“Are you worried about an outbreak?” River had to ask. Her own body wasn’t exactly healthy after the operations and hormones she’d been through.
The CDC official nodded, a vigorous gesture. “It could mutate again and become highly contagious. Everyone working on this case needs to be very careful.”
River remembered the device Jana had found in her husband’s pocket. “What about the PulseTat I turned into the ME’s office? Did you test it?”
“What’s a PulseTat?”
“It’s a medical patch—a little sticky film that transmits data. Joe Palmer had one in his pocket, and I took it to the ME’s office to test.”
McDowell’s eyes went wide with discomfort. “I don’t believe that came to our lab. Please check with the county and have them send it over.”
River hoped it hadn’t been misplaced. “Mrs. Palmer told me the PulseTat had to be pulled from the market a few months ago because it started causing skin infections. I think you should look into those infections and compare them to Joe Palmer’s tissue.”
“What’s the company?” McDowell picked up a pen.
“DigiPro. It’s owned by ProtoCell.”
“We’ll investigate, but bacteria doesn’t live long on inorganic surfaces.”
That failed to be reassuring. “What are the symptoms of the infection? In case one of us gets exposed.”
“We’re not sure because we’ve only had one case, and he’s dead. But fever is a classic symptom. Or if an area of your skin becomes red, swollen, or painful, get to a doctor, get some antibiotics, then call us.” The CDC woman gave a grim smile. “But until it becomes contagious, don’t worry about being quarantined.”
Small comfort.
“Any other questions?”
River had one more. “Do you think it’s more likely that Palmer’s exposure to the bacteria was purposeful or accidental?”
McDowell looked startled. “Are you asking if someone could have killed him by deliberate contamination?”
“That’s what we all want to know.”
“I suppose it’s possible, but also unlikely. A perpetrator wouldn’t know how the bacteria would react in a particular individual, other than that they would be sick for a while.” She stopped and reconsidered. “Unless the killer was a scientist and had already tested antibiotics against the pathogen.”
Agent King spoke up. “What is the most likely source of the infection?”
“Probably a food product.” McDowell started to gather her papers. “We’re tracking everything Mr. Palmer ate in the last week of his life, and we expect to find the source in a restaurant or a public gym.”
A new level of tension filled the room. Widespread bacterial infections could result in dozens of deaths.
The CDC speaker turned to Agent King. “If there are no more questions, I’ll excuse myself.”
No one spoke, so she scooped up her briefcase and left the room.
King glanced around. “We’re still checking into Palmer’s death. But we’ll let the CDC conduct its investigation first.” His eyes landed on River. “You should continue your probe into TecLife’s activities. But if Palmer wasn’t murdered, and your undercover agent doesn’t come up with intel in a few weeks, I’ll have to shut it down. UC operations are a drain on resources.”
Bullshit. The bureau was only paying for two apartments and rental cars, and it didn’t lack for funds.
“Do you have anything to report?” King asked.
“Our undercover agent started work today at TecLife, so she’s already inside.” River knew it wasn’t much, but she’d been busy setting everything up, including finding the rentals and flying home to Eugene to pack for a longer stay. “There’s also the PulseTat I mentioned. It’s still in development, so I have to wonder how Palmer got his hands on one. Has anyone gone to DigiPro to ask questions?” The rest of the task force was supposed to be investigating Joe’s death.
“I did.” Agent Kohl straightened in his chair. “The director said Palmer had been there, but that he hadn’t given him any product samples.”
“Did you ask about corporate sabotage of the PulseTat product?”
Kohl checked his notes. “He said they only produced one batch that caused a problem and had to be recalled. He thinks their security is fine and that it was human error.”
River didn’t buy it. Joe Palmer had died from a mutated bacteria, and a competitor’s product had caused a skin infection. Something was going on. But why would a director cover up an attack on his company? Unless his corporate boss had started the product war. River decided to visit ProtoCell, even though it technically wasn’t within her scope of the investigation. Something nefarious was going on, and if the CDC was concerned, the potential for collateral damage was huge.
After a quick lunch from a burrito vendor, River drove southeast and parked in front of ProtoCell’s headquarters. Double the size of TecLife’s office, the building was gray brick and utilitarian. The warehouse where the fire had destroyed the stockpile of their migraine device—and killed a security guard—was a half-mile away. She’d requested the report from the fire marshal, but it hadn’t come through yet. A second call to Jonas Brickman, the CEO, had gone unreturned. Why did he think it was acceptable to ignore the FBI?
River crossed the parking lot, wishing she didn’t have to wear socks. She could handle most temperatures as long as her feet were comfortable. Inside the building, an icy blast greeted her in the vestibule. A security guard stood in front of the interior doors and asked to see her ID. She pulled her badge from her jacket pocket and held it out. “I’m here to see Jonas Brickman.”
“Top floor. Check in with the receptionist, please.” He held open the door.
