The Anything Goes Girl (A Brenda Contay Novel Of Suspense Book 1)

by Barry Knister

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Morris said.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “This bad publicity you’re talking about. I learned a deal’s already been cut to sell GENE 2 at a discount. And I can tell you the buyers would know about any problems.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  “Morris, this is important.”

  “Kiley & Friedman is representing them.”

  Brenda could tell from his voice that this piece of news pleased her brother. Kiley & Friedman was the firm he was clerking for. “Morris, I need to know.”

  “Yeah, well, f’geddaboudit. If I tell you, my ass is grass here and everywhere else. I told you too much anyway. Don’t ask.”

  “How did you find this out? Do they give information like that to summer interns?”

  Morris did his mirthless lawyer’s laugh. Like squash, it was something he had picked up over the summer.

  “No, they don’t,” he said. “I was in the copy room, duplicating a 10b-5 securities form. Someone left a memo in the machine.”

  “So no one knows you saw this memo.”

  “Correct.”

  “Look, Morris, tell me. Who can know?”

  “Not a chance,” he said. “You want this info for some off-the-wall story. There’s only one summer intern at Kiley & Friedman with a sister in TV. Dig?”

  She knew him. Any appeal to principle would make Morris do the mirthless laugh.

  “You should send Mom a cable,” he added. “Or call her ship, she’d love it. Plus I’d be off the hook. If you can send telegrams, you must be dandy, right?”

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Haffner had asked to see her. When Brenda stepped into his outer office, the door stood open to his consultation room. She entered and saw him standing before the window, looking down. Glancing at his watch, he turned and studied her a moment before looking back out.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “How’d it go in Southfield? Any dizziness?”

  There was no point in telling him what had happened. “I’m fine.” She took the chair in front of his desk.

  “Your color’s much better,” he said. “The man you were picked up with hasn’t fared so well. We got a fax at noon from Phoenix General. He went into a coma at ten last night. His doctor thought you might want to know.”

  Lindbergh had visited her hospital room. Perhaps someone like him had been assigned to Ehrlich. If he died, that would solve part of GENE 2’s problem.

  “You got my message?” Haffner asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The ham operator was calling from Toledo. He’ll call again at seven. He was patching from Chicago, and that patch from somewhere out west. The point of origin was the island of Pohnpei. All he said was to tell you the piston arrived.”

  It took a second to register. The missing piston, the engine part for the Kasalehlia. She had sailed, so Moser must be on Pohnpei.

  “Anyone at your station drive a gray Lincoln?” Haffner was still at the window, looking down.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me something. In your business, when you think there’s a story, do you make it a practice to suborn sources?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Corrupt. Bribe.”

  “We’ve been known to compensate sources.”

  Haffner turned from the window. He took off his glasses and blew on the lenses. “Nurse Patterson,” he said. “She told me she was going to take her break down in the physical therapy room. To try out the new stair-climber. I happened to look out and saw her walking to her car. Five minutes later a gray Lincoln parked next to her, and she got in. She’s on her way back up.”

  Lindbergh.

  “Should I be concerned?” Haffner asked.

  “It’s probably someone from my own station,” Brenda said. “I’m news but I haven’t called in. They may have talked your nurse into feeding them gossip.”

  Just then Patterson entered the outer office. Haffner moved from the window to his door and closed it. Facing Brenda, he put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

  “Just gossip?”

  She said nothing.

  “Let’s get her in here and find out what’s going on.”

  “No, please don’t. I’d appreciate it if you’d let it alone. For now.”

  He considered it. “A known quantity is better than an unknown, is that what you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and opened the door for her. Patterson was now at her desk and looked over. “Hi,” she said. She held a soft drink and peeled off the lid. “I thought you had a pass today.”

  “I came back early.”

  “How was the stair-climber?” Haffner asked.

  “Boring,” she said. “Dumber than the treadmill.”

