“Thank you, Stephanie. If I asked you for a list of all the people recommended that got hired by Ardmore and the other companies that do the same thing, could you get it for me?”
“I’m afraid not. Once Gerald or I would recommend someone, then it’s up to the individual companies to decide one way or the other. They don’t even necessarily communicate their decision to us, at least not formally. They might do it in a phone call, but I wouldn’t have a record of that.”
“Okay, I understand. Thanks, Stephanie; I appreciate the help.”
“Anything I can do. Just call.”
I get off the phone and tell Andy and Laurie what I’ve learned, that Jana Mitchell was recommended by Gerald Kline. “That means it has to be connected to the business,” I say. “Something is going on in that world, some secret, that has gotten three people killed.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Laurie says. “And I’m not saying we shouldn’t pursue it; of course we should. But it’s a conclusion we cannot take as fact. Yes, the three people were connected to that industry, but that is also how they met. Kline and Lisa were in a relationship; Jana and Lisa were friends. They could have been involved in something outside of their business world, something that they couldn’t handle. Let’s not forget Lisa’s Rico email to Doris Landry; that is the one piece of tangible evidence we have.”
“They were killed because of something they knew,” Andy says. “That much seems clear. It’s more likely than not that the secret is related to business, but I agree with Laurie that it isn’t necessarily the case. The drug angle also remains a definite possibility.”
Laurie frowns. “The problem is that the business end of it is basically impenetrable, at least to us. We have no idea what we’re looking for, and no way to look. Sam could probably get into their systems, but the data would be enormous, and he’d be feeling around in the dark.”
“I may have a way in,” I say. “He could be our answer, even though he wears pajamas with feet.”
THE digital clock on my night table says 2:31 A.M.
Simon is up and alert, emitting a low growl that tells me that he has detected something. Simon is not subtle when it comes to situations like this.
Waking up fully at this point is easy and instinctive for me; I’ve learned that when Simon is alert, I had damn well better be alert as well.
I get out of bed quickly and shake Dani awake, motioning for her to be quiet. “What?” is all she can muster; she doesn’t understand Simon like I do.
“I believe there is someone in the house,” I whisper. “Take the phone, go into the closet, and call nine-one-one. Talk softly, but tell them there is an intruder in the house … with a gun.”
“There is?”
“Trust me; whoever is in this house didn’t bring a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift.”
“I want to help.”
“You can help by calling the police. Now, Dani. There’s no time.”
“Be careful.”
“Not to worry. We’ve got this.”
She quickly gets up, grabs the phone, and goes into the closet, closing the door behind her. I’ve already taken my gun out of the night table drawer. Later I will stop and think about why I am approaching this moment with an anticipation that borders on relish, but this isn’t the time.
I’m not going to leave the bedroom; I’m going to let the son of a bitch come to me. I put some pillows under the covers so it appears a person is there. It’s a trick they do in the movies and on television; I just hope it works as well in real life. Even if it doesn’t, Simon and I will take care of things.
We have the home field advantage.
Simon gets even more tense, so I know the enemy is approaching. “Stay,” I whisper, so that he is about five feet to the right of the door. I am a little farther away on the left side. He obeys, as he has every time for the past eight years.
We’re ready and waiting.
We don’t have long to wait. I see his gun before I see him. He calmly and deliberately fires three bullets into the bed where Dani and I had been sleeping; there is no deafening sound because his gun has a silencer. He then steps into the bedroom to admire his handiwork.
Big mistake.
“I think you missed, asshole. Freeze and drop the gun.”
He doesn’t drop it, so I say, “Take him, Simon.”
The intruder had been looking at me, so he is stunned when Simon leaps through the air and comes down with his teeth on the hand holding the gun. The guy screams in pain as the gun hits the floor.
“Off, Simon,” I say, and he lets go of the arm. He takes a position three feet from the guy, still in pouncing position. He’s having a great time; we both are.
“You just made a big mistake,” the intruder says.
I’ve got to admire his guts; he seems completely unafraid. I’m holding a gun on him, and Simon is eyeing him like he’s a Milk-Bone. “I made a mistake? You just pumped three bullets into a pillow. Now who sent you here?”
“Kiss my ass.”
Suddenly, with a swift, almost imperceptible movement, a gun appears in his hand. It’s small, almost pocket-size; it could have come out of a box of Cracker Jack, but it was probably hidden in his sleeve.
Simon sees it as I do, and he growls and starts to go for it. The intruder instinctively turns the gun toward Simon, so I shoot the man in the head. Despite that his actions had shown a lack of brains, I know he had one because it is now splattered back against the wall.
No one threatens Simon with a gun and gets away with it.
No one.
I go to the closet door and open it. “They’re on the way,” Dani says. “Is it over?”
“Yes, you can come out. But it’s not a pretty scene. You might want to go downstairs.”
She comes out and, instead of taking my advice, looks straight at the gunman. “Oh, my God.”
