Death's Door

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Forensics found fur from the retriever in the victim’s car and on clothing dropped on the floor of her bedroom.”

  “Not surprising. Erin Wycoff had bought the dog for the Connelly woman.” He deliberately avoided giving Burgess the impression that he’d seen Madison since the discovery of the body. “Of course the dog was in the house. I saw it in the kitchen.”

  Link shrugged again, an annoying habit. “Wilson’s working an arson and burglary at Dicon Labs. They were testing some of their products on rabbits and dogs. The firm didn’t list any as missing, but the investigators found nothing but charred empty cages. You’d expect a few bones at least.”

  “Do you think A—the dog—was a lab animal?” Paul stopped himself from using Aspen’s name.

  Burgess shrugged. “It’s a possibility. A friend claimed Erin Wycoff had been involved with an animal rights group but thought the victim had given it up.”

  Another item not properly noted in the murder book. “If she was still involved, something should turn up on her computer or phone records.”

  “Nothing so far, but the geeks downstairs are still checking her computer.”

  “What time was the fire at the lab reported?” Paul asked.

  “The alarm went off just before midnight. They’d had several false alarms, so the fire department was slow to respond. When they arrived, no one was around but the night watchman, who hadn’t seen anything until flames appeared.”

  Paul considered this information for a moment. Having been a lab animal would explain Aspen’s eye problem and might account for Madison’s protectiveness. She struck him as the kind of woman who wouldn’t approve of experimenting on animals.

  “Plus—” Burgess flashed a shit-eating grin “—we can’t track down the name on the bill of sale for the retriever. The address listed is an office complex.”

  “Well, there’s a hot market for stolen purebreds. Maybe someone just wanted to make a quick buck.”

  Burgess had been present at the crime scene when Madison said she had to take Aspen to the vet. Evidently, he didn’t connect the “eye infection” with testing in the lab. Paul saw no reason to enlighten Link at this point.

  “If Erin had been involved, it might explain why she was in the tub at two in the morning. Fire means smoke and soot. You know what clean freaks women are.”

  The glazed deer-in-the-headlights look in Link’s eyes told Paul that the jerk hadn’t considered this possibility. “Right…right.”

  “Do you want me to recheck with the folks at Dicon Labs to see if they are missing any animals?”

  “Well…as long as I don’t know about it. You’re not supposed to be working—”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t mention a thing. Walking in on a murder makes me curious. That’s all.”

  “Do you think it’s possible the victim stole something from the lab and someone killed her for it?”

  “It’s possible,” Paul replied. “What was stolen?”

  “From what Wilson told me, nothing was reported missing. It could have been some of those animal rights folks, except as I said, no lab animals were listed as missing or dead, either.”

  “Did any of the local groups claim responsibility or brag about it on the Internet?” Again, Paul could tell Burgess hadn’t considered this angle.

  “Dunno. I guess Wilson’s checking.”

  Yeah, right. And pigs fly. Torching buildings was a major business in the Miami area, a way of getting an insurance payoff for a failing enterprise. Wilson and the arson task force were overworked and on a tight budget. Paul didn’t see them trolling the Internet over a fire where nothing valuable seemed to be missing and no one had been killed or injured.

  “The animal rights groups don’t usually steal anything but the animals. That’s hardly worth murdering someone over.”

  Burgess dropped into his chair like a load of cement. “Then my money’s on the Connelly woman. She’ll inherit millions.”

  “Did forensics tell you if the attacker was right-or left-handed?” All that was in the murder book so far was a preliminary report. A good detective would have asked this question immediately. Madison was left-handed—as were all the Holbrooks—but Paul doubted she was physically strong enough to commit the crime. Not that he believed she’d killed her best friend.

  “Forensics didn’t say. I guess the knot on the belt around her neck would tell them, right?”

  The belt from the robe that had been used to strangle Erin Wycoff hadn’t been knotted. Trust Link not to notice such details. Talk about missing a link.

  “I suspect the angle of the torque on her neck will tell forensics the tale.”

  Burgess picked up the telephone and punched the speed dial for the forensic department. Moments later, he hung up the phone with a smile.

  “Left-handed. I’m liking Madison Connelly for this one better and better all the time.”

  MADISON WALKED into the glass and marble lobby of Holbrook Pharmaceuticals just after two o’clock. She’d spent the morning in her own office. Aiden was still with Chloe. The staph infection she’d gotten when her “headlights” had been installed continued to be a problem. Madison had worked, then left Aspen with Jade while she came here.

  She’d told herself a thousand times that this was a mistake. She didn’t want to get to know Wyatt Holbrook any better, didn’t want to feel sorry for him. He was a talented, remarkable man, but he wasn’t her father. It would be like hitting the moon with a BB gun should her test show she could donate part of her liver.

  The security guard at the desk checked her ID and issued her a temporary badge. He’d just finished explaining that Wyatt Holbrook’s office was on the top floor when her cell phone rang. She wasn’t going to answer it, except the digital display told her the Russerts were calling. They owned the Fisher Island home where she was staying. They were still in Italy and wouldn’t call unless it was important.

