Max looked at me, then at the inspector. I thought he might try to bargain with the Druze, but instead he wiped his enormous hands on his apron and coughed impatiently.
“Guys, I still have a lot of work to do.” He clapped his palms twice, as if hoping to make us disappear, like in a magic show.
27
Former Marine Jeffery Gibbons had remained semper fidelis—always faithful.
He pulled up his shirt collar through the windbreaker and pushed his body against the wind, leaping over a low brick wall and taking a shortcut to his car, which he’d parked around the corner.
Inside the car he reached for a KFC meal that he had bought yesterday and completely forgotten about. The food was ice-cold, but he was starving, so he opened it anyway and ate the six-piece meal with coleslaw and sweet kernel corn. He washed it down with a long swig of Maker’s Mark, followed by a quick cigarette.
The car climbed onto the thoroughfare, heading toward the east end. At this early hour, the drive didn’t take more than twenty minutes. He could see the façade of the Hurstbourne Arms Hotel hovering above the junction long before he arrived at the horseshoe access road.
Gibbons exited the freeway and eased into a parking spot behind the curve. He climbed out of the car, crossed the asphalt, passed through the revolving door, and scanned the lobby. A solitary man stood in front of the receptionist, his back to the entrance; a four-wheeled suitcase leaned against the counter with a computer bag fastened to its handle. Aside from them, the lobby was empty.
Gibbons headed to the elevators.
***
How she longed to stay naked between the sheets, to submerge in a sweet dream and awaken later in the afternoon.
Johanna had returned to her suite straight from Milbert’s apartment, stepped into the shower, and washed off all traces of him. The flights to Vienna and back, and the early wakeups, were beginning to take their toll, and her neck and legs ached.
But she knew the adrenaline gushing through her veins would not let her sleep.
She had to make a quick decision as to her next move. After hearing what Rolf had said, she’d made up her mind never to return to Vienna. Even if the police investigation resulted in nothing more than a feeble reprimand in her personnel file—according to an ex-lover jurist she’d consulted—Oculoris would disavow her, and her way to the top would be blocked for good. The recent events were an omen that she needed a fresh start. Two of her classmates were prospering in South America and New Zealand. She, too, deserved a second chance. But in order to have a smooth and cushioned beginning, she needed to finish what she’d started in Louisville.
She rolled and smoked two cigarillos in bed and flipped through the cable channels, hoping to find something soothing. She found a music channel; the clarinetist David Krakauer played Klezmer music with Fred Wesley, the funk trombonist. She loved the combination.
Johanna allowed herself to smile at last and slipped into slumber.
She was awakened at four thirty by an abrupt chirrup. The mobile phone display flickered with a new text message from Bernie. The fourth time since seven last night.
Call me stat. Use my private line.
She sat up in bed, trying to think what could have prompted the calmest man she knew, from his frequent visits with her father in their Josefstadt apartment, to send her four text messages, the last two in the middle of the night. Vienna was six hours ahead. But Bernie was currently in Chicago, an hour behind Louisville.
Was this how he chose to terminate her work at Oculoris Biopharma? Or was something else going on? No, Bernie would not fire her like that. Not without calling her into his office. He still had the integrity and fairness of the older generation. Was there some genuine concern?
Bernie never wrote more than a single-line message. He never read more than the abstract in scientific papers. He jested that his mother claimed he was hyperactive—never had sitzfleisch, Yiddish for sitting on one’s ass. Superficially, the myocardial infarction had mellowed the omnipotent president, but deep inside he had grown exponentially impatient, and his notes—whether on the left corner of documents for review or in text message—were shorter and quite snappish.
Nevertheless, even for Bernie the last message was too short and eerily ominous—it couldn’t be anything good. She should leave immediately. He’d probably found out what she was doing and was mad at her. She’d postpone the call as much as she could—maybe until she was safely on the way to New Zealand.
Johanna grabbed last night’s clothes off the floor and put them back on in complete darkness, then washed her face without bothering to look in the mirror. Since returning from her flash visit to Vienna, she hadn’t had time to unpack her small carry-on, so it was already clutched in her hand when she approached the door of the suite.
Oops, I almost forgot, she scolded herself.
She retraced her steps, opened the mini-bar, and picked up the tube. The gentle rattle was swallowed up inside her coat pocket.
Before opening the door she peered out through the peephole. It allowed a panoramic view. The hallway to the elevator looked empty. Niche lighting painted the wall-to-wall carpet in pale polymorphic shadows. Outside it was still pitch dark.
Despite her desire to get on the first flight to any destination, she knew that the work was still not finished. The tube was already in her possession, but she still needed two pairs of eyes to make everything perfect. Tonight she would be on duty again at the luxurious nursing home.
And the night after would be her last shift—the drug level would have reached optimal therapeutic levels in the last patient’s blood and ocular tissues. The effort, which had denied her so many hours’ sleep and demanded endless laboratory visits, was about to pay off. She was closer than ever to her objective.
