Interference

by Danielle Girard

  “Well, I can guarantee Bullock isn’t trying to kill anyone. He suffered from a massive stroke and he can’t even feed himself. Now, that’s all I can say.”

  “No,” Ryaan pressed. “You can tell me whether Bullock is at your facility because I don’t have time to jump through a bunch of bureaucratic hoops or drag this over to the D.A.’s office for a warrant. I need to find this man before someone kills him.”

  “I really can’t,” the woman said.

  “You have to,” Ryaan said. “Listen to me. Take down this badge number and phone number. You have a pen?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  Ryaan rattled off her badge number and the nonemergency phone number for dispatch. “You call that number and confirm that the badge number I gave you is for Ryaan Berry of Triggerlock. That’s me. I will call you back in two minutes because there are lives at risk here. Understand?”

  “Um…”

  “Do it now.”

  “Okay,” the woman agreed and Ryaan hung up.

  Hal was grinning when she looked over. He pulled his arm off the back of the booth and clapped his hands. “Nicely handled, Inspector Berry.”

  “Nothing like putting the fear of a crazy gunman in someone’s head.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Ryaan glanced at her watch. “Ninety seconds to wait. What did you find out?”

  “Not much,” Hal admitted. “Tracy is going to text over what she can find on Barbara and Josephine.”

  Ryaan glanced at her watch twice more, took a sip of awful cold coffee, then redialed the stroke center and asked for records. The phone rang twice and Ryaan thought maybe the woman was avoiding her. Finally, she answered. “Records.”

  “It’s Inspector Berry.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the woman said, “Bullock was transferred to a long-term care facility in 2009. Hang on—okay, here it is. He is at the Greensview Senior Center in Palo Alto.”

  “I appreciate your help,” Ryaan said and hung up.

  “Bullock’s at Greensview Senior Home in Palo Alto.”

  Hal took out his wallet and set a five on the table. He leaned into Ryaan’s shoulder and pointed to the door. “How about taking a drive, then?”

  Chapter 42

  Mei unlocked the lockbox on the apartment using the electronic key Sabrina had given her. The apartment key was inside, but the lock was old and stubborn, and it took a few tries to make the key turn. Finally it gave and Mei pushed open the door and slid the key into her back pocket with her phone.

  She led Sophie into the living room and stood back to look at the window. The sky was brilliant blue, nothing like the gray at Ayi’s. Already, her chest felt lighter, more open. She took a long breath. It was better than she’d remembered. Across the room, she peered down at the freeway. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

  Sophie joined her and laughed. “Not many people would rave about a view of the 101.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

  “Well, you’ll be safe up here,” Sophie joked. “No one’s climbing all those stairs.”

  “Right,” Mei agreed. “And taking aim at the window will be tougher, too.” The attempt at humor felt flat in her own ear. The confrontation with Aaron left her terrified. She slept maybe a couple hours last night. Even the shooting at Ayi’s didn’t compare to the feeling she’d had watching Aaron with that gun. Like it was over. If Lanier hadn’t arrived, she was sure he would have pulled the trigger. Aaron Pollack.

  “You okay?” Sophie asked.

  Mei took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “It’s understandable. What’s the news on Aaron?”

  Mei took a deep breath. “Teddy was at the lab all night, processing Aaron’s computer. He’s been selling case information to a data security firm for almost three years.”

  Sophie whistled.

  “Basically the company collected clients by using Aaron’s information to scare them into buying tens of thousands of dollars of unnecessary security.” No wonder he had an American Express Platinum card, Mei thought. As a one-third partner, he probably grossed something like a million dollars a year. All right under her nose. And Lanier’s nose, too. There was something so unnerving about the proximity of it all. Mei crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re still digging,” Mei added, “but there’s already plenty there to put him away.”

  “But?”

