Elise sat perched on the edge of the psychiatrist chair with her hands wrapped around the tall glass, balancing it on her naked knees.
“I know this must be hard, but I really need to get a better idea of the events leading up to Nicholas’s death.” I pulled a small notebook out of the inside pocket of my jacket and searched for a pen, finding it in the opposite pocket.
“Okay,” she said, eyes darting.
“Can you start with telling me what you were doing in the garage?”
“It was a project,” she said. “Stuart’s project, really, but we were all working on it together.”
“You were all friends, then?” I asked.
“I met Stuart and Nicholas at MIT. I was doing my degree and they were finishing their PhD’s.”
“And after MIT?”
“I started my own software company. Nicholas was on a contract for the military doing his computer systems engineering, and Stuart was working at the Institute for Soldier Nanotechnologies.”
“Soldier what?”
“Nanotechnologies. The Army and MIT work together, coming up with ideas for advanced equipment for the military. That’s where Stuart came up with his idea. He brought Nicholas in as a computer engineer and me as a software engineer and programmer.”
“You must be good at what you do,” I said, glancing at the view.
“I suppose so.” She followed my eyes. “Building software can be profitable if you’re any good.”
“So what was the project?” I asked.
“Stuart, he . . . he discovered something. Something significant. He found a way to view a higher spectrum of the electromagnetic field.”
“You got that in English?”
“He believed he had found a way to view a higher electromagnetic frequency than gamma or infrared.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still not getting it.”
“X-ray vision, Detective. He discovered a method to make X-ray vision a reality.”
“What, you mean like Superman?”
“I suppose so, in a way.” The barest hint of a smile touched her lips.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I wrote down X-ray vision and underlined it, then added a question mark at the end.
“I know how it must sound, Detective, believe me. But it’s true. It’s a game changer. Imagine a soldier being able to scout the inside of a building without having to go inside. To locate hidden IEDs. Tech like that could be put into vehicles, helicopters . . . it’d be worth billions. Not to mention the awards and accolades we’d receive. The Nobel Prize would almost be a sure thing for Stuart.”
“That’s pretty impressive.”
“Yes, it’s been exciting for us all.” She paused a moment. “It took us a few years, but we finally had our prototype and data ready. We were looking for a manufacturer to partner with when we ran into complications.”
“What sort of complications?”
“Anomalies were showing up in the software. Corrupted files. We needed to work out the gremlins before we could run demonstrations for a partner.”
“Had you approached any manufacturers before the problems showed up?” I asked.
“Only one. We wanted to find an American-based manufacturer, and there was one in the area we touched base with.”
“Who was that?”
“Bach Optics. We had a couple of meetings and it was looking promising. Then the problems began, so we had to put everything on hold.”
“That must have been disappointing.”
“Yes. You could say that.”
There was a long pause, and she filled the space by taking a timid sip of her drink.
“I spoke with Blanche Stevens,” I said. “The woman who owns the garage.”
“Nice lady.”
“She tells me she heard arguing last night. Can you tell me about it?”
“Arguing?” She was taken aback.
“Yes. Last night. Said she heard arguing from the three of you. And it wasn’t the first time either.”
“Oh . . . I guess there’s been a lot of stress lately.”
“Last night, what were the three of you specifically arguing about?” The direct question may as well have been a smack in the face. Her darting eyes dropped to the ground.
“It was nothing,” she answered quietly, and when her eyes came back to me they looked misty.
“Come on, Ms. Daniels, I need to know what was going on before Nicholas’s death. What was the argument about?”
Her porcelain exterior was cracking apart, her eyes welling with tears. “It was nothing,” she said again. “We’re all a little stressed trying to fix what’s wrong is all.”
“That’s all, huh?”
“Yes.” She pulled her glass up to her mouth and sipped once more, only this time more self-consciously.
“Okay. What happened after the argument?”
“Nothing. We all left for the night. That was the last I saw either of them.”
“Why do you think Nicholas returned to the garage?”
She shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know.”
“So there was a big argument and you all leave. Then Nicholas goes back to the garage and interrupts the thief. Gets killed. And you find him in the morning.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“I feel like I’m missing the finer points here, Ms. Daniels. I get the feeling you’re not telling me the whole story. Like you’re holding something back.”
“I’ve told you everything I know,” she said.
“I heard your message.”
“Message?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The one you left on Stuart Arnold’s Skype account. You said, ‘Do you think it has anything to do with what we found?’ What did you mean by that?”
She wiped a tear from her cheek, as if it were an annoyance, a fly. “I—I don’t know. I guess I was referring to the X-ray vision, just . . . in general.”
“Stop holding back,” I said. “Tell me the whole story.”
Another tear toppled down her cheek. Her porcelain exterior was breaking. Another tear fell and the porcelain shattered. She stood and turned, her shoulders shaking.
Frustration gnawed at me. I wanted to shake her and say, “Spit it out, princess.” I wanted to press her more on what she had meant in her message, but I had the feeling any more pushing and Elise was going to be heading back to the hospital.
