“I would have to agree with you, except…there’s IPR. Infinity Pharmaceutical Research.” She put more emphasis on the word “Infinity.” After leaving Professor Pratt, she researched the pharmaceutical company that she had heard much about recently and was not overly surprised to learn its full name.
“I found it curious how this start-up pharmaceutical company could be in the final phase of clinical trials on a brand-new drug; a drug that will revolutionize the medical community; a drug that longstanding pharmaceutical companies have been striving to create for decades, but failed.”
She was in her element, and although she wasn’t in the courtroom, she felt the rush of an impending checkmate. “You see, I did my research. These companies continued to fail because they lacked adequate real life data to take it to trials for testing on humans. But IPR did have the real life data. Quoting someone else I know, ‘IPR had a big head start.’”
“This is all very interesting, I’m sure, but I fail to see what this has to do with the trust or me. So, if you don’t mind, I have other matters to get to.”
“But I think you do see. IPR acquired Henry Gesler’s, or should I say Heinrich Geizler’s life’s work. His decades of testing and research on children, it was all done for them. IPR only needed to step in and take the credit.”
“I don’t appreciate where this conversation is going. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said.
“But I’m just getting to the good part.” She noted that Iverson remained quiet and made no move to have her removed and knew she had his interest.
“IPR is a closed corporation with private funding. Funding channeled through a series of holding companies. IPR’s CEO, Seth Lowry, is merely a puppet. I think if we pierced the veil, we’d find that IPR is owned by you, but…” She rubbed her chin in mock consternation. “You couldn’t have gotten Geizler’s research without someone else…someone that was there.” She crossed her arms over her chest, but Iverson didn’t flinch. “Bishop Pallone went through great efforts to hide a secret, and IPR has been Mayor Reynosa’s poster child for his economic reform. Iverson, Pallone, and Reynosa—IPR. Not very clever.” She had to credit her father’s law firm, CRAK, for putting together the true acronym.
Bradley Iverson leaned back in his chair and slowly clapped his hands in mocking appreciation. “Give the lady a gold star. All this from a single CV of Henry Gesler. Who would have thought? Of course, you can’t prove this. Sure, you can connect the dots of IPR, but you can never prove the connection of Heinrich Geizler and IPR. But nice try. Now if you don’t mind, I really do have more interesting things to do.”
Elizabeth didn’t need to be asked again and exited without another word. She got what she came for, confirmation of what she already knew.
As Elizabeth strode out of the building, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to jump. She quickly turned and grabbed the hand, twisting the fingers until a familiar voice cried for mercy.
“God damn it, Grace, you scared me. What are you doing grabbing at me like that?”
“I was only trying to catch up with you. I called your name, but you didn’t answer,” Grace said as she made a show of flexing her fingers.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was lost in thought. What are you doing here?”
“Probably the same thing you are. You want to fill me in?”
Elizabeth leaned against a low brick wall that lined the building walkway and crossed her arms, and Grace perched beside her, matching her stance. After Elizabeth provided a rundown of her meeting with Bradley Iverson, Grace snapped, “Why did you go in there alone?”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“Permission? This isn’t about permission. This is about common sense. You corner him and God knows what he’ll do.”
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter!” Elizabeth stormed off, unsure why she was so angry. She knew Grace made a good point, and she should have at least consulted her before she went to meet Iverson. She did think of it, but told herself that she would extract more information from Iverson without a detective at her side. Although she did believe that to be true, that wasn’t the reason she didn’t call; she didn’t call because Grace confused her. Technically, Grace didn’t confuse her, but her own feelings about Grace confused her, and she thought it best to leave that emotional baggage out of the conversation with Iverson.
Chapter Thirty-three
Raymond played with the button on the side of the passenger seat, pushing the back of his chair up and down. The buzzing of the seat lowering and raising began to grate on Elizabeth’s nerves.
“Raymond, will you please leave the seat alone? It’s getting tired,” she said.
He patted the seat next to his leg, and she smiled at his act of endearment, but it wasn’t long before Raymond became bored and searched for something else to occupy him. He popped open the center compartment and began riffling through it; however, she found this less annoying and left him to it.
They spent a fruitless afternoon in court. The prosecution announced its position to pursue a new trial against Raymond, and a new date for jury selection was set. She had hoped that Robert Burke would reconsider his hard stance on Raymond’s case, but time hadn’t softened the prosecutor’s resolve, and she suspected it was as much for his bruised ego as for justice.
Elizabeth’s mother was conspicuously absent for both Raymond and Elizabeth. She had become a mainstay for Raymond and a silent source of strength for Elizabeth during the hearings, but a debilitating migraine forced her to stay home.
“Raymond, what are you doing!”
Elizabeth quickly pulled the car to the side of the road and snatched a matchbook from his hands. The sulfur tip on the match still in Raymond’s hand didn’t ignite, and he lowered his head in shame.
“Where did you get these?”