  Mei turned to her friend. “The business explains his expensive clothes and the high society girlfriend, but there still isn’t anything to link Aaron to the weapons missing from Oyster Point.” Mei shivered. “Or all the shootings.” And the drugging, she thought but didn’t say. She also couldn’t figure out his motive. Aaron was making a lot of money from selling case information. That made sense. But what did he have to gain from the shootings?

  Aaron had been frustrating and obstinate and rude, but a killer? Mei couldn’t help feeling they were missing something. It left her even more skittish than before. If that were possible.

  “I’m sure they’ll make the connection to the rest of it,” Sophie said.

  Hailey had agreed. “So far he’s been smart,” Hailey told Mei earlier that morning. “Confess to the white collar stuff. We’ve caught him at that already. But he’ll run out of luck soon and we’ll get him for all of it.”

  Mei tried to feel the confidence that Sophie had, that she’d heard in Hailey’s voice, but she didn’t. Or maybe this was how these things felt when they hit so close to home. Maybe it would just take her time before she felt safe again.

  “And you’ve got Amy in the hot seat, too,” Sophie added. “Seems like she’d crack pretty easily with a little pressure.”

  “Yeah…,” Mei began, but shut her mouth. A fire of adrenaline flared in her chest. “Hopefully,” she said without looking over. Mei had told Sophie about Amy being at the club. But she hadn’t mentioned that Lanier’s email had been spoofed or the instructions Amy was getting to follow her. That had only happened last night. Had Sophie made that leap?

  She felt Sophie watching her. When she turned, Sophie had moved away from the window.

  Mei felt a shift as Sophie backed away from the glass. Her knees bent, she was like an animal ready to pounce.

  Mei smiled and turned back to the window like nothing had happened. Stalled. Spun for an idea. She had not told a single person that she was coming to the apartment. Not Sabrina. Not Ayi.

  A distraction. Something light to ease the tension. Get out of this building. She stretched her arms over her head and tried to fake a yawn. Failed. “I’m starving,” she said. Her phone buzzed from her pocket. “Should we go grab some food?” she asked, reaching.

  Sophie shook her head. “No.” Tilting her head toward the hall, Sophie didn’t take her eyes off Mei. “Let’s see the rest of the place.”

  “Sure.” Mei forced a smile. Her lips felt dry and stuck to her teeth. “The bedroom is like a shoe box,” she said, trying to laugh. “It’s right through there if you want to go ahead. I prefer the view out here.”

  Sophie didn’t move.

  Trying to act casual, Mei pulled her phone out. No one knew where she was. She’d left for lunch. She would just dial Ryaan, check in. As she looked down, the phone buzzed again. The screen was lined with activity. A call from Hailey. A text from Ayi.

  The most recent was a text from Blake. Mendelcom had a breach. Drug trial data erased. Heading there now.

  Chapter 43

  Greensview Senior Center wasn’t far from Ryaan’s mother’s house although she’d never had an occasion to notice it. Located on a relatively busy street, the complex looked more like an elementary school than a senior center. Only now did Ryaan notice it would be an elementary school without a playground. Ryaan and Hal pulled into the front lot and parked in the third and last row, the only row
not reserved for handicap parking. The front of the building was old brick. It may, in fact, have been a school. A set of black wrought iron doors closed off the front porch. Hal pressed the buzzer. Ryaan peered through the bars, which were an uncomfortable reminder of Karl Penn’s house from Saturday night. She still had pains in the small of her back and a crick on the right side of her neck, but she had a lot to be thankful for.

  Forcing the thoughts away, she focused on the building’s tall double doors. They appeared original to the building, oak and well-worn with large plate glass centers. Ridged columns were carved on the outside edges of the door and what looked like ornate tapestries along the top edges which ended in what Ryaan could only think to call curlicues.

  “How may I help you?” came a voice.

  “I am Inspector Hal Harris. I’m from the San Francisco Police Department. I’m here to see a patient, Joseph Bullock.”

