The Target (16 page)

Once inside, she sprinted for the production area to her left, passing a series of swinging doors with upper windows. The rooms contained equipment that looked like giant kitchen bowls and mixers. Decker had said to target the hopper, where the peptides were mixed with fillers, right before entering the capsulation area. Through the window of the fourth door, Kiya spotted the machine and pushed inside. She strode to the side of the V-shaped machine and found the black valve that opened, just as Decker had described. Kiya slipped off her pack, pulled out the vial, and unscrewed the lid. Holding her breath, she tipped the little glass container and dumped a large blob of the thick cloudy substance. She quickly screwed the cap back on, noticing that she’d dumped nearly all of the contents instead of the tablespoon she’d been instructed.
Oh well.
Decker had said the contaminant would only make people sick and feverish and that only a small batch would be made in the first run.

Kiya wrapped the vial in the washcloth again, shoved it back into the zippered pocket, and ran from the room. The guard could wake from the chloroform at any moment, and she wanted to be outside the building when that happened. Tomorrow, she would collect the second half of her payment and move on with her life.

Monday, July 14, 8:45 a.m.

Cortez waited in his car for ProLabs to open, optimistic this lead would break open the case. He hoped Hawthorne would give him some of the credit. If he did, when someone wrote James Avery’s biography, the murder investigation would be the finale chapter, and Cortez might be mentioned. He loved the idea that he would be forever connected with the late, great actor. Sipping his latte, he added to his list of questions.

At nine sharp, he entered the single-story building, located on a large corner lot off Skyline Drive, east of where they’d found the car and the body. The interior was bright and monotone, with minimal decor or seating. The woman behind the counter looked up and greeted him. She was young and pretty, and Cortez felt tongue-tied already. He smiled, showed his badge, and cleared his throat. “Detective Cortez, SDPD. I’m investigating a homicide, and I need to talk to everyone who was on staff last Tuesday.”

Her mouth opened in a started O-shape, then clamped shut.

“Were you here on July eighth?”

“Yes, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“James Avery had his blood drawn that day. What time was he here?”

She blinked and stammered, “Umm, I’ll have to look.”

While she found the appointment, a client came in. Avery turned and showed his badge. “Will you wait outside for a moment?”

The young man started to ask a question, then changed his mind and stepped back out.

The receptionist said, “James Avery’s appointment was at four-thirty, the last one of the day.”

Was that significant?
“Do you remember him? He’s fifty-seven with gray at his temples, but otherwise looks much younger. In fact, he’s a famous actor.”

She blinked again. “He is? I’ve never heard of him.”

Cortez held back a sigh. “But do you remember the client?”

“Yes. He seemed nice.” The receptionist looked at her monitor. “He was here for a DNA analysis.”

“What time did he leave?”

She shrugged. “We don’t document that.”

“Did you see him leave? Did he talk to anyone in the parking lot?”

“I don’t remember.”

“This is important,” Cortez implored. “He was killed later that evening, and I need to know what happened after he left here.”

“I’m sorry. But I don’t remember seeing him leave.” She seemed a little defensive now. “I could have been in the bathroom or talking to a client on the phone and didn’t look up. We’re a busy lab.”

“I understand.” He took down her name, then asked to talk to the person who’d drawn Avery’s blood.

She glanced through her digital records. “That was April Carson. She’s setting up for our first client.” The receptionist glanced at the door. “Can I bring him into the lobby to wait now?”

“After you take me to see April.”

The phlebotomist was a woman of few words, who kept filling her supply drawers as he asked questions. In the end, she added nothing to his understanding of Avery’s last actions. From there, he asked to see the manager. She led him to a corner office and introduced him to Jim Gao, who looked thirty, except for his clipped gray hair.

“How can I help you?” The manager, who wasn’t any taller than him, shook his hand.

“James Avery was murdered about five hours after he left his appointment here last Tuesday. And no one saw him during that time. The two events may not be connected, but I need to investigate every possibility.”
Or he might lose this case to another team and fail his cultural icon.
“Did you meet Mr. Avery?”

