Matthew lifted his hand in a wave, obscuring his face as much as he could. As he turned out onto Route 83 and accelerated to just a few miles over the speed limit, he allowed a long, slow breath to escape his lungs. He’d made it.
And hopefully those idiots would be chasing shadows for a while before they even realized he was gone.
Chapter 11
The Oakbrook Estates detective, MacEllroy, tapped his pen on the case file on Peter Davids. “We sent a couple of guys to the house to do the death notification, as requested by you guys, but there was no response. One of the officers looked through the window and saw somebody laying on the floor.” He shrugged. “They forced entry and found him. Deceased. Looked like he fell about ten, twelve feet from the upstairs balcony overlooking the living room.”
“Were you able to determine how long he’d been dead?” Leslie asked.
MacEllroy shrugged again. “Couple days, maybe. There were several unlistened to messages on the answering machine from his, uhm, partner Norton. We figured that Davids must’ve fallen while Norton was on his way up your way. We sent word back about the situation up to you guys.”
“I got that,” Leslie said.
Colby couldn’t resist. “What are you guys calling it?”
“Accidental,” MacEllroy said. “Looked pretty cut and dried. No signs of forced entry, other than what the officers did. The house is pretty elaborate. Two-story, with one of those winding staircases, marble floors, the whole nine yards. Looks like Davids slipped at the top and fell over the banister. Popped his head open on the solid floor, and bled out. Broken neck, too.”
Had he been drinking?” Leslie asked. “Open bottle of wine on the table.”
“The M.E. do a blood-alcohol test?” Colby asked.
“Took some routine tissue samples. Results ain’t back yet.” MacEllroy paused and squinted. “I told yous, it was ruled an accidental. What’s with all the twenty questions?”
Leslie and Colby exchanged glances, then she said, “Does it strike you as a bit strange that this man fell to his death and then his significant other was murdered shortly thereafter?”
MacEllroy considered this, then clicked his tongue and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose, but like I said, down here we had no reason to believe it was anything other than an accident. No proof, anyway. No forced entry, no signs of anything was tampered with, nothing missing. The doors had been secured with deadbolt locks, which indicated that they’d been locked from the inside.”
“Perhaps they were opened with a key?” Leslie said.
MacEllroy flushed a bit. “To be on the safe-side, we dusted the doors. No prints except the decedent’s and Dr Norton’s.”
He was going on the defensive now. “Norton’s prints were on file?” Colby asked. “Yeah, he was listed on the FBI database. Some kind of government affiliation.”
“He worked for the state prison system at some point, too,” Colby said, champing at the bit to take over the interview.
Leslie shot him a quick glance and he dummied up again. “Did you know John Norton?” she asked.
“Yeah,” MacEllroy said slowly. “He’s been with the New Genesis Foundation for years. Before I started, even.”
“Aside from what’s on their website,” Leslie said, “exactly what can you tell me about New Genesis?”
MacEllroy raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “They do a bunch of things. Government projects, medical research, lots of stuff. They’re big donors to a lot of local charities and community functions too, including the PD. They bought all our officers new vests. Plus, they got a school and dormitory at the facility for, uhm, special kids.” He paused. “You know, retarded. You got to admire a corporation that helps people in need like that. In fact, our former chief is now their head of security.”
“His name Knox?” Colby asked.
MacEllroy’s brow furrowed. “Knox? No, Hank Meister. He’s in charge of the uniformed division. Knox, I think handles special corporate stuff.”
“Mind if we nose around Norton’s house?” Colby asked.
“Well,” MacEllroy said slowly, “we officially closed the investigation, so it’s no longer considered an active crime scene, but you’d have to get permission from the owner.”
“And who might that be?” Leslie asked.
“New Genesis Corporation,” MacEllroy said. “They own a lot of property around here, and let their important employees live in the various houses.”
Colby glanced over at Leslie to gauge her reaction. She looked pensive.
“I guess we could go back and ask them,” he said with a grin. “Maybe they’ll give us a tour.”
Knox surveyed the once pristine ward, now decorated with scattered blankets, pills, and torn candy wrappers. The rest of the techs, along with the security force, had rounded up the now sugar-buzzed Others and shoved them back into their rooms. The place was a collection of noises as the retarded idiots pounded on their doors and screamed creating an unintelligible cacophony.
Feeding time at the zoo, gone awry, he thought. No wonder Jetters kept them tranquilized all the time. Two security guards had loaded the dead tech onto a gurney along with the expired Other. His bluish color along with the residual foam covering his mouth told Knox all he had to know. Overdose.
At least he figured it was an Other. But then again, he’d heard that Matthew had gotten his hair buzzed, so it could be him. They were all virtually identical, in looks, anyway.
“I never dreamed he was capable of something like this,” Jetters said, watching the gurneys move past him. He’d kept his voice low so only Knox could hear.
What did you expect? Knox thought. It’s in his genes.
Jetters must have been thinking something similar because he leaned over and whispered again.
“We have to stop him. Before something gets traced back here.”
“How sure are you that isn’t him?” Knox asked, gesturing toward the Other on the second gurney.