  Almost before Hal was done speaking, the door buzzed open. They entered the foyer where fresh flowers sat in large arrangements on either side of the door. White lilies and white roses and white Gerber daisies with the tiniest hint of red at their centers. Hardly the colors she would have chosen to brighten up the place. Then, Ryaan saw that they sat on large metal tripods that reminded her of the flowers at funeral homes. Hal gave the flowers a sideways look as he passed.

  “Hello,” someone called out to them. Two women sat behind a curved enclosure in the middle of the foyer. Both were gray-haired, but only one had the sunken cheeks and protruding eyes, the frail white blue hands of the very old. One step away from being a resident. Or perhaps a volunteer from amongst them.

  The younger of the two was talking on a headset while the other turned to Hal and Ryaan and smiled thinly. “You’re here to see Mr. Bullock, is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  She stood from her chair. “May I see your I.D.s please?”

  Ryaan pulled her badge from its place on her holster and handed it down. Hal did the same. With a shaky hand, the woman—Marilyn, her name tag read—took down their names on a guest register then lifted the book toward them. The way her hands shook, it looked like she might drop it on herself. Hal reached down to take it from her.

  “Just sign by your names. I’ll get Alison to come up to meet you. She’s our senior nurse on call.”

  A few minutes later, a door along the hall opened and a woman came out to meet them. “I’m Alison Donnelly,” she said, shaking each of their hands. She pulled a clipboard to her chest and rocked back onto the heels of her white Crocs. “You’re looking to talk to Joe?”

  “Yes,” Hal said.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “It relates to a police investigation. I’m not at liberty to say more,” Hal said diplomatically. “I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

  Alison nodded. “I understand. Are you familiar with Joe’s case, then?”

  “We’re not,” Hal answered.

  “I’ve been here as long as Joe has,” Alison told them. “In fact, we arrived the same month. In that time, he’s never said a word to me.”

  “He doesn’t speak?” Hal asked.

  Alison shook her head. “But he can be very communicative. It depends on who’s asking.”

  “How do you mean?” Ryaan asked.

  Alison smiled. “Joe has his favorites and for them, he’ll often answer questions by tapping. For the nurse he works with most often, Sherrie, he also has some limited signs that he can use. A few other nurses have worked out ways to communicate with Joe, but many—in fact, I’d say most—have not.”

  “How about other patients?”

  Alison shook her head. “He doesn’t socialize with any of the patients. Never has.”

  “He’s an angry guy, I take it?” Hal asked her.

  Alison started down the corridor, motioning for them to follow. “Yes and no. Stubborn is more like it, but bullheaded like I’ve never seen. Joe doesn’t express anger—he’s extremely controlled—but it’s hard not to imagine that he’s pretty angry at the world. He is highly intelligent, was a prodigy from an early age, completed Stanford at nineteen. He could have gone earlier, but his mother insisted he not start college until he was old enough to drive. From what I’ve heard, he was a brilliant geneticist before the stroke.”

  The hallway smelled of old people, the way her mother’s bedroom now did. She wondered what it was that made them all smell the same. How long before she smelled like that?

  “We read that he was involved in a lawsuit with his employer,” Hal said.

  Alison nodded. “I read that, too, but I don’t know any of the details. That was all over before he arrived at Greensview.”

  “Does Mr. Bullock have funds to support himself?”

  Alison glanced over her shoulder as though talking out of turn. “Actually, I don’t know about Mr. Bullock’s financial health. His stay here is paid for by Mendelcom.”

  “Really?” Ryaan asked. “Are people in the company still in touch with him?”

  Alison shook her head. “The only visitor he’s ever had is his daughter.”

  “Daughter?” Ryaan asked.

  Alison motioned to the door. “This is Joe’s room.”

  Hal turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was small but surprisingly bright and clean. Unlike the other rooms they’d passed, Joe’s walls had been painted a light green. His bed sheets were green checks. The quilt was patchwork done in bright blues and greens. His pillows were yellow though a little faded.

