by Kim McMahill
After going through several doors and down a couple hallways and a flight of stairs, they reached the evidence storage area. The first small room contained a large table and a smaller stand-up style desk with a computer. The wall separating the first room from the larger storage area had a wide window which allowed them to see inside the evidence room without going inside.
The officer who escorted them typed a few commands into the keyboard. She jotted down a number sequence and punched a security code into a pad next to the door leading into the storage room. She quickly retrieved several boxes labeled with the same string of numbers from the well-organized shelves lining the room and then placed them on the table in the outer room.
“Just push this button by the door if you need anything else or when you’re done,” she stated as she turned to leave.
“Not much of a bedside manner,” Devyn grumbled as the outer door shut behind the officer.
“What, you don’t find her pleasant? I thought she’d be a kindred spirit.”
Devyn scowled at Nick for a moment before pulling the lids off both cardboard boxes. Each contained pieces of skis ranging from a few inches to over a foot in length. A pair of ski boots poked through the debris in the bottom of one box, but there was little else.
“The commander wasn’t joking about there not being much to look at,” Devyn stated as she picked out one of the larger pieces and examined it. “You take that box.”
“Might as well. Even though I doubt there’s anything worthwhile in these boxes of scraps, we don’t have anything else to do while we wait for Moody.”
Nick pulled out several small pieces of what were only vaguely recognizable as part of a ski. He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine how fast this guy must have been going to hit a tree with such velocity that it nearly shattered his skis. I can see how impact with a tree could break bones, including his neck, but the body would take the brunt of the force, not the skis. If the fronts rammed the tree, they’d snap, but multiple breaks behind the bindings don’t make a lot of sense.”
“Unless it wasn’t the force of the impact that busted up the skis,” Devyn replied. “Here, look at this.”
She turned one of the boots upside down and pointed with the tip of her pen at a dark substance embedded in the grooves on the bottom of the boot. Lifting the other boot, she noticed the same substance in the indentations.
“It could be just mud or dirty gum.”
“Could be, but what do you want to bet that no one had it tested to be sure?” Devyn replied as she dug through the box and retrieved the pieces with the bindings. A similar dark substance remained embedded in the crevices. “Since the gunk is in both boots and bindings, I doubt it is gum.”
Before Nick could reply, the door opened.
“Officer Moody—the commander said you wanted to see me concerning the skiing fatality we had this past ski season. I got a call from a Sacramento FBI agent several days ago and I told him all I know. I’m not sure what else I can add.”
Devyn studied the man. He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by a visit from the FBI. He looked fit, still had all his hair, and wore a wedding band. She pegged his age to be late-forties.
“I’m not sure how much that agent told you, but there have been a lot of accidents and fatalities afflicting employees in the research and pharmaceutical industries. Upon further review, the deaths turned out to be murder.”
“He didn’t mention there were other cases, but that doesn’t change the fact that this was just a skiing accident. We see our share every winter, so I’ve got a lot of experience in this area.”
“Did you have this substance tested?” Devyn asked as she flipped one of the ski boots over and pointed to the dark gunk embedded in the grooves.
Moody studied the goo for a moment. “Probably just mud.”
“So I’ll take that as a no?”
“Look, lady, we responded to a joint emergency call with the local marshal’s office, which we often do. We both arrived on scene about the same time. The ski area’s EMTs were already there. By the time I arrived, the man had been pronounced dead. I took pictures, took the report, and then we just boxed up all this stuff, and here it is. I had no reason to analyze anything. It was just an accident. We see it all the time. Joe Racer can’t let go of his youth and tries to take a run that maybe he could have done fifteen years ago, but he’s aged. There’s a reason the area he was skiing is off-limits. It’s dangerous terrain.”
Nick nudged Devyn aside, doubting she was pleased by the “look, lady” comment and the condescending tone of Moody’s voice. He didn’t particularly want to witness her response.
“Were there any witnesses?” Nick interjected.
“Nope, it was very cold, early morning, and he was out of bounds. Only the die-hards were out and none saw the accident happen.”
Devyn forced her way around Nick. “Listen, Moody, in those other cases we mentioned, it turned out all the investigating officers had been paid off to file sloppy, incomplete, or bogus reports. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what kind of trouble those officers are in. You’re the last hold-out that we’re aware of, so you can either fess up now, or you and every family member, friend, and casual acquaintance is going to be under twenty-four-seven surveillance. If one unaccounted for dime is spent, we’ll be all over you. And if you try to launder your ill-gotten gains through family or friends, I may go after them as accessory after the fact.”
Moody’s face turned red and Nick was afraid Devyn had pushed the officer too far. He knew it was time to step in and play his role.
“We know that most of the officers’ families were threatened if they didn’t play ball. Though not defensible, we do understand. I can see you’re married. You got any kids?”
Nick’s softer, reasonable tone seemed to calm Moody. “Two daughters and a son. My oldest starts college next year, and then we’ve got another heading off every two years after that.”
