“The press doesn’t even know that Bon’s murder is connected to the Memory Vampire yet.”
“No, but it won’t be too long before we find another hairless, naked body floating down a river, and I don’t think the press will have trouble figuring out who was involved in that.”
“Okay,” the commissioner said, “I’ll get you in a room with her, but nobody can know about it. And, Cole, behave yourself.”
Chapter 42
For only the seventh time in his twelve years with the Company, Fergus had been summoned to meet with its board of directors. Fergus knew that getting summoned by the board was never a good thing. They never called someone in to congratulate him or to tell him that he was doing a great job. Your reward for doing a great job was getting paid and not being summoned in front of the board. At the same time, Fergus wasn’t entirely surprised when he got the call. Things were getting messy—messier than Fergus would have liked and far messier than the board of directors would approve of. For only the second time since the Company was founded, they were feeling heat from authorities. And for only the fifth time in the Company’s history, they were forced to approve certain collateral losses. However, as Fergus rode in the back of the Company’s windowless car to his meeting with the board, dressed in his tightly pressed black suit, white shirt, and red tie, he remained confident that he had everything under control. Of course, confidence was Fergus’s job.
The board of directors met in a small, inconspicuous building outside Greenwich, Connecticut. The Company didn’t have any other office space anywhere else in the world. The only permanent locations they had were the facilities where they performed the memory transplants and this boardroom. Fergus arrived at the building and was escorted by two rather large men into the small, private, windowless waiting room just outside the boardroom. The waiting room was about the size of a large elevator. The only furnishing was a pair of wooden benches facing each other on the two walls without doors. Fergus knew how uncomfortable those benches were. Sitting in them was like sitting in a colonial church pew with slim, hard wooden seats and a back that was completely vertical. So, as he waited for the door into the boardroom to open, Fergus stood. The dark leather portfolio in his hands, full of charts and other paperwork illustrating his plans, matched the dark color of the waiting room’s walls almost perfectly. Fergus hoped that he wouldn’t need the dossier. If he did, that would mean the meeting was progressing poorly. He knew what he was doing. He merely needed to put the board at ease. He needed to prove that he still had everything under control. He was well aware of what the board was capable of if they decided that he had let things spiral out of control. He’d acted as their hatchet man before, but he knew he wasn’t the only one. There were others who would be more than happy to take Fergus out.
Doors stood on either side of the waiting room. The one that Fergus entered through led back outside. The other led into the boardroom. As he stood there waiting, Fergus didn’t bother trying to open either door. He knew that both doors would be locked from the other side. The waiting room was deathly quiet. Even though the board was meeting on the other side of the interior door, Fergus couldn’t hear a thing. He stood alone in the waiting room for a full forty-five minutes before the door to the boardroom opened and he was finally allowed to join the meeting. Fergus brushed his suit and stood up straight. He stiffened his back and walked into the boardroom. The board members sat on one side of a long, dark wooden table. Like the waiting room, the boardroom had no windows to the outside world. All the light came from the single chandelier dangling over the table. Other than Fergus and the seven board members, the only person in the room was the white-gloved butler who had opened the door to let Fergus in.
Fergus stepped forward. “Good morning, Fergus. Thank you for coming,” the chairman of the board said with artificial joy. There had been very little turnover in the board since Fergus joined the Company. Six of the members were part of the original group. One had died four years earlier and been replaced by his eldest son, who was now the youngest person on the board. The board comprised six men and one woman. Fergus had dealt with each of them before, each time in this room, each time under similar circumstances. He knew their faces. He didn’t know anything else, and he was smart enough not to look for anything. “Would you like some tea?” the chairman asked, motioning toward the butler.
“No, thank you,” Fergus said with a nod of appreciation. “I’d prefer we get right down to business.”
A few of the board members chuckled. “That’s why we’ve always liked you, Fergus. No time for pleasantries. If you’re ready to get started, please sit down.” Fergus sat in the single chair on the side of the table opposite the board. “So Fergus, we’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands, don’t we?” the chairman said as a few of the other members nodded in agreement. The acoustics in the room gave the chairman’s voice a bit of an echo.
Fergus leaned forward in his chair. “Pardon my frankness, but our business can sometimes be a bit messy.”
Another board member chimed in. “I don’t think this is business as usual, Fergus. The authorities have drawn connections among at least a third of our former properties. That won’t do. Who approved disposing of the bodies in public waterways in the first place? It seems to me that there should be a more effective way to dispose of them.”
Fergus leaned forward again as he answered. He placed his dossier on the conference table ready to open it if he had to. He had been expecting this question. “The board approved of the disposal method seven years ago,” he informed them. “It was agreed at the time that this method, from a cost perspective, was the simplest way to avoid leaving any forensic evidence. Prior to that decision, we were using chemicals to liquidate the bodies. But that was deemed, I believe”—Fergus placed one hand on the dossier—“ ‘uneconomical.’ ”
A few of the board members leaned toward each other. Fergus could hear them whispering, but did his best not to decipher any of their words. When the whispering ended, the chairman turned back to Fergus. “What do you recommend at this time, Fergus, with respect to disposal of the bodies?”
