by Ritu Sethi
“Someone died because of HealSo?” He buried his head in his hands.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t confront Holly. The trouble with knowledge was, you then had to figure out what to do with it. But fortunately, Holly had left the office earlier without a word.
His computer beeped, and he pounded on the keys hard enough to make Gabi jump.
“There’s another email from that reporter I told you about,” he said. “The one who recognized Holly.”
They read it together. It said the reporter had discovered something controversial about HealSo’s CEO, and that Simon had one chance to tell his side of the story before it all went online.
Simon pushed his chair back. “What the hell is she talking about? If I had dirt on Holly, you think I wouldn’t use it?” He looked accusingly at Gabi. “Do you know what she’s talking about, Mom?”
“No, no. How could I?” What could this reporter know about Holly? Another cover-up? How many goddamned secrets did HealSo have anyway?
Simon burst out of the room towards Holly’s office and returned a minute later saying she’d already left. Gabi didn’t know what to say, or what to tell him.
The delay in responding to the reporter cost them any chance they had of tempering her exposé regarding Holly.
At four pm Eastern Time, the story hit the technology industry. Gabi and Simon read the headline together:
“CEO OF TECH STARTUP, HealSo – IS ALLEGED EMBEZZLER, ROBERT BLACK, USING NEW IDENTITY”
Simon read the article out loud and slumped into his seat. Gabi’s mouth hung open, and she couldn’t believe her eyes. The citations were all there, the testimonials, the proof.
“This reporter has discovered from several sources that Holly Bradley, the Chief Executive Officer at HealSo – a Montréal based technology startup – is really Robert Black, indicted for two counts of fraud six years ago. He was accused of embezzling twelve million dollars from his then West Coast based company, Levguard, and because he vanished, he was never acquitted of these charges. In the intervening years, Mr. Black underwent gender reassignment surgery and lives under a new name, Holly Bradley. The outstanding fraud charges against Ms. Bradley make any upcoming acquisition of her startup unlikely. Simon Everett, the company’s founder, refused to comment....”
Gabi felt nauseous. The pounding in her head wouldn’t stop. She’d done it all for nothing. Juva wouldn’t acquire them now, not with an outstanding charge of embezzlement and evidence of a death under PAS.
Simon leaned his head in his hands. “I remember this reporter looking at Holly funny the other day. She asked if they’d met before, but Holly denied it. Mom! I hired a CEO who stole twelve million from her last company...and –”
Simon suddenly froze, his eyes distant, vacant. He went white as a sheet. Gabi flew to his side. “It’s fine, darling. Everything will be okay.” Her vulnerable little boy. Always a mess when things got rough.
“I...I.” Now, he was whimpering. A grown man, whimpering. Still, she put her arms around him.
“You don’t understand, Mom. I—I can’t tell you.” He brought his fist into his mouth and bit down hard.
“Simon!” Gabi grabbed his hand and smoothed out the tooth marks. “What’s come over you?”
“Nothing,” he said, straightening. “It’s private. Very private.” He shot out the door without looking back and then left the office.
***
Gray sat inside Café Doigt at a window table and watched the people drift in and out while he sipped his aromatic latte. Hammering and drilling sounded from a few feet outside. In a sudden shift of weather typical of Montreal, the temperature had soared upwards by fifteen degrees.
The second warm weather arrived, everyone wanted to be outside – every second of tolerable weather in the city as precious as gold.
In the tradition of all Montreal establishments, Café Doigt was embracing spring. He watched the three workmen assemble an elaborate outdoor wooden patio, positioned directly in front of the café on the road. Most bistros and eateries in Montreal did the same. This particular wooden seating area contained room for a dozen tables, flower pots bordering all sides, and several abstract sculptures which resembled entwined bodies. Two other men unloaded large light fixtures and heating elements which would permanently reside outdoors for the next few months.
Kate was going all out, but she must compete with two similar patios being constructed just down the block. His wait was over when she finally entered the café, and he took a deep breath. He planned to get more out of this interrogation than his last with Kate.
Not noticing him, she headed through the open kitchen doors to the left, donned a pink apron and pulled out baking trays from the oven.
He could observe her working from this angle, and the warm scent of chocolate chip muffins and scones drifted towards him across the café. Unexpectedly, she downed a muffin in three large bites and followed it with large swigs from a milk jug. White streaks ran down her mouth and were wiped away gruffly by the back of her hand.
When she turned and saw him, her eyes hooded over; her features went blank. She threw off the apron and marched to his table, today smelling of flour, cinnamon, and something more primal. Not a speck of makeup marred her freshly scrubbed face.
“Why are you here? You think I killed Jimmy?” Her brittle voice rose enough to make several customers turn. The hammering outside seemed to match the throbbing vein in her temple. “His mom does. She called and yelled at me. I didn’t have anything to do with Jimmy’s death.”
Instead of asking her to sit, he rose. Gray took off the metaphorical gloves. “You could have poisoned him. The special order came from this café, and I’m sure your prints are on it.”
“Of course, they are. I sold him the coffee. Jimmy got a special order of cardamom-hazelnut flavored coffee no one else drank. When it came in, I gave it to him.”