“We also know that none of the officers sought out the situation, all had squeaky-clean service records, and all were targeted, likely because of circumstance similar to yours—families to threaten, legit personal financial concerns, and respected in their departments. Bypassing a thorough investigation for what likely could have been just an accident probably seemed pretty harmless at the time.”
Nick amazed Devyn at times like this. As he talked to Moody, his concern and understanding seemed so real. She could visibly see the fight drain from Moody’s body, so she held back and watched her partner work.
“If your family was threatened, we can help. The FBI has a lot of resources, but your family isn’t going to be the last one in danger if we can’t stop whoever is behind some pretty horrific crimes. I feel confident you wouldn’t compromise yourself for money, but I have no doubt you would do whatever it took to protect your family. I also sympathize with college expenses. It took me years to pay off my mountain of student loans. Unfortunately, I’m afraid if we haven’t wrapped this up by tuition time, those payments will be scrutinized and you’ll have to disclose where the money came from.”
Moody sat down at the table and placed his head in his hands. After several moments, he looked up, and the pain in his eyes reached Devyn’s heart.
“I’m so sorry about all of this, Officer Moody,” Devyn stated. “We didn’t come here on a witch-hunt. We’re just trying to locate some very dangerous people.”
He nodded and picked up the phone sitting on the table. “Commander, there’s something I need to say and I want you to hear it.”
CHAPTER NINE
Morgan stepped out of the elevator on the main floor and made her way to the manufacturing area. As expected, she located Wiley Hartman wandering through the production line, adjusting machines, examining products, and talking to the workers.
“Good morning, Wiley. How’s production going this morning?”
“Mornin’, Ms. Hunter. I don’t know if I should be flattered by all the visits we
’ve gotten down here during your first couple weeks or if I should be nervous,” he replied as he led Morgan up a flight of stairs so that she could overlook the entire process from a higher vantage point.
Morgan chuckled. “From what I can see, you do an excellent job on the manufacturing end. Most companies would be satisfied with the profit margin in the Healthy and Delicious Foods division. However, I understand Mr. Hoyle has exceptionally high expectations, and the line has slipped a bit in the overall market share as of late. I’m looking into tightening overheads, finding better supply sources, and developing a new marketing campaign coupled with some new entrees and desserts. Customers want variety, and I haven’t seen where that’s been evolving. Though I don’t envision personnel reductions, we need to keep a rein on any wage increases for a while as well.”
“That’s a relief. Every time we get a new boss the first thing they want to do to cut costs is lay off employees. We’re streamlined down to a well-oiled machine. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
For a moment, Morgan just watched. Wiley was correct. Everyone was busy, and the process moved along smoothly and quickly. She couldn’t help but notice a number of nervous glances shot her way. She hoped Wiley would reassure the employees there would be no layoffs, but she hated to make public promises until she dug a little deeper and was certain she could keep her word.
“I’ve already looked into a few new suppliers for fresh produce, poultry, and fish. I think we can cut raw product costs substantially without compromising quality. I’m having a little more difficulty with some of the additives. In theory, we shouldn’t be using many since our products are billed as ‘healthy,’ but in reality, a certain amount of preservatives, dyes, and other additives are needed to make food more appealing and ensure a reasonable shelf life. I can source some of those out, but MFHG3 is going to be the biggest challenge since it’s expensive even though it’s produced in-house. So far, Dr. Chen in Research and Development hasn’t been very helpful when I’ve tried to ask him about the sweetener.”
Wiley’s eyes darted around. He stepped closer to Morgan. His voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “I’m not all too certain I trust those guys in R & D. They give us just enough of the stuff in large plastic jugs each day for the day’s run. They do all the testing and develop the nutritional information for the labels. It’s just their word.”
“Doesn’t GCF verify safety and nutritional claims in its additives developed in-house through an outside testing and analysis firm?”
“Not required to if the product is made from natural ingredients.”
“Like hoodia and monk fruit?”
Wiley cleared his throat. “I’d better get back out there, or the workers will start getting nervous. If I’m huddled up with the new boss too long they might let their imaginations take a trip down the wrong path. When it comes to R & D, it’s best not to ask too many questions or get in their way.”
“Thanks, Wiley. I can’t make any promises yet, but you can assure everyone personnel cuts are not on my agenda. I plan to avoid lay-offs if at all possible. I don’t like making people feel uncertain about their futures. It’s not right.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Wiley said as he smiled and returned to the floor, leaving Morgan standing alone on the catwalk overlooking the production line.
Morgan wasn’t sure what to do next. Wiley had only increased her suspicions about the sweetener. Apparently, GCF didn’t have its in-house-developed additives analyzed by an outside source, so why was Stan Jacobson corresponding with an analyst from Smith & Brown?
If Stan was acting on his own, maybe Preston doesn’t know about the possible issues with the product. The thought eased her mind somewhat.
She glanced at her watch and realized she was late for her meeting with the marketing team. Hopefully, they would understand that spending time in the plant helped familiarize her with the many products manufactured and sold under the Healthy and Delicious Foods label in grocery stores across the country and produced for three other companies under different labels, exclusively for their members.
