Fatal

by Michael Palmer

  “And there was never any action taken on any of them,” Matt replied, way too intensely. “Most of the allegations were never even responded to.”

  “I assume you’ve tried the EPA and Bureau of Mines?”

  “Only a few dozen times in the past. The issues I wrote about were never this big or easily documented. But I don’t have any credibility. I need someone with respect and clout to corroborate what I have to say. That’s why Hal suggested you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Carabetta said. “I hope you won’t take offense, Dr. Rutledge, but there is a great deal of speculation and hearsay supporting those allegations, and very little fact.”

  “I’m aware of that, but—”

  “And there is another consideration at work here as well.”

  Matt knew what was coming.

  “Namely,” he said.

  “Namely Senator Nick Alexander.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. Alexander, the influential, conservative—some might say moral rightist—senior senator from West Virginia, was in bed with the mining companies. He was a consummate politician who, over the years, had skillfully quashed any number of bills that would have caused hardship for the owners.

  “The best I’ve ever been able to get from his office are a few ‘We’ll be sure to look into it’ letters.”

  “Well, you may or may not know it, but Alexander is the chairman of the subcommittee that oversees this bureau and its budget.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “He may be in line for Secretary of the Interior in Marquand’s second administration. There is no way I can just barge into a company like BC and C and demand a spot inspection without hard evidence.”

  “This is crazy,” Matt said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I was there. I saw that dump. You have a chance to be a hero.”

  This time it was Carabetta who rolled his eyes.

  “Dr. Rutledge, I have never been a mover or a shaker or a hero of any kind. I expect to work in this agency until I retire. By then I will have moved up the GS ladder a couple of more notches. My pension at that level will serve me and my family well enough. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize that master plan.”

  “I understand,” Matt said, resigned.

  “There’s one more thing,” Carabetta said. “I have a graduate degree in chemistry, but I studied a good deal of biology as well. Over the ten years I have been in this division of OSHA, I have been involved in the evaluation of more chemical accidents and exposures than I can count. To my knowledge and experience, there is no toxin that causes the sort of neurologic condition you have described—especially in a woman who lived five hundred miles away and had probably never been in a mine in her life.”

  “But don’t you agree that toxic chemicals can cause mutations?” Matt asked. “And don’t you wonder why the mine would send four thugs out to my friends’ farm to stop them from telling anyone what we saw inside that cave?”

  “Perhaps,” Carabetta said. “Dr. Rutledge, I’m sorry. I just don’t see how I can go any further with this matter at this time, given your lack of concrete evidence. Maybe a report to the police is the way you should go.”

  With a sigh, Matt stood and shook the bureaucrat’s hand.

  “Thanks for listening,” he said, taking no pains to mask his frustration. “Hal asked if you might have a few minutes to speak with him.”

  “Of course. Send him in.”

  Matt crossed the small reception area to where Nikki and his uncle were waiting.

  “No go,” he said. “Not enough hard evidence for him to risk taking any chances—especially crossing Big Nick Alexander.”

  “Freddy, Freddy, Freddy,” Hal sighed. “You two wait here.”

  He adjusted his sport coat, flexed his neck, and marched into Carabetta’s office. Fifteen minutes later he emerged and motioned Matt and Nikki out of the reception area and into the hallway.

  “Are you sure you can get us back to the cave at night?” he asked.

  “Positive. Once we’re through the cleft, there are no real forks in the tunnel, just twists and turns. Finding the cleft may be the hard part.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I know where it is,” Hal said. “I grew up running through those hills. Well, the news is, it’s going to be tomorrow night. You’ll both stay at my place until then. We’ll put your motorcycle in the garage, Matt. You both can just relax, empty the fridge, and watch videos until Fred arrives.”

  “You did it!” Matt exclaimed, pumping his fists. “Way to go!” Then, just as quickly, he dropped his hands. “Hal, you had to pay him, didn’t you?”

  “I was hoping your enthusiasm and persuasiveness would win him over, but the truth is, all along I suspected it would come down to money. Fred and I have had such dealings once before, and believe me, I’m not the only one.”

  “Can you tell me how much he cost? I want to help if I can.”

  “Being right about this cave is all you are required to contribute. And as for how, um, difficult Fred was to convince, let’s just say that at the moment my uncle points should be at an all-time high.”

  “Well, you sure have a hell of a grateful nephew. And don’t worry—unless they buried it, the dump’s still there. Speaking of which, the guards may be there as well.”

  “I thought about that,” Hal said. “I actually have made a few inquiries searching for someone who deals with such things professionally and might accompany us. Now that I know when we’ll be going, I’ll make a call.”

  Matt gave his uncle a hug.

  “You know, there’s no reason you have to go in there,” he said.

  “On the contrary,” Hal replied. “With the sudden investment I have in Freddy Carabetta, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  ELLEN AWOKE TO an unpleasant buzzing in her head. An unnatural film covered her tongue and palate. Well, she thought disdainfully, it had certainly been a blue-ribbon day. All she had done was gotten drunk in front of Rudy, passed out, and now was in the slow process of waking up with a nasty Merlot hangover, having managed still to say absolutely nothing of what she had done. And to make matters worse, a two-day-old girl was just forty-eight hours from the first formal dose of a supervaccine containing a component specifically included to halt a lethal epidemic that Ellen now knew was totally man-made.

