Kerrin already knew that if he needed more help, he only had to ask.
Chapter 8
Tom Calvert's House
Mrs. Calvert sat in the chair opposite him, cradling a large cup of coffee between her hands. She sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes studying Kerrin carefully. Kerrin could see that she had been crying before he arrived, and her eyes were still red and puffy from the tears.
She was rather a plain woman, in her mid forties, and quite plump. Her shoulder length brown hair had lost its vitality, and she wore no makeup. Kerrin guessed that looking good was probably the last thing on her mind just now.
"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. As I explained to you on the phone, I'm a relative of Martin Nicolson, one of Tom's colleagues. Martin was my brother-in-law. I'd met Tom myself once or twice when we all played golf together."
"How is Martin?" the woman asked him.
"Dead. He was killed in a plane accident last week…"
The woman stretched out and placed her cup on the coffee table in front. She rose to her feet and started pacing around the room. Tears began to flow from her eyes.
"Not another one…it's the company. David bloody Sonderheim and his bloody genetic wonder drugs…mark my words, that was no accident…they killed him just like they killed my Tom!"
Kerrin waited a while, and watched her as she stood at the end of the sofa, her arms wrapped across her stomach as if trying to comfort herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be okay in a minute or two."
She walked out to the kitchen, returning with a fresh handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.
"I'm fine now…"
"I think I should tell you that by profession I am a reporter with the Washington Post. My sister, Martin's wife, asked me to find out what is going on, and make sure whoever is responsible for these deaths is brought to justice. I promised her I would."
"The Washington Post?" She looked worried…"I've got two children…I don't know…"
"Mrs Calvert, I can assure you that if anything is written about this, then no danger will come to you or your family. At the moment, all I want to do is find out what's going on. And why Martin, …and Tom…died."
"Okay…Okay…," she agreed nervously.
"Now, what I would like to ask you is this: the police are convinced your husband committed suicide. What makes you think he didn't?"
"Tom…suicide?" she laughed through her tears, coughing a few times as the two emotions collided. "Did the police tell you that Tom was a devout Catholic? Catholics aren't allowed to commit suicide. It's against their religion. They believe they will go to Hell if they do…Or did they mention, that at college he was on the Anti-Drug Crusade, and that three years ago he started a Big Brother Support Programme in a nearby suburb for people trying to kick drugs? Did they mention that? So, you can see how absurd it sounds when you're told that your husband just killed himself by taking a drug overdose?" she stood up again, and Kerrin was forced to look up at her as she spoke. She was red in the face, the anger boiling beneath her words.
"Did they tell you that the week before he died he booked a vacation for us all to Europe? A treat for the kids, and an opportunity for him to start a new life with a fresh start. Tom was looking forward to it…Our first trip to Europe together!"
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but did Tom have any financial problems that you were aware of?"
"No. None. Fortunately, that’s one problem we've never had to face. Let's just say that he didn't have to work again…And besides, although I don't like to talk about it, I come from a very wealthy family. Money has never been an issue for me…or for Tom…we shared bank accounts. Tom was fiercely independent though, never wanted to touch my money. And recently, even though Tom was completely against the move of the company to California, financially, he did very well from it. What with his severance package, then the sale of his shares in the company. Do you know how much money he made in the past few months from the stock market? A lot!"
"So, if he had no money problems, was he pleased to lose his job and get lots of free time?" Kerrin asked.
"…No. I wouldn't say that. Actually, he was furious about it! Everything he had worked for in the past ten years was gone. Did you know that he was one of the first people that Sonderheim recruited?"
"So why did he lose his job?"
"Because he wouldn't move to California. Same as the rest. Most of the core team refused to go."
"Why didn't he move?"
"…Because we love it here. Life isn't just about money. We've got everything we need right here in Orlando. And the kids love their schools and their friends. Are you a parent Mr Graham?…Because if you were, you'd know that you wouldn't dream of dragging your teenage kids away from their lives and their friends…No, there was no way we were moving to California! No way!" She sat back down in her seat. The outburst seemed to be over for now.
"Do you know what project your husband was working on before he left Gen8tyx?"
"No. Sorry, I can't help you there. None of the scientists at Gen8tyx ever talked about their work outside the lab. They weren't allowed to, and even if they had, I would never have understood it. I could never understand science at college. Languages yes, science no."
"Did he ever bring any notes or work home with him?"
"No, …nothing. Nobody was ever allowed to take anything out of the office. They were very strict about that."
"In the weeks leading up to his death, did you notice anything at all unusual about his behaviour?"
"No. But that's not to say he wasn't stressed out. There was something going on at work, tension between him and Sonderheim, and the whole business about having to leave the company. That got to him, but he never came home and took it out on us. At first he was extremely angry that he was going to have to leave his work, but then after he got used to the idea, he was really looking forward to the opportunities that some time off would give him."
"Can I ask you exactly how your husband died? The police are a bit reluctant to let me see the files." He decided not to tell her that they had all mysteriously disappeared.
