Exposed in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

  The door beeped three times, then opened.

  “A retinal scanner?” I asked.

  “Yes. This lab is secured by both a fingerprint scanner—for the entire right hand—and a retinal scanner.”

  “How many people currently have access to this room?”

  “Three. Fritz Hahn, whom you’re about to meet, me, and my brother, Darren.”

  “Where is your brother?”

  “He lives in Lexington. He’s Vice President of my fertilizer company.”

  Interesting. This was the first time Declan had made mention of anyone else in his family.

  We entered the lab. There was nothing unusual about the white walls, stainless steel work surfaces, or the equipment around the room—refrigerators, microscopes, and other machines I couldn’t readily name.

  A man with curly blond hair, about the same age as Declan, looked up when we entered. “Declan, my man!” he said in a boisterous greeting.

  “Fritz.” Declan rushed toward him and hugged him with one arm and a generous pat to the back. Then Declan backed away and gestured toward me. “Fritz, I’d like to introduce you to Brooke Fairfax.’

  Fritz looked at me, grinned, then studied Declan for a moment. “You’ve been holding out on me, you sneaky son of a bitch,” he said in a thick northern European accent.

  “Not exactly.” Declan cleared his throat while suppressing a chuckle. “Miss Fairfax is a special agent with the FBI.”

  Fritz straightened, and if I hadn’t been watching closely, I would have missed the serious furrow of his brows before his face softened and he smiled. He stuck out his right hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Fairfax.”

  I gave him a wave with my bandaged arm, which was now tucked into a sling. “Please, call me Brooke.” Though I was technically at the lab on official business, I wanted Fritz to see me as one of Declan’s friends.

  “Brooke, then.” He nodded at my arm. “Hope that didn’t happen in the course of an investigation.”

  I slid a skeptical glance toward Declan, and reading my discomfort, he kept the conversation going. “Fritz, you have a few minutes to talk with us? Maybe in the conference room?”

  “Of course. How about I put on a pot of coffee?”

  “That would be great,” Declan answered.

  We made our way into the conference room and sat around a rather cheap, wood-veneer table—not Declan’s usual style. Declan fixed a mug of coffee with the exact amount of cream and sugar that I enjoyed. I eyed him curiously, wondering how he could possibly have known how I took my coffee, both now and this morning. He drank his own coffee black, and in my experience people who drank their coffee black never knew how to doctor someone else’s. Of course, he was a chemist. He liked to mix things.

  Declan lifted a brow when he turned, and I realized I’d been having my own little silent joke at his expense.

  I gave my head a little shake.

  “So,” Fritz began. “What brings the two of you to Chicago?” He looked at me. “What are we investigating today?”

  Not being one to mince words, I told him, “I’m investigating the murders of several Kentuckians, including the lieutenant governor.”

  Fritz didn’t even pause. “I heard about Kentucky’s misfortune.”

  “I’d say the loss of lives is more than misfortune, as you call it.” I took a sip of coffee.

  “I’m sorry to offend you,” Fritz said. “I guess I’m just not as emotionally attached to those people as you appear to be.”

  Setting my mug of coffee in front of me, I watched Fritz silently for several beats.

  Declan, who was sitting next to me, placed a hand on my knee. “Fritz, we’d like to ask you a few questions about tacin.”

  For the first time since we’d arrived, emotion disappeared from Fritz’s face. “Why do you want to know about tacin?” He looked back and forth between us, realization dawning. His mouth gaped slightly as he let out a breath. “That’s the chemical that was used to kill the lieutenant governor.” He stood and began pacing, then turned back. “That’s not a substance to be messed with. In the world of chemists and toxic substances, we don’t typically even discuss that compound. There’s very little inventory, and what inventory there is, is controlled heavily.”

  “Then you’ll understand why the intelligence community became a little edgy when the state police lab pegged this chemical as the cause of death in at least two murders, and possibly a third.” I traced the rim of my coffee mug while keeping my eyes trained on Fritz, looking for any telling body language.

  Fritz looked from me to Declan and back to me. Silence settled over the room. I was good at silence. It was a tactic I’d learned from my husband. Nothing gets a suspect or a witness talking more than getting them uncomfortable about a subject, then sitting back and staying silent until they spilled everything.

  “Have a seat, Fritz,” Declan finally said.

  Fritz sat back in the chair and clasped his hands together on top of the table. When he finally looked up again, he smiled. “You think I know who’s doing this,” he said to Declan. It wasn’t a question. He was rubbing one spot on his hand repeatedly with his thumb.

  “Do you?” Declan asked.

  I was the one growing more uncomfortable. And I was becoming increasingly glad I’d brought my firearm.

  “I guess it’s a reasonable theory that I might.”

  “Who do you still keep in touch with from school?” Declan asked.

  “I talk to a few people,” Fritz answered. “But tacin doesn’t exactly come up in casual conversation.” He continued to massage the same spot on his hand. “Besides—” He stopped rubbing and tucked his hands under the table. “Didn’t I read that your murders were committed with the use of alcohol? Bourbon, maybe?”

