Fatal Care

by Leonard Goldberg

  44

  The Los Angeles County police helicopter circled slowly above the desert, holding at an altitude of a thousand feet. Jake Sinclair carefully scanned the terrain below, searching with high-powered binoculars for any signs of life.

  “Nothing,” Jake shouted over to the pilot. “I don’t see a damn thing.”

  “Don’t just look for a person,” the pilot shouted back. “Look for anything that moves.”

  Jake surveyed the desert again, but all he could see was sand and dunes and small hills. Off to the east he saw a ridge of low-lying mountains that marked the outer perimeter of the Bio-Med property. In front of the ridge was a large boulder with a shadow forming behind it. Everything was still. Even the sagebrush wasn’t moving.

  “Nothing,” Jake reported, “Not a damn thing.”

  Gradually the helicopter turned to the west and headed into the sun. The ground beneath them was red and gold and orange. The bright colors blurred out all details.

  Jake took the binoculars away from his eyes and asked, “Is there any way to narrow down the search area?”

  “It might help if you gave me more information on the person we’re looking for.”

  Jake hesitated, not wanting to talk about Joanna or the case they were involved in. For now, the fewer people who knew the better. Jake didn’t want word of the Bio-Med mess or of Joanna’s disappearance to reach the news media. “She’s one of ours,” Jake said carefully. “She was investigating a case, and now she’s missing. We think she may be out here.”

  “A she, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does she know the desert?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, does she know how to find water and shelter? Does she know how to protect herself against exposure?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ve got trouble.”

  Jake quickly rethought his answer. “She’s not stupid. She knows enough to get the hell out of the sun.”

  “It’s not just the sun,” the pilot explained. “It’s the high temperature and how you try to combat it. And the same goes for shelter. It’s not simply finding shelter, it’s finding the right kind of shelter.”

  “Give me an example,” Jake said, totally out of his depth, just as Joanna would be.

  “Let’s say you go into a cave and it seems cool at first. So now you’re out of the sun and you figure you got it made. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Wrong,” the pilot went on. “If there’s no cross-ventilation and if the sun can shine into the mouth of that cave, the temperature will jump up and turn that cave into an oven. Then you’ll really start to sweat and get more and more dehydrated. And that’s what kills most people out here. Dehydration.”

  The helicopter turned again onto a northeasterly course. Jake peered through the binoculars and saw hills and small mountains in the distance. “So, sometimes it might be better to stay under the ledge of a cliff rather than go inside a cave?”

  “Sometimes,” the pilot agreed. “But if the wind starts up, you’ve got to get the hell inside. It can actually blow you away.”

  The land below was flat and wide open. Jake saw tire tracks crisscrossing the desert floor. They were probably made by Jeeps from Bio-Med, Jake thought. But the vehicles were nowhere to be seen. No Jeeps. No dogs. No search parties. And that bothered Jake. Maybe they had already found Joanna’s body and left it out for the elements and desert creatures to work on for a while. That would make her death seem more natural, particularly with rattlesnake bites all over her. Jake shuddered, thinking what Joanna’s corpse would look like.

  He focused his binoculars back on the tire tracks, trying to determine if there was any pattern to them. In some places they were crisscrossing. In others they formed half circles where the drivers had made U-turns. To his left Jake saw a small ridge where the tire tracks disappeared altogether. Then they started again, going in a straight line.

  “To the north,” Jake shouted, pointing below. “Follow the tire tracks to the north.”

  The pilot guided the helicopter northward, descending to an altitude of five hundred feet.

  Jake kept his binoculars fixed on the tire tracks. They disappeared briefly into a cluster of mounds and dunes before beginning again, straight ahead, on a northeasterly course. Then the tracks stopped in the middle of nowhere.

  Jake motioned to the pilot. “I need to get a better look at the tracks. Can we go down a little lower?”

