The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (12 page)

But first he needed to check if Seth Wozac was listed. Jake scanned to the bottom of the folders and spotted an entry labeled
Julie Wozac
,
NPIN
. Did IN stand for ImmuNatal? Jake scrolled back to Altman’s file, which also bore the label
NPIN
. Many others said
NPST
, and a few were marked
APST
. He would think about the coding later. Finding and warning Seth had to be a priority.

Julie Wozac had given birth to Seth Richard Wozac on March 15, 1996. The father was listed as Dale Wozac, and the baby’s gender was male. Jake couldn’t find notes indicating any gender confusion. Had the doctor ignored the obvious or suppressed it? Or was Taylor simply wrong? Or maybe most intersex babies used to be labeled with a single gender—because that’s what society expected. Maybe they still were. Or it might be the parents’ choice now. He’d read that doctors often performed surgeries on newborns to force them into a single gender. Jake cringed and reached to protect himself. Was there a standard protocol in the medical field? He wanted to believe obstetricians and parents were more open-minded these days, but he’d never given the subject much thought. He would ask Taylor what she knew about it.

Out of curiosity, he looked up her mother’s records:
Mariah Lopez, NPIN
. Baby Taylor was listed as female. He glanced at the Father box, which listed Miguel Lopez. Taylor hadn’t mentioned him once. Jake kept scanning and discovered that Taylor’s mother had taken ImmuNatal too. He checked to see if a doctor was listed.
Charles Metzler.

Jake had occasionally spotted a second name, Dr. David Novak, but the Altman and Wozac files also listed Metzler as the obstetrician. Could he find him? Metzler might be pretty old by now. Plus, Seth still came first. Jake went back to the Wozac file, looking for an address.

A loud knock on the door made him jump. Jake looked around for a weapon or a place to hide. Someone called out, “Pizza delivery.”

Relieved, he paid the driver and tipped him five bucks. Jake had waited tables in college and knew how important the extra cash was. Minimum wage didn’t leave enough money to buy pizza after paying rent, utilities, and car insurance.

After scarfing down three pieces, he felt satiated enough to set it aside. He had to make this money last, and Taylor would be hungry if and when the police released her. Now he needed a little toke to compliment his meal and keep him from feeling cooped up. He still had half a joint in his backpack. Jake found his lighter in a jacket pocket and smoked it in two big lungfuls.

Ahh.
Tension melted from his body and his thoughts mellowed. He reached for the laptop and opened the Wozac file. But the urgency had gone out of his task, and he had to reread information. After a few minutes, he put the data-intensive files aside. He tried searching for Seth’s parents online and found Julie Wozac on LinkedIn. She ran her own consulting company and had multiple contact listings. Jake called the top phone number, then panicked about what to say. He couldn’t tell her the truth; she’d think he was mentally ill. But he needed her son’s information. With clinic files and Dr. Metzler on his mind, Jake opened with, “Mrs. Wozac? This is Dr. David Carson. I’m trying to reach Seth Wozac. Is he available?”

“Ahh, no. He hasn’t lived with me in a few years.” Sadness permeated her voice. “What is this about?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t violate patient confidentiality. Yet, it’s important that I speak with him. Please tell me how I can reach Seth.”

“Why don’t you have his number?” A little concern now.

“This is the only contact information he supplied on his intake form. Some patients get the test but are afraid of the results, so they make it hard for us to contact them. But he needs to know.”

A sharp intake of breath. “What’s his diagnosis? Is he all right?”

“I really can’t tell you, but I hope he will. Do you have his number?”

“Yes. Let me look in my phone for it. I hope I don’t cut you off when I do.” A moment later, she read the number to him, as though it were not one she was familiar with. “Please tell him to call me,” the desperate mother pleaded. “I want to help.”

“I will. Thank you.” Jake got off the phone, heaved a sigh of relief, then processed a wave of guilt for making the poor woman worry. He rationalized it by reminding himself that he was trying to keep Seth alive. The next call would be even more difficult. He had no idea how Seth would react to the potential death threat, yet Jake had to warn him.

He called the number and rehearsed his speech while it rang. Seth didn’t answer. Following Taylor’s example, Jake left a brief message: “This is Jake Wilson, and I have information about your birth that you need to know. Your life could be in danger. Please call or text me so we can meet and talk about this.”

