by M. G Scott
But that wasn’t the full story: Sabrina had no intention of telling Carla her mother had to fend for herself the day Sabrina left for New York. It was a selfish move, Sabrina knew, but she needed a new beginning otherwise she would never survive. As hard as she tried, that terrible memory two months ago was never far from her—day after day. Sabrina had told her mother she would be back: Back to New York City, back from the depression that almost cost her own sanity. But only when she was ready. Maybe that’s why, she pondered, I need to write about him. It was the only way she could right a wrong after her sister was murdered. She couldn’t force Carla to understand her motive. That would take time. And now wasn’t it, so she changed the subject. “I thought the ceremony was lovely.”
“Thank you. It was a very emotional day but I thought Pastor Creighton did a wonderful job presiding over the funeral.” Carla stopped and looked away. And then she said, “I just wish they hadn’t …”
Sabrina narrowed her eyebrows as she put a hand on Carla’s arm. She didn’t pull away. “Hadn’t what?”
“Cremated him,” Carla barely replied. “That was never his wish or mine.”
“If that was against your wishes, then why do it?”
“I didn’t. After the autopsy, he was cremated. When I found out, I couldn’t believe that happened, especially after everything else. So I called the funeral home, assuming it was them. They said it had been authorized by the coroner’s office. Of course, I demanded answers from them but all they said was that it had been authorized by the family.”
“By the family? But you just said—”
“I know,” Carla said, interrupting her. “When I protested, they acted as if it were an administrative error.”
“Not even an apology?”
“Nothing. The coroner—I think her name is Yori Wainer. She was absolutely unapologetic.”
“I can’t believe someone could be so callous.”
Carla bit her lip. “What can I do? I can’t bring his body or his life back.”
Sabrina was losing her but she still needed to find out about Eric’s last days. “Can you take me back to that Friday? What was his work schedule like?”
“I can remember him coming home late from work that day, which really isn’t all that odd. On occasion, he had been known to work long hours.”
“So he tended to bury himself in his work?”
“Sometimes. But he was also very aware of the time apart from me. He would bring something on the days he worked late to show how guilty he was. God, he was such a sweetheart.” Carla’s voice seemed more upbeat.
“What did he do on Saturday? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“That is what’s so puzzling. It was normal. It was like any other weekend day when he worked a late Friday.”
“You say he did things for you. What did he do on that Saturday?”
“He made me breakfast in bed. He was such a romantic.”
A certain jealousy fell on Sabrina. A man with those kinds of thoughts never entered her life, let alone being married to one.
Carla leaned toward Sabrina. “We talked a bit about his work. I do remember him saying they were approaching a deadline and it was making him nervous. But that’s about it.”
“So nothing too peculiar?”
“No. Not really. We spent the weekend cleaning the house, like we do most of the time. We had a nice quiet dinner Saturday night.”
“Very ordinary.”
“Yes, mundane was all the rage with us.” There was a peek of a smile under the layers of sorrow.
“And Sunday?”
“You know … as I talk about it today, that’s the only day he wasn’t really himself. At the time, I figured he was thinking about the workweek ahead.”
“Stress?”
She nodded. “Every time he heard about another woman dying from breast cancer, it made him that much more motivated to complete the research. So he went fishing that day, which in itself was not a big deal, but he usually planned for it—you know, made his own bait—that sort of thing. On that day, we had breakfast and then he abruptly left for the lake.”
“Does seem impromptu.”
“Yes. And like I said, not like him. He gathered his gear, kissed me on the way out and said he would be back in a few hours. How could I have known I would never see him again?” Carla’s shoulders slumped.
Sabrina sat motionless. Every answer seemed to draw new questions, yet she knew it was taking a toll on Carla. What was surprising was she had been more open than Sabrina ever thought possible. There was one last thing she needed to find out and then she’d leave her alone. “You say your husband worked at BioHumanity?”
A nod.
“Do you think you can get me in there?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’d like to find out what happened to your husband and BioHumanity would be a great place to start.”
A tear slipped down her face. The sun hit it just right causing her cheek to shimmer. And then it was gone.
“Carla?”
She focused on Sabrina. “I’m getting there. I’m just trying to figure out if this is worth it. You know, unraveling the last few days of my husband’s life.”
“If there’s another truth, I’ll do everything I can to find it.”
Carla took a deep breath and eyed the setting sun. “I don’t know what it means, but Eric wasn’t himself the last few weeks of his life.”
“Do you think it could’ve been work related?”
“I think so. About a week before his death, he opened up over a cup of coffee.”
“What did he say?”
“That the company was thinking about cutting funding for the research. To him, that didn’t make sense and he intended to find out why.”
“Did he give you any more details?”
Carla shook her head. “No.”
“Maybe it contributed to his death?”
Carla stayed silent for a few seconds, then replied, “It’s been weighing on my mind ever since his death.”
Sabrina sighed. She had more questions than answers. And she still hadn’t secured what she wanted—Carla’s help in getting Sabrina into BioHumanity. “Carla?”
