Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold

by Matthews, D. K.

  As always, Tommy’s voice hinted of conspiracy.

  “The folks I talked to said no way would Jillian Andrews commit suicide. She hated guns.”

  The waitress placed Halliday’s ice tea on the table.

  “Thanks, Carmen.”

  He would play devil’s advocate. “Tommy, anyone is capable of suicide if they are motivated enough.”

  “That’s what I said. So what motivated her? Could it be because she’s a descendant of the Foxworth family, the original owners who got screwed over by our federal government in cahoots with Genevive Labs?”

  Halliday glanced over at the man dipping a fork into a chicken pot pie. Someone dressed like him would more likely have lunch at the Santa Reina Inn restaurant down the road. The man had obviously been here before. How else would he know to order Cindy’s homemade pot pie? They didn’t put it on the menu.

  What were you saying, Tommy?”

  “Nothing that will hit the printing press… John, this is between you and me, right?”

  “Sure.”

  He liked Tommy’s chutzpah. The renegade reporter had written a hard-hitting blog post titled, What Have I Got to Lose? It slammed the mayor and the city council over Genevive Labs’ indiscretions. The reporter had said everything Halliday would have said if he could.

  “You know what a nosy bird I am, huh Halliday?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Tommy leaned in. “You’re not going to believe this shit, detective.”

  “Try me.”

  “Sniffing around at the spa, I came across some apartments behind the main office that burnt down.”

  Jillian had mentioned that Laurel had stayed in one of the apartments.

  “I had to check them out. You know me, Curious George.”

  Tommy had his full attention.

  “I stopped at the door when I heard the chief’s voice. I also heard that Genevive piss head Palmier. Along with a deep voice named George.”

  That must be Genevive Security Chief George Altman. “Go on Tommy.”

  “It’s the chief,” Tommy said.

  Worry had captured the reporter’s face.

  “You wouldn’t believe it Halliday. That prick Palmier instructed the chief to lay off one of Genevive’s security pukes named Wayman.”

  “Sam Waylen?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Tommy said. “He got picked up for assaulting a Latino girl. It happened out at Margarita’s Bar in Santa Reina Sur early this morning. I heard he made a mess out of her face.”

  Had Waylen been celebrating a job well done out at the Santa Reina Hot Springs Resort?

  “The chief started to object to Waylen, then that bastard Palmier threatened him. He told the chief if he didn’t play by his rules then Genevive Labs would discontinue his benefits, whatever that means.”

  Halliday figured Genevive had been providing the chief with the prostate cancer beta drug, unavailable on the market for another two years. That’s why Palmier and Genevive had him under their thumb. “What happened with Sam Waylen?”

  “The chief called Sergeant Garcia and told him to release the bastard. I tell you, the old man’s been bought and paid for by Palmier. It disgusted me just listening to them.”

  “Tommy, are you sure no one saw you listening in on their conversation?”

  “I may be nosy, but I’m stealthy.”

  “You haven’t told anyone else?”

  “No, I wanted to run it by you before—”

  “Before what Tommy?” The Tribune wouldn’t print his conjectures. “You’re not planning to publish it on your blog?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Something’s got to be done.”

  “Tommy, I want you to keep this to yourself. Give me a chance to check some things out.”

  “Sure, detective. I just don’t think we should sit on it too long. If Genevive has control of your police department then there’s no telling what they can do.”

  “Like I said, keep it to yourself for right now.”

  “First it’s Genevive rustling our animals. Now I find out that they own the chief. This stinks to high heaven, John.”

  Tommy moved in even closer and said, “Who the hell is that man in the corner? He looks out of place here.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he got the wrong address.”

  “John, there’s something else,” Tommy said in a lowered voice. “I hear those scoundrels have been dumping shit into the underground aquifers. It could be linked to Jillian Andrews’ death. I hear she quarreled with the Genevive scientists who dropped by.”

  The sorrowful tone of Tommy’s voice fueled Halliday’s anger toward Palmier and Genevive Labs. “You didn’t hear it from me. You may be onto something, Tommy.”

  “If they weren’t dumping waste then why else would Genevive close down the public spa? John, I know this sounds crazy. I have a bad feeling they silenced Jillian Andrews. She must have found out what they were up to. They made it appear to be a suicide.”

  He wouldn’t dispute it. “If there’s anything illegal happened I’m sure… ” He was going to say that the chief would sniff it out. Instead he said, “We’ll find out what the truth is.”

  Tommy said, “Why aren’t you heading up the hot springs investigation? Leo and the chief are way past their prime.”

  “It’s a long story. Is there anything else on your mind Tommy?”

  When the reporter hesitated Halliday glanced over at the far booth. The man looked up, bringing his napkin to his lips. His gaze reminded Halliday of a general visiting an NCO mess hall.

  “Tommy, you ever hear from any of the farmers east of town complaining of strange sightings?”

  “Who told you?”

  “I talked to some farmers in Redwood Bluff the other day. One of them mentioned seeing a green luminous object. Maybe its swamp gas.”

  The words, “strange sightings” had lit a fire in Tommy’s eyes. Still, he hesitated, aware of having gone too far in the past with his speculations.

