by Jami Gray
Once the niceties were completed, Zev waded into the painful quiet. “We appreciate your willingness to meet with us.”
Mrs. Sellares cradled her mug, a slight tremor to her hands. “Bryan said you were assisting on the investigation of Chloe’s…” Her voice petered out.
“Yes, ma’am,” Zev said. “We understand you’ve already spoken to the authorities.”
“And Bryan,” Mr. Sellares added.
“And Bryan,” Zev amended smoothly.
“I don’t know what else we can tell you that we haven’t already shared.” Tears pooled in Mrs. Sellares’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. “My Chloe didn’t have any enemies. Everyone loved her. I don’t know why they targeted her.” Her voice shook, and her agitation rose, making her voice sharp.
Her husband curled an arm around her shoulders and held her close, but his gaze held a hard, angry light. “Chloe’s death makes no sense. It was suppose to be a safe neighborhood. It’s why Chloe and her roommates chose to live there.”
Mr. Sellares’s anger was justified. Chloe’s neighborhood was safe, and if her job hadn’t pointed to something suspect behind her fatal mugging, there would still be serious concerns about the randomness of the attack. On the drive over, Zev and I had discussed our approach and how much we would be willing to share. Meeting Chloe’s parents, I was completely on board with Zev’s suggestion of being as forthright as possible without revealing the nature of the Delphi project. Unfortunately there was no easy way to navigate their grief.
“We agree with you,” I made the admission quietly.
Mr. and Mrs. Sellares exchanged a look filled with flickering hope at finally getting answers to their daughter’s death. Mrs. Sellares dropped her forehead to her husband’s shoulder, probably trying to muffle her soft sob.
Mr. Sellares pinned Zev and me in place. “You’re saying it wasn’t an accident.”
It was my turn to exchange a look with Zev, knowing we needed to tread lightly. He turned back to the Sellareses. “We have reason to believe Chloe may have been targeted.”
“By who?” Mrs. Sellares turned to us without moving from her husband’s embrace.
Knowing it was best to leave the explanations up to Zev, I stayed quiet.
“We’re not exactly sure.” Zev studied the couple. “But we believe it has to do with a project she was working on at LanTech.”
Mr. Sellares frowned. “I’m not sure we’ll be much help, then. Chloe didn’t discuss her work with us.”
But I was watching Mrs. Sellares and couldn’t miss the way her eyes darkened or the way her attention shifted to her cup. I leaned forward and reached across the table to touch her wrist, and her eyes flew to mine. “Chloe told you something, didn’t she, Mrs. Sellares?”
The older woman shook her head. “Not about the project.”
I prompted, “But…?”
She closed her eyes and then seemed to come to a decision as she opened them again and met mine. “Chloe had some concerns about her coworker.”
“Neil Pasternak?” I kept my reactions locked down, not wanting to spook her into falling silent. But when it looked like that was all she was going to share, I nudged a bit more. “Did he do or say something that made her uncomfortable?”
She nodded and shot her husband a nervous look. He was frowning, and I wasn’t surprised when she let go of her mug and patted his arm. “She asked me not to say anything to you, dear heart.” When his lips tightened and his jaw flexed, she continued, “She knew if I said anything, you’d step in and get involved. She didn’t want that.”
A silent exchange passed between the couple before Mr. Sellares looked away, conceding his wife’s point. Clearly, Chloe had been a daddy’s girl.
Mrs. Sellares kept her hand on her husband but turned back to me. “When she was approached to partner with Mr. Pasternak, she was both excited and nervous.”
When she didn’t continue, I gently asked, “Why?”
Mrs. Sellares’s hand fluttered before resettling on the safety of her cup. “He was LanTech’s rising star, and she’d only been there about a year. She was acutely conscious of her lack of experience, so she went out of her way to ensure that her work was stellar. It wasn’t long before she was spending an exorbitant number of hours at the office. Every time I tried to get her to make time for a quick bite or a call, she had an excuse.” Mrs. Sellares’s gaze slid to her husband before dropping back to the cup in front of her. “I was worried something… more was happening between her and Mr. Pasternak.”
I blinked, not expecting that comment. “Was it?”
She shook her head and lifted her gaze to mine. “When I asked her if she was involved with Mr. Pasternak, she laughed and said there was no way she’d jeopardize her job for”—her lips turned up in a sad, wistful smile—“and I quote, ‘an old guy with ego issues.’”
“Did she share why she was putting in so many hours?”
“She was worried her lack of experience might been seen as a detriment. I did my best to reassure her that the company wouldn’t have asked her take the position if they didn’t trust her skills, but it didn’t seem to help.”
When Mrs. Sellares fell quiet, Zev asked, “How so?”
She reached for her husband’s hand, and their fingers laced together. “My Chloe is…” She stopped then started again, this time in a softer voice. “Was very detail oriented. It’s why she excelled in her chosen field.”
I remember the notation in the file notes about Chloe. She was a numeric mage, so it was no surprise that she was right at home in a lab, especially when her world was all things mathematical.
Mrs. Sellares’s fingers, tangled with her husband’s, went bloodless. “Chloe couldn’t share much about her work. She’d been required to sign a confidentiality clause when she accepted the job.”