Carla gazed at her wearily.
“It’s really important I see where Eric worked. Will you help me?”
An awkward silence followed as Carla pondered the question. Her eyes gazed toward a flock of birds circling just above them.
Sabrina winced. She could tell Carla was withdrawing emotionally.
Carla reached out and put a hand on Sabrina’s arm. “I’m afraid I have to leave.”
“But Carla—”
“To answer your question,” Carla replied calmly, interrupting her, “yes, I will.” A small smile appeared on her lips and then she vanished into the darkening horizon.
Chapter 22
Vua sat in his chair, peering through the spacious penthouse office window toward the Acapulco Bay. Breathtaking, he thought.
He sighed.
He was spending too much time in his office. Normally, he would’ve taken the time to stroll around Acapulco’s Harbor with this much sun bleaching the sandy beaches. But not today. Especially not today. A small security lapse was interrupting his day, causing his patience to run thin. And it still wasn’t resolved.
Vua’s thoughts wandered to his brother. What would he say about the success his younger brother had achieved? It was his brother who had made this all possible. It was his brother who had given Vua the idea for the Acapulco Heart Center, and because of that, Vua reasoned, he was well on his way to growing a hundred million dollar company into a billion dollar powerhouse if things stayed at this pace. Besides saving lives, he was becoming richer than he ever thought possible.
What could be better?
A knock on the door made him anxious. He was waiting for the all-clear on the security breach and this had better be it. “Yes?” he almost shouted at the door.
The hea
d of security, Rico Salarez, walked in, his gentle frame and demeanor a direct contrast to the type of work he did for a living.
“Do I have anything to be worried about?” Vua quizzed Rico when he closed the door.
A quick shake of the head. “No. After the woman in the protest was identified as a former donor, we reran the video to see if she contacted or conversed with anyone. Nothing could be interpreted that she did.”
A sigh and then Vua banged the desk with a fist. “So what you’re telling me is it’s inconclusive. That right?”
A pause as if unsure how to respond and then, “That’s right, Dr. Vua,” Rico repeated calmly.
“Well, I want her out of my sight. Have the authorities deport her immediately.” Vua was well acquainted with the local politicians and authorities given the amount of money he had donated over the years. All Rico had to do was say Vua’s name and the request would be handled immediately, without any questions.
Rico nodded curtly. “Consider it done.” He turned and opened the door.
“One more thing,” Vua called after him. “Have your staff run an analysis again on that footage. I want to make sure every piece of that video is cleared not once but twice.”
“Yes. Of course,” Rico responded. He then closed the door.
“Shit,” Vua muttered to himself as he spun his chair to face the massive windows. He didn’t like cracks in security. If any of them broke through, that could be the end of his dream.
Chapter 23
Sabrina winced as the high sun poured through the driver’s window. Fumbling for her sunglasses, she suddenly wished she was still driving her convertible. It had such a feeling of freedom, she thought, especially on warm afternoons like this.
She eased up on the gas pedal. The rental labored as she reached the end of Maxwell Mountain Road, just north of the Oceanside foothills. A mixture of brownstone and granite came into view on the left announcing the corporate headquarters of BioHumanity. She stopped at the security gate where an older man with shaggy hair and droopy eyes inquired about her visit. After announcing whom she was visiting, the man checked his list and nodded his approval.
Good. Carla had done her part.
She found a parking spot in the visitor lot, just a few steps from the glass atrium entrance. She gathered her black backpack and headed for the revolving door centered among large, triangular glass panels that numbered in the hundreds. She smiled to herself. BioHumanity was a corporation that liked to flaunt its riches.
Inside, an energetic buzz seemed to lift the atrium into a purr of activity as twin escalators carried its employees to and from a lofty second floor.
“Can I help you?” Sabrina turned toward a guard near the security desk staring at her closely. He was wearing a dark turtleneck under a company-issued gold sport coat and, although he was bald, he had a striking look given his black eyeglasses, chiseled face, and muscular frame.
She made sure to keep her voice steady and perky. “I’m here to see Joseph Batton,” she replied. It was the only name Carla knew inside of BioHumanity. He was Eric’s manager, but as Carla noted at the end of their last phone conversation, Batton tended to work in isolation, so may not be the best person to glean anything from.
He typed the name into a small laptop hidden under the long, black marble counter. “You must be Sabrina Katz?”
“I am.”
He handed her a visitor’s pass. “Please wear this while you’re on company grounds and return it to the front desk when you’re visit is over.” She took the plastic badge and took a seat on one of the leather couches occupying the center of the atrium. It couldn’t have been more than a minute when a voice interrupted her.
“Sabrina?”
She looked up expecting the deep, burly voice to belong to a man of similar physique. Instead, a small boyish-looking man with round spectacles and very fine sandy brown hair stood before her. She almost wanted to classify him as a nerd but for the fine choice of clothing.
