by Shanon Hunt
She shook her head. “I was asked to leave.”
“Really? Well, you probably aren’t missing much. Austin was always complaining how boring the discussions were.”
She sighed. She still felt ill, and she didn’t have the energy to engage in a long, drawn-out story with her gossipy assistant.
“No, I was asked to leave Quandary. Forever. I was fucking the boss, you see, and the board frowns upon on that. Since I have no scientific skill, or really any skill whatsoever other than”—she pointed two thumbs at her pelvis—“the obvious, they suggested I look for employment elsewhere.”
Carol gaped.
Allison moved toward the door, forcing Carol to step backward out of her office. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get packed up.”
She closed the door and stood with her back against it.
She looked around the office and realized she had nothing worth packing up. Not a single picture on her desk or framed achievement propped up on a bookshelf. The desk held nothing but office supplies. Her computer belonged to Quandary. Her DMD program files would go to whoever replaced her.
She listlessly picked up her gym bag. She hadn’t used it in weeks.
As she turned to leave, her eye caught the yellow file folder with the title B. Elliott, the file that Elaine had given to her. God, that felt like ages ago.
She picked it up, dropped it into her gym bag, and trundled out the door.
Chapter 52
Malloy stepped out of the car into the late morning sun. The parking lot of the Claim Jumper Restaurant in Prescott was nearly empty, and Malloy figured the timing was perfect. He wanted to have a conversation with the on-duty manager, which would be impossible during the lunch rush.
Their interview list was short, which probably was for the best, given this was technically unofficial business. Malloy’s jaw clenched at the memory of Tyler’s half smirk, a characteristic expression for as long as Malloy could remember. All I do is work and binge Netflix, Tyler had told Malloy months ago, content with his new, quiet life.
Garcia moved next to him, and they walked inside. The sweet smell of warm apple pie filled the lobby, and he knew they wouldn’t be leaving until Garcia had a slice in his bottomless pit of a stomach.
“Hey there, two for lunch?” A smiling hostess greeted them.
“Please.”
As they sat down, Malloy said, “We’d like to have a word with the manager. Is he or she available?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I can check. I know he was wrapped up in some paperwork.”
Garcia wasn’t wasting any time. He pulled out his badge. “We’re with the DEA, working on a high-priority case. Let him know it’s urgent.”
The hostess’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, okay. I’ll tell him.” She scurried into the kitchen.
Malloy shot Garcia a silent look. Teaching moments were a thing of the past. Garcia would always be emotional and impatient, with a strong preference for colorful language, but he was such a good agent that Malloy was willing to overlook these minor flaws.
After a few minutes, a man dressed too casually to be a store manager strode over to Malloy’s table. “Carl Hutton. What can I do for you?”
Malloy sensed he was irritated and decided he’d talk to Garcia about his professionalism after all on the drive back to Phoenix.
“Mr. Hutton, I’m Special Agent Peter Malloy and this is Agent Garcia. We were wondering if we could have a few minutes of your time regarding an employee of this restaurant.”
“Who is it?” Hutton pulled a chair from another table and sat at the end of the booth.
“Tyler Steele.”
“Tyler hasn’t worked here for months,” Hutton said, still irritated. “Just quit, didn’t give notice, not even a call. He just didn’t show up for work and never came back. Unprofessional as hell. They called me over here from North Phoenix temporarily, and they’re still looking for a permanent store manager.”
“Do you have any idea why he left?”
“Nope. Never even met the guy.”
“Did he make contact after he left?”
“Not with me. What’s this about? Is he busted for drugs or something?”
Malloy ignored the question. “Did he leave any of his belongings behind? In a locker or something?”
“Nope.” Hutton sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen, I don’t know what he’s done, but I can tell you, if he comes crawling back and thinks he’ll be able to get his old job back, he’s gonna be awfully disappointed. This ship has left the station.”
Malloy stifled a smirk at the botched idiom, but Garcia was beginning to fume. Hutton wasn’t going to be much help. “Well, Mr. Hutton, thanks for your time. We don’t have any other questions.”
Hutton walked away without another word.
“What an asshole,” Garcia grumbled.
The hostess brought over two glasses of water and set them down, then glanced over her shoulder to see if Hutton was still in the front. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping, but I heard you asking about Tyler.”
“Do you know him?” Garcia asked eagerly. “Do you know why he left?”
“We were friends.” She looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen again. “I’m pretty sure he joined a cult.”
“A cult?” Malloy wasn’t sure he heard correctly. He caught a glance at the waitress’s name tag. Tori.
“Yeah, well, some people came into the restaurant one day,” she said. “It was slow, sort of like how it is now. They sat at a booth and started talking to some of the staff about some place. You know, like a better place. I thought they were like those Mormons who go around trying to get people to join?”
“Missionaries,” Garcia offered.
“Right. Yeah, so at first we were all sort of giggling, but then they started talking about something else. It wasn’t like religious. They were talking about like a way to cleanse your body and soul from poison. They said we could start our lives all over, like remove all the bad from ourselves and have a new beginning. They talked about how they cured someone who had brain cancer. It was a little creepy to me, so I didn’t hang around. I went and told Tyler, and he came out of the office to throw them out. You know, like, no soliciting. But he started listening to them.”
