The Forgotten

by Heather Graham

  “So your theory is that someone was experimenting with mind-control drugs for a reason we don’t understand. He used some kind of poison to create the perfect simulation of death, then injected the ‘dead men’ with other chemicals to destroy their ability to think and to control their behavior, keeping them alive long enough to kill someone else? Someone close to them,” Brett asked.

  “Yes, as far as it goes. It’s the end game that eludes me. But here’s the thing. There are traces of chemicals that improve motor skills and mental well-being in the mix, as well,” Kinny said. “Given the degradation of the remains, I can’t be positive, but it does seem that puffer fish poison was used to simulate death so the actual experiment could begin, but I don’t think it was key to the experiment itself. All I know is that we have a budding Dr. Frankenstein on our hands.”

  “So we’re looking for someone with medical know-how?” Diego asked.

  “Indeed we are. Possibly a biochemist,” Kinny said.

  “And here I thought everything led to Barillo,” Diego said.

  “Maybe it still does. The man has a medical degree, and one of his sons is in med school,” Brett said.

  “I forgot about that. And he’s probably got doctors in his employ.”

  “Not to mention his mansion might as well be a castle. I think we’re going to take a trip to see Dr. Barillo right now,” Brett told Diego. “Thanks for the help, Phil.”

  Diego waved to Kinny on the way out. “First zombies and now Frankenstein,” he said. “What will we discover next? The chupacabra?”

  * * *

  Lara saw Meg watching from the platform while she was in the water with Cocoa and one of the vets who was waiting for his dorsal tow.

  The young naval officer was minus his left arm; despite that, he could probably swim better than she could. But she knew Cocoa, and Adrianna was trusting her to help both dolphin and vet enjoy their experience, and Lara liked to think that even if she wasn’t actually a trainer, she did have a special bond with the dolphin.

  Cocoa certainly made her look good, going above and beyond and giving the officer a great swim around the entire lagoon. When she had safely returned him to the platform area, she made a stunning leap right over Lara’s head, delighting the entire crowd.

  When Lara emerged from the water, she was on a high. It had been an unbelievable experience.

  Shaking hands with so many of the servicemen and women, laughing and as wet as they were, she felt a sense of camaraderie unlike anything else in her life so far. It was a far cry from what she had known in politics, that was for sure.

  She hadn’t had a chance to tell Meg about the paint she had found earlier, because as soon as she’d left the locker room she’d been surrounded by soldiers rushing her down to the water, and now, just as she was about to say something, Meg got a call on her cell. Lara pointed to the locker room and mimed dressing. Meg nodded and went back to her call.

  Lara hurried into the showers marked Women. There were several stalls separated by nothing but thin plastic curtains. She could have hurried back to the privacy of the office, but she wanted to hurry. Quickly stripping down, she stepped into the hot spray.

  A few minutes later, when she turned off the water, she heard something just outside.

  The whole facility was crawling with people. Many of the veterans and counselors were women. Maybe one of them had wandered in to change.

  But the noise had been furtive, a strange scraping sound, as if someone had inadvertently brushed against the wall.

  “Hello?” she said.

  No answer.

  She could scream, of course, and a hundred people—including Meg—would come running. It was ridiculous to feel afraid.

  But she did.

  Someone had been in there, watching her. She felt incredibly vulnerable, standing naked and wet in the tiny shower stall.

  And for all she knew, someone was standing just outside the curtain, waiting to attack when she emerged.

  She hesitated for a second longer. There was no weapon in the shower, unless she could force her attacker to slip on a bar of soap. There was nothing to do but open the curtain and look outside—and be prepared to scream blue blazes if someone really was out there.

  She jerked the curtain open, ready to face an attack, but the room was empty. From outside, she could hear cheering and laughter, signs that the day was the huge success she’d hoped for.

  She grabbed her towel, dried off, then hurried to retrieve her clothing.

  Immediately, she realized that something was gone.

  The tube of bloodred paint had disappeared.

  And then she knew. Someone had been in there with her. Someone who’d somehow known what she had found.

  Someone who knew what it meant and had no intention of being incriminated.

  16

  “Mr. Barillo isn’t receiving visitors,” a voice said over the speaker.

  Brett and Diego were in their car in the driveway at Anthony Barillo’s waterfront estate. A call box on a pole to the left of the great iron gates protecting the estate warned “All visitors must request entry.”

  They had requested.

  Someone at the other end had listened to them identify themselves, and then, sounding bored, the detached voice had replied.

  “You know, sometimes it seems as if people just don’t like us,” Diego said, shaking his head. “This could get depressing.”

  “We’ll get in,” Brett said firmly.

  Diego smiled. “Of course we will.”

  “You tell Mr. Barillo that Special Agents Brett Cody and Diego McCullough are out here. He came to see me, and now we’re coming to see him.”

  The voice started speaking again.

