“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Take your time.”
“I did. Overnight in that lousy hospital bed was all the time I needed. Ciao!”
CHAPTER
36
Smith had been huddled with his new clients when Brixton called. He took the call in his outer office, after which he returned to the meeting, which lasted another two hours. He spent part of the time assuring his clients, four gray-suited titans-of-industry types, that his private investigator would join them in subsequent meetings. When the meeting finally broke up Smith picked up the phone and called Zeke Borgeldt.
“I’m calling to pay back what you shared with me,” Smith told the superintendent of detectives.
“You’re an honorable man, Mackensie Smith. I’m listening.”
He told Borgeldt of Brixton’s call informing him that the investigator had traced Eugene Waksit to a Days Inn on Thirteenth Street in Silver Spring, Maryland.
“Why should that interest me?” Borgeldt asked.
“The authorities back in Papua New Guinea are looking to question Waksit about the murder of a physician there, the one I told you about.”
“I haven’t seen any queries from New Guinea,” Borgeldt said, “but that doesn’t mean one hasn’t come through. Those kinds of requests tend to get lost in the shuffle.”
“Well,” said Smith, “if you do run across it you know where to find the person of interest.”
“Thanks, Mac. I’ll check it out.”
Smith’s next call was to Jayla King at Renewal Pharmaceuticals.
“Sorry, but she’s just left,” Smith was told.
“Thanks. I’ll try her at home.”
He didn’t have any better luck reaching her there. He considered leaving a message about Brixton having located Waksit but decided it would be better to tell her in person. He busied himself with myriad legal matters that had been piling up until he took a break at six and called Annabel at her gallery in Georgetown, where she was in the process of ending her day. He told her of Brixton’s call.
“Does Jayla know?” Annabel asked.
“No. I didn’t want to leave it on her machine. I’ll call later after she gets home. What are we doing for dinner?”
“Anything simple that’s in the freezer. I’m beat. How’s Robert?”
He laughed as he told her how Brixton had left the apartment without Flo’s knowledge, and that it was to remain a secret. “Hopefully he got home before she did,” he said.
Another call came in and Mac signed off with, “Whatever strikes your fancy in the freezer is fine with me. See you in a few hours.”
The other caller was journalist Will Sayers.
“Have you been in touch with Brixton?” Sayers asked.
“As a matter of fact I have,” Smith said.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing fine,” said Smith. “What’s new with you?”
“I’ve left messages on his infernal answering machine.”
“He must be sleeping.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s it. Have you heard anything new about the Morrison murder?”
Smith didn’t mention that he’d accompanied Borgeldt to interview Morrison’s widow.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day, Mac,” Sayers said. “Whoever shot Morrison didn’t need to if robbery was the motive.”
“I don’t follow,” Smith said.
“Morrison had twenty grand to give Robert as a bribe to stop digging into Senator Gillespie’s past.”
“I know. According to Robert that’s precisely what Morrison intended.”
“But why was Morrison shot? And why would the shooter take Robert’s gun and use it for the murder? If whoever planned it thought that by using Robert’s gun he would take the rap for it he’s an idiot. But I keep coming back to the reason that Morrison was gunned down. Somebody wanted him dead.”
“Why?” Smith asked.
“Because he knew something that the shooter, or whoever sent him, didn’t want known. Morrison was behind the murder of that doctor in PNG. He—”
“That’s supposition on your part,” Smith said, unsure of how much to share with the journalist.
“And Robert’s suppositions have always been pretty damn good, Mac. The thug who killed that native who tended King’s plot of land worked for Alard Associates. You know about them.”
“Yes. I also know that the same thug committed suicide, hanged himself.”
“Whoa. Where did you hear that?”
“From my contact in PNG.”
“I need to get ahold of Robert,” Sayers said.
“I’m sure he’ll wake up and return your call, Will. When I talk to him I’ll pass along that you want to speak with him.”
“Thanks. Before I get off let me give you a heads-up. I’m going with a story about Morrison and his involvement with Senator Gillespie and the abortion in Georgia.”
“You have enough hard evidence to avoid a law-suit?” Smith asked.
“Yeah, I think so. If not you’ll be the first lawyer I’ll call. Thanks again.”
Don’t do me any favors, Smith said to himself.
Smith arrived home a little after seven, fifteen minutes after Annabel. She pulled out two frozen pieces of salmon and the makings of a salad while he mixed drinks to enjoy on the balcony. He recounted the highlights of his day—the interview of Peggy Sue Morrison, the discovery of Morrison’s appointment book that mentioned two meetings with Alard, and expanded on Brixton’s tracking of Eugene Waksit and his plea that Flo not know he’d left the apartment.
Annabel laughed. “Tough guy Robert Brixton is afraid that Flo will find out that he left. Nice to see that he’s afraid of somebody.”
“I promised him that we’d keep his secret.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Mac stood. “I forgot,” he said. “I have to let Jayla know that Robert found Waksit. Be right back.”
Jayla answered on the first ring.
