by Ken Brigham
“Not often one gets a chance to reap that kind of return on an investment,” Rook said.
“Uh, Mitchell,” Bartalak started.
He stood up and walked over toward the window. Mitchell wasn’t sure if the listening device would pick up Bartalak’s voice from there and so he stayed seated behind his desk, hoping that Bartalak would return to his seat.
“Mitchell,” Bartalak continued, turning toward Rook. “You inquired about other investments in the medical field. There may be a possibility. How much are you talking about?”
“Substantial,” Rook replied.
To his relief, Bartalak returned back to the seat that he had vacated and looked directly at Rook.
“This is a bit of a delicate matter, Mitchell. I trust this conversation is in strictest confidence.”
“Of course.”
“Suppose you had the chance to buy additional stock in Renaptix…now.”
“How would that be possible?”
“This is the sensitive part, Mitchell, but I’ll be honest with you. You may have noticed that my lifestyle is considerably more, shall we say lavish, than one might expect on a university professor’s salary.”
“That’s certainly true. But I thought you’d made a considerable amount of money from the deal you did in Houston before you came here. And, you’re on a couple of advisory boards that must pay something.”
Rook had done some homework.
“Bah,” Bartalak spat. “A pittance. Companies take advantage of academics all the time by paying us a fraction of what we’re worth to sit on their boards. I wouldn’t do it except for the fact that it extends my network. You’re correct. I made a tidy sum from the Houston deal, but that was a onetime thing and has, quite honestly, dwindled faster than I had planned for. The truth is, I’ve been counting on the money from Renaptix’s success. And as it turns out, I have a pressing need to cash in on that sooner rather than later.”
“But you’d obviously cash in at a higher price if you waited a bit, until the GPI deal is written in stone and maybe after a milestone or two is made.”
Bartalak stood up again, but this time just stood in front of Rook’s desk.
He leaned toward Rook, placing his palms on the desk, and said, “I can’t wait, Mitchell. I know I’ll have to sell at less than I could demand later, but I can’t wait. I need the money. And there is another potential complication looming as well. I met with our dean this morning and I got the distinct impression that he and a number of the faculty are extremely uncomfortable with me holding an interest in Renaptix, especially since it will involve so much money. Academics are like that, you know, can’t stand to see a colleague succeed, especially if there’s money involved. At any rate, I strongly suspect that I’m going to be required to divest myself of any financial interest in the company. And, they’ll want me to do that before the full value of Renaptix is realized. If I do it proactively, I’ll be viewed more favorably in the eyes of my academic colleagues. I do need to pay attention to my academic reputation, you know.”
“Yes,” Rook said. “Yes, I’m sure that you do.”
“So here is my proposal,” Bartalak said, grimacing slightly as he sat back down in the metal chair. “I will sell you my entire fifty percent share of Renaptix immediately, before the GPI deal is finalized.”
“Wait, Cy,” Rook said. “Until that deal is finalized, Renaptix isn’t worth any more than we have in it. Are you going to sell at the company’s earlier valuation?”
“Come now, Mitchell,” Cy responded, smiling broadly. “You surely don’t think me that simple. The GPI deal is essentially done. The fact that there are technicalities to take care of to make that official may make the current value of the company slightly less than it will be when that deal is actually signed, but only slightly. The Global deal is a sure thing, Mitchell.”
“So what sort of valuation are we talking about?”
“Fifty million. My half share for twenty-five.”
“You aren’t discounting the value much pending the actual signing of the GPI deal.”
“I’m telling you, Mitchell, that deal is done. And, when it’s signed, the value will take another jump, at least another ten million. You’ll make money immediately and downstream you could well make a killing!”
“You know of absolutely no reason why the GPI deal might not be done and no reason to doubt at this point that the drug will prove to be effective?”
Bartalak stood again, leaned across the desk, and looked directly into Rook’s eyes.
“Absolutely none,” Bartalak said.
