Blind Eye (18 page)

Waterbury Long-Term Care Facility
Connecticut

T
he food at the facility had already gotten to Desmond and Nat. The two men had left around half an hour ago to get a decent lunch somewhere in Waterbury. Sid had no appetite.

First sleep, now food. He didn't want to leave the room. He wanted to stay by Amelia. Jennifer was already teasing him, suggesting that a feeding tube should be put in so he wouldn't get sick himself.

His partners were having too much fun with that. To stop the harassment, he'd asked them to pick up a sandwich while they were out. Somebody had to catch up with the documentation they needed to be keeping for the study. Everything was moving at light speed. On top of everything, Sid had to keep Attorney Viera and Dr. Baer in the loop about what was happening. E-mail seemed to be the most logical method.

Jennifer had to leave for a couple of hours, too, as she was supposed to have an early Sunday dinner at the house of one of her daughters. So Sid pulled two chairs together, facing each other, and put his feet up with the laptop open. He started writing.

Despite it being a Sunday afternoon and the parking lot full of visitors' cars, the care facility's wing where Amelia's room was located was very quiet. Sid listened to her calm breathing as he worked. She was asleep. They'd left the headpiece and the electrodes on her to minimize the skin irritation. They were planning to take more readings when everyone returned.

Sid's fingers flew over the keyboard as he explained the latest changes in Amelia today. The e-mails weren't much different from the journals and logs he kept for the study. He started with the journal. He covered every detail from the time he'd arrived this morning. He mentioned the change in her. She wasn't responding to the stimuli that had worked the day before. Then he started writing about the extensive manuals that she was sharing with them. Sid tried not to make any assumptions. He didn't include what he and Mark had talked about, regarding Marion being the likeliest candidate to have access to that kind of information.

Hard, concrete, scientific data was documented, but the rest of what was going on…

His fingers paused and hovered over the keyboard. He believed a dead sister was communicating with his patient. How could he write that? He didn't want to be the laughingstock of the neurology community at the start of his career. He believed what was happening, but there was too much that still lay in the realm of the unknown. He searched for the right way to document the data they were accumulating.

“Report the facts,” he said aloud. “Just the plain data. Let the reader come to his or her own conclusions.”

Sid's gaze wandered to the bed. He was startled to find Amelia's eyes open. She was watching him. She seemed so aware, right there with him. He recalled the
first moment that he'd seen her. He'd thought the same thing then.

“I thought I'd be used to this by now,” he told her. “You still manage to surprise me.”

She was so pale. Sid wondered if the nurses ever took her out into the sun. It was a beautiful sunny fall day outside. He was tempted.

“I have to finish these reports,” he told her. “And I have to send the e-mail.”

He glanced out the window for a moment.

“Do you remember Mark Shaw?” he asked, looking back at her.

She didn't answer.

“You met him yesterday. You obviously know him. Well…actually, I believe Marion knows him.
Marion
, your
sister
.”

Sid watched her, looking for any change at the mention of her sister's name. There was none. She continued to watch him.

“No patterns of recognition whatsoever,” he typed.

“I was telling you about Mark Shaw,” Sid said, looking up again. “He called me a few minutes ago. He's calling your mother in Montana. He's hoping for some cooperation about Marion. I only hope she doesn't object to what we're doing with you.”

Attorney Viera had been reassuring about the study continuing. Still, Sid was a little anxious.

“Through the grapevine, I hear that you didn't have too great a relationship with your mother,” he commented. “The same goes with me…not my mother, though. She died of brain cancer when I was a teenager. It's my father that I don't get along with too well.”

Last time he went home was last New Year's. He flew
to Tampa on New Year's Eve and flew out twenty-four hours later.

“He got married again. Three children…three teenagers, now. They adore him. Neither of us really needs the other.”

Sid looked at the screen, trying to start where he'd left off. He couldn't concentrate. He turned back to Amelia.

“That's right. I wanted to study the human brain because of her. I considered oncology for a while, but…” He shrugged.

“You're talking to yourself.”

Sid hadn't heard Desmond come in. He shot his friend a guilty look over his shoulder. “Caught me.”

