The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  “Violent crime rose significantly last night in Boston. We had a vicious mugging downtown that claimed the life of an unidentified tourist, and a gang-related execution of three young men. The most heartbreaking incident was the drugging and murder of a teenaged girl in the latest attack by the terrorist called the Prophet. Some of you may still refer to him as the Harvester. The victim is fifteen-year-old Iris O’Connor, Commissioner O’Connor’s niece. The sympathies of the department and those of us at City Hall go out to the commissioner and his family. After much soul-searching, I’ve decided to ask the FBI to reexamine the way they’ve conducted this investigation. I’m not pointing fingers or accusing anyone of malfeasance, but I am dissolving the joint task force, and from now on this case will be a BPD case as it was in the beginning. We’ll take care of our own and bring this monster to justice.”

  “They fired him?” Cassie and Julie said together.

  “Can a mayor fire the FBI?” Cassie asked.

  “I guess he can do whatever he wants. I think Trevor once said they have to be invited in on a case where the city has jurisdiction. These recent attacks have all taken place in Boston. Wait, Trevor’s going to say something.”

  “Good morning. I’m Special Agent Trevor Clark. At the mayor’s request, I’m dissolving the task force, which has failed to stop the Prophet. The mayor’s right. We need a new approach, a new focus for the case. Special Agent Declan Horvath will remain in Boston as a resource and liaison to the Boston Police Department. Now, I’ll answer as many questions as I can.”

  “Special Agent Clark, Art Brown, Boston Globe. I understand there were notes left at the crime scenes. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

  “Yes. There were notes addressed to me, taunting me. The Prophet sees me as his personal enemy. Maybe with me gone, he’ll stop, and Boston will be spared the next plague, as he calls his attacks.”

  “Can you reveal the contents of these notes?”

  “No, I can’t. It would affect the investigation. Next question.”

  “John Brown, New York Times. Who’s going to head up the investigation?”

  “Lieutenant Jim McNamara and Detective Robert Halliday, both of Boston PD.”

  “Wasn’t Halliday injured last month when you raided the terrorist camp in Vermont?”

  “He was, and he’s been recuperating. He’ll be back in Boston to resume his duties on Monday. Detective Tom Adams, who was also a member of the task force, will continue to work on the case. Lieutenant McNamara doesn’t need to start at square one. Next.”

  “Lois Green, New England Sentinel. What about the other task force members? Are they going to stay on the case in some capacity?”

  “The other team members will be reassigned. As for myself, earlier in the week my former fiancée was killed in an unrelated home invasion.” He stopped speaking as if the whole matter was too much for him. “Since Dr. Elizabeth Swift has no other family, I’ll look after her final arrangements as soon as Atlanta PD releases her body. Until then, I’m going to take a few days to myself to grieve before I decide what to do.”

  He straightened, pulling himself together. He was just acting, but he looked so sincere, he pulled at her heartstrings.

  Man up, girl. It’s just an act. You know damn well you aren’t dead and so does he, and even if you were, he wouldn’t be shedding tears over it.

  But she could still feel sorry for him. It wasn’t fair of the top brass to use him as a scapegoat. How was one man supposed to find a maniac who had people willing to do the most godawful things for him?

  “Will you stay with the FBI?” the reporter continued.

  The smug look on the woman’s face said it all. She’s enjoying this.

  Trevor licked his lips. “No. I’ve resigned. As I said, I’ll take time to myself before I make a decision about my future.”

  He answered a few more questions before leaving the dais.

  Cassie placed the bowl of oatmeal on the table. “I can’t imagine how badly he feels. That bit about arranging your funeral was creepy. He looked heartbroken. I had no idea he was such a good actor.”

  “Neither did I,” Julie grumbled, “but I’m sure he was referring to arranging Lenore’s funeral, since he said he’d take care of it for me. She didn’t have any family left, either. He’s upset because he’ll have to go back to Carson Creek to make it look good.”

  “Are you still annoyed because he didn’t go to your grandmother’s funeral?”