  She answered, and Claudia Russert said, “Just wanted to give you a heads-up. We’re bored here. It’s hot and Tuscany is crawling—absolutely crawling—with tourists. We’re coming home early. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Of course she minded. She didn’t have anyplace to stay, especially now that she had a dog. “It’s okay. When are you coming back?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Oh God! What was she going to do? “Great. I’ll have everything ready.” She managed to thank Claudia before she hung up. Instead of getting on the elevator to the penthouse, she decided to call her Realtor. Perhaps Karen knew of a short-term rental Madison could take until she bought a home.

  It took a few minutes and a call to Karen’s cell to reach the agent, who was out of the office. While she waited, Madison walked over to the plate-glass window overlooking the office complex. Two smoke-gray cylindrical buildings of staggered height shot skyward, the shortest being about eighteen stories tall. She’d had no idea Holbrook Pharmaceuticals was this large, but then what did she know? She’d never visited a pharmaceutical company before now.

  “Madison, how are you?” The Realtor’s bright, too-cheery voice came into her ear. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  “Really? You found something?” Yesterday, Madison had left a message, saying she had a dog and needed a place with a yard, but Karen hadn’t returned her call.

  “Not…exactly.”

  Something in the Realtor’s voice rang a warning bell. What was wrong now?

  “I was doing a routine prequalification. You remember signing the form…”

  “Of course. Prescreening for a loan. What about it? I have excellent credit.” She silently amended it to “we” had excellent credit. Much of her credit history she shared with Aiden.

  “The funds in your savings account. You know—”

  “The down payment.”

  “Right.” Static spit into Madison’s ear, almost obliterating Karen’s next words. “It isn’t there. There’s nothing in that account.”

  It took a second for
the words to register. When they did, the blood left her head so quickly that she lurched sideways. “Impossible!” Madison shouted, then lowered her voice. “I put my entire divorce settlement into my savings account.”

  “Well, I…ah…You might want to check with your bank.”

  She snapped the phone shut. Shock seeped through every pore, spreading through her body with mind-numbing speed. Her fingers trembling so violently that she could hardly punch the keys, Madison contacted her bank. What Karen had told her was true. She had nothing in her savings account. According to the vice president, the funds had been wire transferred out of her account the day Erin had died.

  “Is it possible you’ve been the victim of identity theft?” the man asked.

  Madison hung up, her knees weak, locked by a type of paralysis. Her body refused to move but her mind churned. There were so many ways identity thieves could have gotten into her account. She was a poster girl for the Internet generation. She bought a lot online. She’d been careful and used secure sites. She’d thought she was safe, but this must have been how they’d accessed her personal information to steal the money from her savings account. She wondered if charges had been run up on her credit cards, as well.

  Her body felt drained, as if she’d been ill for weeks, but she was able to function again. She called Jade and explained the problem. The receptionist told her she would be happy to contact the credit card companies to see what was happening. Madison didn’t like Jade taking time away from the business to do personal things for her, but this was an emergency. She was already late for her appointment with Wyatt Holbrook.

  Still light-headed with shock, Madison managed to ride the elevator to the penthouse. The top floor was more marble and glass. It was so quiet that the click-click of her high heels sounded like a hammer. In the distance she saw Biscayne Bay glistening in the afternoon sunlight like a banner of dazzling blue sequins.

  The receptionist whose nameplate read Rose Marie Nesbit took her into Wyatt Holbrook’s office immediately. She wasn’t surprised to find Tobias Pennington there, but she hadn’t expected to see Garrison.

  “Glad you could make it,” Garrison said as he bounded toward her, his hand extended, a welcoming smile on his face. “Thanks so much for coming. It means a lot to my father—to all of us.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, feeling a little guilty. This man truly loved his father and thought she could help, when she had no doubt that she couldn’t. It reminded her of her own father and his fight to stay alive. She understood Garrison’s anxiety and for the first time wished she could help.

  They shook and she was again struck by how good-looking Garrison was, yet he didn’t seem to know it. For a split second, she wondered if he was married. Her Internet search hadn’t come across any mention of a wife.

  “Garrison has his test labs in the other tower,” Wyatt Holbrook told her. “That way we can share some of the same facilities.”

  “It’s more economic,” added Tobias.

  “I see. The complex’s so big. You’re doing a lot more research than I imagined.” She hadn’t really known what to expect, but certainly not this large an operation. It must employ hundreds of people.

  “Like many corporations, Holbrook is known for one product—Xeria. It’s a medication for diabetes. It’s much—”

  “I know,” Madison told him. “America is so overweight hundreds of people come down with the disease every day. Sadly, many of them are obese children. Your medication helps them lead more normal lives.”

  “Yes, well. We’ve developed a number of other things and we’re working on a lot more.” Wyatt gave her an encouraging smile. “I want to make a difference in people’s lives to help suffering. Our company has a program to help the poor get Xeria at a reduced cost.”

  Madison had no idea his company was so generous. From what she knew of drug companies, they tried to maximize profits, not caring that the elderly or the poor couldn’t afford lifesaving medications.