“You could have tampered with it, leaving Jimmy to die alone at home without a soul around to help. Leaving him to bleed.”
“I didn’t.”
“Did you kill Norman as well? Strip off his face and hang him from that tree?”
“Shut up. Shut up.” She put her palms to her ears. The cool woman of a few days ago had disintegrated, but he mustn't let up.
“Jimmy vomited out blood. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Did he have any medical problems? Did he eat anything from here?”
A split second of hesitation as she looked up. “No.”
“Who would want to harm him?”
“How do I know? I’m not his mother. I was just screwing him, all right?”
Gray had enough experience to recognize true grief when he saw it. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they weren’t the tears of a lover. Customers walked past and stared before leaving the café.
She turned and hurried back to the counter. He followed, just as his cell rang.
Vivienne spoke quickly on the other end while he watched Kate wipe down the granite counter. She missed most of the stains. Mumbling a reply, he ended the call.
“We’ve had a complaint,” he said. “You burst into Simon’s office a little while ago, accusing him of killing Jimmy, and you threatened him.”
“So the little weasel complained?”
“Yes, the ‘little weasel’ as you call him, complained. He wishes to file formal charges.”
“For what? I didn’t hit him. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Jimmy’s mom took it out on me, so I took it out on Simon. The idiot probably had nothing to do with the poisoning, but it’s hard to be rational about your lover’s murder.”
But why accuse Simon in the first place, Gray thought? Of all the personnel at HealSo, why focus on the least intelligent, the most clueless? Simon’s mother would have seemed a better candidate for Kate’s rage. Unless Kate knew something Gray didn’t, or else Jimmy had told her about the startup’s tainted past, perhaps even about the faulty code.
“Why did you accuse a
nyone of murder?” Gray asked. “How do you know Jimmy didn’t die of a bleeding ulcer?”
“He didn’t bleed out from an ulcer.”
Gray stilled. He opened his mouth and closed it.
A movement across the road caught his eye. Holly stood next to her car in front of HealSo’s office building. She stared at her phone, and then looked fervently around. Seconds later, she practically jumped into her car and whizzed away. The tires shrieked from across the road. Something had happened. And she was running.
That likely meant one thing. Her former identity had come to light, and with it, her other secret since the two were inextricably linked.
“What are you looking at?” Kate said, turning to look out the window. She must have caught sight of Holly as well.
He mustn't lose his focus. Facing Kate, he said, “Where were you all of last night?”
She looked up, her expression now inscrutable. “Here, ‘til five. After that, I went home. So, I have no alibi. What about you? Were you on your own, like me? If so, that’s a shame.” She motioned for another employee to take her place and headed to the kitchen.
Maybe she knew she didn’t need an alibi. Anyone could have laced the coffee after it arrived at her café and before Jimmy drank it. The murder weapon had sat under her nose, at her easy disposal. Either Kate had killed Jimmy in a very sloppy way, or someone was trying to frame her. Or there was a third explanation.
His stomach growled. His eyes automatically fell to the delicacies in the display case, and the Peruvian beef sandwiches looked fresh. He narrowed his eyes, bought two, and left the café.
CHAPTER 21
April 4, 10:30 am
GRAY TOOK THE STAIRS to the basement after leaving Étienne’s room. Every slam of his boot against the metal steps echoed his frustration through the hollow bowels of the stairwell. His hands fell to his sides, clenched into fists.
Why the hell couldn’t the killer leave the boy alone – or was it killers? Gray didn’t damn well know anymore, but if he couldn’t get the boy out of the Institute, out of this hospital soon, who knew what awful thing might happen?
The stairwell steps reeked of strong antiseptic. Étienne’s proud words rang in his ears – telling Gray how he’d single-handedly taken on the assailant and driven him away. He’d yelled and bitten the intruder’s hand, causing the man to flee out of the room.
And it had been a man. The masked intruder had wanted information, information he should logically already possess. So why risk entering the hospital at night, performing what must surely be an act of sheer desperation?
Gray’s feet pounded down another flight, and then, another. A sheen of sweat coated his back. He saw only two possibilities. The first involved only one masked intruder who feared the child would remember and reveal something he’d seen – something Gray hadn’t yet uncovered. If so, why not just kill the witness? Why risk an interrogation?
The second possibility was more complicated and involved two assailants – with the second one wanting information about the first.
And he had two men dead by two separate modus operandi. What did it mean?
He reached the basement level, where Doug had spent many hours examining Norman’s hospital charts after finally getting Judge Rodeau’s permission.
Their assigned room lay somewhere in the morbid bowels of an older hospital wing left undemolished. Administration obviously didn’t want the SPVM to get too comfortable and settle in.
He opened the fire door and left the stairwell, immediately wishing for the antiseptic instead of this incumbent musty odour. Dust irritated his nose, and he felt an urge to duck the low, domed ceilings while walking the poorly lit and narrow halls.
After two wrong turns, a plaque marked B13 hung on his right, and inside the open door, Doug punched away at a computer. He looked up when Gray sneezed, giving a brisk nod.
