Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  Hannah couldn’t help but smile in return. “So if they didn’t die from physical injuries, you think it was the chemical that killed them?”

  Her friend tapped her index finger on the tip of her nose. “It’s the only way I can explain the internal findings. As if the external injuries weren’t bad enough, when I opened them up, things got really strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Their lungs were totally wrecked. They didn’t even look like lungs anymore—they were disintegrating before my eyes.”

  Hannah leaned forward a bit. “What do you mean?”

  Gabby frowned and stared at the table. She cupped her hands and pantomimed a scooping gesture. “The chest cavity was filled with fluid. Like their lung tissue had dissolved.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  A frisson of memory jolted through Hannah, making the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rise. “Was there a smell?” she whispered.

  Gabby’s gaze jerked up, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Kind of like rotten fruit with some garlic tossed in for good measure. Definitely not the usual cadaver smell I’m used to.” She cocked her head to the side. “How did you know?”

  Hannah shook her head, dismissing the question. “And how did you feel after the autopsies?”

  Her friend leaned back, considering. “I got a headache,” she said thoughtfully. “But I just chalked it up to the weather. You know I get headaches whenever we have a storm system move through.”

  “Any trouble breathing?”

  Gabby shook her head. “No. What’s going on, Hannah? What do you know?”

  “Excellent question, Doctor” came a deep voice from the doorway. “I can’t wait to hear the answer.”

  * * *

  Damn, Owen thought, watching the way Hannah flinched at the sound of his voice. She turned to face him, her eyes wide and troubled, and his stomach dropped. She is involved.

  Disappointment settled over him like a heavy blanket. He’d been so sure that she wasn’t connected to these cases, but the fear shining in her eyes dashed his hopes.

  How could he have misread the situation so badly? Were his instincts really deserting him? He’d heard the whispered comments, the remarks made behind his back. A lot of people thought he was weak for taking a leave of absence after John’s death. Even his captain had recommended working through the pain, saying the distraction of the job was the best way to deal with the loss of his partner. But Owen couldn’t bring himself to do the job without his friend, and he’d needed the time to get his head on straight and figure out if he still wanted to be a cop. How could he go on without his best friend? But in the end, he’d come back. Being a cop was the only thing he knew how to do, and quitting felt like a betrayal of John’s memory.

  It was hard, though. Some days, he felt like a rookie all over again, and he spent a lot of time questioning decisions that would have been automatic before John’s death. The realization that Hannah Baker was indeed connected to this case, when yesterday he’d been so sure she wasn’t, did nothing for his shaky confidence.

  “Please, Dr. Baker. You were saying?”

  She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second, as if calling up some inner strength. “It’s probably nothing,” she began, but Dr. Whitman cut her off.

  “How did you know about the smell? And about my headaches?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Lucky guess?”

  Owen cleared his throat. “Try again, please.”

  “The findings you described...” She trailed off. “I saw a similar pathology a few years ago, when I worked at ChemCure Industries.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you didn’t do human experiments.” Dr. Whitman leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest, frowning slightly. Owen felt a flash of gratitude at the woman’s presence. Since she and Hannah had a history, Dr. Whitman’s questions added to his understanding of Hannah and her possible involvement in the case.

  “I didn’t,” Hannah replied. “These were findings from some animal studies. We were testing a drug that had performed beautifully in cell lines, but cells in a dish are a far cry from cells in a person. The next step was animal testing, and we abandoned the compound after we found out it destroyed the lungs.” She shook her head, her gaze turning inward, as if she were reliving the experiments. “It was the strangest thing. The lungs were completely wiped out—just a puddle of goo in the chest. And the smell.” She shuddered, wrinkling her nose.

  “Dr. Whitman,” Owen said, keeping his gaze on Hannah, “do you have the chemical signatures from the samples you sent to Toxicology?” His pulse accelerated as adrenaline leaked into his system. This could be the break he’d been waiting for. If Dr. Baker recognized the chemical signatures, then the chemicals had to have come from ChemCure Industries. And if that was the case, he could use her to gain access to the company and the people who worked on that project.

  “Yes.” He heard her rummage through pages on her desk. “Here you go.” She picked up a manila folder and held it out.

  Hannah stared at the folder as if afraid it might bite her. Then she extended a hand and took it, holding it in her lap.

  “I had the police contact you when I saw the signature for nitrogen mustard compounds,” Dr. Whitman explained. “I thought you might be able to give them some background information on the chemicals.”

  “If this says what I’m afraid it does, I think we’re way beyond background information.” With a glance in his direction, Hannah sighed heavily and opened the folder.

  He held his breath as she examined the printed reports, trying to read her expression for clues. Did she recognize the chemicals? Could she tell him where they had come from?

