Terminal (A Lomax & Biggs Mystery Book 5) (23 page)

“I’m sorry,” Anna said, “but your testimony is going to be critical to our case.”

“I’ve got three months at the most, Ms. DeRoy. You put me in front of a video camera, and I’ll give you everything you need under oath. My goal was to kill every last one of those fuckers, but putting them in prison isn’t a bad fallback position.”

“Thank you,” Anna said. “I think we’re done for now.”

“I’ve got one question for Dr. Dunbar,” I said.

Amanda nodded.

“I dug into Egan Granville’s background this morning,” I said. “He was born into money.”

“Lots of it,” Amanda said.

“His wife is wealthy in her own right, they have no children, they support several charities, and based on his published net worth he would have been the richest person in the President’s cabinet ten times over.”

“What’s your question?”

“Why? Why would he keep the product on the market once he knew women were dying? And don’t tell me he did it for the money. I know some people can never have enough, but I don’t buy that he’s one of them.”

She stared at me, and a trace of a smile crossed her lips. “You’re very perceptive, Detective Lomax. You’re right. The company stock soared, and that made him look good to investors, but that’s not what drove him.”

“Then what?”

“Limelight. It started about a year after I reformulated Ovamax. We didn’t know the downside yet, but the pregnancy rate was up. That’s when
Time
magazine did a feature on Granville. His picture was on the cover, standing in the middle of a hospital nursery, surrounded by newborns. They called him The Baby Maker.

“He loved it. The media has always focused on the ugly side of Big Pharma—unfair pricing, ungodly profits, deceptive test results. Suddenly, in an industry where there are no heroes, Egan Granville was a rock star.

“And then the ovarian cancer numbers started to come in. What I told you when we spoke last week was only partly true. Wade Yancy and everyone involved in the cover-up did it for the money. Not Egan. He could have pulled the plug, but by then he was on everybody’s ‘A’ list, and he was afraid the media would knock him off his pedestal. Fame is a powerful aphrodisiac, and he was hooked.”

She leaned across the table. “I’m sorry for your loss, Detective Lomax. I never wanted to meet the families of any of the women who died, because no matter how much I try to disown what happened, it was my product that caused the deaths. But I’m glad I met you… and your wife Joanie.”

And then she extended her hand.

Deep down inside of me I’m sure I was quietly grateful for Amanda Dunbar’s decision to take the law into her own hands. Without her I might never have known that my wife was a murder victim, and I certainly could not have brought the killers to justice. But Dunbar was a murderer herself, a vigilante whose actions flew in the face of everything Terry, Anna, and I believed in.

I stood up, ignored her hand, and left the room.

CHAPTER 61

THERE WERE FLOWERS
on the dining room table, champagne in the ice bucket, and homemade
cannelloni di carne
in the oven.

“I thought your shift went till five,” I said to Diana. “How did you manage to pull all this together by six?”

“I only worked half a day. I had a few personal errands to run, and I decided that as long as I had the time, I’d do something special for dinner. It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Can you please go upstairs, tear Sophie away from her computer, and ask her to wash up?”

I opened the champagne first, poured two glasses, and carried mine up the stairs. Sophie was at her keyboard.

“You writing a story?” I asked.

“Nope. A letter.”

“To who?”

“Jeremy.”

“Your father?”

She threw me a cold hard stare. “He’s not my father, he’s never been my father, but Big Jim says that Jeremy is going to try to get custody of me, so I’m writing to tell him that LAPD Detective Mike Lomax has it covered, so back off.”

“Well, that sounds like it’s going to take some time to craft, so how about you put it down for now, and finish writing it after dinner.”

We washed up and went downstairs.

“It looks fancier than usual,” Sophie said.

“Thank you for noticing,” Diana responded. “How was school?”

“A little weird, but kind of cool.”

“How so?”

“Some of the teachers were talking about Mike. They said he caught some bad guys, but they wouldn’t give me any of the details.”

“That’s because the details are R-rated, and you’re still a PG kid,” Diana said. “Which means you are absolutely forbidden to search the Internet for specifics about the arrest.”

