by Dom Testa
I kicked at a discarded fast food cup along the side of the street. “You know we’re not finished with this, right?”
“Parks,” was all she said.
“Not just Parks. There’s also his accomplice in Santa Fe. That’s where I’m headed first thing in the morning.”
“And you think he’s there?”
“Jayanti told me he was.”
“She told you?”
I’d reached the end of the street, and turned back toward the plant. “She said Parks was in the land of enchantment.”
Quanta was quiet for a moment. “The New Mexico state motto.”
“Uh-huh. He’s gone back, either to collect his only surviving partner on this case or to kill them so they can’t tell us anything. Then I expect him to disappear again. I can’t have that.”
“Do I need to tell you to upload tonight?” she asked.
“Nope.”
The plane Quanta had arranged for me was waiting when I got to the airport at seven the next morning. It was a Gulfstream, a treat for sure. Over the years I’d grown to appreciate the rare chance to ride in style. It usually happened only after I’d delivered in a tough spot.
My boss, at times, could be very good to me.
It was a speedy flight, and I was in another BMW by nine. As I sped away from the Santa Fe airport I called Sheriff Tonkin.
“I don’t have any news for you, if that’s what you’re after,” he said in his usual unfriendly tone.
“I didn’t expect any,” I said. “But I might have some for you.”
His pause was brief. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“Not yet.”
A long, frustrated sigh came across the car’s speaker system. “Does that mean you don’t know anything yet, or you’re not going to tell me yet?”
“The latter.”
“So you’re obstructing, now,” he said.
“Hard for me to obstruct when I’m working toward the same result you are: Bringing people to justice. Let’s say I’m being cautious.”
“To hell with caution. If you know something, you tell me now.”
“Sheriff, I will explain everything to you soon. Probably by the end of the day. But for now I just wanted to give you a courtesy call to say I’m back in town and working on the case. You’ll have to cut me some slack for a few more hours. Can you do that?”
He was silent for a minute, then uttered a low curse. “I’ve never liked you Feds. And you’re about the worst yet.”
With that he hung up.
I couldn’t help but smile. Tonkin was an ornery son of a bitch, but I liked him. What I couldn’t tell him was that, while ordinarily I’d be happy to share what I knew, the fact that his niece had been one of the murder victims made this different. His emotions might affect the way he approached things, and I couldn’t have that. There were two people I had to bring in, and I couldn’t worry about a sheriff with a personal grudge.
I was one to talk. I’d spent the bulk of my career with Q2 carrying around one hell of a grudge. And I would until I’d put that particular issue to rest.
A red light gave me a few extra moments to consider that personal vendetta, one that I knew was both unprofessional and possibly compromising. But I didn’t care. In a bizarre way, it powered me. Kept me sharp, and moving forward. As long as Beadle prowled the Earth, I’d keep serving and protecting.
Until I choked the life out of him with my bare hands.
The light turned green. I left the intersection and those thoughts behind me.
The neighborhood was quiet, but I saw movement through a window of the house. I sat in the car for a few minutes, preparing myself for one of the hardest jobs I’d ever done.
I got out and, instead of going to the front door, walked around the side of the house into the back yard. It was equally quiet, and out of view of any of the neighbors. I saw movement again through another window, waited until it was clear, then let myself in through the unlocked sliding door.
I sat down at the round kitchen table and waited.
She came walking into the kitchen from the front room and froze, looking at me in fear.
I pulled out my phony FBI badge. “Relax, Ms. Haas. And have a seat.”
Poor Jonas. He’d heard Bailey, when it actually was Stacey.
I could tell she was contemplating the advantage of running toward the front door. To make it easier for her to stay, I remained calm. Even crossed one leg over the other.
While she stood there thinking, I casually studied her. The last time I’d been in this house I’d occupied a different body. I’d also been preoccupied with reminiscing when I should’ve been investigating. The whole mushy wad of memories had overwhelmed me and I lost the ability to detach from my youthful fascination with Stacey Bromley, now Mrs. Stacey Haas, the widow of a well-respected scientist.
A lot had happened since my last visit. The haze from my old romantic history had burned away with the deaths of several people. My eyes were now wide open and clear.
She walked to the table and sat down.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Is this about Leon’s murder?”
“It sure is.”
She adopted an angry look. “Then why did you break into my house? Why not ring the doorbell?”
“Technically I didn’t break in. I just walked in through an unlocked door. But let me ask the questions. Starting with: What time are you expecting Steffan to arrive?”
The start this gave her almost made me laugh. Stacey had done a bit of acting in college, but that skill was no longer honed.
“Steffan? Steffan Parks? He better not show his face around here. I’ll—”
I cut her off with a wave. “So many things clued me in, although, granted, it took longer than it should have. I think I first got an inkling that something wasn’t right when Jonas Aiken schooled me on Steffan’s little trick called Damnation Deniability. Stupid name, I’ll give you that. But in a way it makes sense.”
