And then she did. The club manager had been right. She could make a fortune.
*
We slept in a little later than normal the next morning due to the late return from Playoffs and our pre-sleep playtime that lasted into the middle of the night. We were getting better at the bathroom routine and made up a little time as we coordinated showering, exfoliating, hot combing, brushing, nail polishing, face painting, and shaving. Even though the preponderance of those activities was hers, she managed to work it out so that we finished at about the same time.
The day’s schedule was in flux until we made some phone calls. Marilena called April while I sat in the den and thought about where we stood finding Ron’s killer and about what Marilena had said about the changes that I was going through.
I hadn’t had time yet to think about everything she had said, but one point she had made was true, I was struggling with my role as murder investigator. She was right. I was finding this to be surprisingly different from the world where my training and experience had value, and it was extremely frustrating. When I had first decided that I would determine if Ron was murdered and if so, find his killer, I had foolishly believed that I had at least some of the skills required. With help from a pro filling in the rest, I would be successful. In fact, I had further deluded myself that I was way better equipped than the average guy to work with a civilian investigator because I had extensive military combat training. Training that included urban threat assessment and assault techniques. I was very wrong. The sad fact was I did not have the skills that you need to catch a killer — far from it.
Looking back on this, I was amazed at how incredibly dumb I had been — there was no other way to put it, my arrogance seemed to have no limit. As a Marine I had been trained in physical combat and was very good at it. I had learned logistics and tactics and how to employ them as a leader of a platoon. My enemies would attempt to evade or overwhelm my team and me. But I knew if we got to grips, we would succeed, and they would die. No doubt. Not for a minute. On top of all of this, I had become a doctor, a surgeon no less, adding even more to my inflated assessment of my lofty level of smarts. This investigation had been a humbling experience for me, and I didn’t like that at all. A Marine Corps Force Recon gunslinger and military surgeon who specialized in very hazardous insertions into enemy country just doesn’t do humbling experiences well. What could there ever be about any enemy action for which I was not prepared? However, this enemy was in hiding, hiding behind lies and duplicity and a pretense of civilization that I could not see through. All of my ability to defeat an opponent was of little value if I couldn’t tell who my opponent was. So far, my investigative technique was limited to blindly antagonizing and then reacting after, and only after, the enemy made a move.
My enemy was in control, and my only advancements had come when he, or more recently she, made a mistake. Marilena was not sharing my frustrations and completely surprised me when she repeatedly told me we were making good progress. She had the skills that, when coupled with enough interaction with our suspects, could discern who was lying to us, and she had the patience to wait for the opposition to move and make mistakes. She lived in this Machiavellian chess game knowing that people are duplicitous, hiding their intentions and actions with deceit. My world was simple. The bad guys had different uniforms, and all I had to do was beat them in a stand-up fight. I didn’t have to talk to them or figure out if their words were the truth or lies. All I had to do was kill them. I was going to have to start respecting a lot of people who weren’t Marines. I didn’t like that either.
I didn’t mind the fact that Marilena walked in and interrupted my damning self-assessment — I was getting depressed.
“Thomas, I talked to April.”
“Great! Is she OK?”
“Yes. She is better now.”
“Now?”
“She believed that she was being followed, and her apartment was broken into. She decided that she needed to go into hiding for a while. At least until she talked to us.”
“But she didn’t call you or return your calls.”
“She fled her apartment and came here as quickly as she could. She left so fast that she forgot her cell phone. When she got here, she was no longer on the approved visitor list, and they wouldn’t give her a key or let her in. Not knowing where to go and being afraid to go back to her apartment, she went to a girlfriend’s loft on the West side down near the old meat packing district. Her friend is traveling but always leaves a key under the doormat. We will see April tonight. I’d like to bring her back here.”
“Do you think she’s safe? Should we go get her now?”
“If someone was trying to find her and has not been able to do so in the last two days, then she is OK where she is. It will be safe for her to come here but only when we can be with her. This is a known location to all of our suspects. We have to go to the CID Society today, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Not here.”
“OK, I see your point.”
I called Jim O’Dale and told him to save some taxpayer money by calling off the search — we had found April and would see her later tonight. He asked me where she was — wanting to know in case something happened to us today. He laughed and said that I was a lightning rod for hazardous events. I read him the address from Katrina’s note.
After calling O’Dale, I dialed Alison Montgomery’s cell. She agreed to meet with us at 2 PM and invited me to her national board meeting at 3 PM. I agreed with her plan. I spent the rest of the morning reading more of Ron’s research while Marilena made phone calls to friends at the FBI.
Ricardo drove us to a restaurant near the CID offices on 2nd where we ate lunch and planned our conversation with Alison Montgomery. We still needed her help to stay close to the remaining suspects. Lunch was close enough to the CID headquarters that we could walk to it so I had dismissed Ricardo. In short order, we found ourselves in Alison’s office.