I thought about that.
Had she been genuinely ill? Romero had asked her questions. Maybe questions she hadn’t been ready for yet. Maybe she’d pretended to faint, then got a free ride away from Romero’s spotlight. Bought herself time to come up with a good story. She had been discharged from the hospital pretty damn fast, after all.
She turned to face me. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you know where Stuart is now?”
“No.” She took a burst of sharp breaths, trying to control her diaphragm. “I’m worried he’s lying . . .dead somewhere.”
“Why would Stuart feel the need to run away?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled a scrunched-up tissue out of her pocket and dabbed it under her eyes.
“You think Stuart was involved in Nicholas’s death?”
“No. Stuart isn’t . . . a killer,” she said. “He’s a genius, and he comes across . . . a little strange sometimes, but he’s a good . . . person.”
“So why run, then?” I asked. “In my experience, innocent people don’t run.”
“I don’t know.”
“There was someone in Stuart’s townhouse, Ms. Daniels.”
“What?” Her raw gaze met mine.
“A man. A big, tall man. Do you know who that might’ve been?”
“No. Not at all,” she said quickly.
“No idea?” I asked, feeling the frustration building again.
“No, Detective Gamble,” she said with as much strength as she could manage, but her voice wavered like a leaf in the wind. She wrapped an arm around herself and
took another small sip from her glass of vodka. It trembled in her hand and the liquid barely touched her lips.
I thought for a moment. Someone had killed Nicholas Hartmann and stolen the tech out of the garage. And another guy had been in Stuart’s townhouse, looking for something. But what? More tech? Who was involved here? Who had something to gain, and who had something to lose?
“Who would feel threatened by Stuart’s invention?” I asked her.
“I suppose there may be some people. But I don’t think—”
“Humor me,” I said. “Who would lose out if your invention made it to market?”
“I—I suppose the medical imaging industry. And companies that deal in optical technology. Night vision companies, that sort of thing.”
“Night vision?”
“Companies who make field goggles for the military and law enforcement.”
“And they’d lose business?” I asked.
“Of course. It would be easy to implement the X-ray technology into field goggles. Anyone who didn’t have the technology would be left behind.”
“Are they big companies?”
“Some are.”
“Who are they?” I pressed.
“There’s a few. L-3 Warrior Systems might be the biggest. But then there’s AB NightVision, Exelis, ATN Corp. The one we approached was Bach Optics.”
“Tell me more about Bach Optics,” I said, writing the names down.
“Its CEO is Malcolm Bach. He started the company. They mostly provide thermal imaging to the armed forces.”
“And your goggles don’t do that?”
“Our software can translate the entire electromagnetic spectrum into visible light.”
“So do they do the thermal thing, then?” I asked, feeling out of my depth.
“Yes. Of course. By toggling between modes, you can snap between varying frequencies: infrared, X-ray. You could even see Wi-Fi waves if you wanted to.”
“So what you’re saying is your competitors wouldn’t stand a chance against your technology.”
“No, no I suppose they wouldn’t.”
“What about the medical industry?”
“The technology would have other applications. A doctor could use the optics to see broken bones, injured tissue, brain trauma. Eventually we would have targeted that market. X-ray machines would become redundant.”
“Sounds like your little invention would threaten some pretty powerful people.”
“I suppose so. I—I’ve never thought about it like that before. But it doesn’t matter anyway—no one else knew about it.”
“Except for the three of you.”
“Yes, us and Malcolm Bach,” she said, sniffing and wiping her nose with the tissue.
“Malcolm Back, the three of you, and no one else?”
“No one else,” she confirmed.
“Do you have any idea where Stuart might be right now? I want to speak to him.”
“No. I already answered that question.”
“Any relatives he might go to? Friends, acquaintances?”
“No. Stuart doesn’t have family here, and he doesn’t really have any friends.”
“Do you have a photo of him?”
“Only from our time at MIT. It’s a few years old now.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
Elise placed her tall glass down on the coffee table, then disappeared down the hallway. I stood up and waited. She returned holding a framed photograph clutched in both hands. She held it out.
I looked at it. “Well, fuck me, he’s Chinese.”
“No,” she said. “Taiwanese.”
“What’s the difference?”
“They’re different countries, Detective Gamble. Stuart doesn’t care for the Chinese.”
“Well, he sure as hell likes their food,” I said, looking at the size of the guy.
“Yes, I suppose he does.” The thin smile returned.
“Before I go, Ms. Daniels, is there anything else you can tell me? Anything you think might help?”
“Like what?”
“Anything at all. Perhaps you want to go over the argument one more time.”
“No,” she said pointedly. “I told you. It was just the stress of the project.”
I paused, looking at her. Her eyes found the ground again.
“Okay, then,” I said, looking around one more time. “I don’t have any more questions right now, but before I go I want to offer you some protection.”
“Protection?”