He pointed to the open center console without lifting his head, and she turned the matchbook over in her hand, trying to recall how it got there. Then it came to her. She found it in the church basement during one of her excursions with Grace. She paid little attention to it at the time, assuming the matches were left behind by an occupant of the homeless camp seeking refuge, but as she studied the matchbook, she realized she was wrong.
The front cover of the matchbook displayed a four-leaf clover and the backside, the name O’Shays Pub. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Oh God.”
Raymond mistook her distress as a sign of anger toward him and apologized with tears in his eyes.
“Oh no, Raymond, it’s not you.” She went on to gently reprimand him for playing with matches, but relieved him of the burden of thinking he was in trouble.
She felt an overwhelming urge to drive to the school for another look, but realized Raymond posed a problem. After convincing herself that she couldn’t take him home and return before dark, she changed course and headed toward the school.
“Raymond, I need to make a quick stop. You’ll have to stay in the car and be a big boy.” He nodded vigorously.
On the drive, she called Grace. They hadn’t spoken since their argument, instead both sulking in their stubbornness. Now she had a reason to reach out, but had to settle for her voice mail when she didn’t answer. “It’s Elizabeth. Look, I found Sullivan’s matches. I mean, I found them in the church basement the last time we were there, and I just came across them.”
She realized that she was rambling and took a breath. “Never mind. It’s too hard to explain. Meet me at the school. I’m heading there now.”
She disconnected the call and dialed Father Parker, figuring extra backup wouldn’t hurt, even if it was a priest. She was disheartened when Mary answered and told her that Father Parker was out visiting a parishioner.
“Mary, please tell him to meet me at the church behind the school. It’s very important. He’ll understand.”
She pulled the Roadster into the decrepit parking lot in front of the school and tried to patiently
wait for Grace, knowing Grace would want that, but patience wasn’t her strong suit. She reasoned that she only needed to take a look around, and if she waited, she could lose the light. Grace would see her car and catch up with her. Now that she had worked it out in her head, she opened the car door with a purpose.
“Where are we going?” Raymond asked.
His voice pulled her back, and she closed the door. She momentarily forgot about him. She explained her need to go look into one of the buildings, and he looked warily at the abandoned property, biting his bottom lip. He shook his head. “It’s too scary.”
Elizabeth explained that she wanted him to wait in the car, and she handed him her cell phone and opened up a game app to occupy him while she was gone. “Stay in the car,” she said before shutting the door, but he was already too immersed in the game to acknowledge her.
She pulled her backpack from the trunk, an accessory she now seemed to never leave home without, and walked toward the church. She was grateful she had chosen to wear a pantsuit to court. It was slightly better attire to be trekking through a basement than a skirt and hose.
She noted the deafening silence. Only the sound of her boots bearing down on the soil could be heard. Weren’t there birds and other critters scurrying around before? She wondered if they knew something she didn’t and considered waiting for Grace. She stopped and imagined Grace coming to her rescue and chastised herself for being foolish. She was letting her absurd thoughts get the best of her. She hefted the backpack higher on her shoulder and carried on.
When she reached the church entrance, she pulled the chain wrapped around the door handles and let it fall to ground, then pulled out her flashlight, moving the light around the circumference of the room before she entered. Convinced it was empty, she moved to the basement door and slowly opened it and stood motionless, cocking her head to the side to angle her ear toward the opening. After several moments of silence, she turned off the light and crept down the stairs on the tips of her toes, being careful not to allow the heel of her boot to touch down. At the bottom, she stopped again and waited. When no sound came other than her own breathing, she turned on the light and shined it toward the metal cellar door, which appeared securely closed. Several footprints were impressed into the dusty floor, but she couldn’t tell if they were new or prints left behind by her prior visits.
Reasonably certain that she was alone, she walked toward the concrete door and set down the flashlight to turn the handle and push with both hands. As the door began to give, a loud creak came from behind her, and she wheeled around.
“I have a weapon,” she yelled, not recognizing her own voice as it shook. She dropped the backpack and pulled out the crowbar. The creaking sound stopped, and she and her unwelcome visitor were in a silent standoff. Her arm began to tremble at the weight of the crowbar hefted above her head. She slowly bent her knees and lifted the flashlight, which had been trained on the ceiling, and directed it toward the stairs. A set of hands hurriedly covered a set of eyes as the light pointed accusingly.
“Raymond, God damn it! You scared me. You were supposed to stay in the car.”
Raymond stood motionless and continued to cover his face with his hands, and she realized that he must have been equally scared. She moved to him and pulled his hand away from his face and led him down the last step.
“I’m sorry, Raymond. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She could see the tracks of tears down his face and pulled him into her and held him tightly. He melted into her and wrapped his arms around her as though he was afraid she would leave him again.
“Raymond why didn’t you stay in the car?”
“I was scared. I don’t like to be alone.”
She mentally kicked herself for bringing him. She had become so obsessed with the matchbook find that she didn’t stop to really think about his well-being. “I’m sorry, Raymond. Let’s go home.”