“I’m still in shock over Margaret’s death,” she said painfully, the hurt evident in her eyes. “She worked here for several years and although she could sometimes be abrasive, she had high energy and was committed to our cause. I thought I really knew her. I’m not sure what is more shocking, her death or that she was involved in Ron’s death. Do you really think she had something to do with it?”
“Yes. We believe that we will connect her with the murderer,” Marilena answered.
“But, she was not the killer? You are certain?” Alison asked.
“We do not believe that she was in the building when Thomas’s brother was killed. We are confirming that now.”
“What do you think her relationship was to the killer?”
“We will discover that soon,” Marilena spoke with the authority of an oracle.
I interjected, “Alison, it’s not over yet. Townsend was in league with Ron’s killer, and we will find out who and why. Your help is of paramount importance.”
“Of course you have it, Tom. I won’t rest until we find out who it was. The fact that it was probably another member of my senior team is so devastating to me and to our cause that I can’t eat or sleep. We need to end this as soon as we can so the society can move on.”
“We will, Alison. And, in return for your support, we will portray this as some twisted issue between individuals and not associate it with the work the society is doing.”
“Oh, thank you, Tom. We need that. No matter what has happened, we have a higher responsibility to those with this disease. Your brother would agree.”
“I know he would.”
“What can I do?”
Marilena answered, “Continuing to involve us with activities and events with the remaining suspects is very helpful. Thank you for allowing us to attend your board meeting this afternoon. We need to make the killer believe that we are pleased with our progress and have no concerns about discovering Ron’s killer. Eventually, he or she will become panicked enough to take some rash action.”
Alison r
esponded to her request. “Tom, I want to finish this, and then I want you to take your brother’s place on our board. I want your help to find a cure. Nothing else matters.”
“There could be good news on that front. We have come into possession of Ron’s recent research data that not only indicate that he has discovered the genetic basis for CID but also that he had even proposed a therapy to cure those afflicted and to prevent the onset for those having the genetic marker. We need to validate this information, and if I can help I will. This was Ron’s final gift, and that makes it important to me. You can count on my involvement and our family’s continued financial support.”
“This is wonderful news! With everything else going on, I can’t believe it, but you have made me very happy. I believe more than ever that we will win. We will defeat CID!” Her words were not just spoken. They were delivered with a certainty, an intensity that made you believe right along with her. “Let’s go to the meeting so I can tell everyone about your commitment to move ahead with us. As for these new discoveries, a potential cure, and Ron’s research findings, I agree that we need to validate his research as soon as possible. In the meantime, however, let’s not speak to anyone about that until we are sure. Revealing it now would get everyone’s hopes up, and even if we asked the hundred or so people in the boardroom to keep it a secret, it would be all over the world thirty minutes after we adjourn. If it turns out not to be the road to a cure, we would lose a lot of credibility.”
“It’s your call, Alison, and I agree with your concern. We won’t say anything about it yet.”
“Are the data safe?” she asked.
“Yes, Ron placed a copy with a trusted friend. She gave it to me, and I have made one backup copy in addition to the original.”
“So, it hasn’t been distributed to anyone and has only been in your possession and that of Ron’s friend?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“OK, I’ll make some calls to scientists whom Ron respected and line them up to analyze the data. I’ll let you know tomorrow what our next steps should be.”
*
We entered the boardroom on Alison’s heels. She spoke with someone who rearranged the name cards at the table to make room for me. There appeared to be about thirty-five board members making it a very large board. From what I knew, it was populated by business people and scientists. Marilena discretely moved to one side of the room and sat in a chair along the wall with others who were not board members.
The meeting came to order, a quorum achieved. Alison began by announcing a change to the agenda that had been distributed. She then proceeded to introduce me to the other board members, many of whom made appreciative comments about my new participation as a board member and expressed condolences. A couple of the male members sitting near me stood up and leaned my way to shake my hand.
The first two orders of business, while being supported by the board, were identified as ones that would considerably upset the part of the chapter leadership in the field. It had been proposed to reduce the number of chapters from sixty to about twelve. A committee had been examining just how to do this and what the remaining chapters should look like. The principal reason for this move was cost reduction that would come from consolidation. There were going to be a lot of chapter presidents out of a job and unhappy — very unhappy.
The second issue that was causing angst among the field troops was the home office’s move to consolidate the chapter donor databases into one physical location. This would allow the home office to solicit funds based on nationwide programs. The chapters were upset over losing control of major donors that they had cultivated over many years.
I didn’t know enough about either of these issues to comment, but the field concerns, the chapter concerns, seemed reasonable, at least about the competing donor solicitations. Maybe the chapter consolidation objections were simply people worried about having a job. What came next, however, I understood completely and was absolutely stunned at what I heard. So totally blown away that I would forget to leave the message that we were making progress in our investigation and Ron’s murderer would soon be uncovered.