“It’s Mac Smith,” he said. “Hope I’m not disturbing your dinner.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m waiting for a guest to arrive. You met him, Nate Cousins.”
“Yes, of course. Give him our best. Jayla, I received a call earlier today from Robert Brixton. He’s located Eugene Waksit.”
Her silence said volumes.
“He found him at a Days Inn in Silver Spring, Maryland.”
“How? I mean, how did he discover where he was?”
Smith’s easy laugh diffused the palpable tension on her end. “Annabel and I often ask how Robert does anything. Suffice it to say he succeeded.”
“Did he go to that woman’s house?” she asked.
“What woman?”
“Nikki Dorence. She works here at the PNG embassy. Eugene dated her for a short time back in Australia.”
“I don’t have an answer to that Jayla. I just thought that you’d want to know.”
“Thank you, Mac,” she said, her voice reflecting her anxiety.
“I also informed the D.C. police where he was. They may want to contact him regarding the interest the PNG police have in questioning him about your dad’s murder.”
Smith heard a buzzer on her end.
“Have to run,” she said. “Nate is here. Thanks again.”
“Stay in touch,” Mac said, “and be safe.”
He rejoined Annabel on the balcony. “I told Jayla about Robert finding Waksit.”
“Do you think she’s in any danger?” Annabel asked.
“I don’t know. I’m glad that she had her locks changed. Waksit seems to want to establish some sort of link to her. Entering her apartment the way he did doesn’t bode well, and there’s the big question of whether he played a part in her father’s murder.”
Annabel wrapped her arms about herself. “How terrifying to have someone like that hovering over you.” She came forward in her chair and grabbed his hand. “Mac, shouldn’t the police know about him?”
“Th
ey already do,” he said. “I called Zeke this afternoon and told him.”
“Will they pick up him up? You’d mentioned that the police back in Papua New Guinea want to question him about the murder.”
“Zeke hadn’t heard anything about it but he’s checking on it.”
They enjoyed the salmon and a salad, and returned to the balcony for coffee and after dinner drinks.
“I’m really worried about Jayla,” Annabel said.
“Hopefully the police will make contact with him—provided he stays at that motel—and it’ll be resolved. When I called Jayla she was entertaining that young fellow, Nate Cousins.”
“A budding romance in the offing?”
“Maybe. I liked him.”
“So did I.”
* * *
While the Smiths settled in for a quiet night of reading, Jayla King and Nate Cousins sat on her small balcony awaiting the delivery of their dinner from an Italian restaurant a few blocks away—manicotti, salads, and crunchy Italian bread—accompanied by a red wine that Cousins had brought. Jayla had set the table with her best pale yellow linen tablecloth and silverware her father had given her that once belonged to her mother. Two slender white candles cast a warm glow over everything.
They toasted each other.
“Mr. Brixton found Eugene,” Jayla said.
“What? He did? Where is he?”
“At a Days Inn in Silver Spring.”
“Did he talk to him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“How did he find him?”
“I don’t know. Mac Smith called me earlier. I was on the phone with him when you arrived.”
“That’s—well, that’s incredible. I’d promised that I’d look for him but—well, I really didn’t know how to do it. Mr. Brixton must be a good investigator.”
“I told him about a woman here in Washington who used to date Eugene. She works for the PNG embassy. I know that Mr. Brixton was going to look for Eugene there in case he was staying with her. Maybe he was.”
Cousins sat back and frowned. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“The police ought to arrest him.”
“For what?”
“For breaking into your apartment for openers.”
“He had a key, Nate. Mr. Brixton said the police wouldn’t be interested. I’ve changed the lock.”
“He has your father’s research.”
“I know. He claims my father willed it to him, which is a lie.”
“But you have another copy.”
“Not the actual results, not the charts and day-by-day notations. Mine is more of a letter to me. But you already know that. Have you finished reading it and decided what I should do with it?”
“I’ve been swamped, Jayla, running from one meeting to another. I need another day or two.”
His response didn’t please her but she let it go, asking instead, “How was your meeting with Walt Milkin?”
His dismissive laugh didn’t strike her as genuine.
“Just another meeting,” he said. “You know how Walt likes to pontificate.”
* * *
Cousins’s meeting with the CEO of Renewal Pharmaceuticals that afternoon had started off pleasant, but soon turned tense.
“How are things?” Cousins asked after settling in a chair across the desk from Milkin. The briefcase he’d brought with him that contained Jayla’s father’s letter to her in which he laid out his research results in narrative form sat at his feet.
“Things could be better,” Milkin said, touching his white mane with his fingertips as though to assure that it was still there. His tan testified to having been on a brief vacation in the Bahamas. “The government is sticking its nose into our business like never before.”
“I’ve been reading those guidelines from the FDA,” Cousins said. “It seems to me that their proposed changes in law will only further delay the introduction of new drugs to the marketplace.”
“You’re damn right, Nate. The way I see it we have to introduce drugs that are not only easier to formulate, but that stem from natural ingredients without the potential of side effects.”
