The Bee Keeper

by Vincent, Tracy D

  I am about to give her some tips when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn just in time to see Dr. Miller put his hand out. “Geoff, nice for you to come in so quickly. I really appreciate it.”

  “Dr. Miller. You know I’ll always come when you request it.” I shake his hand firmly. No matter how many times I see him, it’s always like seeing him for the first time. I could tell you that he has brown hair and his eyes are a lighter brown and that he wears glasses and jeans. But it would never be enough to identify him in a crowd of brown-haired, brown-eyed men who wear glasses and jeans. There is nothing unusual or unique about him.

  He turns and leads me to the private elevator to his offices. It must really be important if he’s taking me up there. The rest of the building is wired, and any number of government agencies can listen in at any time or pull the files to listen to later. The exception is the entire floor that he and his small crew work on. Those labs and rooms are monitored, but privately and by him and his staff only. No one else, not even my office staff can get those files without him handing them over.

  I’ll be honest, I was most unhappy with the turn of events after hiring him on to do his interrogations. After hearing the ghastly reports, I don’t think I can sit through actually listening to what he does. I can only imagine the horrors these pristine white walls have seen. The ride is silent, but Dr. Miller has always been one to listen rather than talk.

  We end up on his floor of doors but instead of turning left to the “patient” rooms, we turn right. There are two doors on this side. One side is the entrance to the lab, I remember that from the blueprints. The other side, I’m assuming, is his office. So, when he opens the door, I’m surprised to find a room built almost entirely of stainless steel. Other than a large steel box with a computer terminal built in with little doors, there’re a couple of chairs and a table, and the floor is that highly polish concrete that looks like it is made from steel. But the walls, the patient bed, and everything else is comprised of plates of steel. “Interesting room choice, Dr. Miller.”

  “We’re having our other rooms sterilized at this moment, so this is the most fitting room. Sorry if it bothers you. This room is easiest to sterilize due to the makeup of the interior. But if you must know, my office is the lab and there are quite a few ears in there. You did require the utmost discretion in dealing with this particular case. We have this room’s monitoring disabled because this is generally where we handle aftercare.” He arches his brow as he says this and his meaning becomes clear. This is the room they use to dispose of the bodies.

  “Oh. Well, I can see why you would have any sort of recording equipment in this room disabled. Nothing interesting happens in here,” I respond nonchalantly. I’m not feeling that way; honestly, I’m creeped out knowing that I’m in here and that the thief was in here not long ago. Or will be soon. “How quickly do you cremate the bodies after…” I motion with my hands, not wanting to finish the statement.

  “We perform an immediate autopsy and harvesting, and then perform the cremation on the remaining tissue,” he says, heading to the back door of the room. “I’ll be just a moment, would you like something to drink?”

  “A soft drink would be lovely, thank you.” I move to one of the two chairs in the room in front of the table and sit down.

  He returns in mere moments and takes the seat opposite me. He hands me the cola, twists the cap on his own, and takes a long drink.

  “So, you harvest the body of what?” I ask him.

  “Organs, of course. The tissue that can be reused in someone else in need. Sometimes they are in such bad shape when they leave we don’t have much that we can harvest, but others, there is still a lot of tissue. Why not benefit the community as their last act?” He shrugs and plays with the label on his soda bottle.

  He pulls a file and places it on the table and opens it up. He’s sneaky because I never even saw that file before he lays it up there. “The car thief’s name is Angela Fawkes, daughter of Mary Elizabeth James, née Fawkes, and illegitimate daughter of Timo Hauer, and granddaughter of Clive Fawkes. If I’m not mistaken that’s a somewhat distant relative of your wife on her mother’s side.”

  “Yes, a cousin of some sort, if I remember correctly. When he died, the estate went to Linda’s older brother because there were no more Fawkes alive. The word was Elizabeth died. I remember Linda talking about it being a shame because she was a young teen and wouldn’t be able to live a full life.”

