The only other one on board at the time was Barlow Company executive William Chester, who immediately radioed the Coast Guard and followed their instructions. Despite Chester’s efforts, and an extensive sea and air search, Barlow’s body was not recovered. Police say that a cause of death hearing, routine in such deaths at sea, will be held in the near future.
William Chester, impeccably dressed in deck shoes, chinos, and a turquoise knit shirt, led the quartet to a conference room just off his study, offered them soft drinks and water, and motioned them to take any seats they wished around what looked to Lou like a mahogany table that might have cost the total of all the furniture he had ever owned.
“Well, gentlemen,” Chester said in a calm, authoritative voice, “I confess that I am rather shocked at the story as Chief Stone has related it to me. Suppose each of you give me your version. And please, take your time.”
“How far back would you like us to go?” Lou asked.
“Why, back to the beginning, of course, Dr. Welcome. Why don’t we begin with you, and then Mr. Duncan, and finally, Mr. Kozak here?”
Lou noted how smoothly Chester demonstrated that he knew their names after just a single introduction. Another well-mastered display of control.
Lou began with the retelling of Joey Alderson’s injury and the subsequent drive home with him from Eisenhower Memorial.
“I don’t know when these two thugs started following me,” he said. “It could have been several days before that. But this past afternoon, George and his cousin Anthony Brite noticed them checking out my building, and we followed them back out here.”
“Anthony Brite is the man whom you say was gunned down?” Chester asked.
“That’s right, man!” George exclaimed. “He was my cousin, and those dudes of yours burned him! Bastards!”
For several moments, there was absolute silence.
Then Chester nodded minutely at George. His expression was placid, but his narrow eyes were ice, and fixed on George like an infrared sight. “Young man,” he said finally, “you are a guest in my house. And as long as I treat you with civility and respect, you will honor me with the same courtesy. Is that clear?… I said, is that clear?”
Lou felt the man’s power. He also sensed strongly that the word boy had barely gone unsaid.
George seemed unable to respond. “Got it,” he finally managed, eyes to the floor, his usual bravado gone.
“Chief Stone,” Chester said, “my orchids are a source of calm and balance for me. I think I would prefer to continue this discussion in my greenhouse, or if you prefer, sometime tomorrow—perhaps out where these gentlemen say they were attacked. I can ask my field manager to meet us there, and perhaps one or two of my attorneys as well.”
Stone silently polled the others. “It’s your house, Bill,” he said. “Let’s take this meeting outside.”
The group stood and parted like the Red Sea as Chester strode past them, through a set of French doors, then down a long corridor to a rear door that opened on one end of a magnificent, fragrant greenhouse, perhaps the size of a hockey rink. With the touch of a button, the subdued lighting brightened, and soft classical music—Beethoven, Lou guessed—flowed through speakers that seemed to be everywhere.
The entourage followed Chester into densely humid air that was rich with the aromas of flowers and ripe fruit. Lou picked up the scent of chocolate, raspberry, and citrus the most strongly. The flowering plants, he realized, might all be orchids.
Chester paused, perhaps to appreciate his visitors’ collective awe. He then lifted a specialized gauge and began testing a nearby flower bed, which seemed to consist of an earthy mix of moss and bark.
“It is a common misconception that orchids are difficult to grow,” Chester said while sprinkling water here and there. “But the truth is, you just have to be aware of their needs. I think of orchids not as plants, but as a civilization—a culture whose customs I have come to know intimately. Do you enjoy gardening, Dr. Welcome?”
“Mr. Chester, forgive my impatience, but we have a very serious situation here,” Lou said. “Men have been killed in a field that you own, our friend among them.”
Chester stopped taking measurements, settled himself with a breath, and gave Lou a curious stare. “Dr. Welcome, I did not become a person of influence, possession, and power by not knowing precisely what was going on around me. As I told Chief Stone when he called, I have received no reports of any disturbances in any of my fields.”
Lou began to bristle. “I don’t care what reports you received or did not receive, Mr. Chester,” he said. “Our injuries can tell you what happened out there. Our stories coincide. We were ambushed and attacked with fists, with guns, and with a combine harvester. The area where it took place has been mown clear, and the bodies, including Anthony Brite’s, have been removed.”
Stone positioned himself between Lou and Chester, perhaps sensing the simmering exchange might boil over. “Bill,” Stone said, clearly wishing he were anyplace but there, “Dr. Welcome believes he has evidence that the spotlights they claim to have shot out were replaced.”
“I can’t believe it,” Chester snapped. “If such a thing transpired, I can assure you, none of my employees was involved.”
“Funny that these nonemployees knew how to drive your combine harvester,” Cap said.
Chester’s eyes flashed.
Lou almost cracked a smile, imagining what the man was thinking, being spoken to in such a way by someone he probably considered so far beneath his status.
Chester brushed the comment aside with a wave of his hand. “Believe me,” he said, “operating farming machinery is not nearly as difficult as growing these orchids, especially when the keys are left in the ignition slot, as is often the case here. I’ve warned my people against such practices, but alas, they don’t always listen.”
“Show him the glass,” Cap said to Lou.