Tori glanced back at the door to make sure no one was waiting to be seated.
Malloy’s pulse picked up.
“Yeah. He sat down in the booth with the three of them, and they talked to him for like hours. The whole dinner shift came and went, and we were all working. And he was still there, listening and nodding.”
“Do you know who they were?” Garcia asked. “Was it a specific religion?”
“I don’t think it was a religion. It seemed more like just a cult. You know, like where you’d go to drink peyote and grow your own vegetables.”
“Did they have any material? A pamphlet?” Malloy racked his brain trying to think of any cult-like operations or compounds in the area. Nothing came to mind.
She shook her head.
“So then what happened?” Garcia asked.
“They finally just left. Tyler went back into the office. I followed him and asked him what he thought of them. He just shrugged and said he didn’t know. But then a couple days later, he was asking all the staff if anyone wanted to buy his Kia. I would’ve loved to, but he wanted four thousand and I didn’t have that kind of money.”
She shook her head at the absurdity.
“He was trying to sell the car because he was planning to leave?” Malloy asked.
“He never said. That’s just what I put together. Then a couple weeks later, he sent me a text and said he wouldn’t be coming back to work. He was going to go live in the middle of the desert and become pure. Here.” She pulled out her phone from her apron. “I kept his text, just because, you know, if he like shows up someday with superpowers …”
Malloy and Garcia leaned over in unison to read the text message, including her reply, “Whateve
r they give you, bring some back for me.” He was sure they were thinking the same thing: Tyler must have thought they could cure his HIV.
“Anyways,” she continued, “when you find him, tell him I miss him. Carl’s kind of a hard ass, if you know what I mean.”
***
It wasn’t until Garcia merged onto I-17 that Malloy finally spoke.
“When we get back to Phoenix, see if you can find anything about any new age centers, compounds, spiritual groups, healing groups …” He fished around his bag for his Tums.
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Not the usual suspects.” They’d already investigated several pop-up camps in the area, particularly near the spiritual center of Sedona. Most were small and low-tech, often no more than groups of twenty-somethings set up in tents around campfires to explore the ego-altering effects of hallucinogens in an attempt to elevate themselves to a god-like status. Those groups rarely lasted through the winter. Evidently, God finally got cold too. “We’ll be looking for a legitimate operation. Brick and mortar. A place that would have the resources to engage a dedicated recruiting team.”
“Yep.”
Malloy didn’t want to ask, but he felt emboldened by this new turn of events. “Anything on the bank account?”
“Not yet. But I’ve been chasing another lead. I found this pain clinic in Las Vegas. They offer free pain services to anyone who doesn’t have insurance, and it’s not far from the largest shelter in Vegas. Supposed to be working in alternative medicines and THC. Anyway, the clinic seems to be closed, but I found out who opened it. Guy by the name of Jonathan Chambers.”
“Why do I know that name?” Malloy shook two Tums from his bottle.
“He’s all over the news. Vocal about the opioid crisis, and I guess he’s involved in some drug legislation in New Jersey. Anyway, I have a call in to his office, wanna see if I can get hold of someone from that clinic. Maybe they’ve seen the Does with the port.”
Malloy cracked the Tums with a sharp tap of his teeth. Things were looking up.
Chapter 53
“Hi there, sweetie. What can I getcha?” The Morristown Diner waitress was far too perky for Allison’s mood.
“Turkey club and a Diet Coke, please,” she responded with far less friendliness. Austin’s favorite diner meal was the turkey club, and she used to tease him about how he lacked a refined palate. You always go with the safe bet in these kinds of places, he’d told her. She wasn’t sure why she’d just ordered Austin’s goddamn sandwich—for breakfast, no less. Guess she needed one safe bet in her life.
Because all other bets were off. No job, no family, no friends. Instability was her Achilles heel, and she felt like she was drifting away. Like she’d lost every anchor that kept her feet solidly on the ground. Even the threat of being arrested no longer alarmed her. Being locked in a cell might just keep her from floating off into oblivion.
But one thing was certain. When she walked into the office of the FBI, she’d be prepared. She’d have the complete story with documented proof of Austin’s reprehensible study and how he’d set her up to take the fall. And just like all good stories, it would start with the illegal bank account. Follow the money. The bank statements would tell the story. They always did.
She glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes until the Delbarton Bank opened for business.
She pulled the B. Elliott folder from her bag and began what now felt like a ritualistic review of the patients who’d taken LXR102016. She’d scoured the names a dozen times already, spent most of the night dissecting the patient profiles. Four of them couldn’t be found on the internet. They’d been paid $1,000 in cash, and based on their sparse personal information and disheveled profile photos, she assumed they’d been homeless. Were they still alive? She had no way of knowing.
But she was fully aware of the death of Jake Graventoll, the BASE jumper who died during a particularly dangerous jump, and Mark Vespe, the college student who died at a frat party. She was certain the LXR drug had somehow been responsible for their deaths. This is what you turned him into, the woman on Eric Sparks’s phone had said.
