"Really? I thought he was working today."
"Yeah—was. Boss gave him the rest of the day off. Lucky guy, especially with the weather being so nice and all. Excuse me while 1 see if Dr. Blackstone is available. Feel free to have a seat." Tina motioned to the lobby waiting area and then picked up the phone.
That was odd, Jodi thought as she sat on the edge of a chair by the fishtank. I just spoke with Bruce minutes ago. He didn't say anything about cutting out early. Whafs up with that? So, like, I'm gonna have this meeting . . . alone? Lost in thought, her eyes followed an orange swordfish. It darted into a hole in the side of a sunken ship. The ship, surrounded by wispy-looking brown kelp, rested on the pebbled bottom of the fishtank.
"Miss Adams?"
Jodi looked up. Her eyes narrowed briefly. Dr. Blackstone, she
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assumed. He held the door to the inner hallway open as he examined the waiting area.
"Yes, Tm Jodi Adams," she said. She ran her fingers through her hair and then rose from her chair.
"If you'll follow me."
She offered a tentative smile. "Um, sure thing."
Dr. Blackstone walked briskly down the hall, his white lab coat flowing in his wake. On both her left and right was a row of doors. Some closed, some open. She could hear dogs barking and birds squawking behind those that were closed.
As she passed room 5, she glanced inside. It had a stainless-steel examination table, a small sink, a medicine cabinet, and a chair. Pretty much what she'd expected.
At the end of the hall, she turned left and followed Dr. Blackstone to a room marked "Restricted Area—Authorized Personnel Only." She watched him enter a code on the electronic, wall-mounted keypad.
"I appreciate your coming, and on such short notice," he said over his shoulder. "Things are rather crazy in this wing. We can talk more comfortably in here." With a sharp click, the door lock released.
Inside, she noted, was an impressive surgical suite, as nice as the one she had experienced at Abington Hospital's state-of-the-art facility. She was drawn to a bank of large windows that overlooked a berm of tall pine trees.
"I designed the facility to maximize the view," Dr. Blackstone said, his arms folded. "When you spend hours cutting animals open, as I do, the picturesque scenery renews the mind." He spoke the words in a detached, clinical tone.
He continued. "What you don't see, Jodi, is the extensive soundproofing. Nothing that happens in this room can be heard outside these walls. If you'd like to test it out, be my guest and yell."
Jodi turned from the view toward Dr. Blackstone, clutching her purse to her side. She felt chilled. Why would he say something like
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that? She definitely didn't like the feeling of isolation that swept over her, or the way Dr. Blackstone studied her. She couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't trustworthy.
He forced a smile. "Naturally the soundproofing is for the benefit of my clients in the other parts of the building. It prevents them from unnecessary discomfort when we're in surgery." He stroked his goatee. "You know, the sounds from drilling or sawing can be unsettling for some visitors."
"Thanks for the, um, tour." Jodi was ready to get this over with as fast as possible. "So, like, Bruce said you wanted to see me . . . about last night or something."
"Indeed. I understand that you both had quite the adventure at that rave."
Jodi nodded. "That's an understatement, I guess." They had met less than a handful of minutes ago and yet she sensed there was something dark about him. But what? The shifting in his eyes? The stiflftiess of his movements? Then again, maybe she was just overreacting from lack of a good night's sleep.
'As you can imagine, I have a few questions. Bruce thought you might be able to shed some light on things. Let's have a seat in my office. I promise I'll only keep you long enough to finish our business." He pointed to a door to her right.
Jodi walked to the opening, peered through the doorway, stepped in, and took a seat at his direction. She couldn't help but see the terrarium with its assortment of spiders. She held herself and shuddered as she watched their movements.
"Is it too cool in here?" Dr. Blackstone asked.
She shook her head. "No. I just hate spiders—they give me the creeps. Sorry, no offense."
"That's a completely understandable reaction," Dr. Blackstone said with a taut smile. Still standing, he added, "Forgive my manners. May I provide you something to drink? A Coke? Fruit juice? Water?"