But for now, she concentrated on finding the best escape route from the hotel.
Her stay at the suite was prepaid, making it unnecessary to stop for checkout at the counter. Just drop the magnetic card in the box. Her car was parked near the rear emergency exit of the hotel.
As she pressed the lower button, she noticed that the middle elevator was already ascending and was halfway to her floor. She wondered who else would be awake at that hour.
The right elevator responded to her command and started to head down from the top floor. She yawned, fidgeting with the Audi keys in her hand, as the middle elevator door opened, and she found herself opposite a red-haired man.
28
“Why did you whistle?”
“What?”
“You whistled. Beside the gurney.”
I immediately realized I had made a grave mistake in agreeing to his offer of a ride, but I didn’t have any other option. His kindness and my period of grace had been short-lived. I had not even fastened my seatbelt before he had repeated the question, asking why I’d whistled inside the morgue.
We were lingering inside the squad car, in the coroner’s parking lot. Ramzi inserted the key in the ignition but took his time. “You were expecting somebody else, weren’t you?”
I was too tired to argue and didn’t see much point anyway. This policeman had sharp senses and, in spite of my clothes, I felt naked.
I wore a flannel shirt over an oversized XXL tank top, boxer shorts, and blue jogging pants with an elastic waistband. I was told that while I was still at the ER, with a little pressure from Ramzi, the hospital staff had rustled up a Salvation-Army-style box for me.
What the hell was going on? Frankly, I wanted to know too.
“I want home,” I finally said.
“You aren’t particularly grieving.”
“Oh?”
“It seems to me that you were in a state of shock at first, and now, after the identification, you’re relieved—happy, even.”
Happy? He was hallucinating. Yet there was something to what he said. Professor Efron, not J
ohanna. I had to admit I did feel vaguely guilty. But now was not the time for psychotherapy, and the squad car seat was hardly a comfortable sofa.
Still, I couldn’t leave his comment unanswered, so I sighed and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just tired. Wiped out. Can’t do any more chatting.”
The inspector leaned back and grunted. He’d clearly heard such statements in the past. Then he hunched over and tried, using a circular motion, to wipe away the condensation that had accumulated inside the windshield. Frustrated, he started the car, opened the window to let in fresh air, and turned the heater and defroster to maximum, directing the jet forward.
“So, your distinguished professor is departed. What will become of your school year now?”
“I don’t know. And it’s not true—what you said, I mean. Maybe she wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret the way she ended up.”
I was glad he made no response. I didn’t feel like entering a discussion about my future. I wanted to sleep. But I knew that despite my extreme exhaustion and the fatigue in all my muscles, I couldn’t. I had to search for Johanna. The inspector was taking his time—the squad car had barely moved. At this rate, by the time we got out of the parking lot the Irishman would have already found her. Perhaps he was boarding a flight right now, on his way back to his boss.
“Take me home.”
We exchanged silent glances.
“Home. Please. My brain is fucked. I promise to be much more focused after a few hours’ sleep.”
29
Gibbons surprised her at the elevator door.
Johanna threw her suitcase at him, striking his groin, but he managed to grab her and pull her inside. With one palm he covered her mouth while the other exerted pressure on the dent above her collarbone, until she stopped twitching.
The Irishman stopped the elevator one floor above the lobby and carried her over his shoulder through the fire escape and into the utility room. Every large hotel in the world had such dead spaces. A linen trolley, loaded with tiny shampoo bottles and toilet paper, blocked the door. Gibbons moved it out of the way, tried the handle, and found it locked. He took out his pocketknife, jammed it into the wooden frame, and hammered lightly. The lock succumbed.
First, he threw in the small suitcase, then he placed Johanna on a chair. Before closing the door, he pushed the cart back against it.
He opened the suitcase and rummaged through its contents. Her clothes were neatly arranged, tied with straps. Inside a zipped side pocket he found a spiral notebook with the Oculoris logo. It contained pages of the protocol and experimental results, filled in with block letters, meticulously written. He tore the pages from the coil, folded them and put them in his pocket. From a deeper section he fished out a plastic bag, the type dispensed by travel agencies. It contained an Austrian passport, airline tickets, hotel information, and rental car documents.
Johanna began to stir on the chair. He straightened up, lifted her chin with two fingers, and greeted her wide-open eyes with a broad grin.
“Where is the tube?”
She said nothing.
He slapped her and waited for her to speak up. “We don’t have all the time in the world.” He glanced at his watch. It was less than three hours until the flight he had set as the deadline. “Fraulein, I don’t want to damage your beautiful face.”
A trickle of blood welled at the angle of her lips. He blotted it, and she yelped and jerked back.
“Why are you ladies making it so hard for me?” he muttered wryly. “Even the professor tried to trick me—look where it got her.” The back of his palm climbed and stroked her cheek. “With you it’ll be much easier. You’re just going to fall asleep.”