“Please call Andy and tell him to come over right away. Laurie won’t be able to come as well because of Ricky, so tell them it’s important that Andy is the one to come.”
“Okay.”
“When the police arrive, send them up.”
“You okay, Corey?” She’s obviously concerned. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“I’m fine … never better. Just make sure Andy comes over right away.”
THE police arrive three minutes after Dani goes downstairs.
I can hear her talking to them, though I can’t make out what they are saying. They will not fully believe her, taking no chance that she is not the intruder herself. It’s standard procedure; trust no one until all the players are fully identified.
I can hear them coming up the stairs. I quickly reach into the shooter’s pocket and take his phone out, then put it into my own pocket. When the cops reach the room, I hold my hands up in the air. “I’m Corey Douglas and this is my house. I killed an intruder in self-defense. My gun is on the bed; his is still on the floor.”
“I know who you are, Corey; you are having one shitty month.”
I am much relieved to see that the cop just entering and doing the talking is Juan Ramirez, known to his fellow cops and friends as Johnny. Johnny and I go back a ways; he was one of my closer friends on the force.
“Johnny, you have no idea.”
He looks at the guy on the floor. “One shot?”
“That’s all it takes. But he fired three shots into the bed. I happened not to be in it at the time.”
Johnny turns to Simon and smiles. “Simon, you witnessed the whole thing?” Johnny used to bring biscuits to work and slip them to Simon when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“Simon was an active participant. Just like the old days.”
“Robbery-Homicide will be here in a few,” Johnny says. “You know the drill better than me.”
“Can I go downstairs with Dani?”
“Sure.”
So I go downstairs. Dani is sitting on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. She’s got to be shak
en up, but she’s trying not to show it. This is not the kind of stuff she’s used to.
“You okay?”
She nods. “A little shaky, but basically okay. Why was he here, other than to kill you?”
“I don’t know yet; I don’t even know who he is.”
The door opens and Pete Stanton comes in with one of his lieutenants. It’s another break for me; as the captain in charge of Homicide, he wouldn’t as a rule take a late-night call. My guess is that he was told it was my house, so he made an exception. If that’s the case, I appreciate it.
“Everybody having fun?” he asks.
“Barrel of laughs,” I say.
Just then Andy walks in; it’s getting crowded in here.
Pete sees him. “Well, look who’s here.”
“Did you botch the investigation yet?” Andy asks.
Pete goes upstairs to survey the scene. The coroner and forensic people arrive, so when Pete finally comes downstairs, he, Andy, and I go into the kitchen. Pete interviews me and I tell him exactly what happened. I say that Dani will confirm it all. She’ll be questioned after me, either by Pete or one of his people.
Pete tells me that I’ll have to sign a statement attesting to everything I told him. Andy is silent throughout, meaning he finds nothing objectionable in Pete’s questioning.
When that questioning is over, Andy asks Pete, “Did you identify the shooter?”
“According to his ID, his name is Carlos Evaldi. One of my people upstairs is familiar with him. He’s a pro; a private contractor who works on his own for big money. Good that you were able to handle him, Corey.”
“Simon made it happen. He’s still the best cop I’ve ever been around.”
It’s another hour and a half before the house empties out. Andy is the last to leave, telling me that we’ll talk in the morning. He looks at his watch. “Actually, it is morning.”
“How is this going to play legally?”
He smiles. “It could definitely work in our favor.”
“Maybe this will help as well.” I take a phone out of my pocket and hand it to Andy. “It’s the shooter’s. Sam might be able to do something with it.”
“You took it off him?” Andy asks, obviously surprised that I would do something like that, since it could be filed under E, for “evidence tampering.”
“I did.”
He smiles. “You might be my favorite client.”
Andy leaves and it’s just Dani, Simon, and me. “I’m going to make some coffee,” she says. “No way I can go back to sleep.”
“I can’t either,” I say, although the truth is that I could easily fall asleep. I am feeling completely calm.
Later we’re sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. I’ve given Simon a chewie as a reward for his work tonight. Considering the quality of that work, he is way underpaid.
“I’m sorry about this, Dani. You shouldn’t have to deal with crap like this.”
“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?”
“You mean has someone broken into my house and tried to kill me? Or have I ever sent a woman into a closet to call nine-one-one? No, both those things are a first for me.”
She studies my face. “You enjoyed it. On some level it invigorated you; it’s like you clicked into gear.”
I think about that for a few moments. “I’m afraid you’re right. In situations like that, some instinct kicks in. It’s who I was, and maybe it’s who I still am. Actually, you can remove the maybe from that sentence; it’s definitely who I still am.”
“It was strange to see you in that moment. You weren’t nervous at all; I was in a panic.”
“It’s all a question of what you’re used to. I’d freak out if the caterer forgot the pot stickers.”
She smiles. “I don’t think you would.”
