The Suicide Effect

by L. J. Sellers

  “Yes, please.” Not only was her shoulder throbbing, she wanted to stay a little fuzzy. It would keep her from thinking too much about Rudker. About the fact that he had tried to kill her and had threatened her son. If he would kill her, then he would kill Tate if she reported him. Even if they arrested Rudker, he would be released on bail. She had no proof he was the one who’d forced her off the road. She’d been too preoccupied to even notice his Jeep behind her. Rudker was rich and he had “a friend in the department”—as he had bragged. She was charged with stealing from Prolabs, and the police might think she was blaming Rudker as a payback.

  “Here you go, honey.” Ron was back with another Vicodin. Sula sat up and reached for it. “Do you have any kids Ron? You seem like you’d be a good dad.”

  “A daughter, but she’s in college now.” He looked sad, and Sula was sorry she’d asked. He seemed so nurturing, she wanted to pour her heart out to him. The thought surprised her. It usually took her a while to get comfortable with people. Even then, she didn’t talk about herself much.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.” He patted her hand.

  “Find out when I can go home.”

  “Okay.” Ron left and Sula lay down and closed her eyes to wait.

  Chapter 32

  Late that afternoon, Rudker drove up McBeth and passed by the scene of Sula’s accident. There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary had taken place. He wanted to call the hospital to find out what had happened to her, yet he hesitated and he didn’t know why. He didn’t like having ambiguous feelings. Or being afraid of anything. As he headed back into town his cell phone rang. “Rudker here.”

  “It’s Pete Zamanski.”

  Rudker was immediately alarmed. Zamanski was Prolabs’ head IT guy, and he had never called him outside the office.

  “Why are you calling me on a Saturday night?”

  “I’m in the building installing an upgrade. I have to do this when no one’s using the server.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We have a security problem.”

  Rudker’s panic escalated. “I’m on my way in. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  That’s what you get for getting cocky, the voice taunted.

  “Shut up!”

  Rudker entered the building, rode up to the second floor, and strode to the large office space housing the IT offices and computer servers.

  Zamanski was twenty-nine, prematurely bald, and borderline genius. He was also excitable as a puppy and his enthusiasm made Rudker twitchy. Just being in the same room with the geek and all his monitors and servers and cable lines snaking across the floor made Rudker uncomfortable. Yet a possible security breach demanded his attention.

  “What’s the problem?” Rudker stood near the door.

  “A hacker has been into our database.”

  “And did what?”

  “He accessed clinical trial records.” Zamanski’s eyes never left the main monitor.

  “Which ones?”

  “He searched the entire database but only opened files relating to Nexapra studies.”

  Rudker’s blood pressure spiked, making his ears ring. “What files?” He thought he’d erased the Rios entries immediately after Warner approached him with the genetic data. Has something gone wrong?

  “Research sites, clinician names, and contact information.”

  Sula, that little bitch. Why wouldn’t she stop? “Anything else?”

  “I believe he also took a look at our payroll data but nothing was tampered with. It was spying pure and simple. No worms or viruses left behind.”

  “Any patient files?”

  “Not that I’ve determined.” Zamanski looked perplexed. “He didn’t look at any R&D data either, so I don’t think it was a competitive intelligence mission. I’m stumped about who or why. It’s not the work of your typical hacker.”

  “How did he, or she, get in?”

  “A Trojan horse.” The IT guy blushed a little. “Through an e-mail to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I told you to let us run a full filter on your e-mail, but you said no.”

  “Fix the problem, whatever it is. I don’t want this to happen again.”

  Rudker left the IT department and walked out of the building with a clear sense of purpose. Using the stolen cell phone, he called information and got the number for North McKenzie. He dialed the hospital.

  “A friend of mine was in an accident this morning and I’m trying to find out if she’s all right.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sula Moreno.”

  It was a good five minutes before the woman came back on. “She’s been admitted for overnight observation but she’s fine. A few broken bones and some bruising. She should be going home tomorrow.

  Rudker was disappointed but undeterred. Sula had thwarted him for the last time. He would not walk away from her until she had taken her last breath.

  Chapter 33

  Sula was drifting off to sleep when her nurse came into room. “Sula. This is Detective Jackson, with the violent crimes division. He wants to ask you about the accident.”

  The cop stepped up to the foot of her bed. His dark eyes and rugged features were intimidating and she wished she’d bolted from the hospital an hour ago. He smiled and said, “How are you feeling, miss?”

  Sula relaxed a little, thinking he was attractive for someone his age. “I’m okay, all things considered.”

  “Tell me what happened this morning.”

  “I really don’t remember.” Sula reflexively touched the gash above her left temple.

  “You don’t know what made you run off the road over an embankment?”

  “The last thing I remember is turning down McBeth.” She hated lying to this man. She hated protecting Rudker, but she couldn’t risk his retaliation against Tate.

  “From Fox Hollow?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you doing on Fox Hollow? Do you live up there?”

  “No.” Sula hesitated. Nothing she said would sound right. “I was just taking a drive. It was gorgeous yesterday and the view is incredible.”