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"Water would be fine, thank you." She relaxed a little, appreciating his offer of hospitality. Maybe he wasn't such a cold fish after all.
Dr. Blackstone pulled two paper cups from the dispenser attached to the five-gallon water cooler, filled each, and stepped momentarily out of the office. A second later, he returned with the drink cups and two paper napkins.
"Here you go." He handed her a cup and a napkin.
"Thank you." Jodi took the cup and sipped it. She was more thirsty than she realized. She drank some more. Finished, she dabbed her mouth with the napkin and then balanced the cup on the edge of the armrest.
"I'll get to the point. Bruce gave me this," Dr. Blackstone said. He leaned against the edge of his desk and withdrew the syringe from his lab jacket. "Do you recognize it?"
She identified it immediately. "Sure thing. Bruce and I found that, like, right beside him."
"Who?"
"Actually, I can't say for sure. That's something I'm working to figure out." Jodi bit her lip. She hadn't planned to reveal that piece of information. "I mean, he was, like, seventeen or so. We think he died from an overdose of whatever was in there."
"So you're saying this person died?"
"Well, that's what we think —see, Bruce felt for a pulse but couldn't find one." Jodi fought an overwhelming urge to yawn. She covered her mouth.
He leaned forward. "Did you alert the police?"
"As a matter of fact, I did." Jodi noticed his right eye twitch at that bit of information.
"What happened next? Did you and Bruce file a report?"
"Yes and no. See, the deal was, Bruce was taking our friend to the hospital, so he dropped me off at the police station." Jodi fidgeted with an earring. A small voice inside warned, Don't say too much. "Um, they—the police—didn't seem to be, like, too concerned
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about the drugs. They said they didn't have enough manpower or whatever." Jodi crossed her legs and was tempted to lean her head back against the wall behind her and close her eyes.
"When I told them about that body . . . they, um . . . they, I mean, that got their attention." She felt so tired, so incredibly woozy. What was happening? "I'm sorry, where was I?"
"The police report—"
"Oh, yeah." Jodi worked to recall the events. "So I take them to ... to the rave and, gee, the body was, like, gone. No body, no crime, right?" Another deep yawn.
Dr. Blackstone folded his hands. 'And what about this friend—"
"Kat Koffrnan."
"Was she somehow mixed up in all of this?"
"You could, um, say so. That's how everything started, you know? We went to find her and when we did, we found the dead boy, and . . . oh, yeah . . . and she had a needle, too."
"Is that so? Do you have it with you? May I see it, Jodi?" His tongue licked the bottom of his top lip like a hungry man waiting to be served dinner. She thought he was about to drool.
"Well, actually, yes, but ... I'd like to keep it. You see, Kat's in the hospital ... I, um, found her with it at the rave, like I said. Anyway, I was supposed to give it to . .. the doctor for some tests." Then, under her breath, she said, "Gee, I can't believe I forgot to do that."
She looked back at Dr. Blackstone and said, "Besides, it looks just like the one you're holding." She smiled. Seconds later, she felt her forehead with the back of her hand. "Excuse me. I . . . I'm feeling a little ligh
theaded." Her eyelids, heavy with sleep, closed. With a jolt, she jerked awake in time to hear Dr. Blackstone speak.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. His face remained stoic, impervious to her condition. "Just a few more questions."
Right now, all she needed was a pillow. Her eyes closed again.
This time they didn't reopen.
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* * *
Dr. Blackstone carried Jodi's limp body to the operating table. He strapped her legs and arms in place. He returned to his office, picked up her purse, and sat at his desk. He opened it and found the syringe almost immediately. His eyes widened in delight; one less piece of incriminating evidence. He removed the syringe and placed it in his center desk drawer.
With anticipation, like that of a thirsty man in the desert dying for a drink, he dumped the rest of the contents on his desk. A compact. Car keys. Assorted receipts. A few dollars. Several business cards. Driver's license. And the winning ticket to his personal lottery: a numbered claim check from the InstyFoto Mart.
A wide smile crossed his face.
He picked up the phone to dial Reverend Bud. While he waited for an answer, he carefully placed the items back into her purse. Minus one claim check.
