The Killing Vote

by Bette Golden Lamb

  Nathan raised a hand. “I know. I know. We can only wait.” He took a deep breath. “Now, why the special meeting? What’s going on?”

  Before Ted could answer, the waitress arrived with water and took their orders—toasted English muffins and coffee for both of them.

  “I didn’t want to do this on the phone,” Ted said. “But I thought you should know that last night, while Mel and I were out to dinner and a movie, our house was broken into and torn apart from end to end.”

  Nathan’s face collapsed into his doleful Einstein persona—eyes leaking tears, white hair flying everywhere as he tried to rake the unruly strands with gnarled fingers.

  “Thank God the two of you were out. You could have been killed.”

  “No, I don’t think that was the intent. The investigators didn’t find any explosives, like at your offices. And there was no attempt to burn down the house.”

  “Trying to scare you off?”

  “I think so. A warning.”

  Nathan started on another napkin. “Maybe we quit all of this. I never thought—”

  When Nathan said it, quit, it slapped him right in the face. Quit? He’d never been a quitter, and he wasn’t going to start now. And when it got down to it, Mel probably wouldn’t want him to quit either.

  “No, we don’t quit. We’re just getting started.”

  “But this really worries me, Ted.”

  “Me, too.” He took a sip of water. “We just have to be more careful, more alert. I’ve already made arrangements to have a security system installed at the house while we’re staying at the motel. Probably a closing-the-barn door-after-the-horse-is-gone kind of thing, but I’ll sleep better … I hope.”

  “Did they do a lot of damage?”

  “Yeah, but the worse part, the really sad part, is that they trashed Mel’s piano—cut every string. They also smashed our family pictures, destroyed our books, and generally made a mess of everything they could get their hands on. But from what I could tell, they didn’t search the house. Wouldn’t have found anything even if they had.”

  The waitress set their orders on the table. Ted immediately took a long sip of the hot coffee, grabbed for a glass of water to cool his mouth.

  “And you think it’s connected to your digging into Galen and Hygea for us?”

  “What else? I mean, I suppose it could have been kids out tearing things up just for kicks. But it didn’t look or feel that way—no beer taken, no food eaten. And cutting the piano strings? I don’t see kids taking the time to do something like that.”

  “There may be more going on with Hygea than we originally thought.” Nathan started ripping up another napkin.

  “The evidence is piling up that someone doesn’t want us digging around in Galen Hospital’s internal affairs.” Ted poured water into his coffee. “And you can be sure Garrett Rudge has probably ferreted out the fact that I know John Bradberry, which certainly is going to make him feel even more nervous about me.”

  Nathan was silent as he sipped his coffee, oblivious to the fact the hot brew had almost burned Ted’s tongue off. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess,” he said, almost whispering the words. “First they almost kill poor Myra, and now they’re after you.”

  “I’m okay with it. But Mel? I ‘m not about to have her end up like Myra. I have to keep her safe.”

  Nathan was quiet for a long moment; when he finally spoke, he emphasized each word. “You know there’s no way to do that.” He stared out the window, looking at the passing crowd. “Life is short and the older you get, the more you want to hang onto it.” His face relaxed into a sad smile. “But we both know you can’t.” He carefully opened a small plastic cup of strawberry jam, smothered half of his muffin, took a big bite, and chewed slowly. “We have to do what’s important to us at any cost. Otherwise we might as well be dead anyway.”

  * * *

  Ted drove over to the main branch of the San Francisco library on Larkin to do more research on euthanasia and Hygea Corporation. He knew it might be faster to hit the Internet, but he felt the need to get away from electronics and work with actual newspapers, magazines, and books.

  After an hour or so, he started shifting in his seat to relieve a stabbing back pain. Ancient injuries? Growing tension? Or it could be something as simple as sitting too long in a straight-back, unpadded, oak chair. He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. He intended to keep digging in the library files—he needed as much information as he could find, and as quickly as possible. But there was still time to walk away, no matter what he’d said to Nathan. Run with the investigation, or turn his back on the whole thing?

