by Ian Fox
He brought it up close and observed its gray-rimmed nose. The realization cut him to the quick. He caught his breath, and then returned the rat to its cage. He opened Dorothy’s cage and pulled her out. The rabbit didn’t resist. While holding her in his lap he checked her teeth. Shocked, he sat down on a chair. Obviously something wasn’t working. The rabbit had lost two teeth and two more were about to fall out. He put her back in her cage.
Again, he picked up one of the rats and with a biopsy needle took a sample of its tissue. It was a slightly painful process so the rat squealed desperately. “It will heal,” he told it, putting it back in its cage. He put the tissue sample on a glass slide.
When a few minutes later he was looking into the microscope, a terrible anger arose in him. How is this possible? Why such changes in the tissue? What he saw was the total opposite of what he’d expected. He kept on staring, trying to confront the horrible fact. He had thought that the animals were calmer as a consequence of the negative influence of the antiaging vaccine, but instead the opposite was happening. Instead of stopping the aging process, it was speeding it up. In his estimation, the rat was at least two-and-a-half years old. That’s why they had gray fur. And that’s why Dorothy’s teeth had started falling out.
He stared at the animals, holding his head. Then he put a hand to his stomach to ease the burning pain that was building inside him. He was so disappointed he even forgot to close his mouth. Where did I go wrong? he kept asking himself. He had expected anything but this.
He got up in a moment, hitting the table hard. He felt like smashing his whole laboratory because he had wasted so much time. All the years of research were in vain. He thought he was on to a big discovery, but now he was right back at the beginning. Who would buy such a vaccine?
Poor Dorothy. He would be to blame for her premature death. He had been so sure he would give her eternal life. That’s also why he had become so attached to her. Oh, Dorothy, where did I go wrong? His anger began to turn into sadness. He started to sob at the horror of it. Where did I go wrong, damn it!
He reached toward the cage to take her out and hug her, but changed his mind because his eyes were filling up with tears so that he couldn’t see. He covered his face with shaky hands and began to cry. All his dreams of helping people and animals had turned to dust. He had neglected Helen, his friends, even his work, so he could help others. And now it all proved to have been in vain. His research wasn’t worth a dime.
He put a needle onto an empty syringe and opened the refrigerator in which he stored various vaccines. He picked up the bottle labeled 33. That was his code for the last version of the antiaging vaccine. I’ve had enough of this, I can’t take it anymore, he thought feverishly.
For a while he stared at the small bottle and at Dorothy, and then made up his mind. I’ll put an end to it. I’m no use to anyone, anyway. He removed the top and drew some of the vaccine into the syringe. He put the bottle back in the refrigerator.
He was still crying as he looked at Dorothy. “Sorry, honey, I only wanted to help. Obviously I am a useless quack, just like Helen said. I deserve this punishment.” He raised his hand to inject the failed vaccine and so end his life.
Chapter 33
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Special Agent Sandra Grant had spent the previous week talking to many different people, looking for information that would lead her to the perpetrator of two crimes. She had been to various restaurants and bars where different criminal types hung out. She had received a negative reception almost everywhere and was even thrown out of a bar on Packard Avenue. She never said what she was actually up to, always pretending she was someone else.
Steven West had a similar task, but easier. He mainly talked to neighbors near the crime scenes and to the victims’ friends and acquaintances. He and Sandra had agreed this since she knew Steven didn’t like sleazy bars and so wouldn’t do this properly.
They would meet up in the afternoons to exchange leads.
“Where have we got to?” Steven asked her.
Sandra put her hand to her chin. “It’s hard to say. All the information so far points in different directions.”
Their boss, Richard Ross, entered the room. He was forty-three, with a round, boyish face, short, dark hair, and a broad mouth which made him look like he was always on the verge of laughter. But he rarely laughed. All his co-workers preferred to avoid him—too serious, strict, and sometimes a hypocrite.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Steven greeted him cheerfully. “Ah, nothing much. We’re investigating the Patrick Gowan and Paulo Gratti cases, which are obviously connected. I get the feeling we’re going in circles. We haven’t found out anything important.”
Sandra thoughtfully shook her head. “I wouldn’t say we’re going in circles. I have a few clues that could turn out to be important.”
Richard Ross gave her an encouraging wink. He liked Sandra, who was one of his most capable agents. She was extremely intelligent, honest, and stubborn, which was ideal for a successful detective.
He asked her, “What clues?”
“All the information I’ve tracked leads to different people.”
Richard knew Sandra very well. He knew she’d talk for ages before getting to the point. He had a lot of work to do in his office, so he interrupted. “Who’s your main suspect?”
She shook her head. “They’re only assumptions, nothing is confirmed.”
“Come on, Sandra, who is it?”
“Carlo Vucci,” she said cautiously. “Certain leads point to him.”
The name “Vucci” sent a shiver down Richard Ross’s spine. He pulled himself together in a moment. “Carlo Vucci? Are you crazy? He definitely has nothing to do with it!”
