The Proteus Cure (34 page)

“Dad!” Coog pointed though the windshield. “Cops!”

The words jolted Paul back to the here and now. He looked where Coog was pointing, blinked, looked again.

Through the rain he could see two black and whites plus an unmarked car at the curb in front of his house.

His chest tightened.

Coog was still pointing. “Hey! They’ve got the garage door open! You think someone tried to break in again?”

Paul tried to speak but words wouldn’t come. Good thing Coog was babbling and didn’t notice.

“Looks like they’re all over the house. Don’t they have to have a search warrant or something?”

“I’ll bet they do,” Paul croaked.

This could only mean they’d placed him at Kaplan’s last night. After looking up his record, a search warrant was inevitable.

At least they wouldn’t find anything. But now Coog would learn about his past. Paul had been planning to wait until he was sixteen. Now it would all come out under the worst circumstances.

Damn them!

He tightened his grip on the wheel and kept his speed even as he approached.

“Hey, Dad! Aren’t we going in?”

“Not yet.”

Maybe not at all. He couldn’t stand the thought of Coog watching when they slapped the cuffs on. He’d lied—obstruction of justice. It would all be straightened out eventually, but the sight of him being led away in handcuffs would scar the boy.

He’d find a place for Coog to stay—maybe his friend Jimmy’s—and then walk into the police station and say he’d heard they were looking for him.

He drove by, turned the corner, and pulled into the curb before the Simons’ house. They’d left for Florida and, as usual, had asked Paul to keep an eye on the place. Since the rear corner of their property abutted a rear corner of Paul’s, all he had to do was hop a low fence and maybe he could get an idea of what they were looking for … what they thought they’d find in his garage.

“Stay here,” he told Coog as he opened his door.

“Where are you going?”

“Just taking a quick look. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’m coming.”

“No.” He put steel into the word. “You wait.”

He leaped out and ran through the rain and across the Simons’ darkened side yard to the right rear corner of their lot. He stopped at the fence and stared at his house. All the lights were on. The garage was closest—no more than fifty feet away.

Across a muddy yard.

He’d leave a trail of footprints. But he saw that the mud had already been kicked up. Probably from the cops searching for whatever they were after. Good chance that no one would notice with all the water, but should he risk it?

Yeah, he should.

He hopped the fence and ran in a crouch to the garage window. A quick peek showed Evers and Winters poking though the pile of junk that over the years had usurped the unused half of his double garage. Both wore latex gloves.

Faint traces of their chatter trailed out the open doors and around to Paul.

“Not finding it doesn’t get him off the hook,” Winters was saying.

“I know, but finding it will put the last nail in his coffin.”

Find what? What were they looking for?

“We’ve got his fingerprints at the scene, on that chair he smashed into the wall, but if we could just find the weapon.”

The chair—it showed his propensity toward violence …

Evers moved toward the rear while Winters hung around the middle.

Paul felt exposed out here. He’d seen enough. Heard enough too. That nail-in-his-coffin remark had set his nerves on edge.

Even so, he didn’t see any alternative to turning himself in—but not here, not now.

He was just about to head back to Coog when he heard Evers say, “Jesus!”

Paul’s gut twisted as he glued himself to the window.

Evers stepped into view holding a baseball bat by the knob with his thumb and index finger.

“Do you believe this?” he said.

Even from where he was Paul recognized his Louisville Slugger. He didn’t recognize the reddish brown stains near the bat’s business end. He felt his chest tighten. Blood.

Winters bent for a closer look.

“If that matches Kaplan’s, we’re in business.” He straightened. “Pardon the pun, but I’m long overdue for a pop fly.”

Paul could barely breathe as he stumbled away.

This morning he’d idly wondered if someone might be framing him. Now he knew. He was in a nightmare.

He went back over the fence and ran back toward the car.

There had to be a way out of this. He needed a place to hide, to cool his jets and calm down so he could think straight.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Coog said as Paul hopped into the car and slammed it into DRIVE.

