The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6)

by Steven F Freeman

  Tuttle clinched his chin and stared at the ceiling, his eyes seething.

  “Then there was the problem of the NSA team’s investigation here,” said Alton. “The more progress we made, the more worried Hank became. Eventually, he decided to disrupt the investigation itself, so he attacked Agent Delaney, the lead agent, while she took a walk at her resort. He didn’t expect her to have the strength to place a life-saving call.”

  “And Pavia?” asked Fuentes.

  “That was probably more bad luck on Pavia’s part than anything,” said Alton, “owing to Hank’s ongoing presence in the research facility after hours.”

  “Why would he do that?” said Fuentes.

  Alton leaned back in his chair. “I suspect that once Hank learned of the most important files being stored in ‘the tunnel,’ he returned frequently to search for them.”

  “Why?” asked Chin. “He wouldn’t understand them.”

  “The same reason he kidnapped Summit,” said Alton, “to delay the completion of her research. With both Summit and the flash drive gone, Lexington would probably stretch out their timeframe for maintaining a facility here in order to look for both. Hank hoped to gain enough time to come up with a plan B for his job here.”

  “But why murder Pavia?” asked Fuentes. “What did he know?”

  “The night he died, Pavia said he caught someone trying to steal the facility’s copper tubing. He supposedly drove away, chasing a thief driving a black pickup truck.”

  “That’s right,” said Lieutenant Rios. “That’s what Sergeant Muro said.”

  “The only problem with this story is that no one but Pavia ever saw the mysterious black pickup. Given the man’s history of theft, my guess is that Pavia came to the research facility to steal the tubing himself and was interrupted by Hank looking for the flash drive. Pavia fled, made up the story about the thief, and returned home. He probably thought he had escaped detection. But Hank had similar worries. Had Pavia recognized him as he rummaged through the building in the middle of the night? Hank couldn’t take any chances, so he went to Pavia’s house and murdered him. And odds are, we’ll recover Hank’s DNA from Pavia’s body…and from Gromov’s, too.”

  Alton paused a moment before continuing. “The last murder was poor Cragmire.”

  “Have you figured out what Cragmire discovered?” asked Fuentes.

  “Yes,” said Alton. “I’m sorry to say it was staring me in the face all the time. Do you remember when we found Cragmire’s phone at the scene of his murder? I checked the text messages and call log but didn’t find anything.”

  “Yes, I remember,” said Fuentes.

  “What I should have checked was Cragmire’s social media accounts. It’s where he spent all the time on his phone. On our second or third day here, he even sent a friend request to me and Mallory. Just before this meeting started, I went back and looked at his favorite social media app, FFN, and made a fascinating discovery. He had been looking to send a friend request to Tuttle, too. He searched for Tuttle’s former Washington clinic and made a startling discovery: the ‘Dr. Tuttle’ appearing in the clinic’s FFN page looked nothing like the Dr. Tuttle sitting in this room. Cragmire realized our Tuttle was a fake, and he understood that a lie of that magnitude had to be connected with Summit’s disappearance. I imagine Hank would have changed the clinic’s FFN page if he could. The fact that he didn’t tells me he didn’t have his brother’s password.”

  “There were other, little things I should have noticed, too,” said Alton.

  “Like what?” asked Mallory.

  “Early in the investigation, Hank was supposedly researching local plants Summit could use as a stop-gap asthma medicine. He said he had sent a list of potential plants to US colleagues and until he got a reply, was ‘just marking time.’”

  “What’s so significant about that?” asked Chin, even as the Gooch nodded in understanding.

  “It’s a military expression, meaning marching in place. Seems like kind of an odd expression for a doctor, don’t you think? But maybe not so odd for a former Marine. And as a former Army officer myself, I didn’t even notice when Hank used the expression.”

  “Handcuff that man,” Fuentes commanded his lieutenants. They had their manacles out and snapped them around Tuttle’s wrists within seconds.

  The prisoner sank into his chair. The fire seemed to have left his countenance, leaving only a broken shell of a man.