Good. Brickman was in the building. She moved inside and strode toward the elevator. The receptionist called out, but River waved and kept going. After two unreturned calls, she didn’t intend to give Brickman any warning. The interior lobby seemed dark and uninviting, but she could hear the hum of phone conversations from an open space down the hall.
River exited on the top floor and instinctively turned right, toward the ocean side. Brickman’s name was on the door at the end. She knocked once and stepped in. A middle-aged woman on a cell phone sat behind a desk in the outer office, and two men in suits were near the inner door, as if finishing up a conversation. She recognized the older man as Rick Kimball, who’d been mayor when she left San Diego to train at Quantico. What was he doing here? Both men turned, Kimball’s voice cutting off mid-sentence.
She held out her badge toward the other man, who had an overweight linebacker’s body, topped by an aging model’s face. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re hard to reach, Mr. Brickman.”
The ex-mayor gave his companion a sideways glance. “I’ll be in touch.” Kimball left without acknowledging her.
“Your timing couldn’t be worse.” Brickman crossed his arms. “I’m trying to garner political support for my candidacy. Now he’s wondering what the hell this is about.”
He was running for mayor? “I’m sure you’ll be able to explain. Can we sit down?”
“I really don’t have time right now. Please make an appointment.” He gestured toward his assistant, an older woman who pretended not to be there.
“You’re not curious about why I’m here?”
He sighed and gestured for her to enter his office. “It’s about the fire again, right? I talked to the fire marshal at the time, and I talked to an FBI agent about three weeks ago. There’s nothing left to say. It was just a fire.” He sounded surprisingly defensive.
“What was the cause?”
“Faulty wiring in an exhaust fan.” He plopped down and unbuttoned his jacket, letting his belly hang out.
“Did you ever suspect one of your competitors?”
A pause.
The words Of course cut through the space between them, and River heard them, even though they hadn’t been spoken. Sometimes when people were distressed and about t
o lie, she could hear strong, simple thoughts. She’d never told anyone. Other agents wouldn’t understand, and it rarely affected how she did her job.
“No,” Brickman lied. “The medical device business is very ethical, very regulated.” He straightened the cuffs on his sleeves and didn’t look at her.
Why wouldn’t he admit he thought his company had been sabotaged? Was he protecting someone? Or plotting revenge? “When did you talk to Agent Palmer?”
“As I said, about three weeks ago. We met at the warehouse, and it was a waste of time.”
The time and location matched Joe’s notes, so he was telling the truth about that.
“Have you had any unexpected bacterial outbreaks in your labs or processing plants?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “No, but your question concerns me. Why do you ask?”
“DigiPro had to recall its skin-tattoo product because of infections. Did you know about it?”
“Yes, I pay attention to our subsidiaries. But it wasn’t an outbreak, and they did everything right to correct the problem.”
“What do you think of your competitor, TecLife?”
“They’re very secretive about their pipeline.”
“Do you know the executives?”
He made a funny sound in his throat. “One of its founders used to work for me. She’s brilliant, but paranoid, and far too focused on her research to engage in corporate sabotage. I don’t know much about her new partner.”
Interesting phrase. “Was Cheryl Decker once your partner?” River gave the word an intimate emphasis.
“Long ago.” He pushed to his feet. “I have another meeting to attend, and you have to stop bothering me.” Brickman walked out, so eager to get away from her that he was willing to leave her sitting in his office, free to look around.
But not for long. His assistant rushed into the room. “I’m sorry, but he said to call security if you don’t leave.”
River had wasted enough time. She left the office and called Jana Palmer on the way out. Joe’s widow was probably eager for an update, and River wished she had something more to report.
Her best hope was that the real answers would be uncovered at TecLife by Dallas—who would employ more creative methods.
Chapter 11
Friday, July 11, 5:35 p.m.
Grissom was late, but Dallas knew he would show up. She’d been warned by two co-workers that he would hit on her, and the way he’d touched her earlier was overtly sexual. But the gossip said that once she told him no, he’d move on and act like it never happened. Her looks had been one of the only things that saved her from being a total outcast in school. Garage-sale clothes that smelled like cigarettes, no one showing up for parent-teacher conferences, and her own unwillingness to compromise—all had made other kids whisper behind her back. But she’d snagged the lead in school concerts and plays, and the same girls who gossiped about her to others, were secretly drawn to her and the rumors of her unconventional home life. The boys had simply liked to stare.
Seated in a booth along the side, Dallas watched as groups of people in business casual clothes filed in. She recognized several TecLife employees, but suspected most of the crowd might be. The company’s office, lab, and manufacturing buildings were all close by at the end of the cul-de-sac, and the area didn’t host any other large offices, just a mishmash of small businesses. So this was TecLife’s hangout. She wanted to meet Curtis Santera, the head of R&D, and probe his brain, but she didn’t see him in the crowd.
