Blinded

by Teyla Branton

  “Okay,” I said. “Good.” I stepped away. “I have to go. They’re waiting for me at the police station.”

  “Be safe.” He backed up a step before turning on his heel and heading into his store.

  “Come on.” Cody appeared at my elbow, his voice like gravel. “Let’s get out of here.” I was glad to let him lead me outside.

  Once in my car, I pushed thoughts of Jake aside and extended the sketchbook to Cody. “Look what Tawnia drew. I recognize Winston Drewmore, but I have no idea who the other guy is.”

  Cody was so still, I glanced over to make sure he was okay. “What?”

  “I know the other man,” he said. “You would, too, if you’d paid closer attention to what your detective’s partner was working on this morning instead of flirting so much.”

  I scowled at him. “Spill it already.”

  “He’s Frank O’Donald.”

  “Russo’s enemy? The guy from New York that JoAnna Hamilton claims she doesn’t know?”

  He nodded. “She may not know him, but if Tawnia’s drawing is correct, her young cousin certainly does. And it looks like O’Donald’s in town.”

  Chapter 15

  Tawnia’s drawings were always correct. Well, at least those we’d figured out were coming from her unusual ability and not her regular drawing talent. She shared this gift with our biological grandmother, Cody’s mother, who’d been forced into a sanitarium when she tried to warn the police about the “accidents” she drew. Cody had only been a boy. That she’d died in the sanitarium was one more thing for which he would never forgive himself.

  I remembered Winston Drewmore’s reluctance when Hamilton wanted to give us O’Donald’s name. I’d thought at the time it was his fear of Russo tying his tongue, but now I wondered if he was involved in some other way.

  At the precinct, as we waited outside an interrogation room, Shannon, Cody, and I discussed the possibilities. “You think Drewmore might have told O’Donald how to get into the lab?” Shannon asked.

  I studied my sister’s drawing. “I’m not sure, but apparently there’s some connection. And like you said, it looks like he’s not in New York at the moment.”

  “We have to remember that if Drewmore’s involved, it basically means sabotaging his own company,” Shannon said. “He is Hamilton’s heir apparent.” He thought a moment. “There is always the possibility that he decided to steal company secrets and go into business with O’Donald instead.”

  “You think he told O’Donald that Ralph Shatlock would be alone at the house that night?” My stomach twisted at the idea. I liked Winston and didn’t want to believe he was capable of causing his relatives harm. He seemed to have a genuine concern for both Hamilton and her cousin, Maribel. “If it was him, why didn’t they take Ralph Shatlock from the movie theater? That would have been better. No one besides Winston even knew Ralph went to a double feature every Friday.”

  “Maybe that was the point.” Cody was slouched against the wall across from us. “The imprint on the filing cabinet told us they thought they’d find him there. But Drewmore said he was supposed to go to the meeting directly after the theater.”

  Shannon looked thoughtful. “You’re saying that if Drewmore did tip O’Donald off, he purposefully sent him to the house when Shatlock wasn’t there? That would mean he wanted the lab and the files destroyed, but didn’t want to risk his cousin.”

  Cody shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Except Shatlock was there,” I put in. “Just before the break-in. And possibly during it.”

  “Maybe whoever was in the hall while he opened the safe warned him, so he got out in time,” Cody said.

  “We have to prove first that it was O’Donald who orchestrated the break-in.” Shannon glanced down the hall where Paige walked briskly in our direction. “We should be able to get him here soon, since he’s apparently in town.”

  Paige reached us, immediately picking up on the new undercurrents. “What is it?”

  I handed her the sketchbook open to the page with Winston Drewmore and Frank O’Donald. “Tawnia drew it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Very interesting. We’ll have to ask them both about it. Obviously someone’s not telling us everything. Mind if I keep this for a bit? I’d like to look at the other drawings to see if anything else matches up.”

  “Sure.”

