Copyright © 2018 by Kathleen McGillick
Book Cover Design by Jay Aheer of SImply Defined Art
Interior Design & Formatting by:Champagne Book Design
Proofreading: Judy Zweifel Judy’s Proofreading
KJRM Publishing LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author/publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author publisher.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks, and word marks mentioned in this book. All possibly trademarked names are honored by italics and no infringement is intended. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any references to historical or actual events, locales, business establishments, places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
OTHER BOOKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In memory of my grandparents Florence and William
Dedicated to my son Mark-Michael and grandchildren Rinoa and Jude
Jackson
As I gazed out the window over the downtown Denver skyline, my mind wandered. I didn’t regret having left the FBI, the decision to leave had been a good one. But in the past, I’d gotten to work on cases as they’d been assigned to me. Now, as the owner of my own security firm, I felt I had to take every case that came through the doors in order to stay afloat.
I refocused on the conference call we were having with Benjamin Hightower, an old high school buddy, whose baritone voice emanated from a triangular speaker. He’d gone into corporate business and was now CEO of a biotechnology firm, while I’d chosen law enforcement, working as a US attorney and then as an FBI agent. He was asking for my help. A vital new piece of research of cutting edge technology had been stolen from his firm.
I looked around the conference table at my employees as they took notes. Mary, a ninety-year-old investigator with white puffy hair and oversized black glasses, and Lee, an ex-Chicago cop I’d hired as a skip trace person, were engaged in the conversation.
Benjamin gave us a rundown of the crime scene. “The pictures were nauseating, Jackson,” Benjamin said. “Dennis’s ankles looked like barbequed pulled pork. The blood-crusted handcuffs had dug so far into his skin I’m positive the metal met bone. The handcuffs had chunks of skin and hair embedded in the small wells; they had rubbed his wrists raw and had cut into the tendons.”
Mary made a face of disgust while Benjamin paused to collect his thoughts. He sounded exhausted, but he pushed on.
“I don’t understand how people stomach the savage destruction people do to each other. What the hell is wrong with people?”
“You’d be surprised how desensitized our civilization has become,” Lee, the new member of my team, said. “When I worked Chicago’s gang division and then homicide it felt like I was in the middle of some tribal war.”
Benjamin let that sit and continued. “The crime scene photos showed three stab marks inflicted without hesitation at points that would cause the most damage. I’m not a blood splatter expert, but it looked like someone had straddled Dennis at the hips and plunged the blade from a back overhead reach into his stomach until the blade hilt fully sank into his stomach. The attacker ripped the blade upward and then tore it out. Think of the brutality it took to cut him open like that—gutted like a deer. The stab penetrated his aorta and killed him.
“But from what the report indicated, the punctures in his femoral arteries triggered the gusher-like blood spray, which was easy to visualize pulsating in rhythm with each heartbeat. Jackson, I swear, the room looked like Pollock had risen from the dead just to put his signature splatter and drip marks on the cream-colored walls,” Benjamin said, taking a deep breath through his nose.
“They found Ryan passed out next to Dennis. His chest was smeared with dry blood, and his face was painted with blood in a war paint manner. He had no visible injuries but was in a coma. They transported him to the hospital.
“A long blade, like a hunting knife, was found on the floor. Part of the handle was still sticky with brown, crusted blood. The sheets were soaked with whatever blood hadn’t hit the walls. The report said the room had a metallic and urine smell.”
Benjamin’s voice wavered, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he bolted to puke. I suppose that visual of all that blood burned into your brain would haunt you forever.
“So, what makes you think this Fiona person was with them?” Lee asked as he jotted notes on his short yellow pad.
“There aren’t any cameras at the motel. But when the police took statements, one witness said she’d seen a woman matching Fiona’s description knock on the door ten minutes after the men entered. However, the witness appeared inebriated, so they’re taking what she said with a grain of salt. There’s no physical evidence placing her in the room,” Benjamin said.
“What a mess,” Lee said.
“But I don’t understand why you need us,” I said. “You need to let local law enforcement handle this mess. This is a job for them.”
“I need you to find Fiona. The police are treating this case as a murder. Ryan’s in the hospital with high levels of ketamine. If he wakes up, he might not remember anything, and there’s no physical evidence he murdered Dennis. But I believe they feel strongly that Ryan is the main suspect in the murder. The police aren’t going to look for Fiona. They’re going to focus on the murder, and unless Fiona becomes a person of interest or she’s dead too, she’s not on their radar. Fiona is an adult, and the police said our only option was to file a missing person report, if warranted.
