Twisted Genius

by Patricia Rice

  I needed to be looking for a killer, not babysitting needy kids. But Graham had security on Nadia at the hospital, and I was here doing family time. I had to quit worrying about Nick and Patra. They were adults now. I tried to tell myself the killer might not know that we had Nadia’s data and that they were safe.

  And maybe birds don’t fly, but I just wanted normal for a little while. Until six months ago, I’d been a hermit. I wasn’t ready for full scale, insanely difficult detective work outside my computers. I’d scared myself a bit by hearing what was presumably a murdered man’s phone at the bar.

  I’d texted Graham with the information about the phone’s location, so I hoped his men were looking into it. My best guess was that Tony had somehow come across Scion’s phone and thrown it in the drawer with all the others—after scrubbing off his prints, of course. That wouldn’t help us find a killer.

  Sam returned with Guy and Nick and took me and EG home. It was dark and cold and no time to be on the streets, so I didn’t argue with the arrangement. He watched until we entered the house.

  Inside, I sent EG up to bed. Then I trudged up to find Graham at his desk, as always.

  Looking weary, he actually stood up, took me in his massive arms, and kissed me. He never did that without my teasing, so I totally appreciated the moment. I melted into him. It had been a long day, but I’d take this reward for my efforts any time.

  “Jack didn’t find the phone in the drawer,” he murmured, lifting me and carrying me off to bed. “Someone in that bar is carrying it or has hidden it and may be Scion’s killer. We’re tracking it now.”

  “You’re still hiding Estes?” I asked, tensing.

  “No, he decided he wanted to return to work.” He laid me down on the lovely comfy mattress. “Don’t go near him again.”

  I liked it when he wasn’t mad at me for a change. Nibbling his ear, I allowed myself to be undressed as if I were helpless. It was a shocking change from my first thirty years of life. Well, last twenty-five maybe. I was probably a cuddly toddler.

  If the phone wasn’t in the drawer. . . Besides Estes, who else would have access? Maybe one of the Popovs had picked it up? That would mean they could be sitting in the bar right now. . .

  Let them sit. I had better things to do.

  Wednesday morning I was actually feeling brave enough to open one of the newspapers that regularly appeared on the breakfast table. Magda hadn’t sent me any more mysterious messages and the good captain hadn’t bothered me again, so I was hoping the police had found better targets.

  And boy howdy, had they! I stared in disbelief, then nearly cackled as I read the headline story.

  As heirs-apparent, Michael Moriarity and Scion’s other nieces and nephews had been given access to the CEO’s office at Scion Pharmaceutical. The police still wouldn’t let them into Scion’s house, but someone had to run the company while the board of directors waffled. Stockholders demanded leadership and all that, and Scion’s block of voting stock held the majority.

  Besides, they were all hoping to uncover a will—and they had, or at least a draft.

  The Moriaritys had shown reporters a document file they had located in Scion’s office. The letterhead was from a different lawyer’s office than Scion normally used—one in Ireland where the drug company was based and Scion still had citizenship. The file included an unsigned draft of a will, hand-annotated by Scion, leaving Senator Paul Rose his stock in the drug company. It divided up the remainder of his holdings between various names I recognized from the Top Hat organization—cutting off his family entirely.

  Not a cent to charity, naturally. Scion had essentially handed his war machine to Top Hat and his drugs to Rose, and the newspaper was having a fabulous time hinting all around the fact that Rose had motive for murder beyond blackmail.

  Well, so did a dozen other people, but Rose bashing made me happy. Witch hunts are fun for all but the accused.

  I checked online to see if anyone had reached the lawyer’s office for confirmation, but I saw nothing. If I had any authority, I’d be on their doorstep, looking for signed documents. Maybe Moriarity was on his way over there now. Did Ireland have probate courts?

