by Emery Hayes
“Yes.” Mrs. Esparza nodded and sniffed loudly. “Enrique worked long hours, but still we found time for togetherness. Until Nueva Vida.”
“His work came between you and your daughter.”
“Yes. I suppose I was jealous. Not so much of Beatrice, but of the time she spent with her father. And I missed him. Terribly.”
“And so you and Beatrice argued.”
“Sometimes so bad she left.”
“Ran away?”
“Twice. Both times she went to Michael King. He pretended to understand her. He wanted her to think that, because Beatrice was giving up so much for him.” Alma Esparza met Nicole’s eyes, hers burning with certainty. “But it was a lie. He would sacrifice my daughter for his.”
“Is that why he killed himself?”
She nodded. “He did not kill himself because he couldn’t save his daughter. He killed himself because he did nothing to save mine. That is what I believe. He used her and cast her aside. You ask me why Beatrice wouldn’t come with me? She loved her father more. Too much to let him down.”
Alma Esparza sobbed.
“Enough to die for him?”
She nodded, shakily. “My husband is grieving. For Beatrice and for the decision to include her in his work.”
“But that won’t bring her back.”
“No.”
“‘Good girls don’t do this,’” Nicole said. “She’d run away again, since coming to Blue Mesa, hadn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted her to come home.”
“And I want Nueva Vida to never have been.”
“Why didn’t you go back for your daughters?” Nicole asked. “You knew the way to King’s. You could have returned and gotten them, after Beatrice’s frantic phone call. You could have called us for help.”
But Alma was shaking her head. “I should have, but Enrique wouldn’t allow it. For years he’d been working towards that moment. A few more hours was all he wanted. And the girls were safe. I’d seen so myself.” She tipped her head back and looked Nicole in the eye. “Enrique assured me everything was fine. Better than fine. And I wanted to believe him.”
Nicole held her gaze. She thought about how love and loyalty could be blinding. And about greed. Alma Esparza was as driven as her husband to bury her past.
“You’re coming to the station tomorrow,” she said. “The child psychologist, she’s good. Gentle. Sofia and Isla will be safe in her hands.”
“They knew nothing about Beatrice dying until we told them,” Alma Esparza said. “They will be of little help to you.”
“All the same,” Nicole said. “We’ll keep it brief.”
31
Stepping into the resort, Nicole didn’t cast a glance backward. She knew what she would find. Joaquin had approached them when Nicole stood, but she had wanted the young man to follow. She wanted him outside his mother’s influence when she spoke to him. Inside, the air was dry and parched her throat. It stung her cheeks, and she pulled at the toggles on her parka until they were all open. She shrugged out of it and pocketed her skullcap.
Daisy had returned to her position behind the reception desk, and Lars stood with his smartphone in hand, sliding a finger along its screen as he scrolled and read. He felt her approach and looked up.
“What did Daisy have to say?”
“Dr. Esparza bought a stamp from her. He put it on an envelope with a Boston address and handed that to her to put in the mail. She wanted to know if I wanted it.”
“A can of worms,” Nicole said. Tampering with the mail was a federal offense, even for them.
Lars nodded. “She said the envelope was empty except for a small, hard piece of something. She suggested a photo card. She gets them a lot from her kids—pictures of the grandchildren. Daisy likes to scrapbook.”
“You think Esparza took pictures?” No doubt he chronicled every step, every obstacle and triumph of his research, even though he denied it. Had Esparza scanned the pages of his lab notes? And if so, what was he doing with it? With Beatrice and King dead, he had to feel his own downward spiral. Had that led him to finally share what he’d been keeping in his iron fist?
“Of his greatest achievement? Yeah. Like you said, Esparza was full of shit. He wrote it down. All of it. That’s what scientists do. They keep a record.”
“Why is he sending it to Boston?”
“I looked it up. The address matches Lynwood Laboratories. It’s a small start-up. They have a corner of the market in the manufacture of mitral clips. Microscopic clips used in cath lab procedures. Specifically the placement of cardiac stents. Reviews are favorable. The CEO announced a few days ago that the company was working on a synthetic valve that showed remarkable success in early trials.”
“A fit for Esparza’s super cell?” she posed.
“You think he’s still shopping?” Lars asked.
“I think he’s giving it away.”
“The final act of a desperate man?”
“Something like that.”
He nodded. “Your company has arrived.”
Nicole turned. Joaquin was walking toward them, his skin flushed from the cold, the angles of his face sharp and determined.
“Thank you for coming,” Nicole said. He frowned.
“You knew I would follow,” he said.
“I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“Why?”
“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Joaquin? March fifteenth.”
“That’s right.”
“Not even three months,” she continued, “and you’ll be an adult.”
“I am an adult,” he said. “A date on a calendar doesn’t decide that.” His chin lifted a notch, and he spared Lars a look before he returned to Nicole. “What did my mother tell you?”
“What I already knew,” Nicole said.
“Which is?”
She ignored the question and addressed instead the tension she found in his features.
“What are you worried about, Joaquin?”
