The Jezebel Remedy (23 page)

“Do you recognize the people in that car? The black car?”

“I don't,” she said. “But it has a Henry County sticker. It's local, not Benecorp.”

“They're cunning.”

“If they were cunning, Doctor, they wouldn't roll in here with a big black car.”

“Counterintuitive. Hiding in plain sight.”

“We've heard from Benecorp that the Wound Velvet's use is internal and minor, whatever that means.”

“Ha!” Downs slapped his thigh with his palm. “Silly talk. Listen to me. Seth Garrison doesn't fly there for routine tweaks and refinements. Pichler doesn't bully me. But most certainly, MissFit Matrix is geared to match with very specific goals. They've hit one of the grails.”

“So the MissFit program wouldn't produce what they're claiming?” Lisa asked.

“No. They would have you believe they were ocean fishing for a whale and caught a field mouse. It's that incongruous. I'll bet dimwit Pichler told you this nonsense. He's a hateful man and a joke scientist.”

“But you have no more information as to any details?”

“Mr. G has been on campus several times recently. He doesn't just come because there's a retirement party or for employee appreciation day. He's reclusive. He visits one point seven times per annum.”

“Anything else you can tell us, no matter how small?”

Downs pointed at her. “I'm being watched. Okay, yes, I'm paranoid, but my sister will confirm it. It's obvious. They're sending me a message. I'm afraid.”

Lisa touched his shoulder. “I believe you,” she said. “And I'm sorry. Is there anything Joe and I can do?”

“Crack this case.” He sounded normal, composed, his tics and peculiarities momentarily suppressed. “These people want to kill me too, Mrs. Stone. This isn't a Keystone Kops outfit. Money rules, and huge money rules like Stalin. Show trials and no prisoners.”

“You might be safer here. Joe and I have a strong relationship with the police. We'd be glad to arrange protection for you.”

“Lettie was safer here too?” He began his watch again: the road, the parking lot, the store, its roof, the area behind him.

“Lettie was surprised. You won't be. Why don't you let Joe and me put you in a secure place? Please. I really wish you would. At least for the short term, we could have an off-duty deputy stay with you. We'd handle everything.”

“I'll consider it. But they'd find me.”

“You do need to be careful. I'm convinced these are dangerous people. The best choice is to let us help, Dr. Downs.”

“You certainly are eager.” He strayed off his routine to examine her. “I just can't say. It's so hard to make decisions.”

“You can trust us,” Lisa promised him.

“Mr. Stone, yes. Lettie didn't care much for you. But you already know that. No offense meant. Only another fact for me to consider.”

“I understand,” she said. “But I think Joe would give you the same advice.”

“Probably. It's not as if I have many good options. We are smack up against it, Mrs. Stone.”

“Do you recall what elements or ingredients are in VV 108?”

“Some. But not all and not the precise formulary. Nothing exact. Why?”

“You can't match the ingredients with any known disease or use?”

“No. That's what MissFit does. MissFit is genius. Mr. Garrison pioneered it. Despite everything, I admire him as a scientist.”

“Well, how many diseases are plugged into MissFit?”

“Over a hundred would be my guess. For instance, there are many different variations of cancer.”

“Huh. I guess that's a big fat dead end.” She sighed.

“Mr. G knows what Lettie's compound does. A few others.”

“Could there be any connection to animals? Cats and dogs? Lettie's have gone missing under very strange circumstances.”

“Nope. None I can see. Benecorp does people only.”

“This is so frustrating,” she said. “We're absolutely stymied. Damn it. Why'd you risk coming here if you don't have anything else to tell us?”

“Mr. Stone asked. He sent me a message. We're partners in this. He was Lettie's counselor. I did provide you new information. Benecorp is lying about this being internal—new.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes.” Resolutely focused on the highway, Downs scratched his head again.

“Are you barred from having contact with Benecorp? Did a court enter an order?”

“Yes.”

“How many times have you been hospitalized for psychological issues?” she asked.

“Total? I couldn't count. It's the one number I choose to forget.”

Lisa smiled at him. “At least three in the last several years?”

He nodded. “Yep.” He sawed his thumb across his chin. “But my work has always been superior. I'm proud of that.”

