“Rachel, there are hundreds of cabins up there. We’d be looking for two days. I can fly to Falls Church, check things out, and be back tonight or first thing in the morning. I won’t do anything stupid. If I can’t think of a safe way to get more information, I promise, I’ll let it go and come back.”
“I wish you’d let it go now. It’s too dangerous.”
Jack thought of a concession, “I’ll tell you what—I’ll drop you off at your place. You get some stuff together and drive to your parents’ house. I’ll meet you there. I’ll make my return flight to Charlotte, and we can tell your dad all about this tomorrow. Hopefully, I’ll get something more from Jameison that’ll help convince him.”
“Why don’t I just wait here in Culpepper till you get back? Then we can drive to my parents together first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not sure it’s safe for you to stay here. What if Thornton checks his messages? He’ll know we know what’s going on.” Jack couldn’t imagine Thornton doing anything violent, but then, he could never have imagined the professor being mixed up in this scheme in the first place. “I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew you were safe at your parents’ house.”
“All right,” she said. “Will you at least call me then when you get in tonight?”
“If it’s not too late.”
“I don’t care how late it is. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll call.”
47
Rachel had been arguing with herself for the last twenty minutes, ever since Jack had dropped her off. She was sitting on her couch, scratching Tuffguy’s scabby head, staring at her phone. Jack would be furious if he knew she called her dad, but Jack didn’t know him. She was certain her dad would be sympathetic and at least try to understand. He’d never blame Jack for something he had no control over.
She called their home number. It rang several times, too many times. She was disappointed but not surprised when their voicemail responded. Hearing her father’s voice, even in digital form, soothed her nerves some. After the beep, she left this message, trying to sound calm:
“Hi Dad, Rachel here. Umm, I was thinking about driving up there tonight, maybe stay there at least through tomorrow. Jack’s flying to DC this afternoon and said he’d meet me there tomorrow. Something’s come up. We’re fine, it’s just…it’s kind of hard to explain over the phone. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. But I don’t want to start driving unless I know for sure you guys will be home. I don’t have a house key. Sorry to be leaving such a crazy message. Call me when you hear this. Love you.”
# # #
Two hours later, Jack was driving a rental car through the DC traffic toward Falls Church, Virginia. In rush hour. It was bumper to bumper but flowing well. Most doctors’ offices stayed open at least until 5:00pm. That was twenty minutes from now. He was cutting things razor close.
The flight here and the drive had given him time to think. He had studied Thornton’s files on the plane. There had to be something there, some clue to build on. What was Thornton’s involvement? Why had he done this? He found no references to money or any other benefits mentioned. Nothing that spoke to motive. But something had to explain Thornton’s aberrant behavior.
Then there was the matter of the records Thornton kept. So scattershot and vague. Like a man guessing, postulating ideas. Jack decided Thornton was being kept in the dark. Maybe he was being blackmailed into this. Jack wanted to believe that. It would take some of the sting out of Thornton’s betrayal. Still, any way you looked at it, it was clear Thornton didn’t care whether Jack lived or died.
That thought made him angry.
Thornton’s job must be to provide the lab rats, Jack decided. For some reason, he and the other three students were selected for testing. He shifted his thoughts to the dreams themselves. The fear that he was losing his mind was gone, the gripping fear that these dreams were uncontrollable anomalies that might spring up at any time. It wasn’t about how often he studied or how intensely. Reading before bed had nothing to do with it. He could return safely to these pastimes whenever he chose.
He began to dwell on the marvel of a drug that could take someone back in time, cause them to experience events as an eyewitness. This was breakthrough technology. Dr. Jameison was a genius. A corrupt sociopath but still a genius.
The GPS lady’s voice brought him back to the present. The turnoff to Jameison’s clinic was just up ahead. What would Jack say when he saw him? What could he say? “Hello Dr. Jameison, I’m Jack Turner, one of the guys you’ve been drugging. I’d like to ask you to come back with me and turn yourself in.”
He was five minutes away from a meeting with a mad scientist, and he still didn’t have a clue about what to do or say.
He’d better think of something very soon.
# # #
Nigel Avery had stopped by the Whispering Hills complex to fetch the copies in Thornton’s bill drawer. He had taken the indirect route: through the woods and over the stone wall. Only this time he had a key. Once inside, it didn’t take long to find the set of documents and, best of all, no maid to deal with.
How about that? They were right where Thornton said they’d be. He grabbed them and headed for the door. For a moment, he thought about stopping to reclaim all the bugs he’d set up in Thornton’s apartment, but changed his mind. It was Jameison’s money. Besides, no one would ever find them and, if they did, they’d never connect them to anything real.
Once safely in the car, he picked up his phone to call the good doctor.
# # #
“Okay, Nigel, what’s up?” Jameison looked at his watch. It was ten minutes till five. All his patients had left. The staff was already starting the lockup routine.
“It’s a wrap, Kimosabe,” Avery said.
“Is everything…taken care of?”
“I got the Professor’s papers right here, and he is unable to make any new ones.”
