by F J messina
Sonia’s head bobbed. “You can say that again.” Her voice began to rise. “The night on that side street in Rocky Top. The car chase on the way back from Memphis. The gunfight. The night in the autopsy room.” She brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “Dang. We’ve lived a lifetime in the last few weeks. And I know he feels that too.”
Jet stroked her long blonde ponytail with both hands, pulling it over her shoulder and tipping her own head down to the right for a moment. “And after all that he doesn’t want to talk about the future? What’s that all about?”
Sonia paused a moment before speaking. “Well, don’t forget. He’s had some tough things happen to him in the past.” She checked her mirrors. “I know it must be hard for him to actually commit to a future with someone.”
The car was silent as the miles and minutes ticked by. As they were approaching Midway, the farm fields and the six-foot-tall rolls of freshly cut hay giving way to the beginnings of the town, Jet finally spoke. “Now you listen. You’ve been hurt, too. That bastard, John Eckel, left you standing at the altar. But you’re ready to move on. Don’t you let Brad keep you from moving on to better things.”
Sonia let out a deep sigh. “Yeah.” A moment later, Sonia sat up taller in her seat. “Is this it? Is this where we turn?”
Jet pointed. “Yup. Up that road, right there.”
Sonia followed the signs to Mayweather College, just outside of the town proper, and found a parking spot in the lot next to the Equine Sciences building. “This is it.” She looked around, taking in the view of the campus. It was a beautiful, quaint, old school. Not a large university campus, a small college.
Jet asked, “So who are we meeting with?”
Sonia pulled her phone out of her purse and checked her notes. “Professor Spencer Andersen. He’s the head of the Equine Studies department.” She slipped her phone back into her purse. “It’s a big deal program and he’s the big deal guy. Their equine research major is highly respected. And who do you think is the leading researcher in that department?”
Jet was still taking in the campus. “I’m guessing it’s Professor Andersen.”
“And you would be correct.”
They stepped out of Sonia’s car into the early spring sunshine. They walked toward a large, old, red brick building. Classic lettering on its edifice indicated it was the home of the equine program. Sonia pulled the heavy, white, eight-foot wooden door open and they stepped inside. The halls were empty at the moment, the students and faculty most likely in classes. On the half-brick, half-plaster walls hung large, glassed and framed photographs. Almost every one of the photographs contained an image of a beautiful horse, though many of them also featured images of students working with those horses or in labs.
Sonia shivered slightly. “Feels like the AC is on. It’s cold in here.”
“And the temperature matches the atmosphere.” Jet’s shoulders lifted toward her ears. “So why, again, are we meeting with this professor?”
“Really, I don’t know a lot about this whole deal,” Sonia said as she sought the correct office. “But I spoke to Paco Castillo again last night and he said that Mariana was all about working with the guy, like it was some kind of honor. So, I looked him up this morning, and I’ve got to say his credentials are pretty impressive.”
They walked through the silent halls and down a broad set of stairs before they found the professor’s office. Just as Sonia was about to knock, she paused.
Jet chuckled. “Go on girl. He’s not that big of a deal. Hell, for all you know, he’s in there playing video games.”
Sonia gave Jet a quick look. “I doubt it.” She knocked firmly.
10
“Come in.” The voice was higher than Sonia had expected.
Sonia stepped in first; Jet was right behind her. Sitting at the desk directly in front of them, his back to them, the man’s silver hair was sparse, longish and combed straight back. Sonia took in the white office. Bookcases filled with journals lined the walls. Boxes cluttered the tiled floor near the door. The paint on the dampish walls had peeled around the window frame.
The professor spoke without looking up from his work. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Hi. I’m Sonia Vitale. We talked on the phone earlier today?” Her voice was strong and clear.
There was a momentary pause as the professor appeared to finish typing a thought on his computer. He spun around in his wheeled, swivel chair. A rather large man, he was wearing a wrinkled lab coat over a blue-checked shirt and khaki pants that could best be described as frumpy. His eyes were alert, his smile almost jovial. “Oh yes, I remember. The private investigators. Welcome.” He looked beyond Sonia. “And who is this lovely lady?”
“Jet, everyone just calls me Jet.”
“Jet it is.” The professor turned back to Sonia, giving her a crooked smile. “And you’ve come to talk to me about Mariana Castillo, correct?”
“Yes,” said Sonia. “She’s been missing for over two weeks. Were you aware of that?” Her voice had just the slightest touch of interrogation in it.
The professor half-stood, motioning almost awkwardly for Sonia and Jet to each take a seat in one of the two wooden chairs across from his desk. He seemed to take no notice of, or at least no offense to, Sonia’s tone. His own voice saddened. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. I didn’t hear about it until late last week. I’m not in regular contact with Mariana, but I heard one of the other students mention it. Honestly, I don’t know how she knew. It’s been several years since Mariana graduated and moved on. So sad. Any idea where she is?”
“I’m afraid not.” Sonia was trying to get a measure of the man as she continued with her questions. “Did you know that she was working on a horse farm here in Lexington?”
