And then again, why had David Sonderheim brought new people into the company months in advance of the move to California? Thankfully, that question at least, was probably easily answered.
Sonderheim had obviously been planning the move for a while, and had perhaps known that the core team wouldn’t go. So he had planned it in advance, bringing new people on board, all master scientists in their own right, to slowly take over the work from the original team members.
The question that deserved to be asked though, was 'Why did Sonderheim want to move the company in the first place?' Why was he prepared to lose the experience and enthusiasm of the founding core staff and run the risk of hindering the ongoing development of the company?
The more you thought about it, the more suspicious it became.
"Conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theory…"
The words rattled round inside his head. He quickly shut them out, refusing to let his imagination run wild. He had to look at it all objectively.
But the more objectively he looked at it, the worse it got.
Why had the files in the police station disappeared?
Why were the files on the computer classified by the FBI?
And then, in the midst of all these questions, he remembered Martin's jet blowing up miles above the Atlantic Ocean. He had already concluded that a military jet had been in the same airspace when the explosion had taken place, but that its flight plan had possibly been covered up.
But who had the authority to make a military flight take off, then erase the records as if it had never happened?
"Conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theory…"
Kerrin got up and walked to the fridge. He took out a cold can of coke, and popped the lid, drinking it slowly as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.
"Military jet…explosion…cover up…" His mind was racing. Then suddenly a new thought entered his mind.
"Did the military jet deliberately shoot down Martin's plane?"
The thought filled his head, and for a few minutes Kerrin sat there in silence, staring into space.
Slowly he became aware of a regular, annoying, dripping sound. He got up and went to the sink in the bathroom, turning the tap off tight. He leant on the hand-basin with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was tired and drawn. Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on his forehead, and his pupils were tiny pinpricks in the centre of his eyes.
The face looking back at him was of someone he did not recognize. It belonged to someone who had just begun to experience the sensation of fear. Kerrin was scared.
--------------------
"Hey, James, what are you doing?"
"Just got off my shift, heading home! It's been a long day. Two homicides and an armed hold-up. Why, what are you up to?"
"I'm buying you a beer. I need to talk to someone…and I need your help again."
Thirty minutes later the girl behind the bar at Hooters plonked two large cold Budweisers in front of them, pulled a pen from behind her ear, and made two marks on their coasters.
James picked up his beer, studying the bubbles bursting from the bottom of the glass and racing towards the surface.
"So, what's up? I thought you'd be back in Washington by now. Not that it ain't nice having you around. It makes a break from watching re-runs of Friends on cable!"
"Would you believe I just like the weather so much that I don't want to leave again?"
"Nope. You've already told me you need my help. So being the great detective that I am, and using all my powers of deduction, would you be surprised if I guessed that it had something to do with the Orlando Suicides?"
"Wow. I'm impressed. Truly impressed."
"I'm a man of wonders. So what's the deal…what did you find out?"
"Not enough. I've now got more questions than I started with. But one thing's certain. They didn’t commit suicide. They were killed," Kerrin said, watching for James's reaction.
"Are you sure? Why don't you run it by me from the top?" James turned to Kerrin, making himself a little more comfortable in his seat at the bar.
Kerrin looked around him quickly. Satisfied that the other people wouldn’t be able to overhear them, he started off from when they had last met. James listened attentively, stopping him every now and again to ask a few questions, but on the whole listening to everything Kerrin had to say. When he got to the part about the blue Mazda, his eyes lit up. At the end of it all James whistled aloud. Then he went silent for a while, and Kerrin decided to take a convenience break, leaving his old friend to absorb what he had just heard. He returned a few minutes later.
"So what do you want me to do, good buddy?" James asked him.
"First of all, I want your opinion. Your gut reaction."
"Okay, gut reaction? Catch the first stage out of town, and don't look back. Something funny is going down. And without your badge, you're in way over your head."
"I'd reached that conclusion myself. But I'm glad you agree."
"Second…" James turned to his old friend, resting his hand on his shoulder…"We both know that you're not going to walk away from this, so you're going to need help. And since I'm the only other fool in town, I suppose that means me. "
"Bingo. That's the other conclusion I had reached too. But that's as far as I got…what do I…we?…do next?"
"I'd say your next step is to try and track down the guy Alex Swinton. Either he's dead in a ditch somewhere, or he's the only person alive that might know what's going on around here…"
"But how do I find out where he is?"
"That's where I come in. Leave that bit to me."
"What about the obvious?"
"And what's that?" James asked, annoyed that he might have missed something.
"What about going straight to this guy David Sonderheim?"
"Why? What can he tell us just now? If he's the guilty one, and you start sniffing around asking him questions, he'll just get defensive, and you'll lose any element of surprise you may have. No, you can't talk to him unless you know a bit more about what's going on. Anyway, these deaths might have nothing to do with him."
"You're right. But can you get me some information on him?"
"Like what?"