  “There’s something strange roaming the forest east of Redwood Bluff, that’s for sure,” Tommy said. “No doubt in my mind that Genevive Labs has a hand in it.”

  “What do mean, strange?”

  Tommy leaned in closer. Halliday didn’t know if his face expressed embarrassment or fear. “John, farmers’ have told me that there are animals roaming around that glow in the dark. Although I’ve never seen it personally, I believe them. It’s Genevive’s weird science supported by the DOD.”

  Halliday grunted.

  “I’m not crazy. This is farmers’ talking, not me.”

  Halliday decided not to mention Lamar Festus and the MPs to Hartnett. The man was still a newspaper hack despite the fact that ninety percent of his reports never went to hardcopy.

  “Keep me in the loop if you hear anything further, Tommy,” he said.

  “I sure will.”

  Tommy swung out of the nook, like a tired rider, dismounting. “John, you’re a good cop. For the life of me, I don’t know why you stick around this one-horse town. You belong in L.A. or San Fran, man. Shit, you stay much longer… Genevive will own you, too.”

  The reporter’s last sentence stayed on the table next to spilt ketchup. Halliday said, “Tommy, be careful, okay?”

  He watched the old reporter angle to the door. Tommy Hartnett could be mistaken for a vagrant. Halliday would hate to see the newspaper man drink too much one evening. He could become another MP.

  A few minutes later the well-dressed bald man passed by and said, “Detective,” on his way out.

  Was his occupation that obvious? Halliday considered following the man, but decided against it.

  He had a mission to complete.

  # # #

  At close to 5:00 p.m. Halliday returned to Jillian’s house unannounced in his Saab. As he drove in the driveway his phone rang.

  Area code 202, from Washington D.C. “Halliday.”

  “John, this is Stan Tolbert. I only have a minute.”

&nb
sp; “What’s going on Stan?”

  “I’m up to my ass with Genevive Labs. Jesus, what the hell did you get me into?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As soon as I mentioned Genevive Labs and DARPA the shit hit the fan. Whatever is going on out there, it’s hush-hush, all the way up to the Secretary of Defense.”

  “I figured DARPA vis-à-vis Sierra Contractors had a hand in it. What did you find on Agent Coulter?”

  “John, you know me. We worked together for five years. I’m telling you to stay away from it. Stay away from Coulter, from DARPA. Stay away from Genevive Labs.”

  Tolbert’s words bothered him. “Is this a threat?”

  “No, this is advice from a concerned DS team member. I have a meeting to go to now. I just wanted to warn you. If you have the opportunity to transfer to L.A. do yourself a favor, take it.”

  Tolbert hung up.

  He questioned Stan’s statements. Did his ex-cohort know about the job offer from LAPD? Could Tolbert have become contaminated by the DOD like the underground aquifers from Genevive’s waste?

  Was Stan Tolbert still one of the good guys?

  He opened the gate. The golden retriever met him with tail wagging. Jillian wouldn’t have left the dog.

  The neighborhood disturbed him. He saw no cars, pickup trucks, nor pedestrians. Even the birds were content not to leave their positions on the telephone lines.

  Halliday backed the Saab into Jillian’s garage and shut the door.

  He entered the guesthouse with caution. Someone had opened all the windows.

  Palmier or Genevive security had the creature removed from the doorway. A sweet smelling air freshener had replaced the creature’s putrid musk. A breeze whisked through the open bedroom window. Halliday made a quick search. He found nothing new.

  He opened the door to the main house with Jillian’s key. In the living room he smelled the odor of the guest house. He removed his Glock.

  The intruder had gained access through the rear garage door. Once inside the garage he compromised the door leading into the utility room off the kitchen. Both doors were easy credit card picks. No one in this neighborhood would have taken notice of a meter reader or a pest control inspector.

  Halliday stowed the Glock. He jammed a chair under the door handle leading to the garage then secured the deadbolt on the front door. The windows were all secure.

  A few of the old ranch houses in this area held a unique feature for Santa Reina. He hadn’t been able to check when he and Gladstone were here earlier. In the utility room, he kicked away the throw rug. He pulled on the basement handle inlaid in a wooden frame. The door rose up unleashing a dank odor, different than at the guesthouse.

  It, too, raised the hairs on the nape of his neck.

  Part Four

  Transparency

  Chapter Thirty

  Halliday removed his Glock from its holster.

  Bright ceiling lamps flooded the large basement. Halliday stood on the stairs, about half way down. His feet were anchored to the steps.

  Eyes and ears.

  The basement door slammed shut behind him. “Shit.”

  The door must have shut by itself. It could only be locked from the inside. Halliday prepared for the unexpected. Intuition told him that something or someone hunkered in the basement in front of him.

  A slight rustling sound ahead gave Halliday an adrenaline rush. He lifted his arm, pointing the Glock.

  “Detective Halliday, is that you?” a voice called out, oozing from the depths of the basement. “Please be you, detective.”

  “Laurel?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  He scanned the room. The sound of her voice had come from everywhere yet nowhere. He saw nothing. “Where are you hiding?”

  “I’m here on the couch.”

