“Two,” Caroline said, noting a gamy odor beneath the smell of cigarette smoke. With an embarrassed shock of recognition, she realized she was smelling herself. She needed a shower. She needed a nap. She needed a meal and probably also a hug. With little hope of the latter, she turned to taking care of the former two as fast as possible.
She pulled the firm’s credit card from her wallet and placed it in front of the desk clerk. Two nights at a seedy motel on the outskirts of Mendocino would be her first charge to Hale Stern. And an ignoble one at that.
The desk clerk shook his head. “Cash only. Up front.” He took a slow drag from his cigarette while he waited for Caroline to replace her credit card and find the correct denominations of currency.
Once she’d paid, he placed a key on the stained oak counter beside a plastic case holding brochures for the Nightaway Motel chain. Caroline couldn’t recall ever having seen another Nightaway Motel. Perhaps it was a chain more in aspiration than in reality.
“Thanks,” said Caroline, glad to be on a fast trajectory toward bed. She had only a few hours before the pharmacy opened. She needed to hurry to get some rest before then.
And yet, when she stepped through the lobby door, she paused to admire the night sky. The sun would rise in an hour or two; darkness reigned supreme except for the bright, almost-full moon. A wind blew from the north, stirring the clouds casting a ring around the moon, splaying white around the clouds like the iris of an eye surrounded by a glowing cornea. If old seafarers’ lore were true, it would rain tonight.
As if in answer, the first pattering of drops made dark marks on the pavement, barely visible in the parking lot’s floodlights.
Ducking her head against the moisture, Caroline jogged to the Mustang to pull her suitcase and laptop bag from the trunk.
She paused at the door to the hotel and checked her phone. She had one text.
Uncle Hitch had written two hours earlier: Went to Ivy Lounge.
“Damn it,” Caroline said to no one.
Three quick hours, one long nap, and a drought-inducing shower later, Caroline stood at the counter of the Arborville Pharmacy, telling her most recent lie.
“Annie Wong asked me to pick up her son Nolan’s prescription,” she said.
The bespectacled man behind the counter squinted at Caroline as if trying to identify her.
“She’s a friend,” Caroline explained. “I told her I’d be in the neighborhood, so it would be no trouble for me to come by to grab it for her.”
In answer, the man shuffled over to a long plastic shelf of white-bagged prescriptions. With all the speed of a snail on sedatives, he thumbed through them.
He returned to the counter, shaking his head. “There’s nothing here. Are you sure she didn’t pick it up herself?”
“Guess she did,” Caroline said, turning away. She felt the pharmacist’s eyes on her back as she pushed through the screen door.
Outside, Caroline spotted a wooden bench. Lodged in the corner of the porch of the Victorian building housing the pharmacy, its whitewashed comfort beckoned. It was as good a place as any to try to figure out what to do next.
Caroline pondered her options. The pharmacy had been a dead end, as had been the Internet, since Annie’s name didn’t appear in any of the local Mendocino directories. Whatever she’d been doing since she’d left Los Angeles, she hadn’t participated in any civic events that had recorded her attendance.
And yet, Annie was close. Somewhere. But where?
Caroline studied the view across the parking lot. The rain that had pounded the roof of the motel had stopped just after dawn. In the storm’s aftermath, the air tasted like a drink of cool water. In the sky, tall, white clouds piled high in confectioners’ heaps, glowing against a deep-blue sky.
A minivan pulled up in front of the pharmacy. Matte blue and covered with small dents, the vehicle looked like a class full of kindergarteners had surrounded it and kicked the crap out of it. A woman climbed out of the driver’s seat, her used-to-be-blonde hair tied back in a hasty ponytail. Then the door of the minivan slid open to reveal a boy holding a ratty blanket. White blond, with a head too large for his body, he ran to keep up with his mother’s stride as the two of them approached the door of the pharmacy.
The mother slowed as she passed, meeting Caroline’s eyes.
“Good morning,” she said with small-town friendliness before opening the screen door for her son to pass.