  “Well, she didn’t live a full life, but she didn’t die as a teen, she died at the age of”—he flips a page and continues—“twenty-eight of acute lead poisoning. Mary Elizabeth was married to a Phillip Allen James at the time. Angela was thirteen when her mother passed away.”

  To say that this information floors me is a gross understatement. The fact that my wife is related, though distantly, to the thief is one thing, but to know that Timo’s the father of her and that his capo was her stepfather really surprises me. “This is quite shocking. I wasn’t aware that we were related to this girl. Do you know if she realized she was as highly connected?”

  “She didn’t know anything.” He looks me in the eye and if I thought that he was unreadable before, I had underestimated him. His eyes are calculating, assessing, and completely without emotion or depth. They are like computers, processing all the information without any feedback.

  “She didn’t know of her relation to your wife, her relation to Mr. Hauer, or about the body of Mr. James in your son’s car or the briefcase you wanted to find. She did know Mr. James, of course, as he was her stepfather. Did you know that he raped her right after her mother died? She ran away from home then and lived on the streets since as a petty crook and a graffiti artist. Otherwise, she was pretty devoid of information. Now, your son…”

  “I don’t want to know about Junior. It is best that I don’t know. His mother is already asking too many questions. The less I have to hide from her, the better off we all are,” I say, cutting him off.

  He nods, gratefully understanding my position. “Alright. A brief summary then of my findings. I found that Ms. Fawkes truly stole the car for a joyride. She had never met your son or anyone else involved. She wasn’t complicit in any murder or attempts at blackmail or bribery of a government official. It was a case of wrong place at the wrong time. However, the information gathered from Suspect Number Two was quite detailed. He was very involved in the entire process except for the theft of the car. He, however, did not have the briefcase.”

  The unease has been building in me. Something isn’t right and I can’t figure out what it is. “So, you’re saying you don’t have the briefcase?”

  “We’ll get to that. You want the full report, yes?” He words it like a question but says it like a statement.

  “Yes, of course, you know I do.” The hair stands on the back of my neck and gooseflesh breaks out on my arms. I’m not an easily scared man, but this quiet, unassuming man is capable of such things that I cannot stomach.

  “Suspect Number Two implicated that he commissioned the documents to be created in order to bribe you to leave him alone. He felt that you were too controlling of his life. He also claimed that Mr. James was involved in the delivery of these documents but had gotten greedy and requested a vast sum of money as well as a new identity and a plane ticket to wherever he wanted to go. So, Suspect Number Two shot him point blank in the face. The body was then dismembered, and identifiable scars and tattoos removed.”

  My mind reels from the information that I’ve just been handed. Junior wanted to blackmail me. He thought I was being too hard on him. The thought of that infuriates me beyond anything I’ve felt before. “Hmmm. Well. Thank you.”

  “I’m not finished yet.” He closes the file and looks at me intently.

  “Oh, you’re not?” I arch my eyebrow at him, feigning disinterest.

  “You asked that I find the briefcase, and that’s precisely what I’ve done. I followed the trail of truth until I got the answer.”
My blood that was burning hot with anger is now quickly freezing over.

  “This goes deeper than Junior?”

  “Much, much deeper than Junior. Before I finish, I need to introduce you to my associate, Dr. Staples. She’s been quite crucial in extracting information from all the suspects involved in your case.”

  “Dr. Staples? I talked with her once, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her face-to-face,” I say, still the diplomat.

  “Oh no, you’ve not met her. She’s my ‘secret weapon,’ if you will.” He stands and heads back to the opposite door again. He sticks his head through it and calls for Dr. Staples and waits a moment until she follows him into the room.

  The woman is taller than Dr. Miller and where he’s easily lost in a crowd, she stands out like a beacon. Her golden hair falls in waves around her shoulders and even from across the room I can tell how bright blue her eyes are. She’s built like a man’s wet dream come true and damned if I’m not a red-blooded man.

