Fatal Care (45 page)

Jake came to the base of the foothills and stared up at the rugged terrain. There were no paths or trails, no easy way in.

Jake waited for the noise of the helicopter to fade in the distance. Then he cupped his hands together and yelled out for Joanna again and again at the top of his lungs. But the only reply he heard was the echoes of his own voice.

Eric Brennerman was pleased with the way Alex Mirren’s office now looked. It was as if Mirren had never been there. His desk was bare and empty, his name no longer on the door. All plaques and pictures had been taken off the wall and packed away. They were to be sent to Mirren’s daughter.

Brennerman carefully scanned the office once more, double-checking to make sure nothing of Alex Mirren or his work remained behind. The blackmailing little bastard, Brennerman thought, looking at the large file cabinet and its opened drawers. Every data book, every sheet of paper describing Mirren’s experiments had been shredded and incinerated. Everything had been destroyed except for the method that detailed how to produce and extract fetal transforming factor. Brennerman had rewritten the research so it appeared that the work had been done in experimental animals. There was not even a trace of evidence to show that human fetuses had been used.

Brennerman’s gaze went to the cardboard carton containing Mirren’s framed pictures. The top one showed Mirren receiving the genetics award from Edmond and Lucy Rabb. There would only be Lucy to deal with, he thought, once Joanna Blalock’s body was found. And Lucy Rabb would be easy to handle. Oh, she’d bitch and scream when she learned that she would no longer own controlling interest in Bio-Med. But the lawyers would show her the legal documents that allowed the surviving stockholders to buy the shares of any partner who died—at fair market value. And although Bio-Med was profitable, its annual net income was only two million. Which meant Lucy’s shares could be bought for about eight million dollars. The bank would be happy to lend Brennerman eight million, particularly with the Hoddings Family Trust agreeing to co-sign the note.

Lucy would raise hell about the transaction, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it. The eight million dollars she received—tax-free, since it was part of her husband’s estate—would soothe her some. And Brennerman planned on leaving her with a small percentage of ownership in Bio-Med. Say 5 percent or so. That would keep Lucy involved and keep her mouth shut. But for how long would she remain quiet? Brennerman sighed. That was one of Lucy Rabb’s problems. She talked too much.

Brennerman reached for the phone and quickly dialed Lucy’s number. He needed to meet with her and instruct her on what to say if the press approached her about Joanna Blalock. After all, Lucy owned most of Bio-Med, and Joanna’s body would be found near the plant’s perimeter.

On the fifth ring, Lucy’s answering machine clicked on. Brennerman hung up immediately, cursing under his breath. He had phoned her twice yesterday and left messages, but she hadn’t bothered to call back. That too was Lucy. Being coy like some goddamn high school sophomore. She’d wait another day, then call. She didn’t want to seem too anxious, although she’d been sleeping with him on a regular basis. She was just being coy, Brennerman thought again. Good. Let her stay that way and play games. Let her keep believing that most men would die to get between her legs and that Brennerman was one of those men. He would string Lucy along until the day some time in the future when she too would die accidentally.

A uniformed guard ran into the office and said breathlessly, “Dr. Brennerman, I think they’ve found the woman’s body.”

“What do you mean,
you think
?” Brennerman asked sharply. “Either they have or they haven’t.”

The guard swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “Well, all hell is breaking loose in the parking lot. A Highway Patrol car and a cop car just pulled in, and an ambulance is coming up to the gate right now.”

A bolt of fear ran through Brennerman. “An ambulance?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brennerman hurriedly organized his thoughts. An ambulance was for live people. “You mentioned a body. Did you actually see a body?”

“No, sir,” the guard replied. “I just guessed it’s on the helicopter that’s coming in from the desert.”

She’s got to be alive, Brennerman thought frantically. Somehow she survived in that damn desert. But how? “She’s alive,” he muttered under his breath.

“How do you figure that?”

“The ambulance, you idiot!”

The guard shook his head, unfazed by the insult. “They had an ambulance with the other dead woman, too. And cop cars and a coroner snooping all around. It all looks the same to me.”

Brennerman suddenly brightened. “There’s a medical examiner out there?”

