She stared at him. “What happened yesterday—”
“Sheila, I’m crazy about you. And what happened yesterday was incredible. I’m sick that instead of taking you to a nice restaurant or filling your house with flowers, I’m in a car in the rain asking you to lie for me. But I swear to you we’ll get through this together and I’ll spend the rest of my life, our lives, making it up to you.”
She looked back up at the window. Bill and someone else were still watching. She couldn’t hug Paul without being seen, so she squeezed his hands.
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
BILL
“Do you think they suspect something?” Bill said as he and Shen stood at his office window and watched Rosko’s car.
Shen had come to Bill after overhearing the call from Rosko about meeting in his car.
“Four deaths …” His piercing eyes riveted Bill. “Only a fool would not suspect.”
Only a fool would not suspect. Condescending creep. Bill liked Shen a lot better when he was subservient. Ever since he had given him the money the tables had been switched. He was at Shen’s mercy and they both knew it. So much for respect.
Bill glanced at him. “Three: The Slade woman, Tanesha Green, and then Kaplan.”
“Doctor Silberman died this morning. Four deaths.” The wolverine tone and that omnipotent stare.
Bill had given the man the tickets and money he’d demanded. Just this morning he’d wired the other fifty thousand into his account for Kaplan. What did he want now? Shen kept watching him. Bill could feel goosebumps on his arms under his shirt. This was not someone he wanted as an enemy. Whatever it was, he could have it. Bill didn’t want Shen angry with him.
“Fine, four deaths. But it should have been three. If Kaplan had kept to himself and left well enough alone we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
Bill had spent last night in a state of sweaty nausea. He still had a conscience. But sometimes conscience had to surrender to a higher purpose.
And the nausea would pass.
“I meant does she suspect that she’s bugged?”
“I cannot know.”
Bill had to smile. Of course Shen could not know.
The major disappointment was that Rosko had called Sheila. Bill had hoped the police would have placed him at the scene of the crime by now, looked up his record, and slapped on the cuffs.
Rosko’s passenger door opened. Sheila stepped out and rushed back through the rain. Her head was down, her shoulders slumped, her usual bouncing stride was gone.
Had they had a fight?
“Here she comes. Get back to the monitoring room and stay on her. I want to know every word she says to anyone.”
“Yessir.”
“And if you need to call me, use my cell. I’ll be out of town this afternoon.”
Shen nodded, then headed for the door.
Bill turned back to the window and watched Sheila approach.
Tramp. He’d tried to expunge the images from his memory but they kept recurring … the same scenes flashing again and again across the screen of his brain like some foul porn loop …
No, not fair. He couldn’t bring himself to hate her. After the initial shock and revulsion had worn off, he realized, hell, she was human. She had needs. He might fantasize about her when he was with Elise, but at least he found his release.
No, he didn’t hate her. But he was very, very disappointed.
She needed to know the truth about her boyfriend. But Bill wouldn’t be the one to tell her. He’d let the cops give her the bad news.
But to do that they’d have to know about Rosko themselves.
As Rosko drove away, Bill wrote down his license plate number.
•
Where have all the phone booths gone? Bill wondered as he cruised what appeared to be Marblehead’s main drag. Cell phones had put them on the endangered species list.
He wanted no chance that his call would be traced, and figured it would carry more weight if it came from Kaplan’s own town.
Finally he spotted a booth and pulled into the curb half a block past it. He opened his umbrella and hurried through the downpour.
When he reached it he pulled out the memo slip with the police number, plunked in a couple of coins, and dialed. Once connected, he asked to speak to the detective in charge of the Kaplan murder. Seconds later a soft voice came on the line.
“Detective Winters.”
“Yes, detective. I just heard the terrible news about Doctor Kaplan and I just had to call.”
“What is it, Mister …?”
“I-I’d rather not give my name. I don’t want to get involved, but I think you should know about the strange car parked in Doctor Kaplan’s driveway last night.”
“Strange how?”
“Well, Gerald isn’t a social man and never—well, almost never—has company.”
“Really.” The detective’s tone shifted from bored to interested. “Can you give me any details?”
“Not many, I’m afraid. I know it was an SUV—an Explorer, I think. And it was a dark color. As to whether it was black or dark blue, I’m afraid I can’t say.”
“Did you happen to notice the plates?”
“Yes. I’d first thought maybe a relative was visiting from out of state, but then I saw it was a Massachusetts plate.”
“Can you remember anything, anything at all about the number?”
“Well, I have a near-photographic memory, but I wasn’t paying all that much attention. The best I can recall it started with 789 and ended—I think—with something like L-V-E.”
Rosko’s plate actually began with 739, but Bill didn’t want his recall to seem too prefect.
“This might prove very helpful,” the detective said. “Where can I reach you if I have any further questions?”
Bill hung up and walked back to his car. Once inside and back in traffic he laughed aloud.
Everything was working so perfectly. Like the string-puller Supreme, he was the Piper who’d chosen the tune and now everyone was dancing to it, whether they liked it or not—whether they heard it or not. He was back in control.