"Anything. Something's better than nothing. Like, for example, where is he now?"
"I'll see what I can do."
"What about the police files on the suicides? Are you sure you can't get access to the files?"
"No. As I said before, it’s not easy. They need Federal access codes. I would have to get somebody else to do it for me…pull a few favors…but the Feds would soon know we were messing around. What's the point anyway? If you know already they were killed, you won’t get any new information that way."
"Okay. Okay…" Kerrin agreed. Perhaps seeing the files would give them nothing new.
"What about the hospital? Would they have done an autopsy on Henry Roberts?"
"Maybe."
"Something happened the night Henry Roberts died. There was a phone call late at night and after he took it, he told his wife he had to go back to the office. It would be good to know if he actually made it there."
"Who's to say he was going to the office? He could have been going anywhere. What would really help you, is to know where the call came from, and also where all those long distance calls you mentioned were coming from? Why don’t you ask me to get copies of the phone bills?"
"Could you?"
"For you? Sure. No problem."
"Great! The thing is, I was wondering if Mr Roberts had met somebody that night. Somebody who wanted to kill him. Maybe they tried to make it look like suicide by hanging him from a tree, but forgot about the dogs patrolling the grounds. Then they got chased off before they could make sure the job was done properly."
"Feasible…"
"Then luckily for them, …"
"…Whoever 'they' are…" James interrupted.
"Exactly, then luckily for them, he goes into a coma. But what would happen if he woke up,
and told everyone what had happened?…" Kerrin waited to see if James could see where he was going.
"…So they had to make sure he didn't wake up?" James suggested, beginning to enjoy the train of thought.
"…The police told his wife it was a heart attack. Are there any drugs that can kill a man quickly but would make it look like a heart attack?"
"Quite a few, but you wouldn't know they had been used unless you thought the death was suspicious and you were looking for them. When's the funeral?"
"I don't know. "
"Well, if it hasn’t happened yet there's still a chance I could have a word with the coroner and ask him to run some basic tests for me."
"Okay. Can you get on to that tomorrow?"
"No problem. Is there anything else?" James asked cheekily.
"Don’t think so."
"So what are you going to do next?" James asked him.
"I'll head back to Washington tomorrow. Spend a few days with Dana. Then as soon as you get any information on the whereabouts of Alex Swinton, I'll go after him. In the meantime, I want to find out a bit more about Gen8tyx. I've got some friends in Washington who can help me with that."
"Boy, what would you do without friends?"
"That, my friend, is one question I hope I never have to answer."
Chapter 14
Day Eleven
The Gen8tyx Company
Purlington Bay
California
The long, black limousine pulled up in front of the reception to the Gen8tyx Company and Trevor Simons opened the door, and stepped out slowly. He steadied himself against the side of the car, then stood up tall and smoothed down his expensive Versace suit, before adjusting the position of the Rolex on his wrist. He watched in mild amusement as the group awaiting his arrival scurried out from the protection of the air-conditioned reception hall into the thirty-five degree heat of the Californian afternoon.
His aide stepped up beside him, carrying his attaché case and walking stick, and Trevor took them both.
"Thank you Daniel. Please arrange for my luggage to be taken directly to my room."
"Certainly, sir."
The first of the reception committee walked up to him, reaching out his hand and welcoming him. He recognized him immediately as David Sonderheim, CEO and founder of the Gen8tyx Company. The file he had just finished reading on him was quite comprehensive: an impressive man, intelligent, charismatic and rich, but one whom he should not be foolish enough to trust. Sonderheim was a man of some caliber, but he had not got to where he was today without demonstrating the characteristics of many of the world's great leaders: greed, loyalty only to one's self and one's own personal cause, and the ability to lie proficiently.
Yet every man had a weakness, and Trevor made it his business to find them. Trevor had smiled knowingly to himself when he read the report on Sonderheims' Achilles' heel and weakness. Women. The same, simple Achilles' heel of almost all powerful men, and one with which Trevor would easily be able to manipulate Sonderheim in the future, should the necessity arise.
The others who came scurrying out behind him would be of no importance. Minions of no strategic value. Looking through and behind them, he noticed that Colonel Packard had not ventured outside into the heat. Instead, he was waiting patiently just inside the glass doors, within the confines of the cool, dry air and out of reach of the direct sunlight. Trevor respected that. He was not a pawn like the others, to be played as and when was required. Colonel Packard was a powerful man indeed. The title of course was false, and betrayed his true position in the military. Who he really was, Trevor may never know. Like himself, Colonel Packard had no file.
"Mr Simons, welcome to Gen8tyx. I trust you had a pleasant journey."
"Thank you I did. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Sonderheim. I am looking forward to learning about the Orlando Treatment first hand. Your reports have been most interesting. And if I may say so, your photographs do not do you justice. I did not realize you were so young…"
The direct personal touch caught Sonderheim off balance for a second, and while Trevor scanned the man's eyes for a reaction, he held onto his hand in a long, prolonged handshake which immediately made Sonderheim feel uncomfortable. The first battle of charisma and power had been won. Sonderheim would be no match for Trevor Simons.
