David returned to the booth and handed Sara a slip of paper. “Everything is set. Here’s the location where you meet Scottie tomorrow at six p.m.”
“You sure he’s reliable?”
“Absolutely,” Westmoreland said. “And he’s the best cement man we’ve got.”
Sara shuddered. “I don’t want to see any of this cement business.”
“Oh, you’ll be long gone by then,” David reassured her.
34
It was early evening when Joanna arrived at the large, busy shopping mall on the west side of the San Fernando Valley. The ground level was crowded with shoppers who were there for the semiannual red-letter sale. Moviegoers—mainly teenagers—were lined up for the horror show at the mall’s theater.
Joanna waded through the crowd until she spotted Nancy Tanaka standing outside Nordstrom. She waved and strolled over. “Thanks for meeting me here on such short notice,” Joanna said.
“I’m glad you called,” Nancy told her. “It gave me a chance to get away from Bio-Med for a while.”
Joanna detected the unhappiness in the technician’s voice. “I thought things would go better for you now that Alex Mirren is no longer there.”
“If anything, it’s gotten worse,” Nancy said. “I think they now consider me persona non grata.”
Two screaming children dashed by, followed by two more who were screaming even louder.
“Let’s get away from this noise.”
Joanna took Nancy’s arm and guided her into the giant department store. They strolled down an aisle that was lined with ladies leatherware. “Tell me more about this persona non grata business,” Joanna inquired. “Have they said something to you?”
Nancy shook her head. “It’s not what they say, it’s what they’ve done. I’ve now been taken off all projects dealing with the enzyme preparation. They’ve even taken my laboratory data books away.”
“Without explanation?”
“Oh, they say the projects are nearly completed, but that’s not true. That’s a bunch of bull.”
Nancy stopped and picked up an expensive lizard-skin purse. She studied it closely and then made a face at its three-hundred-dollar price tag. “And on top of everything else,” she said, “they’re giving me not so subtle hints that I soon may be let go.”
“Oh, goodness,” Joanna lamented, feeling bad for the attractive technician. “This may well be my fault. My investigation may have cost you your job.”
“Not really,” Nancy said, putting the expensive purse back on the shelf. “I think the handwriting was on the wall when Alex Mirren died. You see, I worked almost exclusively with him.”
“They could have found you another position.”
“Well, they apparently chose not to.”
Joanna thought for a moment and then asked, “Would you be interested in a position at Memorial?”
“In microbiology?”
“Yes.”
“I’d love it,” Nancy said sincerely. “But I hear they’ve got a waiting list a mile long.”
“I know a few shortcuts.”
Nancy smiled. “I’d be indebted to you forever.”
“No,” Joanna told her. “That would just make us even.”
They walked on, passing the cosmetic counters where women were lined up to try a new brand of lipstick. To their right was the perfume area with clerks dressed in sharp white coats. A lovely fragrance filled the air.
“I want to ask you a few more questions,” Joanna said in a low voice.
“Fire away.”
“Did you know that Alex Mirren worked with fetuses?”
Nancy jerked her head around. “Human?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Nancy hissed under her breath. “I never saw it.”
“Can you think of anybody or any experiment that used human fetuses?”
Nancy shook her head emphatically. “Not even animal fetuses.”
“Could they have worked on fetuses in the back room in the hot zone lab?” Joanna asked. “You know, where they have the small surgical table?”
“I guess,” Nancy said with uncertainty. “But I never saw any evidence of it.”
“But you were rarely in the back room. Right?”
“Almost never.”
Another blank wall, Joanna thought. But Mirren was working with human fetuses—she was sure of that. And she knew that the abortions were done during the day and that the fetuses had to be handed over within six hours. Six hours. That meant the fetuses had to be delivered to Bio-Med during the day or early evening. “Did you ever see any unusual deliveries? For example, things packed in ice and rushed in?”
Nancy thought back and then slowly shook her head. “I don’t remember anything like that. But, of course, all deliveries are made at the back of the plant.”
“You mean, the deliveries are made on the side of the building.”
“No,” Nancy said at once. “At the back where they have a large loading dock.”
“I see,” Joanna said, recalling the side entrance where the delivery van had pulled up. There was no road leading to it and no loading dock.
Nancy lowered her voice to a whisper. “Was he really working with human fetuses?”
“We have our suspicions,” Joanna said vaguely.
“I’m glad I’m getting the hell out of there.” Nancy glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in. “Human fetuses, for chrissakes!”
Joanna gave her a long look. “What we talk about here remains confidential. You understand that. Right?”
“Of course.”
They came to the ladies shoe section. A big sale was on. A sign read 50% OFF. The shoes were stacked up on a table in no particular order. A group of women were busily rummaging through them.
“Did you do any work with viruses out at Bio-Med?” Joanna asked quietly.