“Oh, my, yes.” He sat and his smile warmed again. “I got her that job at Downstream farm. She was a bright, bright student. I wanted her to wind up in a great situation.”
Sonia smiled too, trying to warm up the conversation, put the professor more at ease. “I was out there yesterday talking to folks. They appeared to be very pleased with her work, and everyone seemed to really care for her.”
“Not surprising.” He gave them a knowing nod, though his eyes saddened again. “Bright, dedicated. A lovely girl as well. Is she married?” Sonia sensed some pride, or was it affection, in his response. She replied, “No.”
“Strange.” His gaze moved to Jet and back to Sonia. “Very attractive girl. I would have thought someone would’ve scooped her up as soon as she got out of school.”
Sonia wondered why the conversation had moved in that direction.
Jet spoke up. “So, we understand that Mariana was part of a special research project while she was here. Is that correct?”
The professor’s face brightened. “My, my, yes.” He rubbed his hands together. “She and several other students worked with me on a cutting-edge research project.” He looked directly at Jet and smiled, his eyebrows dancing. “It was fascinating stuff.”
Sonia slipped to the front edge of her chair, “What kind of research?”
Andersen opened his hands in a “what-can-I-say” gesture. “Well, there are proprietary concerns, but let’s just say we were working on different ways of understanding equine disease at the cellular level.” He shifted into professorial mode. “You see, contagious diseases can be devastating to the horse industry. That’s especially true for sporting horses, both Thoroughbreds, the horses most people think of as racehorses, and Standardbreds, the horses that are used in harness racing.
“I don’t know if you recall, but there was an outbreak of a contagious disease called nocardioform placentities here in Kentucky in 2011. It caused spontaneous abortions in pregnant mares. There was a loss of hundreds of foals due to be born that year. Since stallion owners typically collect fees only on a ‘live foal’ basis, or when the foal stands and nurses, millions of dollars were lost in stud fees. Every part of the industry was impacted. It was tragic. And what’s
really terrible is that there was another spike in the disease just last year.
“Up ‘til now, much of the focus has been on diagnosis and cure of those contagious diseases. But to work on prevention you’ve got to look at diseases at the cellular level. That’s what we’ve been working on here for several years now.”
Sonia and Jet sat silently, not knowing what to say.
The professor seemed to relax. “Now getting back to Mariana, why have you come to see me?” He turned rather suddenly and took a sip from a water glass filled with a thick green liquid.
Sonia assumed it was some sort of health drink. She answered. “You see, we’ve been asked by Mariana’s family to try to locate her. We’ve spent the better part of two days researching Mariana’s presence on social media as well as interviewing her family and friends and the folks she worked with. So far, we haven’t turned up any new or relevant information. It seemed like the next logical step was to try to find out a little bit about her college connections.”
Andersen shrugged and gave them a little-boy smile. “As I said earlier, I can’t really say much about the work we were doing. Again, proprietary information and all.”
Sonia ran her fingers through her hair, her foot tapping discretely. “Well, what can you tell us about her time here with you.”
“Oh, dear me, Ms. Vitale,” his voice was fatherly, “I’m afraid you’ve got this all wrong. Mariana was not with me. She was a student in the research program and one of almost a dozen students who participated in the project at one level or another.”
Sonia still wasn’t satisfied. “And what about Mariana in particular. What about her level of involvement?”
The professor paused, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. “Well, she, along with several others, did spend quite a bit of her extra time here in the lab. They were all quite dedicated to the work we were doing.”
Jet leaned forward, interjecting herself into the questioning again. “Anyone special she worked with on a regular basis? Did she have friends here?”
The professor leaned back again and smiled. “Honestly, I don’t get involved in my students’ personal lives. I really know very little about Mariana, except what I observed in classes or while she worked on the project.” He reached into the printer on his desk and pulled out a clean piece of white paper. “I guess I could jot down a few names of students who worked on the project at the same time she did.”
“Yes, that would be very helpful.” Sonia glanced at Jet, looking for a cue as to any other questions she should ask. Not getting a response, she said, “Well, if you can think of anything else that might be of help . . . .”
Sonia and Jet stood to take their leave. The professor handed Jet his list of Mariana’s friends. “Please let me know if you find that young lady. I’d love to be able to let anyone who remembers her know that she is,” his voice trailed off, “okay.”
Sonia placed a business card on his desk. “Thank you very much for your time, Professor. If you do think of something, you can reach Jet or me at one of these numbers.” With that, they left the professor’s office.
Sonia was back behind the wheel of her car before she spoke again. “So, what do you think?” She hadn’t started the car.
“Of Professor Andersen?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Obviously a very bright guy. Doing important work.”
“So,” Sonia glanced at Jet’s hands, “you’ve got that list of her friends he gave you?”
Jet opened the folded paper. “Yup.”
“How many names?”
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Hmm. For a guy who doesn’t pay much attention to his student’s personal life, he was able to list seven students who worked with Mariana. Five girls, two boys.”
Sonia nodded and started the car. “He did seem to care about her, though. Don’t you think?”
“I guess.” Jet adjusted herself in the seat.