  He nodded. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “Had you been drinking?”

  “No. The doctors took blood samples that will verify that.”

  Jackson shifted his weight. “The bicyclists who called 911 and reported the accident said a grey sedan nearly ran them off the road right after they heard your crash. Did you see that car?” His tone was gentle, and Sula sensed he wanted to help her.

  “Not that I remember.” That, at least, was the truth.

  Detective Jackson gave her a penetrating look. “Did someone run you off the road?”

  “Why would they?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Who would want to harm you?”

  “Nobody. That seems crazy.”

  “Your truck has sizable dent in the tailgate, as though it were rammed from behind.”

  “It rolled several times after I landed on the tree.”

  “Have you been depressed lately?”

  Sula shook her head.

  “Are you on any kind of medication?”

  “I take Celexa. It’s an antidepressant.”

  “But you’re not depressed?”

  “I didn’t try to kill myself, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Yet you nearly had a fatal accident.”

  “Maybe I swerved to miss a deer. I wish I could remember. I think you’re making too much of this.”

  “And I think you’re protecting someone. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  Sula was silent. She bit her lip to keep from blurting out the truth.

  For a moment, he just stared at her with his intense black eyes. Then he handed her a business card. “If your memory comes back, give me a call.”

  “Sure.”

  After the cop left, S
ula wished she could call him back and tell him everything, but Rudker’s influence in the department had already landed her in jail. She couldn’t go through that again.

  Rudker left Prolabs and headed straight for Fred Meyer, which was open until eleven. He picked up a package of duct tape, a black knit cap, a shovel, and a bottle of Pepsi. At the checkout, he asked for two rolls of quarters and they sent him to customer service. He wished he had more time to plan and purchase some chloroform. But this had to be done now. He hated waiting for Sula to come home, but it seemed like the best option. He had to get through this one last ordeal. Everything else was minor and would eventually straighten itself out. He filled up his tank, thinking he would drive around for a while to kill some time.

  In was nearly midnight and Cricket was in a state of agitation. What an evening of highs and lows. On the six o’clock news, Walter Krumble had admitted to taking a bribe for his vote on Prolabs’ building plans. Cricket had been so ecstatic, he’d e-mailed everyone in his address book.

  Later, during the eleven o’clock broadcast, Martin Tau had announced that the city council had convened for a special meeting and voted to go ahead with the zoning change and allow the development to continue. Cricket was stunned. It seemed like political suicide for the councilors. The public would be outraged by such a decision, made in hasty, secret proceedings.

  Cricket jumped up from the worn couch. He had to move now. His squatters needed to be onsite before they poured the foundation. His group had to strike while the public was still angered by Prolabs’ bribe and the council’s decision to ignore it. With the help of Trina Waterman, this could be a rare opportunity to win public support and put a stop to local chemical manufacturing.

  Cricket started dialing numbers. It was late, but he didn’t care and neither would his comrades. They often did their best work in the middle of the night.

  Chapter 34

  Sunday, April 25, 2:05 a.m

  Once again Rudker was back on the corner of 26th and Friendly in the middle of the night. A full moon cast strange shadows around the neighborhood. For luck, he pulled into the spot where he had parked that first night when he took the disk.

  He felt strangely serene. This unpleasant chapter in his life was about to be over. He was poised to move to Seattle—away from Prolabs, away from Tara the betrayer, away from Eugene and all its bad memories. He would call a realtor first thing in the morning and get his house on the market.

  For now, he prepared to go in.

  He pulled the knit cap over his head—to keep from losing any hair in the house—and took off one of his black socks. His put his shoes back on, and his bare ankle reminded him of Doug, standing in the bedroom door wearing shoes but no socks, after fucking his wife. Rudker would deal with him later.

  The rolls of quarters went into the sock, knotted tightly in the toe. Rudker slipped his ex-wife’s expired credit card out of his wallet and moved it to his jacket pocket, along with the now lethal sock. He took his driving gloves and pen light out of the jockey box. The pen light and duct tape went into his other pocket. He had always loved the big pockets in his leather jacket, but they had never been more useful. Rudker pulled on his gloves and slid out of the Commander.

  Moving quickly up the sidewalk to the now familiar gate, he reached over and let himself in. A few strides and he was across the yard and standing next to the garage’s side door. A sudden shout near the street startled him, and Rudker dropped his credit card. A second male voice called back, “Freak that,” or something equally absurd. Rudker didn’t let himself look up. He slowly bent down and groped around for the card, which he located near his foot.

  He stayed on one knee until he heard the car start up and pull away. As it raced down the street—the only sound on an otherwise quiet night—Rudker seized the opportunity to pop the lock on the garage door using the credit card. The latch was so old and out of alignment, it might as well have not been locked. Easy as pie, just like last time. It surprised him Sula had not changed or reinforced her locks after his last intrusion. Apparently, she’d been too busy trying to fuck with him. She was such a fool.