  She sticks her hand out to me when she reaches the table. “Senator Wright, how wonderful to finally make your acquaintance. I have only briefly talked with you on the phone.” Her voice is sultry. It conjures images of sweaty sex against walls and on kitchen tables.

  “Yes, pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” In lieu of shaking her hand, I kiss the back of her knuckles briefly. She doesn’t blush like I intend; instead, she only quirks the side of her lips.

  “Dr. Staples, can you please join us for the remainder of our discussion of his inquiry? You can take the seat; I’ll grab this crate and bring it over.” He nabs the crate from the nearby metal box that sits in one corner of the room. I never noticed it over there.

  “Thank you, Dr. Miller.”

  “Senator, Dr. Staples has been crucial in getting everyone here in some form or fashion. Without her, we would never have found out the truth of everything that has happened.” He sits to my right and her in the seat across from me.

  “Thank you, Dr. Staples.”

  “Meghan,” she says with a slight smile.

  I glance at Dr. Miller, as if I need his permission. “Meghan,” I correct with a slight bow of my head.

  “I’ll cut to the chase on Suspect Number Three.” He turns his attention to Dr. Staples and adds, “He doesn’t want to be made aware of the identities of the parties involved. Lessens his liability.”

  She simply nods her understanding and he continues, “Suspect Number Three is the best friend of Number Two. They grew up together and went to college together. Number Two approached him for help.”

  My skin crawls because I know exactly who she’s referring to. Edward couldn’t have been involved—surely, he wouldn’t have turned on me so completely. Meghan continues on about how they planned this and that. Edward wasn’t just planning to help Junior blackmail me, but he wanted the information for himself for possible future blackmail opportunities.

  My brain freezes and focuses on this little scrap of information, refusing to go further. Edward was only out for himself. He has been using and gathering information from everyone for personal gain. This sounds so counter to the Edward that I know, but it feels right.

  “Senator? Are you okay?” Meghan asks as she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

  I look up at her and smile. “Yes, of course, I’m okay. I’m just astounded at how convoluted this all seems.”

  “Oh, it gets worse,” Dr. Miller says dispassionately.

  “Worse?” I ask incredulously. “What’s worse than my own son and seemingly faithful intern conspiring to blackmail me?”

  “Suspect Number Three gets his girlfriend involved, making her Suspect Number Four. She is the actual gatherer of intel. She also had her own motives for doing it. She wanted you to think it came from her father, to get you to oust him from power so she could take over. Naïve thought that was. Her grandfather wouldn’t have allowed that. He already has her father’s successor lined up and it isn’t Suspect Number Four. Who, by the way, really was her grandfather, not her uncle like she kept thinking.”

  “Wait, I’m confused, her uncle is really her grandfather? You’re talking incest?”

  “Not at all, the ‘uncle’ is really the cousin of the supposed grandfather, he then had relations with the grandmother and the mother was born.”

  “Okay. I think I am beginning to understand.” The only thing I’m understanding is the Scarelli family is more fucked up than my own.

  “I have to leave now, I have another appointment, but I’ll leave you in Dr. Staples’ most capable hands. She’ll inform you of the rest of our case.” He stands, shakes my hand, and leaves out the door in the back of the room.

  Meghan smiles at me. “This has been an interesting case from the beginning. What seemed to be so open and shut has turned into something quite dark and sinister. That’s saying something here in this room.”

  “So, let’s just be out there. Ms. Fawkes stole the car with Phillip James’ body in it. This is the same man who was married to and killed her mother, then raped her. But she didn’t know the body was in the trunk?”

  “Correct.”

  “The briefcase wasn’t in the trunk of the car at any point in time?”

  “No, Senator, it wasn’t.”

  “Geoffrey had the documents commissioned, he along with Edward and Maya?”

  “Yes, he asked Mr. Champlain for help, who then turned to Ms. Hauer for help, who then asked Mr. James for help.”

  “Okay, then where did the briefcase go?”