"The police found him in his office, sitting at his desk, with a syringe in his hand, and a tourniquet around his arm. He had injected himself with something. Apparently he died of an overdose. The police said he had left a note."
"What did it say?"
"I don't know. They wouldn't let me see it."
"Excuse me? What do you mean they wouldn't let you see it?"
"Just that. Said it was evidence and they couldn't release it."
"You have rights…you're allowed to see it!"
"Apparently not. I spoke to my lawyer, and he said that in cases where these types of drugs were involved, at this stage the new State law gives the police the right to protect any evidence, even withhold it from family and friends!"
It had been five years since Kerrin had left the Miami police. He wasn't up on recent Florida law. Maybe she was right.
"…But they did say it was a classic goodbye note. They did mention one line -it said 'say goodbye to my family…tell them I love them…'." She started to cry again.
"You need to be allowed to see it, at least to be allowed to verify the writing on it!" Kerrin insisted.
"The police said it was a printed letter, written on his computer at work. They knew it was his because he had signed it."
Kerrin thought about what she had just said: unless the police had had the handwriting checked by experts, they couldn't prove it was Tom's signature or rule out the possibility that perhaps someone else had copied it. Kerrin would have to get hold of the letter… Then he realised that now the file had gone missing in the police station, without the letter, he couldn't check the signature and prove it wasn't suicide!
After a few moments, Mrs Calvert spoke again, her voice soft and quiet.
"Mr Graham, you need to know that I loved my husband. We lived together for over twenty years. Twenty years! He was par
t of me…I knew him inside out…and Tom and I had everything to live for. Everything. As his wife, friend, and lover, I am telling you that my husband, Tom Charles Calvert, did not kill himself!"
Kerrin believed her.
Chapter 9
Day Nine
Mike Gilbert's House
In the organisational structure of Gen8tyx, Mike Gilbert had reported to Martin Nicolson. Mike was one of several team members that had been lured to work at Gen8tyx by the honour of working for Professor Martin Nicolson, considered by many to be one of the most outstanding geneticists in the country. Mike was the youngest of the core team. Only twenty eight when they had found him dead on the beach, a hose pipe stuck into the exhaust of his car.
The house was full of photographs of an incredibly active man. Pictures of himself and his friends climbing in Yosemite, skiing in France, and scuba diving in Australia were spread all over the walls, intermingled with portraits of two people very much in love, and enjoying together everything that life could give them.
Mike was single, but it was well known that at the end of the year, he was going to do the honourable thing and marry his long term girlfriend, Isabella. They were expecting their first child, a girl, in January.
Mike had been over the moon when he had found out that Isabella was pregnant. In preparation for the big event, they had moved to a bigger house, and spent the past few months decorating the nursery and shopping together for everything that would make their little girl's life complete. Little teddy bears, dolls and coloured rattles littered the nursery, and it seemed like every shelf in the lounge was covered by books on childbirth, "The First Three Years" as well as "How to get your daughter into Yale!"
As Isabella proudly showed him the house that they had been planning to share together, Kerrin couldn't help but get the impression that Mike was a man who was planning to live as long as possible.
His fiancée was beautiful. Her dark hair, brown eyes and Hispanic tanned skin blended with a sexy curvaceous figure to produce a woman that any man would dream of being with. Even with her child so obviously showing she oozed sex appeal and vitality.
Mike had been a man that had had everything. The sort of man that a lot of men would like to be.
"It makes no sense to me," the woman said, leading him through to the lounge. "Did you know he had just had his first book accepted by a publisher? They reckoned he'd get it published in January, about the same time the baby is due…"
"Mike was a writer?"
"Yes…well, he wanted to be…was going to be…"
"Wow…" Kerrin didn't want to admit that he had been trying for years to get a book published, but the fact that Mike was a writer increased his respect for the young man even more.
"What was the book about?"
"It's fantastic! A fictional thriller about Genetics. They always say that you should write about what you know. Well, Mike knew a lot about genetics."
"I'd love to read it…do you have a spare copy?"
"Sorry, it's all on his computer. And I don't know the password to get into his files. It's funny, he changed the password only a few days before he died and didn't tell me the new one."
"I'm pretty good with computers, would you like me to try and hack into it?" Kerrin volunteered. Hacking was one of his specialties. He had been a master at it when he was a kid, then when he joined the police, it had proved to be one of life's true skills.
"I wish you could, but the police came and took the computer away. They said they needed to make sure there was nothing on there that might give them some information on why he killed himself."
"When was this?"
"Just a few days ago. The policeman left me his card. Maybe you can call him if you like. Now the case is closed I'd like to know when I'm going to get the computer back. There doesn't seem to be any good reason why they should keep it any longer, does there?"
She left the room, coming back with a piece of paper with a police Captain's name and telephone number on it. Kerrin would call him later.
"So, Miss Sanchez, if you don't mind, and I know it might be difficult,…but can you tell me in your own words how Mike died?"