Sophie put down her fork and held up both hands. “Okay, okay, chill. I know the rules.”

Diana sipped her champagne. “We have some interesting news for you,” she said.

“Lay it on me.”

“Mike and I have decided to get married.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” I said.

“Awesome. Can I be in the wedding?”

“Sure,” Diana said. “Would you like to be the flower girl?”

“I’ve never been to a wedding. What do I have to do?”

“You get to wear a beautiful new white dress, then you scatter rose petals along the bridal path before I walk down the aisle.”

“Why?”

Diana shrugged. “It’s a tradition, but I have absolutely no idea why.” She looked at me for help.

Somewhere in my vast storehouse of worthless information I knew exactly why. The flower girl’s white dress is a symbol of purity, and the red rose petals represent fertility. Essentially Sophie was being recruited to depict Diana’s loss of innocence in exchange for a life of romance and a fruitful womb.

It was definitely not a subject I wanted to pursue. Not with an
eight-year-old. Not with anybody.

“Basically you throw the rose petals to ward off evil spirits,” I said.

“Cool,” Sophie said. “Just one question—who cleans them up?”

Diana laughed. “Not you. You want the job?”

“Totally. When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t figured that out yet. We haven’t told anyone except you. We’re going to tell the family tomorrow night when we have dinner at Big Jim’s.”

“Do you think Big Jim and Angel would come to my school next month?”

“What’s the occasion?” I said.

“Grandparents Day. I know they’re not technically my grandparents, but you’re adopting me, so …”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Of course they’ll come. Getting them there will be easy. Getting them to leave is a whole other problem.”

“Can I call them after dinner and ask them?”

“Wouldn’t you rather wait till tomorrow night and ask them in person?”

“No. I’d rather do it tonight. I’m the kind of person who likes to get all her trucks in a row.”

“Sweetie, I think you just heard the expression wrong,” Diana said. “People who are organized get their
ducks
in a row.”

“I don’t know any people who have ducks,” Sophie said. “Do you?”

Diana shook her head. “No.”

“Neither do I. But I do know this guy in Riverside who has a gigantic garage. And do you know what he keeps in there?” Sophie said with all the finesse of a trial lawyer about to skewer a witness.

Diana grinned. “Trucks.”

“And he’s got them all in a row,” Sophie said and triumphantly
stuck her fork into her cannelloni.

I felt the joy spread to every inch of my being. Suddenly I was getting another shot at the dream. Now there was only one thing standing between me and the life I thought I had lost forever when Joanie died.

A lab report that would be on Dr. Abordo’s desk at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.

CHAPTER 62

“WHAT’S GOING ON?”
Sophie said as soon as the three of us got in the car.

“What’s going on about what?” I said, playing dumb.

“Duh. I thought we had this finely tuned, well-oiled machine. Diana goes to work in her car, you and I go in your car.”

I waited for her seatbelt to click, then pulled out. “Diana and I have something to do this morning.”

“Wedding stuff?” she said, putting enough topspin on it to make it sound girlishly romantic.

“Life stuff,” I said.

“Nice way to dodge a kid’s questions, Detective Lomax.”

“A kid who never stops asking questions,” I said.

“Get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

“It’s a two-way street, kiddo. You’re stuck with us.”

“That reminds me,” she said, digging into her backpack and pulling out an envelope. “Can you give this to Big Jim?” She handed it to Diana.

“It’s addressed to your father,” Diana said.

“Jeremy is not my father. I addressed it to him, but Big Jim is going to deliver it in person.”

“And who decided that?” I said.

“Me and Big Jim. When I called him last night I told him about the letter, and he said it would be more effective if he gave it to
Jeremy face to face instead of putting it in the mail. He told me to give it to you, and he’ll get it from you later on today. Are we cool?”

We were not cool, and Diana rested her hand on my knee to calm me down.

“Big Jim told you he’s going to have a face-to-face with your fath—With Jeremy,” I said.

“Correct. He’ll do it today, and then when we go to his house for dinner tonight, he’ll let us know if Jeremy is willing to back off on this custody deal.”

Sophie has a way with words, but ‘back off on this custody deal’ had Big Jim’s paw prints all over it.