“Here’s my dilemma, Jackson. Ryan, Fiona, and Dennis were working on a sensitive project. Someone in that department stole the entire research project and wiped the server and cloud of all data.” He h
esitated.
“So why not alert the FBI or local law enforcement?” Mary interjected, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward to get closer to the speaker on the table.
Benjamin cleared his throat. “We acquired the project from a lab in Berlin. Berlin found a mechanism that allows the alteration of DNA at the base level. The implications are enormous. Upon completion of the project, our price to sell it would be in the neighborhood of half a billion. It could be used for good, to cure disease, or for bad, to alter existing DNA after someone committed a crime. Whoever stole the project, wiped all the servers of the information after they completed the transfer to an external drive. On the dark web, it could be sold for billions. We wanted to sell it to one entity, so that party could fully develop it and market it. On the dark web, however, it could be sold again and again. So where is it? Either Dennis hid it, or Ryan or Fiona have it. I need you to find out which one of them has it, or where they hid it.”
“So, like Mary said, why not get the FBI involved?” Lee asked, fishing for an explanation that seemed to be hidden.
After an uncomfortable silence, Benjamin said, “We obtained the information in a manner that might be frowned upon by the government. We’ve been working under their radar, and if I tell them what we lost, they may open an investigation into everything we’ve been doing, and I can’t have that.”
Well, that didn’t sound good. The last thing we needed to do was to get involved in something illegal. However, Benjamin had only asked us to find the project, not help him develop it, and we had no reason to believe he planned to use it for nefarious purposes despite the fact the circumstances he acquired it under were shady.
“If you’re in the middle of something illegal, and a crime is being committed, you realize we can’t help—”
“What’s your best guess where this information is?” Mary interrupted.
I signaled for her to be quiet. I needed to determine, if we took this case, if we’d be accessories to a crime before we continued the conversation.
“I’ve no idea. What I’m sure of is that at some point someone transferred it to an external drive; then someone destroyed that sector of the server and the cloud data. Anyone on the team, knew how to wipe the data.
“According to the police evidence list, no external drive was recovered at the motel or when they searched Dennis’s and Ryan’s homes,” Benjamin said, sounding anxious.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Lee said, removing his boots from the table. “Until the day of the motel incident, you were in possession of information with a high-value price tag. That day, some unknown person or people stole it. We know one of three employees who had access to it was murdered, and another was drugged and is in a coma. The third employee, who may or may not be involved, either left or met with foul play. No evidence was recovered to suggest either of the two men were in physical possession of the external drive. No one knows where this Fiona is, why she left, or if she has the drive. To be crystal clear, you want us to track down the drive, and that will be our only objective. You don’t want us to bring Fiona back, but you think she has the drive. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Benjamin answered quickly. “If she stole it, ideally I’d like her prosecuted. But that would open a Pandora’s box for me.”
I had to stop this before my employees talked a prospective client out of hiring us. I gave them the “wrap it up” sign.
“Benjamin, I emailed you our engagement contract, which has a non-disclosure in it. You can wire-transfer the funds. I’ll arrange for Mary and Lee to meet with you day after tomorrow,” I said. “Dropbox whatever information is available, and we’ll be ready. Talk later.”
“So, thoughts?” I asked after I’d hung up.
“BDSM gone wrong?” Mary asked.
Naturally, Mary would go to the most salacious theory. Mary was a complex woman. Three years ago, she’d helped close a dangerous FBI case, and last year she’d earned her private investigator license. The fact she looked like the mother from The Golden Girls often led people to underestimate her.
Lee sipped his coffee, and his eyes met mine over the rim of his cup.
“I’m not sure we’re not walking close to an obstruction of justice here. Don’t the police have a right to know what might be at the root of this incident?”
Lee had a point, and because both of us had come from a law enforcement background, we knew there were lines we couldn’t cross.
“Lee, let me pose it to you this way. We don’t have proof the information has anything to do with the incident at the motel. Maybe two people got high, and drugs fueled a murder. Perhaps, as Mary said, a BDSM encounter went wrong.
“The police have that investigation underway. We have no credible evidence that this Fiona chick was there, or that she had any part in that incident or has the missing information. We’re being hired to track down a missing drive, not to solve a crime,” I said.