“Wait a second,” Caroline said, rising from the bench. “Can I ask you a quick question?”
“Yes?” said the mother, still holding the screen door.
“How many elementary schools are there in Mendocino?” Caroline asked.
“Just one. Mendo K through eight.”
“Thanks,” Caroline said, already in motion to her car.
Caroline pretended to look at her phone while she surreptitiously scanned the faces of the parents leaving the elementary school. She hoped she looked enough like a parent to blend in. Plus, she had the advantage of being a stranger to Dr. Anne Wong. The scientist shouldn’t startle if she saw her.
The stream of departing parents flowed through the doors, some wearing jeans, others wearing scrubs or suits or other uniforms of other trades.
Caroline saw no one that resembled Dr. Wong.
She was just about to give up when she saw her. Birdlike and petite, with coal-black hair and crescent-shaped eyes, Dr. Wong looked like her picture on Dr. Heller’s desk. In person, she had a brittle, breakable quality to her, as if she were made of toothpicks, not flesh. She wore a black fleece jacket zipped up against the cold.
At the top of the steps, Dr. Wong paused, scanning the landscape. Although the scientist didn’t pause long, Caroline instantly knew what she was doing. She was looking for signs of danger. When the scientist reached the bottom of the steps, she put her head down and hurried toward the parking lot, looking neither right nor left.
Caroline left the sanctuary of the tree and trailed this stranger that she felt like she knew, having so thoroughly stalked, investigated, and pondered her. She shadowed Dr. Wong down the walkway until she reached the edge of the parking lot.
“Annie?” Caroline called. She hoped the use of the scientist’s nickname would induce instinctive trust.
“Yes?” Annie stopped walking. She stood perfectly still.
“My name’s Caroline Auden. I’m on the SuperSoy legal team—”
Annie’s eyes widened.
“I represent the plaintiffs,” Caroline continued, and she thought she saw Annie relax slightly at the news she didn’t represent the defense.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Annie said. “I’ve got to go.” The scientist went from repose to jogging so quickly that Caroline almost staggered to keep up with her.
“Wait,” said Caroline, jogging after her. “I just want to talk to you. SuperSoy is on trial. We’re trying to show it causes kidney damage. Your article shows it does, but the judge wants to talk to you about it—”
“I can’t help you,” Annie said, approaching the side of a silver Toyota. Reaching into her purse with a shaking hand, Annie hastily withdrew her keys and climbed into her car.
“But we’re going to lose this case if you don’t come to New York with me to testify. The judge is trying the science—”
Without a backward look, Annie slammed the door and drove away, leaving Caroline standing alone in the parking lot.
Information is power. That’s what Louis always said.
Caroline knew he was right. When the police had come to the Audens’ door that dark day, eager to bust the hottest new cybercriminal in town, William had sat down and explained to his daughter that the reason cybercrime was so serious was that people needed to protect their information. Their Social Security numbers. Their tax identification numbers. But even more than that, their secret aspirations. Their kinks. Their quirks. Their private lives.
Information was indeed power.
And now Ca
roline needed power over Dr. Wong. She needed enough information to deliver a reluctant witness three thousand miles across the country to testify at court. To do that, she needed to get to Annie Wong. She needed Annie’s secrets.
Sitting down on the motel-room bed, Caroline pulled her laptop to her. The mattress sagged under her weight, the springs weak from years of guests sleeping in approximately the same spot where Caroline now sat. Ignoring her discomfort, Caroline looked up at the cracked acoustic tiles gracing the motel room’s ceiling, seeking inspiration in the yellowing patches left by the cigarettes the room’s occupants had smoked over the years.
What did she know about Annie?
She knew Annie had run. She knew Annie might have tried to destroy the article she’d invested years of her life researching and writing. Annie must’ve been scared when Franklin died, but why didn’t she talk to the police? Why did she just . . . run?
