After almost 10 hours in the air, she just wanted some dinner and a good night’s sleep.
I’ll get some rest and then start looking into this Diversified thing. She decided.
The phone next to the bed rang, loud and annoying. She spent a few minutes convincing the desk clerk that everything in the room was to her liking, then ordered a sumptuous meal from room service and hung up.
She made her way to the spacious bathroom and turned on the water in the elegant tub, adding a splash of scented oil provided by the hotel. She emerged from the steaming pool an hour later, the skin on her fingers beginning to prune. As she wrapped a towel around her damp hair, there came a knock at the door and the waiter delivered her dinner.
Fed and bathed, she opened her laptop and searched the internet for any news on the developments at Diversified. Page after page came up, all dealing with the life and death of Jackson Verde, but no real information on the crime itself.
“Damn!” she cursed aloud.
She found little in the official news channels, so she decided to check with her contacts in the Boston underworld. The series of abbreviated phone calls told her nothing she didn’t already know. She considered what the silence might mean.
This shouldn’t be that hard. Every R and D outfit has leaks. With everyone being this tight-lipped, this had to be an inside job.
In addition to Jackson Verde’s shooting, her contacts revealed the police were looking to question both a scientist named Ryan as well as a low-level employee named Murphy in connection to the murder.
Jennifer Ryan…the name ricocheted off the walls of her thoughts like a racquet ball. I never thought I’d hear that name again. Bitch!
A small shudder ran through her and she pulled the robe closer to her body. The name evoked a tidal wave of memories, the mental pictures sending her emotions into a Chinese fire-drill. She pushed the unsettling cascade from her mind.
She stood and went to the bar, coming back sipping a large vodka/tonic.
No time for that now. I have to find this Murphy.
She considered what his next course of action might be.
Well, if it were me, I’d beat feet out of the country as fast as I could. She thought. To do that, I would need money…a passport.
The keys clicked as she sent the internet search spiders on their electronic mission to find Sean Murphy and Dr. Ryan.
Gotta love Google, she mused as she stared at the page. Sean Murphy,112 Hawthorn Street, Boston.
"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I Page 40
