by Karen Randau
My gaze dropped to a patch of green under Lena’s branch of pink notes. “This also bothers me. David gave me phone records from Lena’s office. Other than numbers that seemed business related, and occasional lunch time talks with David, she received regular calls from a doctor in Phoenix. She phoned him the last day she worked at the water treatment plant. I must check out that doctor to see if he knows anything.”
My eyes wandered to the guy David and I met at Hawthorne Farms. “Frank Miller is another story. There is little information about him. I think we agree he’s the one who killed Melissa. Lena’s afraid of him. I need to talk to her.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“Go to Lowlands Drinking Water Treatment Plant.”
Ronald protested, mostly because we were friends rather than because he didn’t think it was a good idea to locate Lena. “It’s too dangerous. I feel responsible for keeping you safe since Cliff isn’t around.”
“Send another detective with me.”
“I don’t have one who isn’t sick. Try calling the plant, then we can discuss it again.”
We disconnected, but I needed to sound a lot more chipper before striking up any more conversations. After a shower, a container of yogurt, and a cup of coffee, I made the call and tried to imitate the professional tone of the receptionist who identified herself as Peyton.
“May I speak with Lena Kuznetsov, please?”
Peyton stammered. “One moment.”
While I waited, I bobbed my head to on-hold music, an instrumental rendition of Cliff’s favorite song, “Pretty Woman.” How I longed for Cliff to be there with me. Both of us were good investigators. Together, we were greater than the sum of our parts. I needed him.
Peyton’s voice brought me back to the present. “I checked with our HR department, and we’ve never had an employee by that name. Are you sure you called the right water treatment plant? There’s a much larger one in Phoenix.”
“I’ll try that. Thanks, Peyton.” I laid my phone on the desk, soaking in that Lena lied to David again and wondering if it was because he had a child, as she had claimed, or to protect Mary’s daughter. I suspected it was the latter.
I needed to find Lena. When I called Ronald back, he didn’t bother with the pleasantries.
“Don’t tell me. Lena Kuznetsov doesn’t work at Lowlands Drinking Water Treatment Plant.”
“Right.” I was sure my sigh sounded as heavy as it felt. “How did you know?”
“I’m a detective. From what you’ve told me, she might be as innocent as Melissa.”
“We need to help her.”
“What else do you know about her?” His computer dinged, similar to the way my computer told me when an email arrived. He confirmed my suspicion by clicking on his keyboard. “Hm. They distributed an antidote to patients at the Rim Vista Hospital last night. It’s being described as a miracle drug. They’ll be lifting the quarantine today.”
“Is there anything in your email about what the drug is or where they got it?”
“Nope. They worked with a dozen pharmaceutical companies, and one in Ohio came through with the right formula.”
Ohio again?
The phone vibrated. “Just a sec.”
My heart felt like it would jump right out of my chest at the text message I received from Cliff.
Come pick me up.
“Ronald, I have to go to Phoenix to pick up Cliff. When will state troopers remove the blockades from the highway?”
“Now.”
“After I get him, we’ll go to the office of a doctor who frequently called Lena.”
“I’ll have an officer escort you down the hill. By that time, you’ll be on flat land with lots of traffic. Nothing should happen.”
I prayed he was right. I had no choice but to keep moving forward if I wanted to stop the larger attack Melissa warned about before she died.
35
I worked to contain my excitement as I packed Cliff’s and my computers into a backpack in case we needed them before we returned to Rim Vista. The last few days without Cliff had sapped my physical, mental, and spiritual energy. The mere anticipation of holding him gave me the shot of adrenalin I needed.
Inside the Lexus, I sang along with Cliff’s favorite music, tapping the steering wheel and tempted to yell to the world that my beloved was coming home. At the south end of town, I pulled into the gas station where Ronald told me to wait for an officer in a gray pickup with lots of antennas on the roof.