“Yeah,” the guard said, nodding. “That little foreign guy who speaks funny.”

Brennerman smiled. “She’s dead.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard affirmed. “Do you have any special instructions for the men?”

“Tell them to stay at their posts and say nothing.”

Brennerman watched the guard leave, then tried Lucy’s number again. And again there was no answer.

He didn’t leave a message. He adjusted his tie and the black ribbon on his sleeve, then walked out of the office and through the laboratory. Everything was quiet. The workbenches were empty, all machines turned off. It was Friday and Brennerman had given the employees the day off. That would give them a long weekend to calm down and get rid of the jitters. It would also give Brennerman the time and privacy he needed to rethink his gene transfer research.

Brennerman stepped out into the bright sunlight. He quickly surveyed the paved parking lot. It was just as the guard had described. An ambulance with its rear doors opened was waiting. And lined up next to it was a Highway Patrol unit and two unmarked cars. In the distance Brennerman could hear the
put-put
of an approaching helicopter.

Brennerman put a solemn expression on his face and walked over to the medical examiner who was standing between the two unmarked cars. The two men exchanged nods.

“This nightmare never seems to end, does it?” Brennerman asked quietly.

“Heartbreaking,” Gupta agreed. “Particularly when it happens to a wonderful person like Joanna Blalock.”

The helicopter came into clear view. It drew closer and closer. Then it began circling as it prepared to land.

“Do you think Dr. Blalock suffered a great deal?” Brennerman shouted above the noise of the helicopter.

“From what I’ve heard, she did,” Gupta yelled back. “It’s very harsh out there, very harsh indeed.”

“Did the animals get to her?”

“I don’t think so, fortunately.”

The helicopter started a slow descent.

Brennerman glanced around at the onlookers. All eyes were on the aircraft, all expressions somber. He straightened the black ribbon on his sleeve and said, “I suspect you’ll find that Dr. Blalock died of natural causes.”

Gupta’s brow went up abruptly. “Died? She’s not dead.”

“Sh-she’s not?”

“No,” Gupta said quickly. “She’s dehydrated and injured, but she’s very much alive.” He looked up at Brennerman oddly. “Why did you think she was dead?”

Brennerman tried desperately to regain his composure. “Well, when I saw the medical examiner, I thought the worst.”

Gupta nodded. “A very logical conclusion. But I’m not here to examine Dr. Blalock. I’m here for some information regarding Nancy Tanaka.”

“Oh?” Brennerman watched the descending helicopter. It was still several hundred feet up, but it was kicking up clouds of desert sand. He wondered how badly Joanna was injured. Maybe her head was bashed in. Maybe she couldn’t talk.

“You see, I had overlooked something at the scene,” Gupta went on. “When I got Nancy’s body back to the morgue, I went through her personal effects and I couldn’t find her purse or keys. Now, that’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, we all envisioned her getting to her car late at night just before she was bitten. But there was no purse nor keys near the body. Which made me wonder if she was really trying to get into her car at all. Or was she hit over the head and robbed and then the snakes bit her? There are all sorts of possibilities. So I called Lieutenant Sinclair, who wasn’t available. But Sergeant Farelli relayed my concerns and questions to him. I was told that there were some new and important developments, and that I was to report here immediately.” Gupta looked puzzled. “I wonder what those developments are.”

Brennerman strained to see through the dust-filled air.
Let her be badly hurt and unable to talk
, he prayed.
Or better yet, let her be comatose and dying. Let Mirren’s and Bio-Med’s secrets die with her
.

The helicopter touched down and the dust gradually settled.

Brennerman saw two figures walking away from the aircraft, but he couldn’t make them out. They were like shadows. Then the air cleared.

Joanna Blalock was walking slowly toward the parking lot, leaning heavily on the big detective.

Brennerman turned to run, but there was another detective blocking his way.

“I—I’ve got to get back to my lab,” Brennerman said.

Lou Farelli smiled thinly. He reached for a set of handcuffs and began to slowly twirl them around on his index finger.

Brennerman backed away, frantically thinking of possible escape routes. Abruptly he spun around. But that way out was now blocked. Joanna Blalock was limping toward him, her face filled with rage.