Steven was surprised to see his boss’s odd reaction since he nearly always agreed with Sandra and in that way encouraged her. While Richard would argue with Steven and question his statements, their boss always praised Sandra.
“I checked which brand of cigarettes he smokes and it matches the butts we found. Of course, nothing is certain yet.”
Richard turned pale. “Listen, Sandra. Carlo Vucci is an extremely important man who has donated a good bit of money to charity. If you think I’m going to agree to a search of his house, you’re wrong. The media would have a lot to say about it—not to mention the mayor, who would probably strangle me single-handed.”
“I was also surprised at first,” she said, “but people say Carlo Vucci is connected to the Mafia. We have a fair bit of information indicating he’s a dangerous character.”
Ross’s face went from white to red. “Like I said, Carlo Vucci has no connection with our murder cases. I order you to take him off the suspect list immediately. Have I made myself clear?”
“I have other information which—”
Richard turned and made his way toward the door. “Sandra, I don’t intend to repeat myself. It’s not a request, it’s an order. Look elsewhere! I mean it. I don’t want to hear another word about Vucci, full stop!” And he was gone.
“I can’t believe it. He didn’t even hear me out.” She was beside herself.
Steven was also stunned by his reaction. “Like I said, it’s bad to have anything to do with the Mafia. I’m telling you, this case won’t be solved.”
“And I’m telling you I’m going to get to the bottom of it, with or without his permission! I don’t care if this Carlo Vucci is important or not. If he’s a criminal, I’m putting him behind bars, whatever happens.”
Steven looked at her, biting his bottom lip. It was clear to him that she meant it.
Richard Ross was standing at his office window, watching the children playing in the yard. He couldn’t actually see the children because his mind had wandered six months back, when he’d come home, tired from work, and entered his apartment. Being hungry, he’d gone straight into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. He had a bad habit of not eating during the day since he was so busy, and then in the even
ing as he was returning home, he could hardly wait to fill his empty stomach.
When Richard opened the fridge, an unpleasant surprise awaited him. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was a severed human hand. Thinking it was a rubber one that his neighbor who cleaned for him might have put there, he picked it up and with horror realized it was real. Obviously someone had come into his house, placed a severed hand in his fridge, and left.
He dropped the hand and looked around the kitchen, making sure the uninvited guest had left. What if he’s still in the apartment? said a voice inside him.
Richard rushed into the living room and with a fright saw two men with revolvers in their hands, calmly sitting on the couch.
“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked.
One of the men got up and approached him. “I’ll be short and to the point. I don’t think either of us has much time, right?” He looked into Richard’s eyes contemptuously.
“Of course not. Tell me.”
“One of your detectives was sticking his nose in where he shouldn’t have.”
Richard felt dizzy from fright. His voice was shaking and he started to feel nauseated. “You m-mean Bullock? He’s been missing for three days. W-what … what’s happened to him?”
“You’ll find the body soon. I brought you the souvenir that’s in the fridge.”
His pupils widened with shock. “W-what … what have you done with him? Are you crazy?”
“Quiet! I told you I haven’t got much time.”
Richard felt a few drops of urine escape.
“Maybe we could talk about this. What do you think?” the man asked.
Richard could barely stand. He felt sick and had the feeling he’d pass out at any moment. Never before had he been in life-threatening danger. “Y-yes, yes, of course. We can talk.”
The man studied him for a while with a sharp look. “Do you know Carlo Vucci?”
“Of course I know him,” he nodded. “A very respectable businessman.”
Both of the men laughed. “Glad you think that way. Carlo is a respectable man.” The laughter continued for a while.
When they stopped laughing, one of them said, “Bullock was getting too nosy and had to pay the price. We had to stop him.”
Richard took three deep breaths. He could feel acid rising in his throat. It was instantly clear to him. Bullock had been investigating the murder of a man who owned a small restaurant. A week ago he had said that he was almost sure Carlo Vucci was involved.
“Carlo doesn’t like people breathing down his neck. You get what I’m trying to say?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Good. Then we’ve talked. I recommend you destroy all the evidence that Bullock had on Carlo and stop the investigation.”
“But I can’t—”
“Quiet! I’m talking!”
“Sorry.”
“Carlo thinks you’re an intelligent person. He wants to reward you for your work. If you stop the investigation against him, you’ll get a hundred thousand dollars in cash. What do you say?”
“A hundred thousand dollars?” repeated Richard Ross. Again he was breathless, but this time it was because of the sum of money the men had mentioned. It only took him a second to think of all the things he could buy with that kind of money. “Sure, why not?”
The two men measured him with their eyes. If there was any doubt at all about his willingness to cooperate, they’d have to kill him.