She remembered the pheromones in her purse and discreetly dabbed some on. Not that she had any intention of hooking up with Grissom. He was not her type and also was married. She wasn’t a home wrecker, not even for a case she was working—unless it would prevent a massive terrorist attack or something equally devastating. But the more Grissom wanted her sexually, the more likely he would answer whatever questions she threw at him. Maybe even get careless.
The CEO hurried in a few minutes later and apologized for being late. “I had a last-minute important phone call.” He slid into the booth across from her.
“I understand. You’re a busy man doing important work.” Sometimes her own bullshit was hard to take.
“I like to think so.” He gave her a teasing smile. “We are about to launch a revolutionary product. It will change millions of lives.”
“Do you mean the data I’m working on for Ms. Decker?”
“Yes, but we shouldn’t talk about it. This biologic has so much potential, our competitors would kill for it.”
Interesting choice of words. “Is that what the thief took today?” She infused her tone with concern. “Has the product been compromised?”
“Everything will be fine.” He patted her hand.
A cocktail waitress stopped at the table. “What are you drinking?”
The heat walking over had put her in a mood for something icy. “Margarita, please.”
“Make that two.” Grissom handed the server his credit card, then turned back to Dallas. “How do you like the job so far?” He laughed. “Not counting the fire alarm and the data breach.”
“It’s interesting, and everyone seems friendly.”
“We hope you stay. We offer a year-end bonus to keep our employees from jumping ship.”
Another interesting phrase. “Do you mean going to work for a competitor?”
“Startups are always trying to poach our researchers, and our competitors try to steal our top sales people.”
The server brought their drinks, and Dallas said, “Bring us another round in a moment please.” She raised her glass to Grissom for a clink. “To a long work relationship.”
“Hear, hear.” He took a sip.
Dallas downed hers. “It’s Friday. Try to keep up, man,” she joked.
Grissom smiled and took a long pull. “I like you.”
She returned his grin. “We’re just getting started.”
A sales rep stopped by their booth and chatted for a moment. When he left, Dallas asked, “Who do you consider your main competitor?”
“ProtoCell. The prick had a mole in our company who stole the data for our new migraine product. That’s why we’ve kept the Slimbiotic clinicals out of the country and out of the media.”
Had ProtoCell started the corporate war? “That’s sneaky. How did you find out?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you.”
“But this spying stuff is interesting. I didn’t know companies did that.”
“No one talked about it at MediGuard?”
“Not really. So how did you catch the mole?” She said the phrase with a silly ominous tone to lighten her question.
“He was foolish enough to use his company email once to report to Brickman, or Prickman, as we call him. The system flagged it. We have it set to watch for key words. And now, unexpected data downloads.”
She would have to be careful. “Good to know. I’ll have to confine my sexting to my phone and not use the work computer.” She winked at him.
Grissom flushed. “We don’t care about office relationships. Just don’t share our data.” He winked back.
The timing of the server’s arrival with their second round was a welcome relief. Dallas took a sip of the margarita and felt the head-rush-squeeze of drinking on an empty stomach. Oh hell. She could normally drink like a sailor and still be functional. But she’d missed lunch because of the alarm/spying episode. It was time to get Grissom up and away from his phone so she could peruse his recent messages.
“Excuse me for a minute.” She went to the ladies room, vomited up her last drink, and called River with her burner phone.
She picked up right way. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. I need you to call Max Grissom in about three minutes. Say some gibberish like a wrong number and hang up. Call me about ten minutes later, so I have an excuse to break away.”
“You got it.”
A minute after she returned to the booth, Grissom’s phone rang. He excuse
d himself, pulled it from his pocket, and answered. A look of surprise, followed by irritation. “You must have the wrong number.”
Dallas reached for the plastic menu stand and knocked his drink into his lap.
Startled, he dropped his phone on the table and cursed.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Dallas grabbed for the only other thing on the table, a wet cocktail napkin. “You need a towel. Or maybe some of the thick paper towels from the bathroom.”
Scowling and wet, he scooted to the edge of the booth.
Leave the phone, Dallas mentally pleaded. “I’ll buy you another drink,” she promised, hoping to distract him.
“Good plan.” He strode toward the hall.
Dallas looked around, then slid his phone over, and began scrolling through his contact list. She glanced up occasionally to ensure he still had his back to her.
Three people named Grissom were at the top of his list, followed by Cheryl Decker, Curtis Santera, and three other people coded blue as TecLife employees. Dallas kept scrolling, looking for a number with no name association that also had a history of several calls. Nothing popped, so she clicked over to texts. Grissom, in his late forties, either wasn’t much of a texter, or he was diligent about deleting them. There was a series of exchanges with Emma Grissom—his daughter, she assumed—about a softball tournament and whether she could stay the weekend with a friend. Dallas scrolled through, annoyed by the time waste. Then bingo. Below those, an unnamed person had texted him Wednesday with a brief message: Meet me at our usual spot at 8. Bring cash.
Suspicious. But lacking substance. Dallas snapped a photo of the message with her own phone, then slid Grissom’s back into place on the table. None too soon. He was headed her way.
The Target Page 7