  “Yes, I am. He’s yet to tell me the truth, and all that crap about work was just that.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy, losing his brother and father like that…”

  “How did you know about that? You didn’t live in Carson Creek when it happened. Neither did Miles.”

  “Ellie told us at Nana’s funeral. It must’ve been terrible. I heard he even lost some toes. And he was barely older than Ariel. Something like that could be traumatic, leaving scars that might never heal. According to Ellie, Nana’s funeral was only a week after the anniversary of his father and brother’s would’ve been.”

  “He’d have told me if it was something like that,” she said defensively. Did she have the moral high ground here? Trevor never spoke about that day.

  “Maybe, maybe not. People are funny. Some things are just too personal to reveal even to someone you love. I’ve seen crippling cases of PTSD in our guys back from Afghanistan that have ripped loving marriages apart because they can’t or won’t share those experiences.” Cassie glanced up at the television and grabbed the remote. “Oh dear.”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  Julie stared at a photograph of herself and Trevor. Where the hell had they gotten that? She wore a ball cap, which shaded her face a bit, and hiking gear. Her fingers were bare, so it was before he’d asked her to marry him—maybe three years ago? Before she could comment, Ellie’s picture and another of Brad filled the screen, bringing tears to her eyes. At least she wouldn’t have to look at one of Lenore.

  “Do you think anyone here would’ve recognized me?” Julie asked nervously.

  “I don’t think so. It wasn’t a recent picture, and since you’ve cut and colored your hair…”

  “I hope you’re right, because if anyone did, I’m in danger.”

  The anchor came back on the screen.

  “We’ve contacted L.D. Hamilton, the president’s advisor on domestic terrorism, for his reaction to this news. We have him on the line.” He tapped the Bluetooth he wore. “Mr. Hamilton, good morning.”

  “Good morning, Barry.”

  “You saw the press conference. Sir, what do you think of Mayor Roberts’s decision?”

  “I think it’s a good one. Special Agent Clark has too much on his plate right now, and he’s made this case a personal vendetta, restricting information the public has a right to know. I spoke with him just yesterday, and he continued to withhold vital information. My office may look into this matter, see if charges should be laid for dereliction of duty … I’m sure the loss of his fiancée has affected him deeply, but perhaps this failed relationship has hampered his work all along.”

  “You’ve got to be frigging kidding me,” Julie said. “Who the hell does he think he is, talking like that? And to think I was considering leaving the CDC to work for him.”

  L.D. Hamilton was still speaking. “…he’s been concentrating on false leads while the Prophet continues to go about his business unscathed, planning yet another attack within the month.”

  “How do you know that?” the interviewer asked.

  “The notes left for him, the ones Clark insists must be kept secret. All of them had a definite timeline in them, as well as what could, and still can, be done to end the reign of terror. Obviously, Homeland Security should be assisting Boston with this. Bombs are a threat to all of us, and we need to examine the way we can protect our young women so that massacres like the one at the sorority house and last night’s murder don’t happen again.”


  “Are you saying we should give in to this man’s demands?”

  “I’m saying we need to reconsider the way we do things. Every situation is different, and a one-size-fits-all solution may not be the way to go.”

  “Turn it off, please,” Julie asked. “I can’t listen to that idiot one minute longer. The next thing he’ll say is that the Prophet should be given whatever he wants since it’s in the best interest of the people.”

  Cassie complied. “That didn’t work with Hitler in WWII, and it’s not a precedent we want to set. What are you going to do now?”

  “My job. Trevor just bought me precious time. He looked truly broken up about my death, and if the Prophet believes I’m dead, I can work without fear. I’ll keep looking for whatever killed Felix. If I find something, I’ll have to contact someone…”

  The phone rang. “I don’t recognize the number,” Cassie said. “Hello? ... It’s Trevor,” she said, handing her the phone.

  “I’ll take it in my room.”

