Island of Thieves

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  “Okay. What GPC does is take a complex molecule—a polymer, usually—and break it down into its components so you can analyze it better. With me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say you’ve got a sample of a polymer made of many other molecules. Like nylon, to use one example. That nylon polymer will be suspended in a liquid. A machine like the Wyvern uses one or more solvents—see this bottle here?—and infrared detection to separate the different molecules based on their size in the solution and their molecular weight and other factors. What you end up with is a comparison of the different molecules that make up the nylon and data about them.”

  “So the GPC machine tells you what the polymer is made of?”

  Mills waggled her hand. “Not exactly. It can’t tell you for certain that a component of the nylon is caprolactam, for example. But if you’re a chemist and you know that molecule’s weight and hydrodynamic size and you already expect to find it in nylon, then it’s easy to make the logical jump. GPC isn’t a push-button process, but it’s more advanced than the analyzers I used in grad school just a few years ago.”

  “What if you already knew what the polymer was made of?” asked Addy.

  “Then you’re testing for purity, or quality. Making sure your sample matches the expected form of the polymer.”

  Mills pointed to one of the photos Shaw had taken of the flasks of chemicals. “That’s a polystyrene. Used to calibrate the machine. From the look of it, I’d guess the Wyvern analyzer is right out of the box and somebody just set it up for the first time.”

  That followed, Shaw thought. Morton had looked as excited as a kid with a new toy.

  “How long does all that take?” he asked. “The setup and the testing of a sample?”

  “Setting up a new machine takes at least a few hours. Looks like that job has been completed for the Wyvern, or close to it. Testing time can vary, but with a new-generation system like this I’d say only an hour or so.”

  “And there’s nothing unusual about this in manufacturing?” he said.

  “Not at all. Any company making or developing new chemicals might be running tests like this every day, maybe around the clock if they’re really busy. Quality testing is often done overnight so the next-day shift has the results. One of my internships was in a QC lab.” She looked again at the photo. “Where’d you find all this? That doesn’t look like a chem department.”

  “An art gallery,” Shaw said, half his mind on Chen Li and Jiangsu Manufacturing. Jiangsu was looking to establish itself in America. Did Chen’s company have some innovation in polymers that would pave the way?

  “It may not be art to most people, but it’s beautiful to me,” said Mills. “If your friends ever want to loan that Wyvern to the U-Dub, I’ll buy them a big lunch. My students would love to take it for a spin.”

  “You never know,” said Addy. “Van has the strangest way of acquiring things.”

  Shaw thanked Mills for her time, and she invited him to be in touch if he had further questions.

  On the way home, Cyndra sat in the front seat of the truck. It was Addy’s turn to nod off in the back. She’d been keeping odd hours the past week, spending half her nights at Holliday House on First Hill looking after her friend Penelope. Cyn, being on summer vacation, had been left at home to happily raid the pantry for herself.

  “Do you still steal things?” Cyndra said to Shaw out of the blue.

  “Are you thinking about what Addy said? My acquiring stuff?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I gave burglary up a long time ago. But.” Shaw waved a hand. “Life gets a little gray. I can tell you I don’t take anything from honest people. From anybody at all, if I can help it.”

  “But you do crimes.”

  He looked at her, as much as he could while the truck was doing thirty miles an hour down Montlake.

  “I sometimes break the law. Not for my own profit anymore. And usually when I don’t see another choice. I know that’s not a great answer, and I sometimes wish it were different. But it’s the truth. I promised I’d always tell you the truth. As much of it as I can.”

  Cyn turned to look out the window. She was so small that Shaw occasionally forgot she was almost fifteen.

  “You worrying on something?” he said.

  She didn’t answer.

  After another mile he nodded. “Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

  The rest of the ride passed in silence.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Shaw’s phone buzzed just as he stepped into his apartment.

  “Hi. Did I catch you at the right time?” Karla Lokosh. She had a good voice. Light but full of mirth.

