He sprawled on the bed and talked to himself, verbalizing his jumbled thoughts to an otherwise empty room, fingertips performing a drum roll against each other, uttering an occasional pained cry from deep inside.
The trip to Washington, D.C., was turning out to be a disaster.
He’d left Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, with Preston King’s research in his briefcase—his ticket to riches and glory. He’d made contact with Eric Morrison, who’d initially treated him shabbily but who he knew would eventually come around and see the wisdom of joining forces. Now Morrison was dead, murdered in some secluded part of the city by a madman. The news reports claimed that the private detective, Robert Brixton, had been exonerated of the killing, but Waksit didn’t buy it. This Brixton probably had connections that got him off the hook. That’s the way the world worked, especially in places like Washington, D.C., where connections meant everything.
He got off the bed and stood at the window watching planes take off and land. He wished that he was on one of them, abandoning the corrupt city with its fancy architecture and pretty avenues. But he couldn’t leave yet, not without accomplishing what he’d come here to do. He spent the next twenty minutes mentally rewriting the unpleasant aspects of his life, something he was good at. He replayed his phone conversation with Jayla and decided that she hadn’t put him off. She was just surprised to hear from him. That was it. And she was probably pleased to receive the call. After all, they went back a long way together, and had in common the work her father had done in his lab. They would make an unbeatable team if they joined forces and sold that work to the highest bidder.
But his rosy interpretations were interrupted by darker thoughts. Who was the young man he’d seen with her when he’d sat in his car and peered through her window? He decreed that it didn’t matter. Waksit believed that Jayla had always found him attractive and had often flirted with him. He wouldn’t have minded a roll in the sack but he’d been too smart to allow his hormones to get in the way of his close relationship with her father. Now that the father was out of the picture he would rekindle her romantic interest in him. That was the key. He would woo her before jumping into a business relationship and make her realize that he had her best interests at heart.
He checked his watch. It was a few minutes past eleven. He opened his briefcase and took out some cash. He was about to close the case when he saw the Italian stiletto switchblade that he’d purchased upon arriving at Dulles Airport. It was tucked in a sleeve within the briefcase and he’d forgotten that it was there. He considered for a moment taking it with him, decided not to, then changed his mind and slipped the knife into his pocket. Washington was a dangerous city; he would no longer venture out into it unarmed.
He drove his rental car to Jayla’s apartment building, parked in the same spot as the previous night, and looked up at her window. The blinds were open. Jayla was speaking into a phone while walking back and forth in her living room. Who was she talking to? Maybe that guy he’d followed the other night.
But then Nate Cousins came into view, causing Waksit to grimace and curse under his breath. Who was this guy?
Cousins and Jayla had gone out for dinner and returned to her apartment after it had been agreed that Cousins would spend the night. Jayla had gone to work at Renewal that day but left early. Sleep had been elusive the previous night and she’d had trouble keeping her eyes open. The nap refreshed her, enough so that she felt up to dinner with Cousins at Pearl Dive Oyster Palace on Fourteenth Street Street, N.W.
Once back in the apartment Jayla had returned a call from a colleague at Renewal who wanted to discuss the next day’s work. The call completed, Cousins came to where she stood in the middle of the room and embraced her. Anger welled up in Waksit. Then Jayla closed the blinds. Ten minutes later the lights went out.
Waksit returned to the Holiday Inn and stewed about what he’d seen. He came to many conclusions before falling asleep, the final and most compelling one that he had to act quickly.
CHAPTER
41
Jayla and Cousins woke the following morning, their naked bodies entwined. He moaned and stretched, causing her to sit up and use the sheet to cover her bare breasts.
“Good morning,” he said, rubbing his eyes and joining her against the tufted headboard. “Sleep okay?”
“Yes. It felt good. You?”
“Like a log.”
He watched her get up and head for the bathroom, admiring the rear view of her shapely figure. He slipped into his shorts and the pale yellow button-down shirt he’d worn the night before, went to the kitchen, and turned on her coffeemaker. She soon joined him wrapped in her terrycloth robe. She sat at a small table by the window and looked out.
He said as he retrieved two cups from a cabinet, “Hey, Jayla, is something wrong?”
“I just wonder whether I’ll ever come to grips with my father’s murder, and that his assistant is prowling around Washington trying to sell what he stole from him.”
Cousins poured their coffee and joined her. “There’s nothing you can do about your father’s death, Jayla, and Mr. Eugene Waksit will eventually leave you alone and go back home with empty hands.”
“And get away with my father’s murder.”
“If, in fact, he did kill your father. You don’t know that for certain.”
Her eyes became moist, and he took her hand in his. “You’ve been through a lot,” he said, “but the important thing is that you move ahead.”
“I want to, Nate, but I feel as though I’ve stepped in wet cement and can’t move in any direction.”
He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Drink your coffee. After we shower we’ll grab breakfast out. I’ve got a busy day ahead, and I’m sure you do, too.”
She remained at the table while he showered, her thoughts flitting from one thing to another.
