“I was only privy to this situation after the fact,” White said. “I had no foreknowledge that Cortland Clarke and Paul Grey conspired to cover up a failed clinical trial.”
“So noted,” Leo said.
Why White thought that would give him a pass, Lucy didn’t know, but Leo’s comment seemed to appease him.
Maybe he just wasn’t a very good attorney.
“What I was told—again, I don’t know exactly what happened because I wasn’t there—was that last spring, a year ago, Dr. Grey ran a clinical trial that resulted in some serious side effects. It had to do with a dosing error—which he quickly realized and corrected. So the drug itself is completely safe, but several of the participants had long-term effects. They realized this in March when they conducted a follow-up. So yes, Dr. Grey corrected the error, but if they had reported it they would have had to go through the approval process again, conduct another clinical trial, and that would have taken twelve to twenty-four months, to the cost of millions of dollars.”
Lucy just stared at him. She didn’t trust herself to speak at that moment.
“And Charlie found out about the error.”
“Not exactly. He found the falsified reports. He didn’t know what they were, exactly, and wanted to review all the documentation of three years of research and trials—and that would have taken a lot of time and money.”
“And he would have uncovered the dosing error,” Lucy said.
“That was the fear, yes.”
“And then?”
“I don’t exactly know what happened at that point, but Cortland ordered Paul to fix the problem. We, um, Paul, well—”
“Spit it out,” Leo said.
“Paul had been having an affair.”
“So he was blackmailed.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“More complicated than blackmail?”
“Paul was bisexual. This is Texas. I didn’t care if he was gay, but you know how some people are.”
“And he was married,” Lucy said. “His wife didn’t know.”
“Franklin is really good at finding dirt on anyone,” Robert said quietly.
“Does he have dirt on you?”
“He did. But when my wife divorced me, my affairs didn’t matter anymore.”
Lucy was beginning to like people less and less. Paul Grey drugged his best friend to cover up his own extramarital affair. The lawyer had cheated on his wife. It reminded her of the lies Madison Spade told Sean, and her culpability in her husband’s money laundering. And the hidden money that Carson Spade used to order a hit on Sean.
Lucy wanted to see the good in people—she really did—but right now all she saw was the worst. It made her physically ill.
“So Paul was blackmailed into drugging his friend Charlie,” Leo said bluntly.
“I wasn’t told about any of this until Charlie was fired. Paul didn’t realize what the side effects were, but he also didn’t know until then that Cortland had had someone in the lab—I don’t know how—create aspirin laced with this stuff. She was afraid that when the drug wore off he would remember everything, and she just wanted it to go away. And we thought it had, until last week.”
“Monday. When Grey killed himself.”
“What? Paul killed himself? No. Charlie killed him.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Paul’s body was in Charlie’s house!”
“That information was only released to his family. We kept it in house until the investigation was complete. Did you talk to Diane Grey?”
“No, but—”
“You were there,” Lucy said.
“I wasn’t.”
“Who? Cortland? Franklin?”
White looked like he had dug himself into a hole. And he had. He started talking faster.
“Look, on Monday Franklin saw Cassidy and Paul talking in the parking lot. He asked Paul about it, he said she was sick and going home, but Franklin didn’t believe him. He followed Paul that night when he left and saw him meeting with Cassidy. I think he planned on, well, I don’t know, I don’t want to speculate. But after, Paul came back to the lab and Franklin confronted him with photo evidence of his bisexual affairs. When I say bisexual, I mean—”
“We don’t need to know the details,” Lucy snapped. “Franklin confronted him.”
“Paul gave Franklin an envelope and told him to shred it, that it was all the evidence of what they’d done to Charlie. But Franklin didn’t completely trust him. When he didn’t show up for work on Tuesday, he started looking for him, and thought maybe he had given something to Charlie, or was working with Charlie, so he went to Charlie’s house out in Helotes. Found Paul’s body, but no evidence from CHR. Figured someone would find it and arrest Charlie for murder.”