“Some.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We were taking adenoviruses and modifying them so they wouldn’t cause disease.” Nancy explained how the modified virus was then used as a vector to carry genetic information into a cell. “So you take a piece of DNA and hook it onto the virus, and then you take that and mix it with the cells. The virus penetrates the cells and carries the DNA in with it. The end result is that new genetic material has been transferred into the cell.”
“So, you’re talking about gene transfer.”
“Exactly.”
“What kind of genes were you transferring?”
“One that might induce the stem cells to produce heparin, which, of course, is a widely used anticoagulant.”
“Did it work?”
“No,” Nancy replied. “It was a complete bust.”
“And I take it that everything was done in vitro?”
Nancy nodded. “No animals were used.”
“Is there any way those modified viruses could have found their way into the lipolytic enzyme preparation?” Joanna asked.
Nancy thought about the question at length before answering. “I don’t see how.”
“Were you the only one working with viruses?”
“Just me.”
“What about Mirren?”
“Him, too. But I did most of the hands-on work.”
Joanna carefully worded her next question. “If he had to, could Mirren have modified the virus by himself?”
“Probably not,” Nancy said. Then she looked over at Joanna and studied her for a moment. “Why all the interest in viruses?”
“Because we found viral particles in the tumors of the three patients who developed cancer after receiving the enzyme preparation.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that the viruses were present in the lipolytic enzyme preparation the patients received?”
“It almost had to be,” Joanna told her. “There’s no other way to explain the presence of the virus in the three tumors and in the tissues around them.”
“And you think that the virus is somehow assoc
iated with the development of the cancers?”
“It seems that way.”
Nancy’s face paled. “Don’t tell me they injected my virus into three patients and caused them to come down with cancer.”
“We can’t prove that.”
“But you think so.”
Joanna nodded. “I think so.”
Nancy swallowed hard, obviously shaken. “I had no idea they were going to do this.”
“I know,” Joanna said softly.
Nancy turned away and stared out into space. “You try to do good research and help people. And along comes a bastard like Mirren who . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What use could that virus have had in the enzyme preparation?” Joanna asked. “Why was it there?”
Nancy shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“We’ve got to find out,” Joanna said, lowering her voice as a group of shoppers passed by. “If we knew what they were doing out at Bio-Med, it might give us a clue on how to deal with patients who have already been injected.”
“It would all be in Mirren’s laboratory data books.”
“And where are they?”
“Probably in his office. Or maybe in the back lab.”
Joanna sighed hopelessly. “And we’ll never get in there without knowing the code that opens the door.”
“I think I know it,” Nancy whispered.
Joanna moved in closer. “How did you get it?”
“As bright as Mirren was, he had a terrible memory for numbers,” Nancy said. “So he wrote down things like telephone numbers on his sleeve. The other day I passed by the place at Bio-Med where Mirren hung his laboratory coat. It had two sets of numbers written on the sleeve. I knew one of them. It was the code to the front door. I’ll bet my last dollar that the second set was the code to the hot zone lab.”
“Did you write down the second code?” Joanna asked quickly.
Nancy smiled mischievously. “I just might have.”
“So you could get in there any time you wanted, couldn’t you?”
“Not during the day,” Nancy answered. “They watch me like hawks.”
“What about the night?”
“I guess it’s possible,” Nancy said hesitantly. “But it would still be risky.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to make up her mind. “It’d be really risky.”
“What if I came with you?” Joanna coaxed.
“There’s so much security,” Nancy said uneasily.
“There are ways around that,” Joanna pressed on.
“It’s going to take a lot of planning,” Nancy cautioned. “And a lot of luck to pull it off.”
“This is really important,” Joanna emphasized. “People’s lives might be at stake here.”
Nancy looked Joanna squarely in the eyes. “You’d really go in there with me?”
“Absolutely.”
Nancy smiled faintly. “You’re braver than I am.”
“Or maybe not as smart.”
Nancy took Joanna’s arm. “Let’s go up to the café on the second floor. We can get some coffee and talk more.”
As they rode the escalator up, they heard a medley of Gershwin tunes being played on a nearby piano. Neither woman noticed the man following them.
35
Sara was ten minutes late for her meeting with Scottie and his cement truck. She sped up as she took the Mulholland Drive exit off the freeway and drove westward along the winding road. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she saw a dark Chevrolet a dozen car lengths behind her. It wasn’t the car that she thought might have been following her, but to make sure she pulled over to the side of the road and pretended to be studying a map. The car behind her passed and disappeared around a curve ahead.
Sara continued on, watching for the off-road rest area that was 1.8 miles from the freeway exit. She checked the rearview mirror again. No one was behind her. The road was clear. She lit a cigarette, less tense now. Only one more thing to do, Sara thought, and I’m out of here. I whack Joanna Blalock, get my forty grand, and scoot.
