Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  “You’re probably thinking I’m doing this because of Alex, but I wanted to see you for myself too. Can we talk a bit?” He fidgeted.

  “What is it?” Worry for Whitt consumed her.

  “A few things. The older gentleman who passed?”

  “Mr. Parson.”

  “Yes. We’ve requested an autopsy, and his family agreed. We want the cause of death, specifically whether it was human brucellosis.”

  She dug her fingers into her palms, and the tears flowed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “None of this is your fault. You are the victim.”

  She rubbed her palms. “I took in a stray dog and was negligent. I should have done blood work to ensure Xena was healthy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”

  “You were set up.”

  “You sound like Alex.”

  Dexter smiled. “Who do you think mentored him? He’s like a son.”

  Now she understood Alex’s respect for Dexter. “My biggest concern is finding Whitt. He has no chance without antibiotics.”

  “We’ll find him.” He sighed, a burdensome sound. “I keep wondering what we’ve missed in our search for the boy and his dog and how far the disease has spread through his body. Is there a place Whitt would hide?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I’ve been trying to put myself in his shoes, even quizzed my grandson about it. A relative? Neither of Whitt’s parents were any help. They were too preoccupied with their other problems. Does he like to camp? Would he run to a friend’s house?”

  “He has few friends, and he’s never had the opportunity to venture far from home. His deceased grandfather spent time with him, but I don’t know where. Whitt’s intelligence and size aren’t a good mix for the average kid. He’s bullied a lot. But he’s resourceful.”

  “You mean in securing a place with the dog?”

  “I’m sure Xena was an afterthought. You’ve heard Whitt is running from social services, and that’s true. He’s had this escape route planned for weeks. He had a bad experience in a foster home, so add trust issues, and he’s running scared.”

  “I studied his background. He missed nurturing from the moment he entered this world. His basic needs were seldom met, leaving him immature, frightened, and mistrustful. His IQ combined with his inability to understand his feelings has him confused.”

  “True, and he’s nearing the age that I have to not only make up for what he lost, but also coach him for the future. Until he gains trust in others, he’ll have a difficult time with decision making.”

  “A huge job.” He sighed. “I don’t need to say what you already know about how the disease affects the body.”

  An idea rolled into her mind. “I gave him my laptop, and it’s in the guest bedroom closet. We could search through every document and his browsing history. We can only hope he forgot to delete something. He sleeps on my couch and not in the spare bedroom, but he could have hidden something on my laptop. Give me a moment.” She walked into the bedroom where her parents had slept the previous night, climbed onto a chair, and searched under a pile of books. But the laptop wasn’t there. Whitt had apparently hidden it. But where? She walked into the hallway and an idea sailed into her mind. Dizziness assaulted her, and she waited until her head cleared before calling out to Dexter.

  “Can you give me a hand here?”

  He emerged from the kitchen. “Sure. What do you need?”

  “The laptop isn’t in the guest room, and I’ve been trying to figure out where he put it.”

  “And?”

  She pointed to the pull-down attic stairs. “I never go up there. Everything is stored in the garage. Whitt knows I don’t like traipsing in the insulation. But he might have put the laptop up there.”

  “One way to find out.” Dexter gently brought the ladder to the floor. Stacy flipped on the light switch in the hall and he climbed up.

  She waited while he seemingly vanished. Dirt and dust fell to the floor. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Her head pounded.

  “Found it,” Dexter said and proceeded down the ladder. “Whitt hid it under some loose insulation.”

  Stacy smiled her thanks. A few moments later they sat at the kitchen table. She powered it on. Nothing. She tried again and groaned. “Oh, Whitt. It won’t boot up.” She attempted twice more with the same results.

  “Would he have wiped it clean?”

  “It appears so.” She walked to the window facing the street. “His house is padlocked. Parents were evicted. If you could gain access and look through his room . . .”

  “Good ideas. I’ll pass this on to law enforcement.”