He shifted and looked out the window. His mother continued to sit, her back up, and the girls pushed stones for eyes into the head of the snowman. “They’re turning against each other,” he said. “My parents. I’ve never seen that before. My mother has always been about supporting my dad. Loyalty was first.”
“Her daughter is dead, and maybe your father had something to do with that.”
“My father didn’t kill her.”
“No, but his weaknesses did.”
“And you’re going to prove that?”
“That’s already done.”
The declaration startled him. “How?”
“Greed. Approval. Those are two heavy forces behind some of the decisions we make. We call it motive. Your father was motivated by less-than-stellar qualities to peddle his discovery. Beatrice was motivated by approval—everyone who knew her agreed she was a people pleaser—but also by a very altruistic desire to help others. I respect that. I admire that quality.”
“Because it’s what you do?” he asked. “You help people, and you risk your life to do it.”
The comparison surprised her, but Joaquin was right. “And maybe that’s why I like your sister so much. That’s a part of my job too, you know. I get to know the victim.”
He considered her words and nodded slightly, his attention drifting again toward the windows and his family outside.
“Your father placed an envelope in the mail this afternoon.” She could tell from the placid set of his face that this news was no surprise to him. “There was a media card inside it.”
“He’s given up,” Joaquin said. “This afternoon he took steps to ensure our safety.”
“The media card is a digital copy of your father’s work?”
“It’s Nueva Vida,” Joaquin confirmed. “It stopped being about money and position and how he would be remembered. It’s about Beatrice now.”
“So he gave it away?”
“As my sister want
ed.”
“How does that ensure your safety?”
“The Big Pharm companies, they won’t stop until they have the super cell. They call, they threaten. Together they would sit on the discovery, letting small pieces of it surface—measured increments that won’t destroy their companies. With Nueva Vida in the hands of Big Pharm, more people will die and fewer will be helped.”
“But Lynwood is a pharm company,” Nicole said. “How can your father be sure they’ll release it to the public?”
“He isn’t sure. He sent one piece to Lynwood. Another to Axis Labs. Earlier, he gave an interview to the New York Times.” He paused to consider his words. “And a final copy of his work is to go to the police. Not a complete copy, because no one person, other than my father, will ever hold that. But all together, the super cell will emerge, and it will be handled appropriately.”
Nicole’s breath turned thin and wispy as the enormity of Esparza’s plan hit her. “Smart,” she said. The newspaper would make sure the super cell was made public, the police would hold their copy as a reference point, and the pharm companies would eagerly receive the gift of a benefactor. Nueva Vida would make Lynwood and Axis the most powerful pharm companies in the marketplace, and Esparza had done it overnight.
“And strong,” Joaquin agreed. “I wanted you to know that. He’s strong too. In the end he did the right thing.”
“But it’s not the end,” Nicole said. It was a new beginning. One with hope, promise, and new life.
“My father thinks it is.”
And there it was again, a finality in Joaquin’s voice. Acceptance. Resignation. The emotion that rode the tide after a battle was won but the human sacrifice had been too great. It put her senses on alert.
“Where is he, Joaquin?”
“He left the hotel.”
“To go where?” she pressed. Montgomery had walked into a lake. Esparza had told her that. After he had mailed his work to a former student. Beatrice had died on the icy surface of Lake Maria. A knight’s sword, after his death, was always thrown into a lake.
“He’s walking. To remain still is to stand in the cross hairs, he said, and I think he’s right.” And the young man’s voice wavered slightly until he brought his chin up and tipped his head back with resolve. “The next few hours are crucial.”
He dug into his front pocket and drew out a small media card. No protective envelope. Not even a plastic baggie as a precaution. Black, a metal clip, a blue-and-white label. It was common, but what it contained would ripple across the surface of the earth and touch lives in every country, on every continent.
“He thinks you’re trustworthy,” Joaquin told her. He handed her the media chip. “We will find out.”
He took a step back and began to pull on his gloves. He’d had a job to do, a role to play, and he was finished.
“The New York Times received an abridged version of his work. An emailed copy was good enough for them. That and the phone interview. But you—” He nodded at Nicole. “You need the hard evidence. That’s how he said it. You need the proof in hand. And Lynwood and Axis need hard copies because they will replicate it, spread out the pieces among their scientists. My father knew all this.”
And was methodically carrying out the dissolution of his life’s dream.
“It’s not the end,” Nicole said again. “Your father will find life through his actions. Life freely given.” As his daughter had wanted it.
Joaquin scoffed. “They will not let him live. He’s the only living link to Nueva Vida. What he has stored in his heart and his head, there is no equivalent. The information on the microchip, it has no human connection once they kill my father.”
And that made sense to Nicole. Big Pharm was Big Business. They would wipe out every possibility of success. A success that would destroy them. Esparza was the epicenter of it.
“It doesn’t have to go down this way,” Lars said. “Your father can have protection—”
“He didn’t protect Bea. Not as he should have. He won’t accept protection for himself.”
“Let us help him, Joaquin,” Nicole said.
“He has one wish left. To live for Bea now. To see her dream realized.”
“Joaquin, before it’s too late—” Nicole tried again, but Joaquin wasn’t listening.