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Brenda took the elevator down to her floor. A known quantity was definitely better, and perhaps even useful. As she neared her room, Ned Chambers’ voice came from inside.

  She stopped in the hall to listen, then realized what she was doing and felt disgusted with herself. Sure, she thought and moved to the entry. They also suborned your cameraman.

  He was seated in the wheelchair talking to Renee, who waved from the second bed. She was propped against the wall, holding a plastic cup. Ned saw her and stood. He smiled as she came to him, but his eyes registered shock. They hugged.

  “Renee’s been filling me in,” he said.

  “He bribed me.” Her friend raised her plastic cup and pointed to the Styrofoam plate at the foot of the bed. Tacos and margaritas.

  “Came to tour the ruins?” Brenda asked.

  “What? Hey, no. You look good, Bren, honest.”

  “Nice try, Chambers.”

  “Thin, sure, but not like I expected. Stock keeps telling us about all the crud diseases he had in ‘Nam. How you must be clinging to life. He said to give you that.” Ned pointed to a gift-wrapped box on Brenda’s bed. “He keeps nagging people to work on you about coming back for ratings week.”

  She unwrapped the package, folding back tissue. A black satin robe. In gold sequins, a jagged bolt of lightning glittered on the right shoulder. On the back in more sequins crouched the Harley.

  “His tailor made it,” Ned said as Brenda slid it on and walked to the window.

  Renee raised her cup in a toast. “Madonna’s green with envy.”

  Brenda could see herself in the glass, gaunt and somber-faced. Like a Vietnamese hooker down on her luck. “Is he on the sauce?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. With you gone, the ratings are down. The Lightning Rod is missed, believe it. Time for another visit to Betty Ford’s.”

  “You have to get back right away?”

  “I’m off today.”

  “Good, stick around. We’re going to talk to someone on Pohnpei.”

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  “This is KLBT in Toledo. When you talk, say ‘over’ each time. Over.”

  The voice was clear, coming from the speaker phone on Haffner’s desk. Brenda leaned forward. A pocket tape recorder was running next to the phone.

  “This is Brenda Contay.” Her heart was racing.

  Nothing followed. She looked at Haffner and Ned, at Renee seated next to the credenza. Then she remembered. “Over.”

  “It’s Calvin, are you all right?”

  “Say ‘Over,’” the ham operator told him.

  “Are you all right, Brenda? Over.”

  “I’m here, I’m all right. Where are you? Over.”

  “In the Catholic mission on Pohnpei. One of the Jesuits runs a ham station. He gets The New York Times flown in. He showed me the story. The man who shot me smashed both our radios. We couldn’t contact Pohnpei. When they couldn’t reach us, Pohnpei sent the plane. The Kasalehlia came three days ago. Me, Nauko, the crew. I’m using the radio to stay off the satellite. Over.”

  Ned brought a chair and Brenda sat. “How did you know I was here? Ov
er.”

  “One of the priests has a brother. A doctor in Hawaii. The priest called and asked if he could find out where you were taken. The brother called Phoenix and learned where they faxed your medical records. Brenda, can you hear me? Over.”

  “I hear you, over.”

  “When we reached Pohnpei, GENE 2 people were waiting. They wanted to fly me back. I gave them a story and managed to get here, to the mission. Listen carefully now.

  “All the outer islands have resident villages here on Pohnpei. I checked the hospital. Last month, two Pirimese women had partial mastectomies. These two women visited Pirim just after I started my work there. You remember the mix-up with my wasps? How they sent out the wrong ones? It was no mix-up, Brenda. Those two women never drank Vince’s syrup, the soda pop. They got stung and returned on the ship to Pohnpei. Both developed malignant tumors. Are you following this? Over.”

  “Go ahead, over.”

  “The first wasps carried the virus for breast cancer. I’m sure of it. Everyone on the island drank the pop before they got stung. GENE 2 was testing a pre-treatment drug. For breast cancer. No one else developed tumors, just the two women.