  Rose wasn’t saying a word, but apparently more Scion-caricature balloons were popping up at his campaign offices around the country. There were several nice shots online. The balloons were now accompanied by spongy hypodermics similar to the foam hands waved at sporting events. If Magda was behind that, she was a creative marketing genius. If the cops knew her at all, they ought to be parked on her doorstep—not that they knew where that doorstep was any more than I did. Her network must be as well organized as Graham’s.

  I returned to the newspaper and found Sean and Patra’s byline on a lovely front page story about Scion Pharmaceutical—the one Rose was presumably inheriting. I grinned even broader. They ripped the company into tatters, making it look as if our presidential candidate would be pushing addictive drugs to Russians as well as our brave American veterans.

  I whistled at the thoroughness of their investigation. They had statistics, confirmation, drug deaths, opium correlation—the works. If the FDA didn’t come down on Mylaudanix after this, then they’d been bought and paid for by Scion, and a congressional investigation was needed.

  The article might not arouse Rose supporters who wouldn’t necessarily make the connection—or who consider killing people a necessary part of doing business—but everyone else. . . yeah, mama. Scion Pharmaceuticals was in for some major headaches—suitable for a company pushing addictive painkillers like aspirin. Opiates for the masses, indeed.

  Another front page headline warned everyone to stock up in preparation for the snow moving in. DC shut down if a snowflake fell, but I’d lived in real blizzards. Here, I just dressed warmer in case the prediction was anywhere close to right. If it was anything like Georgia, where I’d been living, it usually wasn’t. The news just liked excitement.

  After seeing EG off to school, I tucked the paper under my arm and set out under gray skies to visit Nadia in the hospital. The police weren’t any closer to the hit-and-run driver, but Scion was dead, and now the information he wanted to conceal was out in public for all to see. I was hoping that meant Nadia was no longer a threat to the killers.

  Graham had been unable to locate the three assassins on Viktor’s list who had disappeared off the radar. If he couldn’t find them, I had to assume they were dead—which put us back to zero.

  My sources hadn’t found any names associated with the numbers from Tony’s phone—indicating they may have been discarded burner numbers. I could start calling them to see who answered, but that sounded risky if we were talking angry Russians and killers. Graham had the list. I’d let him do what he does. I was tired of death. I wanted to see if the kids’ mother had any chance of living to be their mother again.

  I’d taken photos of the kids playing with the dinosaur last night and printed them out. I stopped at the gift shop and picked up a card to put them in. I assumed aides or visitors could tape the pictures up somewhere if she ever showed any sign of coming around.

  I inquired at the nurses’ station and was asked for ID and to sign in. Nice but probably not going to prevent any mad killers. They directed me to a door with a burly guard sitting outside, reading his tablet computer. I showed him my ID, and he checked it against a roster. Amazingly, I must have been on it, so this was one of Graham’s men.

  There were times when I wondered just how much money Graham had that he could spare employees around the clock on mercy missions, but we had just barely settled the matter of sharing the mansion. I wasn’t touching any more sensitive subjects that weren’t any of my business. I figured he was being paid—or had been promised payment—by someone who had as much interest in protecting Nadia as I did.

  The room was small but private. She lay motionless against the white covers, her head bald and bandaged. Tubes and wires were everywhere. It was early, so none of the visitors who had set up a reading
schedule were here yet.

  I set the newspaper containing the Scion article, plus the card with the photos, on a nightstand, really hoping someday she’d see them and appreciate what she had contributed to the world. I wasn’t much on hand holding, but I told her about how well the kids were doing, and that Guy was a fabulous guardian. She might have twitched a little, or it could have been my imagination. Her eyes seemed to be moving behind her lids, so she wasn’t dead. Her brilliant mind was in that cracked skull somewhere.

  She’d tried to help the world. She’d raised really good kids. She deserved to live.

  At times like this, I wished I believed in an all-powerful presence and prayer. The best I could summon was hoping all humans were connected by an essence that responded to hope—which was what prayer was. So I sent warm rays of hope from my essence to hers, patted her pale hand, and departed.