Vucci thought Richard Ross was a bribable person. He had found out a lot about him. Ross had got to the top because of who he knew. Previously he had worked at a local police station, dealing with personnel matters. Never in his life had he been on the streets and he always managed to avoid danger. But he did have impressive organizational and leadership skills. He was good at working with people and motivating them to do well. Vucci had found out another valuable thing. Ross was a compulsive spender. At the end of the month his bank account was always in the red. His apartment and car had been bought on credit, the rest of his wages were blown on nonessentials. That was important information and why Carlo decided to risk it. If he managed to bribe Ross, he’d become untouchable. From that moment on, he could do whatever he wanted.
“Stop the investigation against Vucci. We’ll bring the money in a week’s time. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll settle everything.” He desperately wanted the men to leave his apartment.
They stared at him a little longer, then got up off the couch and made their way to the door.
“Wait up,” Richard said. “What about that hand in the fridge?”
They didn’t even turn around. One of them said, “Keep it as a souvenir.”
The moment the front door closed, Richard ran to the bathroom. He vomited, shaking from terror. He was scared like never before in his life.
After twenty minutes Richard returned to the living room. There was an argument going on in his head. One voice was telling him to call the station immediately and ask for backup. The other said to keep his mouth shut and take the money. His teeth were chattering and he was still shaking.
Then he made up his mind. With a sullen face he slowly dialed a phone number.
A woman’s voice on the other end said, “Roder’s Catalog Sales. How can I help you?”
He could hardly speak. “I’d like to order suite number … hang on a minute.” He opened the catalog and looked for the page he had marked. “Number four hundred and fifty-six. In white.”
The woman thanked him.
The living room suite had caught his eye, but was outside his price range. Now he could finally afford it.
Chapter 34
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He had been walking up and down beneath the large trees that lined the narrow street on which Dr. Patterson lived for more than two hours. He was wearing a grayish-blue raincoat, a woolen hat, and dark glasses.
He kept playing with a small hunting knife. For a while he rolled it in his right hand and then, when it got sweaty, moved it to his left. Sometimes he released the catch so that the blade jumped out and then he carefully pushed it back in. All the time he was secretly watching Dr. Patterson’s house and patiently waiting.
The wind was hurling itself at the treetops and raindrops were sliding off the leaves. The man had to wipe his face several times. Twice he took off his dark glasses and dried them with a cotton cloth.
In the distance he could hear the clack of high heels along the sidewalk. He casually turned his head, checking who it was. It was her, Helen Patterson. He recognized her immediately. She was walking with enviable elegance on the other side of the road. She stared ahead, her back as straight as a rod.
He quickly stepped behind the nearest tree, not wanting her to spot him. Then he secretly watched her, turning the hunting knife in his hand with twice the speed.
As if it could no longer wait, the wind rushed violently into the treetops, causing hundreds of drops to fall on him. But this time he didn’t wipe them off. Her walk had so enchanted him that he didn’t even feel the wetness.
For a moment, he thought he saw her turn her head and look his way. He held the knife tighter, accidentally releasing the catch that made the blade spring out. He stood behind the tree trunk, tense, with closed eyes, listening to her steps. Then he plucked up the courage to peek out again. She had her back to him and was only a few yards away from where she lived. She would go in any moment now.
His eyes followed her until she closed the door behind her. He was still twirling the knife in his hand, totally forgetting the blade was out. He felt a sharp pain and cursed quietly. He shut the knife with anger, stepped out from under the tree, put his hand in his pocket, and made his way toward the door she had entered.
Chapter 35
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Maria Melton had always had a good nose for trouble. While her husband John lay in front of the television watching a football game, she was in the k
itchen making beef stew with dumplings. Thinking of Simon Patterson, she went to the window in the hope of maybe seeing him. Immediately she noticed a man in a raincoat lifting his hand to ring the doorbell. Ah, they’re having visitors, she thought.
But the man was unsure. Putting his hand back into his pocket, he just stood there. He was there for some time, turning a few times and again lifting his hand. But he still didn’t ring the doorbell. Instead, he left.
Noticing that he was holding something in his hand, Maria strained to see what it was, but couldn’t make it out. Remembering her stew, she saw the man turn around yet again and make his way toward the front door. She hurried to the stove to stir the pan. She had forgotten the salt so she added a couple of pinches.
When she got back to the window, the man had gone. She was angry with herself that she didn’t know whether the man had gone in or not. Who on earth could it be?
Chapter 36
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Dr. Patterson stood with the hypodermic in his hand, staring at the rabbit and crying. He felt bad enough to want to take his own life. Everything had fallen apart. With this act he would pay for the stupid things he had done.
He had almost made up his mind when the basement door suddenly opened. Helen’s shrill voice rang through the room: “Damn it, Simon!”
He nearly jabbed himself with the needle from fright.
“Are you trying to burn our house down now too? The kitchen is almost on fire, you forgot about the risotto!”
It was like waking from a bad dream. He remembered wanting to heat up some risotto because he was hungry, but then he forgot. “Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to—”
A loud slam of the door was her reply.