  The helicopter slowly descended to two hundred feet and hovered over the tire tracks. Now Jake could see animal tracks as well. He guessed they were made by the rottweilers. But unlike the tire tracks, the animal trail was circular. The animals had run around in a giant circle, approximately forty yards across.

  “Let’s take it down,” Jake yelled over. “I want you to land to the south of those tire tracks.”

  The helicopter slowly descended and touched down near a cluster of dunes. Jake waited for the rotors to come to a stop, then got out and hurried over to the end of the tire marks. Then he moved ahead slowly, watching each step until he picked up the animal trail.

  “There,” Jake said, pointing out the tracks to the pilot. “Those are dog tracks.”

  “Big dogs,” the pilot commented.

  “Real big,” Jake agreed, again thinking it was probably the rottweilers. He followed the animal tracks as they gently curved around in a giant arc.

  “They were circling something,” the pilot surmised. “Maybe moving in on their prey.”

  Jake shook his head. “Attack dogs don’t circle their prey. They come right at it.”

  Jake continued on slowly, following the dog tracks, his eyes glued to the ground. He kicked aside a small rock, then another, but saw nothing. Just ahead he spotted a long stem from a plant lying on the ground. But there were no plants or bushes nearby. As he reached down for it, he saw the bloodstains on the stem and the furry bud attached to it.

  Jake walked on, faster, his eyes still riveted to the ground. He came upon another blood-soaked stem, but this one was sticking up in the desert soil. Jake broke into a run, his gaze never leaving the curving trail of animal tracks. Ahead of him was another bloody stem and then another and another.

  “She’s here!” Jake called out, stopping to catch his breath. “She’s here!”

  The pilot rushed over. “What have you got?”

  “These,” Jake said, and showed him the blood-soaked stems. “She planted these stems in a giant circle. The dogs must have spent half the night chasing their own tails. That’s how Joanna got away.”

  The pilot’s eyes narrowed. “Got away from what?”

  “Some people who want her dead.”

  The pilot studied the stems briefly. “If that’s her blood, she didn’t get far.”

  “I know,” Jake said somberly, thinking this much blood didn’t come from a scratch. Joanna was bleeding and she was hurt. Her first instinct would have been to find cover, maybe to rest and somehow stop the bleeding. Jake glanced around the desolate area. There was no place to hide except in the low-lying hills to the north. Jake pointed at the foothills. “That’s where she’d be.”

  The pilot rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Those mountains stretch for miles, and they’re full of crevices and caves and canyons. If she’s in there, she’s going to be tough as hell to find.”

  “We’ve got to try and we’ve got to do it quick.”

  The pilot nodded. “Let’s go back and organize a search party.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Jake told him. “I want you to go back and get me a tracking dog. A bloodhound would be best.”

  The pilot looked at Jake oddly. “He’ll just end up running in a circle, following the trail of blood.”

  “I know a way around that.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like you landing upwind from the animal tracks when you return.”

  “I still think a search party would do better,” the pilot adv
ised.

  “Just get the damn dog,” Jake said tersely. “And get back as quick as you can.”

  The pilot reached in his back pocket for a plastic bottle of water and handed it to Jake. “Keep in the shade as much as you can.”

  Jake turned and headed for the foothills a hundred yards away. The sun was high in the sky and blazing down, the desert floor so hot Jake could feel the heat through the soles of his shoes. Again he thought about Joanna and how badly she must be hurt. All that bleeding had to make her weak. On top of that she was stuck out here where the temperature had to be a hundred and ten. It would take a miracle for her to survive.

  Jake hurried on, scanning the ground for more blood, but finding none. Of course not, he thought to himself. She had to stop the bleeding until she got into the hills. That way the dogs would have no scent to follow except for the circle of blood-soaked stems. But was she smart enough to stay alive out here?

  Jake came to the base of the foothills and stared up at the rugged terrain. There were no paths or trails, no easy way in.