Everything else had been taken care of. She had gotten back into her condominium unseen, collected some personal things and downloaded her computer. And she’d done it all in under twenty minutes. Her only possessions were in the overnight bag on the seat beside her. Again she glanced into the rearview mirror. Nothing. Her odometer showed she’d traveled 1.6 miles from the freeway exit.
Sara rounded a sharp curve—then another and another. Up ahead she saw the off-road rest area. A huge cement truck was parked there, and next to it was a new Cadillac. Something about the setup made Sara feel uneasy. Why a car and a cement truck? Two vehicles meant two people. She was supposed to meet only one man called Scottie. Sara reached into her purse and made certain the safety on the weapon was in the off position.
She pulled off the road and stopped in the rest area. Slowly she got out of the car, her open purse in her hand.
A big, heavyset man with dark hair and a barrel chest came over. He was wearing blue jeans and a leather bomber jacket. “I’m Scottie. And you’re late. Where the hell you been?”
“I thought somebody might be following me,” Sara explained. “So I got off and on the freeway a couple of times to make certain nobody was on my tail.”
Scottie was instantly on guard, his senses sharpened. Quickly he peered down the winding road and saw no cars or lights. “You sure nobody was there?”
“If he was, I lost him.”
Sara glanced around the deserted area and then up at the cement truck. A man was behind the steering wheel, but Sara couldn’t make out his face in the twilight. “Why is the truck here?”
Scottie looked at her strangely. “You expect me to park a big-ass cement truck outside a ritzy condominium complex in Brentwood?”
“I guess not,” Sara said.
“All right. Let’s go through the numbers here.” Scottie took out an unfiltered cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He blew smoke into the cool evening air. “This is David’s plan. We follow it to the letter. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“We’ve checked out this Blalock broad and she never gets back to her condo until after eight every night. Her parking space is on the outside of the building near a side gate. There’s a light there, but I fixed it so it ain’t working now.”
Sara asked, “Are there any units or windows close by?”
“Nothing but a brick wall,” Scottie answered. “I’ll park in a space for guests that’s a few rows back. You’ll be right next to her in a handicapped parking space.” He reached into his back pocket and handed her a handicapped-parking permit. “You put this in your window. If anybody gives you any shit, you tell them you’re waiting for your mother who’s walking on crutches.”
Sara nodded, now understanding why Scottie had brought a car along with the cement truck. “When do I make the hit?”
“All right, all right,” Scottie said, moving his hands as if he were talking with them. “The Blalock broad gets out of her car and I start my car. I turn the lights on bright so she’s sure to look around. That’s when you jump out and whack her. Two shots to the head. And don’t stand around to admire your work. Get in your car and leave. Don’t drive fast. Just go nice and slow. I’ll take care of all the rest.”
Sara thought through the plan, searching for risks and flaws. “What if somebody else is nearby? You know, a jogger or somebody walking their dog?”
“I’ll handle it,” Scottie said.
Sara glanced up at the man in the cement truck. “And what does he do?”
“He stays here until I come back with Blalock in a body bag,” Scottie replied, taking a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it out on the ground. “Then we drive to a real lonely spot and make the body disappear.”
“Good,” Sara said, nodding her approval and wondering where she would pick up her forty-thousand-dollar fee. She didn’t want to leave Los Angeles without it. Sara didn’t believe in IOUs. “Did David leave a
ny instructions for me?”
“A bunch,” Scottie said as headlights appeared in the distance. He took Sara’s arm and guided her behind the cement truck. “If somebody stops and gets nosy, you just stay put. Let Louie up in the cab take care of it.”
“Suppose it’s a highway cop?” Sara asked worriedly.
Scottie shrugged. “We’ll put him in cement, too.”
The headlights came closer and closer—then sped past without slowing down.
Sara breathed easier. “You were saying David left some instructions for me?”
“A whole bunch. So listen up, because I don’t want to go through all this shit again.” Scottie lit another cigarette and spat a piece of tobacco from his lip. “You make the hit and you drive away nice and slow. You take the San Diego Freeway to the airport and get off at the Century Boulevard exit. A couple of blocks down you’ll see a big neon sign that says Safety Valet Parking. You got that?”
“Safety Valet Parking,” Sara repeated.
“You give your keys to a guy named José, and he’ll give you a small suitcase that you can carry on the plane. When you open it, it’ll be empty except for your new passport. Throw all your personal stuff in there. The lining in the suitcase will be kind of thick because that’s where David left the money he owes you. Any questions so far?”
Sara thought for a moment and then asked, “What do I do with my gun? I can’t carry it with me because it’ll set off the metal detector at the airport.”
“Leave it in the glove compartment,” Scottie told her. “José will lose it for you.”
“What happens to my car?”
“We’ve already sold it to some guy in Tijuana,” Scottie said. “It’ll be across the border before dawn.”
“Nice,” Sara said, thinking that David was good at details and planning. That’s why he’s never been arrested, much less caught committing a crime.
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