  “That’s right,” I answered.

  “Well, alcohol would diminish the poisonous effect of tacin after just a few hours.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  He angled his head. “Of course I’m sure.”

  That pretty much eliminated the distillery as a possible entry point for the poison. Whoever was committing these crimes was adding the poison at the time the drinks were poured.

  “Do you know what other laboratories might have a supply of tacin?” I asked. “Assuming that your inventory is still all present and secured.”

  “I can get you a list, but that’s not the right question.”

  “It’s not?” I asked. Though close in age, the two men in front of me couldn’t be more different. Declan was reserved, confident; Fritz wore his emotions all over his face and in his body language. Declan was physically fit; Fritz didn’t look like he’d seen the inside of a gym… ever.

  Fritz smiled. It was a smile of superiority. His nervousness had disappeared. “No. Tacin can be easily identified and traced to the exact person who created it.”

  “How is that possible?” I asked.

  “Simple. Many people believe chemistry to be a science, but it’s not—it’s an art. And each new ingredient, each stir, and each combination or order of chemical reactions creates something new. Two identical substances, when looked at beneath a proper microscope, can each be traced to their individual creator by an expert eye.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said.

  Declan placed a hand over mine. “What he’s saying is that only a few people know how to make tacin. Chemists stopped its development as a pesticide when it was discovered that it was toxic to livestock.”

  “Right. But the military knows about it.” Fritz’s eyes darkened. “The government always has an interest in products that turn out to be incredibly deadly. Once they saw value in the compound for military use, they ordered commercial production to cease, and they put strict controls on all remaining inventory.”

  Not strict enough control, I thought.

  I sat back in my chair and studied Fritz. With my own trained eye, I couldn’t decide if the man in front of me was full of shit o
r the source of a potential major break in this very bizarre case.

  I got up and walked over to the coffee station, where I found a wooden stir stick. I stuck the stirrer down into my bandage to scratch an annoying itch while I considered what Fritz was saying. “Do you consider yourself an expert?” I asked.

  “An expert of what, Miss Fairfax?”

  “If I got you access to the substances used in this case, would you be able to identify who created them?”

  He smiled. “Of course.

  Chapter 22

  Declan took me to a higher floor in order to verify that the supply of tacin stored inside this laboratory remained untouched. As we rode in the elevator, he said, “You see, the substance used in this case is not easily obtained.”

  “But if someone knew what they were doing, they could make their own batch.”

  “It’s possible,” he agreed. “Or someone with money could purchase a supply of it, while supplies exist.”

  As I had learned by working with Teddy, supplies of illegal, lethal chemicals always existed. It was just a matter of staying on top of the latest murder weapons.

  When we got off the elevator, we arrived at yet another entrance that required a palm print and retinal scan. Declan unlocked the door and gestured for me to enter.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you had a supply of tacin before?” I asked as I passed.

  “You mean while I was being interrogated by Agents Donaldson and Salazar? They suspect I had something to do with these murders. And if they had arrested me, it would have taken time for my attorneys to get me out. In the meantime, more lives would have been at risk. This way, I could bring you here. Let you do your own investigating.”

  I turned back to look at him. “You seem sure that I’m on your side.”

  “You’re on the side of stopping future attacks. That’s the same as being on my side.”

  “Do you know how to identify tacin?” I asked.

  “I know that it’s colorless, but that it smells like black licorice. I’m guessing bourbon is overwhelming enough to overtake that scent. And if someone tasted something strange, it would be too late to question it.”

  “Were you nervous when you heard the name of the substance used in the murders?”

  “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I knew this lab had its own stockpile of tacin. As Fritz mentioned, before I purchased this place, it was a working lab that made pesticides and farming fertilizers. Of course, I’m converting the lab into a center for manufacturing organic products that are safe for food production—and as part of that I’ll be getting rid of everything toxic, including the tacin. I can’t say I’m a big fan of storing dangerous chemicals that can be used as weapons.”

  “Does your buddy Fritz have access to the inventory of tacin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you trust him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said your brother was the other person who has access to this laboratory. I assume that means he could get to the tacin, too? Do you trust him?”

  Declan paused briefly, and I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten distracted by his own thoughts. He turned to me. “Yes, I trust Darren. He’s my brother.”

  I followed him farther into the lab, took in the overturned stools and dusty worktables. “This is obviously not a working lab.”

  “No. Fritz didn’t want to use this lab until all toxic chemicals had been removed.”

  “Understandable. But why has the government not come and confiscated your inventory? If this substance is so deadly, wouldn’t the military want to have complete control over it?”

  “They were supposed to. But they must have a place to move it to, and, as I’m sure you know, government tasks tend to get tied up in red tape.” Declan shrugged. “I’m assuming they’ll move it higher up on the priority list now.”

  He led me to an industrial-sized, walk-in metal refrigerator and pulled a key from his pocket. After registering his palm print and scanning his retina into yet another security bank, he inserted the key and opened the refrigerator door.