  Julie grabbed the handset and hurried down the hall, trying to think of what she’d say to Trevor. She hated the way his job had torn them apart, but it had been important to him. She couldn’t imagine what she’d feel like if she’d been fired and denounced so publicly. Maybe by retiring voluntarily, he’d save his pension, but what would he do? His entire career would come down to this one failure.

  She swallowed awkwardly, dislodging the lump in her throat. This shouldn’t be affecting her this much, but it was. Obviously, there was a reason L.D. Hamilton hadn’t shared the information about the stray viruses with the FBI, and Trevor might be it. Had he really made this case a personal vendetta? He didn’t like to lose, but would he endanger so many for his own gratification? No. It didn’t feel right.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julie entered her bedroom, closed the door, and moved over to the window before speaking.

  “Trevor. I’m so sorry—”

  “Damn,” he interrupted. “I guess this means you saw the news. There’s nothing to be sorry about, Julie. I actually hoped I’d get through to you before you saw that broadcast. It’s a scam. We’re bluffing him.”

  “Thank God,” she said, dropping into the rocker near the window. She meant it more than she’d have expected to. “I know how important your job is to you.”

  “Not as important as you may think,” he said, surprising her. “Time has a way of changing your perspective on things. I also wanted to give you a heads-up about the mention of our relationship. We thought it would put to rest any ideas he might have that the woman killed in the apartment wasn’t you.”

  “You’re a much better actor than I thought you were. I almost believed you were heartbroken. But wouldn’t he know he’d killed the wrong woman?”

  “I would’ve been heartbroken if you’d been the one killed,” he answered softly, continuing before she could comment. “The Prophet doesn’t do his own dirty work. In a bed, in the dark, Lenore would resemble you enough to fool a stranger. This case has been baffling, and I’m hoping this plan works out for us. Right now, he doesn’t realize we may be one step ahead of him. By the way, I have information on that vaccine order. The formula, as you might’ve guessed, originated at the CDC. The order was filled by White Iris Pharmaceuticals, based in New Mexico. Two orders were shipped to Alaska at the same time—one to Seward, the other to Nome. I figure maybe you could have someone at your end see if there’s been anyone sick in Nome. Tom will keep on top of any other orders shipped from there—stall the deliveries until we know more. He did some digging, and, apparently, they aren’t a regular supplier of seasonal flu vaccine, concentrating more on cancer drugs.”

  “He’s right. White Iris Pharmaceuticals has never been a flu vaccine provider.” She frowned. “Maybe Dalton Rush convinced the director to approve them this year since he’s working with the CDC, but I can’t imagine why. He has his hands full with his new immune system-boosting drugs for cancer treatment patients.”

  “The problem may not be with the manufacturer. It could come from somewhere along the supply chain, but Tom’s on it. If this plan doesn’t work, I’ll get the boot for sure. How well do you think I’d do selling used cars?”

  “Not well at all,” she said. “You’re way too honest, even if that idiot L.D. Hamilton made you sound like a schemer.”

  “I thought you said last night that he was one of the good guys.”

  “That was before I heard him speak. Now I don’t want to have anything to do with him or anything involved with him. I’ll have to rethink working with Dalton, too. But I just realized that if the world thinks I’m dead, that decision’s been made for me.”

  “Don’t worry—once we have the Prophet in prison, we’ll resurrect you and give Lenore the funeral she deserves. I have her body in the morgue in Boston listed as a Jane Doe, and speaking of bodies, have you learned anything more from yours?”

  “I wish I had the whole body instead of a headless torso, but no. I haven’t been to the lab yet. The sun’s just coming up here, and I finished breakfast watching CNN. Why are you using a different phone? Cassie didn’t recognize the number. I hope to have something to tell you in an hour or two. How will I reach you?”

  “You could wait until tonight and yell.”

  “Huh?”

  The door opened. Cassie shrugged, smirked, and placed Julie’s clean laundry on the dresser.

  “Wait a sec, Cassie,” Julie whispered, the phone pressed to her ear. “I need to talk to you when I’m done with Trevor.”