“Paul committed suicide,” Lucy said. “Because you blackmailed him and he felt trapped.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We are,” Leo said. He slapped the photo of Franklin leaving Java Antonio on the table in front of White. “Franklin was seen leaving the coffee shop Wednesday after having a brief conversation with McMahon, immediately prior to McMahon taking hostages. What was the conversation about? McMahon was in no mental position to be blackmailed.”
“Franklin hadn’t been able to find McMahon for weeks, and was worried that he was putting together the evidence, that Paul found a way to help him, so he sent McMahon a text message from Paul’s phone—”
“Wait,” Lucy said. “How did he get Paul’s phone? We haven’t found it.”
“It was there, at Charlie’s house.”
“He took evidence from a crime scene.”
“Well—I guess, yeah. And he told Charlie to meet him there. Charlie assumed it was Paul.”
“Because it was Paul’s phone. But if Charlie killed him, he would know that Paul couldn’t send the text message.”
“Charlie’s memory was bad.”
Not that bad, Lucy thought.
“Franklin moved the body to frame Charlie. That’s how he got his phone.”
Leo looked at Lucy. “But that all happened before Charlie took the hostages. Franklin couldn’t have known what Charlie would do.”
“No, but eventually someone would have found Paul’s body in Charlie’s house—and the longer the body was there, the harder it would have been to pinpoint time of death or cause. They wanted Charlie to stop asking questions. They wanted Cassidy out of the building. If the police believed that Charlie had killed his friend, and Cassidy was helping him, nothing she said about CHR would stick. At least in theory.”
Leo asked White, “What did Franklin Clarke say to Charlie?”
“I don’t know. He just went to see what Charlie knew, realized that Charlie wasn’t in his right mind, so he left. I don’t know what he said, specifically. I don’t think that Franklin moved Paul’s body.”
He didn’t sound convinced. Lucy was positive that was the only logical explanation. Franklin wanted to frame Charlie, and nail Cassidy as an accessory.
“Where are they?” Leo demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“And Cassidy?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lucy said.
“I’m serious! Garrett came back on Monday and all I’ve been doing is trying to cover my own ass. Cortland and Franklin are doing their own thing now.”
“Where does Nina Okala fit in?” Lucy asked.
“Cortland thought that Paul might have second thoughts, so she brought in Nina to keep an eye on him. That woman is a cold bitch. Don’t let her petite sweet act fool you.”
Leo paced. “We’re running property records and flights. They haven’t boarded a plane. They haven’t used their credit cards. We know that Cassidy was planning on getting into the CHR building on Monday night, but we don’t know if she did. And no one has seen or talked to her in over twenty-four hours.”
“Well,” White said as if he had just thought
of it, “Cortland’s grandfather had a nice spread up on Canyon Lake. It’s in the name of the Cortland family trust. Cortland was named for her grandfather, Andrew Cortland.”
It was their best—and only—lead. Leo and Lucy left White in the room and asked Tia to process him.
Leo, Lucy, and a tactical squad were already on their way to Canyon Lake, which was an hour from San Antonio, when they got the address for the Cortland family property.
Lucy brought up the map of the area. “There’s a small airport near the property,” she said. “They could already be gone, or waiting for transportation.”
“All legitimate charters and pilots have been sent a hot sheet on the Clarkes, but there are plenty of unscrupulous people out there who will do anything for a buck,” Leo said.
* * *
Cassidy had screwed up big time.
She hadn’t thought that Nina Okala, Paul’s assistant, was all that bright. Sure, she was a competent secretary, but she didn’t talk, always seemed so shy and demure. Cassidy didn’t know she had brains between her ears.
When Cassidy got off the phone with Dr. Harrison, she almost called him back and told him everything that she’d learned. All her theories. The proprietary documents she’d stolen from CHR to try to figure out what Charlie had been poisoned with. That she’d found a friend at the university to help her run tests.