“OK,” Rook replied. “OK. I’ll do it for twenty mil.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mitchell,” Bartalak responded. “But I’m at something of a disadvantage here. I’ll have my legal people draw up the papers.”
Hubris, Rook thought.
Chapter 32
As Hardy Seltzer walked down Second Avenue from the Metro Police Department headquarters, turned right up the Church Street hill and then turned right into Printers Alley, he checked his pocket to make sure that he had his cell phone and the sheet of paper both of which contained the information that Shane had asked him to get. It was almost three-thirty, half an hour past the time he had agreed to be there. He expected to find Shane on the balcony that overlooked the alley halfway between Church and Union Streets, crystal glass of sherry in hand who would call out to him the now familiar greeting, Hi-ho, Hardy my man.
But, the balcony was vacant. Hardy went to the door and pressed the button labeled Hadley/Karpov. The door buzzed. Hardy opened the door and entered the small foyer. As though anticipating his arrival, the doors to the elevator opened. He entered the car, which promptly rose to the second floor and stopped. On entering the now-familiar living room, Hardy was surprised to encounter not only Shane, but a truly gorgeous woman with flowing blond hair and deep green eyes whose smile as he entered seemed to illuminate her entire face.
“Ah, Hardy, my man,” Shane said, wheeling over to shake his hand, “and only a bit late…I want you to meet KiKi…er…Katya…er…Dr. Katya Karpov. She has many identities, I fear. You’ve heard me speak of her, but I think you haven’t met her before. I have the extreme privilege then of introducing you to my lovely wife who alas wears other hats. I asked her to arrive home a bit early today since the substance of our meeting will be of interest to her and she may have some knowledge that will help to complete the story.”
Katya walked over to Hardy and offered her hand, which he took. He was more than a little discombobulated by the presence of this extraordinary woman. By her remarkable persona and also by the fact that Shane had wanted her present at their meeting. He didn’t see the connection.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, detective,” Katya said. “I understand that you and Shane have solved the Bonz Bagley murder. Congratulations.”
Seltzer was not aware that they had solved the case and so was surprised at her statement. What had Shane told her?
“I’m not so sure of that,” Hardy responded. “Did Shane tell you that?”
“Yes,” Katya answered. “But he hasn’t explained anything more. I sense that you are wondering why I’m here. I’m wondering that too. Shane does, on occasion, tend toward the dramatic.”
“Ah, Hardy, my man, you are much too modest,” Shane said. “But of course we’ve found the murderer. In fact, you have on your person, if I am not mistaken, the name of the culprit, a name, I might add that will be more familiar to KiKi that it is to you. But, let me pour you a sherry, and let’s relish this moment.”
Without waiting for a response, Shane rolled over to the bar, refreshed his glass, took one of the Oxford glasses from its case, and poured in a generous portion of the wine.
Shane raised the bottle questioningly toward his wife and said. “And you, KiKi, will you join us?”
“Sure,” Katya replied.
Shane retrieved another glass and filled it. Leaving his own glass on the bar, he delivered
the others to Hardy and KiKi and then returned to claim his own.
“Let’s sit here in the living room,” Shane said.
Katya and Hardy sat on the sofa that faced the fireplace. Shane parked himself in front of them.
After they had sampled the wine, Shane said, “Let me explain the situation for you, Hardy. I’m sure you didn’t expect KiKi to be here.”
“I was surprised, but delighted to meet her at last,” Hardy replied.
“Actually, I asked her to be here for our meeting because she will be especially interested in what takes place here, and she has some additional information that will interest you as well. KiKi just arrived, so I haven’t been able to ask her some questions that may be important. If it is alright with you, KiKi,” Shane turned his attention to his wife, “may I raise those questions with you now?”
“Shane,” Katya said, “you told me that you had identified the killer. What questions could there be?”
“Indulge me, my dear,” Shane said. “I think it is important to complete the story.”
“Well, alright, what questions do you have?”
“They are questions about your nemesis, Beth.”
“Who is Beth?” Hardy interrupted.