The manager looked puzzled. “No, I don’t see clients. But I did read about his death, and I can assure you, all we did was take his blood and send it back to the lab.”

“I’d like to see the results.”

“The report won’t be completed until later this week.”

“Where were you Tuesday night between eight and ten?” He had to ask.

Gao pulled back, as if offended. “At home with my wife and children.”

Strike two. He would check out the alibi, but his frustration mounted, mostly with himself. He had to look at his list of questions. “Who owns this business, and are they connected to James Avery?”

“We belong to an investment group called BioMed Holdings. I don’t know the names of the investors or who they’re connected to.”

“What other businesses are owned by the group?”

“ProMed Manufacturing and ProtoCell Devices. They’re both located on this campus, but they face other streets.”

The names meant nothing to him, and he was probably wasting his time. But Cortez decided he would check into Avery’s finances and see if the actor had any association with the companies. Or maybe Detective Harris already had that information. “Do you have security cameras in the building?”

“No, but we have one just outside the front door.”

“Please send me the video from that afternoon, between say, four and six.”

“We close at five and everyone leaves by five-thirty.”

“Then that will cover it.” He handed the manager a business card. “Here’s my email. If the file is too large to send, put it on a drive and I’ll come pick it up.”

Back in his car, Cortez tried to figure out what other leads he could explore. He had already talked to Avery’s family, and his wife’s alibi had held up. His son, who was the same age as his widow, lived north in Oceanside. Cortez had called, but maybe he should drive up there and question him in person. Julian Avery stood to collect half of his father’s inheritance, always a motive for murder.

His phone rang, startling him. A number he didn’t recognize. “Detective Cortez.”

“This is Maria Gomez with the San Diego County Medical examiner’s office. I have a preliminary toxicology report for James Avery. Should I email it to you?”

“Please.” He gave her his contact information. “But I’m not in my office. Can you summarize it for me?”

“Sure. It was a little unusual.”

“How so?”

“His blood had a significant level of phenobarbital and trace amounts of sodium thiopental.”

“Is that first one a sedative?”

“Yes, the drugs are what caused his death. The ME has ruled it a homicide.”

Surprised, Cortez processed the information. Avery had been bound and beaten, then injected with enough sedative to kill him. “What is the other drug you mentioned?”

“That was what was unusual. Sodium thiopental used to be the first drug administered in lethal injections for death-row inmates, so it’s hard to access. But it’s also sometimes used by psychiatrists to treat patients with phobias.”

He didn’t understand. “Why would a kidnapper or killer use it?”

She thought for a moment. “Some people call it a truth serum because the drug interferes with complex brain activity and makes it difficult for the person to lie.”

A shock wave rippled through his body. Had Avery been drugged and beaten to gain information? What could he possibly have known that a criminal would want?

Monday, July 14, 7:50 a.m.

Feeling apprehensive, Dallas walked into TecLife. She hadn’t slept well after her session with River, and she felt pressured to nail down viable intel ASAP. But first she had to check with Jana Palmer to see if employees had after-hours access to the building and what the security was like if they did. So far she’d avoided any personal contact with her, not wanting to risk Agent Palmer’s widow if things went south.

Dallas took the elevator up to her office, sneezed six times while she adjusted to the air conditioning, then settled in to explore files on the server. A moment later, Cheryl Decker stepped through their adjoining door. “Good morning. Ready for the spirit meeting?” Her face seemed pinched, and a new worry line creased her brow.

Dallas started to joke that her boss looked like she needed more than spirit, then remembered that Decker could be a murderer and her stress well earned. So she kept it simple. “Sure.” She tucked her purse into her desk drawer, locked it, then pocketed the key. Her own lying and spying had made her distrustful of nearly everyone. She walked with Decker to the stairs. “How was your weekend?”

“Busy. Once we get Slimbiotic launched, I’m taking a long vacation.”

“When is the launch scheduled?”

