Chain Reaction

by Rebecca York

  At one of the thrift shops he’d bought worn jeans and some plaid shirts he wouldn’t be caught dead in under ordinary circumstances, hoping that when he got back to St. Stephens, he could pass for one of the watermen who made their living from the bay.

  Work boots and a baseball cap with the logo of a tractor supply store completed the disguise. It wasn’t great, but he hoped it would do. Because he knew the only way he could prove his innocence was to do some investigating on his own.

  AN HOUR and a half after leaving Five Star headquarters, Rand pulled the unmarked to a stop in front of the Cranesbrook gates.

  A man wearing a blue-and-gray uniform with an Ace Security patch on the left shoulder came smartly out of a small guardhouse and inquired about their business.

  When Rand passed over his Maryland State Police credentials, the guard inspected them carefully, then threw a switch that unlocked the gate.

  Before proceeding through, Rand asked, “You new here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I thought Five Star Security had the contract.”

  “All I know is that we came on board a couple of days ago.”

  “Okay.”

  As they drove toward the administration building, Richard muttered, “Fast work.”

  “Yeah.”

  They pulled into a visitor’s space, then got out. As soon as they gave their names to the receptionist, they were ushered into the office of the president.

  Sidney Edmonston stood and came around his desk. “Detective McClellan, Detective Francis. Good to see you again.”

  They’d met briefly the day Darnell had broken out of the loony bin. Now they were back for some more information.

  “Can MaryAnn get you anything to drink?” he asked when the secretary had ushered them into his plush office.

  “No, thank you.”

  Edmonston was tall and thin with a fringe of dark hair around the edges of his high, bald head. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and a navy-blue suit that looked custom-tailored.

  The executive unbuttoned his jacket and sat down again behind his wide desk, his body language suggesting that he liked having the barrier between himself and the cops.

  Rand took out a notebook. “What can you tell us about the day of the accident?” he asked.

  Edmonston sat with his hands clasped in his lap. To steady himself, Rand wondered.

  “We had a security breach at the facility.”

  When they both remained silent, the executive continued, “A break-in at Lab 7 followed by an explosion. I already gave you that information.”

  “We’re conducting a murder investigation now,” Rand snapped. “So you need to start over with us. What is the nature of the work at the lab?”

  “We have a government contract.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

  “What branch of the government?” Richard interjected.

  “The Defense Department.”

  Rand wrote that down.

  “That’s why we hired what we thought was a top security outfit. Five Star came highly recommended. But it’s apparent they failed to protect us. Somebody got into Lab 7 and sabotaged the place.”

  “So you had a security breach and you called in Darnell and Sloane.”

  He hesitated. “Well, they came running over from the security office when they heard the alarm.”

  “And what happened then?” Rand asked, thinking that it would be easier to pull the guy’s teeth than to get him to give up information.

  “There was an explosion and a chemical discharge.”

  “Was Darnell the only one affected?”

  “Wes Vanderhoven, one of our lab technicians, was caught in the explosion as well. He was also taken to Beech Grove and he’s still there. Brayden Sloane was also in the lab. As you know, he’s disappeared. And Dr. Martin Kelso, one of our managers, was in the lobby area. He’d been assaulted, but he’s recovered.”

  “He’s back to work?”

  “Well, part-time.”

  “And you haven’t heard anything from Sloane since the day of the accident?”

  “No. I was hoping the police might get a line on him.”

  The comment sounded like a criticism, and Rand shifted in his seat. “We haven’t been working that part of the case.” Taking control of the interview again, he asked, “What will the security records show for the period before the break-in?” Rand tried.

  “That Five Star was doing a good job!” Edmonston snapped. “But that doesn’t prove anything. They could have been keeping up a front.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Richard muttered.

  Edmonston gave him a sharp look but didn’t comment.

  “We’d like to see the lab where the accident occurred,” Rand said.

  “It’s sealed until we check the level of toxicity.”

  A good way to keep people out, Rand thought. “Then we’d like to interview some of the other employees.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Martin Kelso. And Nelson Ulrich, your Research Director.”

  “I’ve already talked to Ulrich and Kelso. They don’t know anything.”

  Oh great, they’d coordinated their stories.

  “Nevertheless, speaking to them would be useful,” Rand said. “And I’m sure you must have security cameras at the lab.”

  “Of course.”

  “We’d like those tapes. And the security logs.”

  “I’ll want all that material back.”

  “It won’t be available immediately. We have to check it in as evidence. And we may need it for trial,” Rand explained patiently.

  They spent another twenty unproductive minutes with Edmonston then went back to the outer office, where a guard was waiting to escort them to the lab.

  Kelso had been making a check of the labs when an unknown assailant had come at him from behind and hit him on the head. He had blacked out and come to in the hospital.

  Ulrich had been on the scene outside the lab when the security men had arrived. But his story matched Edmonston’s. Big surprise. And he was equally critical of Five Star.

  Rand and Richard didn’t discuss their thoughts on the case until they’d driven out of the Cranesbrook compound.