“Just precautionary. Take you somewhere safe until this all blows over.”
“Do you think I’m in danger?”
“Can’t rule it out.”
“I . . . I don’t think so. I like my home. I have a panic room, if I’m in trouble.”
“As good as that sounds, I’m still going to put a squad car out front if that’s okay with you. Just for the time being.”
“I suppose that would be fine.”
“If you hear from Stuart, I need you to call me immediately.” I handed her a card.
“Of course,” she said.
Her eyes looked away again and I knew then for sure. She was lying to me. Did she know where Stuart was hiding? Or was she lying about last night’s argument? Maybe it was both.
I wasn’t exactly sure what she was lying about. One thing was for certain, though, she was lying about something.
SEVEN
The white gravel crunched under my boots as I made my way over to the Road Runner. I pulled out my cell and called dispatch. Told them to send a squad car to the address. I checked the time. Afternoon shift had just begun, so the lucky duo was going to have a long night of playing I Spy.
I wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or the case itself, but I couldn’t get ahold of a clear picture in my mind. Everything was muddled. I tried to think past the headache, about what Elise had told me. She had given me two big pieces of information. One was the photograph of Stuart Arnold. He was a big guy, so unless he’d gone on a wheat germ diet, he wasn’t the man in the footage leaving the garage.
The other piece of the puzzle she’d given me started with Bach and ended with Optics.
I remembered Stuart’s stockholdings summary in his townhouse. He had a lot of their stock. If he made a deal with the company, he’d get whatever was a part of the deal, plus the share price would surge on news of their new X-ray technology. Smart move, Stuart.
Something else was bothering me. Something Elise had mentioned about Stuart. It wasn’t a line of thought I wanted to go down, but it was hard to ignore. Stuart had worked for the military. Then he’d taken his invention elsewhere. If there was another party who knew about the project, it was probably the military. And they almost certainly wouldn’t want to let that sort of tech get out of their control. Hell, it’s national security. If tech like that got into the hands of the Chinese?
I thought about the giant man in fatigues. Black military fatigues. The guy on the tape was also wearing fatigues. Were they working together? Were they rounding up all the tech?
I shook my head. I didn’t want to go there just yet. I needed to find Stuart. I needed to get his story. I needed to find out why he had run. Was he running ’cause he did something wrong, or was he running ’cause he was scared? And if he was running scared, who was he scared of?
Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to keep my mind out of the conspiracy track, I couldn’t help myself. If the military was involved in some way, it meant only one thing. I was digging deeper and deeper into a pile of shit, and there was no way I was coming out of it clean.
Back in the Valley I stopped and got gas and a late lunch. Gas station hot dogs are about as bad as it gets for eating on the run, but they serve a purpose. I swallowed it down and followed it with a bad coffee. I grabbed the stick of jerky I had bought for dessert and checked out the Bach Optics’ website on my cell.
The company’s head office was in San Francisco, a publicly owned company with Malcolm Bach a
s the CEO. There was a picture of the guy on the company’s About Us page.
He had a round face, the lower half covered in a trimmed auburn beard, and his bald head reflected the camera’s flash. It was a shoulders-up photograph, but I could tell he was a big guy. His proportions were too big for him not to be.
He wore gold-framed eyeglasses over steely pale green eyes and the photo had frozen him in an unnatural smile. Like the photographer had insisted he smile, but it didn’t come natural to him.
The site read, Bach Optics, providing the latest in frontline technology to law enforcement and armed forces. Then it finished up with a tag line: An edge where it counts most.
My cell rang and the website vanished, replaced by a bright green answer button and the name Terry Schultz. I answered it, then thumbed the speaker so I could unwrap my stick of jerky.
“Blake, it’s me,” he said.
“Terry. Hey, thanks.”
“What for?” he asked as I bit down on the dried meat.
“For dragging me out of my house. This case is all kinds of screwed up.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”
I stopped chewing. “What’s wrong?”
“Two more DBs in Mountain View. El Camino Real. Chris is on his way.”
“Shit. All right, give me the address.”
I hung up and was about to take another bite of my jerky stick, then thought better of it. If where I was headed was anything like the garage, then the hot dog was bad enough. I threw it on the seat beside me, then pulled out onto the road and took the 85 all the way down to El Camino Real.
Three squad cars, along with Romero’s Crown Vic, sat parked out front of a row of shops along the main road. A pawnshop was cordoned off with yellow police tape, and two uniformed officers were standing behind it. Then two more walked out of the shop. The male officer was coughing and the woman was shaking her head.
The windows buzzed in flashing LED signs that read, INSTANT CASH, WE BUY GOLD, PAWN! PAWN! PAWN! and CHEAP DEPOSIT BOXES.
I showed my badge to the uniforms, signed the crime scene list, and ducked under the tape. I was about to ask them for an introduction to the scene, when Romero came walking out of the shop, his face pale.
“Man,” was all he said, looking down, shaking his head.
Beyond the Spectrum Page 4