  “Sounds like you’ve caught your guy,” said Shoemaker, “but in that case, why all the accusations against the rest of us?”

  “I couldn’t be completely sure someone else here wasn’t colluding with Hank,” said Alton. “Like I said before, politics—and murder—makes strange bedfellows. If someone was working with Hank, I hoped they would trip up under the pressure of this interview. Now that I know about your interest in Ms. Chin, I’m more comfortable with the idea that Tuttle was a lone wolf.”

  “So how about it, Hank?” asked Alton. “You know you’re busted. Anything you’d care to add?”

  Hank seemed to age before their eyes. His gaze no longer contained anger, only sorrow. He shook his head slowly and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Yeah, for the record, there is one thing I’d like to set straight—not that it’ll change what happens to me.

  “You’re right. A few years after Marty hired me at his clinic, he and I did have a falling out, like you said. It was his fault, really. He made it too easy for a guy like me to score on the side. All I had to do was forge Marty’s signature and place narcotics prescriptions for myself. Then I’d go pick them up and sell ‘em on the street. It worked for a few years, but eventually Marty caught on. He told me he wouldn’t call the police but that I was fired.”

  Hank looked Alton in the eye. “You suggested earlier that I might have had something to do with Marty’s death. I’ll admit, I was always a little jealous of him, the successful physician and allergist, our parents’ favorite, while I’m just this guy that got kicked out of the Marines. But get this: I had nothing to do with his death. He may have been a dickhead at times, but he was still my brother. Want to know he how died? He went to the dry cleaners without his EpiPen and got stung by a wasp in the middle of paying for a few starched button-downs. He died from anaphylactic shock. How ironic is that? An allergist died from an allergic reaction.”

  “After your brother fired you, did you keep up the drug trade on the streets?” asked Alton. “Is that how you got into a tussle with the dealer you killed?”

  Hank leaned back in his chair and cast a mirthless smile. “I don’t think I’m going to answer that one.”

  “It’s your call,” said Alton. “It’s sad, really. You came here to escape a trial for killing a lowlife. But once your cover story started to unravel, that previous, single crime evolved into a full-blown murder spree. And all because you didn’t want your Galapagos gig to end. Having a paycheck that didn’t require you to return to the States became more important than the lives of a half-dozen innocent people.

  “And speaking of murders,” continued Alton, “we still haven’t answered our original question. Where’s Summit?”

  “I don’t know where she is,” said Hank, looking at the floor. “On the night my guys attacked the research facility, she took a dive out of her office window…and disappeared.”

  CHAPTER 77

  “You mean to tell me you still don’t know where my wife is?” blared Jackson’s voice from Alton’s cellphone.

  “I had expected Hank Tuttle to know,” said Alton. “But before I could ask him, I had to convince him we know about all the crimes he’s orchestrated.”

  “The man’s lying!” said Jackson. “He must know where Jan is.”

  “So what about it?” said Alton, turning to Tuttle. “If you’ve killed her, you might as well confess. It’s not like it’s going to change your sentence at this point.”

  “I don’t know. I swear,” said Tuttle. “On the night of the attack, it took u
s a couple of minutes to figure out she’d popped through her office window. Once we did, we ran up all the jungle trails and down the street, but we never found her.”

  “She couldn’t have vanished into thin air,” said Jackson.

  “Senator, let me ask you a question. Has your wife ever run into trouble before? Serious trouble, comparable to the attack on her research facility?”

  “Yeah. A couple of years ago, she was taking a tour in Gaza when a bunch of protestors starting chanting. Not the safest situation.”

  “What did she do then?”

  “High-tailed it to the embassy,” said Jackson, “just like I told her to do in case of trouble.”

  “There is no US embassy or consulate in the Galapagos,” said Alton. “If she were running for her life, what might she do instead?”

  Alton’s phone remained silent for a moment before the senator spoke. “Find the safest place she could, I imagine. It’d be the next best thing to an embassy.”