“We’re not going home.”

Coog turned to face him. “W-why not?”

Paul was cold, wet, and scared. His brain wasn’t on track. What could he say? Best tell him the truth—not all, not yet, but enough for him to appreciate what was going on.

“I’m being framed for murder.”

Coog laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding, Coog. Just before you called last night I was visiting a man named Gerald Kaplan. Shortly after I left him he was murdered.”

Coog’s voice rose half an octave. “Shit! Really?”

Paul let the four-letter word pass.

“Someone beat him to death with a baseball bat—
our
baseball bat. Which the cops just discovered in our garage, bloodstains and all.”

“Dad, you
gotta
be kidding me.” An edge of hysteria had crept into Coog’s voice. “
Please
tell me you’re kidding!”

“I wish I were.”

“But why you?”

“Someone wanted Kaplan dead. They must have known I was visiting him last night and thought I’d make a convenient fall guy.”

“That noise I heard in the garage last night!”

“Yeah. Someone borrowing the bat.”

“But you didn’t kill him. They can prove that! You’ll be ex … ex …”

“Exonerated? Not easily. My bat in my garage with my fingerprints and Kaplan’s blood. Pretty damning. If you were a cop and I told you I was being framed, would you believe me?”

Coog didn’t answer, just stared ahead through the windshield.

“And I can’t prove I didn’t do it because I was
there
.”

“I’m scared, Dad.”

“You and me both. But I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Where can I stash you so you’ll be safe?”

“Stash me? Where are
you
going?”

“I need to find a quiet place to stay where I can figure this out.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re—”

“Yes, I am and there’s no way you can stop me. You’re my father and I’m staying with you.”

Paul sensed the finality in Coog’s voice. Though he wanted him out of harm’s way, he knew he couldn’t leave him someplace if he refused to be left.

You’re my father and I’m staying with you.

His heart swelled and his throat constricted. Why had he had to question his paternity? Freakin’ pride. Curiosity killed the cat. And Kaplan.

“All right,” he said after a moment. “Any ideas?”

“How about a motel?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t have enough cash. My credit card can be traced if I use it.”

“How about a beach house somewhere. Must be lots of deserted places. We can break in and …”

Deserted … the word echoed through Paul’s brain. And then it hit him.

“I know just the place.”

But first …

He pulled a U turn.

“Where are we going?”

“To the gas station. I need to use their bathroom.”

•

Paul drove around the back of Rudy’s gas station and walked into the men’s room. He’d used it before and knew they never locked it. He popped open his cell phone. He didn’t want Coog to hear the phone calls he had to make so pretended to need to hit the john. His phone was poised in his hand as he hesitated.

Paul was leery about confessing everything to Sheila but had to tell her
something
. She’d be home now, so he called her office. When he reached her voicemail he spoke in a low tone.

“Sheila, this is Paul. My situation has deteriorated beyond imagining. I’m being framed for Kaplan’s murder and the police are buying it. Right now I’m in a safe place until I can figure out what to do. I care about you, Sheila, and I care about what you think of me. That’s why I need to warn you that you’re going to hear …” This was the hard part. “You’re going to hear things about me. Bad things, presented in the worst possible light. But know this: I did not kill Kaplan, Sheila. I did
not
kill Kaplan. Sometime I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain what you’ll be hearing. Trust me, okay? That means the world to me. I don’t know what else to tell you. Just … have faith, that’s all I ask.”

He broke the connection and took a deep breath. Whatever relationship may have formed between them was probably shattered, gone. He knew that, but couldn’t handle Sheila’s thinking it was
all
lie.

One more call.

A plan had been forming. To make it happen he had to get in touch with Lee Swann—or whoever pretended to be Swann.

Information gave him VecGen’s number. He knew no one was there but he needed to leave a message. The receptionist had called “legal” when he’d been there. Was that because Paul was acting crazy or because they knew exactly who Swann was?