I spotted the young officer with reflective sunglasses the second I arrived. Stopping alongside him, we each rolled down our windows.
“Mrs. Avery,” he said with a wide smile. “The boss asked me to escort you down the hill. Ready?”
“Absolutely!” My stomach flitted like a teenager waiting for her prom date.
As I followed him out of town and around mountain curves, I wondered how many unsuspecting speeders got stopped by this guy.
Caring less about that than getting to the hospital to bring home the love of my life, I cranked up the music and the air conditioning and harmonized with Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman.”
When the officer turned around at the flats, he flashed his lights, honked his horn, and waved as I drove past.
I didn’t expect the weight of aloneness to descend.
The sight of a fast-approaching silver sedan in my rearview mirror made my heart palpitate.
Was the driver a threat? Should I try to outpace it?
Rather than follow my instinct to stomp on the accelerator, I slowed to allow the car to pass, telling myself to rein in my imagination. Still, a semi-truck ahead of me looked like a safe harbor. I hoped the driver would offer assistance in the case of a real threat, and I slowed to stay behind it until the turnoff where I blended in with hundreds of other cars on the streets of Phoenix.
In the hospital parking lot, my anticipation got the best of me. I found a slot and charged up the stairs to the sidewalk, through the glass revolving door, and down the hallway toward Cliff’s room.
When I entered Cliff’s room, his smile sent tingles throughout my body.
With a brief pause in front of Travis’ bed, I asked, “Where are Travis and Katy?”
“You’ll need to explain why the Phoenix PD arrived to escort them to Tucson about an hour ago. That can wait.”
He pulled me into a passionate kiss, followed by a tight embrace. I melted into his arms and did all I could to stop the torrent of tears that refused to stay dammed up.
“There’s so much I need to tell you. I held it in because I wanted you to focus on recovering. I feel like I might explode right now. I’m so happy to be with you.”
We sat on his bed, and I laid my head on his chest as I gave him highlights of what had happened since the first dead birds rained onto my windshield at the Rim Vista Park.
“I’m sorry your dog died,” he whispered when I finished, stroking my hair. “I know how much you loved her.”
“I’ve been so concerned about everyone else that I…” I wrapped my arms around his neck and sobbed. I didn’t want to let go, but I had to snag a tissue from the box on his side table.
“I understand why you didn’t share the details with me,” he said as I dabbed my eyes and nose. “I was pretty out of it. I’m disappointed I wasn’t there for you.”
“You are now. That’s all that matters to me.” I looked into his eyes. They were clear and healthy, their golden flecks glistening. I wanted to get lost in them.
“I expected to die.” He snuggled his face to my neck. “Thanks for insisting on trying an alternate treatment rather than just letting me slip away at home, which is what I had planned.”
“You’re such a huge part of me I could never have sat by while you slipped away.”
We laid down, wrapped around each other. For the next few minutes, his presence warmed and strengthened me. We said nothing. We were together. That was enough.
“Where should we start today?”
Cliff angled up on his left elbow and cupped my jaw in his right palm.
I laid my hand on his and closed my eyes, resisting the need to jump back into the investigation. “I want to visit Mary before we go. Then we could go to the medical office of Dr. Grigory Sorokin. Lena talked to him often. Unlike the other Russians I’ve run into the past few days, he is a legal immigrant and a naturalized citizen with a past I can trace. Maybe he knows where to find Lena.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’m glad we’re together again.” He kissed me.
We slipped from the bed, straightened our clothes, grabbed the plastic bag with his belongings from the closet, and left the room.
“The doctor released me to go back to work part-time tomorrow,” he said as the door closed behind us. “Today doesn’t count. I’m hangin’ out with my honey. Medicine for the soul.”
We strolled into the ICU, but the lack of a guard in front of Mary’s bay alarmed me.
I approached the nurses’ station. The same nurse who greeted me the last time glanced up from her computer.
“What happened to Mary Zagby?” I asked.