He pushed a hand toward her. “Joseph Batton.”
“Glad to meet you. I’m Sabrina Katz,” she replied as he compressed his hand forcefully into her only good one.
Batton eyed her sling. “What happened?”
“A bit of a mishap on the road.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he replied without a hint of compassion. He turned and waved her on. “Won’t you please follow me up the grand staircase.” He led her down a long stretch of hallway where large opulent sconces made of aluminum projected hazy diamond-shaped figures on the wall. Doorway after doorway they passed, all framed in natural maple, until they stopped at a stainless steel door with just a hint of glass at eye level.
He placed a thumb in the scanner next to the door. The security light flashed green and the door clicked open.
“After you, Ms. Katz,” he said, holding the door open.
“Sabrina will do just fine,” she replied softly.
They entered a lab flooded with maple-colored lab counters. A subtle hum layered the room as, everywhere she turned, LED lights and digital numbers flashed in what seemed like random order. A researcher stood on the other side of the room, staring at flat screens popping with lines and numbers. Batton led her to a cluster of offices near the back of the lab. “Feel free to get comfortable in my office,” he said. Sabrina grabbed a leather upright while Batton plunked down in a heavily padded office chair facing her.
He eyed her for a few seconds then reached into one of his drawers. A second later, his hands reappeared with a rubber band and quarter-sized rubber ball covered in the same rubber bands. “Ever know why golf balls bounce?”
She eyed the ball as he juggled it lightly in his hand. “Because it’s made of rubber?”
He smirked as he wrapped the band around the ball, joining what seemed like a hundred others. “Rubber’s only part of the story, my dear. The golf ball gets its bounce from the tightly wound core bound with everyday rubber bands.”
She frowned at the awkward exchange. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
He reached across his desk and grabbed a white golf ball sitting near the edge. He tossed it to her. “Look at its gleaming outer shell.”
She wasn’t in the mood for any games. “It’s white and has dimples,” she replied. “So what?”
“That’s right. From the outside, you know nothing of the inside. … All you see is the pretty white shell.”
She looked away. He was telling her something but she wasn’t getting it. “I don’t play golf … so I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
He smirked a bit more, revealing yellowing teeth between his lips. He put the ball down and watched as it rolled a few inches away. “Mrs. Sanchez asked if I would help you. Out of respect for Eric, I told her it was the least I could do.” He focused on her eyes.
“Thank you.” Ignoring their exchange about the golf ball, she asked, “What can you tell me about Eric?”
“He was an A+ researcher … had the drive and the knowledge needed to rapidly develop a drug in less time than any others I’ve worked with in my career.”
“What about him as an individual?”
“You mean his personality?”
“Right.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t get to know him very well. We were busy doing research.”
“Was that the breast cancer drug?”
He looked confused. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
She eyed him. It was a peculiar response. “Can you tell me anything about how it was going? Was he close to a breakthrough?”
He grabbed the arms of his chair as he tried to get a bit more comfortable. “He was in the midst of researching a clinical trial. We were just about ready to get the FDA involved.”
“Must’ve been going well then.”
“It was.”
“How close do you think he was to finding the answer?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Company policy says we can’t disclose research projects to the outside world.” He l
owered his voice. “I’m sure you can understand that.” An underbelly of anger grabbed her attention and it made her instantly feisty.
“I get that, but … I’m not sure what the policy is on a dead person. I would assume you’ve already checked into that?”
The brittle smile returned. “Don’t get smart with me, Ms. Katz. I’m only doing Carla, and you, a favor. Do you know how hard it is see one of our best pass away?”
“Hold on—”
He moved briskly from his chair. “I think our time is up. I want to thank you—”
“Do you know why Eric might be involved in organ donations?” Sabrina interjected.
Batton had just opened the office door but the question froze his intentions. He purposely shut the door and spun around. “Why would you think that?”
“Because he complained to a friend a few days before he disappeared.”
“What friend?”
No way she was going to involve Brieman. “Can’t disclose that.”
He grinned. “Then there’s nothing to it.”
“Judging by your body language, I’d say there is something to it.”
He stared for a second at her, as if trying to figure out a way to dismiss the comment. He shrugged. “Many of our researchers get involved in pet projects. Maybe it was just a random comment on somebody else’s work. That’s common around here.”
“I’m not sure—”
He again opened the door. “I have another appointment. I’ll have my assistant, Mona, stop by and walk you out. If you have further questions, leave them with her and I’ll be glad to answer them when I can.”
Sabrina didn’t believe the sincerity one bit. She grabbed her things and walked passed him, not bothering to thank him for his time. She met a woman standing just outside Batton’s office.
“Sabrina?” the woman asked, holding out her hand.
“Yes, that’s me,” Sabrina replied, before giving the woman a quick handshake. She appeared to be in her twenties, but that may have been because of the way she dressed. A tight-fitting, low-cut top was wrapped around her petite torso, matched with black capris.
“I’m Mona Frederick.”