  “Okay, so if she did that, where in the Galapagos would she go?”

  “I have no idea. You’re thinking she may have fled to some safe place?”

  “Possibly,” said Alton, “assuming Hank Tuttle is telling the truth.”

  “But if that’s the case, why hasn’t she tried to contact me—or anyone else?” asked Jackson.

  “I don’t know,” said Alton. “If I were in fear of my life, my first priority would be finding the safest place possible. It may be that once she found such a place, it didn’t have ready access to a phone.”

  “But no phone or computer access, either?” asked Mallory. “It seems unlikely.”

  “I agree,” said Alton, “unless she was worried about being traced.”

  “She’d have to be super-paranoid to worry about something like that,” said Jackson.

  “She had just had her research facility gassed and attacked,” said Alton. “At that point, I don’t think worrying about a phone trace would be as much paranoia as it would be prudence.”

  “What you’re saying makes sense,” said Jackson, “but what do you suggest we do now?”

  “I think we attack this on two fronts. First, we maintain the searches that have been underway for the past week, including the questioning of Hank Tuttle.”

  “Hey, I already told you—” began Tuttle.

  “Second,” continued Alton, ignoring the man’s protestations, “we make it as well-known as possible that the criminal has been apprehended. That way, if your wife is in some kind of safe zone, she’ll know it’s safe to come out.”

  “I guess there’s not much else we can do,” said Jackson, “besides pray.”

  CHAPTER 78

  “Are all the local radios running the story?” Alton asked Fuentes.

  “Yes. And the television stations, too.” Fuentes leaned back in the chair behind his office desk.

  “What about newspapers?” said Alton. “For all we know, they might be Summit’s only source of information.”

  “Amigo, it’s only been five hours since we sent out the news blast,” replied Fuentes. “They can’t carry the article until the next paper comes out tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re right,” said Alton. “I’m just getting antsy.”

  “You want to go with my men on the neighborhood search?”

  “Yes.”

  That evening, the Blackwells returned to their treetop resort accommodations. Alton fell onto the bed, exhausted and discouraged. “We’ve come so far in this investigation, but I’m not sure if we’re really any closer to finding Summit.”

  Mallory had beaten her husband to the surface of the bed’s soft comforter. She turned to look at him. “Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow, once the newspapers come out.” She stood up and grasped his hand. “Come out onto the balcony with me. It’ll do you good.”

  Alton stood and grimaced as his overworked leg sent a jolt of pain radiating throughout his body. Shuffling to the balcony, he lowered himself into a wicker chair. The call of several species of birds mixed in the breeze, and the humid air carried a moist, earthy aroma from a recent rainfall. The last rays of sunlight illuminated Alton’s elevated perch but left the valley below in deep shadows.

  “We need to put together a game plan for tomorrow,” said Alton. “If the newspaper ads don’t work, we should—”

  A loud series of raps on the bedroom door halted Alton in mid-sentence. “Were you expecting anyone?” he asked Mallory.

  “No.”

  They crept back into the bedroom and retrieved their Glocks off the sprawling wooden dresser. They made their way to the door and stood on either side.

  “Who’s there?” asked Alton.

  “Front desk delivery service. I’m looking for Alton Blackwell.”

  Unlike the rest of the resort’s staff, the woman outside had no Spanish accent. Alton looked at Mallory with a questioning glance. She shrugged.

  “What are you delivering?”

  “A message.”

  Alton peered through the door’s peephole. A diminutive figure stood on the welcome mat, unmoving. She sported a Panama hat and wrapped herself in one of the traditional woolen ponchos of northern Ecuador, where the altitude of the Andes Mountains could drop nighttime temperatures to sub-freezing levels. If Alton didn’t know better, he would have taken her for a local.

  “Slip the message under the door,” he said.

  “It’s not written down. I need to come in to deliver it.”

  Alton motioned with his hand, directing Mallory to a position behind the door. Once the door swung open, she would be out of sight but would have a clear view of the messenger’s back.