“I think that, despite the increased operational costs, we should go back to the liquidation method. I think we can all recognize that our profit margins on each individual property have gone up considerably over the past few years, which will more than offset any increased cost. Besides, while the up-front costs are higher than our current method of disposal, in the long run we’ll likely save money because it will help us avoid any additional governmental oversight.”
Fergus’s words were followed by more whispering from the board. “Fine,” the chairman said to Fergus, “we’ll take your recommendation under advisement. You’ll get our instructions before the turnover of our next property.”
“What about the police, Fergus? What are we doing about that?” one of the other board members asked.
“And the press?” the lone woman echoed.
“The press is a nuisance,” Fergus responded, “but it will die down. It always has in the past. As long as they don’t have pictures of any of the bodies, they’ll move on. As far as the police are concerned, we’re monitoring the situation. We don’t believe that they have any real leads at this point. They’re still focused on the idea of a single serial killer. At this point, I don’t see any way that they can trace anything back to the Company.”
“But what about this cop, this Memory Detective? Wouldn’t it be simpler to cut our losses and dispose of him?”
“We’re tracking him,” Fergus said. “We won’t let him get too close to us.”
“Okay, but again, wouldn’t it be easier to simply get rid of him?”
Fergus sighed. He did his best to cover his frustration. It angered him how shortsighted the board could be at times. They were more concerned about covering their own asses than about growing the Company. “Let’s not be rash. We don’t want to cut off our noses to spite our faces here. I’m not sure you all fully understand how valuab
le an asset that policeman is to us. Eliminating him could set our research back years.”
“But isn’t that a cost we should be willing to accept if we have to?”
“Yes,” Fergus agreed, “if we have to. As you all know, we have already taken certain precautions to make sure we can easily eliminate any threat—if we have to.”
“We took the same precaution with the cop that we take with all of our clients?” one of the board members asked.
“Yes,” Fergus confirmed. “So, now that we have taken that precaution, all you need to do is say the word and the problem goes away. However, for now, I still don’t believe that the Memory Detective poses a great enough risk to us to offset the benefits we’re getting from him. I think you should let me stick to the plan, the one that each of you approved two days ago.”
“You told us that was an emergency, that we were taking emergency measures. That’s why we approved the collateral loss. Now we’ve had time to think about things.” God, how Fergus hated corporate speak. How he wished that they would just say they’d approved having Bon’s throat slit. The meetings would go so much faster and more efficiently that way. Still, Fergus played the game because he knew he had to. “Yes, but the plan still holds,” Fergus said.
“Remind me what that plan was,” said the most senior board member. Fergus couldn’t tell if this was a test or if the board member had truly forgotten.
Fergus put his hands on the table. He took a deep breath. He was doing his best to remain patient. “Now that the appropriate precautions have been put in place with respect to the Memory Detective, you allow me and my team to stay on top of him and, as I said earlier, to tie off any leads before he has a chance to follow them in the direction of the Company.”
“Won’t that mean more collateral loss?”
“It might,” Fergus confirmed. “Our hands aren’t clean now, and they’re not getting any cleaner. More people may have to be killed as part of the plan.”
“And you think the value that we’re getting from this Memory Detective is worth the risk of having him around?” the chairman of the board asked Fergus.
“For now,” Fergus answered. “For now.”
“I’m okay with this plan, but I don’t want you delegating the job of keeping track of the Memory Detective. I want you to do it.” There were murmurs of agreement across the table.
“We’re already behind our transplant schedule,” Fergus informed the board. “If I have to do this personally, we’ll fall even further behind.” This wasn’t a job that Fergus wanted.
“I think it’s worth it,” one of the board members stated. Everyone else seemed to agree. They didn’t even bother to vote on it.
The room echoed with a loud cracking sound as the chairman slammed his gavel on the table. He stared Fergus in the eyes. “It’s decided, then. Knowing the precautions that you’ve already put in place, Fergus, you are personally in charge of keeping track of this Memory Detective.” The chairman’s voice boomed through the room. “If that becomes too much of a risk, then you must eliminate that risk.”
“Yes, sir,” Fergus said.
“Okay,” the chairman said in an instantaneously more conversational tone, “and you’ll wait to hear from us on the other matter?”
“About the disposal of the bodies? Yes, I’ll wait for your instructions.”
“Thank you, Fergus. You may go.”
Chapter 43
They picked Bon’s sister up at the airport and drove her straight to the hospital. Cole made sure of it. They didn’t have a lot of time. The forty-eight-hour window during which they could be confident that there would be no memory deterioration was quickly closing. Cole needed to make sure the memories were sound. When she finally made it to the hospital, Cole would be waiting for her. He’d have to work fast if Bon’s memory was going to do anybody any good.
Ed met Angie at the entrance to the hospital. Because of the nature of her brother’s death, she wasn’t surprised that the police were involved. She didn’t know, though, that Ed was escorting her to a room where Cole was waiting.