“I never did like that clause,” Mr. Sellares interjected.
At my look, Mrs. Sellares explained, “Chris is a contract lawyer.”
That explained the fierce fatherly worries.
“But,” she continued, “Chloe slipped once and admitted that she had serious concerns about the latest reports on their project.”
It was difficult not to look at Zev. “What kind of concerns?”
“She wouldn’t say. In fact, she told me to forget she’d said anything at all, that she simply misspoke and was overly tired. But I know my daughter, and if she was worried, there was reason to be. She wasn’t one to react without all the pertinent facts.”
“Do you remember when that conversation occurred?” Zev asked.
She nodded. “It was right before LanTech announced it was filing bankruptcy. I remember feeling relieved when I heard that news. I thought that it was a sign that Chloe should move on and get away from whatever it was that was bothering her.”
“And Chloe? How did she feel about LanTech closing its doors?”
Mrs. Sellares took her time to consider the question. “Relieved. She didn’t waste any time putting her résumé out. In fact, she was excited because she had a couple of possible positions lined up. We were planning to go to a mom-and-daughter dinner that night, but…” Tears filled the older woman’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly. A tear escaped, and she dashed it away before fisting her hand on the table. Swallowing hard, she looked at Zev and me. “I wanted to know why she’s gone.”
Her grief and anger were so palpable I couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and cover her fist on the table. “So do we, Mrs. Sellares.”
Her hand trembled under mine. “It wasn’t an accident. I know it wasn’t an accident.”
“If it wasn’t, we’ll find out.” I stopped short of making a promise I couldn’t guarantee, even though I wanted to. No parent should hurt like this.
Mrs. Sellares gave a short, jerky nod and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what else we can tell you that will help.”
Zev shifted in his chair and braced his elbows on the table. “Did Chloe ever talk to you about Mr. Pasternak? If h
e shared her concerns, things like that?”
“No, but right before the lab closed, she said something about how he must be involved with someone because he went from eating at his desk and working through his lunch hour to leaving the lab and sometimes coming back late.” A tiny curve eased the fine white lines around her lips. “She joked that whoever it was had to be extraordinarily unique to interrupt his obsession with their project.”
We spent a few more minutes feeling out the various corners of Chloe’s life but came up disappointingly short. Until the lab closed, her life had been dominated by her job, leaving no room for anyone special. The names of her friends, as shared by her parents, matched the interview list in the file. Zev was gently leading the Sellareses through another round of questions when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, held it below table level, and discreetly read the incoming text. It was from Bryan, who wanted us to call him as soon as possible.
I touched the hard muscles of Zev’s thigh under the table to gain his attention. He waited for a natural break in the conversation before he turned to me. I gave him what I hoped was a clear signal that we needed to go. It seemed to work, because within minutes, we were saying our goodbyes and promising the Sellareses an update as soon as we had something to share.
We didn’t talk as we headed back to the SUV. I slipped my sunglasses back on, cutting down the bright glare of the late-morning sun. Two electronic beeps broke through the quiet as Zev unlocked the car.
I slid into the passenger seat, clicked my seatbelt in place, and waited until Zev got in, started the engine, and the AC managed to blow cold before I said, “Bryan wants us to call him.”
He thumbed the button on the steering wheel and directed the in-car system to call Bryan’s number. It rang twice, and then Bryan’s voice came through the speakers. “You two at the Sellareses?”
“Just finished, actually,” Zev confirmed.
“Did you get anything?”
Zev and I shared a look, then I answered, “Maybe. Chloe had concerns about the project.”
“What kind of concerns?”
“We weren’t able to get specifics because Chloe didn’t share. The fact that she slipped and her mom remembered the slip is all we really have to work with.” Then I remembered the other little tidbit. “Oh, and Chloe thought Neil had a side piece keeping him busy during his lunch hour.”
“I’m not so sure it was a side piece.” Bryan’s voice was grim.
I aimed a frown at the stereo while Zev glared and demanded, “What do you mean?”
Bryan said, “I’m sending you an address. Come over and see for yourselves.”
Chapter Eleven
The address Bryan sent took us to the area behind the university and along the shores of the man-made Salt River. Why anyone thought a river in a desert was a good thing was beyond me, but the city planners had wasted no time shoving high-rise condos and corporate centers onto every inch of the shore, interspersing their showpieces with the occasional park that allowed visitors to enjoy the river. Narrow streets wound around half-constructed high-rises and spilled us into what at first appeared to be an industrial park. Since identifying numbers were either missing or on awkward spots on the buildings, Zev slowed so I could try to pinpoint the one we needed because the GPS was no longer helpful. It had declared our arrival at the intended location, but all we saw was a mixed collection of older one-story cinderblock buildings and newer two- to three-story office spaces.
I twisted in my seat, doing my best to make out the numbers scattered on either windows or doors as we cruised by. “There’s 2111, 2113… the last one’s blank, so maybe 2115?”