  She held her eyes closed tightly, wary of the dreadful spinning likely to ensue from opening them. Finally, more to check the time than anything else, she forced her lids apart a bit. The walls and ceiling stayed reasonably still. She was in Rudy’s guest room, not, she suddenly realized, in the chair where she had nodded off. She was dressed as she had been, and still covered with the maroon throw. The curtains were drawn, but there was enough light to check her watch. Five. Assuming it was the same day, she had been out for four and a half hours. Not bad for a rank amateur.

  She rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. There was a single, beautiful, long-stemmed rosebud in a vase beside the lamp. And propped against the vase was an envelope identical to the one she had torn open. Her name and address were written on the outside in Rudy’s hand, and in the upper right-hand corner was a stamp with today’s postage. Her hands shaking, she gently opened the envelope.

  Dear Ellen,

  So, now you know. What a relief! I have debated more times than I can count whether to send the letter or hand it to you or wait. Now whichever fate decides such things has taken the choice from me. Well, so be it. I love you, and the next time I see you I’ll probably tell you to your face. There is no need for you to respond one way or the other when I do.

  Please don’t let what I wrote change our friendship. That would hurt me as no rejection from you ever could. I have dealt with my feelings for you for many years. If necessary, I’ll deal with them for many more. Please don’t feel bad over having opened the letter. It was meant to be.

  And for God’s sake, no more Merlot.

  With love,

  Rudy

  El
len washed her face with cold water and brushed her hair and teeth.

  A fine-looking woman for your age. That’s what Howard had said. Rudy Peterson hadn’t even mentioned her age—or his, for that matter. He loved her thirty-nine years ago; he loved her today. She had, in many ways, been frozen since the day Howard left—her feelings tightly bound. Maybe it was time to open up. How much better could a woman ever do than her oldest, dearest friend?

  A final check in the mirror and she went out to meet him. Rudy was seated at his dining room table, his unlit pipe resting loosely between his teeth, pages of data spread out before him, along with a large atlas of the world. Ellen slipped into the seat across from him, then slowly reached her hands over the table and took his.

  “Thanks for the rose and the note,” she said.

  “Thanks for taking the pressure off.”

  “I can’t really say anything in response right now.”

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “But I’m going to be looking hard at my feelings and I’ll certainly keep you posted.”

  “What more could a guy ask?”

  “You’re really a very wonderful man, Rudy.”

  “I know,” he said. “Just cursed by being really, really choosy.”

  Ellen felt herself blush.

  “So,” she said, clearing her throat, “what do you have there?”

  “Well, I have an old friend, a lawyer, who works at the IRS. He wouldn’t give me any more information except to say that Vinyl Sutcher exists, filed a tax return last year, and lives right where his passport says.”

  “West Virginia.”

  “Tullis, to be exact. It’s right here, not too far from the Virginia border.”

  “I know the police chief in my town pretty well. I’m sure he’ll run this man Vinyl through his computer for me. Maybe he could even check with the police in Tullis to see if they know anything about him. If I have to, I’ll just take a drive over there and meet with the police myself. Let me just call Beth and make sure she’s still okay with getting Lucy to school.”

  Ellen caught her daughter just as she was leaving the house.

  “Hi, Mom. I only have a minute. Lucy’s got a dentist appointment. We can’t be late because they clear the office out when they have to work on her.”

  “I know,” Ellen said understandingly.

  “It takes the whole damn staff to keep her still and she screams like a banshee. It makes sense they should clear the place out. I mean, who would ever want their kid to hear that in a dentist’s office? Everything else she doesn’t react enough to, but this—”

  “I know,” Ellen cut in quickly. “Honey, just hang in there. That’s all you can do. You’re doing a great job.”

  “Last night Dick started talking again about adopting. Mom, I just can’t, I . . .”

  Ellen could tell Beth was coming unglued. There was a time when she was strong, competent, and centered. Not anymore.

  “Beth, I was calling to see how things were going, and also to see if you’re still able to handle the school run for a couple of days.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. Just some commission stuff I need to take care of. I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Beth?”

  “Yes?”

  “I meant what I said. You’re a terrific mom.” She set the receiver down. “Dentist day is even tougher on Beth than on Lucy.”

  “You’re right, she is doing a great job.”

  Ellen shrugged off a sudden wave of melancholy.

  “So, if need be,” she said, “I’m all set for a trip to West Virginia. If I can get this Sutcher arrested, then I’ll feel much safer about Lucy if we decide to take any action.”

  “I like that approach so long as you’re very careful. Meanwhile, I’ll do a little more research on these men—starting with a trip into the passport office in D.C. to see if I can get a look at their pictures.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Tullis doesn’t look like much on this map,” Rudy added. “Just a speck, really. The nearest town of any size is right here. Belinda. Belinda, West Virginia.”

