“I can’t remember that long ago!”
“I imagine you needed the money, so you wouldn’t take time off work on a whim, or very often for that matter,” Bex continued. “Did you take time off work because your daughter was ill on December 18?”
The woman shook her head. “I told you it’s impossible for me to remember that long ago. Maybe I asked another waitress who had the day off to fill in for me. We often used to cover for each other. I did it often enough for the others.”
Bex shoved a photo under her nose. “This is the woman who filled in for you on the 18th. Who is she?”
Gomez batted back strands of limp hair, exposing the label on the medicine bottle clasped in her palm. Bex pounced, stripping the bottle from Gomez’s fingers. With her eyes glued to the white rectangle attached to the outside, shock blasted through Bex’s veins.
“This prescription medicine comes from Quest Biorobotics Enterprises. Why is that?” Anxiety made her bark the words at Gomez.
QBE was involved with the medical trial testing the drug she suspected had killed Zane, but had been meant for her. It was also the facility Cole suspected was harboring Lander Dresden. She had promised Cole she wouldn’t go near the place, but she wouldn’t be able to keep that promise if she substantiated a link to Zane’s death!
Gomez shot a fierce look at Bex and held out a peremptory hand. “Give it back! It’s not your property. I need it for my daughter!”
She lunged towards Bex, who returned the bottle to avoid a scuffle. She no longer had any authority in New York to seize items as evidence.
“What does your daughter have to do with Quest Biorobotics? They specialize in bio-organic robotic prostheses. Has your daughter lost a limb? Or is she paralyzed?” Bex continued to drill Gomez.
Gomez tucked the bottle into a pocket. She glowered at both of them. “You’re not police, I don’t have to answer these questions!”
“Listen, Cabalina, a man was killed on December 18 after eating at the Manhattan Club. That man was my husband and I’m trying to find out if he was poisoned at the restaurant.”
Gomez tried on a bored expression, but her furtive eyes belied her disinterest. “You said your husband was missing.”
“No, I said I was looking to find out what happened to him. We can have a friendly chat now, or I can take my suspicions to the police. Maybe you’ll talk more freely with them.” Bex knew the threat was harsh when she intercepted an astonished glance from Walt. But he didn’t know the full story or why she was pushing so hard for answers.
Gomez pursed her lips. “QBE have doctors there, just like anywhere else. A doctor prescribes this medicine for my daughter.”
“What’s the medicine for?”
“Acute flaccid myelitis. It started as a respiratory illness before the paralysis spread to her legs. She can still move her arms, but we don’t know for how long.” Gomez swiped at her eyes, daubing black smears around her eyes. “It happened so suddenly, like a lightening strike! The disease is so rare no one knows too much about it. Paquita’s had physical and occupational therapy, which eases the symptoms but doesn’t cure it.” Her voice turned bitter. “Doctors don’t have any answers for me. I’ve contacted dozens of medical facilities in New York. The only one who showed any interest was QBE. Now she has a place in their testing facility and it doesn’t cost me a penny. She’s even able to walk again with help from a special robotic suit.”
“An exoskeleton?”
“Yes, that’s the word.”
“I’m very sorry for your daughter, but I need to know how long you’ve been dealing with QBE.”
“They’ve been helping Paquita for two years.”
That time frame overlapped Zane’s death.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you any more.” Gomez’s head jerked right then left as though pulled by invisible wires, then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “And please don’t tell anyone you spoke to me. This experimental treatment for Paquita, it has to be kept confidential. It’s to do with their research being stolen by rival companies. It’s rife in the medical and pharmaceutical industries. If their research is stolen, the millions of dollars they’ve invested are wasted.”
“I won’t ask any more questions about QBE if you just tell me, did you always use the same person to fill in for you when you couldn’t make your shift at the Manhattan Club? Is it the woman in this photo?”
Gomez shifted her eyes away, her expression cagey. She gave a shrug, pretending indifference.
“Cabalina, this is as important to me as your daughter’s health is to you. I’m not going to give up.”
When Gomez looked up, her eyes didn’t engage Bex’s, they rolled wildly around the room. After dragging in a shaky breath, her glance finally settled beyond Bex, as though she was staring at some danger lurking behind her shoulder, unable to completely mask her terror.
“Please, don’t involve the police. My daughter’s treatment depends on me keeping everything confidential,” she begged. “I don’t know the woman who took my place that day. A week before, I was at Quest, waiting for Paquita’s treatment. I had come from work so I was wearing my uniform. One of the nurses remarked on it and asked me about my job. I don’t remember her name. She suggested I take a day off the following week to spend time with my daughter because they needed to do some extra tests that might be more painful than usual. I told her I would need to find a replacement to fill my shift. She said I needn’t worry, that she would arrange everything for me.”
Bex frowned. “Didn’t you find that strange?”
“You learn not to ask too many questions when you’re in my position. I need all the help I can with Paquita. She’s able to move around now. With long pants on you can’t even see the robotic legs and she’s learning more and more every day about controlling them.”
“Can you give us a description of the woman you spoke to?”