But she didn’t have everything wrapped up. She had a lot of theories but no hard facts. She’d broken the law. She didn’t report Paul’s suicide, and she’d taken documents from his car. She’d taken Charlie’s research and computer in the hope that she’d be able to figure out what had happened to him.
She thought if she could just get inside before someone—like Cortland Clarke—destroyed the evidence, she could turn it over to Dr. Harrison first thing Tuesday morning. She didn’t have a great plan, but with Nina Okala’s pass, she could access everything in Paul’s side of the lab, and find the proverbial smoking gun, and then be waiting for Dr. Harrison in his office. Charlie had always liked and respected him.
Charlie liked and respected Paul Grey, too. And look what happened there.
She could be wrong about Dr. Harrison. He could be just as guilty as everyone else.
So Cassidy waited until Nina Okala went to bed. All the lights were off. Women at CHR almost always wore their key card on a lanyard and after work put it in their purse or briefcase. Nina had never carried a briefcase that Cassidy had seen.
The house was small but very nice and on a large piece of property at the end of a long driveway. Cassidy walked through the grove of trees toward the house. What if Okala had a security system? What if she was caught?
Maybe that was okay. She would then tell the police everything. But if she could get into CHR, all the better.
One step at a time. Just like in research.
And her plan almost worked.
The doors were locked, but the door into the laundry room wasn’t dead-bolted. The lock itself was basic. Cassidy first tried to pick it—she’d watched a YouTube video that made it seem so easy—but she failed. So she used a crowbar that had been in the trunk of her car and pried the door open. She didn’t care if Okala knew in the morning that someone had broken in. By then Cassidy would have all the information she needed.
Unless it was already destroyed.
One step at a time, Cass.
She didn’t hear an alarm or a dog. Good. She walked through the kitchen. It was immaculate. No purse. The dining room. The living room. The house was spotless, with lots of antiques and big pieces of furniture. There had to be a den or something—she didn’t want to go down the hall to her bedroom. That would be just totally weird. Sneaking into someone’s bedroom while they were sleeping was creepy.
Between the living room and the back hall was a double door. That had to be an office, right? She opened one of the doors. She was right. Ms. Okala’s oversized handbag was sitting on the chair by the door.
She went through it, found the lanyard, and had a momentary thrill that she was right about where it would be, that she had it in her hand.
She started out and walked right into Nina Okala. She didn’t see the Taser in her hand.
Cassidy was speechless. Then she pushed past her and started to run, but she felt a sting in her lower back and her body jolted in pain, then numbness. She fell to the floor, convulsing.
She heard Ms. Okala on the phone. “I told you Ms. Roth was a smart girl. She did in fact break into my house and tried to steal my key card. Get over here now and clean this mess up … I didn’t sign on for this. She’ll be incapacitated for about thirty minutes. I won’t be here. So if you don’t get her, I don’t know where she’s going, but it probably will be straight to Garrett Harrison because he has an appointment with her tomorrow morning.”
Ms. Okala turned on the lights. That’s when Cassidy, through her blurred vision, saw two suitcases by the doorway. “It wasn’t personal, dear,” Ms. Okala said. “I won’t be seeing you or anyone else at your messed-up company again.”
* * *
Leo had his tactical team surround the property. The sheriff’s office had staked out the airfield. They determined quickly that no planes had landed or taken off that morning, but according to the regional traffic control, a small charter plane was scheduled to land at four p.m.
“That’s for Cortland Clarke,” Lucy said. They only had thirty minutes.
“They could kill Cassidy and bolt,” Leo said.
“No.”
Leo raised his eyebrow. “They drove Charlie McMahon crazy. They blackmailed Paul Grey into committing suicide. Cassidy knows too much.”