“We moved her to a room.” She tapped on her keyboard and gave me the room number.
I spotted the Marine-turned-policeman, Officer Quaid, the second we turned into the hallway where the nurse said we’d find Mary’s room. He greeted me with a nod and a two-fingered salute. When I introduced Cliff, the officer offered a handshake.
“Hope you’re making progress in finding out what happened to my friend Mary.” He laid his hand on the doorknob.
“Some,” I said. “I hope she’s recovered enough to give us more.”
“You’ll like what you see.” He opened the door for us.
Inside Mary’s room, which looked like Cliff’s had, the top part of her bed angled up. She sipped from a plastic straw protruding from a purple plastic mug. She set the mug on the side table, flashed a warm smile, and reached toward me.
I grasped both of her hands, relieved that they felt warmer than at any time since I’d known Mary. “You look fabulous.” Unlike when I tried to convince Mary she could recover a few days ago, I meant what I said this time. Her skin was pink, her eyes were clear and green, and her smile exuded energy.
“They must have given you some of that miracle drug that cured Cliff.”
“Yep. The doctor says I’ll recover from all this, but I won’t be the same as before. They suspect I use drugs even if I don’t remember. I’ll be in rehab for the next few months. You’ll never see me running in our neighborhood again, but Emma will have her mother. If it weren’t for you, I’d be lying behind a dumpster in Rim Vista, probably dead.”
I hugged her. “I think you’ve met my husband, Detective Cliff Avery.”
She flushed. “A time or two.”
“I’m delighted to see the progress you’ve made,” Cliff said, using his professional policeman’s voice. “I was wondering if you could provide any more information about your attack in Afghanistan. Anything you haven’t already told Rita.”
She repeated her story. “Captain Wall and Major Park stopped arguing when I walked into the medical supply room. Colonel Brandish entered behind me. Park told Brandish the Afghan woman wanted to speak to him. Brandish told Park to go to his quarters until we returned from talking to the woman.”
“That’s new,” I said. “Wall and Park argued. Brandish sent Park to his quarters. You told me before that you suspected Park was behind the attack. Is that why you thought that?”
“Yes.” She resumed sipping her water.
I turned to Cliff. “Kyle Park owns a small pharmaceutical company in Ohio. Ronald told me this morning that a company in Ohio donated the supplies that resulted in the antidote, and the CDC is going into full production with that organization. There’s been talk of the CDC buying the company to get full-time access to their supplies and equipment.”
“Park stands to make millions,” Cliff said.
I asked Mary what she knew about Lena Kuznetsov.
“I saw her occasionally when I went to David’s house to watch Emma through the window. I never spoke to her.”
I thanked her for her help with the investigation. She again talked about how I saved her life. “The doctor says I’ll be able to go home in a week. Two at the most. I’d like to find that doctor who has been helping me all this time, so I can thank him.”
“Don’t forget he might be the one who got you addicted to drugs,” I said.
We left the hospital and drove across town to the office of Dr. Grigory Sorokin. No patients sat in the lush waiting room chairs. A woman in her fifties smiled when we entered, as if she’d been lonely until we arrived.
Did she think smearing pink lipstick above her lips would make them appear bigger? It didn’t work.
Cliff approached the reception window, introduced himself, and asked to speak to the doctor in private.
The woman’s expression morphed. She furrowed her brows, narrowed her eyes, and glared at Cliff. “He’s with a patient.”
“We’ll wait.” Cliff gestured toward the empty chairs in the waiting room. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else ahead of us.”
We moved to sit as far away from the reception desk as possible. I grabbed Cliff’s hand and said, “It’s suddenly an icebox in here. We may have found the right person to unravel this tangled web.”
36
An hour later, the stern-looking receptionist led us to an office with a wooden desk, leather executive chair, and two matching guest chairs. Degrees and certificates hung on the wall. The desk contained a portrait of the doctor and his wife. I was glad she wasn’t the awful woman in the front office.