  “I was just about to defuse this nuclear device. But sure.”

  “Well, if you’re still in one piece after cutting the red wire, would you like to have dinner tonight? The longest week in history will finally be over, and I have to be anywhere that’s not a conference room.”

  “Dinner with me would qualify as anywhere.”

  “Thank God. I was seriously considering going to a Czech double-feature if you were busy. I doubt they have Mike and Ikes at the concession stand.”

  “Not nearly serious enough,” Shaw agreed. “Probably goose liver pâté instead. Seven o’clock?”

  “I’m at the Crowne Plaza. By the freeway.”

  “Right.” His line beeped. “That’s another call. See you tonight.”

  “You’re in demand. I like that.”

  Shaw hit the button to End and Accept.

  “Mr. Shaw, this is Brady from Ephraim Ganz’s office. I have a Mr. Rohner on the other line, whose people have been very insistent about reaching you. Mr. Ganz won’t give out this number without your approval, but . . .”

  “Put him through. Thanks.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Brady sounded as though he couldn’t push the buttons fast enough.

  While he waited, Shaw picked up the temporary phone he’d used for the job with Droma. The only number Rohner’s people had for him. It had been turned off and sitting on the kitchen counter since he’d come home from the island.

  The phone’s log listed thirteen missed calls during the past day. Something like desperation there, he thought.

  “Hello?” a female voice said.

  “This is Shaw.”

  “One moment please. I’ll have Mr. Rohner for you.”

  Shaw smirked. The emperor wasn’t so desperate that he would stoop to dialing the phone himself.

  “Mr. Shaw?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Glad we reached you. Beyond the obvious tragedy with Mr. Bao, I’ve become aware that your time at the island was a poor experience.”

  “Your chief of security tried to use my head for T-ball practice.”

  “Warren Kilbane has been suspended from his position, pending a review. I learned the true facts of what occurred from my daughter, and from Rangi Sua. I’d like to extend my apologies.”

  “A dozen calls since yesterday. That’s a lot of remorse.”

  “There is something else we need to discuss. In person. Are you available now?”

  A request rather than a summons. Rohner really did want to talk.

  “I can be,” Shaw said. “Where?”

  “Do you know the Showbox Theater?”

  “Yes.” The Showbox was downtown on 1st Ave, less than a mile away.

  “I’m there now.”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  Shaw hung up and walked back out the door.

  Rohner hadn’t paid Shaw for his time on Briar Bay Island. But if that was all the Droma CEO wanted, he’d have told Linda Edgemont to cut Shaw a check. Maybe Rohner was going to level with him about the laboratory. Miracles do happen.

  The Showbox had been operating in one form or another for over a century. In its long life, it had been a thriving ballroom and a jazz club and a furniture store and had also sat empty and unloved during the fallow years. Shaw’s high-school friends Davey and Trace had once
convinced him to sneak into the theater through the fire exit. Davey had been so desperate to see the metalcore band headlining the show that he’d tried to bribe the bouncers with Shaw’s cash when they’d inevitably been caught. More recently Shaw and his ex, Luce, had gone to a midnight concert of Ingrid Michaelson, one of Luce’s favorite performers. He’d bought tickets that time.

  Shaw knocked on the locked entrance. A moment later Rangi opened it, filling the doorway from frame to frame.

  “Hey,” said Shaw. “What time does Nirvana go on?”

  Rangi sighed, low and slow, as he moved aside to let Shaw enter.

  “Rohner said you filled him in on Kilbane,” Shaw said. “Thanks.”

  “My job. If I lie to the boss to save Kilbane’s ass, my priorities are out of whack.”

  Rangi led him into the club, which seemed much larger when not packed shoulder to shoulder with concertgoers. Sebastien Rohner stood at the far side of the room, near the larger of the hall’s two bars. Another man wearing a homburg hat and a brown plaid suit was behind the counter. In place of drinks, a file with a stack of papers thick enough to be the phone book of a major suburb lay on the bar between them.