The cubby hole of a room contained two computers, two old chairs, and an overhead light missing its shade – all completing the atmosphere of institutionalized gloom. The detective’s gunmetal eyes followed him inside the room, thin lips pressed into a hard line.
“I see you’re all ready for me,” Gray said. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. Doug’s jacket hung behind his chair, and even from here, the bulge of the revolver was visible. Keeping one ear alert to any noises from the hall, he entered and lowered himself onto the chair opposite his detective, moving slowly in a mute showdown. He may need this man on the team, but he wouldn’t let his guard down, even for a second.
The other detective clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Yup. Want me to start, Chief?”
Gray nodded solemnly.
“First of all, let me tell you that security on these hospital records suck. Anyone with a password to enter the system and some IT knowledge could hack into it and change patient information – like their birth date, sex, even medical condition. Goes to show you, the government shouldn’t be running healthcare.”
“Noted,” Gray said. “What else?”
“I’ve looked into the complaints filed against Norman with the medical board – both families say Norman put their kid into an experimental trial without permission. He forged the documentation.”
“How did the parents find out about it?”
“The trial coordinators called them after their children died. Norman had shares in biotechnology companies in phase three trials, meaning he shouldn’t have taken part in the testing in the first place. Conflict of interest, they call it. It gave him a peek at the drug’s performance.”
“An unethical peek.” Gray leaned back in the creaky chair and crossed his arms. He hated a room without windows, especially a tiny one like this shared with a man he couldn’t trust. Dust dried his throat, and he swallowed. “Norman would have to make certain his patients got the drug and not the placebo.”
“I don’t know how he managed that. Both those kids died, anyway.”
“From the medication?”
“No. From their underlying diseases.”
Gray rose and paced the small space. His heart raced, the regular pounding a sign that he was on the precipice of discovery. It was imperative to stay focused on the right clues and not get distracted by the others – such as this research angle, perhaps?
He spoke softly, despite his growing excitement. “What about PAS?”
Doug turned to the computer and punched the keys. “Forty-five deaths over the past year. Nine were directly under Norman, but he supervised the other cases. It’s gonna be tough to tell who died specifically because of PAS, and which ones we should focus on.”
“We need to pare down the list.” Something about the original scene of the crime nagged Gray, and he itched to put his finger on it. It hovered just out of reach, a single loose thread, elusive, unreachable – yet related to the original crime scene, the park, and its slides, swings, and frigid eastward current.
“What did the adult patients die of?” Gray asked.
“Two were post-op. One had...” Doug scanned his notes, “...pneumococcal pneumonia.”
“And the other?”
“An eighty-year-old woman, Joan Beaumont, who got a bypass and contracted septicemia; that’s a blood infection. She had a DNR, meaning do not resuscitate – so they didn’t. Apparently, the family didn’t know Norman put the DNR order into her chart.”
“Must have made them angry,” Gray said. “Although, I can’t see taking off a man’s face over it. Anyone else?”
“Only the father of that kid who died. I looked into it like you said. He was a doctor and an athlete. Caught the infection from a patient and gave it to his son.”
“Dying for the job. What else does his chart say?”
“Hesh-mato-losis. It hits the lymphatic system, and both father and son got it.”
“Look into it in more detail. Get Vivienne’s help if you need to.”
Doug stiffened, his thug-like features grim. “I can manage. I won’t need any he
lp.”
They reviewed the rest of the adult charts before discussing the children who had received PAS.
Gray said, “I remember a girl named Susan George.”
“Yeah.” The junior detective clicked onto her chart. “Her parents refused to immunize her. When she caught measles, it gave her encephalitis – a brain infection – but the customized antibiotic couldn’t reverse all the brain damage. They had to turn off the life support. Parents got away Scot-free, too, since so many nutters don’t immunize their kids.”
They reviewed the remainder of the forty-five charts, but nothing set off intellectual fireworks. A ton of medical detail stared back at them, making it impossible to tell if a faulty antibiotic had killed anyone.
But Gray knew it had.
The room began to get to him – the hundred-year-old plaster, linoleum flooring, claustrophobic air – all made him want to bolt up the basement stairs and out the front entrance of the hospital.
Another part of his mind raced and stayed focused on the obvious hurdle. That they couldn’t blindly trust details documented in the electronic charts which tech-savvy individuals could hack. That hospitals possessed the most outdated informational security protocols out there.
Breathing in and out only made the air feel thicker, harder to get in. He ran a hand through his hair. The other man’s eyes were on him, intense and brooding.
Gray pushed the chair back with a screech, startling his detective. “We need a computational biologist to go over everything that went into making the customized antibiotic for each of these deaths and find the flawed one. Simon has the qualifications, but obviously, we can’t rely on his unbiased co-operation. Better get someone from the department.”
“The Director’s gonna flip over the cost. Forty-five deaths.”
“We have to narrow them down somehow.”
Again, Gray pictured Norman’s body swinging from the branch – the theatrical setting, underscoring some need of the murderer. He let it go, trusting it would eventually come to him. It always did.