Jameison did not reply, but was deeply relieved.
“You want to see this stuff or should I make a campfire?”
“Have you read them?”
“Are you serious?”
“I don’t think they matter now, but you better get them to me. You sure you have everything?”
“I am. I persuaded the Professor it was in his best interest to be forthright in this matter.”
“Are you sure, Nigel? You know what’s going to happen. Even with a suicide, people will be going through his things piece by piece—”
“Now do I ever try to tell you how to be a doctor?”
“Okay,” Jameison said. “What are your plans now?”
“Figured I’d stick around a few days, see if they discover the Professor’s body. Make sure everything goes the way it’s supposed to.”
“I agree with that.”
“Now, you sure you only want the cleanup to go this far? I’m not sure that’s—”
“Yes. As long as the lid stays on, I want this thing to be over. I got what I needed out of it. Culpepper’s a small town. Too many deaths in a short period of time—even explainable ones—might stir up trouble.”
“Okay then. I’ll be in touch.”
# # #
Avery drove across town and out to the highway, pulling the van into one of the few motels within Culpepper city limits, the Woodbine Inn. This thing wasn’t over yet. In a few days, somebody at the school would miss old Thornton, trace him to his little cabin there by the lake, walk in on the stink.
He had no doubt the subsequent investigation would follow the course he had set in place. But he didn’t like walking away from a job with so many loose ends.
Weeds had a way of spreading.
48
Jack saw the sign for The Sleep Center. He pulled into the parking lot then sat nervously in the car staring at the front entrance. He went over a plan that had begun to form in the last five minutes. From reading Thornton’s documents and considering the way Thornton had conducted these �
��tests,” Jack figured Jameison wasn’t that security conscious. Jack’s plan hinged on that assumption. If he was wrong, he’d be spending the night in jail as a common thief.
That would be the best case scenario.
It was 4:55pm.
He walked toward the set of glass doors at the entrance. The air was crisp and colder than back in Culpepper. The late afternoon sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon. As he came within ten feet of the doorway, he scanned the doors and windows, looking for signs of a security system. To his amazement, there were none. Then again, this was an upscale area and, really, a medical facility, not some hi-tech government operation.
He stepped over a large rubber mat, opened the right side door, and walked inside as a mild electronic chime sounded. Behind a half wall, Jack saw an attractive, blonde receptionist seated in a small room. She looked up but didn’t smile. She continued tapping on her keyboard.
He walked to the right corner of the room and looked down a long hallway. Various doorways branched off on either side. He sat, picked up a magazine and pretended to read as his eyes scanned the perimeter of the room for surveillance cameras. He got up and walked toward the receptionist. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” Jack said, feigning a slight southern drawl.
The blonde looked up. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see the doctor,” Jack said. “He in?”
The look on her face said, are you out of your mind? “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I probably should have called,” Jack said. “I’m in from out of town…a pest control conference at a hotel over in Fairfax. But I ain’t getting a lick of sleep since I got here.”
“I’m very sorry, sir, but we can’t help you with that. The Sleep Center’s about to close, and we don’t take walk-ins. Dr. Jameison’s a very busy man. I’m taking appointments now for five to six weeks out.”
Jack had counted on that. He had decided not to confront Jameison directly. “I won’t be here but a few more days.”
“I’m very sorry,” she said. “Have you tried any over-the-counter medications? Some of them are pretty strong. There’s a pharmacy in the plaza just down the road at the first light. Maybe you can stop in and talk to the pharmacist.”
Jack pretended to look discouraged. “Do those things really work? I hear you wake up pretty groggy.”
“Why don’t you stop by and talk to them? There’s no way Dr. Jameison could see you today…I’m sorry.”
“Well, I guess that’ll have to be it. Thank you just the same.” Jack turned to walk away, then halted after a few steps and turned back to face her again. “I really hate to bother you.”
She looked up.
“Could I…would you have a restroom?”
Jack got a feeling she was supposed to turn him down. “Third door on your right, down the hall.” She quickly looked down, returning to her keyboard.
Jack walked down the hallway. He stopped at each door, searching for Jameison’s office. He walked past the bathroom and finally found it two doors past, on the opposite side. He’d no sooner finished reading the name on the door, when it suddenly opened. He gasped, stepping back. It wasn’t Jameison, not even a man, but a middle-aged nurse, dressed in white, carrying a small stack of folders.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Looking for the bathroom.”
“It’s not in here,” she said smugly and pointed down the hall.
Jack followed her hand, feigning to notice the restroom sign that hung from the ceiling over the bathroom door. “There it is,” he said. “Thank you, Ma’am.” He walked in that direction, listening as her footsteps went the opposite way down the hall. He reached for the doorknob, pretending to go in, listening once more. When it seemed she was gone, he glanced over his shoulder. The hallway was empty again.
Walking faster, Jack searched for a closet and found one a few doors up from the bathroom on the same side of the hall. He quietly opened the door, stepped in and closed it. His hand scraped along the wall, searching for a switch. An overhead light revealed a small janitorial room, about the size of his kitchen.