  “Mr. Shaw,” Rohner said. He excused himself to his companion, who turned his attention to making notes in the file. Rohner motioned to a small table by one of the theater’s unique flower-shaped pillars. “Please.”

  Rohner wore a tan suit with blue cuff buttons and a tie with tiny diamonds in the same color. His white-blond hair looked sleek, as if he’d just come from a health spa’s steam room. He set a slim blue folder on the table.

  Shaw sat across from him. He glanced at the man with the hat, who was sorting the papers with the dexterity of a Vegas dealer. “Your bookie?”

  “An estate agent. I’m considering purchasing this venue.”

  “I didn’t know Droma was in show business.”

  “We’re not. But corporate events are an increasing part of Droma’s expansion, as well as our clients’ needs. Being able to offer a thousand-seat venue in downtown Seattle would be a prime motivator.”

  Shaw looked around at the hall. The architecture had changed since then, but he could have pointed to the spot where the bouncer had cracked up laughing at Davey’s clumsy attempt at greasing his palm. Stage lights illuminated the dark blue backdrop. By the wings at stage left, he and Luce had ducked into the shadows to tease each other while Michaelson had played on.

  “From concerts to product launches,” he said.

  “All things change. Often for the better.” Rohner slid the blue vinyl folder across the table. The cover was emblazoned with the familiar orange D.

  “What’s this?”

  “A two-year contract. I’d like you to fill the position vacated by Warren Kilbane. Head of site security for Droma.”

  Shaw’s brow furrowed, and he flipped the folder open. The papers inside had been affixed to the folder with a metal clip piercing two holes punched at the top of each sheet. employment agreement was the header of the first page. The legalese below it started by defining the parties of “Employer” as Droma Solutions International and “Employee” as Donovan Shaw. He hadn’t seen his name on a form like this since his Army discharge papers.

  The annual base salary was listed at two hundred thousand dollars. Plus a signing bonus of fifty grand, payable on his first day.

  Rohner had noticed where Shaw’s eyes were looking. “You would also be eligible for a specific profit-sharing bonus, related to our coming agreement with Jiangsu Manufacturing. If that deal is signed by end of month.”

  Shaw read a sentence near the middle of the page. “‘Salary for the full term of contract guaranteed unless terminated for cause.’ Like Kilbane.”

  “We had hired Warren on a reference which, at the time, we should have seen as a risk. I believe you are more stable. You handled the situation with poor Mr. Bao extremely well. Olen said he was impressed with your coolness and your discretion, under the circumstances. That’s why I believe it’s fair to include you as a key contributor to the Jiangsu deal.”

  “Do you always do your own hiring?”

  “When there are amends to be made, I do.”

  After the momentary astonishment at the numbers, Shaw felt like he was getting his bearings. The job was a kind of payoff for keeping quiet. About the supposed art thief and what little Sofia Rohner had told him about the pending deal.

  And maybe more. Did Rohner suspect that Shaw had discovered their laboratory? He’d been in a rush. It was possible he hadn’t fully covered his tracks.

  He turned to the last pages, which constituted a second document.

  “The nondisclosure agreement.” Rohner removed a gold pen from his pocket and set it on the table. “You’ll often be in the room as we discuss details of client agreements or knowledge proprietary to Droma.”

  “It’s backdated to last week.”

  “So that your starting date and salary will take effect immediately. If things go as well as I expect, there is the option of making the role permanent.”

  The NDA looked comprehensive. Shaw scanned a dense paragraph that forbade discussion of any aspects of Droma, the Rohner family, and all related ventures and subsidiaries in perpetuity. There was more, but he had the gist. Unless express and specific permission were granted in writing by company executives or a court order required it, Shaw would hold the company’s secrets.

  The salary had been a large carrot. The agreement was obviously the stick, in three pages of single-spaced type.