He didn’t respond, but stared over her shoulder. “Raymond, what is it?” She turned toward the concrete door and saw light spilling out of the crack of the slightly open door.
“Stand right here. I’m just going to peek in the door,” she whispered, handing the flashlight to him, and held the crowbar out in front of her. She poked her head in the door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light. Although a lantern hanging from the middle of the ceiling offered a modest amount of light, it was a stark contrast to the nearly black basement.
“What the hell?” she breathed out. A naked man stood against the wall with his arms and legs pulled apart by chains and secured to the wall. The man remained motionless with his head slumped down, and she turned to escape the sight, when a groan emanated from the man.
“Who’s there? Please don’t go.”
She stood torn between Raymond and the chained man.
“Raymond, there’s a man in here. I think he’s hurt. I’m going to help him.”
He nodded, causing the flashlight to bounce with his movement.
She scooped up her backpack and slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way and looked around the room. It seemed no different from her prior visits but for the light and a naked man chained to the wall.
She approached the man to survey his injuries. Dried blood trailed down the side of his face, but no other injuries were visible, and she stared at him in vague recognition. “I know you.”
The man lifted his head and stared directly at her. “Simon Fisher,” he croaked out. She failed to recognize the name and shook her head slightly.
“We met at the mayor’s party. I’m his personal assistant.”
As he said it, she recalled their meeting outside the restaurant where she assaulted the swan.
“I’m Elizabeth.” She felt very foolish for having casual introductions when the man was naked, bleeding, and chained to a wall. With her senses returning, she dropped her backpack and yanked out the bolt cutters. She carried on their conversation as she clamped the cutter down on the chain. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was in the parking lot, leaving work. It was dark. Someone hit me from behind. I woke up like this.”
She was so sure that the signs pointed to Mayor Reynosa as the next victim. “You attended St. John’s.”
Simon tried to nod yes, but the movement caused more pain, and he groaned. His sounds of misery focused her back on the task of cutting the chain, and she squeezed the bolt cutters as hard as she could, but it barely made an indentation on the metal chain. The locks on the doors were much easier in comparison, and she began to doubt that she would be able to cut the chains.
She kept up the conversation with Simon, in part to keep him calm as she continued to work at it, but also to finally get some answers. “Father Rossi ran the school. I’m guessing the first priest, Father Portillo, worked here too.”
“Yes, but Father Portillo had nothing to do with what was happened here. It was Father Rossi. Nobody else knew but us.”
“Who is us?” she asked.
“I think you know—Detective Sullivan, Bishop Pallone, the mayor, and me.”
“I knew Mayor Reynosa was connected to this somehow,” she said more to herself. She flexed her fingers, which were aching from the force of the bolt cutters, and sighed. She had made little progress, as the indentation was only slightly deeper.
“The four of us attended the school. The other three liked to sneak out of our dorm and go to the woods to smoke. The woods were supposed to be off-limits. I went along to prove that I was like them, but I wasn’t. I’m not like them,” he stated emphatically.
She resumed cutting. “And?”
“One night, we were wandering through the woods, and we came across some kind of old mining tunnel. We followed it, and that’s when we saw Father Rossi with the other man, Gesler, and a kid. The kid was crying. I wanted to tell, to help the kid, but not the other three. They saw it as an opportunity to help themselves. We got special favors in school—homework done for us, skipping class, grades changed, all that kind o
f stuff, all sanctioned by Father Rossi. In return, we kept our mouths shut, but soon, that wasn’t enough. The others wanted more. They wanted to be a part of it for money. We started helping Gesler with the children.”
“With his testing, you mean.”
“Yes,” he confirmed softly. “Rossi would get the kids. I think they were runaways or had no families. He promised them food and a warm place to sleep.” His voice cracked, and he paused to swallow.
She looked around the room. “This is where they kept the children. How many children?”
“I don’t know.” She eyed him with disbelief. “I really don’t know. We only discovered this,” he slightly gestured his head to the room, “about a year before the school closed. There were only three children during that year. I don’t know how many before.”
“What happened to the children?” she asked.
“They would just disappear. I don’t know where.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“The power over the children, it went to their heads…” Simon’s voice trailed off.
*
Simon covertly watched the boy through the small opening of the tunnel door. Unlike the others, he volunteered to bring the boy’s food, so he could check on him. He had even spoken with him and learned that his name was David Collins. It was important to him to know their names.
He knew that most days David spent his time in the dark, but some days, like today, he was privileged to have light from the lantern that hung in the middle of the room. As Simon watched him, David stared up at the design painted on the ceiling, something he had seen him do before. When he asked him why, David said that it was its color that drew him to it. It stood out from the cold concrete, and he found the curves and symmetry beautiful. It was his constellation.
Simon was reluctant to interrupt him as David tore his attention away from the ceiling, and began using the small rock held between his thumb and index finger to scrape a design on the cement. The floor had become his canvas, and several etchings surrounded him.
Sins of Our Fathers Page 25