  “Before the Kasalehlia reached us, I got Karl to talk. He showed me the contract with GENE 2. It’s twenty-eight pages long. A Supreme Court Justice couldn’t figure it out. A Peace Corps lawyer is here, I showed it to him. He says the Pirimese may have a case, but not a strong one. GENE 2 will settle out of court, and that’s the end of it. Over.”

  “What do we do, Cal? Over.”

  “My work there was just to cover their ass. I’m their insurance. Over.”

  Brenda saw Haffner was staring at the speaker. “How long can you stay at the mission?” she asked. “Over.”

  “As long as I want. Someone named McIntosh called from the mainland. She said anything you say will be discredited, over.”

  “Stall, Cal. Can you get the medical records for the women with tumors?”

  “Over,” Haffner said.

  “I have the records. Listen…didn’t know…believe that. Over.”

  “I do, over.”

  “Please…something for me, would you? Over.”

  “Name it, over.”

  “Call my father… Phoenix. Tell him the truth before…bullshit they’re…out on this—”

  The transmission had gotten worse. “That’s it,” the ham operator said. “No more contact. Whatever that was, I hope it’s what you wanted.” He signed off.

  The office was silent, the desk’s reading lamp the only light. Haffner stopped the recorder. Renee was hugging herself, Ned drawing a blank, hands jammed in his baggy pants. Brenda realized she was cupping her breasts.

  “You tested her blood.” Renee looked at Haffner. “Can you be sure—”

  “We’ll send it to U of M,” he said. “Only long-term staff will have contact with you now. I’ll speak to the head dietitian. She’ll be responsible for all your meals.”

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  “I’m not making this up, people saw funny lights.”

  “But no abductions.”

  The white-haired bar customer nodded to the camera and looked back to Contay. “There you go. No abductions. They don’t always take people. Sometimes they just pick a place for an experiment. Then they put these implants under the skin. You know, to test some problem they got on their own planet—”

  Onscreen, Brenda Contay looked from the customer to the camera. The camera frame was off-center. “Cut him off, Dusty, you over-served him. The big problem here in Honolulu is too much Stoli-on-the-rocks—”

  Jerry laughed and stopped the VCR. “See what I mean? She’s a pistol,” he said. “Walks in a bar, sits down. One minute later, they’re spilling their guts like she’s family. We don’t want to lose her.”

  Lindbergh nodded, looking away from the wall monitor in the producer’s office.

  “Are you sure she hasn’t talked to anyone?” Jerry asked. “News 2 pitched her in June.”

  “Not according to the nurse. She got a call from her brother in New York. Her mother’s on a cruise. Her roommate and the camera guy came to visit this afternoon.”

  “Ned Chambers, that’s good,” Jerry said. “She likes him. Loyalty might factor in.”

  Seeing the video had made it clear to Lindbergh why she was popular. It also convinced him he was right about her.

  “You say all her features are pre-recorded,” he said.

  “All except the live remotes. When she makes it to some breaking news.”

  “She thinks GENE 2 conned people on the island she went to. She’s got it wrong, but she might want to take us over the jumps anyway. She refused compensation. If she goes public on television, you’d be looking at serious legal trouble.”

  “I follow,” Jerry said. “It won’t happen on my watch. You’re right about her, she’s the type.”

  “When she comes back, no live remote.”

  “Understood.”

  On my watch, Lindbergh thought as he looked at the producer. After talking to the nurse in the Mercygrove parking lot, he had driven to Southfield. Jerry had been practicing his putting on the rug of his office, dressed in trendy plus-fours. I played twenty-seven holes this morning, he said. I just got here. I leave my jacket on the back of my chair. That way, if anyone wants me, the secretary says my coat’s here, I must be in the building.

  “I need to make some calls,” Lindbergh said.

  “Sure.” Jerry crossed to the door. “We have to keep her happy,” he said. “My ass is grass if she takes another offer. Lou Stock would shit. He’d never admit it, but Brenda’s carrying his eleven o’clock show. Plus, we have a rating’s week coming up. If this nurse hears anything, make sure I know.” He opened the door and closed it behind him.