  Rudker moved slowly across the dark garage without flipping a switch or using his pen light He remembered the tall sculpture and steered clear of it. In doing so, he smashed his sockless foot against a lawnmower. Rudker kept himself from cursing out loud, but the voice in his head swore at him. Clumsy bastard. Can’t you do anything right?

  He paused for a moment while the pain subsided, then moved on. The door between the garage and the kitchen was locked, but after a few minutes of jiggling, he was able to slide the bolt out of its compartment. It popped back with a satisfying click.

  Rudker stepped inside. No cooking aromas greeted him. The house smelled stale, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a while. Rudker held still and let his eyes adjust to the barely visible outlines in the dark kitchen. After a minute, he walked down the galley between the counter tops and into the dining area.

  Where should he hide? It had to be a concealed space, yet not confined. He needed to be able to wait comfortably for as long as it took for Sula to come home, yet he had to be able to move quickly at a moment’s notice. He would only have one chance to do this right, without a struggle. The messier it went down, the more likely he would leave evidence. He had no intention of giving the cops any reason to associate him with her disappearance.

  Sula woke suddenly and sat up. A bright moon lit up the outlines of the monitors and IV stands and she remembered she was in the hospital. She checked her watch: 2:07 in the morning. A woman began moaning across the way. Soon the sound of footsteps clomped in the hall, and later carts were wheeled in and out.

  Sula decided it was time to go. She had slept off and on all afternoon, then slept again from nine o’clock till now. Wide awake, she stepped gently out of the bed, testing her strength. She was bruised but fine. She found her clothes on the visitor chair and dressed by the light of the moon.

  Out into the hall and down past the nurses station. A tired-looking woman in blue called out, “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “Can’t you wait until morning?”

  “Nope.”

  “You need to check out.”

  Sula kept going. “I just did.”

  On the first floor as she reached the reception area, Sula stopped in her tracks. She had no purse, no cell phone, no car, no money to make a call, and no money to pay a taxi. How in hell would she get home? She felt unexpectedly vulnerable.

  Sula worked through it. The hospital would let her use their phone. She would call Paul for a ride. The police would find her purse and return it to her. She even had insurance for her cell phone. Everything was okay. No need for anxiety. She was fine. Tate was safe.

  She asked the receptionist if there was a phone she could use and the woman pointed to one on the wall near the waiting area. Sula hesitated. Would Paul be home? Was it selfish to call him at this hour? He was a night owl and was often up late on weekends.

  Paul didn’t answer. She left a message to call her at North McKenzie if he got home in the next fifteen minutes. Sula went back to the receptionist.

  “Can you page Ron, the nurse who attended me?”

  “He may have gone home. Unless he pulled a double, which he often does.” The young heavy-set woman made a call. She asked about Ron, then looked up.

  “He’s in the ICU.”

  The receptionist made another call. After ten minutes, Ron stepped off the elevator, looking as tired as everyone else on duty.

  “Hey. What’s up? Are you going home?”

  “I’m trying to.” Sula hated to ask, but she was desperate. “I don’t have a ride, and I don’t have any money on me for a taxi. Will you loan me ten dollars? I’ll pay you back tomorrow, I promise.”

  Ron hesitated and Sula cringed. Before she could feel bad, he said, “My wallet’s in my locker. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you.” He was already wa
lking away.

  While Ron was gone, she called a taxi. She hoped ten bucks would be enough to get her home. If not, she’d tell the driver to stop when the meter hit the ten-dollar mark and walk the rest of the way.

  She thanked Ron for his kindness and asked him to thank Dr. Mike for her too. Her heart felt like skipping out of the building, but her body moved slowly, limping on her left leg.

  The cool fresh air jolted her senses and made her feel grateful to be alive. She’d find a job, get custody of her son, then move somewhere Rudker couldn’t find her. The Nexapra trials would continue and there was nothing she could do about it. In time, Rudker would get rich and forget about her. She had to do the same.

  Rudker decided the bedroom offered the best possibility for surprise with the least amount of risk. In the living room, if things didn’t go well, she would have an opportunity to run from the house. That would be a worst-case scenario. From the bedroom, she would have a much longer run for her freedom. Rudker knew he could take her. He was quite quick on his feet, despite his size. He would simply stand behind the partially open door and strike her at the first opportunity.

  Rudker practiced his moves. One quick step to the side as the door opened, then swing the weighted sock back, then a giant step forward, bringing his arm all the way over and down—whack! After a few run-throughs, the movements felt smooth and natural.

  He took the duct tape from his pocket and tore off a series of strips. A short four-inch piece to go across her mouth and two twelve-inch strips for her hands and feet. The ripping sounds penetrated the silence like screams. Rudker knew no one had heard, but it unnerved him anyway. He hung the strips against the back of the bedroom door and put the roll of tape back in his pocket.

  The wait was interminable. He went through every mental calming exercise he’d learned in his years of therapy—visualizing a happy place, making lists of things to do, counting backward from one hundred. It was all bullshit, every irritating task. He had gone to the therapist early in his first marriage to make Maribel happy, but of course, he’d never made Maribel happy.