“I’ll be outside for a bit,” Meister called to someone inside the house. He disappeared for several moments, then came out slipping on a jacket as he stepped outside. He looked at Colby, then at Leslie, and said, “He called me. Said you gave him some life-and-death story about New Genesis?”
Colby debated how much to tell Meister. The guy had all the earmarks of an ineffectual police chief from a bedroom community, who was loafing through retirement with some glorified, do-nothing, security position. Still, he had little choice. He had to get something to take to Pearson. Something that would get Dix off the hook before they indicted him.
“It’s looking more and more like that,” Colby said. “What can you tell us about New Genesis?”
Meister strolled away from his front porch, over a grassy lawn and toward the yellowish glow of a street light by the curb. His big face puckered. “Look, I signed a confidentiality agreement when I took the position there. If I go talking about the company, I’d be opening myself up to civil litigation.”
“Civil’s civil, Chief,” Colby said, hoping the respectful use of the man’s former title would establish some cop-to-cop line of communication. “We’re talking criminal here. Big time.”
Meister’s pucker deepened, sending wrinkles lacing down his cheeks, his gaze shifting to the ground.
He’s almost there, Colby thought. But does he need a push to go over the wall?
“Chief, I’m asking you, one cop to another, trust your gut.”
It was all the push Meister needed. “Okay. What do you want to know? I’ll try to see if I can answer it.”
“New Genesis. What is it they do there?”
“It’s mostly a research center,” Meister said. His voice swelled with something akin to pride. “Medical research. Cutting edge, too. They get a lot of important people there for stuff ranging from cancer treatments to transplant operations. But they do lots of other stuff there as well.”
“You know this guy?” Colby asked, holding up the picture of “Vernon Krems” crossing the border into Canada.
“Sure.” Meister nodded. “That’s Mr. Knox. He works there.”
What’s his job?”
“He’s kind of a jack of all trades.” Meister raised his eyebrows. “He mixed up in something?”
Colby shook his head. He’d been here before, knowing that he had to take control of the interview and not let Meister ask the questions, but still soft-soap the man enough so that he didn’t clam up.
“Chief, I can’t say right now. What I need from you is just your unbiased answers. I’ll tell you everything once I get the facts I need.”
A slight smile grazed Meister’s lips. “Yeah, I guess I’d do the same. Once a cop, always a cop, I guess.”
That’s what I’m counting on, Colby thought. “Knox is sort of in charge of internal security matters,” Meister said. “I’m really just a glorified groundskeeper, if the truth be told. I oversee the uniformed division, but our function is mostly just security. Checking doors, patrolling the grounds for people wandering in and resident escapees.”
“Escapees?”
“Yeah, the professor runs a school there. For retarded kids.” Colby wrinkled his brow.
“Where did they come from?”
“From the program he runs with the prisons. Women’s prisons. Takes a select few each year, the ones that are pregnant, and keeps them incarcerated, giving them good nutrition and schooling until their babies are born.” Meister shrugged. “Most of them are probably little crack babies anyway. Nobody wants them.”
“So the kids stay there?” Colby asked. He was trying to get a semblance of the big picture, but too many pieces were missing.
Meister nodded again. “Like I said, crack babies. Most of them turn up mentally challenged, or so I’m told. I really don’t have much to do with them. But I hear that the professor is real particular that they’re treated well.”
“I’ll bet he is.” Colby glanced at Leslie, who was standing there with rapt attention. “What’s Knox’s background?”
Meister shook his head. “Don’t have access to his personnel file, but I heard through the grapevine that he used to work for the government before he came here.”
“That professor sounds like he’s too good to be true,” Colby said. “What his story?”
“He’s probably,” Meister said, raising his eyebrows again, “the smartest fella I ever met. Like he’s on a different plane from the rest of us.”
Colby looked at Leslie and nodded.
“Did you know Professor John Norton?” she asked.
Meister’s brow flicked and wrinkled some more. “Yeah. Heard he was killed in a mugging up in Canada.”
“Were he and Jetters close?”
“Used to be,” Meister said. “But lately, I got the feeling they’d had a falling out.”
“How so?”
“Well, I heard them arguing a lot. Norton was upset over something that was happening in Europe.” He paused and shifted his eyes upward. “Italy, or someplace. Something about a cloned horse, and how they were passing us by.”
“A cloned horse?” Colby asked.
Meister nodded. “I was in the outer office waiting to see Professor Jetters when I heard it. He laughed and said, ‘Just like those gooks with their dog? Let the accolades fall where they may.’ I thought it was a funny way of putting things, so that’s why I remembered it.”
“And then what happened?”
Meister shrugged. “The professor saw me standing there, gave me a glare, and walked over and slammed the door shut. I got the message and left. But I remembered what he said.”
“When was this?” Leslie asked.
Meister’s lower lip engulfed his upper. “About a month, or so ago, I’d say.”
“Right before the Toronto convention,” she said. “An international geneticist’s convention.”
“Know anybody named Vernon Krems?” Colby asked.
Meister shook his head. “No, why?”
This was spiraling out of control again. But he needed to keep Meister with him.