“What?”
Jet looked out the passenger side window. “I don’t know.”
Sonia gave her a look. “Don’t know what? What are you thinking?”
“Well,” Jet shrugged gently, “I was just thinking. We’re here, right outside of town, and down on Winter street there’s this great bakery, The Midway Bakery.”
“Really?” Sonia squinted her eyes. “We’re up here asking about Mariana and you’re thinking about pastry?”
“And a nice cup of coffee.” Jet looked apologetic. “I mean, they make the most delicious sorghum cookies.”
Sonia couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. I’ve never been there and I guess as a professional PI I should be aware of all the places bad characters might hang out.” She put the car in gear. “Just tell me where to go.”
As they headed to the bakery, Jet asked, “So how do you think we should proceed?”
Sonia kept her eyes forward. “I think we make some phone calls. We track down each of those students. Let’s see if they know anything.”
“Right,” Jet nodded. “And that would be a lot easier if we could get their phone numbers from the school’s registrar, but that’s not going to happen.”
“Privacy, girl, privacy. But, thank goodness, we live in the twenty-first century. They’re all up there somewhere on social media, and most of them are so careless with their private information we’ll be able to locate them within a couple of minutes.” Sonia checked her mirror. “Don’t you worry. We’ll find them. Believe me, we’ll find them.”
11
Sonia and Jet had spent all day Thursday working on several of the other cases they had taken on since their success with the John Abbott Hensley affair. They were the kinds of cases that were becoming routine for Bluegrass Confidential Investigations. One was a cheating husband who worked the overnight shift at a large manufacturing plant just outside of town. While his wife worked during the day, he would share his “leisure time” with the attractive young woman who lived next door. Another case had to do with shoplifters who kept stealing makeup from a local drug store and avoiding detection. Jet had pretty much figured out that it was a group of young girls who were managing to get away with the stuff; she just had to catch them in the act.
At eight o’clock that evening, Sonia and Jet met in Magee’s parking lot. Mr. Brownlee had agreed to take on the extra expense of using a forensic accountant, and it was time for them to gather some raw data from which they could determine if Michael Oakley was, in fact, mishandling the Bronson/Brownlee finances. They had already discussed the fact that if they used the direct approach, simply asking Oakley for his files, he might be able to cover his tracks. They were convinced this case would demand a more covert operation.
It was a short trip to the warehouse of Bronson/Brownlee, one block down Main, turn right on Walton. Jet pulled her car into the parking lot and the girls got out, Sonia carrying her laptop. It was after-hours, so the facility looked dark and deserted. Just as the girls were wondering how they were going to get inside, Brownlee appeared at the front door. “Welcome to my world.” The near-octogenarian’s green eyes were shining through his metal-framed glasses almost as much as his bald head shone in the overhead light. His brown corduroy pants and red-plaid flannel shirt hung loosely on his five-foot-ten-inch frame.
Sonia smiled as she noted his emphasis on the words “my world.” She had been told by Jet that he was still leading the company. Nonetheless, she was still taken by his spry, almost childlike manner. She could tell she was going to like this man.
Brownlee led the girls down the corridor to the offices of Michael Oakley, Technology Director. “It’s locked,” he said. “But don’t worry,” he winked at them with a leprechaun-like grin, “it’s still my company, and I’ve got the key to every room, closet, and cabinet in this entire place.”
Sonia had been surprised at the sheer size of the facility and was a bit shocked when she saw the number of keys on the old man’s ring. She grinned silently. Almost eighty-years-old and he doesn�
��t want to give up control. Good for him.
Brownlee led them into Oakley’s office. Sonia immediately noticed that there was a continuous security feed from several cameras being displayed on monitors that were hung high on the walls. She hoped she wouldn’t see anyone else appear on any of those cameras.
It wasn’t hard to find the computer the Technology Director worked on. Sonia could tell it was the latest iteration of one of the high-end business machines, and it was surrounded by all kinds of monitors and peripheral equipment.
Sonia stepped over to the computer and switched it on. A few moments later she was looking at a screen indicating that the machine was, of course, password protected. Not a problem.
Ever since getting involved with Brad Dunham and his former colleagues at NCIS, Sonia had spent what little spare time she had learning computer tricks─tricks she’d never imagined learning when she was a computer science major at The Ohio State University. It was an outstanding program, but it spent its time teaching students to do things that were legal. What a shame. Now, Sonia had a few new tricks up her sleeve, and she had no compunction about using them─for the right purposes.
Earlier that day, Sonia had obtained a sophisticated program for unlocking computer passwords and copied the program onto her flash drive. She inserted the drive into Oakley’s computer. Within a few minutes, she was looking at a screen which told her that she was about to change the password, “oldfool666,” and asking if she wanted to continue. Sonia looked furtively at Jet, indicating that Jet should check out the current password; she was hoping Brownlee hadn’t noticed it.
Writing down the password, Sonia wiped the program from the computer and ejected the flash drive, eliminating any chance that Oakley would know that the computer had been hacked unless he did some very deep digging. She then restarted the computer, used its password, and was in.