As usual, Ed wasn’t sold on the whole idea. He asked Cole why they couldn’t just let Bon’s sister have Bon’s memories and then interview her. He thought she would be able to help them find the killer. It made perfect sense to someone who had never inherited another person’s memories. Cole knew better. He knew it would take weeks before Bon’s sister would be able to make any sense of all the new memories in her head. She was an amateur, a first-timer. Even then, by the time she had found the memories they needed, she would have already changed them. She would have already inserted her own biases inside them. Whatever she told them wouldn’t be reliable. Cole only trusted himself. If they really wanted to catch this killer, Cole needed those memories. He needed to remember the killer or killers himself.
The room where Cole was waiting had one window, two empty hospital beds, and two rather uncomfortable-looking orange chairs. Cole kept the lights off. The sun was blaring through the window, giving the room its only light. It was enough. Everything in the room was lit up except for a few shadowy corners. When Ed led Angie to the room and she stepped inside, Cole stood up to shake her hand. “Angie?” The woman stepped forward. Her resemblance to Bon was unmistakable. Cole could see that she was older than her brother and considerably smaller, but other than size and the passage of a few extra years, they could have been twins. They had the same hair, same freckles, same round red face.
“Yes,” Angie confirmed, shaking Cole’s hand.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Cole,” Ed said to Cole before closing the door, leaving the two of them alone.
Everyone had agreed to a hard stop. Cole was well aware that in fifteen minutes, one of them was going under the knife. Whether it was Angie or Cole could mean the difference between catching a serial killer and letting him get away. It all depended on how convincing Cole could be. “Do you want me to turn the lights on?” Cole asked Angie.
Angie looked around her as if she hadn’t even realized that they were off. “No,” she said. “I haven’t slept much. I can’t sleep on planes. The natural light is probably better for my eyes.”
“Okay, then do you want to sit down?” Cole motioned toward the two orange chairs. Angie walked over to a chair and sat. Cole sat in the other. “Did anyone tell you why I wanted to talk to you?”
Angie looked at him. She looked tired. Tired and scared. You don’t even know how scared you should be, Cole thought. “They told me that you were working on my brother’s case and that you had a few questions for me. I’d love to help, but I don’t know anything. My brother and I weren’t really close.”
“That’s okay,” Cole said, passing Angie his best sympathetic smile. “You can help more than you think.” He paused. He’d tried to plan things out. He knew that he couldn’t just blurt out the truth. He had to work his way there in what little time he had. “Your father was a cop?”
Angie laughed. “I guess you could call him that. I think he was more of a high school metal head who grew up and realized that life wasn’t giving him too many options. I mean, he named his two kids after AC/DC, for Christ’s sake.” Cole hadn’t caught the reference. She shook her head and laughed again. “Angus and Bon?” Cole shrugged. “AC/DC’s guitarist and lead singer. God, how I used to hate AC/DC.”
“Used to?” Cole asked, thinking he might be able to use anything he learned.
Angie shrugged. “You get older. Hate gets harder.”
“Not for everyone,” Cole told her without elaboration. He had plenty of memories in his head that would prove her wrong.
“Well, it’s gotten harder for me.” Her expression went blank for a minute. She stared out the window, looking lost, like she didn’t know how she’d gotten to where she was.
Cole looked at his watch. “Do your parents know about what happened to Bon?”
Angie nodded. “Our dad does. I spoke to him. He cried. Nobody knows where Mom is anymore.”
<
br /> “Was it your dad’s idea, you taking Bon’s memories?”
“Do you have a brother or a sister?” Angie asked Cole before answering his question. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
Cole shook his head. “Not really,” he said to her, not bothering to explain.
“It wasn’t my dad’s idea. I mean, I asked Dad if he wanted them, but he said no. He said that he was too old. I don’t think he wanted to remember himself through my brother’s eyes. But it wasn’t his idea for me to take them. I wanted them.” She looked at Cole. “I want them. He was my little brother.”
“But you said yourself that you guys weren’t close. Why do you want his memories? Do you have any idea what those memories might do to you? Has anybody talked to you about that?”
“Why are we even talking about this?” Angie asked, confused by Cole’s questions. “Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions that might help you solve my little brother’s murder? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“That’s one of the reasons why I’m here. Did they tell you that I was the one who found your brother’s body?”
“No,” Angie admitted. “They didn’t.” She paused. “I didn’t know that.”
“Did they tell you how he died?”
“No.” Cole could see fear cross her face. “Just that he was murdered. I don’t know if I want to know any more.”
“You do realize that if you go into that surgery in”—Cole looked at his watch—“seven minutes, that’s not going to be a choice you have. Not only will you know how your little brother died, but you’ll remember it, every bit of it.” He hated himself for what he was about to do. He did it, anyway. “You’ll remember how your brother was grabbed out of bed. You’ll remember how much he struggled. You’ll remember how scared he was as they dragged him into his bathroom. He knew what was going to happen there. You’ll remember being pushed all the way into the bathtub.”
“Stop,” Angie said, but Cole couldn’t stop. He didn’t have enough time.
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