Zev pressed the accelerator, and we hit the next set of buildings. This grouping was the older one-story variety and would probably disappear over the next few months as progress rolled relentlessly forward. We’d gotten about halfway down the structure when I found a new number. “Hold up!” Without looking away, I reached out and hit Zev’s arm. “That looks like 2205.” Spotting a narrow drive ahead, I said, “Turn in here. I’m betting it’s on the back side of one of these.”
He turned, and we followed the pitted asphalt around a beige-on-beige building that had seen better days and found ourselves in a narrow parking lot. Dusty trucks and beat-up sedans filled some of the spots, while tarp-covered trailers and one golf cart occupied a few others. Spaced along the building’s brick back side were roll-up garage doors paired with metal doors, both decorated with rust and dents. There were a few sun-worn, dust-chipped, barely legible black numbers. In some weird attempt at improvement, it looked as if two painters with different colors—startling white and puke beige—had started at opposite ends and met in the middle. A cement block fence decorated in black graffiti dominated the area, separating the building from the lot behind. Zev kept us to a crawl because it was narrow enough that if anyone decided to drive out, going the other way, we’d end up in a game of chicken.
I knew we had the right address when I spotted Imogen leaning against a sporty two-door car parked a couple of spaces away from a faintly familiar battered SUV. She looked decidedly out of place in her heels, tailored slacks, and shirt that was basically a silk scarf draped for decency’s sake. Zev pulled into the open space next to her and shut off our SUV. In the half-open door in front of us, Bryan appeared. I didn’t know if it was the unnaturally blank expression on his face or the way he held himself or what, but something was off. The feeling was so strong the hair on the back of my neck rose in warning. Slowly, I undid my seatbelt, leaned forward, and scanned our surroundings. I don’t know what I was looking for, but nothing obvious was out there.
Next to me, Zev paused with a hand on the door. “What?”
His terse question meant he’d picked up on my unease, but since I couldn’t explain it, I said, “It’s nothing.” I reached for my door and blurted out the first thing to hit my frazzled brain. “I was just checking to make sure we weren’t on someone’s security camera.” With that, I opened my door and hopped out, hoping to forestall further inquisition.
The sound of Zev’s door opening and then closing echoed and was soon followed by the low-voiced exchange of greetings between him and Imogen. I rounded the hood about the same time as Zev and Imogen and caught the tail end of their conversation.
“Agreed to meet with you around four,” Imogen said as Zev did something on his phone. “I gave her your number in case something changes and sent her safe-house address to your phone.”
“Appreciate it.” Zev tucked his phone away, looked up, and caught my raised brows. “Dr. Kerri Michaels,” he clarified. “Imogen got her to agree to meet with us today.”
Works for me. It would be nice to get the surviving researcher’s insight on the Delphi project. Origin was racing neck and neck with LanTech on this project, and she would be familiar with Neil and his team since they were her competition. Long shot though it was, I hoped Kerri might know why Chloe had been so nervous about LanTech’s progress.
As we came up to the door, Bryan stepped back, making room for us to enter. “Watch your step. It’s a mess in here.”
I let Imogen and Zev go first and took of my sunglasses in preparation for the shadowed interior. I stepped inside, and when the space came into view, I let out a low whistle. “Okay, this does not look like an illicit love nest.”
“I’m thinking Neil wasn’t slipping out at lunch for a quickie.” A few steps ahead of me, Imogen used the pointed toe of her three-inch-heel shoe to nudge what appeared to be a broken pet cage of some kind out of her path. How she managed not to break her neck navigating the debris-strewn floor in those heels was beyond me. I chalked it up to one of her superpowers.
“Clearly not,” Zev murmured as he moved farther into the space.
Bryan strode across the room, stopping only when he hit the leading edge of the worst of the mess. “Not unless he was into some truly twisted kink.”
Sunlight fought its way through the narrow rectangular windows a
long the top of the door and combined forces with the harsh bare fluorescent bulbs hanging from the exposed rafters. Underneath, three long, narrow tables filled the middle of the room. One lay on its side, and the other two remained upright but had obviously been shoved out of alignment. On the middle one, the shattered screen of a computer rested in a drunken tilt. I moved closer until I could see the broken glass that, based on the couple of intact items on the desk, had once been beakers or some kind of test tubes, maybe even those glass slides used under a microscope. Strictly old-school science-lab stuff.
Strange stains spilled across the tabletops and left their mark as they dripped over the side. The floor directly below was marred by scorch marks, which explained the nose-curling stench of burnt plastic and the scattered fragments of burnt paper among the mess. Along the far wall was a high counter with a lopsided rolling stool leaning against it. There was another computer monitor and some kind of machine whose purpose I had no clue about other than that it vaguely looked like something from one of my favorite crime-lab shows. What was obvious was that this had once been some kind of lab.
Even worse was what I spotted as I came around the last narrow table. Oh shit. A chill ran down my spine as I stared at the twisted remains of a wire cage, the kind that normally held a small pet, lying in the center of what used to be a containment ward. If I was reading the scene right, whatever had been held in the cage had managed to tear through the wire mesh and breach the now-ruptured warding lines. On the floor, rust-colored stains dotted with fur proved that whatever had escaped had paid dearly for the attempt.