“You’re right, Walt. How can I help? I might be able to place an op-ed piece by you in some newspapers and—”
“I think it’s time we had a candid conversation, Nate.”
Cousins didn’t like Milkin’s tone. “All right,” he said.
“You were going to locate this guy who worked closely with Dr. King in PNG, Eugene Waksit.”
Cousins started to respond but Milkin cut him off.
“To lay it on the line, Nate, we need a new and profitable drug here at Renewal, one that will stand out because of its uniqueness, a departure from the usual run of pain relievers. As you know I’ve been privy to industry talk about what King was working on when he died. Obviously, what he came up with is of interest to me. The problem is that we don’t have any hard evidence of the efficacy of the drug he was developing using homegrown plant life. If we had documentation of his work up until his demise, we could take it a step further, refine it, stand the pharmaceutical industry on its ear.”
“I understand all that,” said Cousins, “but as you’ve heard from others in the industry his work was primitive, probably poorly documented, hardly the sort of research that would please a major pharma or the FDA.”
“Since when are you a scientist?” Milkin asked.
“I’m not. It’s just that—”
“What about your relationship with King’s daughter, Jayla? That was supposed to lead us to Waksit and to King’s research.”
Cousins hoped that his growing pique wasn’t evident in what he said, or in his body language. He shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and reversing them. He didn’t agree with Milkin that his relationship with Jayla King had been solely for the purpose of wheedling out of her the results of her father’s work. Yes, he’d approached her with that in mind, but their relationship had rapidly developed into something far more meaningful.
At the same time he respected Milkin’s business needs: he headed a company that depended upon developing breakthrough drugs potentially worth billions, and had his stockholders to answer to. Too, Cousins’s livelihood depended upon executives like Walt Milkin. At their last meeting Milkin had tossed into the conversation that Cousins’s agency contract with Renewal was up for review. If he’d meant it to be a veiled threat, he’d succeeded.
Milkin raised the agency review again.
“I’ll be seeing Jayla, Ms. King, tonight,” he told the CEO. “I’ll urge her to share with you whatever her father left her regarding his research. There’s a private investigator looking for Mr. Waksit. Ms. King certainly knows more about that than I do. That’s all I can do, Walt. I’ll give it my best.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will, Nate. Let me add this. If you deliver this information, I’ll see to it that not only will your agency contract be renewed, there’ll be a nice bonus in it for you.”
“I appreciate that,” Cousins said, picking up his briefcase. He shook Milkin’s hand and left the office, stopped in the hallway, and reflected on what had just occurred.
The briefcase contained everything that Jayla had entrusted him with, and there was a moment when he’d considered handing it to Milkin, become the knight in shining armor, the fair-haired boy who’d delivered the goods.
But something had kept him from doing it. It wasn’t that he’d decided to never share it with Milkin. But he knew that once he did his relationship with Jayla was finished.
* * *
The food arrived. Cousins paid the delivery boy and tipped him generously. Jayla put the food into serving dishes and they sat at her small dining room table in front of the sliding glass doors to her balcony. They said little as they ate, commenting on the food, and discussing the latest political gossip reported by the media. Jayla had put a jazz CD on her stereo, a recording by the guitaris
t Gene Bertoncini with strings, the lush sounds providing a peaceful background to what they were saying—and thinking.
“I know you’re disappointed in me for not having come up with ideas about your father’s research,” Cousins said.
“Disappointed? No, Nate, not at all. Mac Smith reviewed my employment contract with Renewal.”
“I’m glad he did. I raised it with you as a possible problem if you turned over your father’s work to them.”
“I remember. After you suggested that I review the contract I gave it to Mac.”
“And?”
“He feels that it’s pretty much ironclad. If Renewal is given the research, I lose it. Just that simple.”
He finished the last of his manicotti. “It’s best you know that,” he said. “The problem is that Waksit is probably negotiating with a pharmaceutical company as we speak. He may not have the legal right to your father’s work but legalities never stood in the way of guys like him, or some pharmaceutical companies for that matter. It’s a cutthroat business, Jayla.”
She fell silent.
“Are you worried about Waksit?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“No, no, that wouldn’t help anything. I was thinking that maybe Mr. Brixton should contact him, or Mac Smith. Probably Mac Smith. Having a call from a lawyer might bring him to his senses.”
“He hasn’t tried to make contact with you aside from coming into your apartment?”
She shook her head. “Maybe I should call him,” she said.
“Absolutely not! Look, Jayla, the best approach is for you to try and cut a deal with Walt Milkin.”
“What sort of deal?”
“Some sort of bonus if you turn over your father’s research to him. I know that Renewal isn’t in the top tier of pharmas, but a bird in hand, as they say. I’m sure that Mac Smith would be happy to represent you in forging an agreement that would benefit both you and Renewal. Let’s face it, Jayla, there’s always the possibility that what your father came up with in his lab doesn’t work.”
Her eyes flared. “It did work,” she said. “He said it did.”
“I know, I know,” Cousins said, “but he was working with a small patient population and without classic double-blind procedures. Just a thought, Jayla, something for you to chew on.”
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