Desmond handed him a brown paper bag that was still warm. “Meatball grinder. And you must eat it, my friend, or I shall tell Jennifer when she gets back.”

“Okay, okay.” Sid put the bag on the floor next to his chair.

“I mean it.”

“I have to send these e-mail messages first. Five minutes. Where's Nat?”

“Outside in the parking lot, making a call,” Desmond told him. He moved to the bed and started adjusting the electrodes connected to Amelia's forehead. “I think there's a new girlfriend in the picture. I bet as soon as he comes in he'll be asking what time we're going to finish up.”

Sid had no problem letting the other two men leave early. Both of them had put in a lot of hours this weekend.

“My God. She's looking at me,” Desmond said, a note of excitement in his voice.

Sid glanced at Amelia and saw her gaze focused on Desmond's face.

“This is the first time she's noticed me.”

Sid smiled at his friend's genuine excitement. He knew exactly how the other man felt. “You've joined the land of living as far as Amelia is concerned. Congratulations.”

Nat walked into the room. He saw the brown bag sitting on the floor.

“Eat that.” He turned to Sid. “What time are we going to wrap it up around here?”

Desmond shook his head and laughed, moving to his station behind the computer.

“What's so funny?” Nat wanted to know.

“What's her name?” Sid asked.

Nat stared at him a moment and then grinned. “We're not at the point of introductions, yet.”

“You don't know her name?” Sid asked.

“We're not at the point of introducing each other to people we know.”

“I didn't ask for an introduction. I just wanted to know her name,” Sid said, happy to return some of Nat's teasing.

“I can't believe this.”

Desmond's tone quieted both men. He was staring at the screen before him in astonishment.

“What have you got?” Nat asked, moving behind the computers, too. “Holy shit.”

Sid put the laptop down and jumped to his feet. He noticed that Amelia was now watching him.

“She is watching you,” Nat said in awe.

“She's in the room with us,” Desmond followed. “She's present…conscious…awake.”

Baltimore, Maryland

J
oseph Ricker wasn't on the guest list for the black-tie dinner party his boss was throwing for the Arizona senator. But the handlers at the front door of the mansion were already expecting him when Joseph got there.

A young waitress, carrying a tray with glasses of champagne, approached him as soon as he stepped into the front hall. Joseph knew the guest list was around two hundred. And he'd seen the itinerary and the menus for tonight's party.

Tempted but knowing better, Joseph shook his head at the waitress, declining the drink. It would have been nice to be here as one of the invited guests, but unfortunately this wasn't the case.

One of Joseph's assets was the fact that he was a decision maker. At the same time, a greater asset was that he recognized the danger of drowning, even in shallow water. He'd relax later…when he was firmly on high ground.

He'd made a number of decisions in the past twenty-four hours that Martin Durr would have been proud of. Cynthia Adrian's case was a no-brainer. No one could have anticipated that Fred Adrian would leave a trail
with his daughter. Not even Nellie Johnson, his assistant, despite all her claims that she knew him like the back of her own hand. Nellie had been smart enough to call Joseph right away. Thankfully, they hadn't lost any time.

The idiot, Joseph thought. It wasn't enough that he had to die himself. Now he'd made sure his daughter wouldn't have a chance, either.

Cynthia was in an intensive care unit at a hospital in San Diego. The problem was that there was no sign of the files in her car or her condo. Joseph knew better than to order his people to finish her. They had to wait until she came around and find out what she'd done with them. Loose ends were not tolerated in the organization.

Any communication he could convey to Durr on this topic had to be face-to-face. That was why Joseph knew it was time to share the latest developments with his boss.

“Mr. Ricker,” a soft voice called to him.

He turned to the young woman who'd called his name. She was dressed in the same black-and-white outfit as the rest of the waitstaff. She was a pretty little thing, and Joseph had never seen her. Of course, there were not too many times that he was invited to Martin Durr's house. He didn't know who worked here and who was with the caterer.

“Mr. Durr is expecting you,” she said, extending a hand toward a set of double doors that were closed to the rest of the guests.