So then someone got to Annie. Someone bribed her. Or, more likely, threatened her. A threat to the scientist and her son would explain just about any deal with the Devil. But if Annie had repudiated her life’s work to save herself and her son, how could Caroline get Annie to rethink that deal?
The answer lay in the intertwined lives of Franklin Heller and Annie Wong. The two scientists had known each other for over a decade. Together, they had turned down funding from the biotech companies. Together, they had run a lean but successful laboratory, turning out important papers on cutting-edge topics. Together, they had stood strong against financial pressures and even threats by powerful interests. Together, they had been brave.
Had they been brave together to the end? Or had Annie repudiated Franklin, too? Had Annie known about the escalating frequency of the phone calls to Franklin’s house? Had she told her research partner to give up on the article? Perhaps he’d courted dangers she hadn’t wanted to court? Or had something between Annie and Franklin changed before he’d died?
Look for anomalies. That’s what Uncle Hitch had said. Fine, then. What were the patterns of Annie’s life, of Franklin’s life? Had they changed in any way before he died?
The answer struck Caroline quickly. There had been a change. But it had been Yvonne’s change, not Franklin’s. Six months before Franklin’s death, Yvonne had finally accepted that her husband wasn’t going back to his lucrative surgical practice. She’d started winding up the medical group, liquidating assets and closing its books.
Bringing her fingers to her laptop, Caroline ran a search for “Heller Medical Group.”
The query retrieved old news articles about the plastic surgeon who’d shuttered his gold-plated practice to pursue a life of scientific research. The query also retrieved a real estate report on the value of the properties held by the Heller Medical Group. The oldest reference was to the sale of the medical group’s office building.
Yes, Yvonne had mentioned that when Franklin had started his research laboratory, he’d sold his medical group’s office space to fund his first project.
Caroline kept on scrolling down the page of property purchases and sales.
She stopped on the most recent entry. Five months ago, the Heller Medical Group had sold a single-family residence in Santa Monica.
What was Franklin’s medical group doing owning a single-family residence?
Yvonne and Franklin’s home wasn’t in Santa Monica . . . but Annie Wong’s was.
Grabbing her bag, Caroline pulled out her legal pad. She flipped through it until she found the notes she’d taken in her car after her first conversation with Henrik. Yes, there it was. Dr. Wong had lived in Santa Monica until recently, when she’d sold her place and moved in with her boyfriend before later disappearing.
Caroline turned back to her laptop. She ran a search in the property database for “Anne Wong.” She found no property sales. Nothing in Santa Monica. Nothing anywhere.
She tried “Stengaard.” Still nothing.
Putting her laptop aside, Caroline stood up and ran a hand through her hair. Had Franklin’s medical group owned Annie Wong’s house? And if so, what did that say about the nature of Annie’s relationship with her research partner?
The buzz of a text message startled Caroline out of her reverie.
She lifted the phone from the stained quilted comforter and checked the sender: Silvia. Caroline had texted her assistant when she’d returned from the elementary school, knowing that Silvia would relay her text to Louis. With the time change and the distance, she hadn’t expected such an immediate response. Silvia must have pulled Louis out of a meeting.
You found her? Silvia wrote.
I did, Caroline answered.
Seconds later, Caroline’s cell phone rang. As soon as she answered it, Louis’s blue-blood accent came onto the line.
“You really found her?” he asked, his voice giddy with excitement. “I need to hear it directly from you, Ms. Auden. Please. Tell me again.”
“I found her.” Caroline grinned. “Up in Mendocino.”
“Superb. Just superb. And here I thought you’d given up the hunt. Have you arranged for Dr. Wong to come to New York with you?”
Caroline stopped smiling. “I’m still working on that part.”
“You’ve already performed miracles. I am confident you’ll perform another one.”
“It could be . . . hard,” Caroline said.
“Handle Dr. Wong gently, Ms. Auden, but handle her.” Louis’s tone brooked no disagreement. “Do whatever you need to do. Charge whatever you need to charge on the firm card. Just make sure she’s sitting in court in New York in two days.”