  “His bike was in the garage when I got home yesterday. Which means he’s on foot.” She turned to gaze into Dexter’s kind face, and a trace of weariness passed through her. She joined him at the kitchen table.

  “Public transportation is our guess, but we’ve found nothing on security footage. Dr. Broussard, the city and state are on high alert to find him.”

  “I’m Stacy. Any man who helps me find my boy needs to call me by my first name.”

  He laughed lightly, and she appreciated the gesture despite the grim circumstances. “I’m Dexter. My daughter’s name is Stacy.”

  “I’m sure she’s as admirable as her daddy.” She took a breath. “Whitt is brilliant. He’d deliberately steer you down the wrong path. I’ve been thinking. He wrote he was leaving the city, and yet—”

  “You think he didn’t?”

  “By sending authorities to the bus stops and major roads where he might hitchhike, he’d have an opportunity to do the opposite of what others believe. Not sure why I think that. Except . . .”

  “What?”

  “As much as he fears social services, he wants a home. He had hope with me. Maybe he has access to the news and learned I’m better. And I can see how you’d think otherwise, that he’d head into a desolate part of the country and monitor what’s going on here. But he’d do the opposite of whatever the experts anticipate. He’d not abandon me completely. The little boy in him craves a family. I’m not perfect, but I offered stability and unconditional love.”

  “Food and water would bring him out of hiding.”

  “He’d already have those things handled. My theory may sound a little wild. But I’m positive Whitt schemed contrary to the typical twelve-year-old.”

  “Everyone’s aware of his aptitude. The FBI has their intelligence analyzing it.” He ran his hands through his hair. “We’ve got to find him. My mind is preoccupied with a boy dying alone. Keeps me moving. The epidemic is increasing. We now have thirteen hospitalized and four casualties. One pet owner who has a female claims the family’s dog has been missing for the past two days. A man who tested positively doesn’t live in the community where this began. Neither did he attend the subdivision’s carnival. Rather he lives in an apartment complex three miles away and runs in the mornings with his dog.”

  “You have the animal?”

  “Yes. It tested positively, the third dog so far. We’re looking at blood samples in an ongoing effort to develop a series of more effective antibiotics or a serum. Like you, some of those stricken have responded to antibiotics, and others have not. There’s no apparent cure. You and the others whose temperatures have lowered are by no means well. All I have to do is look at your flushed face and red eyes. Praise God, none of the testing has shown humans can transmit it. Although we’re still using precautions at the hospitals.”

  Awareness of the critical situation hit her hard. “No one can give me a guarantee that Whitt will respond to the antibiotics while Xena spreads the disease to the public.”

  “True.” He pressed his lips together. “How long have researchers been working on a serum for canine brucellosis?” When she winced, he continued. “We are conducting resistance-sensitivity studies as well as studying the blood to combat the infection. The more dogs that are quarantined, the less the disease spreads.”

  She touched h
is arm. “What about a press conference? A huge appeal from me. Tell Whitt he’s tested positive and antibiotics can help. That we need Xena, just to test her blood, not hurt her.” Tears pooled her eyes, and she couldn’t stop. “Tell him I love him, and we’ll work this out.”

  “I know you’d do anything for him.”

  “Can we do it?”

  Dexter hesitated. “Let me call Alex. Get his viewpoint and see if the FBI can request media coverage.”

  She swiped beneath her eyes. “I’m determined.”

  “For the sake of your own health?”

  “I love Whitt as though I’d given birth to him.”

  He nodded and pressed in a number, and she listened to the one-sided conversation. “I’m at Stacy’s. She has an idea about how to lure Whitt out of hiding.” Dexter explained the proposed press conference.

  She wished she could hear every word.

  Dexter glanced at her. “I’ll alert her to the possible danger and inform her of protection.”

  She hadn’t thought about the danger of going public with her plea. Whoever was part of the crime or even animal activists had valid reasons to be angry. “I’ve thought this through, and I’m determined.”