Martin Durr led two lives, and he was a master at keeping them separate. Most people were only allowed access into one life or the other. The personal side of Martin Durr was that of the kindly philanthropist. A family man who donated enormous amounts of money to charities and schools and political causes. On the
business side, Martin ran his ventures with an iron fist and zero tolerance for failure or for lost capital. He planned far ahead and he always succeeded.

Joseph had seen Durr's cunning in operation when he'd maneuvered his way into being elected a board member on the New Mexico Power Company.

Of course, Joseph was privy to only a scant portion of his boss's extensive investments. His position was…special. But he did know of Durr's interests in a number of oil companies. Those investments were well hidden through the use of offshore covers and dummy holding companies. Still, Durr had made a great deal of money in the past in oil, and Joseph was amazed that no one currently seated on the board at New Mexico Power had called him out for a possible conflict of interest. New Mexico Power was well-known for its efforts in developing alternative means of energy. That is, in anything but oil.

Well, they were now paying a very high price for their stupidity.

The young woman closed the door once they were inside. Joseph looked around the spacious room, knowing he wouldn't find his boss here. Library, reading room, study, a place for casual business. Of the rooms that Joseph had seen in the house, he thought this was the classiest. Dark walnut, leather and Persian carpets, the room was fit to receive royalty. It probably had done just that on occasion.

“Mr. Durr is expecting you downstairs,” she told him, moving to a wall panel and pressing a concealed button.

“I know the way, thank you,” Joseph told her.

The wall moved to the side and an elevator door appeared. She waited until the second set of doors opened and Joseph stepped inside.

Ricker had visited his boss in his private office three other times since he'd started working for him. There were only two buttons on the paneled wall of the elevator. Up and down. He pressed the down button.

The young woman's pretty face disappeared as the door slid shut. The descent was silent and smooth. There was no elevator music, no mirrors where Joseph could adjust his bow tie or check his tuxedo. Only dark paneling surrounded him in the suffocatingly small, two-person lift. As pleasing as the dark walnut paneling was in the room above, here it gave the feeling of a coffin. He touched a brass plaque beneath the buttons bearing the name Otis. His toe tapped the smooth marble floor. An expensive antique facade covering brand-new machinery, no doubt.

Everything he had to say and ask, Joseph had organized in his mind. With a hundred guests above, he knew Durr's time was precious. He was pleased that his boss had given him an audience at such short notice.

The doors to the elevator began to slide open just as the cab reached its destination. Joseph waited until the floors lined up before he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

He didn't know if he was twenty feet below, or twenty-five hundred. He remembered being quite nervous the first time he came down here. Not anymore.

Durr kept some valuable pieces of art in a gallery down here. Most of the pieces' origins were questionable, but Martin Durr had two “connected” people who bought for him on a full-time basis. Acquiring rare art was really not difficult, if a person was willing to pay for it. As a result, this special collection was kept only for Martin and for the private enjoyment of his close friends.

Joseph strode quickly along the hallway to his boss's private office. The door was open. He went in, but then stopped, surprised to find no one inside. Durr must be on his way, Joseph realized. He wouldn't leave his guests and come down here unless he knew his assistant had arrived.

The bright light of the office was somewhat shocking, compared to the dim light of the hallway. As he glanced around, Joseph realized this was the first time he had ever been alone in the office. The space was comfortable, not overly large. Bookcases lined the walls. Many of the shelves were stuffed with folders and stacks of paper. Most likely copies of investment information. Durr was very old-fashioned in that regard. He liked hard copies of almost everything.

Joseph looked on the desk. No computer. He tried to recall if there'd been one the last time he was here. He didn't remember. The other visits had been in and out—no chance to let his attention wander from what the man in charge was ordering him to do.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall. This time wasn't going to be much different. Joseph moved to the center of the room, to a spot he hoped Martin Durr would consider a neutral space.

Like a white-faced old bulldog dressed in a black tuxedo, Durr stalked into the room.

Joseph knew he had to be quick and to the point. “Thanks for seeing me on such a short notice, sir. An urgent matter has come up regarding Cynthia Adrian.”