  Finally he closed his notebook, stuffed it into his leather portfolio, and started walking back to the garage where he’d parked his car.

  By the time he got to the garage, he’d accepted the fact that he was in too deep to drop out. He would continue his investigation with Sorkin and CORPS. But there had to be a strong D.C. connection. Asking Bill to birddog the thing wasn’t going to be enough. Telephones weren’t going to be enough. He needed to go to Washington.

  Cruising along Van Ness, he used one hand to massage his lower back, then shifted to his neck. He wasn’t really against assisted suicide. At least he didn’t think so. But legalizing it, as some states already had, made him uncomfortable.

  It was that old slippery slope thing; once you started down, there was no turning back

  But it’s a giant step from assisted to selective euthanasia.

  Deliberately withholding care? Putting people to death based on economics?

  He wondered whether the public would go for it. Or was he being cynical when he thought Americans seemed less sensitive to the right and wrong of things? Wasn’t Holocaust more and more becoming just another word?

  Making selective euthanasia would take a real selling job. But then, with sugar-coating and a few good sound bites you can make almost anything fly.

  Ted glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove down Lombard on his way to the Golden Gate Bridge. Then took a second, longer look. Something was off. He was almost certain the gray Chevy Malibu had been on his tail ever since he pulled out of the downtown parking garage.

  Uneasiness tweaked his awareness; he waited until the last minute to make a sharp right turn onto Scott, then accelerated until he was doing more than 40 by the time he reached Marina Blvd. He barely slowed as he careened left and dodged back and forth across the two westbound lanes leading to the bridge. A quick glance in the mirror told him that it wasn’t his imagination working overtime. That damn Chevy changed lanes, sped up, slowed down every time he did.

  He thought he’d lost the tail by the time he was on Doyle Drive, but when he looked in the mirror, the gray car was not only there, it was catching up to him.

  The idea of being followed made him shift in his seat. First, his house had been trashed. Now, someone was on his tail. They, whoever they were, had serious intentions.

  None of this was new to him—he’d been shot at, but always outside the U.S. Everything had been staged to scare him off from some story, otherwise they would have nailed him and walked away clean.

  Hell, maybe he had a death wish. None of the attempts stopped whatever he was doing.

  He squinted, tried to catch a good look at the face of the driver, but all he got was a breadth of shoulders—an outline that made him think it was a man. No, there were two of them.

  Two of them!

  He sped across the Golden Gate Bridge, hoping he’d get caught by the cops and stopped. Maybe he could call to…no, no. He visualized his cell phone sitting on the dresser in the motel.

  Calm down, Yost, you’re losing it!

  But the hairs on his neck prickled and a knot was growing inside his stomach.

  He stretched and moved closer to the inside mirror, tried to read the Chevy’s license plate as they plunged into the murkiness of the Waldo Tunnel. Then he felt a sharp jolt; his head jerked back and forward, spit flew everywhere.

/>   The asshole rear-ended me!

  Ted swallowed hard, sped up, and at the last possible moment veered off the freeway at Mill Valley. The Malibu’s grille remained only inches away from his rear bumper. As he got closer to the Tam Junction intersection, he started blasting his horn. Other drivers pulled out of his way as he roared through every red light, veering right into town rather than taking the left toward the Coastal Highway.

  The Malibu lost a little ground as he sped through the village streets, was never more than a half-block behind. By now, Ted’s hands were shaking so badly he could hardly hold onto the wheel.

  A rolling stop and a sharp left put the Prius on the winding, hilly route to Panoramic Highway. The Chevy was falling behind on the curves. Ted pushed the little hybrid hard, hoping someone didn’t back out of a driveway or drift across the center line coming from the other direction.

  Three roads at the crest—Muir Woods, Stinson Beach, and the back route to Tam Junction. He ran the stop sign, held his breath, and kept going on Panoramic.

  After about a half-mile, he pulled off onto a side street, turned the car around, and waited.