  It felt strange to just visit the hospital without threatening anyone. It felt stranger to not be directly involved in tracking down the person who had tried to kill Nadia. But Russians and international assassins were pretty much out of my league. All I had was untraceable phone numbers.

  And Nadia’s computer and Scion’s will—nice boring safe occupations I could work on in my quiet basement without endangering my family. Just because I was feeling restless and wanted action didn’t mean I should go looking for smoking guns, right?

  As I stepped into the wintry wind outside the hospital, I thought I saw Bill the Bartender and a female friend crossing the parking lot. Not in a hurry to return to my basement, I turned around to follow. The kids were probably just visiting one of the druggie friends the bar manager had complained about.

  Bill got in an elevator and the doors closed before I could catch up. His girlfriend lingered in the line at the water fountain.

  The phone in my pocket rang. I froze, realizing I’d left Tony’s phone in there. Did I answer it?

  I pulled it out of my inside jacket pocket. The number showing on caller ID was the one I thought might be Scion’s—the one I thought the killer had taken.

  Shaken, I let the call go to voice mail and hurried back upstairs to Nadia’s room. I had no reason to believe the killer was in the hospital, but I’m overly cautious and maybe a tad superstitious. Thankfully, no one unusual lingered in Nadia’s vicinity.

  I’d used Tony’s phone to call that number all over the area around Scion’s mansion. Whoever had Scion’s phone would have Tony’s number in his missed call list.

  Not trusting that the phone couldn’t be tracked, I left it with the security guard in front of Nadia’s room, explaining the situation. I had no intention of tackling a technical sniper who could have taken out a man like Scion.

  The guard promised to notify Graham and keep a sharp eye out—just in case the killer was in the building and could track a burner.

  Shivering, I took the Metro home. I wiped away my fear by philosophizing on how I could use my wealth to level the playing field so all kids had the same opportunities. By the time I reached my stop, I had decided we’d have to kill most of their parents. Money simply couldn’t solve everything. So much for that charitable foundation.

  I spent the morning whittling the contents of Nadia’s computer to nuggets that might be worth chasing. Zander had sent a complicated chart of Scion’s holdings and their relation to other Top Hat members and their businesses. I wondered if the members of Top Hat realized their money was building better guns for terrorists when they bought Scion stock.

  Buried deep inside Nadia’s files, I found what looked like might be bank account numbers. I was pretty certain Nadia didn’t possess a fountain of wealth. I could trace the banks by their routing numbers, but breaking into accounts required special software, time, and a lot of computer power. I set those aside in a folder I shared with Graham and Zander and marked to follow up later.

  While I was there, I searched Graham’s file to see if any of his operatives were looking into the lawyers Scion had hired, in this country and Ireland. If they were, Graham wasn’t putting the information where I could lay my hands on it.

  He’d once hired me because of my international contacts. I grinned as I recalled one in Ireland who would be perfect for this job. I sent her a note promising a bonus if she could lay her hands on Scion’s file. I didn’t much care if they were digital or literal hands.

  She gleefully responded that she was getting married and could use the cash and she’d get back to me by my evening—which meant she’d be working through her evening. Cool.

  Nick called, frantic because they’d just realized tomorrow was Vincent’s birthday. He and Guy were both at work, and they couldn’t ask Maggie to go shopping for them. The new housekeeper had no car.

  I was bored enough to agree. I could have taken a job researching obscure Greek texts for a university professor who had paid me well in the past, but I’d been cutting down on my virtual assistant business and spending more time on family. I’d have to decide at some point what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, but not today. Today, I was kind of liking the idea of planning a party.

  It was gray and spitting snow. Good, that meant the stores would be practically empty. I’d researched and found the perfect toy store over in Arlington, so I dressed in the fancy faux-leopard fur coat Nick had made me buy. I shouldn’t need my arsenal while shopping in pricey stores. With my fur boots and hat, I almost looked like the other wealthy young women perusing the fancy shops where I intended to go. Sam was busy on Graham’s errands, but the Metro wouldn’t stop for a splatter of flakes. I got a few stares down there, but it wasn’t as if I’d ever cared about being out of place.