  Jake waited for the noise of the helicopter to fade in the distance. Then he cupped his hands together and yelled out for Joanna again and again at the top of his lungs. But the only reply he heard was the echoes of his own voice.

  45

  Eric Brennerman was pleased with the way Alex Mirren’s office now looked. It was as if Mirren had never been there. His desk was bare and empty, his name no longer on the door. All plaques and pictures had been taken off the wall and packed away. They were to be sent to Mirren’s daughter.

  Brennerman carefully scanned the office once more, double-checking to make sure nothing of Alex Mirren or his work remained behind. The blackmailing little bastard, Brennerman thought, looking at the large file cabinet and its opened drawers. Every data book, every sheet of paper describing Mirren’s experiments had been shredded and incinerated. Everything had been destroyed except for the method that detailed how to produce and extract fetal transforming factor. Brennerman had rewritten the research so it appeared that the work had been done in experimental animals. There was not even a trace of evidence to show that human fetuses had been used.

  Brennerman’s gaze went to the cardboard carton containing Mirren’s framed pictures. The top one showed Mirren receiving the genetics award from Edmond and Lucy Rabb. There would only be Lucy to deal with, he thought, once Joanna Blalock’s body was found. And Lucy Rabb would be easy to handle. Oh, she’d bitch and scream when she learned that she would no longer own controlling interest in Bio-Med. But the lawyers would show her the legal documents that allowed the surviving stockholders to buy the shares of any partner who died—at fair market value. And although Bio-Med was profitable, its annual net income was only two million. Which meant Lucy’s shares could be bought for about eight million dollars. The bank would be happy to lend Brennerman eight million, particularly with the Hoddings Family Trust agreeing to co-sign the note.

  Lucy would raise hell about the transaction, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it. The eight million dollars she received—tax-free, since it was part of her husband’s estate—would soothe her some. And Brennerman planned on leaving her with a small percentage of ownership in Bio-Med. Say 5 percent or so. That would keep Lucy involved and keep her mouth shut. But for how long would she remain quiet? Brennerman sighed. That was one of Lucy Rabb’s problems. She talked too much.

  Brennerman reached for the phone and quickly dialed Lucy’s number. He needed to meet with her and instruct her on what to say if the press approached her about Joanna Blalock. After all, Lucy owned most of Bio-Med, and Joanna’s body would be found near the plant’s perimeter.

  On the fifth ring, Lucy’s answering machine clicked on. Brennerman hung up immediately, cursing under his breath. He had phoned her twice yesterday and left messages, but she hadn’t bothered to call back. That too was Lucy. Being coy like some goddamn high school sophomore. She’d wait another day, then call. She didn’t want to seem too anxious, although she’d been sleeping with him on a regular basis. She was just being coy, Brennerman thought again. Good. Let her stay that way and play games. Let her keep believing that most men would die to get between her legs and that Brennerman was one of those men. He would string Lucy along until the day some time in the future when she too would die accidentally.

  A uniformed guard ran into the office and said breathlessly, “Dr. Brennerman, I think they’ve found the woman’s body.”

  “What do you mean, you think?” Brennerman asked sharply. “Either they have or they haven’t.”

  The guard swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “Well, all hell is breaking loose in the parking lot. A Highway Patrol car and a cop car just pulled in, and an ambulance is coming up to the gate right now.”

  A bolt of fear ran through Brennerman. “An ambulance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brennerman hurriedly organized his thoughts. An ambulance was for live people. “You mentioned a body. Did you actually see a body?”

  “No, sir,” the guard replied. “I just guessed it’s on the helicopter that’s coming in from the desert.”

  She’s got to be alive, Brennerman thought frantically. Somehow she survived in that damn desert. But how? “She’s alive,” he muttered under his breath.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “The ambulance, you idiot!”

  The guard shook his head, unfazed by the insult. “They had an ambulance with the other dead woman, too. And cop cars and a coroner snooping all around. It all looks the same to me.”

  Brennerman suddenly brightened. “There’s a medical examiner out there?”