He went through VecGen’s voicemail maze until he heard, “If you wish to speak to our legal department, press six now.”

He did and was given another set of options: names and extension numbers. He picked one at random.

“This is Paul Rosko. I’m sure your receptionist will remember me. I want you to get this message to Mister Lee T. Swann. Tell him this: Paul Rosko wants to make a deal.” He left his cell number. “Tell him to call me at six o’clock tomorrow night. I’ll put my cell phone on for ten minutes. I think we can come to an agreement that is to our mutual benefit.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he had to offer, but he’d do anything to ensure Coog and Sheila’s safety.

He turned off his phone. The police would soon go to his cell carrier with a court order to locate him. He didn’t have to be making a call, just have his phone turned on. They could triangulate his signal between a number of the area’s ubiquitous towers and locate him within a hundred-yard radius. But not if his phone was off.

Being a cable installer hadn’t been his life’s ambition—far from it—but working with electronics day in and day out had its perks.

•

“We’re really breaking in?” Coog said. He sounded astonished.

With good reason, Paul thought. He was watching his father trying to slip the latch on the front door of a small office building. Staying at the Simons’ would have been more convenient and more legal, but it was too close to home.

“Trying.”

He was pretty sure he could do it. He kept an array of tools in the back of the Explorer, parked on a nearby dead end street. Thank God for the flooding—no one was on the road. He’d picked out a spackling spatula and was now working its flexible blade around the door’s spring bolt. He’d be doing a better job if he didn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder every half minute. He felt naked out here silhouetted in the light from the vestibule.

Almost had it … another quarter inch …

The latch moved.

“Got it.”

Now what? He hadn’t noticed an alarm system on his only other visit. Years at his job had familiarized him with every kind of wiring and he’d developed an instinctive eye for it. But he’d been preoccupied that day.

Well, if it went off they could run. Couldn’t get in much more trouble than he was already.

He levered back the latch, pushed the door open, and waited for the howler. Nothing. He stepped inside and checked the doorframe for silent alarm contacts. None.

“Let’s go.” He held the door for Coog and pointed toward the stairs. “Down there.”

The Innovation Ventures door was a snap. As he’d figured, no alarm there either. Why alarm an empty office?

“What is this place?” Coog said as he stepped into the darkened room. “And where’s the light switch?”

“No lights, Coog. Can’t risk it. We’ve got to make do with whatever leaks in from the parking lot.”

“Hey, where do we sleep?”

“There’s no chairs so I guess on the floor.”

“Aw, maaaan.”

Paul gave him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Still want to stay? We can drive over to Jimmy’s right now and you can stay with him.”

“Uh-uh. We’re in this together, Dad.”

For the second time tonight Paul felt a lump build in his throat.

Coog
was
his son, no matter what his DNA said.

He looked round. Nothing to do now but begin exploring this dark office with his son.

She sat at a back-corner table in the caf and rubbed her temples. A nasty headache. Most likely tension. She was certainly stressed enough.

She sipped her coffee. Burnt. Awful. And it tasted funny. Well, why should her coffee be any different from everything else? She sniffed it. That same medicinal scent as her sandwich the other day. She looked over the counter. No way someone would poison a whole pot of coffee in the hopes of her drinking a single cup. Most likely no one the caf had poisoned her sandwich either but she didn’t trust anyone anymore. Maybe an energy drink instead. She needed caffeine and wasn’t going to injest anything unsealed from Tethys until this was over.

A fresh cup of coffee slipped under her chin. She recognized the hand that pushed it to her. Bill’s. No way in hell she was drinking that.

He put a hand on her shoulder and she flinched.
Please don’t hurt me.
Her heart pounded and her face flushed.

“You okay?”

She tried not to recoil. The ghost of that switched blood sample and so much else hovered between them.

“You don’t look okay.” Maybe he
did
still trust her.

“H-had a fight with the new boyfriend. Should have known better.” She hoped she sounded sincere.

“Really?” His smile formed.