“He hates irony. My father. He will not give life and he himself lose it. To live under lock and key. To wear a Kevlar vest. He will not even tolerate a secret handshake.”
“Your father took you into his confidence,” Nicole said. “He told you about Nueva Vida.”
“I know what it does but not how. He would not tell me that. I am the last of our name,” he explained. “I must stay alive.”
“Then you know that any inconvenience would be temporary. Once your father gave all he knew, there would be no reason to kill him.”
“Nueva Vida isn’t one cure. One save.” Joaquin repeated words he must have received from his father. “It is the foundation of cure. It will change the world. There is no one better able to work that. But it will take his life.”
“Then it’s a lose-lose situation,” Lars said. “If he dies, there is no one to steer the ship.”
“Others must pick up where he ends,” Joaquin said. “My father can’t be persuaded otherwise.”
32
Benjamin hung up the phone and turned to Charlene. Her eyes were sharp, focused on Benjamin. He didn’t like the scrutiny. He didn’t like Geneva Sanders, who had drilled him just now on the phone, and he didn’t like that Charlene had watched and now felt pity for him.
“Do you want me to kill her?” she asked. “I think I should.”
“I can do that myself.” And he would enjoy doing it too, if it wouldn’t fuck up his life as he knew it. Sanders was a bitch. No matter what was going down, nothing ever went right for her. It was hell, working for a boss like that.
Charlene had thought leaving the girl’s body out on the lake was the thing to do. It saved time. King’s round table was due to end at eleven and she’d needed to be back inside the house, tucked into her borrowed bed before Benjamin went looking for her. She’d needed to be present to say good-bye to their host. Benjamin wondered what exactly had happened when she chased the girl out of the house. Charlene had told him she had shown the gun to Beatrice Esparza, and she had promised to count to three before she fired.
Charlene liked a challenge, but she hadn’t expected the girl to move so fast, to run a winding path that eluded her bullets.
That had been a mistake.
A bullet was clean. It was fast. It was aim, fire, and return to business as usual. Maybe Benjamin could trace all of his current problems back to Charlene’s decision to go rogue.
Including Sanders current request—bring Esparza in alive and be ready to roll. It would be a quick drop-off. Sanders would have a car ready. They were getting out of Blue Mesa in minutes, not the hours Benjamin needed.
He didn’t like being rushed. But Sanders was his open door. She was a damn skyway to the top.
It had taken Benjamin years to get in on the medical trade. He’d started peddling cocaine to med students and then to their mentors. From there, he’d taken the position of middleman, directing the supply and demand of Vicodin and oxycodone from doctors who’d learned to tap into their reservoir of prescription drugs undetected and delivering to some unlikely customers worldwide. Benjamin had gone global, and he’d become a millionaire doing it. He’d polished his look along the way. He’d cultured his voice. Now he looked the part. Benjamin had found his niche. The clientele were people he liked keeping company with. The money was hand-over-fist better than any other he’d ever made. He liked the cut of his suits, his Louis Vuitton shoes, the conversations that waned from vacation hot spots to chemical compounds.
He had no intention of losing any of it.
“You fucked up with the girl,” he said.
“I chased her,” Charlene said.
“And lost her, didn’t you?”
>
“Yes. I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. You’re always right.”
Too little, too late.
A woman like Charlene was hard to find. She needed the strength of a man and a little boy to spoil. When the target wasn’t moving, she was an excellent marksman. When the task called for it, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. It wasn’t like he could run an ad for her replacement, and he already anticipated some long hours when he would crave her company.
He stopped in front of her, used his knee to spread her legs, and stood inside that sweet space.
“You were perfect, you know that, honey?”
“Perfect?” Her voice was thin, wobbled only slightly. “That’s good, right? Not many people can stake that claim.”
He reached between them and withdrew the pistol she kept strapped to her thigh. It had surprised him the first time he held it, that it was so light. He’d doubted a bullet from this toy gun could do any damage, but Charlene had proved him wrong. Up close, the bullet penetrated the skull without hesitation. Inside it bounced around, tearing through gray matter. And when he held the blunt nose to her temple, he remembered that so small a caliber meant there would be very little spray.
Her eyes became fluid; her smile trembled. She whispered the word “Perfect,” and then he pulled the trigger. Her head flopped into the palm of his hand. Blood and tissue and bone fragments hit the sheet behind her. Breath flared in her nostrils and skittered across his skin. Once. Twice. A third, final, stuttered breath, and then he wrapped her head in the bedsheet and eased her to the floor, where blood seeped into carpet the color of midnight.
33
Darkness was complete by the time Nicole and Lars returned to the station. Streetlights illuminated small patches of sidewalk, and colored Christmas lights twinkled in store fronts. It was too cold to snow. The temperature on the dash said eleven degrees. They pulled into the parking lot, and Nicole scanned the cars and SUVs, looking for Benjamin even though his return wasn’t likely. Benjamin had an MO. He laid low and licked his wounds while he cataloged every offense and created scenarios where he exacted payment in kind. He planned, although execution took effort, which meant it was often weeks after he made a decision that he followed through.