Reverend Bud answered on the third ring.
"Yo, yo, whassup?"
Dr. Blackstone barked, "It's me. Where are you?"
"Whew. Dr. B., you've really gotta chill out, man. Like, wow, dude. I'm having serious trouble with your negative energy—"
"That's not the only problem you'll have, dude." Dr. Blackstone pounded the desk with his fist. "Now answer me. I don't have a second to waste."
"You know what? I hear the YMCA has these, like, really cool anger-management classes, see what I'm saying? Oh, and by the way, I'm on my way to the mother ship."
"You high again?" Dr. Blackstone knew better than to ask. It was as much an insult as a rhetorical question.
"Like a kite. But not too high to count to three. That's your donor count—"
"Careful. Not on the phone." Dr. Blackstone thought Reverend
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Bud sounded especially wired and wasn't sure how much to risk talking by phone. Long ago, they'd worked out an arrangement of doublespeak that wouldn't tip their hand should the authorities monitor a cell phone transmission.
Dr. Blackstone was in a tight spot. He estimated that the gamma hydroxybutyric acid, or GHB, a knockout drug he had slipped into Jodi's water, would last only a few minutes more. He needed to clarify several details before she regained consciousness. If only Reverend Bud wouldn't compromise their secrets.
"I have with me a young lady who is, shall we say, indisposed. I believe you may have had a conversation with her last night. She was snooping around your dance party. Worse, she went so far as to alert those two jokers, Officer 'D' and—"
"That would be the good Sergeant—"
"Remember, no names. How solid is our financial arrangement with them?" Dr. Blackstone cradled the phone against his left ear with his shoulder.
"Dude, I'm spreading the grease nice and thick. We're talking super-sizing their usual order, you dig me?"
"Good. Did the pigs see anything, uh, let's say, unusual?"
"You know, I really don't feel loved. Dr. B. I mean, how about a little credit. The place was Ajax clean, know what I mean? Copperfield couldn't have made people disappear any faster."
Dr. Blackstone tapped his finger on the desk. "So where's the—"
"On ice," Reverend Bud said. "Yeah, he's in back chillin' with friends, you know what I'm saying?"
"Good. When can I expect this delivery?" Dr. Blackstone consulted his watch and then drummed his fingers on the desk.
"I kinda got the munchies. Figure I'll grab some USDA-inspected pressed meat on a bun . . . you know, America's favorite health food. Um, so maybe thirty minutes. Is that cool, Bossman?"
Dr. Blackstone rubbed his eyes. "That'll work. Not a minute more. I'm alerting the others as soon as we hang up—so don't make us wait."
"Hey, so whatcha gonna do with the girl?"
Dr. Blackstone was surprised by the question. Reverend Bud usually didn't ask about such details. He cleared his throat. "She's nosy. She needs to be taught a lesson. What's it to you?"
"Nothing, but dude, is that, like, necessary?"
"That's not your business. She knows too much—or thinks she does. She even took a picture of a certain missing person. I will not have our entire operation jeopardized by some do-gooder. And you, of all people, should know I don't tolerate loose ends."
"Well, my vote would be—"
"You don't have a vote," Dr. Blackstone snapped. "I'll detain her until my secretary pays a visit to the InstyFoto Mart, if you must know Jodi's 'Kodak moments' are as good as shredded. In the meantime, that pesky troublemaker is going to learn a few new things about spiders."
Dr. Blackstone craned his neck to one side and looked through the doorway at Jodi. She was starting to wake up. He lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth, "Now don't make me wait for my delivery."
He slammed down the phone.
Chapter IB ^ Saturday, 11:31 a.m.
The black Suburban skidded to an angry stop at the edge of Paper Mill Road, spraying gravel and dust in every direction. Illya and Zhenya jumped out. The two men walked to the front of their vehicle and met by the hood. Their feet were planted at the precise spot where Carlos had spun out of control.
Neither man spoke.