  Later, though.” Tucking the sketchbook under her arm, she jerked her head sideways at the interrogation room. “Right now, we need to chat with the head of Tarragon Inc. Shannon and I will go in, and afterward we’ll see if we can’t get something for you to read. I have the owners of Print Perfect waiting in another room, so we’ll do the same with them.” Her eyes slipped to my hands. “What’s with the gloves?”

  Shannon had asked me the same thing when I’d arrived, and I’d told him about my visit to Easton in a few short sentences, but explaining to Paige now would take too long. “Just taking a break from imprints.”

  She arched a brow but didn’t reply, simply reaching up to pull back the blinds covering the observation window. “This is Zander Tarragon, CEO and primary shareholder of Tarragon Inc.”

  Cody kicked off the wall and came to stand behind me, staring into the room. “He can’t see us, right?”

  “That’s right. One-way glass.” Shannon’s gaze went to me. “Until we know how and if these companies are involved, we don’t want either of you to have direct contact with them. They might be dangerous.”

  Since someone had tried to wrap me in a rug and blow me up, it was likely one or both of the parties already knew about me and my ability—unless Captain Piante was right about my involvement being accidental.

  “Tarragon released two 3D printer models in Japan two years ago,” Paige continued, “but had to recall one entirely, and the other has little practical use—despite the steep price tag of fifty thousand dollars. Still, their backing from several Japanese investors is solid, and their publicity claims they are close to releasing something that will help hospitals print living tissue, so that makes them a prime suspect for the break-in at Hamilton’s lab.”

  “Doesn’t it seem rather coincidental that two of Hamilton’s scientists drown and then a year later Tarragon releases a 3D printer?” I asked.

  Paige shook her head. “We can read coincidence into a lot of things, but the fact is that even if those men spilled everything they knew before drowning, it would take significantly more than a year to come out with something like that, especially since the lab break-in didn’t result in anything.”

  “Well, the information they got out of the scientists might have been enough if Tarragon were already working on something similar,” I said.

  “True,” Paige conceded. “And that reminds me. I got ahold of the investigating officer, and he said the teens accused of the break-in claim they were paid by a couple of guys who were with them at the time. When it all went bad, those men disappeared, leaving the kids to hold the bag.”

  “Did the officer believe them?” I asked.

  “Yes. He also said he didn’t believe the drowning deaths were an accident, though he had no conclusive proof otherwise. His biggest reason for believing there was foul play was that the Coast Guard received an anonymous tip that something was about to go wrong on the boat. Gave them their general location and everything. The Coast Guard tried to radio the boat to make sure everyone was okay, and when they didn’t answer, they went to find them. The boat had already gone down. Sort of suspicious for it to happen so fast after the tip came in.”

  “Did they ever find the person who called?” Shannon and I asked together.

  “No. I asked the officer to look through all the paperwork again to see if he’d missed anything, but he was certain there was nothing else.” Paige reached for the door. “Well, here goes. Maybe we’ll get a lucky break.”

  Shannon gave me an encouraging smile and followed her inside.

  I shifted my gaze through the glass to the single occupant in the room, who
sat in a chair, his fingers interlaced in front of him but not quite touching the table. He was a thin, compact man of indeterminate age, with short, straight black hair and dark eyes. He wore a black suit with white pinstripes and a white shirt underneath, even in this heat, but his smooth face and hands were tan as though he spent more time outdoors than in a boardroom. He was the perfect image of a Japanese business man, except in the fact that he was very definitely not Japanese.

  Paige shook his hand and offered him a soft drink, which he refused, along with coffee and water. I knew she was primarily offering it to capture imprints, but the man wasn’t biting.

  “What do you know about Innovation Software and JoAnna Hamilton?” Paige asked when all the niceties were completed.

  Tarragon dipped his head slightly. “They are my competition. Well run. Good scientists. I respect them.” Even his manners seemed politely Japanese.

  “Well, someone broke into their lab last night. Destroyed everything. Their lead scientist is missing.”