  What? “I’m staring straight at the couch.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “It’s nothing. Let’s not play games, Laurel. Tell me where you are.”

  “You can’t see me unless you turn the light off. I’d prefer that you didn’t do that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Please, stay where you are.”

  She must be hiding behind the couch. He felt silly talking to someone he couldn’t see. “Laurel, the game’s over. I know you’re behind the couch.”

  “I’m sitting on the couch. See the pillow?”

  “Yes, I see it,” he said.

  The pillow floated up. It remained suspended in the air.

  “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” Every con had an explanation.

  “I’m holding the pillow in the air,” she said.

  When would they unveil the ruse? First, the creature in the guesthouse. Now they were using cheap magic tricks. He waited, expecting Palmier’s voice to screech out of a speaker anytime.

  “Detective?” she said.

  “Why all the subterfuge Palmier? You can come out now. The show’s over.”

  “No subterfuge. It’s just me, Laurel, sitting on the couch.”

  “You’re telling me that you are invisible?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a mermaid’s siren from within a grotto pool. “I had planned to reveal myself to you under different circumstances.”

  Halliday retreated up the stairs. His hand brushed over a light switch. She had said he could see her if he extinguished the lights. Against better judgment he flipped the switch.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

  “Detective, you shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  Fear of the unknown held him on the stairs. Always before, adrenaline had overcome fear. This time he had no reference. Dull images emerged. He squinted.

  It stopped his breathing.

  “My god,” he gasped. He fought to catch his breath. The effects were staggering compared to the embryonic stage of the green translucent cow he had witnessed the other night in the cornfield.

  “Detective, wait.”

  He retreated up the stairs. His legs wobbled. He held on to the stair railing.

  “I know. It’s hard.”

  He witnessed an incredible transformation. As her features began to fill, he staggered back. He tripped and grabbed for the rail.

  Astonished at what he beheld, he said, “Who? What are you?”

  Her skin gave off the same greenish glow as Gennie the cow, although a thousand times more potent. It appeared as if an artist had experimented with translucent colors. Unlike the old sci-fi movies her invisibility included her clothes.

  “I’m Laurel, that’s it.”

  Laurel’s face somewhat resembled her photo. She appeared much older. Her charcoal hued hair fell in a haggard mess.

  Denial became Halliday’s only weapon. “This is a high-tech hoax. Palmier and Genevive Labs manufactured you. You’re a better scare than that creature they hung in the guesthouse hallway.”

  “What creature?”

  “You know.”

  Her eyes were verdant, diaphanous pools of sorrow.

  “Believe me, detective.”

  Were they measuring him for a strait jacket, his ticket to the asylum at the state hospital in Atascadero? Who were they?

  “Who put you up to this?”

  “Please believe, detective. Believe me.”

  Halliday tried to imagine how a ghost would act. Weren’t they supposed to move around a lot? That’s why people chased them. Despite his uneasiness he holstered his Glock. His need to investigate slowly overcame his fear. He advanced one step at a time down the stairway.

  She had stopped sobbing.

  “In my current condition its better if you don’t see me up close, detective.”

  His eyes darted around the room searching for the source of a hologram. He had seen apparitions created by electronics on the Syfy Channel.

  “Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a co
p.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “I should have returned to the cavern days ago to replenish my transparency. Jillian couldn’t take me.”

  “Transparency?”

  “That’s what I call my condition brought on by man’s misuse of science. Although Genevive Labs created me, they don’t even know it. Security men have been watching the house 24/7. Jillian had planned to risk taking me to the grotto tonight, but now… she’s gone.”

  Her quiet sobs reverberated in his head. Halliday felt like a kid at a freak show, at the circus.

  He could imagine Palmier announce, “Right this way.”

  He had been lured into the dark tent by the smooth talking barker wearing Palmier’s face who boasted, “She came from a grotto, half woman, half amphibian. Like nothing you’ve ever seen my boy.”

  Just the facts. He relied on his training to bring him back to an even keel. “Jillian left you in here before she went to work this morning.”

  “How did you know?”

  “The rug over the door wouldn’t have been in place if you shut the door from inside. How did you find out about Jillian?”

  “I listen—”

  “Do you have other contacts? Who else knows about your condition?”

  “I listen to the radio. There’s not much else to do. News of Jillian’s death blasted out on every local channel... No one else knows about me.”

  Laurel’s body form had returned in its entirety. She wore a Navy blue T-shirt with CAL BEARS printed in gold over jeans. Her head tilted forward, as if she had difficulty sitting up straight. In his confused state Halliday formed an image of a wild animal that had been clothed. Small phosphorescent streams trickled from her eyes. Her absolute fatigue showed. “Are you hungry? Do you need water?”

  “No thank you detective.”

  What should he do now?

  “Now that Jillian is gone no one else knows about me except you.”

  Whatever happened, the loneliness in Laurel’s voice would haunt him for a long time. The chief had said he needed to trust someone. He stumbled down the remaining steps toward her.

  “Detective, there’s no one else here,” she said, as though they were the last two people left on earth.

  He approached her, his eyes searching for wires, laser beams, anything that would explain it. If this was all staged someone went to incredible lengths.