Killing Hope (Gabe Quinn Thriller) (58 page)

‘Only this was early evening.’ Shakes countered. ‘And exactly the moment I was in the room. What are the chances? Scared the living daylights out of me. That’s all I know. But the point I’m making is, the song on the radio was My Way by Sinatra.’

‘Milk, that’s astounding – considering we’re in Vegas.’

‘It’s even more astounding, Sonny, when you understand it was my aunt’s favorite song. Played at her funeral.’

‘Sentimentality aside,’ I said, ‘how did you end up with a connection?’

‘Because underneath the radio was a pamphlet. The CSU must have thought it was one of those flashy brochures advertising Vegas nightlife. Only it wasn’t. It was the same pamphlet you and I saw at the Bellagio crime scene, Gabe. The one with the double helix on the front cover.’

164

^{___________________________}

‘We’ve already established each group of victims works for different employers.’ Sonny said.

Shakes responded with a turned-up lip: ‘So why was there a Harland Labs pamphlet at the Treasure Island crime scene?’

‘Because the killer left it there.’ I said.

But Shakes was shaking his head.

‘And that’s what I thought too, at first – until I did some digging. Turns out the kids at Treasure Island all worked for a company called Quasitrone. It’s an IT firm based in Connecticut.’

‘And the connection?’

‘They’re the hi-tech arm of Harland Labs.’

Our astonishment was visible.

‘And it gets better from there.’ Shakes grinned.

See the lovely car wreckage, isn’t it sweet?

‘You remember Glenda told us Patricia Hoagland worked for someone called Waldo Parker? Well, Waldo Parker is in fact a specialized chemicals manufacturer supplying bespoke products to the pharmaceutical industry. And guess who their number one customer is?’

‘Harland Labs.’ Sonny and I said as one.

‘That’s the killer’s connection, folks. They were all linked to that little biotech outfit in Boston.’

I pulled open the door. ‘We need to round up the rest of their employees.’

‘Already ahead of you.’ Shakes said as we left the ante-chamber. ‘I called their head office on the way over here. The place is closed for the week due to the seminar. But I managed to speak with a secretary. Not counting the deceased, there were eleven other employees here for the weekend. Aside from Brandon Chu, they all returned home yesterday evening on the advisement of the company’s chief. Who, by the way, is still in town.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Harland Candlewood. Remember the good-looking dude in the Harland Labs pamphlet side-by-side with Mark and Sarah?’

I did. Automatically, I reached for the rolled-up copy I’d stuffed in my jacket pocket back at the
Bellagio
crime scene. Realized I’d left it in my hotel suite.

‘The blonde-haired guy with the trendy eyewear.’

‘One and the same. Company secretary says he’s staying at Caesar’s Palace. I checked. He is. I got put through to his suite. He wasn’t home.’

‘Do we have any idea where he is?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Gabe, what shall we do with Chu?’

I shrugged at Sonny as we walked through the Situation Room. ‘Where is he right now?’

‘In a holding cell back at Area Command.’

‘Keep him there. It’s safer. At least until this whole thing blows over.’

I went to collar Marty and tell him the good news.

‘Wait.’ Shakes said, grabbing my arm. ‘I saved the best for last. Out of curiosity, I did a little digging into Candlewood. Get this: before forming Harland Labs he captained a company supplying euthanasia drugs to veterinary surgeries. Which means he had access to each of the drugs this killer’s been using.’

165

^{___________________________}

There are times when the swell of an event carries us along with it. This was one such occasion. Our investigation had suddenly changed tack. We all had new wind gusting in our sails. We all wanted to know who Harland Candlewood was and whether he was capable of murder.

Could Harland Candlewood be Ethan Davey Copes aka
The Undertaker?

One of Marty’s techies brought up a photograph of Harland Candlewood on his computer screen. Garnered from a simple Google search. We all peered at it – as if by doing so we could determine guilt. It was the guy beaming away in the Harland Laboratories brochure. A dazzling smile and a mop of wavy blonde hair. Sky-blue eyes behind black Versace glasses. The photo had been taken at an exclusive function. Dated twelve months ago. Black ties and ball gowns. He was shaking hands with a grey-bearded man who looked like the actor Morgan Freeman, but was in fact the retired Secretary General of the UN, Kofi Annan.

Candlewood had celebrated contacts.

The techie twiddled keys and came up with Candlewood’s most recent DMV driver license photo. No obscuring eyewear. No Academy Award winning grin.

‘Get copies out to field agents.’ Marty Gunner instructed his techie. ‘Let’s get this guy found ASAP.’

We left the Feds to it.