  His chest felt like someone was pounding on it. He looked down at his shaking hands and barked a small laugh—he’d crossed his fingers.

  He sat and waited, but there was nothing. He reached for a tissue to blot at the sweat on his forehead and cheeks, and laughed out loud.

  When he arrived at the motel, the gray Chevy Malibu was waiting for him across the street.

  His heart started racing again—he reached behind the front seat, scrabbled around until he found the three-cell Maglite that was tucked under the driver’s seat. He slapped it against his palm, opened the car door. From the corner of his eye he saw the motel room curtain move. He knew Mel was there.

  He stepped out of the Prius, looked across the street at the Chevy, then glanced back at the window. He saw his wife’s worried face and the slow, negative shake of her head.

  He couldn’t stop now.

  He turned and started across the street, tapping the end of the big flashlight rhythmically into the palm of his hand. Before he was halfway there, the gray sedan accelerated away from the curb, turned left at the first corner, and was quickly out of sight.

  When he turned around, Mel was no longer standing at the window.

  Chapter 20

  “You promised you were going to stick to blogging,” Mel said after Ted when Ted brought her up to date on Nathan Sorkin and told her a trip to Washington was necessary.

  “We’ll only be gone for a few days.”

  “We? Are you out of your mind? What about the house? We can’t go away and leave it in that God-awful mess. At least, I can’t.”

  “I’ve arranged for an alarm system to be installed while we’re gone and—”

  “Good! I’ll stay and supervise.”

  “After what’s happened, there’s no way I’m going to leave you in California by yourself.”

  * * *

  By the time the Saturday night redeye landed at Dulles International in Washington, Ted and Mel were exhausted.

  On the ground, they boarded the aerotrain to the main terminal where they immediately spotted Bill Tana at the gate—the tall, dark-haired man would stand out in any crowd with his rugged, handsome features. Mel dropped her carry-on and ran straight into his arms..

  “Couldn’t you have left the old goat behind so you and I could do some real visiting?” He lifted her off the floor and spun her around in a circle.

  “It’s been way too long. I miss you and Kelli,” she said with a laugh. “Where is that beautiful wife of yours?”

  “Home, keeping an eye on the beastly teenager.”

  Tana turned and reached out to shake hands with Ted, but instead, they threw their arms around each other and squeezed out a tight bear hug.

  “For God’s sake. You still look like a kid.,” Ted said.

  “Save the phony flattery. You had me hooked with the phone call last night. I’m here only to serve.”

  “And we appreciate it.”

  They walked to the luggage carousel, got there just as it started to turn. Bags began dropping from the delivery chute.

  “Hey, Mel, would you call and see if you can get us reservations at the Best Western in either Falls Church or Arlington while I watch for our luggage?”

  “No, no, no!” Bill interrupted. “You guys are coming home with me. Kelli has the guest room ready and waiting.”

  “I don’t think so.” Ted glanced around the area, wondering if someone was watching them. “Thing is, I don’t want you getting caught in the cross-fire. Things have been heating up fast in San Francisco.”

  “You come to D.C., I’m here.”

  “Look, you two, work out whatever needs to be worked out, I’m off to find the restroom,” Mel started walking away. “And that’s not open to debate.”

  Ted pulled Bill away from the crowd huddling around the carousel. “Someone sent a wrecking crew to our house. Messed up the place pretty bad.”

  “Maybe it was a simple B&E?”

  “Nope. Nothing was taken. I mean, when we went through the place with the cops, we couldn’t find anything missing. A diamond broach that belonged to Mel’s grandmother was right there in her jewelry box on top of the dresser.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Then yesterday, some guys rear-ended me. Lost them, but when I got back to Sonoma they were parked across the street from the motel where we were staying.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “My money’s on Hygea Corporation and their head honcho on the West Coast, Garrett Rudge.”

  Ted spotted their luggage and pulled it off the carousel.

  “Here, let me take that.” Bill reached for the suitcase. “Can’t let an old guy like you get a hernia.”