“That depends on the FDA. We’re still waiting for marketing approval.”

Once they entered the atrium downstairs, Decker moved to the front of the employee group already gathered. Max Grissom came in late and didn’t seem like his chipper self either. He rushed through the stretches, jumps, and cheerleading—‌thank god—‌then made a somber announcement. “Due to a security breach on Friday, we’re making changes to our system. No after-hours access will be allowed unless you get pre-approved from me or Cheryl.”

Well, hell.
Dallas kicked herself for taking the weekend off. Around her, a few employees groaned.

“I’m sorry,” Grissom said. “I appreciate your dedication to working extra hours. We just want to know in advance who’ll be in the building.” He paused. “We’re also installing a fingerprint activated security door, so everyone will have to get processed. We’ll start tomorrow. Let’s go kick ass.”

Half the employees responded with the expected
Hell, yeah!
but the rest muttered to themselves as they fled the room.

Dallas hurried out and caught up to Eric, head of sales. “Hey, sorry about Friday. The alarm went off, and I got a little rattled and forgot we were supposed to have lunch.”

“No worries. Should we try again today?”

“I’d like that.” She walked with him toward the lobby.

“The new security protocols seem like overkill to me,” he said. “I think something serious happened on Friday to spook the partners.”

“Like what?” They stopped in front of the elevator behind a group of employees.

“We’ll talk about it at lunch.”

Dallas touched his arm. “I’m taking the stairs. See you at noon.” She could tell by his body posture that he was attracted to her, and she was glad she’d put the bottle of pheromones in her bag again. They would come in handy. If he was a lunch-hour drinker, she might pry some useful intel out of the encounter.

Upstairs, Decker waited by her desk. “I heard from the FDA this morning.” Her jaw was locked so tight it affected her speech. “They still want more information. We have it, but we have to pull the data out of the patient files and present it in the way they want.”

“This is slowing down your launch plans, isn’t it?” Dallas scrunched up her face to show sympathy.

“Yes.” Decker crossed her arms. “I need you to get started right away.”

“I’m sorry about the setback.” She took a seat. “Does it hurt the company’s finances?”

“This isn’t about money,” Decker snapped. “It’s about human lives. People who are miserable and dying and desperate for help.”

Her passion was unexpected. “Show me what I need to do.”

Decker explained the process, then watched while Dallas extracted the first batch of clinical information.

“Well done,” she said. “But don’t hesitate to ask questions.” Decker started toward her office, then turned back. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. This research is personal for me in several ways. I can’t afford to fail.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help you.” Dallas wished she could mean it. Decker obviously believed she was doing life-saving work, and if she were, Dallas wanted her to succeed. But how far was the scientist willing to cross the line to reach her goals?

Dallas worked for an hour on the project, so she could report actual progress and not get fired before she accomplished her mission. As best she could tell, the data for Slimbiotic was surprisingly good. The clinical trial patients had lost an average of eight percent of their body weight. No wonder ProtoCell had sent someone to steal data. But what had they actually downloaded? To replicate the drug-device combo, they would need R&D files, not clinical trial information. But maybe that’s what they’d taken. The other company would still have to alter the molecule and the device enough to not violate patent protection. And if TecLife’s product was that good, why was it sabotaging other companies? Unless it was out of cash to continue development and needed a drastic boost in sales.

Dallas took screen captures of the trial outcome statements and downloaded them to a thumb drive. But the information wouldn’t help them get a warrant. She spent twenty minutes scanning through file names in both Grissom and Decker’s folders, but didn’t see anything that looked personal. They probably kept their personal files on their hard drives instead of the server. After a few failed attempts to access Decker’s email, she went back to sorting data. She needed more personal information about Decker, such as a pet name or favorite hobby. But the FBI background search had produced very little.

At noon, Eric met her in the lobby, and they walked across the street to Saber’s. By the time they arrived, Dallas was sweating and grateful for the air conditioning. They sat at a table near the window and ordered Cobb salads.