  “I’ve informed you once, Mr. Barillo isn’t—”

  “You go tell your boss what I said, and I suggest that you do it quickly, instead of trying to send us away before checking with Mr. Barillo,” Brett said firmly.

  There was silence on the other end and then he heard another voice, this one aggravated. “What do you want?”

  “To speak with Anthony Barillo.”

  “Are you trying to arrest my father?”

  “I’m trying to speak with him.”

  “Then—”

  Brett glanced over at Diego. Then they heard a third voice—older, gruffer, accented and deep.

  “What is it, Jeremy? Who is there?”

  “Agents Brett Cody and Diego McCullough, Mr. Barillo,” Brett said. “I’d like you to do me the courtesy of inviting me in for a conversation.”

  “Open the damned gate,” Barillo said.

  The gates swung open. Brett entered the long driveway that curved in a horseshoe shape in front of the house. Barillo had two acres on the water, an estate purchased from a popular music mogul twenty years earlier. The lawn was perfectly manicured and expansive. The porch was tiled in rich mosaics. The front door was etched glass.

  When they got out of the car, Diego nodded toward two men in suits standing on the porch, one on either side of the door. They were wearing earwigs, and while their arms were folded across their chests, Brett was certain that they were armed. Their faces were impassive.

  Brett didn’t expect trouble, however. It would be bad business for Barillo to let his men have a gun battle with federal agents in his front yard.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Brett said, exiting the car and heading to the door.

  One man nodded grimly and opened the door for Brett and Diego.

  They entered a large foyer leading to a huge room with ceilings that appeared to be about twenty feet high. A curving staircase led to an open balcony above them, and halls to the right and left led into the rest of the house. Brett had heard that the place had over ten thousand feet of
living space.

  A woman in a tight-fitting business suit and high clicking heels hurried toward them. “Mr. Barillo will see you in his office.”

  She swept a hand to her right and led them forward, opening a carved wooden door at the far side of the entry.

  Anthony Barillo was there, standing behind his desk.

  Brett thought that the desk—and the room—seemed to dwarf him. On the one hand, it was a typical office, with a desk, computer, bookshelves, an elegant globe in the center of the room and several chairs arranged before the desk.

  On the other hand, the windows behind the desk looked out on the water and a yacht that was at least fifty or sixty feet in length berthed at an even longer dock.

  “Gentlemen,” Barillo said.

  His voice still sounded rich, but Brett detected a light rasp to it. As Barillo sat, his hand shook slightly. “Sit, please. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked drily.

  Brett and Diego looked at one another and took the chairs facing the desk and the view. They’d already decided that Brett would be asking the questions. Diego, who was even now angling his chair so he could see the door in his peripheral vision, would be listening and watching their backs.

  This place was actually a small fortress—no matter how well camouflaged it was as an elegant home. Brett had seen other criminals with similarly pleasant-looking homes that housed entire arsenals.

  “Mr. Barillo, I admit to being in a quandary,” Brett said. “I assure you that neither of us is wearing a wire, so I hope we can speak frankly. We both know that you’re a businessman. All kinds of business. You’re almost a small country unto yourself, with your own army. And desertion from that army amounts to treason. We know this. But you made a point of coming to me to tell me that you didn’t kill women, that you were innocent of Maria Gomez’s death, and that you didn’t even kill her husband, a former employee of yours. But now, Mr. Barillo, things are getting very complicated. You see, a man disappeared from a funeral home. A man named Randy Nicholson, who supposedly died in a hospital from heart failure. Except that he wasn’t really dead.”

  “It’s my fault a hospital makes mistakes?” Barillo asked.

  Brett ignored that and said, “I believe he was poisoned, that someone administered puffer fish toxin to simulate death. I think someone who works for you—someone in your ‘family’—found out about Randy Nicholson’s condition and figured he’d be a nice specimen for your experiments. Easy to slip into the room and poison a guy with a heart condition. And there you go. He’s ‘dead.’ Then he disappears from a funeral home. And the man who arranged that? None other than Jose Acervo. Another member of your fine family. Or should I say, a late member of your family?”

  Barillo was good; he kept his features impassive. But there was something in his eyes. Something that told Brett he had been blindsided.

  He hadn’t known that Acervo was dead.

  Barillo stared at him. “I knew nothing of this,” he said, confirming Brett’s suspicions. “Yes, I knew the man. I even called him a friend. But I can’t be held responsible for the criminal activity of others. This thing... This whole thing with Miguel and Maria... I am innocent. I am grieved to hear about Jose Acervo, as well as the death of Mr. Nicholson. But I don’t know anything about any of these things.”

  No, Brett thought, Barillo hadn’t known—until now. But now that he knew, he was suspicious of those around him.

  Because someone was using his power and his private “army.”

  Diego nudged Brett’s foot with his own, nodding toward the windows.

  A half dozen of Barillo’s men had gathered on the lawn and were staring steely eyed into the room.

  Brett thought that he had discovered what he needed to know, for the moment anyway, so there was no point in tempting fate—and Barillo’s bodyguards—by pushing further.