She closed her eyes and silently recited a prayer. In your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters. In this life you embraced them with your tender love; deliver them now from every evil and bid them eternal rest. She crossed herself. She hadn’t done that for years, but it still felt natural.
The last patient, Karen Richmond, was a mystery. There were a lot of Karen Richmonds out there, and Allison had found none related to a recent death. She traced Karen’s image with her finger. Short, straight light brown hair. A very pretty face but no smile. She looked unhappy. If she were still alive, she could—
“Hello, Allison. It’s nice to see you.” Agent Gadorski stood at the end of her table.
She slammed the folder shut.
“Are you okay? You look upset.” He smiled as warmly as his boorish detective face could.
“Are you here to arrest me?” She knew he wasn’t, or he’d have walked her out of the restaurant. She remembered how impersonal and efficient he’d been when he arrested Austin. He certainly hadn’t bothered with niceties then.
He lost his smile. “Mind if I join you?” He sat down opposite her in the booth before she could answer.
“Actually, I was just—”
“About to eat a turkey club, right? I won’t stay long. I just wanted to let you know I had a nice chat with Jackie Harris yesterday. She seems to know you quite well. You know, she hired a private detective to follow you. She knows all about your long relationship with her husband.”
He leaned down on his elbows, closing the distance between them with his face only inches from hers. Allison understood the importance of body language in a power situation, and she didn’t move, even though he was radically invading her space.
“Do you know what I think, Allison?” His breath was hot on her face, and his voice became even huskier than usual. “I think you’re in on this with Austin. Before, I thought you were probably just an accessory, but now I think you’re an accomplice. Do you know the difference? As an accomplice, you can be arrested and tried for these criminal activities all by yourself, even if Austin’s never found.”
Is this what Austin had been hoping for? That she would serve his sentence?
“And do you know why I think this? Two reasons. One, you’re ideally positioned as his lover and his, what do you call it, chief of staff? Yeah. Until you regretfully got fired, you were perfectly primed to have an influence on the board of directors. To buy time with the SEC auditors, create a diversion whenever we got close. This is something the two of you have been building for years, isn’t it?”
He paused as though he expected an answer.
“Two, Austin Harris is a brilliant, calculating criminal with enough charm and money to convince a small army to work with him. But far as I can tell, the only person he picked to stand by his side was you. If he wasn’t sure you could be trusted as his partner, he would have set up an insurance plan. I don’t see an insurance plan. I just see you. And I don’t think you’re capable of saying no to the man you’re in love with.”
Gadorski sat back and gestured to the whole of the diner. “What else do you have in this life, Allison? Nothing. You know who summed it up nicely? Jackie Harris. ‘Gary,’ she said to me, ‘that little bitch has been trying to steal my life with Austin from the day she met him.’”
He was taunting her into a confession, and she almost gave in.
Almost.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have something you want to tell me? Something that will make me think you’re on the right side of the law?”
“Not today, Gary. Maybe tomorrow.” Her appetite, poor as it was these days, was gone. She stood up, gathered her things, and strode away from the table, not bothering to alert her waitress.
“Good to hear,” he called after her. “I’ll check in with you again, Allison.”
Her ti
me was running out.
Chapter 54
Vincent Wang hoisted himself out of his SUV into the oppressive ninety-percent humidity. The sun hid behind clouds, but the air temperature was already in the high eighties, and he simply wasn’t built for heat. Sweat dripped down his chest and trickled into the folds of skin around his midsection. He withdrew his handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his face. He would lose the weight this year. It was a promise he made every year when the New Jersey heat became unbearable. He already missed the dry heat of Arizona. Maybe he’d request a transfer to the Phoenix office. He really liked Special Agent Malloy, even if he was a bit on the rough side.
He leaned back against his truck, gathering his courage. The LXR case had truly been an adventure compared to the drivel he dealt with on a daily basis—FDA audits, site inspections, trips to Newark International to ensure the proper shipping documents accompanied boxes of drug substance. But when Garcia had called asking for a favor, he’d hesitated. Calling biotechs or engaging his professional network was one thing, but schmoozing was not his strength, especially when the schmoozing required getting bank account information for which he had no warrant.
“Malloy won’t call you for help,” Garcia had said. “He’s just not that kinda guy. But listen, we’re so close to finding these bad guys. My buddies found the bank and the account number that paid Karen Richmond, but the personal details are kept on a different server. It’ll be days before I can get a name.”
“Danny, it’s illegal. They’re not going to give me anything.”
“Come on, man, give it a try. Just feel ’em out. Wear your badge where they can see it. Worst they can do is ask you to come back with a warrant. If that happens, just smile and leave.”
He’d still hesitated.
“Please, man. Please. Tyler. He was a friend. He was a son to Malloy. You know it.”
Garcia had won, and here he stood.
He glanced at the door of the Delbarton Bank, wishing desperately that Garcia were here to do this instead. Skills aside, Garcia’s handsome, eccentric Mexican-American Indian look opened a lot more doors than the pleading face of a sweaty, obese, middle-aged Asian.