“Cassidy doesn’t know half of what we know. But they’re not killers. They’re greedy, selfish assholes, but they haven’t actually killed anyone. Now, if cornered I think they can kill, but my guess is that they have Cassidy tied up in that house and they’re planning to disappear. No one knows she’s here, she’ll die of dehydration and they don’t have a problem with that, but they’re not pulling the proverbial trigger.”
“How sure are you? Because this all sounds like a guess.”
“Police work is all about educated guesses based on evidence and experience,” Lucy said. “You of all people know that; you’ve taught me that. This is what they’re thinking—leave Cassidy, disappear. If someone finds her, it won’t matter because they’ll be gone. They have a plan B, a nest egg or secret account or money already embezzled from CHR. But they’re not thinking that far ahead. They’re thinking escape. Disappear. When Garrett Harrison came back yesterday I think they knew he came to the FBI office. Maybe Franklin was following him; maybe Garrett called it in, not thinking that someone was going to panic.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“So let the plane land. Have the deputies stand down and take cover. Don’t let the pilot see them. He’ll radio that he’s landed, they’ll come out, we’ll arrest them before they board the plane.”
“And Cassidy?”
“She’ll be inside the house.”
“You think this’ll work?”
“I think that if they’re cornered and we storm the house, that will put Cassidy in danger.”
Leo thought for about ten seconds. “Okay. Rod will lead the tactical team to find Cassidy in the house, once the suspects clear it. I’ll lead the tactical team at the airstrip. As soon as they leave the house, alert me and I’ll detain the pilot. In case he’s armed or plans to disappear during the takedown.”
He looked at his watch, then called his team in to relay his plans.
Then they waited. SWAT was used to waiting. Hurry and wait was built into their training, because sometimes they had to sit on a building for hours, alert, ready to act on orders at a moment’s notice.
Lucy wasn’t as patient, though she was working on it.
Lucy stood with Rod Rodriguez. He was part of the counter-terrorism squad and had been former military, just like Leo and Nate. She didn’t know him well, but had l
earned he was one of the best on the team, and she was glad he was here now, especially when Nate wasn’t. Nate was again on mandatory leave for the shooting in the junkyard, and this one wouldn’t be cleared in three days. Two shootings in a five-day span was going to get him more than a basic psych evaluation and three days’ administrative leave.
She heard the plane before she saw it. It sounded just like Sean’s Cessna. Rod told his team, “Small craft approaching. Be ready for my command.”
Lucy was tapped into Leo’s communications channel. They switched to two channels to avoid any confusion.
Leo said, “Plane landed. Hold.”
Two minutes passed. Cortland and her brother Franklin left the cabin, each carrying two bags. They jumped into an SUV and drove off.
Lucy told Leo, “The two suspects have left the house, en route to the landing strip.” She looked at Rod. He said, “We go in ten.”
Lucy relayed the information to Leo, and Rod counted down. At four, the Clarkes were out of visual. Rod waited for three more seconds, then ordered his team in.
Lucy followed behind. She heard the team report in clear clear clear as they swept the house.
Had she been wrong? Had Cassidy been in the SUV? She was about to alert Leo to the possibility of a hostage situation when Rod said, “Agent Kincaid, they found an unconscious female in the attic. We’ve called for an ambulance. But the house is clear, you can go up.”
Lucy went up to the attic, escorted by Rod. Cassidy was tied on a cot. The attic was blisteringly hot and humid, like a sauna. The agent who found her had already cut off her restraints. Lucy knelt next to her. “Cassidy, it’s Agent Lucy Kincaid with the FBI. Can you hear me?” Her skin was hot and dry, and her heartbeat was rapid. That she’d already lost consciousness was a bad sign.
“She’s extremely dehydrated,” Lucy said. “We need to get her out of here.”
“I got her, Agent Kincaid,” the agent who untied her said. He carried her down to the cooler house.
Lucy asked for cold, damp towels. She needed to lower her temperature, but if she did it too fast the girl might go into shock. If she got her to wake up, she could force her to drink water, but she would certainly need an IV as quickly as possible.
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