‘What do you reckon?’ Sonny asked as she, Shakes and I hogged one of the coffee machines. ‘Is it possible Candlewood’s our killer?’

I took a deep breath and mulled it over. I didn’t know what to think. Everything was up in the air again. Just when I thought we were closing in, a few detours had been thrown in our way. All at once we had a pick of suspects.

‘Let’s see how Candlewood pans out.’ I said. ‘We still have other leads to check. I don’t want to jump the gun on this one, Sonny. We have a finite time window to get this right. Milk, can you get a breakdown of Candlewood’s movements over the last week or so?’

‘Sure.’

‘Sonny.’

‘Yep?’

‘I know it’s not your favorite pastime, but work with the Feds, will you? Find out as much as you can about Harland Candlewood. If he is involved in these killings now’s our chance to question him while he’s still in town.’

‘Anything for the cause. What about you?’

‘I’m going to track down that white supremacist. See how he factors into all this.’

166

^{___________________________}

I made some calls. I have a good charge plan. Spoke with contacts back in the Memphis PD and the Attorney’s Office. It was Saturday evening. No one likes to answer business calls at the weekend. It took time. I was asking a lot. Favors had to be called in. Memories jogged. Eventually I found the name of the Aryan Brother: Chad Judd. He’d made parole three months ago. Then disappeared into the backwoods. Hadn’t made any of his PO dates.

I gave the information to some of Marty’s geeky colleagues manning the computers. Asked them to dredge up anything they could on the ex-con. If he had grabbed my cufflink that night. Kept it all those years. I wanted to know who he’d passed it on to.

We were four hours into lockdown when the fiery-faced Mayor of Las Vegas turned up with his official entourage. The city outskirts were having a dress-down. Desperate people trying to get round the roadblocks by going off-road. Taking their chances. Some four-wheel-drives had managed to make it before being forced back by police choppers. Many more less powerful vehicles were now bogged down in sand and scrub. It was dark out there. Pitch black in the desert. Cold and getting colder by the minute. Hundreds of private vehicles lining roadsides. People out of cars. Getting restless, hungry, angry. Already the city’s emergency services were being stretched to snapping point.

Assistant Director Marty Gunner dealt with the Mayor. Marty had the political weight and the Federal clout to sucker punch any move the Mayor tried to pull. The Sheriff turned up a minute later, championing the Mayor’s corner. A heated exchange ensued. Marty dug in his heels and delivered a right hook. Floored them both. The Mayor and the Sheriff left the ring. But not before making some very dark promises.

We were making enemies, fast.

I kept glancing at my watch like a man on Death Row. I was conscious of the time. Things were getting uncomfortable. We needed to find our man before Vegas exploded.

At a quarter after 10 p.m., Sonny came through with news on Candlewood’s background:

Candlewood was Massachusetts born and bred. Came from old colonial money. A trained molecular biologist with a Master’s in Genetics from Harvard. No wife. No kids. A few parking violations, but no police record. He’d worked for daddy’s pharmaceuticals business before going solo five years ago – when he’d started up the biotech outfit in Boston, geared towards vaccine development. By all accounts he was a clean-cut guy with a company going places. No warning bells other than the one thing that stood out from the sugary accolades sweetening his résumé: Candlewood had undergone psychotherapy in his teens.

‘What was that about?’ I asked Sonny.

‘He had an argument with a neighbor. The dispute resulted in Candlewood poisoning the guy’s dog. It was either therapy or juvenile detention.’

‘Typical pre-serial behavior.’ Marty Gunner said with a nod.

‘How much we betting he used potassium chloride on the dog?’ Shakes said as he came over and joined us.

‘Is any money going to cross palms this time, Milk?’ Sonny smiled. ‘What you got?’

‘It looks like Candlewood was in California up until Thursday. Which puts him there during the LA homicides.’ He handed me a print-out. ‘This is a list of Candlewood’s company credit card transactions spanning the last two weeks. Take a look at the highlighted entries.’

I put on reading glasses. ‘He had a reservation at the Ramada on Vermont?’

‘Same time as Ethan Davey Copes.’

I scratched at my head. Like I keep saying: I don’t believe in coincidence.

Both Copes and Candlewood were at the Hollywood Hotel when Helena Margolis was brutally slain. Were they a team? I wondered. Were we dealing with two
Undertakers
?
 
It had never occurred to me that there could be more than one killer. It was one explanation for the amount of kills and the changes in MO. I looked at the highlighted entries again. Had the pair agreed that Copes carry out the LA murders while Candlewood killed off his own employees here in LV? If so, why?