Gomez compressed her lips. “I don’t remember her face. Maybe it’s the woman in the photo, but I can’t be sure. And I never saw who replaced me. I was told not to worry about it. My shift had been taken care of.”
“What happened after that?”
Her face crumpled into a frown. “What do you mean? Nothing happened after that. I went to work the day after just as normal. We never spoke of it again at the institute.”
Bex’s head drooped from fatigue and disappointment.
“Thank you for your time,” Walt said.
He gripped Bex’s arm, towing her towards the door. A protest died on her lips. Walt was right, it was useless to press Gomez further. The woman had told them everything she knew.
Chapter 22
The Neapolitan Hotel, Little Italy
Thursday, 26 April
Dresden stared with blank eyes into the street below her hotel window. The sun slanted through cracks between the buildings across the road, to land in lines stippling the room’s carpet. On Tomei’s recommendation she had found a boutique hotel in Little Italy that was happy to take payment in cash and had a desk clerk who didn’t look too closely at the Indiana driver’s license she provided let alone question why her accent bore no resemblance to a bland mid-west tongue.
The area around 14th Street reminded her of the gentrification sweeping London boroughs. Anything that had once been gritty and dangerous about the area had been swept under a monetary invasion consisting of artsy renovations by young, hipster professionals. Canal and 14th was a handy public transport hub, the area had reasonably priced restaurants and, best of all, the hotel catered to guests who minded their own business.
Dresden dropped her eyes back to the message on her phone.
Patient 82TP912 is under surveillance. You are being watched.
The message had reached her just before 10:00 a.m. She usually attended Lander’s room from 11:00 a.m. Never earlier, because that’s when the doctors and researchers had access to him, probing and testing, taking notes and making adjustments. So the text had to have come from someone at QBE
who wanted to make sure that Dresden didn’t arrive today.
The message came from a blocked number. She didn’t have the resources to trace it. Making an educated guess she presumed the message was from Wyatt Tomei. He was the man with the largest vested interest in making sure QBE stayed on the healthy side of the law and out of public and media scrutiny.
Her chin jutted with stony determination. She appreciated the warning but she couldn’t avoid the institute. Lander was still inside. She had to decide the best way to get him out of the building and both of them safely away from New York.
Bollocks! Lander would be pissed at her. The trip to London had been a mistake. She wondered who had been sent to track her down. Someone from the Met like DCI Bex Wynter? Why not? Wynter was a native New Yorker and had been intimately involved with her case so choosing her made sense.
For an instant she hoped she would come face to face with the feisty detective. She would enjoy another encounter with her since the last one hadn’t gone entirely her way. Sure, Dresden had escaped police clutches but the price she’d paid was her good reputation. Not leaving London on her own terms rankled. Dresden let herself feast on a violent surge of anger that led to several fantasy scenarios.
If she had the chance, she would enjoy meeting Wynter again. The woman had a lot to answer for regarding the way Dresden’s future had panned out.
Chapter 23
Times Square, New York
Thursday 26 April
“I’m at a loss to understand why someone from Quest Biorobotics Enterprises would want you killed,” said Captain Gabriel Ortiz.
“Well, there’s still the possibility Zane was the target,” Bex answered.
Ortiz and Walt had joined Bex at a crowded BBQ brasserie in Times Square. The lighting was dim, the noise levels loud. She had chosen the location because she was meeting her father at the restaurant later in the evening. In front of the two men square plates were piled high with spare ribs. Off duty, Ortiz was dressed casually in a nylon windbreaker loose enough to conceal his weapon. He pushed his sleeves up and tucked in.
Walt gave a restrained burp and wiped his hands on his napkin. “Zane’s even less likely as a target. He didn’t make enemies the way you did. Remember our first case together?”
Bex shivered. It had been a long-running serial killer who had lain dormant for a number of years but had re-emerged when Bex partnered with Walt in her first ever investigation as a homicide detective. She didn’t think she would ever forget it.
“You managed to rile up any number of suspects without even trying. Anyone of them would have gladly seen you into the bottom of a six foot hole.”
The tables around them were packed with diners scarfing their meals before heading into Broadway shows. Nursing a glass of sparkling mineral water, Bex felt her stomach growl. She would kill for a neat bourbon, but she was afraid it might hurt the baby.
Easing back in his chair with a replete sigh, Walt said, “You on a diet or something? I don’t recall ever seeing you stick with water before.”
“I’m meeting my dad here later, so I’m not ordering yet.”
She dropped her eyes to the digital photo printed from the Manhattan Club’s security camera that she had handed to Ortiz.
Ortiz pushed his plate aside, using his napkin to wipe traces of sauce from his mustache. Using thumb and forefinger, he then groomed it into shape along his upper lip before taking the photo from her hand. The mustache was a new addition since she’d left for London, but she had to admit it suited his aquiline profile.
“I take it this is why you invited me for a free meal? I should’ve known there was a catch. What do you expect me to do with this photo?”
“Can you run it through the database to get an ID?”
“Bex, you know I can’t run up someone just because your gut instinct says they’re guilty.”
“Then put in the cause. New evidence has come to light in Zane Wynter’s death that leads you to believe it is now a homicide.”