  “This old guy can still flatten you, you pissant.” He started to lift one bag off the floor and hold it out straight out at shoulder height. It didn’t work. “Long flight,” he said

  Mel returned, cell phone in hand. “Do I call for a rez, or not?”

  “Not! You’re coming with me; Kelli would kill me if I didn’t bring you guys home. Besides, there’s no way you’re staying at a Best Western if they’re looking for you. Why make it that easy for them?”

  “We’re not staying at your place,” Ted said. “Probably even have your bathroom bugged already. Wouldn’t surprise me if they had eyes on us right now.”

  “Sure you’re not going paranoid on me?” Bill held up a hand as Ted started to punch his arm.

  * * *

  They tried to lay a false trail by changing cabs three times and wandering into two overcrowded malls filled with weekend shoppers. After checking out all four of the out-of-the-way hotels Bill had suggested, they went back to the first one and checked in. Ted thought they’d probably ditched anyone following them, but the hairs on the back of his neck continued to prickle.

  The seedy dive they chose was nothing but an overpriced flea bag on the outskirts of D.C. Their room wasn’t much larger than their walk-in closet at home and the shower stall had spots of mold here and there, and the water stopped for long stretches when they tried to shower. Between them they used most of the worst anatomical curse words known to western civilization. And when they finally collapsed into the bed, they could hear both the shower and wash basin faucets dripping in counterpoint.

  Rather than getting the three or four hours of sleep they’d planned on, they spent most of the time on the soft, lumpy, and less-than-standard-size double mattress, reading background material.

  Melissa scrolled through a stack of papers on Hygea’s background, plus a condensed history of the current healthcare situation in United States. Ted used the time to catch up on who the healthcare powerbrokers were in the Washington name-game.

  “Kind of dumb to arrive in D.C. on a Sunday and expect to immediately track down or get in touch with anyone,” Ted said sheepishly.

  “No comment.”


  * * *

  “What do you mean you lost them?” Wade Wilson said in a low, menacing voice. I thought you had them at the airport.”

  “They got away,” said the hoarse voice at the other end.

  “I can’t have that man running around loose. Did you say he had a woman with him?”

  “Yeah, his wife.”

  “Are you sure it was his wife? It could have been a niece or some doxie.”

  “Listen, man, just because we botched up the tail doesn’t mean we don’t know who’s who. It’s his wife, damn it.”

  “I need you to fix this now. Trap and hold. You get my meaning?”

  There was a long pause on the end of the line. “Not for the money you’re paying us. Our deal with Levi Black doesn’t cover kidnapping.”

  “I’m not talking about kidnapping, you fool. I’m talking about detaining.”

  “Same difference.”

  “How much?”

  “Another hundred.”

  “Two hundred thousand dollars total? You’ve got to be out of your mind.”

  “It’s your gig, man. You’re calling the shots. If detain is what you want, then that’s the cost. That, or we can shit-can the whole deal.”

  Wilson held the phone tightly, looked at the calendar. The next few days would either make or break them.

  “Do it!”

  Chapter 21

  Ted Yost paced back and forth along the edge of the Potomac—the water was gray and looked forbidding; the breeze was icy cold. Lazy snowflakes settled on his navy-blue overcoat; every now and then he nervously brushed them away. It was hard to believe that the last time he stood at this very spot he was surrounded by blossoming Japanese cherry trees. Now, instead of soft, pink petals, a carpet of snow covered the ground.

  He shook his head. How many years ago?

  Too many.

  The frigid weather made his joints stiff and sore; all he could think about was a glowing fireplace where he could warm his feet. He took in a deep breath that became a long sigh.

  Yeah, he was getting old. His body pulled and tugged at him all the time; it sent distress and cautionary signals instead of the juice he needed to keep going at the pace he’d always gone. Last week he flew out of bed to answer the telephone and landed on his rump. It was the first time he’d forced himself to face up to it—things he took for granted throughout most of his life were changing.