  Tarragon looked properly dismayed. “That is unfortunate. I must call Ms. Hamilton and offer my condolences.”

  “So you know nothing about it?” Shannon asked.

  Tarragon shook his head. “I assure you that we intend to beat Ms. Hamilton in this race, but not in such a manner.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but in the next second it was gone and I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it.

  “What about three years ago? There are rumors that your company had something to do with the drowning deaths of her scientists.”

  Mr. Tarragon blinked at them and then said slowly, “I recall being questioned at the time, but I thought they concluded that the deaths were accidental.” He shifted on his chair. “I was not aware that I am again a suspect in this matter. I think perhaps I should have my attorney present.”

  Shannon smiled. “That would be McGregor and Clancy, right? Yes, someone at your company referred them to us earlier, though your employee eventually relented and put us through to you. But by all means. Call them now. We can wait.”

  Mr. Tarragon pulled out his phone.

  Paige rolled her eyes at us through the window, and I nodded sympathetically, though she couldn’t see me.

  “The guy’s guilty of something,” Cody said in my ear.

  I didn’t like Tarragon either.

  “I think he knows about us, or at least you,” Cody added. “See how he keeps his hands close to his body? Like he’s trying not to touch anything.”

  I had to smile—Cody was even more suspicious than I was. I guess that happened when you lived a lifetime with our so-called gift. For an intense moment, I longed for the days when I used to expect the best from strangers. Maybe it was better that my ability didn’t return.

  In almost the same breath I thought of Winter and Summer and repented of the thought. I recalled moments with Shannon when he’d hugged me and his clothes had testified of how much he cared. I didn’t want to let go of that.

  I swallowed with difficulty and answered Cody. “Maybe. He could just be a germophobe.”

  Shannon and Paige emerged from the room, with Shannon motioning for an officer to keep an eye on Mr. Tarragon. “His attorney will be here soon, I think,” he told the officer. “Send someone to let us know when he comes. We’ll be down at interrogation two.”

  “Sorry about him asking for his attorney,” I said to Shannon. “You did seem rather accusing, though.”

  “Did I?” He grinned. “Imagine that.”

  Paige laughed. “We wanted him to call the attorney. Shannon tried to talk with them this morning about Claire’s husband and Tarragon, but their answering service wouldn’t patch him through, even after he told them it was police business.”

  “Told me to call back next week,” Shannon growled. “By then, they’d have a chance to sterilize their records. Now I’ll catch them by surprise. If there’s a connection to whatever Claire Philpot’s husband is accused of doing and our case, we might catch a break.” He started down the hall. “Come on. We probably have time to do this next interview before they get here to rescue their client.”

  The owners of Print Perfect were Arthur Mott and Harold Fisher, two nerdy college dropouts who between them had already guzzled half a dozen sodas. Both were thin and of average height and had brown hair in desperate need of a trim. They carried smart phones, which they constantly poked at as if their continued existence depended on their vigilance to the machines. Mott was rather large-headed and gaunt, his brown eyes small but intelligent. Fisher was severely slouch-shouldered and had thick-framed glasses that enlarged his blue eyes to the point of ridiculousness. His voice was an octave higher than his partner’s and slightly nasal. I found it hard to take either of them seriously.

  “Together they made over eighty million dollars during the first Internet boom,” Paige said as we studied them behind the observation glass. “They even took it out before the crash. But they’ve used most of their funds on research. Our sources say that if they don’t figure out something soon, they’ll go bankrupt.”

  I wondered what made people with eighty million dollars lose it all to a new business. Was it the thrill of discovery? Greed?

  Shannon and Paige went inside the room and repeated the same drill they’d carried out with Tarragon, but Mott and Fisher claimed not to know anything about the break-in or the old drownings.

  “I would appreciate if you would pass Ms. Hamilton a message, though,” Fisher said in his nasally voice. “I’ve been trying to contact her, but apparently she doesn’t do email. Can you believe that?”