“Ah, yes,” Shane responded. “I have neglected to inform you about another investigation that KiKi has been pursuing in parallel with our pursuit of Bonz’s murderer. I assure you that was not deliberate; it’s just that I saw no connection between the two efforts until today. Beth is, shall we say, a colleague of KiKi’s. They are both involved in a clinical study of a drug, and KiKi has evidence indicating that Beth falsified data from the study in order to make the results appear more positive than they were. And,” Shane gestured emphatically toward the alley with his free hand, “the unfortunate Mr. Bagley was a subject in the drug study. There is more but let me clarify a few things with KiKi.”
“OK,” Hardy answered. “But I still fail to see the connection.”
“Patience, my man, patience,” Shane responded and turned to his wife. “KiKi, was Beth married to the professor when they arrived in Nashville?”
“Yes,” Katya responded. “At least I think so. They’ve lived together since arriving, she has used his surname, and they have certainly behaved as though they were married. I understand that there was a divorce back in Houston, but all that seemed to be over when they arrived here as far as I know.”
“Have you ever noticed anything odd about Beth Bartalak’s gait, how she runs?”
“Well, I haven’t seen her run, although I know she is a runner. I do notice gaits, though, part of my neurological training. Let me see.”
Shane said, “Recall an elaborate party at the Bartalak manse a while back. Beth was playing tennis.”
“Yes, yes,” Katya said. “I do remember that, and yes, she slightly favored her right leg as she ran about the court, although she was very nimble in spite of that.”
“The two of you may be amused to discover that I have thought of this case, given my wont to associate real cases with detective Holmes’s imaginary ones, as the Case of the Devil’s Foot because of the odd gait of the murderer as I saw her fleeing the alley. Of course, Mr. Holmes’s case had nothing to do with an actual human foot, but sometimes I find it necessary to take some, shall we say investigational license. Even when they are strained, I find these associations amusing and sometimes useful.”
“Shane,” Hardy interrupted, his impatience clearly showing. “I still don’t get it. Of course I know how much stock you put in an oddity of the fleeing killer’s gait, and I appreciate how that has led us to where we are, but how does that implicate this colleague of Dr. Karpov’s at the university? A lot of people must run funny if you look closely enough. And motive, what about a motive?”
Katya was speechless. Was Shane saying that Beth Bartalak was Bonz’s murderer? Surely not! Beth was a thoroughly disagreeable and likely dishonest person, but a murderer? Not likely.
“Ah yes, motive has perplexed us all along, hasn’t it?” Shane said. “Consider the facts. Bonz was killed a day before KiKi would have discovered Beth’s deception with the study data; he was scheduled to come in for a physical exam and some tests on that Monday. And the four shots to the head. Those, too, have troubled us all along. Perhaps a vendetta, we thought. But, perhaps not. Suppose Beth had falsified some of Bonz’s data from the drug study and knew that she was about to be found out. Killing Bonz would solve that problem. But it is common knowledge that there is always an autopsy on anyone who is murdered. She knew that his tests of brain function had deteriorated while on the drug and must have feared that there would be postmortem evidence of drug injury to his brain. So, she did everything she could to destroy his brain and almost succeeded.
“And there’s more,” Shane looked at KiKi now, registering the shocked expression on her face. “Unless I am seriously mistaken, Hardy, my man, you have in your possession evidence that Elizabeth Anne Reid originally of Greensward, Texas, was married to Cyrus Bartalak in this city shortly after they arrived here. Elizabeth Reid inherited a rare gun collection from her lawyer father, and she test-fired a very rare gun identical to the one that was the Bagley murder weapon at the Williamson County Shooters Club shortly before the murder. Hardy, can you show us what you have?”
“Shane, Shane,” Katya interrupted. “This isn’t possible. Beth is desperately flawed, but I can’t believe that she’s a murderer.”
“I am only going where the facts in the case lead me, KiKi,” Shane replied. “On their surface, murderers commonly appear ill-suited to the role.”