“Chief, can you get us into New Genesis tonight?”
“Tonight?”
Colby nodded. “I need to get a handle on this guy Knox. Can you let us see his personnel file?”
Meister’s head shook in little movements. “I dunno.”
“Look, Chief,” Colby said. “Like I told you, we’re talking some major crimes here. Homicides.”
Meister looked at him, his mouth now a tiny, gaping hole.
“Homicides? Who?”
“John Norton, for one. And a couple more, we think.” Colby watched the expression on Meister’s face go through several transformations, then turn resolute.
“Let me get my coat,” he said, all serious business now. “And my keys.”
Chapter 23
Meister led them along the winding, tree-lined streets toward New Genesis. It was Friday night, and close to seven. Colby hoped to get something to take to Pearson. Hopefully, it would be a way out of the downward spiral he was caught in. But hoping wouldn’t cut it. Still, he had to try.
Leslie had been silent bedside him, but he knew she shared the same doubts. This feeling was reaffirmed a moment later when she looked over at him and asked, “Have you figured out how all this ties together?”
He sighed. “Not totally. It must have to do with Laird’s original connection to Norton, and hence, this place.”
The brake lights of Meister’s Cadillac flashed. Colby hit his brakes as the big El Dorado slowed to a stop in front of them.
“Are we there?’ Leslie asked.
Colby shook his head. “Close.” His cell rang. “Detective?” Meister asked. “You see that BMW that just passed us?”
Colby vaguely remembered it. Meister’s brake lights still shone brightly. His car edged to the side of the road. “I’m pretty sure that was Knox.”
Colby glanced in the rearview mirror. Twin taillights were receding into th
e darkness.
“You want to go after him?” Meister’s voice asked. “I can call some of my ex-boys on the PD to pull him down on traffic or something.”
Colby considered this. He was still officially stripped, as Kropper had so vividly reminded him. That meant his police powers were nonexistent. Plus, he needed more of an edge.
“Let’s try and tag him, Chief. He know your car?”
“Probably,” Meister said. “He’s pretty sharp.”
“Okay,” Colby said, glancing in the rearview mirror again as he shifted to reverse, backed up a tad, and made a sweeping U-turn. “We’ll stay in the lead. You keep about a hundred feet behind, in case he makes us. We’ll do it in tandem.”
“Ten-four” Meister said and ended the call.
Colby figured this was probably about as close to police work as Meister had gotten in years, but his presence was a plus. He was pretty sure Knox was armed. They had one gun and two cell phones between him and Leslie. Colby had forgotten to ask Meister if he was packing. If it got hot and heavy, back-up would be a 9-1-1 call away. He found himself longing for his fifteen shot Beretta instead of Brewer’s old five shot, snub-nosed revolver. Hopefully, the ammunition hadn’t turned green.
The distinctive row of the BMW’s taillights appeared ahead of them, and Colby eased off the accelerator a bit. He didn’t want his headlights to become noticeable in Knox’s mirrors.
He turned to Leslie. “Maybe he’ll lead us to another one of the copycat conspiracy boys. Laird had to have help.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “I thought I smelled rubber burning.”
She gave him a playful slap, which he also considered a positive sign. It was going to be hard when it came time for her to go back to the great white north. He thought about that for a moment. Maybe he could ask her to stay. But there was about as much chance of that as baseball replacing hockey as Canada’s national pastime. Besides, his immediate priority was nailing Knox and getting Dix off the hook.
His cell rang again, and Colby fumbled to answer it, wishing he had his bluetooth.
“You on him?” Meister asked.
This guy had ants in his pants. “Yeah. We’re still heading west, I think.”
“How about I pass you and take over? I know this area a lot better than you.”
“Sounds good,” Colby said, hoping Meister wouldn’t lose their quarry. But traffic was pretty sparse. Maybe it would be better if Knox noticed a new set of headlights in his rear-view mirror.
Colby watched as Meister’s Caddie went around them.
“Okay, I’m on him,” Meister said. His voice imbued with excitement. Colby knew every copper dreamed of the big case that would evolve into an adventure. Looks like the ex-chief had finally gotten his.
“I think we’re heading for the Tri-State,” Meister said. “He’s moving at just under the speed limit.”
“Great, Chief. Stay on him.”
Colby thought about it. Knox was driving at an average rate to avoid getting stopped. That must have meant he was en route somewhere where he couldn’t afford any delays or distractions. Things might be looking up after all.
“Yeah, we’re definitely getting on two-ninety-four,” Meister said. “I’m on him.”
They got on the Tollway and began heading south. It became an easy tail, with the enclosed distances allowing them to back off slightly and still keep the BMW in sight.
“Colby?” It was Meister. “I think he might’ve made me. His head’s moving around like crazy.” It was pretty dark. Meister might just be experiencing the phantom jitters. Common enough for somebody inexperienced in the art of tailing.
“Go ahead and drop back,” Colby said, figuring he’d feel better being in control anyway. “We’ll pick up the slack for a while.”
“All right, I’ll switch to the right lane and come up on your six.”
Our six? Colby grinned. Old boy must have been a former Marine.