The old man looked close to cracking, but he reverted to his professorial tone.
“I won’t know for sure, of course, until I’ve scanned all their chips. But my guess is that it’s not. Plus, we’re missing two, and this escape showed high intelligence and planning.” He took off his glasses and mopped his face. If it had been under other circumstances, Knox would have enjoyed seeing the old bastard sweat. “Still, as a man of science, I must never assume. I have to deal in facts. Empirical evidence.”
Save yourself the trouble, Knox thought. He, too, was sure the body on the gurney was just one of the many identical Matthew rejects. A formerly sentient mass of protoplasm that nobody really cared about. Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to place a transmitter in Matthew’s microchip. It would make finding him easier.
He watched as the elevator doors closed. The dead tech, on the other hand, presented a different set of problems. He had a life outside of here that had to be closed off now. All the bases had to be covered.
“I’ll need the personnel file on the dead tech,” Knox said.
“They’re getting it now. We’ll have to notify his family, of course. Say it was an unfortunate accident…offer them a substantial monetary settlement.” He stroked his chin several times. “Perhaps we can say his neck got caught in the pulley system on the dumbwaiter.” He pondered this, then nodded. “Yes, we’ll say he was trying to loosen a snag. Tragic accident, tragic.”
Knox didn’t care about that. He knew his window for catching up with Matthew was rapidly closing. He’d need to trace the dead tech’s credit cards in case the kid tried to use them. They’d taken all Matthew’s money and personal identification when Knox had brought him back two days ago, but he knew Matthew was smart enough to use the tech’s cards to get some operating cash.
“Have Meister make the notification,” Knox said. “I need to start tracing our prodigal son as soon as possible.”
Jetters squinted. “Meister? Is that wise?”
Knox shrugged. “He is the official h
ead of security. Who better to break the news to any family members about the terrible accident? Besides, he’s had plenty of experience delivering bad news.”
Jetters considered this for a moment, then went to a nearby guard.
Where’s Chief Meister?” he asked.
The guard, a middle-aged flunky type, twisted his heavyset body and mumbled something unintelligible into his radio. After an equally indecipherable reply, he said, “He’s on the way, Professor.”
Jetters frowned, pulled out a cell phone and made a call. “Chief, are you there?”
The phone chirped, and the reply came. “I’m on the way in now, sir.”
“Good. There’s been a terrible accident.
Report to my office as soon as you arrive.”
After a few moments, the phone chirped again. “Have the police been summoned yet?”
Jetters’ mouth twisted into a frown. “No. No police. This was an unfortunate accident. Nothing more.”
“But, sir, we still need to—”
“We need to do nothing but notify the family that there’s been an accident. A very unfortunate accident.” He enunciated each of the last four words. “Is that understood?”
A moment of silence was followed by an almost inaudible, “Yes, sir.”
Bought and paid for, Knox thought. Guess it helps to know who signs your checks.
They’d hired Meister on as a figurehead security chief, about a year ago, luring him from his job at the police department with a lucrative offer he would have been a fool to turn down. Now he was finally going to see how much of his soul he’d traded in the process.
“I’ll be reviewing that file,” Knox said, as he started for the elevators.
“Wait,” Jetters called after him. Knox paused.
Jetters came up close and grabbed him by the arm. His breath was hot and stale as he said, “Take care of that Laird business. I can’t have that old cretin being associated with New Genesis.”
Knox nodded. He reached out and placed his key in the slot to summon the elevator.
“And then make it your next priority to find Matthew,” Jetters said.
The elevator opened and Knox stepped inside. His last vision of the devastated ward was obscured by Jetters, who framed himself between the doors.
“Remember,” he said. “No loose ends.”
Dix had been slouching down in his car so long his legs were starting to cramp up. The limo was still sitting there by the curb in front of the Federal Building, idling.
Shit, Dix thought. The damn chauffeur probably has a wet bar in that thing.
It was going on two hours, and his only diversion was getting out periodically to feed the meter with his credit card, which the limo driver hadn’t even bothered with. Of course, that had livery plates on it.
That’s the kind of ride I want hauling me around once I crack this one, Dix thought, leaning back in the seat. He started to fantasize about the shape of things to come, among them, Carmel Washington.
I’ll play her body like a Stradivarius, he thought. Then a pair of pedestrians, a man and a pretty woman, caught his eye.
It was Colby, that son-of-a-bitch, with some nice looking broad. They were walking and talking, the girl’s head tossing back, all laughter and smiles.
The guy was slick, he’d give him that. But why wasn’t he working the case like he should be? Dix made a mental note to call him that night and give him the old lecture about keeping his mind on the game, not pussy. He smiled to himself.
Just like me, thinking about Carmel, he thought. But then again, it takes one to know one.
As they were stepping out of the elevator, Colby saw Pearson holding the door of the main office open for some guy in a wheelchair and some other, gray-haired mope in a three-piece suit. It took a moment before Colby realized who they were, but when he did, he grinned.
“Hey, Morgan. How you doing?” He waited until the seated man’s head swiveled in his direction. “Good to see you up and around.”