Until receiving that fateful phone call at Flo’s Fashions about her father’s murder, her life been rich and rewarding. She had a good job in her chosen field, her health was good, she had many friends, and the future looked even brighter. But now …
“Your turn,” Cousins said as he emerged from the bathroom and went into the bedroom to put on a change of clothes he’d brought with him. He heard the shower and pictured her in it. No question about it. He’d fallen head over heels in love with Jayla King. He was relieved that she hadn’t asked about her father’s research. He knew he had to make a decision regarding Walt Milkin’s interest in it, a decision now complicated by his feelings for her.
Milkin’s ham-handed references to Cousins’s agency contract with Renewal being up for review had put Cousins on notice. Unless he delivered to Milkin what Jayla possessed of her father’s research—and including whatever the elusive Waksit could contribute to it—the Cousins public relations agency faced the possibility of losing its major source of income.
“You look lovely,” Cousins said when Jayla emerged from the bedroom wearing the dress she’d bought at Flo’s Fashions. “That looks great on you.”
“Thank you. Nate, I was thinking about my father’s research. Have you finished with it?”
“I know, I know,” he said, “I’ve been dragging my feet. I’ll devote part of the day going over it again and return it to you the next time we’re together—which, I hope, is soon.”
She didn’t raise the issue again as they had breakfast in a neighborhood café.
“Will I see you tonight?” she asked.
“Absolutely, but it’ll have to be later. I’m having dinner with a possible new client. I’ll call you if it isn’t too late.”
“That sounds fine. I—I enjoyed being together last night.”
Jayla got to work the minute she entered the lab at Renewal Pharmaceuticals and immersed herself in the team’s new round of experiments. But as had been the case for days, she had trouble concentrating on the task.
* * *
While Jayla worked in the lab, Brixton continued hibernating in his office wading
through reams of paperwork given to Mac Smith by their new clients. Judging from what he read he’d be busy for a year, which translated into a welcome steady income. He took a break at four, left the office, and went for a walk to clear from his head all the details contained in the material. He thought of his six o’clock date—if you could call it that—with Paula Silver. Maybe it wasn’t smart to have agreed to meet her for a drink. It obviously had annoyed Flo, and he’d learned early in their on-again, off-again relationship that it was prudent to avoid such situations. Too, he wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with the former actress after she’d had a snootful of booze. Judging from their telephone conversation she’d gotten an early start on her imbibing. Hopefully he could limit it to one drink, cut ties with her, wish her well—which he’d sincerely mean—and escape.
When he walked back into his office Mrs. Warden said that Mr. Sayers was on the line.
“I know,” Brixton said when he picked up the phone in his office, “Senator Ronald Gillespie has sent a firing squad after you.”
“No such luck,” Sayers said. “If he did I’d have a great follow-up piece. The local press has picked up on it, calling Gillespie’s wife and Eric Morrison’s wife in search of pithy quotes. One of my primary sources tells me that the senator is fleeing Washington for some sunny island without his Mrs.”
“You’re nothing but a home wrecker,” Brixton said.
“The truth shall always prevail. And how are you. Robert?”
“I’m pretty damn good. Mac Smith has landed us a lucrative new client, which means the rent will be paid on time for at least a year, and Flo will be proud of me. Doesn’t get better than that.”
“And have you communed with the former actress, Ms. Silver, again?”
“As a matter of fact we’re having drinks tonight.”
“Ah hah! I don’t imagine that Lady Flo is overjoyed with that.”
“Why should she mind? Flo is a worldly woman. Besides, she trusts me implicitly.”
“You’re a lucky man, Robert.”
“I already figured that out. By the way, now that your piece has run you owe me that other thousand.”
“Stop by anytime, my friend. You’ll be pleased to know that I now brew real coffee.”
“There’s hope yet.”
* * *
Eugene Waksit slept late that morning at the Holiday Inn and had to tell the chambermaid to come back to clean the room. He awoke with the same thought he’d had when finally falling asleep, that he had to make his move with Jayla. He cursed himself for having wasted so much time since arriving in Washington. Pursuing the moron Eric Morrison had been a huge mistake. He’d squandered time and energy trying to persuade Morrison that what he possessed would revolutionize the pharmaceutical industry, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised, or sad, that the lobbyist had been killed.
He stood in the bathroom and observed himself in the mirror. The trip to Washington had taken a toll on him physically. He’d allowed his hair to grow longer than he liked, and the stubble on his chain testified to having forgotten to shave the previous day. He wanted to look his best when seeing Jayla. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d always wanted to have an affair with him, and it was only his reticence that had kept it from happening. As he stepped into the shower he envisioned her fending off Washington’s weak-kneed young men, and thinking of him—wanting to rekindle their relationship. They were kindred spirits, no question about that. They shared a common heritage in Papua New Guinea; that sort of bond couldn’t be broken.
Showered and dressed, he took his briefcase with him to a barbershop and had his hair trimmed, and indulged in a shave, enjoying the warm towel the barber draped over his face. Back in his room he applied a liberal dose of Cuba Black cologne and took a final check of his appearance. Satisfied, he left the hotel, got in his rental car, and drove to a street near Renewal Pharmaceuticals where he parked. He’d written on a lined yellow legal pad some of the things he would say when he called. After a few minutes of drawing deep breaths he punched into his cell phone Jayla’s work number. A man answered.