“The envelope isn’t sealed,” Diana said.

“Big Jim told me to leave it open. He wants to read it.”

“Can we read it?”

“Yes, but wait till I get out of the car.”

Diana smiled. “I’m guessing you don’t want any feedback.”

“Not on this.”

As soon as we dropped Sophie off at school I exploded. “Which part of ‘don’t meddle’ did my father not understand?”

“My best guess would be the ‘don’t’ part,” Diana said.

“You’re almost as funny as the kid,” I said. “Read me the letter.”

She pulled a single sheet of yellow paper out of the envelope. “It’s short and sweet,” she said. “Only half a page.”

“Half a page is short, but not necessarily sweet. Just read it.”

“Okay, calm down,” she said. “‘Dear shithead.’”

I laughed out loud. “All right, you’re funnier than the kid.”

“High praise. Now take a long deep breath.”

I did as instructed.

“Repeat if necessary while l read the letter,” she said.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “Go for it,” I said.

Dear Mr. Jeremy Tan, I know you were married to my mother when I was born, but that doesn’t mean you’re my real father.
Real fathers don’t leave their kids when they’re only six months old. Real fathers play with their kids. They take them to cool places and do fun things with them. They make them pancakes on the weekends, tuck them in at night, and chase after them with a thousand police cars if the kid ever runs away from home
.

I wanted a real father all my life, and now I finally have one. His name is Detective Mike Lomax, and we laugh a lot, and he teaches me cool stuff, and he reads all my stories. He’s the best father a kid could ever have, so please do not try to get custody of me and take him away. Thank you. Sophie Tan
.

P.S. After I get adopted I’m changing my last name to Lomax
.

My eyes were watery, and I wiped them. “You’re right,” I said. “Short and sweet.”

CHAPTER 63

DR. ABORDO’S WAITING
room was empty. He’d agreed to come in early to accommodate my cop schedule.

There was no receptionist, so I scribbled my name on the top line of the sign-in sheet and sat down.

“It’s a good thing you’re just here for a consult,” Diana said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if they took your blood pressure, they’d call 911. Sophie really got to you.”

“It wasn’t just her. It was the one-two punch combination of the precocious kid and the meddling old man.”

“You heard what the kid said. Get used to it. You’re stuck with her.”

“I’m stuck with all of you,” I said. “Hopefully, for a long time.”

The door to the inner sanctum opened, and Dr. Abordo stepped out. “Mike. Come on in.”

He was smiling. I took it as a good sign.

The three of us went into his office, and I introduced him to Diana.

“Did he follow doctor’s orders over the weekend?” Abordo asked her.

“He didn’t tell me you gave him any orders,” she said.

“Oh, I did, and I was very specific. Do just what you always do, enjoy life, and have fun.”

“He asked me to marry him this weekend, and we decided to adopt an eight-year-old girl, which is not exactly doing what he always does. But he got the fun part down right.”

Abordo congratulated us, opened his iPad, and pulled up a lab report. “Let me start with the good news. There is no sign of Philadelphia translocation, which is the specific abnormality of chromosome 22 I was most concerned about.”

“Does that mean no Chronic Myeloid Leukemia?” I said.

“I’ve definitely ruled out CML.”

Diana let out a long sigh and squeezed my hand.

“That sounds like the good news,” I said. “Somehow I feel you’re going to follow it up with some not-so-good news.”

He nodded. “Only about ten percent of leukemias are CML, so I have to ask myself what’s going on with Mike’s white blood cells. These guys are your infection fighters. They grow and divide whenever your body needs them, but your white blood cells are out of whack. My job is to figure out why.”

“How do you do that?”

“For starters I want to take a long, hard look at your family medical history.”

“I gave you all that last week.”

“The intake forms only scratch the surface. Now I’m digging for something deeper. The good news is you’re perfectly healthy. No fever, weight loss, bone pain, fatigue—none of the symptoms of leukemia. Except for the high WBC and an enlarged spleen you’re in great shape. The next logical step would be to rule out familial neutrophilia.”

“That sounds deadly,” I said.