  “Yeah,” the guard said, nodding. “That little foreign guy who speaks funny.”

  Brennerman smiled. “She’s dead.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard affirmed. “Do you have any special instructions for the men?”

  “Tell them to stay at their posts and say nothing.”

  Brennerman watched the guard leave, then tried Lucy’s number again. And again there was no answer.

  He didn’t leave a message. He adjusted his tie and the black ribbon on his sleeve, then walked out of the office and through the laboratory. Everything was quiet. The workbenches were empty, all machines turned off. It was Friday and Brennerman had given the employees the day off. That would give them a long weekend to calm down and get rid of the jitters. It would also give Brennerman the time and privacy he needed to rethink his gene transfer research.

  Brennerman stepped out into the bright sunlight. He quickly surveyed the paved parking lot. It was just as the guard had described. An ambulance with its rear doors opened was waiting. And lined up next to it was a Highway Patrol unit and two unmarked cars. In the distance Brennerman could hear the put-put of an approaching helicopter.

  Brennerman put a solemn expression on his face and walked over to the medical examiner who was standing between the two unmarked cars. The two men exchanged nods.

  “This nightmare never seems to end, does it?” Brennerman asked quietly.

  “Heartbreaking,” Gupta agreed. “Particularly when it happens to a wonderful person like Joanna Blalock.”

  The helicopter came into clear view. It drew closer and closer. Then it began circling as it prepared to land.

  “Do you think Dr. Blalock suffered a great deal?” Brennerman shouted above the noise of the helicopter.

  “From what I’ve heard, she did,” Gupta yelled back. “It’s very harsh out there, very harsh indeed.”

  “Did the animals get to her?”

  “I don’t think so, fortunately.”

  The helicopter started a slow descent.

  Brennerman glanced around at the onlookers. All eyes were on the aircraft, all expressions somber. He straightened the black ribbon on his sleeve and said, “I suspect you’ll find that Dr. Blalock died of natural causes.”

  Gupta’s brow went up abruptly. “Died? She’s not dead.”

  “Sh-she’s not?�
��

  “No,” Gupta said quickly. “She’s dehydrated and injured, but she’s very much alive.” He looked up at Brennerman oddly. “Why did you think she was dead?”

  Brennerman tried desperately to regain his composure. “Well, when I saw the medical examiner, I thought the worst.”

  Gupta nodded. “A very logical conclusion. But I’m not here to examine Dr. Blalock. I’m here for some information regarding Nancy Tanaka.”

  “Oh?” Brennerman watched the descending helicopter. It was still several hundred feet up, but it was kicking up clouds of desert sand. He wondered how badly Joanna was injured. Maybe her head was bashed in. Maybe she couldn’t talk.

  “You see, I had overlooked something at the scene,” Gupta went on. “When I got Nancy’s body back to the morgue, I went through her personal effects and I couldn’t find her purse or keys. Now, that’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, we all envisioned her getting to her car late at night just before she was bitten. But there was no purse nor keys near the body. Which made me wonder if she was really trying to get into her car at all. Or was she hit over the head and robbed and then the snakes bit her? There are all sorts of possibilities. So I called Lieutenant Sinclair, who wasn’t available. But Sergeant Farelli relayed my concerns and questions to him. I was told that there were some new and important developments, and that I was to report here immediately.” Gupta looked puzzled. “I wonder what those developments are.”

  Brennerman strained to see through the dust-filled air. Let her be badly hurt and unable to talk, he prayed. Or better yet, let her be comatose and dying. Let Mirren’s and Bio-Med’s secrets die with her.

  The helicopter touched down and the dust gradually settled.

  Brennerman saw two figures walking away from the aircraft, but he couldn’t make them out. They were like shadows. Then the air cleared.

  Joanna Blalock was walking slowly toward the parking lot, leaning heavily on the big detective.

  Brennerman turned to run, but there was another detective blocking his way.