob’s mom’s land by leasing some of the oil-rich property to house their Wayward Youth. At the same time, coincidentally, Steve Wazziznaim is caught in his pyramid scheme and just so happens to wind up in the same correctional facility as Bob.”
The two blood business proprietors were listening in rapt concentration and Smith could literally feel their excitement building. It was weird because it was as though they were actually pulling for the detectives to solve a miscarriage of justice and bring the real perpetrator to light.
“While in prison Steve tells Bob about the oil under the Youth Reformatory and when Bob gets out he sets the place on fire.”
“But we know he didn’t set the place on fire” Smith interjected.
“True, but it doesn’t matter, does it Mistress Priscilla? We’re never going to find out who was on that video tape are we?” he asked the lovely lady with the smile of light.
Her answer came in the form of a conspiratorial grin so Wesson filed the information away for future investigation and went on.
“Anyway, Bob gets busted, rats out Steve and both end up dying of the exotic Bird Flu which I could have sworn never made it to these parts. What I don’t understand is the connection between the prison and this blood bank? Everything seems to have been orchestrated so Commercial Property Management would find themselves in possession of the land where their prison now sits so why…?”
He paused for sometimes the act of speech caused the mind to consider what was said.
“”Mistress Priscilla?”
“Yes, Detective Wesson?”
“In your line of business I assume you keep up on all infectious diseases, correct?”
Again her smile and a nod were his answer.
“Was there any confirmed cases of Bird Flu in this area?”
“Yes.”
Her answer confused him because he was one of those men who remembered random facts with incredible clarity. He was one of those guys who could be quite annoying to others who brought up seemingly irrelevant details during a conversation only to find themselves defending information they weren’t exactly positive were true. The fact they always did defend their ignorance was also a confusing situation for Wesson because he didn’t have their lack of short-term memorization skills. It was why he was befuddled until he remembered.
“I mean, was there any cases of confirmed Bird Flu outside of Bob and Steve?”
“No, those were the only two confirmed cases” she replied.
He thought the use of ‘confirmed’ was a little too suspect so he went further.
“Were there any unconfirmed cases?”
“That, Detective, you are not yet privileged to know.”
He knew then he was on the correct path. It was funny, he didn’t have any idea how he got on the path or where it was headed but he was happy to at least be heading in the general direction of unspecified monetary gain so he allowed himself a little sense of accomplishment. He then went about following up on his earlier assumption.
“Smith?”
“Yes?”
“I need you to call Nat again.”
“What? Heck no! I am not calling that rude hanger-upper for any reason…”
“Unlimited funds, Smith.”
“Huh? Oh, oh yeah. All right, give me a second…”
As Smith pulled his phone out and dialed Nat, Wesson began connecting the dots and everything led back to the LeTorque. The land, the Youth Facility, the prison with oil were all property of the LeTorque. Melissa was the acting head of the company controlled by the family and Johnny, somehow, had gotten the beauty to be his mate. Melissa had worked at the blood bank and the proprietors of the place were right then in the same room with him encouraging his investigation. Everything seemed to be emanating from the very place he was but he couldn’t find the link.
“Okay, I’ve got Nat on the line.”
“Tell him we’d like privilege to Steve Wazziznaim’s files and that we are using his death by Bird Flu
through Bob Simpson as the connecting link.”
He heard Smith tell Nat the exact same words but really didn’t need the confirmation he heard next to know he’d been right.
“Nat says…”
“I already know what he said. I’ve got Steve’s file on the computer in front of me.”
Smith looked at the screen and sure enough Steve’s file was front and center.
“Okay, what are you looking for?” Smith asked.
“The dates” Wesson replied
“The dates for what?”
In confirmation of the question Wesson looked to Priscilla.
“Mistress?”
“Yes, Detective?”
“What is the incubation period for Bird Flu?”
Her smile became glorious and Wesson knew the futility of man versus woman if ever a war between the genders were ever to arrive. Men would be the demise of themselves for there was no answer to infatuation.
“Ten days to two weeks, Detective” she answered.
“And when do the first symptoms appear?”
“They are generally slow to form. Usually the victim starts out with a slight cough and then over the course of a week the effects become more noticeable.”
“So a person catches the flu, realizes it’s bad a week later and then dies a week after that?”
“If they die, yes, that is normally how it goes.”
“Smith?”
“Yes?”
“What is the date listed for Bob’s demise?”
Smith pulled his notepad out his pocket, flipped through to find the answer and repeated it to Wesson.