Morgan had requested the meeting to get to know the marketing team and to discuss past and present campaigns along with their varying degrees of success. Being late for her own meeting would not endear her to those waiting.
Picking up her pace, she rushed down the hall as quickly as she could in heels. Rounding the corner, she caught a glimpse of a man with short, dark brown hair wearing a dark blue suit slipping into the stairwell. The suit looked very much like the one Aaron wore that day to the office. She could think of no reason why he would be in the manufacturing facility instead of at his desk, manning her phones. If he needed her, she always had a cell phone on her and she could be paged.
The doors of the elevator opened and she stepped inside. Her finger paused for a moment, deciding which floor to push. She debated about going to her office to see if Aaron was at his desk and out of breath. But she was already late, so she pressed the button for the fourth floor and tried to clear her mind for the next meeting.
CHAPTER TEN
Sofia strode into the sparsely furnished yet elegantly decorated lobby of Buyer’s Choice Foundation. Glancing around, she was relieved to find it devoid of human activity. In no mood to make idle chit chat, she hoped to escape the attention of her staff and find refuge in her office.
Her weekend was a blur. She was exhausted, and her self-loathing had reached a whole new level. It was nearly midnight before she had arrived home, and despite getting a few hours of sleep and grabbing some strong coffee on the way to work, her head throbbed.
She felt like a college co-ed making the walk of shame across campus as she peeked around the corner to ensure the coast was clear before dashing the short distance to her office. Relieved that Justine hadn’t been at her desk for a change, Sofia straightened her skirt and reached for her doorknob. She slipped inside, shut the door quietly behind her, and turned to find Justine grinning at her and holding a giant bouquet of roses.
“Spill it.” Justine beamed. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not. I must have impressed a donor. That will be all.”
The hurt look on Justine’s face didn’t affect Sofia in the slightest. This was a job, not a pajama party. She didn’t want to be friends with any of her staff, and she had no intention of sharing anything personal with any of them.
The last time she had taken a special interest in an employee, it ended in disappointment. Her protégé was ordered to a new assignment, leaving her feeling abandoned. He had reminded her so much of herself when she was young and angry. She had felt compelled to show him how to utilize his special talents, and had taken him under her wing. The bond they’d developed gave her a sense of satisfaction, like mentoring a younger brother.
The loss of her understudy was still difficult to accept. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was really needed elsewhere or if J.R. resented the time and energy she invested in turning a troubled youth with few prospects into a fruitful adult.
Sitting at her desk, Sofia stared at the two dozen long-stemmed red roses. Even though she knew who they were from, she pulled the card out of the bouquet.
You’re quickly becoming my favorite club member, and well worth the short flight to Miami—J.R.
She never mixed business with pleasure, but one time, she had let her guard down, probably from drinking too many glasses of wine. Now, she wasn’t sure if she could get out, even if she wanted to. Sofia certainly didn’t need a man for financial support, having amassed plenty of wealth to live comfortably for the rest of her life. She was perfectly happy with her own company, so why had she let it happen? She wasn’t naïve enough to think he cared about her, much less loved her.
It had to be her ego. J.R. was one of the most powerful men in his industry, and very influential in his community. Men respected yet feared him. Women sought him. The fact that he wanted her, even though only on his terms, was flattering. He was
the only man she had ever feared and craved at the same time, and the combination of the two was exhilarating and frightening.
Even as a young girl, Sofia had no respect for a woman, including her own mother, who became so dependent upon a man that she had to compromise her principles. It wasn’t easy earning one’s own way, a lesson Sophia learned the hard way, but at least she was in charge of her own destiny. Lately, though, she felt that control slipping away and feared she was no better than her mother. The woman had always needed men in order to survive and had eventually paid with her life. Sofia shuddered as she wondered if her uncharacteristic attraction to J.R. would end the same, continuing the vicious circle of dependency and death.
The timid knock on her door brought Sofia out of her thoughts. “Come in.”
“I just wanted to let you know that we received, by special courier, a large check from Arevir Pharmaceuticals out of Puerto Rico. Here it is.” Justine set the check on Sofia’s desk and backed out of her office.
Sofia picked up the check, tempted to rip it in half, but knowing she wouldn’t. She had wanted to be a member of Coterie, amused by their games of manipulation and awed by their power, but now they owned her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Devyn read through the autopsy report on Dexter Fowler,which was waiting on her desk when she and Nick returned from the County Unified Police Department. Everything supported the reported findings that the cause of death was from trauma, a broken neck consistent with hitting a tree head-on at a high rate of speed. The only fact that struck her as odd was the brief notation about significant bruising on the soles of both feet. The report stated that the bruising was recent, but an exact cause or date of the injury could not be determined.
Picking up the phone, she dialed the extension to the lab.
“Agent Nash. Did you get a chance to analyze the substance in the ski boots and bindings I just dropped off?”