  I was not a fan of shopping, but I recognized the necessity when it came to kids. The store I’d researched was pretty high-end. It didn’t contain the massive water guns and drum sets and all the things my little kid heart would have desired. I’d never make a good shopping assistant, which was why I went to a place that directed me to the age-appropriate toys.

  I found a clerk who showed me wooden trains and games that didn’t involve batteries. I bought books and brain games—and a small wooden pistol that shot rubber bands that Vincent could conceal in his wheelchair. Really, kids need to be kids. And I bought Anika a pretty pink party dress so she wouldn’t feel left out.

  I picked up a boxed birthday cake at a bakery and something called party favors at the drugstore. I had no idea what they were but figured we’d all find out. And bubbles. I loved bubbles.

  By the time I was ready to leave the drugstore, my arms full of shopping bags, I wished for magic Sam to drive me. In my frugal mind, Arlington was much too far from home for a taxi, but EG would be out of school soon. But I hadn’t booked Sam in advance, and it might take him hours to get here.

  I really needed to get my driver’s license. This was ridiculous. Out the drugstore window, I could see that it was snowing harder, dang it. Even finding a taxi would soon be impossible. I set my packages down, pulled cash and my phone from my purse, picked the whole mess up again, and strode into the biting wind.

  Cursing Nick, I was hitting up the Uber app when I saw a taxi with its light off stopped at a light. I walked out in front of it. The taxi driver stuck his fist through the window and shouted at me to move. I waved a few twenties. He glared and quit shouting.

  I hurriedly opened his back door and began loading the seat with packages. “How much to take me to Adams-Morgan?”

  “A hundred,” he said grumpily. “And I want the first fifty now.”

  “You got it.” I gave him the address and the money in my hand.

  Just as I was gathering up the huge fur coat to climb in, a hard arm slid around my waist, and I was jerked back to the sidewalk. My phone went flying.

  “I need to talk to you, lady,” a rough voice growled in a distinctly Russian accent.

  He crushed my pretty phone into a zillion pieces with his fancy shoe.

  Chapter 19

  Graham was reading through Scion’s DC lega
l files when his Jaws ringtone for Ana’s family chimed. Ana was the only one of the family who dared called him, and her calls generally justified suspenseful music. He grabbed the phone.

  He noted the Caller ID with surprise. Nick? Nick barely spoke to him—probably because Graham seldom spoke to Nick. Fair trade.

  With a sinking sensation that this couldn’t be good, Graham answered.

  “Where’s Ana?” Nick asked. A thread of fear laced his usually affable voice.

  Graham switched on his household monitors but his alarms told him when someone came and went. “Not here,” he said curtly. “Why?”

  “A taxi just arrived bearing bags of toys and a cake but no Ana. The driver said she promised him another fifty for delivering in this snowstorm. He said some big old guy prevented her from getting in.”

  Graham started calling up images of men involved in recent cases. The only “big old guy” he could recall lately was one of the Popovs.

  “Did he say she went willingly?” Graham did his best to keep emotion out of his voice, but his pulse had escalated to stroke territory, and his grip on his computer trackball caused the ball to bounce out. “She usually has a dozen tricks at her disposal.”

  Which was when he remembered she hadn’t left wearing her arsenal. She’d been dressed for shopping—for toys apparently.

  “He said he didn’t get a good look. The weather is wicked, the door slammed, she didn’t get in, so he took off with her money. Not a jolly gent is our driver. I’ve got his name and license but couldn’t hold him.”

  “Give me the name and license. Where did he pick her up?” Graham ground his teeth, retrieved another trackball, and began tapping Nick’s information into his keyboard.

  “Arlington. I’ve got her packages here, so I know the stores where she went.” Nick didn’t sound any happier than Graham felt.