The man in the wheelchair looked gaunt, his once dark hair, now a wispy silver, thinning at the crown. A plastic tube was hooked into his nostrils, fanning outward and looking like some grotesque image of a mustache. As soon as the recognition dawned, he smiled.
“Yeah, no thanks to you.” His voice was as weak as he looked. Rusty sounding, as if from disuse.
Colby snapped his fingers. “I knew I shoulda aimed higher.” The other guy in the suit held himself more erect. It didn’t work. Colby still towered over him.
“Fontaine,” Colby said, nodding. “Caught any ambulances lately?”
The lawyer bristled and turned back to Pearson. “This is exactly the type of inappropriate conduct that I warned you about. We are not going to stand for it.”
“Well, hell,” Colby said. “Just tell us what type you want, and we’ll be glad to accommodate you.”
“Detective—” Pearson’s quavering voice started to say.
But Fontaine cut him off, thrusting his index finger toward Colby’s face. “I’m giving you fair warning. Any more harassment of my client, of any kind, and your head will roll. Your head will roll!”
Colby watched him for a few seconds, saying nothing.
The finger wobbled again in front of Colby’s nose. “Am I making myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Colby said. “Now get your finger outta my face before I break it off and shove it up your ass.”
“Detective,” Pearson said again, a bit more forcefully this time.
“What’s your badge number?” Fontaine demanded. “I’m going to have a conversation with your commanding officer.”
“Yeah?” Colby said, continuing to ignore Pearson as the dialogue between him and the lawyer escalated. He knew he should stop, back off, but something about seeing Laird again, in conjunction with everything else going on, didn’t make sensible behavior an option. “Why don’t you stop by the ACLU’s office first and complain to them about the First Amendment? It allows me to call an asshole an asshole.”
Fontaine took a deep breath but Laird reached up and put a hand on the lawyer’s forearm.
“Aww, please.” His eyes looked rheumy and tired, his color like death warmed over. “I gotta get outta here. I ain’t feeling so good.”
“Maybe there’s some justice after all,” Colby said.
Laird turned his gaze back to Colby. “You think you can get a rise outta me, after all I been through?” He shook his head and gave a short, chopping laugh. His lungs sounded like they were filling with water. “Ain’t gonna happen. Come on, let’s go.”
Fontaine bit his lower lip, but remained silent as he pushed the wheelchair toward the elevators. When they stopped, Laird turned in his chair and looked back.
“How’s your book doing?” he asked. “Great,” Colby said.
Laird smirked. “Maybe I’ll write one to tell how it really happened.”
This seemed to give Fontaine inspiration. His head swiveled around and he raised his hand in another pointing gesture.
“Believe me, you’ll be hearing from us about that book,” he said. “Consider this the pre-warning of an upcoming defamation suit.”
Colby nodded. He glanced at Pearson, whose mouth had twisted into a sullen frown.
The elevator doors opened and the lawyer started to push Laird inside.
“Cheer up, guys,” Colby called. “I heard Hell’s only half full.”
Matthew could hear the damn Blem screaming and pounding on the truck lid as he drove. It was only a matter of time before someone else heard it, too, and called the cops. With all the damn cell phones out there, his escape could be over before it began. And he couldn’t afford to let that happen. Not when he was this close to the finish line.
Considering his options, he looked for a secluded stretch of road. He wasn’t ready to terminate the Blem yet. No, he needed the creature alive for the time being. But manageable. The answer came to him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar and a ha
ndful of tranqs. He decided that three pills would probably put the Blem down, but not permanently.
He took a right at the next intersection and when the traffic around him had subsided, he pulled onto the shoulder and parked. The moaning and pounding was more noticeable now.
Did the idiot think he could actually get out?
After a quick look around, Matthew pressed the three pills into the soft chocolate and used the remote to raise the trunk lid.
The Blem’s face twisted into a mask of terror and he raised his arms, afraid of getting beaten.
Instead, Matthew smiled and held out the candy bar, wiggling it slightly.
The Blem’s eyes opened wider, and he moved his head fractionally, in a questioning gesture.
“Sure, it’s for you, buddy,” Matthew said. He wiggled the bar up and down again. “Take it.”
Matthew held the candy steady. The Blem grabbed it and shoved it into his mouth. It would take about fifteen minutes before the tranqs kicked in, so he’d have to stick to the back roads until the whimpering stopped. Matthew pushed the Blem back into the trunk, gently at first, but then with more vigor as the creature tried to resist. Balling up his fist, Matthew cocked his arm back. The Blem recoiled in fear, and Matthew slammed the lid down, noticing at the last moment that a pair of the Blem’s fingers had gotten in the way. They withdrew just as quickly, accompanied by a howl of pain.
Chuckling, Matthew re-slammed the trunk lid, this time making sure it caught.
That’ll teach him, he thought.
Chapter 12
Pearson’s scowl told Colby he was in deep shit as they walked inside the main office. The FBI man halted in the hallway and turned. His face had a flushed look as he stared first at Colby, and then at Leslie.
“Detective Labyorteaux,” he said, “I received a call from your supervisor. You’re to contact him right away.”
Blood Trails Page 15