  “After Mr. Wright, Jr. killed Mr. James, he and Mr. Champlain mutilated the body with the intention of dumping the body off. Instead, Ms. Fawkes stole the car with the body in it. Mr. Wright felt it best that Mr. Champlain hold on to the briefcase until such a time that they could get back together to pass it off.”

  “So, Edward has—had—the briefcase?” I ask, finding it hard to believe that Edward is somehow involved.

  “Temporarily he had it, yes. He then passed it back to Maya Hauer for even safer keeping. But while she was out, he called and informed Mr. Hauer that it was in his house.”

  “Wait. Edward called Timo to tell Timo about the documents? Why would he do that if he was wanting to use them as future blackmail?”

  “As an act of good faith. He never let on to his true intentions. Maybe he got cold feet. That is something we’ll never know. Motivations are purely speculative anyway, Senator. The truth doesn’t have room for speculation.” She says all this while viewing me critically. The raised hairs have never left. I figure they would when Dr. Miller left the room, but they’re still present.

  “And now the Hauers have it and it’s in safekeeping because they’re not going to use them against me because it has their own dirty deeds in there.”

  “True. But Mr. Hauer did have some interesting things to tell us.”

  My stomach churns. They have traced the documents all the way to Timo. Which means he’s probably in here right now. “Where’s Mr. Hauer?” I ask, dropping all pretenses.

  “Over there,” she responds off-handedly, pointing to the big metal box with the computer monitor attached to it.

  “What is that?” She turns her head to look at it and I ease from my chair. Fear makes my clothes stick to me.

  “That’s the cremator. He was brought in last night. He hasn’t been removed yet.” She turns back toward me and stands as well.

  “Mr. Hauer told us many secrets, even though he loves to trade in them. One of these secrets he told us is that you knew about the briefcase before we ever saw Angela. By my estimation, that’s an omission of facts. That’s allowing Dr. Miller and me to work at a gross disadvantage. Because of your lack of transparency, we worked under the impression”—she says this as she advances on me—“that the retrieval of the case was tantamount. Instead, this whole time, you knew where it was and our services weren’t required.”

  My back hits the door that I entered through and I stiffen in anger. “I don’t
owe you anything, including transparency. It’s your job to do as I ask you to do. I’m the one who started this service of yours. Now, if that’s all you have for me, I’m leaving.”

  I turn and grab the handle. The lever moves, but the door won’t open. I try several more times as if the next time is the one that will work. I feel her warmth before I hear her step to me, but before I can turn around I feel a sharp prick in my neck near my spine. I whirl around and see her stepping back, an empty syringe in her hand.

  I grab the back of my neck; my legs feel wobbly. “What are you doing?”

  I reach for her and stumble, my vision starting to blur.

  “We’re going to have a talk, but you need to get comfortable first.” She steps further back from me and stands near the table.

  “I have nothing to say—” I try to say, but my tongue doesn’t want to cooperate with me. The room tilts dangerously to one side and I feel myself fall down in the planetary shift.

  “Night-night, Senator…” The walls blur and the world goes dark.

  ***

  The growling needs to fucking stop. My jaw hurts, my heart won’t stop pounding. I open my eyes and the room spins around like a kaleidoscope gone mad. “Make the growling stop,” I mutter to find that it has.

  “That was you, Senator.” It’s that smooth, sex-filled voice again. I swing my head to the right, where the voice came from, and the world spins more violently.

  The swirling colors mix with my panting and speed-demon heart brings bile spewing out of my mouth.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just one of the side effects of the epinephrine shot I administered. You really didn’t need it. You would have awoken soon enough on your own, but I couldn’t help but torment you a little.” She swims into view through the tears clouding my vision.

  I try to wipe my mouth, but my hands are bound down to my sides. “What the fuck are you doing?” I scream at her. “First you call me in here to tell me about a briefcase you don’t have. You tell me that you kill everyone. Then you shoot me up with something that knocks me out, then shoot me up with something that wakes me up. And I’m tied down like some rabid dog. I demand that you let me go! Get Dr. Miller in here! I will have your fucking job, you goddamned cunt!”