Lou handed the jagged piece of broken glass to Chester, who inspected the heavy shard like a gemologist.
“And what do we think this is?” Chester asked.
“Floodlight glass,” Lou said. “As you know, the lights are on poles twenty feet above the ground. I found this at the base of one of the poles. Who besides one of your employees would and could repair the floodlight that George shot out?”
George broke in, “And why would your field be threshed after we left it? I’ll tell you why—” He pointed his finger at Chester. “—a cover-up, that’s why.”
Stone gripped George by the wrist and forcefully lowered his arm. “Son,” he said, “you’d best watch how you speak to Mr. Chester—especially in his home. He’s agreed to help us, and your accusations aren’t helping anybody. Got it?”
George nodded glumly.
“It’s all right, Gilbert,” Chester said. “Obviously these men have experienced some sort of trauma, and quite possibly on my land.”
“Any idea who might have been involved?” Stone asked.
“No, but I can assure you it was no one in my employ. I’ll be happy to make my employee records available to you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Chester turned his attention back to Lou. “Is it possible that in all the confusion you’ve described, Dr. Welcome, you merely thought a floodlight that had shattered some time ago had been shot out? Floodlights do break from time to time, kids and rocks and thermal changes, you know. Perhaps the piece you’ve found is an old one.”
“That’s not possible,” Lou said coolly. “I know what I saw. A man died next to me. I saw him get shot.”
“Then are you sure you were in the right spot? The fields can become quite disorienting, especially at night.”
“We strongly believe that was the spot,” Lou said.
“My, my,” Chester said. “This is certainly quite distressing. Gilbert, I’ll phone Stewart right away.”
“Who is Stewart?” Lou asked, his patience walking the edge.
“He manages all my fields,” Ches
ter said. “I’m not denying some version of what you have said actually occurred, but I will strongly contest that any of my people were involved. I assure you, Gilbert, you’ll have my full cooperation.”
“Thank you,” Stone said, looking satisfied. “We’re going to bring a K-9 unit out to the fields later this morning and start searching for their friend.”
“That sounds like a fine idea,” Chester replied. “Is there anything else you think we should be doing?”
“Well,” Lou said, “I do have a question about your corn.”
“Go on.”
“Your plants seem quite high for this time of year.”
“And one other thing,” Cap said.
“Go ahead, Mr. Duncan.”
“I thought each stalk produced one ear. One of the stalks I checked had four. The other had five.”
Chester chuckled. “I’m pleased to meet an amateur agrarian,” he said. “Some kinds of corn still make one ear per stalk, but many others are hybridized and produce two and even three. Still, our corn is special. I’ll show you why.” Chester led them over to a row of baskets filled with flowers of a stunningly iridescent blue. “We’ve been experimenting with a new type of fertilizer in our fields. It’s the same formula that I’ve used to help grow these magnificent blue Phalaenopses. This type of orchid is often extremely difficult to grow, especially with color this brilliant. But thanks to our breakthrough fertilizer, the task has been made remarkably easy. I’d tell you more about it sometime after our patent issues are dealt with, but for now, I must pay homage to a busy day ahead by getting some sleep.”
At that moment, the greenhouse door flew open, and in stepped a well-groomed, nattily dressed man of slight stature, perhaps five-foot-seven. In his early forties, he was quite handsome, with chiseled features, raven hair gelled straight back, and dark, piercing eyes.
“What’s going on here?” the new arrival asked sharply, moving so that he stood shoulder to shoulder next to Chester, and eyeing Lou, Cap, and George as if they had dropped in from Mars.
“Ah, Edwin,” Chester said. “It appears we have had a disturbance in one of our fields.”
“Then what are you doing even talking to these people without our attorney?”
Chester actually seemed somewhat cowed next to the man. “I just didn’t feel it was necessary,” he said.
“Sometimes I wonder how you’ve made it this far, Father.”
“Gentlemen,” William Chester said, “I’d like you to meet Edwin Chester, my son.”
CHAPTER 32
Edwin Chester stood motionless beside his father, at the center of the magnificent greenhouse. Lou introduced himself by name, but the scion made no attempt to shake his hand. Cap and George received the same chilly greeting.
Edwin’s gaze turned first to Stone, then back to Chester. “What sort of disturbance?” he asked, gesturing toward Lou and the other two. “What happened to these men?”
“We were attacked,” Cap said. “Ambushed. That’s what happened. And in your father’s cornfield.”
“What’s my father’s is mine,” Edwin said. “Ambushed by whom? What are you talking about?”
Lou paid close attention to Edwin’s reaction. His surprise appeared to be genuine, as did his indignation about having to deal with this situation at all.
“These three are from D.C.,” Chester said. “They say they followed two men out here whom they believed were following them. They claim there was an ambush and gunfire, and that at least two men were killed. One of them was their friend.”
“My cousin,” George corrected.
“Chief Stone is here to investigate, and I’ve offered our complete cooperation.”
“That makes no sense,” Edwin said. “Why would somebody attack these men in our cornfield? Have you contacted someone from Hensley’s? They’re on call to us twenty-four/seven. That’s why you pay them that ridiculous retainer.”