Jake and Joanna were driving south on the San Diego Freeway, heading for Long Beach. They were going to Mandrakis, a Greek restaurant that held fond memories for both of them.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Dimitri?” Joanna asked, referring to Dimitri Mandrakis, a retired detective who owned the restaurant.

Jake thought for a moment. “It’s been over a year since we’ve talked.”

“Shame on you, Jake,” Joanna said. “The guy treats you like a son and you don’t even bother to call.”

“I know, I know.” Jake lit a cigarette with the dashboard lighter and cracked open a window. “It’s strange how we tend to forget important things in life. We get busy at work, we get tied up, and we forget. Until it’s too late.” He puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. “I wonder why the hell we do that.”

“Because most of us are self-centered, I guess.” Joanna shifted around in her seat and carefully uncrossed and recrossed her legs. She winced briefly.

“Is your leg still hurting?” Jake asked.

“Some.” Joanna pulled up her skirt and examined the two-inch scar above her knee. It was now a thin red line. “I think the deep tissues haven’t healed completely yet.”

Jake glanced over. “You can hardly see the scar.”

“Plastic surgery can do amazing things,” Joanna said, still staring at her knee and thinking for the hundredth time how lucky she’d been that Jake and a bloodhound had tracked her down in the desert. Otherwise she would have died. There was no way she could have lasted another day in that cave without water.

“And that little bit of redness will fade, too, huh?” Jake asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“With time,” Joanna told him, and pulled down her skirt. “But I’ll tell you something that won’t fade with time. If I live to be a thousand, it’ll never fade.”

“What’s that?”

“The memory of the bastard who did this to me,” Joanna said. “Every time I look at this scar, I’m going to think of Eric Brennerman.”

“Well, think of him being behind bars, because that’s where he’ll be for the rest of his life.”

“He deserves the gas chamber,” Joanna growled.

Jake grinned. “Are you turning conservative on me?”

“When it comes to Eric Brennerman, I am.” Joanna took a deep breath and let her anger pass. “It’s still hard for me to believe that a brilliant physician like Brennerman could murder all those people. Doesn’t he have any conscience at all?”

Jake shrugged. “It’s easier to do when you have somebody doing the killing for you.”

“So it would seem.” A picture of the blond hitter came into Joanna’s mind. She thought back to the surveillance film that showed the blonde coldly putting a knife into Mervin Tuch’s back. “Did you find out anything more about the hitter?”

“According to an informant, she was connected to some tough guys called The Westies.” Jake told Joanna about the bar Club West and the New York–based gang that controlled it. “We think the bar was a front for their West Coast operations.”

“Did you question them?”

“We couldn’t,” Jake replied. “They closed up shop and moved back east.”

“Just like that.”

“It seems their business died out,” Jake said dryly.

They left the freeway and entered San Pedro, a small coastal town on the southern edge of Los Angeles County. It was eight-thirty and a heavy mist was drifting in from the sea. The streets were deserted.

Joanna studied the neighborhood as they drove through. The area was lower class with mini marts, gas stations, and pizza parlors. Most of the stores had graffiti spray-painted on their doors.

They turned onto a narrow street and stopped in front of a small white building with a neon light that spelled
Mandrakis
in fancy script. The
M
was partially burned out.

“Do you think Dimitri will ever fix that sign?” Joanna asked.

“Naw,” Jake replied, opening the door. “He thinks it gives the place character.”

The crowded restaurant was larger than it looked from the outside. It had thirty small tables around a hardwood dance floor. At the far end was a bandstand. Musicians sat on the edge of the stage smoking cigarettes. The air was filled with exotic, spicy aromas.

A large, heavyset man with a protuberant abdomen and gray-black hair rushed over to greet them. He grabbed Jake in a bear hug, almost lifting him off the floor. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Busy,” Jake said, gently pushing himself away.

“Too busy for an old friend, huh?” Dimitri Mandrakis shook his head in feigned disgust, then turned to Joanna. He bowed gracefully and kissed the back of her hand. “You are so young and beautiful. Why do you put up with this lout?”