  Alton cracked the door. “Come in. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The messenger walked with delicate steps, seeming to glide as she entered the room.

  Alton kept his Glock trained on her. “Sorry to be inhospitable, but I’ve encountered a lot of dangerous people on this trip. I’m not willing to take chances when a random person shows up at my door.”

  The messenger nodded.

  “Okay, so…what’s your message?”

  The messenger slipped off a pair of Coke-bottle glasses and pocketed them. Then she removed her Panama hat and, as it turned out, a dark wig underneath, revealing kindly eyes and flowing blonde hair. She smiled up at him.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Alton. “Dr. Summit!”

  CHAPTER 79

  Half an hour later, the Blackwells, the Gooch, Fuentes, and Summit piled into the captain’s police-station office for an impromptu meeting. They greeted each other with great cheer and laughter.

  “It really is you!” said Fuentes. “I almost can’t believe it.”

  “Let’s get your husband on the phone,” said Alton, turning to Summit. “We can’t keep him waiting.”

  Alton dialed up Jackson on Fuentes’ teleconferencing device. Despite the distance of several thousand miles, the husband and wife enjoyed a genuine and heartfelt reunion.

  After everyone took a final turn expressing their shock at Summit’s unexpected appearance, Alton kicked off the debriefing. “Like I said before, Dr. Summit, you can’t know how pleased I am to see you alive and well.”

  Summit laughed. “Not as pleased as I am!”

  “I’ll buy that,” said Alton with laugh. “But tell me—tell us all—where were you for the past ten days? We were so worried you’d been kidnapped or killed.”

  Summit nodded. “I was afraid you’d think so, but there wasn’t much I could do.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jackson through the teleconference speaker.

  “When all hell broke loose at the lab,” said Summit, “my first instinct was to get as far from there as possible. I fainted for a few seconds when the teargas got too thick, but that didn’t last—thank God. I figured they wouldn’t expect me to head into the thickest underbrush, not when there was a road and several trails available, so that’s what I did.

  “Once I escaped the area, I stopp
ed and thought, ‘Now what?’ The people who attacked my lab seemed to know just where to lob their tear gas grenades and where to go. I realized pretty quickly that somehow, they were familiar with my research complex. That meant they probably knew me, but I didn’t know who they were. This presented a problem. One of my associates must have arranged the attack. But since I didn’t know which one, I didn’t know who to trust. So, I stayed hidden until I heard news that the culprits had been brought to justice. Once I got that news yesterday, I looked you up, Mr. Blackwell.”

  “Why him?” asked the Gooch.

  “He was brought onto the island to look for me, days after the attack. I knew he’d be a safe person to seek out.”

  “So why not go to him right away?” asked the Gooch.

  “I’d still have the issue of wondering which of my associates coordinated the attack and if they’d try again if I reappeared. Considering who you nabbed, and how many people he killed, I’d say my approach was sound.”

  “But how did you know the attacker would ever be caught?” said Mallory.

  Summit laughed. “I know my husband, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he sent people down here looking for me. I thought it would probably be a matter of days before the culprit was caught, and I was right.”

  “So if you didn’t know who to trust,” asked Alton, “who were you staying with when you went into hiding?”

  “Some friends I made on the northern shore when I first came down here. They’re kind of hippie types, to be honest. But they don’t know anything about my research, so I figured it was as safe a place as I was going to find, considering there’s no US embassy here. They were even willing to have refills on my asthma meds shipped in from the States.”

  “I see,” said Alton. “One more question, if you don’t mind. Why the secrecy regarding your meetings with LeFlore and Chin?”

  “That’s Corporate Acquisitions one-o-one,” said Summit. “You keep negotiations under wraps until a deal is struck. Lexington Labs was considering a licensing arrangement with one of their companies. But these kinds of deals often fall through if they become public before they’re consummated. At a minimum, it’d hurt Lexington’s bargaining position to disclose who else was bidding for our therapies. I couldn’t afford to let that happen.”