  He rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Barillo. If you think of anything that can help us solve Mr. Acervo’s murder, we’d greatly appreciate hearing from you.”

  Barillo rose, as well. He was visibly shaky.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, nodding. “Cecelia will see you out.”

  Brett thanked him. He glanced at Diego. He realized that neither of them had known that the smartly dressed young woman who had led them in was Barillo’s daughter.

  When they reached the car, Diego turned around and waved at the phalanx of bodyguards who had come to watch them leave.

  “I feel like we just visited the Hispanic version of the Godfather,” Brett said. “I have a revision on an old theory here. Maybe, oddly enough, I think someone made him an offer that he could refuse, but someone in his circle of power decided to accept it.” He shook his head. “We’re still back to why?”

  He thought about the meeting they’d just had. And he thought back to the night Barillo had come to his house. He looked at Diego and said, “I know. I know what they’re doing. Or trying to do.” He paused. “At least I think I do. I think I know how it began, and why. But what I don’t know is who’s behind it, or what power he wielded that let him take control over Barillo’s men, or how he managed to blackmail, threaten or bribe so many people. Now we just need to figure out who he is.”

  * * *

  Lara knew she needed to tell Meg about the paint, and the person who’d been watching her in the shower, but with so many people still at Sea Life, half of them needing her for one thing or another, finding a free and at least semiprivate moment was turning out to be impossible.

  When she emerged from the shower, she was immediately approached by a reporter from a national news show. No sooner had she finished the interview than Sonia approached her, full of enthusiasm for a new line of clothing to benefit Just Say Thanks. As frustrated as she was by being unable to talk to Meg, Lara had to admit it was a great idea, and she was thrilled that Sonia had thought of it.

  Meg was never far away, of course, and Lara wondered if her friend knew she needed to talk to her.

  She probably did. Since they’d been kids, they’d had that bond.

  But as the day wore on, the opportunity still eluded her. She began to wonder if she should just tell everyone to move aside, she needed to talk to the FBI. But she realized that whoever had taken the paint had undoubtedly disposed of it where it would never be found by now, so time wasn’t of the essence. She might as well focus on her job making sure everything ran smoothly and the veterans had the wonderful time they deserved.

  And today had been as wonderful, thanks to everyone at Sea Life who had worked so hard to make sure every detail was taken care of. She wanted to see it through to the end, say goodbye to the veterans and applaud for them as they left.

  She was near the gift shop exit when Sonia came over and gave her a huge hug. “You’ve just changed my world. I can’t wait to start designing my new line. And,” she added, beaming, “to date one of the soldiers I met.”

  Lara smiled. “There’s nothing like a man in uniform,” she teased.

  “Forget the uniform. There’s nothing like a man in almost nothing,” Sonia said. She frowned suddenly. “I almost forgot, I’m supposed to tell you that Adrianna needs you at the back right lagoon. I just ran into what’s-his-name from Education.”

  “Myles Dawson, the intern? Or Dr. Amory?”

  “The young one, Myles,” Sonia said.

  “What’s going on, do you know?” Lara asked.

  Sonia shrugged. “They had all the dolphins in the back lagoon for the last show. I was there, and it was fabulous. Cocoa was the star. Adrianna gave people things to throw in the water at the same time, and then she told Cocoa which one to get. She never missed! But now Cocoa doesn’t want to go back to her own lagoon. Myles said Dr. Amory is down there now, too, but Cocoa is ignoring both of them.”

  “I’m on my way,” Lara said.

  She glan
ced over at Meg, who was talking with Ely Taggerly. She pointed to the far lagoon, and Meg nodded.

  Lara headed directly for the far right lagoon, but when she paused along the way and glanced about fifty feet back, she saw that the last of their guests were hovering by the gift shop and exit. Grady was smiling as he shook hands with Mason Martinez. Everyone looked happy.

  She rounded the bend that led to the platforms at the back.

  “Lara!”

  She heard the speaker’s anxiety and turned.

  The ghost of Miguel Gomez was keeping pace with her, reaching out as if he could stop her, but of course he couldn’t.

  She stopped walking and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been watching, just like you asked me to. That man—the teacher—he followed you before. He went into the locker room, but then he came back out right away and threw something in the lagoon.”

  Lara paused. “Myles?” she asked. “Young guy about my age?”

  Miguel nodded.

  She realized that if Myles had stalked her into the locker room—afraid she might have found the paint—this was a trick, and she had Miguel to thank for saving her. She turned to thank him, but he was gone.

  She was on the dock that led from the center of the facility out to the platforms at the far lagoons, and she quickly turned around—and saw Myles standing behind her, just at the beginning of the dock.

  Watching, she thought, to make sure she went out to the lagoon. He was definitely alone, and now she was torn between hurrying out to the lagoon to see if someone else was there and striding back to tell him what she thought of him.

  Going out alone would be foolish; she could prove a point, but she could also get herself killed.