Within minutes, an attractive man with gray streaks in his dark hair entered the room without speaking to us. The nick on his neck and razor burn on his face looked minutes old. He had buttoned a white coat over dress slacks, a blue shirt, and a striped tie. The way he plopped into the chair behind the desk, combined with the slump of his shoulders, he seemed to carry a heavy burden.
“How can I help you?” His slow speech and careful enunciation impressed me. He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. His blue eyes looked swollen and tired. His breathing seemed shallow. Sweat glistened on his forehead.
“I’m Detective Cliff Avery from the Rim Vista Police Department.” Cliff gestured toward me. “This is my wife, Rita. She’s a private investigator who works with me. She has uncovered a few details we hoped you could help us understand.”
The doctor gave a brief smile, glanced at the ceiling behind us, and then shifted his gaze to his desk as if searching for something. He remained silent.
“While investigating the attack on Rim Vista’s water supply, I received the phone records of a woman named Lena Kuznetsov,” I said, intrigued by his puzzled stare. “It seems you knew her well enough to call her several times, and she contacted you the day before the attack.”
Despite weaving his fingers together, the doctor’s hands shook. “You must be mistaken. Kuznetsov is a common surname in Russia, where I’m from. I don’t know a Kuznetsov here.”
“Does anyone else use your phone?” Cliff asked.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll ask.” As he spoke, he slipped a pen from the desk’s center drawer and wrote on the prescription pad that had consumed his attention since he sat down. “No one but me is authorized to use this office. I have confidential information in here.”
He tore off the top sheet of paper, folded it, and dropped it into his coat pocket. He rose from his chair and hesitated with his back to us in front of his door. In subtle moves, he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and inhaled before turning toward me. “If I were you, I’d go home with my husband and breathe a sigh of relief that your community is no longer in danger and the antidote has been distributed. You’ve served your purpose. Go about your life and stay safe.”
He opened the door and stepped aside.
Cliff approached him, standing eye to eye. “We didn’t
tell you about the antidote.”
“I was informed.” The doctor glanced at the ceiling again.
I turned to see a camera angled so it captured the entire room.
“When you find out who has been using your office, tell them we might be able to help if Lena is in trouble,” Cliff said without following my gaze.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Let it go.” The doctor stuffed his hand into his pocket as he entered the icy hallway.
“Other than a bunch of Russians from Ohio, you mean?” I waited for the doctor’s reaction, not expecting to see the stern receptionist peek around the corner.
She glared at the doctor as he slipped his hand from his pocket and offered Cliff a handshake.
The doctor lifted sad eyes toward me. “There is a large Russian-American community in Ohio and other places in the Midwest. My family moved from there years ago. Go home. Please. Stop wasting your time on conspiracy theories.”
Cliff stayed quiet while we walked out of the office and into the covered parking lot.
I tried to engage him in conversation. “Did you notice the doctor’s shave? It looked like he shaved just for us.”
“Could be.” As we neared the Lexus, he grasped my elbow, nudged me toward the passenger side door, and opened it. “I’ll drive. I’m fully recovered from my illness.”
His kiss felt too rushed. He pressed me down to my seat, closed the door as he rushed away, and jumped in behind the steering wheel. With a grin that looked like he was about to burst with good news, he waited for me to buckle my seatbelt and settle in, then opened his fist to reveal the folded page the doctor had torn from his prescription pad.
Find Anatoly Yashkin was all it said.
“Look him up on your phone.” Cliff drove from the parking garage and entered the highway toward home.
I searched for the name online. “There’s an Anatoly Yashkin on Facebook.” I clicked to the page. “He’s a young guy who lives in Russia. I can’t read his posts. I don’t think that’s who we’re looking for.”
“Let’s talk it through. Tell me again about that encounter with Lena and the old guy at Hawthorne Farms.”