He watched with satisfaction as the rest of the color drained from her face when he began to frisk her. He palpated her legs, combed her thighs, climbed and reached her pubic triangle. She squirmed when he reached her breasts, and he was forced to subdue her firmly. He continued his meticulous search inside her coat pockets.
He pulled out a set of keys from the pocket and tossed it to the far side of the room. They were followed by a pack of Marlboros, a disposable lighter, a makeup pencil and lipstick, and a compact mirror.
When he got to her cellphone, he cleared the display with his thumb and decided to postpone probing into the list of her contacts and call log.
He reached into the other pocket when her whole body twitched in spasm, her head tilted forward, and her breasts crushed against his elbow.
Her head suddenly slid down and a sharp pain spread along his arm.
Gibbons winced, pulled back his arm, and stared at the teeth marks in his flesh. Blood dripped in a rhythmic stream from the ragged margins of the deep rupture. He looked around the utility room, located a pile of hand towels, then grabbed one and wrapped it around the wound. While his back was turned, a miniscule dispenser rolled from her coat pocket to the floor. She grabbed at it instantly.
“Bitch,” he hissed. He tightened the makeshift bandage around the bleeding wound and then loosened his belt. “You’re Bernie’s white trash, and I’m going to do to you what Bernie—”
When he raised his eyes, she squeezed the trigger of the dispenser.
***
Johanna needed only a fraction of a second to grab her keys from the floor and dash to the door.
Gibbons cursed. The burning in his eyes was so terrible he was sure he had lost his sight forever. The ceiling lighting in the utility room was only a glaring smear. Black shadows closed in from all sides, even when he squeezed his eyelids with force. The combustion spread rapidly to his forehead. The skin over his scalp felt scorched all the way to the hair follicles. It was as if he had put his head inside an oven.
He groped his way to the sink and drowned his face in cold water. The pain from the burn started to subside. The moisture on his forehead and hair gave him some relief, so he left them dripping.
Gibbons raced for the parking. As he pushed the exit door open and ran around the corner, he heard a car engine and managed to jump aside before the Audi sped past him to the exit.
He reached his car as the Audi completed a loop on the service route and disappeared under the overpass. Luckily there was hardly any traffic on the roads. Even if she were a mile ahead, he could easily close the gap.
Johanna pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, and the car jitterbugged and leaped onto the highway. Her right hand reached forward. There was a burner phone stashed in the glovebox. With one eye on the road, she punched a number she knew by heart.
It was late evening in Tyrol, but he would forgive her. He always did.
“I have an emergency.”
“That serious?” She heard him slam something metallic and heavy. She knew he was working double shifts again because he sounded completely alert and didn’t ask her what time it was. “Liebchen, what is it this time? A jealous lover? Jeez, Johanna, you sure have a gift—”
“Basti, now is not the time.”
Sebastian Wohlner was a devoted orderly at the Grieshaber Hospital in a remote west Austrian province, and the closest she had to a brother. Basti had been her partner on many sleepless nights and the two of them shared many secrets. It was he who had called her when alarm bells began to toll, he who had helped in taking care of her papers.
Yes, now she was sure of her decision. She would never return to Vienna. Those she needed to meet, she would see in Milan or Munich. Then she would continue to New Zealand. But first she had a task to complete; then she would be as free as a bird.
“Where are you?”
“Louisville.”
“Where?”
“In Louisville, Kentucky. We have an ongoing experiment with new eyedrops.”
“So, what went wrong?”
“Some lunatic from a competing company attacked
me. He is after me… wants me to give him the new substance, something we’ve been waiting a long time for.”
“Then give it to him, liebchen. It’s not worth—” The line went silent for a moment. Someone must have entered the hospital’s basement. When Basti returned to her, he whispered, “So, get away from there. Vanish.”
“He’s following me right now.” She flashed a look at the lights of the white Mazda galloping behind her. “He took my ticket and passport.”
“You don’t need them for a domestic flight—everything is electronic now, e-ticket and stuff. America is big enough to hide my Heidi.” He sighed. “But it’s not good for you to return so soon to Austria. Any particular destination in mind?”
“I can’t leave right now. I have something important to finish here. I have to stay until the day after tomorrow.”
“Saturday night? Why?”
“Please, Basti, I only need forty-eight hours. Who is that friend of yours in Louisville who can take care of this bastard?”
30
At that hour only trucks and taxis raced along the Watterson Expressway.
The Audi and the Mazda were about the only two private cars on the westbound lanes. Gibbons spotted the icon of an airplane on the green signposts. The bitch was heading toward Standiford airport. He wondered how far she would get without any ID.
And indeed, she passed the airport exit and kept moving west, leaving the highway a couple of miles further down, climbing on a curved ramp to a stoplight on Taylor Boulevard, making a left turn toward Iroquois Park.
The disappeared on the overpass and emerged behind a church. It passed a shopping mall, another church, and the Iroquois High School complex.
At the next junction she made a right turn and was immediately swallowed by a vast thicket.
An Eye For Murder: A Medical Thriller Page 15