“That’s what I thought. Look at the dates here” he said, indicated the computer program listing the two men’s blood screenings and Smith complied.
“Those are two weeks before their death certificates.”
“Yep” Wesson answered.
“Then that means?”
“It means unless those two caught the Bird Flu in prison and were immediately transferred here before any symptoms could possibly arise then we were a little mistaken about how Bob and Steve caught the disease.”
Both looked up to see both Priscilla and Vincent beaming at them with delight. They were acting like proud parents whose children won a spelling contest.
“Mistress?”’
“Yes?”
“Do you keep contagious blood on site?”
“No, Detective, we do not.”
Once again Wesson became confused. He thought he’d figured it out. The LeTorques had eliminated any threat to their oil and prison business by removing the only two people who could ever make a claim to the land. If Bob or Steve could somehow have proven their innocence then either one could’ve made a claim for the land the prison was sitting on. By infecting the two with a deadly disease the family wouldn’t need to worry, the truth would never come out because the only ones interested in finding it were six feet in the ground.
Smith watched as Wesson’s mind worked. He’d been partnered with him long enough to see the signs of stress and confusion so when Wesson began worrying Smith did his part in their detecting partnership and changed the parameters.
“Remember, it’s Johnny Johnson we’re looking for” he said.
Wesson’s brain, his amazingly contorted grey matter of thought made a leap of faith and an electrical connection of neurons fired.
“Mistress Priscilla?”
“Yes?”
“You said you don’t store contaminated blood, correct?”
She became animated again. She had let her guard down when it appeared Wesson’s way was blocked but the question he posed possessed so much possibility she began to think he just might pull it off.
“Correct” she grinned.
“Then if contaminated blood were to enter it would need to walk in from the outside, correct?”
He could almost hear her purr of delight. Vincent was also no longer containing his enthusiasm, he was on his feet watching and waiting like a fan of the team about to score the winning touchdown.
“Correct again, Detective.”
He thought for a second and then made a decision.
“I have access to all of Melissa’s files, right?”
“Yes.”
“And she was working for both you and the prison correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then I would like to see the list of all the people who came in to see her that day. I don’t actually need any files merely the sign in sheet.”
She literally jumped for joy as she raced out the room to retrieve what he so desperately sought.
“You think our missing man is on that list, don’t you?” Smith said.
“Yep.”
The idea had come suddenly and without much fanfare. If contaminated blood could not be stored then it would need to be directly transferred from a host who brought it with him. He believed the man responsible, the man everyone was looking for but nobody wanted to help find was the missing link. The process, as always, was to go back to the beginning. In the case of Johnny Johnson the beginning was the beginning of the end for Bob and Steve.
“Here it is” Priscilla said as she entered and handed a piece of paper to Wesson. She didn’t need to for he was already certain. Sometimes certainty came before factual verification. In his case he was right for there were three names on the list which stood out and two of them were Bob and Steve.
“Smith, call Nat and ask for clearance on Johnny Johnson’s file at the Hillcrest Blood Bank. Our privilege comes from the fact we know he was here the same day as Bob, Steve and Melissa.”
“You don’t need to, Detective, you are now granted the privilege” the beautiful Priscilla interrupted and then entered a code into the computer.
“Seriously? You couldn’t have done that a little earlier?”
“I am sorry, Detective, but earlier you had not connected Johnny to this facility” she answered Wesson with a grin.
Both detectives knew they were close but were also very worried about the next step in their investigation. What would they find in the man’s file? His location or his illegality? Fortune or forfeit of financial freedom?
“What do we do now?” Smith asked.
“Well, it seems to me we’ve got two choices; either enter his name or not. It’s not like we have a whole bunch of other leads.”
“You don’t think the Austin address listed on his driver’s license will pan out?”
“Oh, yeah, I kind of forgot about the Austin thing. Okay, well we still have two choices; enter his name or go to Austin.”
The real problem Wesson was pondering was the process. He no longer felt part of it. He felt as though he were being manipulated, tested in a way for the benefit of a group of people he didn’t know, for a reason he wasn’t appraised, for a sum of money he hadn’t yet determined the value of.
“Well, let’s do the computer first. We’re already here anyway” Smith said and since Wesson agreed he entered the name he’d been dreading.
The screen flickered and a box appeared.
SECURITY CODE REQUIRED
_____________________
“Crap!” said Smith.
“Dangit!” sneered Wesson.
“Oh dear” intoned Priscilla.
And then the doorbell rang.
“All right! Pizza’s here!” screamed a Wolf.