Stacey Haas kept up the startled look. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Yeah, you do know. And when I found out that he had a co-conspirator here in Santa Fe, I started putting some pieces together. One of the first was Damnation Deniability. Who’d damned Steffan Parks the most? Why, the grieving widow.”
She gave a disgusted snort. “And you don’t think a grieving widow would damn her husband’s killer?”
“Of course she would. But you overplayed the part. You not only went after him for allegedly killing your husband, but for everything under the sun. His research, his methods, his results. You even scorched him personally. It was all designed to sell me on the fact that he was a horrible man you’d have nothing to do with. But, of course, you’ve been on Team Steffan for years, haven’t you?”
“You’re insane.”
I waved a flippant hand. “Probably more of a prerequisite for this job than an impediment. The really nice touch, though, the part that impressed me the most when I looked back, was you going over the head of the coroner to hire that independent pathologist. No chance in hell you’d be suspected if you were so adamant on finding the real cause of death. If you’d been guilty, you’d happily let the world believe Leon had accidentally poisoned himself, right? That threw the sheriff off your trail for sure, and made you appear completely innocent.
“But you and I both know you’re not innocent, and you’re certainly not a poor, grieving widow. With just a little bit of digging we’ll be able to prove a solid connection between you and the once-esteemed Mr. Parks that goes all the way back to your days at UC.”
I let the casual look on my face dissolve into a mask of pure bad-assery. “So let’s cut out the horseshit, okay? You’re about to be booked on four counts of first-degree murder. Do you want to continue this charade of innocence and face life without parole, or do you want one shot to make things at least slightly easier for you?”
She stared at me for a long time. But her mask of purity and principles had f
allen away.
I kept going. “You know, believe it or not, things can go way worse for you, Stacey. If I drop you off at the Sheriff’s office, you’ll be booked, but at least you’ll be safe. On the other hand, I could quietly, off the record, ask the Sheriff to drop by here. I’ll step outside and the Sheriff might be forced to defend himself against an armed suspect. He might have to gun you down, probably right here on this abominable-looking tile.”
Her face had gone pale. “Why would he do that? I’m not armed.”
“Not yet you’re not. But what you didn’t know when you poisoned your husband at Marquart Labs was the young, fresh-faced scientist helping your husband — the one who died alongside him — was the much-beloved niece of Sheriff Tonkin. And I’ve been around him enough to know he’d be more than happy to forego a trial and appeals process that could take years. I get the feeling the sheriff is a true relic of the old west and its simple forms of justice. No doubt he has a nice collection of firearms that could be found in the right hand of your bullet-riddled corpse. Get my drift?”
She didn’t answer but instead looked down at her lap. Although Sheriff Tonkin was way too principled, despite his gruff tones, to ever kill a defenseless suspect, Stacey didn’t know that.
“Of course you get it,” I said. “You always were a very smart girl. In most respects. Not your decisions about men, obviously. You could’ve made much better choices years ago.”
“What?” she mumbled.
I grinned. “Never mind. So, can we go back to my original question? What time will Steffan be here?”
She didn’t answer for a full minute. Just sat there, staring down, in complete shock. When she finally spoke, it came out as a whisper.
“Noon.”
I looked at the time on my phone.
“Oh, what a relief. I thought you were gonna say late this afternoon or tonight. Now tell me about the other lab worker. Why was David Torres killed?”
“He . . . he wasn’t supposed to be killed. Things just . . . turned.”
“Turned how? Are you saying Torres turned?” I paused, letting things work themselves out in my head. “He did, didn’t he? He was in on the killings at the lab.”
She nodded. “Then he found out that Amy was there. He had feelings for Amy, which I didn’t know anything about. Anyway, he started talking crazy, like he was going to turn himself in and confess everything.”
“And you certainly couldn’t have that. So he became your third victim.”
Stacey didn’t answer.
“Anyway, that helps fill in some holes,” I said. “We’re actually making some progress here, Mrs. Haas. Good. I’m anxious to get this all wrapped up so I can go home to a woman who does appreciate me.”
She looked up, a pained look on her face. “What are you going on about? What is this?”
This time I laughed out loud. “Don’t worry about it. You just sit there like a good little murderer and when we corral Steffan we’ll all take a ride downtown. Got anything to drink?”
At a quarter till noon I gently tied one of Stacey’s wrists to the arm of her chair and went to unlock the front door. Then I moved back into the kitchen and stood by the fridge, out of sight of anyone who came in until it was too late for them.
At ten past twelve there was a double tap on the front door, then another a moment later. Per the instructions I’d given her, Stacey called out for Steffan to come in.
After a brief hesitation — probably an evolved animal sense of danger — the door pushed open and I heard Steffan say, “Stacey?”
“In here,” she said, although without much enthusiasm. I gave her a warning look. She added, “In the kitchen. Come on in.”
The door closed and a moment later Steffan Parks walked into the room. He reached out to touch Stacey on the shoulder, then stopped when he spotted me against the counter. My Glock was pointed at his heart.
“I don’t suppose they have Alamo T-shirts in Santa Fe, do they?” I asked.