A young lady sitting at the end of the table away from Alison and me had been introduced to us as Lindy Price. Even though she wasn’t a board member, she, like me, had been granted a seat at the big kid’s table. Lindy had CID and was a fundraiser — a significant fundraiser. She sponsored events in New York raising, by Alison’s very complimentary statements, over five hundred thousand dollars each summer. The unspoken problem was that she donated her funds directly to the National Institutes of Health and not to the CID Society. Alison had invited her to the board meeting most likely as a first step in getting her to play ball and funnel her money through the society. Alison’s efforts were about to be squashed. Squashed by Chubby Woody.
Chubby Woody had been sitting about three seats away from me and had not been as effusive as the others when Alison introduced me. He flowed out of his chair on three sides with only the back preventing it from being four, a human sphere. He was sitting slightly away from the table and was reading some paperwork during the conversation so far. This abruptly changed and not for the better.
“Miss Price. My name is Woodrow Standish — you probably have heard of me and my role in building this organization. I know that you think that having CID and your five-hundred thousand a year is a big deal, but compared to the twenty years of my life that I have dedicated to finding a cure for this disease that afflicts millions of people and not just you, it really isn’t so much. Please try to keep this in mind and keep your efforts in perspective.”
Whoa! What had he just said? Did I hear it right? I looked at Marilena, whose face was registering total surprise. Lindy Price was taken aback and looked like someone had just hit her with a baseball bat. Quickly, her surprise was replaced with anger.
“Mr. Standish, thank you for helping me see how insignificant my accomplishments are.” And with that, she got up and left. I looked at Alison. Her head was tilted forward, and she was studying her hands. She made no effort to respond or placate Lindy Price. Many of the board members physically shrank back in their seats, obviously wishing they were anywhere but here, not surprised at Chubby Woody’s stupidity and complete lack of sensitivity. Amazing — simply amazing. What kind of an organization had I just joined?
The meeting ended on that discordant note. Alison quickly left the room, I’m sure so she wouldn’t have to deal with the Standish-Price fallout. As for Chubby Woody, he was feeling very happy with himself even though he was bemoaning the fact that it was always up to him to straighten out those upstarts who didn’t appreciate his leadership and years of effort.
I was quickly on my feet and was going to do some straightening out myself, in person and right now. Marilena, knowing what I was thinking, had moved more quickly than I would have imagined and intercepted me before I took two steps.
“No, Thomas. We have a more important responsibility than taking that pompous ass apart.” Wow, she had cursed. It was definitely for effect, and it worked. Her hand on my arm further anchored me in place while I worked at reducing my blood pressure and to remove the image of Chubby Woody hanging from the chandelier by his tongue.
It was at that moment that Omar Sayyaf walked up to us. “We need to talk. It’s important. Can you join me for dinner?”
DISEASED ADVOCACY
The board meeting’s abrupt ending was no more bizarre than the way the board members and staff quickly removed themselves from the scene of Chubby Woody’s despicable verbal attack. Admittedly, my experience with board meetings was limited to Ron’s painful description of them, but even remembering his dislike for the tedium and back-stabbing behavior, this had to have been surprising for even the most tough-skinned business executives like some on the society’s board. Taking their queue from Alison Montgomery, the meeting’s participants did their best to exit without being entrapped in an embarrassing conversation about what had just happened.
Sylvia Canfield had fled after Lindy Price in a belated effort to repair the damage. I doubted that she would be successful. She would probably agree with me.
Omar steered us out the door and toward the elevators. We were met by Barry Ledderman, one of the two outside consultants hired by the society.
“I asked Barry to join us, if that’s all right with you?” Omar asked.
“Sure,” I said as I shook Ledderman’s hand. Although his greeting was polite, his expression was hard and angry, telling us his feelings about the board meeting. I noticed that the other consultant, Jonathan Treece, had walked up behind Omar and was listening to our conversation. “We have to meet someone later tonight at her apartment in the old meat packing district. Can we eat near there?” I asked Omar.
“Maybe I can be of assistance,” this from Treece interrupting as he stepped forward. “I live in that area. Where do you need to be after dinner?” I told him the address where April was hiding out, which by now I had memorized. He nodded and said, “There is an excellent restaurant, very new and less than two blocks from there on Little West 12th Street. I highly recommend it.” He told us the name, said he would be happy to make reservations, and declined to join us as he had another engagement. I didn’t remember inviting him, but I appreciated the help.
Our trip to the restaurant utilized two taxis with Omar and Barry leading the way in first cab and me next to Marilena in the second.
“Between the two of us, you probably know a lot more about board meetings than I do. Was that surprising to you?” I asked my very sophisticated girlfriend.”
“That man, that tubby buffoon, was offensive and insulting beyond measure in the way he spoke to that young lady! If we did not have a more important issue to address with these people, I would have let you pound that insufferable idiot senseless. I think that several others would have helped you, including me!” Sophistication was taking a temporary vacation.
Death of a Cure Page 25