  “Helpful bunch,” Richard observed.

  Rand slapped his palms against the steering wheel. “They’re hiding something and I want to know what.”

  “Maybe they’re testing something illegal at the lab and that secret government contract is a cover.”

  “Or they were really the ones who were negligent, and now they’re blaming it on Five Star.”

  “Or the security guys and Edmonston had some kind of illegal agreement and it got cocked up.”

  “Yeah,” Rand agreed.

  “Or Kelso faked his own accident, so he wouldn’t look guilty of anything.”

  Richard sighed. “We’d better keep digging.”

  They headed back to the office with a stop at one of the coffee shops in town for some French roast that was a hundred times better than the sludge that came from the pot in the office.

  As soon as they had checked in the security tape as evidence, they took it to a viewing room.

  It showed what looked like routine activity at the lab—up until a few minutes before the alleged break-in. Then the screen simply went blue.

  Which was the same color as the air around them when Rand and Richard finished cursing.

  “Just great,” Richard muttered.

  “Somebody doesn’t want us to find out what happened.”

  “I’m beginning to like the inside-job theory more and more.”

  “Yeah. The question is—how does it relate to the Hillman murder?”

  “We’ll find a connection if we keep digging.”

  Rand wished he could be as sure. “Do you think the Defense Department will tell us what Cranesbrook was working on at the lab?” he wondered aloud.

  “My opinion, no. But it doesn’t hurt to as
k.”

  AS HE DROVE back to the Eastern Shore, Gage made some plans. His first stop was going to be the home of Hank Riddell, the guy who had been keeping tabs on him at Beech Grove. He’d get what he could out of Riddell, then work on Evan Buckley, the man on his security staff whom he’d been on the verge of firing. Riddell was definitely involved in some way. And the more Gage thought about it, the more sure he was that Buckley was in on the conspiracy.

  Conspiracy. Yeah, right. Was it really up at that level?

  He didn’t know much about Hank Riddell, but he was pretty tuned in to Buckley. The guy was twenty-eight and still lived with his parents in Cambridge, the next town over. He had bought a honking big motorcycle recently and he’d worn some expensive snakeskin boots to work. It would be interesting to find out where he’d gotten the money.

  He stopped to look up the street addresses of both men in a gas-station phone book, then ate at a crab-cake joint while he waited for dark.

  When he drove past Riddell’s small clapboard house on the outskirts of town, there were no lights. The blinds were closed, and the lawn looked like it was a week past mowing. When he rang the bell, nobody answered. He was standing on the sidewalk in front when a man and woman came by pushing a baby stroller.

  Figuring this was as good a time as any to test his disguise, he said, “Excuse me. I’m an old friend of Hank’s. I thought I’d drop in, but he doesn’t seem to be home.”

  “No. He’s been gone for over a week,” the woman confirmed. “I saw him come out with a suitcase.”

  “He’s on a trip?”

  The couple exchanged glances. “I think he told Mark Carter—” the man pointed toward the house to the left of Riddell’s “—his next-door neighbor, that he was going to be staying on the Cranesbrook campus.”

  “Cranesbrook? What’s that?” Gage asked, like he’d never heard of the place.

  “It’s the big research lab where he works. Apparently he’s on some kind of special assignment, and they need him there 24/7.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gage answered. “Thanks for the info.”

  He climbed back into his truck and drove away, careful not to curse until he was out of earshot.

  A special assignment? And what would that be, exactly? First he’d been assigned to Beech Grove. Now he was inside the locked Cranesbrook gates.

  Strike one, Gage thought. But he could still get some answers out of Buckley. Struggling not to roar down the highway, he headed for Cambridge, but as soon as he reached the Buckley house, his spider senses started tingling. Something was wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  Gage drove slowly past the Buckley house. A lot of cars were parked along the street near the two-story shingled residence. As he watched, an older couple came up the sidewalk toward the house, the woman carrying a casserole dish. Either the Buckleys were having a party or something bad had happened. Gage remembered that old Mr. Buckley was in bad health. Perhaps he had died.

  After finding a parking space down the block, Gage got out and walked up the sidewalk, falling into step just behind a young man and woman who were also bringing food.

  His disguise had worked for the brief encounter outside Riddell’s house. Emboldened, he said, “Can I join you?”

  The woman stopped and turned toward him. “You were a friend of Evan’s?”

  Gage noted the past tense. Somehow, he wasn’t even shocked. This fit perfectly into the way things were going.

  “I just got back in town, so I don’t know what happened.”

  “Such a tragedy,” the woman said. “He was riding his motorcycle out on the river road, and somebody plowed into him then left him lying there and roared away.”

  “They didn’t find him until morning,” the man added.

  Gage eyed the dish the woman was carrying. “Where are my manners? I should bring something. I didn’t think of that until just now.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m sure Grace and Harold will be glad to see you.

  “No. I want to do something,” Gage insisted. “You go along, and I’ll be back in a few minutes, after I stop at the grocery store.”