“I’ll do my best,” Caroline said, not entirely confident she could achieve it.
“Good. And stay safe, Ms. Auden.”
“I’ll do my best at that, too,” Caroline said, not so confident about that, either.
When she hung up, Caroline sat back down on the bed. Her laptop shone with information: the property report for the Heller Medical Group.
Grabbing her coat, Caroline headed for the door.
Caroline hid behind the tree near the entrance of the school. She hoped Annie Wong would show up. She feared she’d spooked the scientist into grabbing her son early and leaving town. Banking on a mother’s unwillingness to act precipitously, Caroline settled in to wait.
The scent of the fresh-cut grass reminded Caroline of her first day at school. The time folded back until the past seemed separated from the present by only the thinnest of gossamer veils. She’d been small for her age and shy. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do it,” her father had told her as she’d clung to his hand. She hadn’t asked what he meant. She’d been too busy planning what to do if the school caught on fire or if her parents forgot to pick her up. Or aliens landed.
The sound of a bell ringing jarred her back to the present.
A stream of parents flowed into the doors to pick up their children. From her vantage, Caroline couldn’t tell whether Annie was among them. But she knew that in the wake of fears of school shootings, all schools now allowed only one public entrance. If the scientist had entered, she’d need to exit here.
Five minutes later, the doors pushed open and Annie emerged. Just as she had before, the scientist paused at the top of the steps. Parents and children flowed around her as she swept the landscape with her eyes.
Annie’s paranoia was justified, Caroline knew. If Med-Gen had murdered Franklin Heller, they were playing the most dangerous kind of hardball imaginable. Annie had to know that the peace of her day could be shattered in a heartbeat. Anytime. Anywhere.
Apparently sensing no danger, Annie began moving down the steps.
From her angle, Caroline couldn’t see Nolan, but she could tell from the way Annie walked that her son walked beside her. The scientist glanced down to her right, a soft smile on her face. In the presence of her son, she seemed less brittle. Less cold.
When Annie reached the bottom of the stairs, she squatted, then lifted up her son for a hug. With his kinky black hair
and caramel-toned skin, his almond-shaped eyes, and his uncommon height among the other kindergarteners, he looked like a beautiful combination of Asian and African American.
Caroline stepped out from behind the tree, preparing to approach the scientist she’d been chasing for weeks.
But then she froze.
A plumbing truck sat parked across the street from the school. Through the windshield, Caroline could make out the shape of two men. Just sitting. Watching. Caroline’s fingers tingled with adrenaline as her nervous system keyed up for a fight. Or flight.
Ducking back behind the safety of the tree’s reassuring bulk, Caroline took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.
She risked a glance toward Annie, whom she could see in the parking lot, entering her silver Toyota with her son. In the other direction, the plumbing truck remained stationary. Good. Even so, plumbing trucks in Caroline’s recent experience had a nasty habit of becoming dangerous.
Perhaps she should call the police? Caroline thought. And tell them what? That a suspicious plumbing truck might be stalking the same scientist she was stalking?
Rejecting the plan, Caroline focused on the task at hand. What she needed was a safe place to talk to Annie. She needed somewhere public yet invisible. Just as Uncle Hitch had said, she needed a perfect place to approach a skittish witness.
She hoped one presented itself soon. She was running out of time.
CHAPTER 14
Caroline stayed three car lengths behind Annie’s silver Toyota. She couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when she had only forty-eight hours to approach the scientist again, convince her to come to New York, and get her there.
Caroline glanced at the clock glowing on her dashboard. There’d be no chance of catching a flight to New York today if she didn’t talk to Annie soon.
She commanded herself to be patient. She couldn’t blow her chance by acting precipitously. She needed to wait for the right time. A time when Annie would listen. A time when she might be convinced to leave the sanctuary she’d found in Mendocino. Caroline hoped when that time presented itself, she’d find the right words to persuade her.
Doubt (Caroline Auden Book 1) Page 23