The Huntingdon Valley Golf Course, with its rolling fairways and manicured greens, filled the valley below them. Illya squinted in the midday sun and noted that Carlos had crashed into a tree at the edge of a putting green. Zhenya removed his sunglasses and lifted a pair of binoculars to his hazel-brown eyes. A freshly lit, unfiltered cigarette dangled from his dry lips.
Illya broke the silence. "Say me what you think?"
Zhenya's nostrils flared as a puff of smoke, like fire from the nose of a dragon, was expelled. "I think he dead."
Illya reached into his suit coat pocket. He pulled out a handful of sunflower seeds and popped one in his mouth as he weighed the options. He spit the shell on the ground. "I say we make sure."
"Da." Zhenya lowered the field glasses with a nod.
"Come," said Illya, who spit another shell onto the ground. A dark patch of clouds passed overhead, momentarily blocking the sunlight. The men took their places inside the SUV, Illya behind the wheel, Zhenya riding shotgun.
Illya mashed a button marked 4x4 low with his forefinger, and then plowed down the hillside with the power of a bulldozer on
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Steroids. He followed the pathway through the fence blazed by the not-so-fortunate Carlos. They reached the wreckage inside ninety seconds.
Illya parked the Suburban twenty feet away He stepped out of the vehicle without bothering to close the door and then snaked his way through the underbrush, careful not to dirty his alligator-skin shoes. Illya stopped alongside the hatchback and glanced inside at the front seat. He reached in. His fingers lingered on the side of Carlos's neck. He took three steps back and then turned toward the Suburban.
Illya looked at Zhenya. "He should no have run."
"Played ball in wrong team," Zhenya said flatly. Zhenya stood by the rear of the SUy his arms folded tightly. A lazy wisp of smoke rose from the end of his cigarette. He remained as emotionless as a guard in front of Buckingham Palace.
Illya said, "Light it up."
Having received his orders, Zhenya opened the rear tailgate, grabbed a red five-gallon plastic container and approached the hatchback. With a smooth, sweeping motion, he doused the entire car in gasoline. After draining the container, he tossed the empty receptacle through the busted windshield into the front seat next to Carlos. He walked over and stood next to Illya.
Zhenya, about to ignite the bonfire by flicking his cigarette on top of the newly baptized car, was stopped by Illya. "Not so fast, Comrade." I
llya held up his hand as if directing traffic. "Remember, Carlos worth much. Bring him. We see good Dr. Blackstone next."
Zhenya dragged Carlos out of the car by the back of his collar, took a final drag from his cigarette, and then tossed it inside. Illya and Zhenya turned and walked toward the Suburban. Behind them, the car burst into flames. As they sped away, they could hear the gas tank explode.
Neither man looked back.
* * *
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The room came slowly into focus as Jodi's eyes blinked open. Still disoriented, her mind tried to make sense of the emerging picture. Why was she lying down? What was preventing her from sitting up? Was this a hospital? Was she sick? She wished the fog in her head would clear.
"Where am I?" she said. A yawn escaped as she spoke the words.
"Ah, 1 see you have awakened," Dr. Blackstone said, standing at her side. "How was your nap?"
At the sound of his voice, she struggled to sit up again but quickly discovered that to try was pointless. Her arms and legs were strapped securely in place. Jodi turned her head and looked directly into Dr. Blackstone's inky black eyes.
He offered a thin smile in return. "I can tell by the look on your face that you were not expecting to be in this position."
"Let me go, this instant, or I promise I'll... I'll.. ."
"You'll what? Run to the police?" He folded his arms and placed a finger to his forehead. "And what story will you tell them this time?"
Her heart skipped a beat. Me and my hig mouth, she thought. Can't believe I told him about them.
"Jodi, I'd much rather play a game. Do you like games?"
"That depends." Where is he going with t/tis.^
"Well, let's play anyway," Dr. Blackstone said with a mischievous wink. "And let's call our game 'Little Miss Muffet.' I'm sure you're familiar with the nursery rhyme."
Jodi shut her eyes and hoped that when she reopened them, she'd be anywhere but in his presence. Her eyes still closed, she heard Dr. Blackstone recite the words of the rhyme. "Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. When along came a spider . . ."He stopped before finishing.
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