PAUL
“Want some more fries?” Coog said, extending the bag across the Explorer’s center console.
Paul hadn’t been able to sit around the house any longer, so he and Coog had taken in a movie—the Rock’s latest puncher-upper—and stopped at a Wendy’s. Coog had brought along his leftover fries for the ride home.
“Just a couple.”
Paul snagged three and stuffed them in his mouth.
At least something was good.
He had long since given up hope that this would all go away. He’d left Kaplan’s with a pit on his stomach. But also a sense of relief. He had fathered this child. And like Kaplan said, he was alive and healthy with his memory unchanged, so what else really mattered? But the rest of the world might not feel the same way. Certainly Sheila wouldn’t. What Kaplan’s therapy had done to the patients was unintentional. But not VecGen or Tethys. They knew the therapy would change the patients’ DNA and didn’t bother to tell them. Didn’t they think the public would figure it out eventually?
If Kaplan hadn’t been killed, Paul might have tried to talk Sheila into running off with him, to a new state, to swear off looking into Tethys and VecGen and just pretend it never happened. Turn a blind eye to all the patients. But if he ran, he’d look guilty. And Sheila would never let this go.
So what was his plan? Besides continuing to look for evidence against VecGen and IV and trying not to get killed … hoping Sheila could play it cool at work …
“Dad!” Coog pointed though the windshield. “Cops!”
The words jolted Paul back to the here and now. He looked where Coog was pointing, blinked, looked again.
Through the rain he could see two black and whites plus an unmarked car at the curb in front of his house.
His chest tightened.
Coog was still pointing.
“Hey! They’ve got the garage door open! You think someone tried to break in again?”
Paul tried to speak but words wouldn’t come. Good thing Coog was babbling and didn’t notice.
“Looks like they’re all over the house. Don’t they have to have a search warrant or something?”
“I’ll bet they do,” Paul croaked.
This could only mean they’d placed him at Kaplan’s last night. After looking up his record, a search warrant was inevitable.
At least they wouldn’t find anything. But now Coog would learn about his past. Paul had been planning to wait until he was sixteen. Now it would all come out under the worst circumstances.
Damn them!
He tightened his grip on the wheel and kept his speed even as he approached.
“Hey, Dad! Aren’t we going in?”
“Not yet.”
Maybe not at all. He couldn’t stand the thought of Coog watching when they slapped the cuffs on. He’d lied—obstruction of justice. It would all be straightened out eventually, but the sight of him being led away in handcuffs would scar the boy.
He’d find a place for Coog to stay—maybe his friend Jimmy’s—and then walk into the police station and say he’d heard they were looking for him.
He drove by, turned the corner, and pulled into the curb before the Simons’ house. They’d left for Florida and, as usual, had asked Paul to keep an eye on the place. Since the rear corner of their property abutted a rear corner of Paul’s, all he had to do was hop a low fence and maybe he could get an idea of what they were looking for … what they thought they’d find in his garage.
“Stay here,” he told Coog as he opened his door.
“Where are you going?”
“Just taking a quick look. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.” He put steel into the word. “You wait.”
He leaped out and ran through the rain and across the Simons’ darkened side yard to the right rear corner of their lot. He stopped at the fence and stared at his house. All the lights were on. The garage was closest—no more than fifty feet away.
Across a muddy yard.
He’d leave a trail of footprints. But he saw that the mud had already been kicked up. Probably from the cops searching for whatever they were after. Good chance that no one would notice with all the water, but should he risk it?
Yeah, he should.
He hopped the fence and ran in a crouch to the garage window. A quick peek showed Evers and Winters poking though the pile of junk that over the years had usurped the unused half of his double garage. Both wore latex gloves.
Faint traces of their chatter trailed out the open doors and around to Paul.
“Not finding it doesn’t get him off the hook,” Winters was saying.
“I know, but finding it will put the last nail in his coffin.”
Find what? What were they looking for?
“We’ve got his fingerprints at the scene, on that chair he smashed into the wall, but if we could just find the weapon.”
The chair—it showed his propensity toward violence …
Evers moved toward the rear while Winters hung around the middle.
Paul felt exposed out here. He’d seen enough. Heard enough too. That nail-in-his-coffin remark had set his nerves on edge.
Even so, he didn’t see any alternative to turning himself in—but not here, not now.
He was just about to head back to Coog when he heard Evers say, “Jesus!”
Paul’s gut twisted as he glued himself to the window.
Evers stepped into view holding a baseball bat by the knob with his thumb and index finger.
“Do you believe this?” he said.
Even from where he was Paul recognized his Louisville Slugger. He didn’t recognize the reddish brown stains near the bat’s business end. He felt his chest tighten. Blood.
Winters bent for a closer look.
“If that matches Kaplan’s, we’re in business.” He straightened. “Pardon the pun, but I’m long overdue for a pop fly.”
Paul could barely breathe as he stumbled away.
This morning he’d idly wondered if someone might be framing him. Now he knew. He was in a nightmare.