“Well, I guess it's a good thing I believe you're correct about Lettie, huh? Otherwise I might think you were unreliable and crazy.”

“Yes,” he said. “You're very kind. I appreciate it.”

She turned and looked behind them. “Still clear in this direction,” she said. “Would you allow me to at least let a police officer follow you to your sister's and make sure you're safe?”

“I'm not positive that's where I'll go. I don't know if that's smart. Right now I have an advantage—a head start. But I need to return her van. I—” Downs broke off and violently rocked toward the door. He dropped to the floorboard, balling himself into the space under the dash. “It's them! From my sister's!”

Lisa watched a tan Ford sedan with a Maryland tag enter the lot. The car hesitated after making a left turn from Route 58, then moved toward the minivan and stopped alongside it. After a few stationary moments, the car began patrolling through the lot, passing in front of Lisa and Downs, the passenger hunting, scanning, staring at her, the eye contact direct and bold, the vehicle slowing while he checked her and the Mercedes, the man's expression professionally belligerent, as if he had a license to do as he pleased, no matter how coarse or intrusive. The car parked, and he went into the store. He was tall, impressive, crisply dressed, creases in his trousers.

“I'm calling the police,” Lisa said. “And Joe too.”

“Now might be the time for it,” Downs agreed.

Lisa told the dispatcher she had an emergency. She asked if there were any cops nearby, and the dispatcher inquired if she was Mrs. Stone, the lawyer.

“Yes, it's Lisa Stone. Who's close?”

“I think Car One is. Sheriff Perry. He's on Carver Road.”

“Great. Excellent.”

“Wait, okay, yeah, and Trooper Wilkinson just marked on. He's en route too, Mrs. Stone. Are you hurt? In danger?”

“Not yet. Just tell them to hurry.”

Harold Wilkinson was at the store in minutes, lights strobing, his car's siren wailing, the nose of his blue and gray state police cruiser floating skyward when he crested a hill at over a hundred and came into view, the tires seeming to tiptoe on the blacktop. He drove straight to Lisa and Downs, braked. He adjusted his hat as he strode toward her. Sheriff Perry arrived seconds behind him and sprinted for the Mercedes.

“Are you all right, Lisa?” Wilkinson asked. A few months short of sixty and retirement, he loved to spin hilarious stories about chasing 1970s bootleggers, backwoods characters who fashioned their stills from copper and never gave him a speck of trouble if he got the better of them in a fair pursuit. He was still agile and trim, his uniform squared away. Lisa stepped out and shut the door and stood beside him. As usual, he smelled of grocery store aftershave, the sweet, slap-on, watery variety that contained pure alcohol and had to sting like the dickens if it found a nick or scrape, a bygone scent that suited him perfectly and gave Lisa a quick sense of well-being. “What's happening?”

“Thanks for coming so fast. Here's my problem. The man in the car with me is a client of Joe's, Dr. Steven Downs. He's hiding because he's scared. See that car?” She pointed at the tan Ford. “We're fairly sure those guys are tracking him. We also think they might be a danger to him.” She saw Joe arrive, in a rush like the others.

“Joe,” the trooper shouted, “you stay with your wife while the sheriff and I check the car.”

“Oh shit,” Joe exclaimed when he reached Lisa and spied Downs. The doctor was still hiding, remained mostly on the car's floor.

“Hello, Mr. Stone,” he said meekly after unrolling and stretching to crack the door. He gave Joe a choppy, harried wave. “I got your message. Sorry for all the fuss I brought with me.”

“So, either I'm as paranoid as the good doc,” Lisa said, “or two fairly threatening men followed him here. The driver's still sitting in the car. He's been wearing out his rearview mirror looking at me. His buddy went inside.”

“How in creation did you meet him?” Joe asked, gesturing at Downs.

“Yeah, well, that's another tale completely. Suffice it to say, we are indebted to Elbert Hodges.”

“Why? How's that?” Joe asked.

“I'll tell you later. I want to see who these guys are. And if they're here for Dr. Downs.”