  “I’m flying out of Boston at four and should be in Alaska and with you by nine tonight your time,” Trevor explained. “If you need me before that, call this number. It’s a satellite phone and I’ll keep it on—the advantage of traveling on a private plane. I’ll contact the Coast Guard and tell them I’m coming for a visit. I’m sure Miles can vouch for me, but he needs to use the name Trevor Smith…”

  Julie laughed.

  “What?”

  “I used the Smith name, too. I didn’t want anyone knowing it was me. Not too original, but it matched the initials on my backpack and carry-on.”

  “Damn, you told me that. I should’ve remembered. I guess great minds think alike,” he said. “It’s an easy name to remember. Well, Dr. Smith, do you think you can find me a bed someplace? That’ll be one o’clock my time, and since I haven’t gotten much sleep the last couple of nights…”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll talk to Miles and Cassie, but you really don’t need to come here, Trevor. I told you I’m perfectly fine,” she said forcefully. Cassie rolled her eyes.

  Who am I trying to convince? Him or me?

  “I know that, but until the Prophet is under lock and key, wherever you go, I go.”

  “Even if I go home to Carson Creek?”

  Cassie shook her head at her, silently reprimanding her for this latest dig. The line was silent. Maybe she’d gone too far.

  “Even if you go home to Carson Creek,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “But I hope you won’t, since that would be painting a bull’s-eye on yourself. If he isn’t convinced you’re dead, he’s got people watching for you everywhere, and you can be damn sure Carson Creek’s on his list.”

  “I know,” she said, grudgingly. She shouldn’t be baiting him. He was only doing his job, trying to keep her safe, but damn it. She didn’t want him in her life like this—a phone call here or there, fine, but things got complicated when they were together. Like that kiss in Atlanta last week. She shook her head to get the taste of him out of her mind. “I’d better go. I have a date, and I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Have a great day,” he offered before hanging up, but she got the definite impression he didn’t mean it.

  “Well?” Cassie asked as soon as she set the phone down.

  “He’s coming here to protect me whether I like it or not. Are there any hotels nearby?”

  “There are, in the town of Kodiak, but he can st
ay here. We have a two-bedroom granny suite in the basement we don’t use. I’ll arrange for furniture after lunch.”

  “That’s too much work.”

  “No, it’s not. Ariel asked last night if she could have the apartment downstairs when we come back in the spring. She wants space to have friends over, so I see it as a plus. As for Trevor staying with us, Miles would agree, although having a man with a gun following you around could interfere with your dating.”

  “What dating?”

  “The dating you just told Trevor about.”

  Julie laughed. “You know damn well it isn’t that kind of date. After I check in with Felix and see whether his samples have any more to tell me, Luke and I are meeting with Whitey and a Coast Guard engineer at 10:30 to figure out how the Alaskan Gold was sunk. I swabbed the bottom of the spine hoping the bone might have absorbed any explosive materials used. It’s a long shot, considering the length of time he was in the water and the parasites, but … Then Luke is giving me a tour and lunch at a seafood place on the base.”

  “Probably Nemo’s. Sounds like a date to me,” Cassie said. “You’d better get going. It’s almost nine.”

  “Yikes. I should be back midafternoon to help you get ready for your unexpected guest. I really hate to give you more work, especially in your condition.”

  “Julie, don’t worry about it. Today’s my day off anyway. To be honest, I’ll feel safer knowing someone’s watching out for you when you leave here.”

  Julie hugged Cassie. “I don’t even know where I’ll go when that time comes. Being dead has some drawbacks.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but I’m sure Trevor will come up with something.”

  Grabbing her toiletries, including the new cosmetics she’d purchased at the spa, Julie went into the bathroom to shower. Toweling her hair dry, she used her fingers and gel to style the curls, applied her new eye shadow and lipstick, and went back to her room to dress.

  Opting for her favorite russet sweater and brown jeans, she slipped her stockinged feet into her sneakers and grabbed her bag.