Ortiz rested his head on his open palm and gave a weary sigh. “Based on your suspicions of a cup of coffee served by an unknown waitress that you’ve identified from this photo and no forensic evidence. Walt, did this waitress serve you and Zane all night?”
“Sure did. And I know she was new to the job, not just the Club. Take a look at this photo. You see her shoes? Most of the servers wear sensible clodhoppers. This woman wore pumps, not super high but with enough of a heel that meant her legs must have been killing her by the end of her shift. She’d never worked in a restaurant before, that’s for sure.”
Bex leaned forward to emphasize her words. “From what Cabalina Gomez said, it sounds like this woman was put into place specifically to be at the restaurant that day by QBE. That leads to the question: If QBE was targeting either Zane or me, how did they know we’d be at the restaurant that day?”
“Easy,” said Walt. “Zane and I had a standing date. We met there every week, same day, same time, unless one of us couldn’t get away from work.”
“Which makes it seem like Zane must’ve been the target,” Bex said. “Because I didn’t make it a habit to go to the restaurant.”
“Except you were supposed to join us that night before you and Zane took off for Armonk. You didn’t exactly keep your plans secret around the precinct. Maybe Zane posted about your plans on social media? So QBE and our unknown server knew you’d be there for dinner.”
Zane’d had several online accounts where he featured his photos, often with snappy one-liner captions. Bex frowned. Walt’s words reinforced her father’s dictum that, through social media, your life was an open book and you had no control over who could access it.
“Except I covered your ass by staying late in the office to wrap up some paperwork. Instead of having dinner with you guys, I grabbed a burger on the way home because I still had to head to the apartment and pack for our trip. That was last minute, so no one could’ve anticipated I wouldn’t be there.”
Ortiz shook his head. “What’s the motive to attack you? If someone wanted to kill you, there are easier ways to do it than staking out a restaurant to poison you.”
Bex chewed on her lip. She was determined not to mess up Cole’s case against their former boss so she hadn’t confided in Walt and Gabe about Sophie Dresden’s presence in New York or her suspicion that Dresden was involved with QBE. Zane’s death had happened months before she applied for the London job and met Dresden, so there couldn’t be a connection between Dresden and Zane’s death! But the coincidence played on her mind.
Bex excused herself from the table, claiming the need for a bathroom break, and moved to the back of the restaurant. Screened from the rest of the diners by a bank of palms and hugging the wall, she fished out her phone and dialed Cole’s number.
“I’ve had a shit of a day, so it’s nice to hear a friendly voice,” he greeted her with warmth.
The tenderness in his voice touched her more deeply than she expected or wanted. She swiftly pushed aside the connection she felt.
“This isn’t a personal call. I need some information. Is there any chance Dresden could have had links with QBE as early as December 2016?” she asked without preamble.
“Gods, woman, stop reading my mind! Have I got a leak on my team?” She could tell by his tone that her question had caught him by surprise.
“I take that as a yes, Cole. Would you care to explain?”
“No I would not.”
He was clamming up again, when she needed him to talk.
“Listen, Cole, I may have information that can help with your case. But I need a few facts first, like when Dresden got involved with QBE.”
After a few seconds of silence, a heavy sigh whistled down the line. “The only thing I will say is that when QBE announced a medical breakthrough in their spinal cord injury treatment back in January 2017 it may have attracted the Dresdens’ attention. Now, what information did you wish to share?”
Bex released her own pe
nt up breath. “I presume you have access to a QBE personnel list. If I send you a photo could you check if it matches a staff member?”
His frustration was tangible as he answered, “How many times do I have to tell you not to get mixed up in the investigation in any way? Stay out of it, Bex. I’m begging you, stay out of it and away from QBE. If you won’t tell me where you are so I can protect you, you have to stay as far away from this business as possible!”
“I’ll send you that photo. You can let me know if there’s a match or not after you have Dresden in custody if it makes you feel better.” She dropped the truculence from her tone to reassure him. “Listen, Cole, I am looking after myself. Right now I’m having dinner with a cop and an ex-cop, both of whom are armed so I’m probably safer than you. Please stop worrying about me. Just concentrate on catching Dresden to put her away for a very long time.”
She ended the call before Cole could say anything more. Wending her way through the tables she noticed Gabe and Walt in deep conversation, their heads bent closely together. They were so intent on their discussion, they didn’t hear her approach.
“…wouldn’t waste resources on this, Gabe. I think stress has made her delusional again. Now she’s swapped the story of a car running them off the road to someone making an attempt on her life. I’m really worried that, more than a year later, she’s not been able to move on from Zane’s death.”
Her chest contracted so hard it was difficult to breath through the tightness. Why didn’t Walt trust her instincts? Or was she so bone-tired she was imagining layers of deceit around Zane’s death where there weren’t any? Maybe Walt was right. She needed to move on with her life and concentrate on the new baby growing inside her.
Chapter 24
Lower East Manhattan,
Thursday, 26 April
A rain of invective hailed over Kristian’s head. He barely paid attention, so used to his mother’s downers after the high of her cocaine hit had left her. Then she dwindled into a maudlin mess, her arms draped over him.
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