  Her brows drew together as she scanned the papers, and her hand moved to her neck in that unconscious gesture he was beginning to associate with her. She wasn’t wearing a turtleneck today, he noted, but rather a collared shirt and gauzy scarf. While this outfit was more weather appropriate, the effect was the same—the skin of her neck was completely covered. Why did she insist on doing that? Was she overly modest, or was she trying to cover up some kind of scar?

  Focus, he told himself. Now was not the time to get distracted by irrelevant questions, no matter how intriguing.

  When she looked up and met his eyes, he knew. She recognized the compounds. He swallowed hard to keep from shouting in triumph, instead settling for what he hoped was an encouraging expression. “Do you know these chemicals?”

  Hannah nodded, her features downcast. “I do,” she said, sounding miserable. “They’re the same ones I worked with at ChemCure Industries.”

  “Can they be bought from a company?” Please say no... If the chemicals were unique, it would be easier to track down the source.

  She shook her head. “No. We modified them for our studies. We were trying to develop a new chemotherapy drug that could be taken by inhaler—it was going to revolutionize the treatment of lung cancer.”

  Owen felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Like an asthma inhaler?”

  “Something like that. The hope was that by delivering the drugs straight to the lungs, the patient would experience fewer side effects.”

  “But you never made it to human trials?” Dr. Whitman interjected.

  “No. Not after the results of the animal studies.”

  The room fell silent as everyone retreated to their own thoughts. After a moment, Owen cleared his throat. “I need to phone this in to my partner. Dr. Baker, I’ll need you to accompany me to ChemCure Industries. Are you free this afternoon?”

  “I suppose I am now.” She smiled ruefully, but he could see the worry in her eyes.

  He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  Owen pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked down the hall, heading for a small, closet-sized cof
fee station. He stepped inside, grateful for the added privacy. He didn’t think his voice would carry all the way back to Dr. Whitman’s office, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  His partner answered on the third ring. “Gallagher. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a lead.” He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, not wanting to sound too eager. But this was the best break they’d had after weeks of investigating. While he knew it was due to timing rather than his own skills as a detective, a small part of him was proud of being the one to bring this information to the table. Maybe it would even help silence some of his critics.

  “What have you got?” Nate’s tone was urgent, hopeful even. He’d been waiting for this, too.

  “I’m at the ME’s office. Dr. Baker is here, as well. She recognized the chemical signatures of the compounds isolated from our victims. Said they’re the same as the stuff she used to work with at ChemCure Industries.”

  “Hot damn,” Nate breathed. “That is good news. Can she tell you if the chemicals are from the same batches she worked with herself?”

  Owen frowned, wishing he’d thought to ask that. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask her. In the meantime, I’m taking her to ChemCure Industries. I’m going to ask a few questions about their nitrogen mustard program, see if I can come up with any more connections between the company and our bodies.”

  “Need any help?”

  The offer was tempting. Having a second set of eyes and ears was never a bad idea, particularly when questioning people. But Owen felt a little protective of this lead, and while he knew Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to swoop in and steal credit, he wanted to look into this one himself, at least for the time being.

  “Not right now. As far as ChemCure Industries is concerned, I’m just there to ask background questions. Nothing that’s going to raise any alarms. Besides, I need you to keep digging for a connection between our victims. Found anything yet?”

  “Maybe.” There was a rustle of papers before Nate spoke again. “Several of the victims were patients at the free clinic down off Thomas Street. They had appointment cards in their wallets.”

  Owen closed his eyes, pulling up his mental map of Houston. “That’s several miles north of Buffalo Bayou, where they were found.” He leaned against the wall and focused on the blinking red light of the coffeemaker. “That means it’s even more likely these were dump jobs.”

  “Yep. The Little Whiteoak Bayou runs right behind the clinic, but according to Doc Whitman, the bodies weren’t in the water long enough for them to have floated downstream that far.”

  “So we have a serial killer who is trying to get the evidence as far away from himself as possible,” Owen mused, thinking out loud. “Are you going to check out the clinic today?” Could there be some connection between the clinic and ChemCure Industries? He made a mental note to ask Hannah if the company gave any donations to the free clinics in Houston. Perhaps a bad batch of drugs had gotten through?

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Do me a favor, will you? Get the names of all the employees at the clinic, from the doctors all the way down to the guy who takes out the trash. I want to see if there’s any connection between ChemCure Industries and the workers there.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “Just keep me posted. I’ll do the same.”

  “Roger that.”

  Owen ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket, then ran a hand through his hair. This new connection between his case and ChemCure Industries was big, but he couldn’t figure out how just yet. It was like hiking in the dark through a field littered with land mines. He needed to tread carefully, or he would blow the whole thing and his career would tank.

  With a sigh, he stepped back into the hall and made his way toward the ME’s office, his mind already focused on the questions he wanted to ask. He had to be careful to set the right tone, or the company would throw up so many roadblocks he’d never be able to get close again.