After a moment he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side. “What a surprise,” he said. “Should I assume this is why I haven’t heard from Ms. Pradesh?”
“She would have a helluva time contacting you now, Steffan.”
He raised an eyebrow. “My, you’re a regular killing machine, aren’t you, Eric? It is Eric, as I recall, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Do me a favor, will ya? Sit down and place both hands face down on the table. That’s good. Thank you.”
I moved over and pulled out the seat directly across from him. I kept the gun centered on his chest.
“You know,” I said, “after all this time and all the travel miles, I couldn’t be happier that you just walked right in. And without muscle this time.” I leaned to my left and tried to look toward the front door. “Or will another one of your inept meatheads be wandering in?”
He smiled. “Sadly, no.” Then he turned his gaze to Stacey. “Has he hurt you?”
She shook her head without making eye contact with him.
“Mrs. Haas,” I said, “this is where he pretends that he cares a great deal about what happens to you. But you’ll notice he’s not shedding any tears after finding out his girlfriend is dead.”
Stacey slowly raised her head to look at me. Parks did the same. They both had a flat expression on their faces.
It took a few seconds, but finally clicked.
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” I said. “You two are . . .”
I pointed a finger at Steffan and said to Stacey in a loud, whiny voice, “What’s he got that I didn’t have?”
They both just stared at me like I was a crazy man. To drive the point home, I dissolved into the hardest laugh I’d had in a long time.
Chapter Thirty
The garden outside Quanta’s house was much more impressive in the summer months. Now, as February began, it was mostly a frost-covered wonderland. I studied it through her kitchen’s sliding glass door, rolling a hot mug of tea back and forth in my hands.
There was life hibernating beneath that cold layer outside, waiting for a chance to rebound from its slumber and bloom again. We only think it’s dead, but it bides its time, knowing the right moment to come back and prove us wrong.
Not too unlike my experience with the Q2 investing program.
I was mentally exhausted but any down-time would have to wait until after finishing Quanta’s version of a de-briefing. And for that I had to wait until she finished meditating inside the house’s atrium, where it was summer year-round.
I’d left Christina a message that I was back in town and would be home late that afternoon. She didn’t bother to ask for how long.
It had been one of the strangest cases of my career, including a bizarre connection with my pre-Q2 past. Generally I don’t remember many details about that original life. It’s as if it never really existed. The memories could be confused with images from an old film watched long ago. Sometimes I wondered if the constant uploading and downloading had corrupted some of the older files.
Then Stacey Haas had shown up and shaken that reality back to life, and as a result had done me a huge favor. She’d reminded me that no matter how many convict bodies I inhabited across the years, there was an individual — just one person — steering the car. Someone who’d lived, loved, lost, and laughed through as many good and bad times as anyone.
And someone who would try harder to remember that in the years to come, no matter how difficult the circumstances.
I was still warming my hands with the tea mug when Quanta came in and filled a glass with water from the tap. She took the seat beside me and followed my gaze beyond the door. We sat like that for a long time, enjoying the mid-winter silence.
Then she spoke in a low voice. “I’ve always thought of you as a spy and covert operations manager, Swan. This time you surprised me with your detective act.”
“You mean the part about Mrs. Haas? Mostly just a strong hunch until she confirmed it under duress. I can’t beli
eve I didn’t see it earlier.”
Quanta shrugged. “She was out of town when her husband and his associate were killed. And she was nowhere near David Torres when he was murdered, either.”
“The beauty of planting poison,” I said. “When she met Torres in the parking lot of the lab for their drive to Albuquerque she went inside for a minute and discreetly put a dose of poison in the coffee maker’s water reservoir. It would never seem suspicious if she came to the office. And it explains why the sheriff couldn’t find any prints from Parks or Pradesh. Fingerprints from Stacey Haas would be expected.
“I also should’ve realized she never really loved Leon Haas. He was a . . . a nice contact for her. And a convenient one for the only person she really did ever care about: Parks.”
“How could you have realized that?” Quanta asked.
I looked at her and gave my own half shrug. “Let’s just say I know some things about Stacey Haas and her history. Seeing her settled down, living the life of the supportive wife, just didn’t jive with her past.”
It was obvious Quanta was curious about what I claimed to know. At the same time she recognized that it didn’t matter now. Both Stacey and Steffan were in custody and would stand trial for murder, attempted murder, and a shitload of other charges. I had no doubt the government would toss in counts of terrorism.
“But Leon Haas’s crusade to discredit Parks,” Quanta said. “Was that really his idea?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “It was the first volley in the Damnation Deniability scheme. Stacey had known both Leon and Steffan back at the University of Chicago. It was easy for her to stir things up. Perhaps Leon even had a tinge of jealousy about Parks, going back years. He may have leapt at the chance to bring him down.”
“Instead it got him killed.”
I gave a quick nod. “Which was part of the ultimate plan. Their practice run, so to speak, and a chance for Stacey to inherit a vast sum of money to further fund their dark plans together.”
“And Jayanti?” Quanta asked.