  On my watch, Lindbergh thought again. The day before, he had followed Contay to Mercygrove and eaten in the basement cafeteria. For two hours, hospital staff came and went. Just before two, a nurse had come in on break, excited about meeting Brenda Contay. Talking loud over coffee, she had told others how awful Contay looked, then something about an insect in her room.

  Getting a coffee refill, Lindbergh had checked the nametag on her uniform. He’d looked up Patterson in the staff registry, and called her that night at home, claiming to be from W-DIG. The station was worried, Brenda wouldn’t talk to them. TV is cutthroat, surely Patterson understood. Competitors would love to get Brenda to jump ship, especially while she was confused over what had happened. Lindbergh had emphasized how great a service Patterson would be doing to help them out. We’d make it worth your while, he said.

  The nurse had agreed immediately. There was a conference room on the first floor, where patients make calls. She could hear from the records room next door.

  Lindbergh moved to Jerry’s desk and took up the phone. He got an outside line and tapped the number. It was three hours earlier in Reno, his broker would still be working. On her break that afternoon, the nurse had met him in the hospital parking lot. Her brother Morris called, Patterson told him. I think she’s working on some story. She asked about investors trying to take over Neff Industries. This Neff company wants to sell something called GENE 2.

  The broker answered.

  “It’s Lindbergh. Did you hear anything about a takeover of Neff Industries?”

  “Hi, Chuck. Yes, that’s the buzz. A group of sunbelt investors.”

  “Say Neff fights the takeover. Declares a big dividend, sells assets—”

  “A poison pill.”

  “Whatever. Say they plan to sell GENE 2, but say they know about a negative story on GENE 2. About their research.”

  “Oh boy. You have a big position there.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, I don’t want to get screwed.”

  “You want me to dump it tomorrow? Just a second.” He heard the broker turn in his chair. Keys clicked. “It’s up half a point in after-hours trading. You’d be ahead.”

  Lindbergh thought a moment. “My sou
rce says the GENE 2 buyers would know about this negative story. He says the company would have to reveal it.”

  “That’s true. If Neff sold an asset in trouble and wasn’t up front with the buyers, they’d be under investigation the moment the story came out. Subpoenas, audits. They’d never do it.”

  “If the buyers already know, why are they still interested?”

  “Well, you told me GENE 2 had something big in the pipeline. If the buyers still want the firm, they must think the new product’s too valuable for bad publicity to offset the gains. Why don’t you talk to your contact? He must know something.”

  “He died.” Freddy Song had never said what was going to make GENE 2 stock explode.

  “I don’t know,” the broker said. “All I can tell you is, Neff would not try to snooker their buyers.”

  “Thanks. Hold it for now, talk to you later.”

  Lindbergh hung up. Before leaving Phoenix, he had told McIntosh about buying GENE 2 shares, about selling other stocks to do it. She had agreed it was a smart move. But she had not mentioned the takeover.

  She had to know about it, and that made him very angry. He looked around the paneled office, at framed awards and certificates of merit. The same bullshit figured in McIntosh’s office. He saw himself there, looking down at her as she made notes. Something else was going on. She was playing games.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  That night, Haffner called the University of Michigan Hospital and arranged for Brenda’s blood to be tested.

  He took her down to the lab for the blood to be drawn. Renee and Ned went with her, standing silently as the technician inserted the needle. Brenda watched the vial fill, another, a third. She thought of the young woman on Pohnpei, saw her crossing the hospital’s courtyard, spitting as she tore off the bandage.

  The three of them returned to her room. “You better go,” Brenda told Renee. “You’re at the Marriott? Ned will take you.”

  “It’s all right, I’ve got my rental.”

  Brenda looked at Ned. The phone patch had worried and confused him. “Would you follow her home? I’d feel better.”