"Have the others arrived?" Trevor asked.
"Yes. Everyone is here."
"Excellent. Then let us proceed."
--------------------
Miami
Day Eleven
Florida
The next flight to Washington that day would be at 1 p.m. That gave Kerrin several hours to tie up a few loose ends.
Foremost of these was to try and get a look at Mike's computer. Ideally, Kerrin would like to have a look at the hard-drive for himself.
Just before falling asleep last night he had remembered that Mike's fiancée had given him the telephone number of the policeman who had taken the computer away for inspection. The telephone number was a local Miami number. Not knowing exactly what he was going to say, he dialed the number. Kerrin always thought on his feet. He would bluff his way along.
A woman's voice answered.
"Hello, Miami Police Department. How may I direct your call?"
"Hello. May I speak to Officer Trevelli of the Miami Police Computer Investigation Department, please?"
"Could you spell it for me please?"
"Officer T-r-e-v-e-l-l-i."
"I'm sorry sir, but Officer Trevelli is no longer with the police department. Can I direct you to anyone else?"
"That's surprising, I was just given his card last week by a man who claimed to be him. Can you please put me through to someone who might know where I may be able to find him?"
"I'm sorry, but you say you were just given his card? Can you hold please, I will transfer you to one of his colleagues."
The sound of an orchestra playing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" took over from the voice of the operator, and Kerrin had just begun to enjoy the music when a brusque, male voice boomed down the phone.
"Hello? This is Captain Weiss. I understand that you were recently given the card of Officer Trevelli, and that you claim to have spoken to him? May I ask in connection with what?"
"He was working on a suicide investigation and he took away the computer of a friend of mine for investigation and analysis. The case is now closed, and we wanted to have the computer back."
"Can you describe to me what this man looked like?"
Kerrin was surprised by the questions being asked. Something was obviously wrong.
"Excuse me Captain. Is there a problem?"
"Yes, you could say that. Captain Trevelli was murdered ten days ago. I was wondering, could you please come down to the station to make a statement for us…?"
Kerrin hung up.
--------------------
"Hello, Mrs Roberts, this is Kerrin Graham. We met a few days ago when I came to your house to talk about Henry?"
"Oh yes. How are you? Do you want to ask me some more questions?"
"Just one. I know your husband worked from home a lot. I was wondering if there was a possibility that your husband might have had some information on his computer that could help me in understanding why he died."
"You may be right. Unfortunately if you want to look at the computer you will have to talk to the police department. About a week ago, one of their officers came and took away the PC and the laptop he used to take with him on business trips."
"Can you remember the name of the police officer, or can you tell me how I may get in contact with him?"
"Certainly, the officer was very polite, and he left me his card. I'll just go and get it…"
Mrs Roberts returned two minutes later.
"Captain Trevelli. That was his name. Would you like his number?"
"No. Thank you Mrs Roberts. That won’t be necessary. I already have it."
Fifteen minutes and two more phone calls was all i
t took to find out that Captain Trevelli had also paid a visit to the widow of Tom Calvert and the sister of Sam Cohen. The annoying thing was that Trevelli, whoever he really was, had only just visited Ms Cohen last night. That meant that the computer had still been there when Kerrin had been talking to his sister! If he hadn't been so caught up in the tales of Sam's love life, he might have had the presence of mind to ask the question yesterday, not the next day when it was too late.
The description that Sam's sister had given of the Captain was too generic to be of any use. A police captain dressed in uniform. Polite. Dark hair. Italian looking. It could be any one of a thousand police officers in Miami.
Kerrin could kick himself. From now on he had to stay focused. This was no longer a game. People were dying all around him.
Kerrin had to find Alex Swinton fast. Before Captain Trevelli's namesake did.
Of course there was one other widow that 'Captain Trevelli' would not yet have had the opportunity to visit: his sister. She had not returned home after her husband's accident.
He glanced at his watch. It was 11.45 a.m. It was probably already too late to make the flight to Washington. He would have to put it off for another day.
He had better call his wife, to stop her driving out to the airport to pick him up.
He dialed her number.
The phone rang. There was no answer.
He redialed the number. She should be home. He had already called her first thing that morning and when he had spoken to her, she'd had no plans to go out.
Still no answer. He hung up.
What should he do? What if something had happened? He suddenly remembered the vision of the blue Mazda tailing him in his car's rear-view mirror, and a surge of panic passed through him. Had Captain Trevelli's friends got to his wife?
He dialed the number again, doing a quick calculation in his mind to see if he would still have time to get to the airport to get the Washington flight home. Yes, he might just make it if he really hurried.
"Hello darling. Did you just call me a minute ago? Sorry, I was outside in the garden…"
BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS Page 63