Hardy was amazed at how Shane had assembled the case working from what would surely have been considered a trivial observation by anyone else if noticed at all and chasing after that other gun when there was no reason to. And keeping at it with remarkable tenacity until what appeared to be widely disparate and unrelated pieces of information fell together into a coherent story. How did he know which facts were important and which weren’t before there was a story to fit them into?
Hardy removed the piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Shane.
“Detective Seltzer has reviewed the records of the local marriage license bureau and retrieved the names of couples who were married in the relevant year,” Shane continued, “He has discovered there the signature of one Elizabeth Anne Reid and of the person to whom she was to be wed,” he looked carefully at the paper, “One Cyrus Demetrio Bartalak. Elizabeth Anne Reid is the murderer, and Elizabeth Anne Reid is Beth Bartalak.”
“Who’s Cyrus Bartalak?” Hardy asked.
“Professor Bartalak,” Shane answered, “is chairman of the department of psychiatry at the university. He is KiKi’s immediate superior and the inventor and developer of the drug the study of which appears to have cost Mr. Bagley his life. And he is married to Beth Bartalak, nee Elizabeth Anne Reid.”
Katya was stunned. She could see no flaw in the story Shane had assembled. The facts that he had dug up with Seltzer’s help when coupled with the information Katya had uncovered made the conclusion that Beth was the likely killer impossible to deny.
“You should know,” Katya said, “that Beth is in the hospital. She was admitted yesterday. According to the fellow on the clinical service, she had symptoms of some kind of central nervous system disorder. I looked up her lab tests on the computer, and she’s had an abnormal EEG and brain MRI. Apparently the consulting neurologist is unsure of the cause but fears that the condition is severe.”
“That’s interesting,” Shane responded. “Is this something new?”
“Well,” Katya said. “She had been behaving oddly, maybe over the last couple of months. She’s been coming to work only sporadically, which was a distinct change from the obsessive commitment to work that was so characteristic of her; she’d been a notorious workaholic. But as far as I know, she hadn’t sought medical attention until now.”
“And,” Shane said. “Your professional opinion about her condition?”
“So, Shane,” Hardy said, trying to understand the situation. “Do we arrest the wife of a university professor while she’s in the hospital with a severe neurological condition? I hate to think what would be in the morning paper.”
“It seems to me that we arrest the killer,” Shane responded. “We cannot help her current condition or location. Besides, I should have thought, Hardy, my man, that you’d have given up reading the morning paper some time ago. There’s been little good news there for you lately.”
“Shane,” Katya said. “Are you sure of this? I mean, this is going to be a major scandal at the university. Are you sure?”
“I know, KiKi,” Shane said. “I understand the implications, and I am absolutely sure. However, the unequivocal proof will be the ballistics. If Beth Bartalak possesses a gun of the rare type that killed Bonz Bagley and we can retrieve it, ballistics testing should prove that it was the murder weapon. If so, it seems to me that the case is airtight.”
“We need a search warrant,” Hardy interjected. “And the sooner the better. I’d better see that my people approve. This is going to be a major kerfuffle given the people involved. But we need to get a search warrant for the Bartalak house and get a team there. We don’t need to give these people time to do anything that would complicate things.”
Before Shane could respond, they were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.
Chapter 33
Mitchell Rook and Dom Petrillo had conferred after Bartalak’s departure from the Batman Building. They agreed that they had concrete evidence of Bartalak’s offer to sell his share of Renaptix at an inflated price. They also had concrete evidence that he claimed to have no knowledge of anything that would be likely to affect the value of the company or would raise any doubt about the efficacy of the drug. However, the only evidence they had that Bartalak was lying was hearsay, the pathologist Shelling’s recounting of his conversation with Dr. Karpov. Karpov would have to testify that she had personally given Bartalak the information. Before charging the professor, they needed to make damn sure that Dr. Karpov had the information that would seal Bartalak’s fate and that she would be a cooperative witness. Rook agreed to take on that task.