He went back over the fence and ran back toward the car.
There had to be a way out of this. He needed a place to hide, to cool his jets and calm down so he could think straight.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Coog said as Paul hopped into the car and slammed it into DRIVE.
“We’re not going home.”
Coog turned to face him. “W-why not?”
Paul was cold, wet, and scared. His brain wasn’t on track. What could he say? Best tell him the truth—not all, not yet, but enough for him to appreciate what was going on.
“I’m being framed for murder.”
Coog laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding, Coog. Just before you called last night I was visiting a man named Gerald Kaplan. Shortly after I left him he was murdered.”
Coog’s voice rose half an octave. “Shit! Really?”
Paul let the four-letter word pass.
“Someone beat him to death with a baseball bat—our baseball bat. Which the cops just discovered in our garage, bloodstains and all.”
“Dad, you gotta be kidding me.” An edge of hysteria had crept into Coog’s voice. “Please tell me you’re kidding!”
“I wish I were.”
“But why you?”
“Someone wanted Kaplan dead. They must have known I was visiting him last night and thought I’d make a convenient fall guy.”
“That noise I heard in the garage last night!”
“Yeah. Someone borrowing the bat.”
“But you didn’t kill him. They can prove that! You’ll be ex … ex …”
“Exonerated? Not easily. My bat in my garage with my fingerprints and Kaplan’s blood. Pretty damning. If you were a cop and I told you I was being framed, would you believe me?”
Coog didn’t answer, just stared ahead through the windshield.
“And I can’t prove I didn’t do it because I was there.”
“I’m scared, Dad.”
“You and me both. But I’m more worried about you.”
“Me?”
“Where can I stash you so you’ll be safe?”
“Stash me? Where are you going?”
“I need to find a quiet place to stay where I can figure this out.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re—”
“Yes, I am and there’s no way you can stop me. You’re my father and I’m staying with you.”
Paul sensed the finality in Coog’s voice. Though he wanted him out of harm’s way, he knew he couldn’t leave him someplace if he refused to be left.
You’re my father and I’m staying with you.
His heart swelled and his throat constricted. Why had he had to question his paternity? Freakin’ pride. Curiosity killed the cat. And Kaplan.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Any ideas?”
“How about a motel?”
Paul shook his head. “I don’t have enough cash. My credit card can be traced if I use it.”
“How about a beach house somewhere. Must be lots of deserted places. We can break in and …”
Deserted … the word echoed through Paul’s brain. And then it hit him.
“I know just the place.”
But first …
He pulled a U turn.
“Where are we going?”
“To the gas station. I need to use their bathroom.”
•
Paul drove around the back of Rudy’s gas station and walked into the men’s room. He’d used it before and knew they never locked it. He popped open his cell phone. He didn’t want Coog to hear the phone calls he had to make so pretended to need to hit the john. His phone was poised in his hand as he hesitated.
Paul was leery ab
out confessing everything to Sheila but had to tell her something. She’d be home now, so he called her office. When he reached her voicemail he spoke in a low tone.
“Sheila, this is Paul. My situation has deteriorated beyond imagining. I’m being framed for Kaplan’s murder and the police are buying it. Right now I’m in a safe place until I can figure out what to do. I care about you, Sheila, and I care about what you think of me. That’s why I need to warn you that you’re going to hear …” This was the hard part. “You’re going to hear things about me. Bad things, presented in the worst possible light. But know this: I did not kill Kaplan, Sheila. I did not kill Kaplan. Sometime I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain what you’ll be hearing. Trust me, okay? That means the world to me. I don’t know what else to tell you. Just … have faith, that’s all I ask.”
He broke the connection and took a deep breath. Whatever relationship may have formed between them was probably shattered, gone. He knew that, but couldn’t handle Sheila’s thinking it was all lie.
One more call.
A plan had been forming. To make it happen he had to get in touch with Lee Swann—or whoever pretended to be Swann.
Information gave him VecGen’s number. He knew no one was there but he needed to leave a message. The receptionist had called “legal” when he’d been there. Was that because Paul was acting crazy or because they knew exactly who Swann was?
He went through VecGen’s voicemail maze until he heard, “If you wish to speak to our legal department, press six now.”
He did and was given another set of options: names and extension numbers. He picked one at random.
“This is Paul Rosko. I’m sure your receptionist will remember me. I want you to get this message to Mister Lee T. Swann. Tell him this: Paul Rosko wants to make a deal.” He left his cell number. “Tell him to call me at six o’clock tomorrow night. I’ll put my cell phone on for ten minutes. I think we can come to an agreement that is to our mutual benefit.”
He wasn’t quite sure what he had to offer, but he’d do anything to ensure Coog and Sheila’s safety.
He turned off his phone. The police would soon go to his cell carrier with a court order to locate him. He didn’t have to be making a call, just have his phone turned on. They could triangulate his signal between a number of the area’s ubiquitous towers and locate him within a hundred-yard radius. But not if his phone was off.
The Proteus Cure Page 27