“I’m calling for Ms. King,” Waksit said.
He heard the man say, “Jayla, it’s for you.”
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jayla,” Waksit said in exaggerated friendliness. “It’s Eugene.”
She didn’t respond immediately. When she did she asked, “Where are you calling from?”
“Right here in Washington, D.C. I told you I’d call again.”
“Yes, I—Eugene, you’ve caught me at a bad time. I’m working and—”
“Of course you are,” he said, maintaining his upbeat tone. “You’re working to come up with a better pain reliever.” He glanced at what he’d written. “But you and I already have a better pain reliever, thanks to your father. It’s really important that we get together as soon as possible and put together a plan to sell it.”
“Eugene, I—”
“How about this?” he said. “Let’s have dinner together, just the two of us. You pick the spot, someplace quiet where we can talk. My treat, Jayla. It’ll be my pleasure.”
“I’m busy,” she said, glancing about the lab to see whether anyone was eavesdropping on the conversation.
“I’m sure you are, Jayla, but never too busy to have dinner with me. We go back together a long way, Jayla.” Another glance at the legal pad. “We come from the same roots, you and me. I’ll tell you, Jayla, it would be a fitting tribute to your wonderful father if we joined forces, joined hands, and brought the fruits of his groundbreaking work to the world. What do you say? Dinner?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m busy tonight.”
His voice changed; it took on a harder edge. “Busy with what, that guy you’re seeing?”
“What guy? How do you know who I’m seeing?”
“I know a lot of things, Jayla. Most of all I know that you owe your father this, and I’m the one who can make it work. He left me his research and—”
“No, he did not!” she said loudly, causing co-workers in the lab to look at her. “You stole his research and you won’t get away with it.”
He softened his tone. “Jayla, listen to me,” he said, working to control his trembling. “We have to work together. It’s only right. Look, I don’t need you. I mean, I’ve had some real serious talks with big names in the pharmaceutical industry. I can sell the research to any one of them like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But I’m willing to share the spoils with you. That’s fair, isn’t it? I don’t have to but you’re his daughter and—”
The sound of the phone on her end being slammed down reverberated in his ear. He stared at the dead cell phone and swore under his breath. His hands shook, and he worked his mouth as though chewing on something unpleasant.
Jayla, too, shook as she leaned against a lab table.
“You okay?” a colleague asked.
“Yes, I’m okay,” she said.
“What was that all about?” another co-worker asked.
“Excuse me,” Jayla said and walked from the room. She went to the ladies’ room, where she leaned on a sink and wept. She remained there until another woman came in and asked if she could do anything.
“No, thank you,” Jayla said, managing a smile.
“Why don’t you go home?” the woman, who knew about Jayla’s father’s murder, said. “You still have a lot to get over.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jayla said. “Just a meltdown. Happens now and again.”
She splashed cold water on her face, reapplied lipstick, thanked the woman again, and returned to her lab. “Nothing to worry about,” she told her co-workers through a smile. “Back to work.”
She remained working in the lab after the others had left, focusing on the experiment she was working on. At six her cell phone sounded. It was Flo Combes calling from her Georgetown shop.
“Hope I’m not interrupting an important medical breakthrough,” Flo said.
“It sho
uld only be so,” Jayla replied.
“Have plans for tonight?”
“No. Nate is—you met him. Nate Cousins—Nate is having dinner with a potential client.”
“Hope he lands him. This is my late night at the shop and I thought you might like to swing by and take a look at a new delivery I just received. My designer in California has come up with some really beautiful designs. I usually have dinner delivered when I’m here late. How about joining me? There’s this little Chinese restaurant that makes wonderful hot-and-sour soup, General Tso’s chicken, and moo goo gai pan. It’s been a slow day and I’d enjoy the company.”
“I’d love it,” said Jayla.
“Great. I’ll hold off ordering until you get here. I have their menu. And, I have a bottle of lovely Chardonnay in the fridge.”
“You certainly know how to tempt someone.”
“That’s what Robert says.”
“Will he be joining us?”
“No,” Flo said. “He’s out on a date with a beautiful former movie actress.”
Jayla wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Strictly business,” Flo said. “He’ll probably swing by later. See you at seven?”
“I’ll be there,” Jayla said.
Cousins called as Jayla was tidying up the lab and she told him where she’d be. She left the building, said good night to the night security guard, got in her car, and pulled out of the employee parking lot. As she headed for Georgetown, she didn’t see Waksit, who’d been parked on the street and who fell in behind her.
CHAPTER
42
The moment Paula Silver opened the door for Brixton he knew that she’d continued drinking after their phone conversation. She was drunk, hopelessly so. She looked at him through watery eyes and smiled; lipstick that had been applied haphazardly gave her a clownish appearance. She wore a white blouse mostly unbuttoned; there was no bra to contain her bosom. Her yellow skirt was stained, and looked to him to be on backward.
“Hi,” Brixton said.
Margaret Truman's Deadly Medicine Page 31