Lou took a step forward. “I believe I know exactly why we were attacked,” he said, addressing both Chester men.
“And who the hell are you?”
“Edwin, Dr. Welcome, here, is an emergency physician at Eisenhower Memorial,” Stone said.
Lou was unable to ignore the fact that William was concerned as to why the ambush could have happened, while his son seemed interested only in absolving them of any responsibility.
“Go on,” Edwin said, as if he expected Lou wouldn’t speak without his permission.
“I’ve noticed an unusual pattern of behavior among people in Kings Ridge,” Lou began. “It seems that my observations may have attracted the attention of the people who ambushed us—or else of the people who hired them.”
“What sort of behavior?” Edwin asked.
“For me, it all started with the John Meacham shootings,” Lou said.
“Meacham!” William exclaimed. “What in the hell could that crazy murderer have to do with your being ambushed in our field?”
It was the first crack in the man’s composure. Continuing to select each word with care, Lou reviewed his job with the PWO, his relationship with Meacham, and the reason for his trip to the hospital in Kings Ridge.
“I don’t think John knew what he was doing when he shot those people,” Lou summarized. “His judgment was impaired and—”
“Of course his judgment was impaired!” Edwin cut in. “He was deranged. He had proven that before, but apparently you weren’t paying attention then. Now you’re consumed with guilt and willing to pin the blame on anyone and anything except your bad evaluation of the man.”
“Up until the day he killed those people, Meacham had been doing fine?” Stone asked, as if he expected Edwin to jump down his throat.
“Perfect, from all I can tell,” Lou replied.
“Then what happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Lou said. “You see, I think Meacham is the tip of an iceberg.”
“Explain,” Edwin said curtly.
“From what I can tell, he wasn’t deranged in the sense that he had gone crazy,” Lou replied. “It seems more as if he was profoundly confused—as if his logic and reasoning deserted him.”
Lou went on to review the police report of the woman who survived long enough to describe Meacham’s repeated muttering of the phrase no witnesses during his rampage, even though the most important witness of all, Roberta Jennings, had long since departed the office.
“That does sound strange,” Edwin said.
Lou sensed that he had now lost the older Chester completely, and knew that he had never made a dent in Gilbert Stone. But there seemed to be at least a glimmer of interest from Edwin. Lou decided it was worth pushing his theories.
“And there’s more,” he said.
He recounted the baffling and at times risky medicine being practiced by several of the staff at DeLand Regional, Carolyn Meacham’s dangerous car chase, and finally, his observations surrounding Joey Alderson’s near amputation, and the young chef’s admission that he had no idea why he chose to reach beneath the deadly blade when he did.
“In each instance,” he concluded, “it appeared that there was a temporary loss of judgment—a gap in thinking or, if you will, a lapse of reason.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Edwin muttered when Lou had finished. “This is absolute rubbish. It is preposterous to think that you’d be the target of a deadly ambush, like you claim happened, just because of your theories, which are utterly baseless.”
Lou’s patience with the man was wearing thin. “Baseless? Chief Stone, how many residents are there in Kings Ridge? Seven thousand?
“Ten,” Stone grumbled, clearly wishing they could all call it quits.
“Ten,” Lou echoed. “Even allowing for the fact that not everyone working at the hospital is from Kings Ridge, I’ve just identified roughly ten people who have exhibited these symptoms, and that was without even searching for them. Now, I was never a biostatistics whiz in med school, but I did pass. I imagine that someone who knew what
they were doing and crunched the numbers would tell us there is no coincidence at work here.”
“Ridiculous,” Edwin said. “Please, Gilbert, tell me you’re not buying in to this nonsense?”
“We’re investigating all possibilities, Edwin,” Stone said.
“We’ll cooperate in the morning when our attorneys are present. But for now, I ask that you all leave these premises immediately so that my father and I might attempt to get some sleep.”
“Of course,” Stone said.
Without reaction, William stalked from the greenhouse, and Gilbert Stone led the others through a door leading to the front lawn.
Lou was the last of the group to leave.
Edwin was standing by the door, and as Lou passed, Edwin seized him tightly by the arm. “What in the hell is really going on, Welcome?” the man whispered harshly. Despite the difference in their height, he fixed Lou with an icy glare.
“I thought I just told you,” Lou said, pulling his arm free and not backing off a step. “There is something deadly wrong going on in Kings Ridge.”
CHAPTER 33
Darlene wore a brunet wig in addition to the same white-framed tinted glasses she had on the evening she met with Double M. The disguise worked well. In her tight-fitting jeans and studded leather jacket, Darlene blended in perfectly with the other nighthawks enjoying an early-morning meal at Chef Chen’s. No one in the eatery seemed to recognize the First Lady of the United States, seated alone in a back booth, not far from the kitchen.
Victor Ochoa, on high alert, was at a lacquered table directly across from her. He sipped absently at his tea while constantly scanning the room—especially the main entrance.
The girls weren’t going to show.
Darlene made the briefest eye contact with the man committed to protecting her at all costs, and shrugged. Her pulse had been racing since she met him by the exit in the basement below the White House pantry. Ochoa was driving his private car, and his composure kept her reasonably grounded.
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