  “Pretty name,” Ellen said.

  CHAPTER 29

  ELLEN WAS HUMMING ALONG WITH A SINATRA CD as she crossed the Shenandoah River. She was in northern Virginia, heading southwest toward the West Virginia state line. The late morning sun was therapeutically warm, the highway was newly paved and virtually empty, and soon, very soon, she might be helping to cage the beast who had threatened her family and single-handedly infected a large number of people with a hideous, deadly disease. It wasn’t at all a sure thing yet that Vinyl Sutcher was the man she wanted, but getting a look at him was the only way she would ever know for sure.

  Her first stop of the day had been at the police station in her hometown of Glenside. Chief Ed Curran was a member of the club where Howard had played golf and she had played tennis, quite often with Curran’s wife, Lorraine. She arrived at the station only to discover that the Currans were away in Italy for another week, celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. Ed’s stand-in, a much younger man named Wes Streeter, was a homegrown product—a former high school football hero—totally lacking Curran’s warmth and, Ellen quickly discerned, much of his intelligence as well.

  “So this man with the scar, he broke into your house, waited for you to come home, and then threatened to kill your granddaughter. Why?”

  “I don’t want any publicity about the reasons why. Can you promise me that?”

  “Mrs. Kroft, I can’t promise you anything until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Never mind. I’ll take care of matters myself.”

  “You should file formal charges against this man right here,” Streeter said. “This is where the crime occurred.”

  “I don’t even know for certain if the name I have is the man who broke into my house. I just want to get a look at him. One look. A photo or in person, I don’t care which. The moment I see him I’ll know if he’s the one or not. Isn’t there some sort of police computer site where you can punch in his name and address and see if he’s been in trouble before?”

  Streeter, clearly feeling that there might be more to the matter with the woman seated across from him than with the alleged criminal, ran the name Vinyl Sutcher of Tullis, West Virginia, through his computer, but came up empty. Eventually, with some hardly subtle prompting from Ellen, he determined that Tullis, West Virginia, had no police department of its own, but was serviced by the adjacent town of Belinda. By this time, the policeman was bewildered by Ellen and her story, and most anxious to move on to other business. He presented her with the number of the Belinda police, the name of the chief, William Grimes, and a quiet room where she could make a call. She had an image of Andy Griffith, Don Knotts, and Mayberry in mind as she dialed, so after she told the officer who answered why she was calling, she wasn’t that surprised to be told that Chief Grimes would be right with her.

  “Chief Grimes.”

  Ellen’s mental image was of a man older than Wes Streeter and younger than Ed Curran. Andy Griffith.

  “Chief Grimes, my name is Ellen Kroft. I’m calling from the police station in Glenside, Maryland, where I live, at the urging of the acting police chief here. A few days ago a man broke into my house and threatened me and my family if I didn’t do something he wanted. I have reason to believe the man might be from Tullis, next to your town. His name is Sutcher, Vinyl Sutcher. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “We always try to make time for our neighbors in Maryland,” Chief Grimes replied.

  The truncated story she told to Chief Bill Grimes included her suspicions regarding the Lassa fever outbreaks and the way she had ultimately derived Sutcher’s name from the passenger manifest.

  The Vinny Sutcher the chief recalled didn’t fit the description Ellen gave him all that well. From what Grimes remembered—and he admitted he wasn’t at all sure he was thinking of the rig
ht man—Sutcher was stocky, but not that tall, and had no scar like the one Ellen described above his lip. He was a woodsman and occasional bodyguard of some sort who did live in the next town. Grimes recalled seeing him briefly a year or so ago after he allegedly shoved a man who rear-ended him at a traffic light. The police chief couldn’t remember how that incident had been resolved, but he didn’t think formal charges were ever filed.

  If she wanted to drive down to Belinda, he would be pleased to meet with her, take a statement, and share what information he could obtain on the man, including a photo if, in fact, Sutcher had actually been arrested. And if the evidence she presented was compelling enough, he would certainly contact the FBI and assist them in putting together an arrest warrant, he said.

  “I’ll give you my cell phone number in case there are any problems,” he said.

  “And I’ll give you mine.”

  It was just after two when Ellen rounded a sweeping curve on a mountain road and got her first glimpse of Belinda, West Virginia, a postcard-perfect town, nestled in a broad valley just to the east of a range of rolling foothills. Beyond the hills, the craggy Allegheny Mountains probed upward into the azure afternoon sky. It had been more than three hours since she left home, but the uninterrupted drive, with CDs by Carly Simon and Natalie Cole alternating with Lyle Lovett and Sinatra, seemed much shorter.

  Throughout the trip, Rudy was very much on her mind. Not surprisingly, he had said and done all the right things to make her feel less humiliated at having opened the letter from his drawer. Now it was just a matter of sorting through her feelings for him, searching beneath the enduring warmth of their friendship for the spark of passion that, even at sixty-three, she wanted to have. Rudy loved her truly, of that she had no doubt. And he was certainly a man she could grow old with. The question she was mulling over as she swung onto Main Street was whether or not he was a man she could grow young with.