"Isabella, call me Isabella please. Would you like a drink? I wish I could have one, but I have to stick to the soft stuff!" She said, patting her belly, as she got up and crossed to the bar in the corner of the room.
"Whisky neat, please." Kerrin replied.
She poured the drinks, handing him his glass.
"They found him in his car, a rubber tube connected to the exhaust. They said he died quickly. One of the officers tried his best to convince me that he didn't suffer. He insisted it's one of the best ways to go…as the car fills up with the carbon monoxide you get happier and happier, then just fall asleep and die…" She hesitated a second. "When I saw him in the hospital, about half an hour after they'd found him, he looked so happy, so peaceful…It's funny how some things stick in your mind, but I'll never forget how red his lips were!…"
She started to cry quietly. Kerrin gave her a few moments before carrying on.
"Did he leave a note of any kind?"
"Yes…the policeman said he'd found a letter on the passenger seat. In a brown envelope."
"Handwritten?"
"No, typed…that's a funny question…what difference does it make?"
"Was it signed? Did you get a chance to see it?"
"No…wow, I never thought about that before. Maybe he never wrote the letter, maybe somebody else did? Is that what you mean?" A sparkle appeared in Isabella's eyes as she realised where he was going with the question.
"Did you get a chance to see it?" Kerrin repeated the question.
"No…actually I didn't…"
"Do you know what it said?"
"…Oh, apparently it was quite short…'A typical suicide note' was what the policeman had said. But he told me one line from it…it said, 'Tell my Isabella I love her, and that I'm sorry I won't see our daughter.' That struck me as a little bit funny…"
"Why? What was funny about that?"
"…I've not told this to anyone else because some people, my mother mainly, thinks that naming your child before it's born is really bad luck. Thing is, Mike and I had already chosen a name for our baby…Sonia. Whenever we talked about her we called her Sonia. We always mentioned her by name. It just strikes me as weird that in his last words to me he called her 'our daughter' and not Sonia!"
"The more I look at all of this, there are a lot of things that are weird, Isabella," he said, turning over the tape in the little recording machine that he had placed on the table.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?"
"No. Go ahead. But I might not answer them all." She smiled, her eyes twinkling, and for a second the haunted look that she had been carrying around with her seemed to lift. She was truly a very attractive woman.
"What about your finances? Any problem there?"
"No…Gen8tyx were very good that way. We got a big package when he left. A lot more than we expected. Two years salary actually!"
"Enemies…any that you knew of?"
"No. None that I'm aware off. He seemed to get on with pretty much everyone."
"And at work? Were there any big arguments, falling out with anyone?"
"Again, apart from the Director David Sonderheim, he got on great with everyone. We used to meet up with the other couples from the lab at weekends, do barbecues together, that sort of thing…actually we were all pretty close."
"What about Sonderheim then? What was the problem?"
"Just that Mike blamed him for destroying the dream. He really enjoyed his job, then Sonderheim ruined it all, and insisted on moving the company to California. Everyone resented that. Hardly anyone wanted to go. "
"Sonderheim seems to be a pretty unpopular guy. Did you like him?"
"Yes. Very charming. But it was only in the last couple of months that people started having a problem with him…it wasn't just Mike…The others fell out
with him too."
"Why?"
"Mike said that 'he'd changed', had somehow lost sight of the dream they'd all shared. That he'd become distant from the rest of the group, and wasn't as friendly as before…was constantly shouting at people and pointing out their mistakes…pushing them too hard."
"What was the dream that you keep mentioning?" Kerrin wondered.
"I wish I knew. He often talked about the work they were doing, but in terms which never really gave away any details. All I know was that they were working on something big. Building up to some wonderful achievement. Something imminent. They had possibly even already succeeded. One night, about four months ago, Mike came home from work early. He had bought flowers, and two bottles of champagne …He was in such a good mood. All he said was that things at the lab were fantastic, better than they had ever been, and that one day soon I'd be very, very proud of him. I'd not seen him so happy in ages, even when I told him about the baby. Something special must have happened that day!"
But what? If only Kerrin knew.
He left Isabella shortly afterwards, politely declining an invitation to the funeral which was going to take place the next week. As he drove back to his hotel in town, he played the tape back to himself, listening for a second time to her answers.
Kerrin was confused. There just didn't seem to be any reason for Mike to kill himself. On the contrary, Mike had everything to live for.
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As the man said goodbye to the lady at the door, and turned to walk towards his car, the Nikon MX2, equipped with a large 400mm zoom lens, took twenty or thirty photographs in quick succession. The photographer, a man in his late twenties, wearing a smart, dark brown suit and tie, had been lucky. Sitting in a car on the opposite side of the road, the zoom lens had allowed him to get a clear view from over a hundred yards away. The photographs had caught the man's face clearly.
The Orlando File Omnibus : (Omnibus Version-Book 1 & Book 2) Page 5