  “I’m surprised,” Shaw said, leaning back. “Or stunned. I thought you and Anders suspected me of being involved in Nelson Bao’s death. Linda Edgemont called Ephraim Ganz and chewed his ass for recommending me in the first place.”

  “Sheriff Dayle has been good enough to keep me apprised of progress. I observed that at low tide later that afternoon his investigators were examining a loose stone on the shore, below where Mr. Bao was found. I inquired with the sheriff, and he confirmed that the case is being treated as a homicide now.”

  “A stone. The murder weapon?”

  “He was not that forthcoming.”

  Salt water would have removed most of any blood and hair and whatever else of Nelson Bao had violently transferred to the stone. But “most” was not “all.” Forensic labs could find damn near any trace when they knew what they were looking for.

  “Given their discovery,” Rohner continued, “Sheriff Dayle asked if there was anything untoward on the island during the week, and of course I informed him of Warren Kilbane’s attack on you. I believe they are interviewing Warren and his team today.”

  Shaw continued to scan the contract, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The theory fit, to a point. Kilbane had been humiliated and dismissed. It wasn’t hard to imagine the man returning to the island to make trouble. But Shaw would be the logical target for his rage, or maybe Rohner himself. How Bao had wound up dead was anybody’s guess.

  Rohner pointed to the pages. “Travel will be frequent. At times you will be on call around the clock. With your military background, I don’t imagine that’s an issue for you.”

  “No.”

  “I will need you to start immediately. We have a client in Hungary opening a new facility. I’ve told them that Droma will make certain their resources are safe.”

  Shaw looked up from a paragraph about the NDA applying to all physical properties owned by Droma and its subsidiaries and ventures in perpetuity.

  “Hungary?” he said.

  “Budapest. You would leave tomorrow and be on site Monday.”

  “It’s strange timing.”

  “If the compensation isn’t to your liking—”

  He shook his head. “Whatever the opposite of sticker shock is, I’ve got that.”

  “What can I do to encourage you?” Rohner said.

  Shaw closed the folder. “Let me sleep on it.”

  Rohner’s lips tightened for an instant before relaxing into a wan smile.
“Yes. You should, with a decision this size.” He reached across and drew back the contract. “This will be ready for you in the morning. Contact Linda. She’ll arrange for an immediate transfer of funds to your account upon signature. Assuming we have reached an arrangement by noon, we’ll have you on a flight immediately.” The smile broadened a fraction. “First class, naturally.”

  “Thanks. It’s a generous offer.”

  “We are a generous company for valued employees. And again, I apologize that our relationship started with such turbulence. We will make that up to you. The storm before the calm.”

  Rohner extended a hand, and Shaw took it.

  As he left the theater, Shaw nodded to Rangi, leaning against a wall like a bulwark. The big man looked back with an odd expression. Shaw was halfway down the block before he placed it.

  Mournful. That was how Rangi had looked. As though he were the bearer of terrible news, the kind no one wanted to share.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Shaw didn’t return to his apartment. He walked past the building, bought an egg-and-cheese sandwich at Biscuit Bitch a couple of blocks down, and ate it while watching dogs fervently chase one another in the little fenced off-leash park on Bell.

  Nelson Bao’s death was a homicide, according to the cops. Shaw had known that, in his gut, even while leaving himself open to the possibility of something less sinister. The chemist’s bludgeoning implied something spur-of-the-moment, maybe desperate. Grab the first stone of any size and swing it. Maybe death hadn’t been the intention. Manslaughter. Self-defense, even.

  Kilbane may have a screw loose, but it was tough to imagine the security chief as the killer.

  Tougher the more he considered it. Kilbane and Pollan and Castelli had left in the Droma runabout, Sofia had said. Before dawn. Had they gone to another island, waited the entire day and evening before coming back to . . . what? Carry out their threat of putting Shaw in traction?

  And how would they have come ashore? Someone would have seen the boat if it had returned to the dock. Beaching the craft on that jagged north shore at night would have been a challenge. They would have been drenched, wading in through the waves.