“Me and Simon, we’re both trained for this; we react in the moment. It helped us survive a lot of close calls over the years. I just wish you didn’t have to go through it.”
“You’re a cop. You’ll always be a cop.” She doesn’t make it sound judgmental; it’s more just a statement of fact.
“I guess I am. Is that okay for you?”
“Everything about you is okay for me.”
THERE is more publicity about last night’s events than there was for the Kline killing.
I suspect Andy is behind that, and he gave an interview to the local paper, which is featured on the front page. Andy’s friend Vince Sanders is the editor, so I’m sure Andy must have called in a favor. I’m also sure that Vince was happy to land the exclusive.
Andy previewed what our defense is going to be. People are getting killed all over the place, and in light of that it’s ridiculous that I’m the one being charged. He said it more subtly than that, and he doesn’t mention Jana Mitchell, but he cryptically refers to related murders that he will prove beyond any doubt that I could not have committed.
But the overall thrust of the interview is that the break-in at my house demonstrates conclusively that I am a potential victim, not the perpetrator. They tried to eliminate me because they feared I was getting close to finding out the truth. That’s the Andy version, and it has the advantage of probably being the truth.
I have to put it behind me, and that’s what I’m doing today. I called Don Crystal and asked for another meeting. He jumped at the opportunity when I told him I wanted his help in possibly bringing down Ardmore Medical Systems. It’s not completely true, but close enough.
I asked if we could meet at a restaurant, and his response was “Are you buying? Because if you’re buying, I’m eating.”
“I’m buying. Anywhere you want that we can talk; if you pick a fancy place, you can wear your dress pajamas.”
He chooses an Italian restaurant a few blocks from his house. I get there first, and when he walks in, I notice that his hair is actually brushed into some semblance of order. He wears shorts, tall white socks with sneakers, and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
We talk a little bit, but he’s focused on the menu. It seems like he’s been on an all-Tang diet for a while and is ready to come off it. He orders a full portion of pasta Bolognese as an appetizer, and chicken parmigiana as a main course. I order a salad and chicken paillard.
“So tell me how we’re going to screw Ardmore,” he says.
“That’s not how I’d phrase it. I want you to tell me what could be going on there.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m going to be straight with you. Three people have been murdered. Gerald Kline, Lisa Yates, and Jana Mitchell.”
“Don’t know the last one. She worked at Ardmore too?”
“No. She worked at Midwest Medical in Cincinnati, and she was a friend of Lisa Yates.”
“Okay. Got it. Keep going.”
“I believe that it’s all connected to something happening at Ardmore, and maybe at Midwest. And for all I know, other companies that do the same thing as well.”
“But you don’t know what is happening.”
I nod. “I don’t know enough about the business to figure out what they could be doing. That’s where you come in.”
“How the hell would I know? I’ve spent the last year in my pajamas.”
“But you designed the systems.”
He frowns; I think he’s disappointed at the realization that we are not about to bring Ardmore down. “They could have done whatever they want to them since.”
“I think it’s possible this has been going on for a long time; maybe even including while you were there.”
“You think I did something crooked?”
“Did you?”
He laughs; if he’s offended, he’s hiding it well. “You think they left their systems open so the fired IT guy can walk right in and steal stuff? Or worse?”
“You ever see the movie WarGames? It was all about this computer that controlled whether we would go to war or not. Anyway, the guy who designed it had retired, but he still kept a backdoor password t
hat let him back in after he was gone.”
“Of course I saw it. It was all horseshit.”
“Okay, so if you’re not the bad guy, maybe that’s why they got rid of you. Maybe they were afraid you’d figure it out.”
He nods his approval; that’s an explanation he can live with. “So what are they doing?”
“That’s what I need you to tell me. You know the business—where is the money, and how could they be stealing it?”
He thinks about it for a while. “Maybe insurance?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re trying to get medical insurance, your ability to get it and the size of your premium would depend on your medical records. If the company could manipulate those records, you might look healthier to the insurance company than you really are.”
“So how does Ardmore benefit from that?”
He shrugs. “Beats the hell out of me; cancel that idea. What about blackmail?”
“What about it?”
“This is personal information they are dealing with, you know? Maybe there are things that people don’t want their employer, or their spouse, or whoever, to know. Maybe you’re applying for a job as a minister and you want it kept secret that you’ve had thirty-eight cases of the clap. There’s also mental health stuff in there. Maybe you don’t want your future employer to know that you were arrested for dancing across the George Washington Bridge singing the score from Hello, Dolly! Or maybe you’re a politician who doesn’t want the voters to know that you get electric shock treatments every Tuesday and Thursday.”
“You think that’s really possible?”
“Those bastards would do anything. They could scour through the information, match something embarrassing up with someone they know has a lot of money, and there you go. And the suckers wouldn’t even know that the bad guys were at Ardmore or Midwest; they’d have no way of knowing how they got the information.”
“Would the CEO, Musgrove, have to know about it?”
Animal Instinct Page 13