  The refrigerator was completely empty.

  Declan muttered something in another language, and if I’d had to guess, he was cursing. He turned to me. “This is not good.”

  Declan slammed the fridge shut. It made a very unsatisfactory soft sound when he did, so he slammed his fist against a metal table.

  I flinched. “Is there anyone else besides Fritz or Darren who could have accessed that lab?”

  “You’re forgetting me,” he said in answer, calmer now.

  I tried to keep all emotion off of my face, to not let him know that I hadn’t forgotten that he, too, had access to the lab. “Any of the construction workers? Anyone who owned the lab in the past?”

  He massaged his forehead. “All security was changed the day we closed on the property, and construction doesn’t have access—they’re not supposed to begin on this floor until the chemicals are removed. So, no.” He dropped his hand. Frustration seeped into the trenches running across his forehead.

  I struggled to reconcile his need for my reassurance and the necessity for my professionalism as an investigator. I had a job to do. But I also felt a strong desire to console him. I stepped forward and brushed my hand down his arm until my fingers slid deliberately into his. “I don’t know what this means, but we’ll figure it out.” I had seen the look on his face when he opened the refrigerator. It was not an act. He was shocked to find it ransacked.

  He narrowed his eyes at mine. “Thank you.”

  I nodded. “I need to call Ty. We need to get back to Kentucky.”

  “I agree. I’ll call the pilot.” He touched his opposite hand to my sprained arm. “But first, how are you feeling?”

  As he moved closer, I stepped back, breaking contact and cradling my injured arm, wincing as I did.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I met his gaze. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. I saw the look on your face. And I saw how you were holding your arm earlier. You’re in a lot of pain. But what I really want to know is why do you back away from me every time I touch you? I know it’s not because you don’t crave my touch.” He stepped forward again, so close that I could feel his breath on my forehead.

  “Declan, don’t.” I closed my eyes briefly, trying not to let him know that he was right—that I did crave his touch. Or that every time he touched me, it didn’t take long before I remembered my husband or the fact that his death had shattered my heart, so much so that I wasn’t sure how to process the yearning I was feeling for the man in front of me now.

  “Don’t what, Brooke?” When I reopened my eyes, he brushed the back of his other hand down the side of my face. “You know I didn’t do this. I wouldn’t have brought you here—gone to all this trouble—just to show you evidence of me stealing my own poison.”

  “A psychologist would argue that you did exactly that. That maybe that was your way of getting me to trust you.” Though I didn’t believe that.

  But was I blind? Was I refusing to see what was right in front of me? Or were my instincts correct? The evidence made me question the man in front of me, but I also felt that Declan O’Roark was allowing me to see parts of him that others didn’t. And those parts of him were not capable of murdering in cold blood.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Though his words were harsh, his tone wasn’t. He played with the hair that framed my face, tucking it behind my ear. “When this is over, you’re not going to be able to pull away. We will discuss the imaginary, but very unstable, barrier that you’ve placed between us—a barrier that has nothing to do with these murders.”

  “I really need to call Ty,” I said, but my voice came out hoarse, weak.

  “Okay. I’m going to give you some privacy. When you’re done, take the elevator to the first floor. I’ll be waiting for you there.” Declan turned and left the room.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and gathered my th
oughts, then dialed Ty’s number.

  “Talk to me,” he said when he answered.

  “Okay. Start gathering any information you can on the following: Fritz Hahn, Darren O’Roark, Danny Ramsey, Ben and Jenna Moffet. I want to know where their paths cross. Who they talk to. What they’re doing on the internet. Oh, and see what you can find on a group called the Garrison. Ben, Jenna, and Danny are possible members.”

  “Got it. But that’s interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Well, Mike and Carlos called earlier. They also asked about Darren O’Roark and the sister, Sasha O’Roark. Wondered if we’d met them or knew anything about them.”

  That didn’t make sense. Unless they were starting to play the angle that someone in Declan’s family was out to destroy him. Or maybe they thought it was a team effort, kept in the family? “And have you found anything?”

  “Only that Sasha is a model in New York, but sometimes stays with Declan here in Kentucky. She just arrived in Kentucky today, presumably for the Derby. And Darren lives in Lexington. I’m digging into their pasts now.”

  “Let me know what you find. I’ll be back before dinner. You up for a night out?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m thinking a fancy dinner at the Black Tulip. See if you can get a reservation for two. And find out who owns the restaurant.” Romeo was trying to tell me something about the black tulip tattoos, but as usual he was making me work for it. And it had to be more than a coincidence that I had met Ben and his mother below a restaurant named for the tattoo on their arms.

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  The sound of heavy machinery and tools accosted me when the elevator doors slid open on the first floor. I walked to the main entrance and looked through the glass doors. It had stopped raining, but the cloud cover was thick. I saw Declan talking with Fritz next to our chauffeured Town Car.

  The two men appeared to be arguing. Fritz raised his hands, speaking animatedly; Declan’s face was red, though he kept his hands calmly at his sides. He didn’t rattle easily.