  I did have a hard time imagining the cultured Hamilton sitting at a computer responding to email. Reading a printed one and ordering someone else to reply, yes, but going through spam and numerous emails didn’t seem her style.

  “And what is that?” Paige asked Fisher.

  “We’d like to discuss a merger,” Mott said. “We’ve designed several printers we think are unbeaten in quality. We could do a demonstration.” A hint of desperation colored his words, and Shannon and Paige exchanged a pointed look.

  “We’ll give her the word,” Shannon said, and Mott shoved a card at him.

  Paige stepped toward the door. “If you don’t mind waiting here a few minutes more. We might have more questions.”

  “Sure,” Mott slumped in his chair and poked a few buttons on his phone.

  Fisher smiled. “Yeah, we don’t have plans.”

  I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for them. I wondered if they ever dated or if their phones were their significant others.

  Paige and Shannon gingerly gathered up the soda cans, put them into a plastic garbage bag, and left the room.

  “Well, what do you think?” Paige asked Shannon when the door shut behind them.

  He shook his head. “Money is definitely a motive, and those guys have more brains in their little fingers than most men have in their entire heads. But they didn’t destroy the lab themselves, and they’d need money to hire someone.”

  “They aren’t totally destitute. Not yet.” Paige relinquished the bag of soda cans to Cody, who’d started tugging on it.

  He plunged his hand inside, his face a mask of concentration.

  “Well?” Paige asked after a few moments.

  Cody gave her a grin. “Fisher thinks you’re totally hot. Wonders if he could ask you to go eat at his mother’s for Sunday dinner. Apparently, that might get him lots of points with her.”

  Paige’s lip curled. “Oh, save me from that.”

  “Good thing you’ve got a boyfriend,” Shannon said with a smirk.

  “Mott’s worried that Hamilton might steal his ideas if she agrees to a merger,” Cody added. “He’s also worried you’ll save his DNA for some nefarious purpose—which, if you think about it, he’s kind of right about. Not his DNA exactly, but reading his imprints could be classified as a bit nefarious.”

  “So nothing to incriminate them?” Shannon asked.

  Cody shook hi
s head. “Maybe if I could grab one of their phones.”

  “They’re nothing more than kids,” Paige said.

  “Genius kids,” Shannon corrected. “And more than capable of committing and covering up a break-in. They were in business when the scientists’ drowning took place. They could be responsible. Hiring young teens to take the fall for the break-in back then sounds about right up their alley.”

  My head was whirling again, not because I was dizzy, but because of all the what-ifs. “True, but I think we all agree that Tarragon is also capable of murder and the break-in.”

  Paige chewed on her lip. “Why didn’t he touch anything? That’s what bugs me.”

  “Me too.” There was a tenseness around Shannon’s eyes that told me he was worried. I knew exactly why. The interviews hadn’t brought us closer to a solution, and with so many suspects, how could we possibly protect Hamilton’s brother—provided we could find him?

  “Tarragon’s attorney should be here any minute,” Paige said. “Maybe they’ll shed some light on all this. We also need to talk to Winston Drewmore about his involvement with O’Donald. We’re already waiting on a call from O’Donald himself. If we’d known he was in town, we might have been able to lean a bit harder on his answering service when we first talked to them.”

  “Any clue why O’Donald and Russo are enemies? I mean, are they simply business rivals, or is there something more?” In my mind I still pictured O’Donald as a strong, charismatic man like Nic Russo rather than the ordinary-looking man from Tawnia’s picture. He was into organized crime, and therefore suspect, but anyone who opposed Russo couldn’t be all bad. Maybe.

  “We’re still looking into that,” Paige said. “There was a shooting incident at one of Russo’s offices six years ago that O’Donald might have had something to do with, but neither side was forthcoming with information.”

  “Imagine that. Anyway, I have Winston’s card.” I fished in my bag for the one he’d given me at Hamilton’s. “I’ll call him.”