  He set the phone on the table. “Alex is going to work on the plan. Said that he wants Whitt to know if the problem is social services, he could live with Alex until things are settled. He’s phoning your attorney with the offer. I know your parents are here, but social services might want to see a somewhat-permanent arrangement.”

  What a dear man, her Alex. “When will we have an answer?”

  “A couple of hours to obtain approval. Then some time for the tech people.”

  She nodded. “I’ll wait for your call.”

  TEN THIRTY THURSDAY MORNING, Alex and Ric walked into Phillips Security armed with a search warrant signed by a local judge. Russell Phillips greeted them at the door, decked out as though he planned to address the nation. Obviously the company’s parking garage cams had caught the agents and alerted him.

  “Morning, gentlemen. We’re working on a sleep deficit, so let’s get down to business. I’m ready to have my name exonerated of this ludicrous accusation.”

  “We have a signed search warrant,” Alex said. “LA special agents will be handling that aspect of the investigation.”

  “I understand.” He pointed toward the elevator. “My executives are in the boardroom, ready to answer questions.”

  The three men stepped inside a marble-floored elevator, trimmed in brass and mirrors. Alex avoided watching numbers on elevators. Instead he took the moment to prepare for what would happen when the doors opened. Phillips no doubt had pulled in his closest confidants long before the agents arrived. They’d strategized what would and wouldn’t be said to the agents from Houston. Their discretion meant nothing to Alex. He wanted the truth.

  The doors opened onto the third floor, simple yet elegantly decorated. Phillips led them down a hallway to a typical boardroom, where six men sat at a rectangular wooden table. Coffee brewed, engaging his senses. Definitely liquid lighter fluid guaranteed to wake him up.

  Each man stood when they entered. All looked to be in their fifties and sixties.

  “Howard, would you begin the introductions?” Phillips said. “He’s been with me the longest, a longtime friend. Knows more about the business than I do.”

  Alex made note.

  An African American man nodded, his dark stare fixed on the agents with a heavy dose of animosity. “Chief Operations Officer Howard Dottia.”

  They went around the table introducing themselves.

  “Byron Keller, vice president of marketing.”

  “Lloyd Summers, vice president of sales.”

  “Karl Wren, vice president of finance.”

  “Matthew Smythe, vice president of human resources.”

  “Walter Alms, vice president of purchasing.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. You may be seated.” Phillips turned to the agents. “Everyone is present except my nephew, Jensen Phillips, who is vice president of research and product development. He had a personal problem at home, so he’s joining via audio bridge.” He pressed in a series of numbers connecting the room’s voice conferencing system. “Jensen, we’re ready.”

  “Good morning,” a male voice said, filled with way too much cheer. “You have my full attention. Russell, thanks for this morning. My little girl is doing much better.”

  “Wonderful. Special Agents LeBlanc and Price will take over as soon as they’re ready. Gentlemen, how do you drink your coffee?”

  “Black,” they said in unison, prompting a laugh from the other men. The tension eased slightly.

  Alex needed the stress level to fall a few notches. “I think we’ve been stereotyped. Is there an empty office for us to use while we’re here?”

  “There is.” Phillips’s cordiality bordered on sarcasm. “We have another smaller boardroom. Do you need to see it first?”

  “As long as the door closes, we’re in fine shape. We want this rectified quickly.”

  Phillips paced the front of the room. “I understand the disease persists in Houston. Do you really believe the culprit is in LA?”

  “All we can say is the investigation led us here.”

  “I guarantee you the answers aren’t at Phillips Security.”

  “For your sake, I hope so too.” Alex smiled at the men. He picked up some hostility, but their CEO was under suspicion for a terrible crime and loyalty was a prized possession. “The questions we have for you will help us find the person or persons who are behind a series of crimes in Houston. Special Agent Price will explain what we’ve found, and I’ll pick up the conversation with specifics.” He eased onto a chair.