  On the walls were a series of photographs. A tall sand dune with the ocean behind; the wind blew so hard that the grasses were bent almost to the ground and a sand sprayed through the air like a light mist. Ryaan thought it might have been taken somewhere down by Carmel. Another was of the Golden Gate Bridge. A young man and a girl held hands, their arms in the V of migrating birds. Both were smiling widely. Ryaan thought it was likely of Joe and his daughter, an image from before the stroke. Ryaan bent in to get a closer look, but the faces were too small and pixelated to identify. She wondered if Barbara had taken the picture. Several other photographs hung around the room. They all looked like amateur shots. All had been blown up a little too much, giving them a grainy appearance. On the last wall was a painting of steep cliffs and the ocean below. A tower of water sprayed up into dark, clear air and a lone bird flew high above the rock, perhaps searching for dinner.

  The decor distracted from the emergency call button beside the bed and the control panel on the wall where a hospital bed could be wheeled in and attached to replace Joe’s regular one. The same generic off-white linoleum floor that was in every hospital room across the state, was softened by a plush throw rug. The details in Joe Bullock’s room made it feel like he had someone who cared a lot about him.

  “Joe,” Alison said to no response. Then, “These officers were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  Joe didn’t even look at them. Ryaan found it hard to imagine this man as an engaged participant in any conversation. Though his eyes were open, Joe’s lips fell as though he were asleep. His focus appeared soft and was directed somewhere out the window. Ryaan stepped closer and looked out with him. She had imagined he might have a view there, but while he did get natural light, the window faced an alley and a two-story parking lot. Not even a spot of green.

  “Joe?” Alison tried again.

  Hal walked over and pulled the chair from the desk, parking it opposite Joe. It was hard to ignore Hal. At 6’4” and somewhere north of two hundred twenty, it was like ignoring a truck parked on your front porch. Joe blinked once but made no other indication that he’d noticed Hal.

  “His daughter did all this?” Ryaan asked Alison.

  She nodded. “She’s here quite a lot.”

  Ryaan looked around. “Is there a picture of her somewhere?”

  Alison scanned the dresser and table. “Joe,
where’s the picture of your daughter?”

  Joe continued to stare out the window.

  Alison shrugged. “I thought he had pictures of his daughter here, but I don’t see them now.”

  They tried in vain to get Joe to talk to them for another ten minutes before giving up.

  “Do you have contact information for his daughter?” Hal asked. “Maybe we could locate her.”

  “I’m sure we do up front. Here, let’s cut through here.” Alison opened a door across from Joe’s room and led Hal and Ryaan through a large room with a piano and bookshelves, some sort of common room for the residents.

  Ryaan slowed down to look around and noticed a series of photographs along the walls. “What are these?”

  Alison turned back from the far side of the room. “Oh, pictures from our annual holiday party. Ah, I’ll bet Joe’s daughter is in one of these. Her name keeps slipping my mind.”

  “Josephine,” Hal said.

  Alison frowned.

  “We got her name from the papers after his stroke.”

  Alison scanned the photos and homed in on one. “Here we go. Here’s Joe and his daughter. This was in 2011, so it’s a few years old.”

  Ryaan leaned in over Alison’s shoulder and followed her finger to a slightly younger Joe. Sitting beside him, with an arm over his shoulders was a woman Ryaan knew.

  “Holy shit,” Hal said.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Alison asked.

  Ryaan stared at the image. “We know her.”

  “Sophie Turner,” Hal said.

  “Sophie!” Alison exclaimed. “That’s it. She goes by Sophie. The Josephine thing was throwing me.”

  Ryaan thought about the LLC that owned the apartment. “The name of that LLC is MCOMEND. The stock ticker for the company is MCOM.”

  Hal was staring at her. “There has to be something to that lawsuit.”

  Ryaan nodded.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Alison asked.

  Ryaan pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Joe and Sophie. Hal pressed a business card into Alison’s palm. “If anyone calls or shows up for Joe, you call 9-1-1 and then me. In that order, you understand?”