“Don’t you want to know what I was thinking about?” Leslie asked.
“Yeah.”
“Remember Chief Meister saying they specialize in organ research and transplants at New Genesis?”
He nodded, focusing on looking inconspicuous as he shot past Meister’s vehicle. “Well,” she continued, “there was something I remembered about Norton’s autopsy. He’d had numerous organ transplant operations.” She patted the file on her lap. “I was reading the autopsy report on Norton’s significant other. He appeared to be an organ transplant recipient, too.”
“What are you suggesting?” Colby slowed down, keeping a watch on the BMW’s taillights. “The tox-screen didn’t show the presence of any anti-rejection drugs.” she said. “Usually people who have had organ transplants have to take them continually to keep the body’s own defensive antibodies from attacking the foreign organ.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“Plus,” Leslie continued. “The coroner said Norton’s organs were in remarkable shape for a man his age. Almost like brand new.”
Colby considered this as he watched the BMW’s taillights. This case was getting weirder and weirder. He wondered if they’d find any answers when they got where they were going.
It hit Matthew like a gut punch as soon as he crested the bridge. The refinery, or rather, what had once been the refinery, was now in a state of shambles. Instead of the massive, block-like rows of isomerization units, production towers, blowdown drums, and cement distillation columns, the entire area looked like it had been hit by a bombing raid. Only a few scattered columns remained, and most of those had long plastic coverings draped over them. Piles of rubble, brick, fractured cement blocks, and tangles of rebar, filled the area in between. Matthew braked and turned left at the intersection. Across the street the rows of huge storage tanks reposed in a rusting tranquility. The barrel storage area was gone as well. That was where Morgan had stashed the Swanstrom twins.
They’re tearing it down, he thought. All of it.
They can’t do this. It’ll ruin the last act.
Furious, he rolled by the main entrance. The twelve-foot cyclone fence was rusted and sagging, running up to the gate where he could see a lighted guard shack. A huge sign on the front gates said it all: NO TRESPASSING DEMOLITION IN PROGRESS
He was sure that this was the same place where Morgan had made his last stand, where the cop shot him in the back. But now, it was all different.
Matthew licked his lips and let the changes in the scenario run through his mind. The few houses across from the refinery looked dark and unoccupied.
Probably abandoned. Good. No witnesses.
He glanced back over his shoulder at his passengers. The twins still appeared to be sleeping. They’d feel less pain that way, and that would cheat him out of the thrill of watching their terror. Still, he needed to concentrate on setting this up as best he could. A few minor changes wouldn’t hurt. And it would even allow him to put his own, personal stamp on things. Plus, this was more about setting up the finale than mirroring Morgan’s last battle with the police.
Matthew came to the end of the fence-line. The refinery’s property gave way to a grassy slope and a set of metallic stairs descending from the railroad tracks running above them. He got to the corner and turned left, going under the cement columns of the viaduct. The stop light was red about forty feet ahead, and across the street was the truck-storage facility that Morgan had driven the stolen cop car into when he was being chased. Right before they shot him down like a dog, ruining what had been a very active and productive life.
That place looked abandoned now, too. A row of high weeds had crept up through the patches of green alongside the front. Everything had changed. Nothing was the same as it had been for Morgan. But Matthew knew he could still make it work. He’d just have to be a little more creative.
He turned right driving parallel to the railroad tracks on an elevated embankment. He’d go by the Franklin Hotel. See where Morgan had stayed in his last night of f
reedom, before outwitting the cops and shooting two of them. Three, if you counted that fat asshole, Dix. But Matthew had already made up his mind to avenge Morgan, in his own special way. He slowed down and pulled out the cell phone. There were two more calls he had to make before stashing the burner phone on the Blem.
Knox had the laptop on the seat next to him and glanced at it intermittently. The vector arrow had slowed almost to a stop, and from the map he figured he was a good ten or twelve miles away. As he got closer, the mapping would enlarge, but from the general area depicted, he knew that Matthew had last used a tower in the South Suburbs. The Blue Island area from the looks of it.
Knox tried to think what the little prick would be doing there. It was typically blue collar, and a bit rough for a twerp like him. Still, he had overpowered and strangled the health technician in the escape. Of course, Desmond Kirby wasn’t exactly a formidable opponent and was probably figuring on nothing more challenging in his afternoon than feeding the Others.
Nevertheless, Knox had been surprised at Matthew’s resourcefulness. The punk was not only smart, he was dangerous, too.
Knox veered over and went into the I-Pass lanes as another toll area approached. In his rearview mirror he noticed another set of headlights do the same. Nothing unusual about that, except this pair of headlights looked familiar. The car had been behind him for quite a while. A tail? But who?
Knox saw the vectoring arrow flutter slightly, showing Matthew was on the move again. But it didn’t move far. The arrow stopped again. If Matthew was driving, he must be going in circles. Looking for something, perhaps?
Knox accelerated and smiled. He’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 24
“Looks like we’re getting off at Cicero,” Meister’s voice said over the cell phone. He’d taken over the tail again.
“Which direction you heading?”
“Gotta drop back a little.” Meister’s voice sounded strained.
Blood Trails Page 26