He tried to read more of the medical files, but exhaustion from not sleeping much the night before overcame him and he lay down to rest his eyes. He wasn’t just tired though; he was stoned. If he hadn’t smoked, he might still be working this investigation.

Shit.
Getting high had been a mistake. Again. He vowed it would be his last time.

Friday, Oct. 14, 5:05 a.m.

The recurring strange dream disappeared the moment she opened her eyes. Taylor glanced around. The horrible gray room still held her captive. She sat up and leaned against the wall, her side aching from napping on the hard floor. At least she wasn’t handcuffed anymore. But she was hungry, and her lips hurt from drying out. It had to be the middle of the night or early morning by now. How long would they hold her? She had to pee again. She fought the urge to cry.
Be strong. Get mad.
Her mother’s coaching had gotten her through this so far. What she really needed was a lawyer. Did she know any?

The door burst open, and the older detective charged into the room. “Get up!”

His intensity drove her to her feet. The way he looked at her, as if she were some kind of lowlife. God, she hated him. Where was his partner? This was the first time Blunt had come in alone, and she didn’t trust him.

“Sit in the chair. I want some goddamn answers.” He slammed a fist into the table.

But he’d done that a few times already, so she didn’t react. He was a bully, and she survived other bullies. But in this situation, she wasn’t free to walk away.

“What were you doing in that clinic with a fake baby belly?”

“Looking for information.”

“Who was with you?”

“No one.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She and Jake had split up, and she’d been alone in the lobby.
Stop talking!
That’s what a lawyer would advise her.

“Witnesses saw you with a young man. Who is he?”

“I’ve answered all these questions before.” Taylor forced herself to project her voice. “So I’m done. I have nothing else to say.”

The detective jumped to his feet. “You’re done when I say you are.” He came around to her side of the table and stuck his face right next to hers. “You killed that old woman. Smashed her head with a heavy flashlight and stole her cell phone. Just fucking admit it.” His breath reeked of cigarettes and bad coffee.

“No, I didn’t.

He grabbed her by the chin and squeezed. “Without a plea deal, you’ll do life in prison.”

Taylor ignored the pain and spoke through clenched teeth. “I want to call a lawyer.” She was bluffing, but as she said it, Taylor remembered one of her mother’s military friends was a lawyer. Cole Ronan. But she had no idea how to reach him.

Detective Blunt plunged his hand into her hair and jerked her out of the chair.

Taylor let out a yell.

He pressed his palm over her mouth. “Quiet.”

The door popped open, and Detective Miller came in. “What’s going on?”

Taylor jerked away from the older man and stared hard at Miller. “I want to call a lawyer, and I need you to find his number for me. Cole Ronan. He lives at Fort Carson.”

Miller’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Blunt.

“I’ll file a complaint if you don’t.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. It was a risk! But she was in survival mode. She had to get free.

The younger detective led her into the hall. Relief washed over her. She was out of that horrible room.

They walked down an empty passage, their footsteps echoing in the quiet building. Taylor asked to use the restroom and took the opportunity to rinse the stale taste from her mouth. Her reflection in the mirror startled her. Puffy eyelids, unwashed hair, and a gray undertone to her skin. As if she’d been locked up for a week instead of twenty hours. Or however long it had been.
It’s not over,
she reminded herself. Just because Miller was giving her a break didn’t mean he would release her.

She stepped out of the restroom and smiled. “Thanks for intervening.”

Miller silently steered her into a small office. “Tell me the name again.”

“Cole Ronan.” Would the lawyer even remember her? She hadn’t seen him since a backyard barbecue her mother had hosted nearly six years ago. Cole had called once after the funeral, then faded away. Like everyone else. No one had known what to say to her.

After a two-minute computer search, Detective Miller jotted down a number, handed her a slip of paper, and turned his desk phone toward her. “You can make the call here.”

She’d never used an old-school phone. With a shaky hand, she punched in the numbers and held her breath through five rings. The lawyer was probably asleep, and his publicly listed number was likely a business phone. Why would he pick up? A voicemail kicked in: “You’ve reached Cole Ronan, attorney at law. Please leave a message.”