He surveyed the scene for several moments, taking mental snapshots of each item on the floor. He shut off the light and stepped carefully toward the back of the room. He squatted down behind a metal cabinet, hoping the cleaning duties at The Sleep Center were handled by someone other than the office staff and at some other time than closing.
Sitting there in the pitch black, he wondered what chance did this half-baked scheme have? This was a crazy idea. He shouldn’t have come.
Rachel was right.
49
It felt like an hour had gone by but it had only been twenty minutes. Jack was still sitting quietly, crouched in the black darkness of the janitor closet. It smelled of stale mops, dust rags, bathroom disinfectants and air fresheners. There hadn’t been a noise for ten minutes. Before that, he’d heard a number of good-nights and see-you-tomorrows, mostly from female voices in the hall.
Jack decided it was time.
As he shuffled his feet forward in the darkness, he tried to remember where everything was on the crowded floor. He reached the door, pressed his ear against the cool metal. Not a sound.
Opening the door slowly, he was relieved to find a darkened hallway. From the reception area he could see nighttime had arrived. He headed back to Jameison’s office to hunt for something, anything that could be used as evidence in Jameison’s scheme. After looking both ways, he gently turned the brass knob.
As the door opened silently, the presence of lamplight inside startled him. He froze with the door half-opened, half-expecting to hear someone call. After a few moments, he stepped into the room. It was empty. A ceramic lamp glowed softly from an end table next to a leather couch. A thick mahogany desk and credenza were centered against the far wall, which was covered with floor-to-ceiling curtains. He gently closed the door. Where should he begin?
If he were Jameison, guarding a discovery of this magnitude, Jack would have kept it in a vault. Considering Thornton’s lack of care with his files, and the absence of any security system in Jameison’s office, he hoped he might find something right here.
There was a laptop on the credenza, plugged in with the lid closed. There were probably plenty of incriminating files on it, but Jack didn’t know enough about Jameison to even begin guessing passwords.
He walked toward the desk. If Jack had only a minimal concern for security, a locked desk drawer would be just the thing. He sat in Jameison’s high-back leather chair and realized how tired he was. He could feel his body beginning to deflate, so he sat up and pulled on the center drawer. It slid open easily. He heard the telltale sounds of keys jingling from the rear of the drawer. He reached in and found a ring with an assortment of keys.
He quietly started pulling drawers in both the desk and credenza, stopping each time he found one locked. He scoured through each drawer but found nothing useful. Frustrated, he leaned back on Jameison’s chair. His eyes drifted to the doctor’s laptop. He was sure he’d find something on it, but what should he do, steal it? Then what? He was no hacker.
Suddenly, his eyes focused on something sticking out the side of the laptop. He leaned forward. A jump drive.
He pulled it out and stood. This could be something. He couldn’t read it here, but in the car he had an iPad in his briefbag, with a little USB adapter. He pocketed the drive, set the keys back in the center drawer then walked back toward the hallway. Turning around, he double-checked that he’d left everything the way he’d found it. Then he hurried down the hall, through the lobby and, after unlocking it, through the front door. As he crossed the sidewalk onto the parking lot, he half-expected an alarm to go off, but none did.
Still, he decided not to hang around. He’d check out this jump drive at a nearby restaurant.
# # #
Jack was too excited to eat. He ordered coffee and a donut. Opening his iPad, he plugged in the adapt
er and the jump drive. Once again, he was surprised that it wasn’t password protected. In a few minutes, he was scanning the file folders.
Bingo.
He clicked on a folder labeled Thornton.
As he browsed through the files, he was shocked to find medical files about Ralph Riesner, Jared Markum and another student he didn’t know. Continuing on, he came to a document that stopped him cold. It was the initial report Jameison had written after reviewing the medical records. Specifically, the frank admission to the possible connection between Jameison’s drug and Riesner’s death. Then a bulleted list of reasons why Jameison felt the drug was still safe enough to sell to the military.
This was the smoking gun. This was hard evidence.
He found a second document that looked like notes after a meeting with Thornton. It was about Markum’s “suicide.” Again, after a paragraph explaining things, a bulleted list detailing why the drug was not responsible.
Jack didn’t need to read any further. He already had enough to prove what he and Rachel had told the police. He paid his bill and headed out to the car.
As he turned the car on, he still found it hard to see Professor Thornton in this new light. But these new documents offered undeniable proof. Thornton had teamed up with this doctor and had chosen Jack and the others to become their laboratory rats. Jack could no longer hold onto the illusion that Thornton was unaware they were responsible for Ralph’s death. Thornton continued drugging him and Jared Markum after Ralph died. All this time Jack had thought so highly of Thornton, and all this time Thornton could care less about him.
How could Jack have so misjudged the man?
He picked up his phone and called the non-emergency number for the Culpepper PD. A woman answered. “Yes, this is Jack Turner calling. I was there to see Sergeant Boyd this morning. Is he in now?”
“I’m sorry. Sergeant Boyd has gone home for the day. Is there someone else you’d like to speak to?”
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