“I know. She's in the intensive care unit. And you haven't found the copies of the documents that Fred sent her.”

Joseph felt like someone had blown a hole in his sail. He wasn't going to ask how Durr knew. Nellie Johnson
was the nervous type. She must have contacted Martin Durr right after she'd called Joseph with the news. Well, so much for his boss's preferences when it came to discretion in channels of communication. Clearly, Nellie didn't care and Durr let her connect with him directly.

Martin Durr moved behind the desk. He didn't sit down but planted his meaty hands on the smooth wood surface. The overhead light accentuated the patches of red on the pale, bald head. There was no question that he was angry.

“Here are a few things that you don't know,” Durr said in a thin voice, shifting his weight forward on his palms. “Marion Kagan, the only graduate student in the research group, has a twin sister who has been practically comatose in some care facility in Waterbury, Connecticut, for six years.”

In spite of the growing sharpness in Durr's tone, Joseph reminded himself that he hadn't done anything wrong. He had not been tasked with eliminating every family member of every researcher. There was no reason for Joseph to have known about this twin sister. And even Nellie wouldn't have known this. He relaxed his shoulders, trying to concentrate on what this sister had to do with anything.

“Suddenly, after six or eight years, this twin wakes up and starts talking to the people around her.” Durr stood up straight. “And—are you listening to me? She's saying that her sister is alive.”

“Mr. Durr, we know that's impossible,” Joseph asserted. “We are certain Marion Kagan is dead. Our people went in, completed that phase of this task, and now that facility is sealed. Besides, who is going to believe something as bogus as that? This is just a family member trying to get some publicity.”

“Another error,” Durr barked, pointing a fat finger at the door. “There is a two-bit cop on leave from Pennsylvania who is asking questions. I'm told that he's got a bunch of neurologists from the University of Connecticut who are backing this bullshit. They say the identical twins
are
communicating.”

Joseph wanted to reiterate how ridiculous this all sounded. Durr was overreacting. But he knew his boss too well to say anything. He didn't want to have his own head handed to him. The patches of red now covered the skin on Durr's neck and throat.

“This is what you will do. Step by step. No deviation, no going on some tangent of your own devising.”

Joseph nodded.

“Number one. You will take care of Cynthia Adrian.” He straightened from the desk. “Bug her hospital room, her phone, her cell phone. Access her e-mail. Post people in the hospital to watch her around the clock. I have heard nothing about those documents showing up with someone else. But it's still early. Also, have those two goons of yours retrace her steps. A neighbor, maybe, that she could have stopped at before leaving the development.”

Joseph wished he could take notes. Remembering the orders wasn't the problem. He didn't like having nothing to look at but Martin Durr's cold eyes.

“When the report shows up, finish her.”

“Yes, sir.” That was already in the works.

“Number two. I want that crew to go back down into the WIPP facility.”

“Sir, that's impossible,” Joseph objected. “They sealed the facility.”

“You're not listening to me,” Durr snapped. “No lame excuses. No deviation. I know perfectly well what is im
possible and what isn't. They will restore the power and go back down there.”

“The group that went down there might object, sir. There was live nuclear testing, and with the power down for so many days…there might be…”

“Then find someone else to do it,” Durr interrupted. “I want an accurate body count of everyone down there. Especially, I want proof that Marion Kagan is dead.”

Joseph wondered if a head on a platter would be proof enough for his boss. He kept the comment to himself. So long as Joseph didn't have to go down there himself, what did he care?

“The bodies will have already started to decompose, sir. What do you want for proof?” he asked, knowing he had only one chance to get it right and satisfy the man standing behind that desk.

“I don't want a souvenir. Nothing that could incriminate me,” Durr said in a mocking tone, as if Joseph were an idiot.

“A total body count and verification that they see Kagan's dead body.” He jabbed a finger at Joseph. “If I find they've made a mistake down the road, it's
your
head. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Joseph muttered.

“Number three.”

A shudder ran down Joseph Ricker's spine. Things were complicated enough already.

“The sister. The one in Connecticut. Eliminate her.”