  “It takes years and megabucks to research and develop a drug,” Garrison said, echoing what his father had said last night.

  “It’s easier to show you,” Wyatt said, “than try to explain. Let’s give her the tour.”

  Madison was again tempted to remind them that they didn’t have to do all this to convince her to take the test. She wasn’t related to them. Being tested would be a waste of time, but she had already agreed to do it. She just needed to finish here and straighten out her own financial problems. She could manage if her credit cards hadn’t been compromised. She—and Aspen—could live in a residence motel until the mess at her bank was resolved.

  She allowed the men to lead her back to the elevator, where they used a special card key to access the fifth floor.

  “This is where most of the current research is in the final stages,” Tobias Pennington told her.

  Aspen was already on her mind and she asked, “Do you experiment on animals?”

  “No,” Wyatt assured her. “We use mice and rats in some tests but most of our testing is done in vitro.” Madison must have had a puzzled look because he explained, “That’s experimenting with test-tube cultures of tissue. We also use computers and simulators.”

  “Tests on animals aren’t that reliable,” explained Garrison. “Some drugs have looked promising in primate tests, then hit bottom when humans were tested.”

  “The best example is AIDS,” added Tobias, speaking for the first time. “Chimps are very close to man genetically but the AIDS virus doesn’t affect them.”

  “Really?” The mention of chimps made her think of Erin and her plan to use the money from her inheritance to help Save the Chimps in Fort Pierce. Madison had discovered many of those chimps had suffered horribly in clinical trials for years before coming to the sanctuary. She planned to visit as soon as possible.

  “Even a medication we use almost daily, aspirin, has caused birth defects in the five other species it was tested on,” Wyatt told her. “It costs a billion dollars or more to bring a drug to market. We don’t want any mistakes.”

  They arrived at the fifth floor and stepped out of the elevator into a small room with an armed guard and a security camera trained on them. For a second, Madison’s mind strayed to Paul and she wondered if this was part of the security his father provided to Wyatt Holbrook. Everyone, including the Holbrooks, signed the guard’s roster before being shown into an adjacent room.

  “There are disposable hazmat suits on the shelves,” Wyatt said. “We put them on over our clothes. Other sections of the building require full hazmat gear and we have special changing rooms, but this is enough to tour the fifth floor.”

  Madison left her shoes on a floor rack beside the others and stepped into a green jumpsuit with built-in booties that Garrison had taken from the shelf, shaken out and handed to her. He signaled for her to first put on latex gloves. She stepped into the suit that could easily have fit over a big man like Paul Tanner. Why did she keep thinking about him? What was wrong with her?

  She forced herself to watch what the others were doing and slipped a hospital-style cap with a lightweight plastic face mask attached over her hair. It took a moment to adjust the mask so she could see. She followed the men out of the room through a double-wide stainless-steel door with a red biohazard emblem on it. Like cigars in a box, they stood in the small space beyond the locker room.

  “The whooshing sound is the bad air being sucked out before we enter the test zone,” Garrison said.

  It was more like a wind tunnel sound than a whoosh, she thought. Then the noise stopped and the door directly in front of them automatically opened. They went into a large room with banks of high-tech equipment gleaming on sterile white counters. Winking digital displays indicated the equipment was working on something but it was impossible to tell just what.

  “We’re running a test on a germ we’ve heated up,” Wyatt said.

  Garrison added, “That means we exposed the germ over and over and over to ant
ibiotics, which forced the rapid evolution of a drug-resistant strain of the germ.”

  Madison knew the overuse of antibiotics had created strains of germs that were resistant to them. Her father had been aware of the problem years ago and had argued with Madison’s pediatrician not to prescribe antibiotics for her unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “We have a new drug that’s showing great promise,” Tobias told her. “It seems to work on germs that have built a resistance to other drugs.”

  “It could be the next step in the continuing evolution of medicine.” Even though the plastic face shields made their features slightly distorted, Madison could see Garrison’s excited smile. “It was my father’s brainchild.”

  “Since the Second World War, there has been a distinct wave of discovery,” Wyatt said, “beginning with antibiotics and followed by tranquilizers and hormones. None of these were in use before the war but within ten years had become common. Prior to that there had been many discoveries, of course, but none that impacted the life of the average—”

  “Except for aspirin,” Madison interjected without thinking. “Wasn’t it invented about the time of the Civil War? It’s the original wonder drug, right? It reduces pain, breaks fevers and reduces swelling, yet no one can explain exactly how it works.”

  “That’s right,” Wyatt said, his approval evident even though she had interrupted him.

  “Also, the smallpox vaccine was discovered by Edward Jenner in the nineteenth century,” Madison added.

  “Antibiotics have become a victim of their own success. This new drug will change that.” Garrison pointed at a machine. “We’re running the numbers here. Already the results are impressive.”

  Madison followed them down the long hall, where they peeked in at several workstations where technicians were performing tests. Madison couldn’t help being impressed. She’d mentally dismissed the Holbrooks because they were wealthy beyond comprehension. She’d assumed Wyatt merely wanted a measure of immortality by having a foundation with his name on it.