My email inbox dinged, alerting me the signed documents from Benjamin were waiting for my signature. The vibe I had at this point told me to rethink this, but we needed the money. I didn’t have the luxury of thinking like an employee anymore. I had to evaluate this as a businessman.
“Hey, you’re the boss. You sign my paycheck, and if this is how you want to spin it, I’m in. But, if we come across information that has something to do with this murder we’ll need to have another conversation,” Lee said.
I understood how he felt. With his twenty-two-year background on the Chicago police force, Lee seemed to be a person who liked rules and regulation.
“Not necessarily,” Mary interrupted.
Christ, here we go.
“There’s no law that mandates saving a drowning person. There’s no law saying you must do the cops’ job for them or volunteer information to them. My opinion is the NDA should protect you. If they ask specific questions, that may be a different story, but I don’t even think that could hold water toward an obstruction charge.”
I wanted to ask her where she’d received her law degree, but I was too afraid of her answer.
“It’s a slippery slope. Right now, there’s no evidence to suggest the homicide had anything to do with the missing information. We’ve no idea who the players are, so let’s put the murder aside and treat it like a red herring. We’ll treat our case as solving a corporate espionage and a theft. Everyone is a suspect. Get with their IT and security people and start your investigation there. Now, are we all on board?” I looked from Mary to Lee.
I could read from Mary’s eyes she was in on the plan. Lee rubbed his face, stretched, then nodded.
“Who’s going to be in charge?” Mary asked, tapping her papers on the table.
“Lee.”
There was no doubt this case demanded a seasoned investigator.
“Why?” she asked, ready to argue.
“Because he has more experience than you,” I threw back, hoping to cut off any more argument.
“Maybe he has more homicide experience, but I thought you said the homicide wasn’t a factor? I’m an equity partner, and I should take the lead.”
She stood, bracing her hands on the table and tilting forward. God, if her white cotton hair moved, or her black owl glasses slipped down her nose, we were screwed. That was always a signal she was in the fight for the long haul.
“Hey, people, I’m good with that; let her take the lead,” Lee responded as he stood and headed toward the door.
“Why? What’s the catch?” Mary asked, disappointed when no argument or drama ensued.
“You get to do the paperwork and arrange the timetable. I float along and do my job.”
Lee smiled and sauntered out, closing the door behind him. Smart. He didn’t want Mary calling after him with a change of heart.
“Guess I fell right into that.” She plunked back down in her seat, deflated.
All I could do was smile because Lee had bested Mary at her own game.
“Get the plane tickets, and ge
t out there to Seattle and meet with Benjamin’s people. In the meantime, he’s sending us personnel records and anything pertinent to the crime scene, including the lab area where they worked and the motel. Anything else you need, boss lady?”
“Nope,” she said, not trying to cover her anger as she stomped from the room.
Mary was a necessary evil and my nemesis. We’d opened this office after Cillian, my old partner, and I had left the FBI. The venture had become more complicated than we’d expected. Between the move from Washington, DC, to Colorado, and the actual financial commitment we’d made, this new enterprise had proved more cumbersome than we’d predicted. Thank God Mary had offered the money left from her age discrimination suit to get us up and running. But that brought other problems. She was now an equity partner with voting rights, a nightmare we’d never considered.
Lee was a godsend. His experience in the Chicago police department brought the practical experience we needed, and it balanced Mary’s need to blow things out of proportion. Lee was drama-free while Mary lived in a world of organized chaos. He and Mary seemed determined to outwit each other.
My phone buzzed with a text; the bank had received the retainer funds. A $125,000 retainer should go a long way to keep us afloat. With this in mind, I texted Mary to upgrade the seats to Seattle to first class. Usually we flew economy, but this gave us an opportunity to work in private on the plan. My email dinged. The files I’d requested were in my Dropbox, and I forwarded them to Mary and Lee to help them to get a jump on the case.
Lee
Airports, I hate airports. Too much hurry up and wait, and too much chaos. I like my world orderly and logical. As Mary and I rushed to our terminal, I remembered how I’d had second thoughts before accepting another law enforcement-type position, but what else was I equipped to do? At my age, how could I start in an entirely new career? The wicked things people do to each other, and the excuses they make up to justify it, disgusted me. The gang murders in Chicago had become a standard, daily expectation. After a while, I didn’t see the victims as people anymore. Instead, when I arrived on the scene, my mind clocked the wounds, and the weapon used. Nothing else applied to my assessment.
The Last Lie She Told (Lies and Misdirection Book 1) Page 1