At the trooper's direction, the driver was soon standing beside the Ford, the door swung wide open, the key reminder buzzing. He was squat, without any discernible transition between the back of his head and his meaty neck. His head was shaved bald. He was wearing a blue blazer, and he seemed pugnacious, his legs spread, his hands on his hips, his shoulders shot forward. Lisa could hear Trooper Wilkinson telling him something. She walked closer, Joe right with her and slightly in the lead, clutching her elbow.

“Minding my own business at a convenience store is a crime in these parts?” the bald man said.

“Nope. But tailing people and menacing a local lawyer might be. All we need is some ID and some answers.”

“If by ‘local lawyer,' ” the man replied, “you mean Lisa Stone over there, I hardly think driving past her constitutes any kind of offense.”

Hearing his wife's name in the conversation, Joe released her arm and pointed at her, his finger almost touching her nose. “You stay here. Do not budge.” The tan car was maybe thirty feet from him, and he exploded through the distance to confront the bald man. Simultaneously, the stranger's companion pushed through the store's smeared glass doors. The companion didn't hurry or rush or appear concerned, simply joined the other four men. “Good morning, Officers,” he said genially. “What has Saul done this time?”

“He evidently has an issue with my wife,” Joe said. “And I plan to find out just what his issue is.” Even in a lawyer's suit, striped tie and scuffed black wingtips, Joe was formidable, imposing, and it registered with Saul, caused him to reset his shoulders and soften his posture. “Who the hell are you?” Joe demanded, taking off his jacket and draping it across his forearm.

“Easy, Joe,” Wilkinson said. “He was gettin' ready to tell us.”

The man who'd come from the store raised both hands to signal
that he wasn't spoiling for a fight, at least not right now. “No worries, boss.” He was speaking to Joe. “Our apologies.” He had thick black hair clipped high and tight and a reptile's unpredictable eyes, cold-blooded and cagey. Unlike Saul, he didn't seem fazed by Joe's size and anger. He lowered his hands. “I'm Dillon Atkins. If the sheriff and the trooper permit me, I'll reach into my pocket and provide you with my ID. My friend Saul will do the same.”

“Please,” the trooper said.

“Okay,” Sheriff Perry agreed.

Atkins quickly located two laminated rectangles and handed them to the trooper. Saul tugged his wallet free from his hip, then fumbled through the compartments and leather slits with brute fingers until he found his driver's license. He dropped the license, muttered “Damn it,” grimaced, crouched, recovered it, stood up again and unhappily thrust it at Wilkinson.

“To speed us along, Trooper, uh”—Atkins leaned forward and angled for a closer view of the officer's nameplate—“Trooper Wilkinson, we're both private security, employed by Aegis Alpha, a global company with our domestic headquarters in Washington.”

“Yeah, okay, I've heard of you people,” the sheriff offered. “You ex-military?”

“Affirmative, sir. Ten years army. Three years with the FBI after that.”

“Can I see the IDs, Harold?” Perry asked.

“Yeah.” Wilkinson handed him the three cards.

“So what brings you gents to Henry County?” the sheriff asked. “And what business do you have with Mrs. Stone?”

“No business with her or her husband. Again, we apologize for upsetting you both.” Atkins had a salesman's honey in his voice. He briefly humbled his head, broke eye contact with the other men. “Saul knows her name—and so do I—because she's associated with Dr. Steven Downs, who I'm speculating is probably hiding in Mrs. Stone's Mercedes, which is, of course, completely her prerogative. Not my concern.”

“What's your interest in Mr. Downs?” Perry asked.

“Strictly professional. Our client wants him watched and wants
to know his movements. Our client has verifiable reasons to believe that Dr. Downs is dangerous and an active threat. We monitor him twenty-four-seven and report. He left his sister's home in Harrisonburg, Virginia, earlier today wearing a disguise. Soon as we realized he was missing, we followed him here.”

“How?” Joe pressed. “How'd you locate him?”

“We have state-of-the-art techniques, Mr. Stone,” Atkins answered. “But with all due respect, that's our business, not yours.” His tone was politely antagonistic. “To finish my report to the officers, let me make clear that we're simply tracking Dr. Downs at a professional distance. We don't speak to him, impede him, bother him or interfere with him in any form or fashion. I don't think there's anything illegal in our surveillance coverage. We're well trained to respect his autonomy.”