  He turned and walked rapidly back to his car, climbed in and drove away.

  So Evan Buckley was dead. It could be an unfortunate coincidence, but Gage didn’t think so. He’d bet that Buckley knew something. Either he’d been in on what went down at the lab or he’d picked up some information that had gotten him killed. Had he been dumb enough to try blackmail?

  Gage cursed under his breath. So much for getting some answers tonight.

  “ANYTHING ON Mrs. Darnell?” Rand asked.

  Richard shook his head. “She stayed in the house all day after you took her home, then went to work in the evening like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.”

  “She’s got moxie.”

  “Too bad for us.”

  “How did Darnell get her to switch sides?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “We’ve got an APB out on him. And we’ve got her under surveillance. If he communicates with her, we’re in a position to nab him.”

  “On another front, I stopped in to see Sloane’s sister, Echo,” Richard said. “She says she still hasn’t heard from her brother.”

  “You think she’s covering up for him?”

  “No. I think she’s worried about him. She did file that missing-person report right after he disappeared. I don’t think she would have done that if she was trying to cover up his criminal activities. The neighbors said he was around her place a lot until he dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “There are a whole bunch of odd little angles to this case,” Rand muttered.

  Richard nodded. “Yeah, like why didn’t Sid Edmonston report the break-in at Cranesbrook in the first place right after it happened?”

  Before they could continue the conversation, a delivery person from the internal messenger service arrived and set a manila envelope on Rand’s desk. He wasted no time opening it.

  “Anything interesting?” Richard asked.

  Rand shuffled through the papers. “The report on the hammer.”

  “And…?” Richard sat down and waited while Rand began reading the report. After finishing with the first sheet, he passed it over.

  “So it’s Tucker Hillman’s blood on the hammer?” Richard said.

  “Yeah. We have a positive identification on that. But no fingerprints.”

  “Which brings us back to the theory that someone else did it and wiped the hammer clean.”

  Richard nodded.

  “You think Darnell is innocent?”

  “Of murder. But we’ve still got to proceed as though he’s the chief suspect.”

  “If he didn’t do it, then who did?”

  “Morton?” Rand asked.

  “What’s his motive?”

  Rand shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe we can get him to talk. Or Edmonston. Or one of the guys in his lab. Nelson Ulrich seems the most suspicious.”

  “Yeah. Of course, he could be working with Darnell. Or with Brayden Sloane. In fact, Sloane could be the ringleader in some kind of plot involving Cranesbrook.”

  They’d already discussed those possibilities. They were just rehashing old theories again.

  “I’d like to make some progress,” Rand muttered.

  “Why don’t we get Maxine Wallace to go back to Beech Grove and reinterview the staff?” Richard suggested.

  “She’s just a patrol officer.”

  “Yeah, but she seemed to be on the ball. And she might get some information we can’t.”

  “What’s your thinking on that?”

  “Well, there’s the small-town angle. She’s local, and so is most of the staff at Beech Grove. They might open up with her more than with us. Then there’s the female angle. You know, sometimes women will tell stuff to another woman that they won’t say to a man.”

  Rand nodded. “It’s all we’ve got.”

  GAGE FOUND another cheap motel outside Oxford,
a town near St. Stephens, and got some sleep. He felt as though he’d been on the run for weeks, and he wasn’t any closer to clearing his name than he had been when he’d busted out of Beech Grove. In fact, he was worse off. Now his picture was all over the television and the newspapers.

  The photograph had been taken three years ago to go with the press release he and Bray had written when they’d first started Five Star Security. He was amazed at how young and confident he looked. He and Bray had been ready to take on the world then. Now he was a murder suspect and Bray was Lord knew where.

  Until the explosion, he would have trusted Brayden Sloane with his life. Now he didn’t know what to think. Had his partner made a secret deal with someone at Cranesbrook? Or a secret deal with someone who wanted to steal the results of the company’s research? That was another possibility. Bray could even have been working with Evan Buckley, although they’d discussed the guy and Bray had concurred with Gage’s assessment. That could just have been a tactic to throw Gage off the scent.

  Gage ran his hand through his darkened hair. He was second-guessing everything that had happened over the past few weeks. It was just as likely that Bray was dead. He’d like to ask his sister, Echo, if she’d heard from him. But contacting her was simply too dangerous. Using a legal pad he’d bought, he wrote some lists of suspects and possibilities because seeing stuff in black and white always helped him think. Then he tore up the notes and flushed them down the toilet.

  He tried to get some sleep on the lumpy motel mattress, but he tossed and turned most of the night. After checking out, he drove to a shopping mall in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, where he bought camping equipment and some food. Then he headed back to Maryland, to an estate called Oak Lawn that was vacant ten months of the year. He’d camped there before, down by the Miles River, and he thought it was a good spot to hide out.

  It had another advantage, too. It was only a few miles from Cranesbrook. Since the interviews he’d planned hadn’t panned out, he needed to get back inside the company compound.