  The hum of feminine voices drifted out of the office, and he paused, considering the best way to ensure Hannah Baker cooperated. She’d sounded distinctly unhappy about the need to visit the company this afternoon. Was she worried about her former coworkers’ possible involvement in these murders? Or had her departure not been as amicable as she’d indicated yesterday?

  “You need to stop touching your neck.” Dr. Whitman’s voice was firm but kind. “I know you don’t always realize you’re doing it, but it’s making him suspicious.”

  “Do you think he’s noticed?” Hannah sounded faintly alarmed. Owen took a step closer, straining to hear. She had been hiding something after all. But what?

  “It’s hard not to, the way you’re constantly tugging at your shirt.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m just nervous.”

  “I know,” Dr. Whitman said. “But I promise, no one can see anything.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Her admission sounded reluctant, as if she didn’t really believe her friend but was simply playing along to avoid an argument.

  “Just try to relax,” Dr. Whitman suggested. “I know he’s a bit...intense, but he is a good guy.” Owen felt the tips of his ears warm at her pronouncement, and he resisted the urge to hang his head and shuffle his feet. Coming from any other person, the observation would have filled him with pride. He was a detective—intensity was part of the package. But the idea that his attitude scared Hannah Baker gave him pause.

  “I know,” Hannah replied. “He’s just a tough person to read. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, and it makes me nervous.”

  “I understand. Just be yourself. You’ll get to know him in time, as you two work together. And if you decide to have a little fun while you’re at it...”

  Was it warm in here? He tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling hot.

  “Gabby!”

  The reproach in Hannah’s voice cooled him off somewhat, but he had to admit, he liked the idea of the buttoned-up professor having some fun with him. And as much as he hated to admit it, Nate might be onto something. He’d felt so disconnected from everything and everyone since John’s death. Maybe a fling, however brief, was just what he needed to start feeling again. After John’s shooting, Owen had welcomed the numbness that exhaustion and grief had brought. Now, in his darker moments, he wondered if that numbness was becoming a permanent part of him, a cancer growing and spreading, destroying him in the process. Would he wake up one day to find he could feel nothing?

  “I just hope you don’t let the accident keep you from enjoying the rest of your life. You lost so much time to recovering, it would be a shame for you to lose any more to fear.”

  “I know. But even though he’s attractive, it wouldn’t be right for me to try to start something while he’s working on this case.”

  A surge of respect flowed through him, and Owen found himself nodding in agreement. Exactly. Good to know they were on the same page. And since both of them had no intention of being anything other than professional, it was time for him to stop eavesdropping.

  Even though he was more curious than ever when it came to Hannah Baker.

  Moving quietly, he retreated a few steps down the hall, then turned and walked heavily toward the office, making noise so the women would know he was coming. They both looked at him when he stepped into the room. Hannah’s cheeks were the light pink of a fading blush, while Dr. Whitman had a knowing look in her eyes. Did she realize he’d been eavesdropping? He gave a mental shrug, dismissing the question. It didn’t matter—if she knew, she didn’t look inclined to share the information, and if she didn’t know, he didn’t want to raise her suspicions by acting guilty. Better to act as if everything was normal.

  He offered Hannah a small smile. “Nate, my partner, is following up some leads at a medical clinic this afternoon. That mea
ns it’s just going to be you and me heading over to ChemCure Industries.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and reached for her bag, then stood. “Do you want to go now?”

  “That would be great,” he said, a little surprised by her apparent change of heart. Just a few minutes ago she’d seemed reluctant to go back to ChemCure Industries, but now she was practically running for the door. Had she gotten over her initial shock at the company’s apparent involvement? Or was she just eager to get this over with so she could return to her normal life?

  He pushed the thought aside and nodded at Dr. Whitman. “Please call me if you find anything else on the victims.”

  “Of course.” She stood as they moved toward the door, but didn’t come out from behind her desk. “Good luck at ChemCure. I’ll talk to you later, Hannah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He led her to his car, trying not to read too much into her silence. Focus on the case. Nothing else mattered. Later, when he’d solved these murders, he could relax and indulge in an exploration of his attraction for the professor. Maybe he could even talk her into a fun, no-strings-attached celebration. But for now, it was strictly business between them.

  She climbed into the front seat of the car, and he caught a whiff of lavender as she moved to fasten her seat belt. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the soft scent that was filling the small space of the car. Of course she smelled good. How could she not? With a quiet sigh of resignation, Owen twisted the key in the ignition.

  It was going to be a long ride.

  Chapter 3

  He was quiet as they started out for ChemCure Industries. It was a quality that Hannah appreciated, as she wasn’t much of a talker herself. Over the years, she’d learned that most people weren’t comfortable with silence, and would chatter on about anything and everything in an attempt to fill the void. Very rarely, she would come across another person who didn’t mind the quiet, and she always enjoyed spending time with them. It was exhausting trying to come up with small talk with someone she didn’t know very well. Apparently, Detective Randall felt the same way, and her estimation of him went up a notch or two.