This would be a waste of time
. “Mr. Ronan. This is Taylor Lopez, Mariah’s daughter.” She sounded like a little kid, even to herself. “I’m at the police department in Colorado Springs, being questioned about a murder I didn’t commit. I need your help. Can you get me out of here?” She hung up and bit her lip to keep from crying. Two nights of minimal sleep had left her exhausted and vulnerable.

Detective Miller led her to a different room, a slightly larger version of the gray windowless walls, but with a small couch. “We’re either going to let you go or book you into jail. I’m not sure yet, but you might as well rest until we decide.”

That seemed like progress. Maybe just making the call had paid off. Not that she wanted to end up in jail, but at least they would feed her there. And the questions would stop. She lay on the couch and let her mind drift. Where was Jake? Had he hotwired her car and gone back to Denver? Or was he camped out at the motel, waiting to see what happened with her? She bet on the second option. For a homeless guy, he sure had locked onto her investigation with tenacity. He seemed like the kind of friend who wouldn’t abandon her.

Out in the hall, raised voices made her sit up. The two detectives were arguing about what to do with her. She thought she heard Miller say they didn’t have any evidence. The argument drifted down the hall. Taylor lay down, again, closed her eyes, and tried to rest.

A few minutes later, someone stepped in and shouted at her to get up. It was the older man, looking grumpier than usual. “Your lawyer isn’t here, but he called. So we’re letting you go.”

Yes!
A barrage of emotions rolled through her, but she was too tired to express them. She hurried out the door and into the hall.

“This way.” Blunt grabbed her arm and tugged.

Taylor didn’t care. She was getting out! They walked through a maze of hallways, the office doors closed and the building quiet. A moment later, they were in the wide lobby and she could see the glass front doors. The parking lot on the other side was dark and empty.

She pulled on the thick sweater that had been tied around her waist and turned to the detective. “I need my phone.”

He hesitated, then from his pocket, pulled out her phone pouch, which also contained her Bluetooth and car key. The detective held out the pouch, but didn’t let go. “This isn’t over, so expect to hear from us again.”

She nodded, snatched her cell phone, and hurried out the front door. In the middle of the parking lot, she stopped and checked the time: 6:07 a.m. Now what? She had to call Jake and let him know, then start walking to the motel, which was closer than her car. The frigid air made her fingers stiff as she put in her earpiece and pressed the screen.
Damn.
This sweater wasn’t warm enough. After seven rings, her call went to voicemail and she left a message, sounding more frantic than she intended.

Taylor walked to the sidewalk. Left or right? Her phone rang, and it was Jake. “Hey, I was sleeping. You must be out.”

“I’m in front of the jail. The motel is south, right?”

“Yes, but be careful. The assassin was at the clinic and came after me. I got away, but I suspect he’ll keep coming until he kills us both.”

Good god.
Her whole body stiffened, and she glanced around. A dark SUV sat across a side street, the only vehicle in sight. “Do you have my car? Can you come get me?” She started walking away from the dark vehicle, not wanting to pass by it, even though the motel was in the other direction.

“I didn’t have the key, and I was afraid he was watching it. Look out for someone in dark clothes, a hooded jacket, and an androgynous face.”

Was the killer one of them?
“Stay on the phone with me, okay? I’m a little freaked out.”

“Sorry to scare you. Just stick to the side streets. It’s only a mile or so.”

On the corner, she hesitated. Should she go another block before she circled back?

Sudden movement to her right. Taylor spun, but she was too late. Someone rushed her from behind a tree.

She let out a yelp just before a hand with a rag pressed into her mouth. The strong medicinal smell gagged her.
Poison!
Her pulse raced with panic. Taylor dropped her phone pouch and grabbed the assailant’s wrist with both hands. But she’d lost her strength. She tried to scream, but the pressure on her mouth was too forceful. For a moment, she locked eyes with her attacker and saw no malice, only determination. So this was how she would die, in front of a police station, at the hands of someone who may have been delivered by the same doctor. Taylor’s brain clouded, and she could no longer think clearly. As her knees buckled, a strong arm wrapped around her. She was dying… but she wasn’t alone.