  Ric rose and detailed the initial crime, meticulously outlining the series of events leading from the body, the quadcopter, the dog, the water contamination hoax, and on to the dog’s genetically engineered disease. “A man by the name of Lynx Connor was arrested for threatening the deceased’s wife. We learned Connor and Howe were working together. Connor claims Russell Phillips is behind the crimes, motivated by the desire for land in Houston to relocate the company. He also claimed Mr. Phillips ordered the death of Todd Howe.”

  Howard Dottia raised his fist. “That’s insane. Have you checked the company’s assets?” He leaned toward Ric, his bald head shining in the overhead light. “Phillips Security could have bought them out and not made a dent in the cash flow.”

  “We’ve seen the financials,” Ric continued. “And you are scouting out a potential building site. Who is in charge of the project?”

  “I am, along with Jensen,” Dottia said. “We’re searching initially online and haven’t made contact with a commercial real estate company. Once favorable sites are established, none of which is the property mentioned in your case, we’ll present our findings to the board. Subsequent visits to Houston would occur before any finalization or offers are made. Our process for securing a building site and our reputation negate these accusations.”

  “Whoever is behind this must be aware of your relocation plans. How publicized is the new operation?” Ric’s voice held the timbre of one in control. Alex could pick up a few tips when his ragin’ Cajun kicked in. “We’d like the names of anyone you’ve spoken to.”

  “I’ll answer that,” Jensen said. “As soon as Russell gave the green light, we immediately informed all the employees. The board’s desire, like Russell’s, is for everyone to have ample time to decide if they are willing to make the move. Once we have more information, we’ll educate employees with options for a retirement package or how we can assist them financially. Unfortunately, that involves a lot of people to interview.”

  “Thank you.” Ric produced the photos of Todd Howe and Lynx Connor.

  Russell texted the photos to his nephew.

  None of the board recognized the two men.

  “Special Agent LeBlanc and I will now meet with each of you privately. Do not leave the ci
ty until everyone is cleared. We apologize for any inconvenience.” Ric addressed Russell Phillips. “Your nephew needs to come in as soon as possible. I understand his daughter is ill. We can conduct most of his interview via the audio bridge, but a face-to-face is necessary.”

  “I’ll be at the office in the morning,” Jensen said. “I want this settled too.”

  “How long will the interviews take?” Dottia said.

  “Long enough to pose questions and receive acceptable answers.”

  “I have a meeting in an hour.”

  Alex cleared his throat while reaching for diplomacy. Didn’t these men realize the serious nature of these crimes? “Agent Price, we can begin with this gentleman. Sir, give us a moment to set up.”

  Russell Phillips led the way into an adjoining room. After showing them the lights, he left, closing the door behind him. Ric and Alex spent the next few minutes searching for cameras and recording devices. Satisfied none existed, they invited Dottia inside and seated themselves across from him at a rectangular table. They opened with simple questions to ease apprehension before moving toward the critical topics.

  “Mr. Dottia, how long have you been with Phillips Security?”

  “Little over thirty-six years. Russell and I are old friends. Go back to when we were kids.”

  “Then you feel you know him well?”

  “Like a brother, which makes this whole interrogation utterly appalling.”

  “In looking at Mr. Phillips’s file, we see nothing to implicate him in these crimes. However, he was accused.”

  “Liars avoid the truth. It’s who they are.” His eyes narrowed. “I’d like to say I’ve seen Lynx Connor or Todd Howe and end this nonsense. I’m sixty-six and sharp as a tack. My memory surprises me. But, gentlemen, I’ve never met or seen them before.”

  Alex saw no reason to doubt the man. Later he and Ric would compare notes. “I have a couple more pics.” He scrolled to those of Bekah Howe and Stacy. Dottia exhibited the same scrutiny as with the others and denied recognition. Additional probing and body language implied an honest man.