The Target (20 page)

“You don’t have to leave me cuffed. I’m not a criminal.” Whiny and irritated.

Dallas shut the door and came around to River’s side. “He tried to run, so we have to assume he has something to hide.”

“I thought you were a ProtoCell spy.” Santera leaned toward them, angry now. “You never showed me a badge.”

River pushed his shoulder and forced him back into his own space. She displayed her badge. “When we put you into an interrogation room, it will seem more real.” She turned to Dallas, who was dressed in a short skirt and sleeveless blouse and didn’t look like an agent. “What have we got on him?”

“Nothing.” Dallas grimaced. “He caught me taking bacteria from the lab, so I had to do something.” She pulled two plastic bags from her oversized purse. “But we finally have samples to compare to Palmer’s tissue.”

River felt her first real hope that her friend and mentor would get justice. “Do you feel compromised? Do you need to get out?”

“I don’t think so. But that depends on Santera and how long we can hold him. Or if he’s willing to work with us.”

And whether they could trust him not to warn the others,
River thought. She had to find a reason to hold him. “We’ll do our part.”

“We’d better both get out of here.” Dallas gave a little mock salute. “Keep me posted.”

River nodded, rolled up the windows and cranked the air conditioning. This would be a long night, but they might finally get some answers.

The interrogation room in the San Diego bureau was much like the one in every other FBI office she’d been in—‌windowless and oppressive. But that was the point. She uncuffed Santera and sat down. Agent King joined them moments later, carrying a mug of coffee. They’d agreed that he would take a harsh lead, then River would follow up with a softer approach.

Santera leaned toward King, eager for a new audience. “This episode is beyond acceptable. I will sue the bureau for false arrest if you don’t let me out of here immediately.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone winning such a suit against the FBI?” King’s tone was dry and amused.

Santera’s mouth tightened. “What is this about?”

“The death of an FBI agent from a toxic bacteria. An agent who was looking into TecLife’s activities.” King stayed on his feet, one step away from their suspect.

“What activities?”

“We’ll ask the questions,” King said. “Did you meet Agent Palmer?”

“No.”

“Where were you on April tenth?”

Santera blinked. “I’d have to check my calendar. Why?”

“A warehouse owned by ProtoCell burned down and a security guard died. What do you know about that?”

“Just what I read in the news.” A look of alarm flashed in Santera’s eyes. “You think I had something to do with that?”

“We know someone at TecLife is sabotaging its competitors.” King hit the table for effect. “How much stock do you own in the company?”

“I have a twenty percent share. So?”

“You have a lot to gain from a billion-dollar product about to launch. Why not take out the competition?”

Santera shook his head. “I’m a medical scientist. That means I’ve spent years in the lab pursuing a new chemical or mechanism of action. I’m patient and passive. I had nothing to do with any of this.”

Chest forward, Santera’s body language was open, pleading. He also glanced back and forth, meeting both their eyes. River thought he might be telling the truth. She spoke up. “Someone in your company committed arson and murder. Who do you think it was?”

“I find that hard to believe. The two founders are also scientists. I just can’t see either of them doing anything criminal.”

River took over, keeping her tone pleasant. “The bacteria samples will go to the CDC. If they match Agent Palmer’s tissue, we’ll get a search warrant for everything—‌your computers, product data, financial information, and cell phones. You might as well tell us what you know now and cut a deal.”

“I don’t know anything!” Panic in his voice now.

“Then you have to work with us to find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, keep our agent’s presence at TecLife confidential.”

King broke in. “Excuse us for a moment.”

River stood and followed him out. In the hallway, King turned to her. “I don’t want to let him go until we can get a search warrant.”

River didn’t either, but she didn’t see a way to hold him. “What will we charge him with?”

“Didn’t you say he resisted arrest?”

“That won’t hold. Dallas was undercover and taking something from the lab.”

“Do you want to let him go back to work?”

“No. Dallas could be compromised. I wish we had something on him.”

“Our guys are digging for that now.”

“Let’s press him about Grissom and Decker and see if he knows more about their activities.”

King looked skeptical. “Then what?”

“We let him go, tell him to call in sick for a few days, and park an agent on his doorstep.”

“He could still make calls and warn the others.”

“We tap into his conversations and he leads us to them. Let’s use him if we can.”

A young analyst hurried up the hallway. “I just found something. Santera was investigated for a stock-swap scheme six months ago, but the SEC couldn’t make a case.”

King gave a sly smile. “Let’s go break him.”

Tuesday, July 15, 5:45 a.m.

Cortez made two bowls of oatmeal with banana slices and put one down for Grumpy. “Sorry, I’m out of apples.” He petted the pig’s head, knowing Grumpy would finish his breakfast before he could sit down with his. Cortez turned on the television to catch the morning news, then snapped his fingers at Grumpy to leave the room. He didn’t like being eyeballed or bothered while he ate.

The TV newscaster reminded him of Adie, and he wondered what she was having for breakfast. She’d ordered pork tenderloin with a chile relleno on their date and had eaten with gusto. He’d liked that. No pretending to be delicate. Adie had also mentioned playing basketball three times a week to keep in shape. Cortez had wanted to ask her if she liked dancing, but wasn’t ready to admit to her that he did. Their date had ended early, with her kissing him on the cheek, but they’d agreed to go out again this weekend.

What would she think of Grumpy? Dread filled his stomach and ruined his breakfast. Was that why he was still single? Because he was afraid to bring women home? He’d rescued Grumpy from an abusive scene after booking a Puerto Rican couple into jail, both on assault charges. The plan had been to find the pig a permanent home elsewhere, but the longer he stayed, the less Cortez had looked for a new caregiver.

He cleared the breakfast dishes, took Grumpy for a walk around the block, then strapped on his weapon and headed out. He wanted to be at ProLabs before it opened. His sense that it was the key to solving Avery’s homicide had only grown. It could be coincidence that Avery had gone to a lab where he was an investor—‌the day he turned up dead—‌but the video surveillance made that unlikely. Cortez had watched it at the department the evening before, and during the span of four to six p.m., the actor had not walked out the front door. Either someone had doctored the footage, or Avery had stayed inside the facility after it had closed. Or possibly had left out a back door. All of which seemed odd for a man with a simple blood test appointment. Cortez planned to obtain and view more footage of later in the evening, but he needed to ask a lot more questions of the people who worked there.

The same receptionist was on duty, and her smile collapsed when she saw him. “You’re back.”

“And more determined than ever.” Cortez smiled. “I’d like a list of everyone who was in the building between four and six last Tuesday.”

“I’ll see if I can figure that out.” She sighed and clicked her keyboard. “I heard that James Avery was beaten and drugged. What makes you think someone here knows anything about that?”

A young couple came in the door, and Cortez stepped aside. The receptionist excused herself, checked them in, and led the clients to a blood-draw station.

When she came back, she said, “I think it’s a short list. Just me, two phlebotomists, the manager, and the bookkeeper. The lab people come in early and leave by four.” She wrote down the names. “They’re all here now except Wilona. She comes in at ten.”

Cortez took the list and decided to start with the bookkeeper. He wanted financial information.

“You never answered my question,” the receptionist said. “Why do you think someone here was involved in his murder?”

“The security video shows that he didn’t leave out the front door after his appointment, so Avery stayed in the building after hours or left some other way.”

She made a face. “That’s weird. The back door is an emergency exit only, and the alarm didn’t go off.”

Had Avery been drugged and carried out after hours? Had the perp been stupid enough to leave the evidence on the video footage? “Call the security company please. I need the rest of the file from six to ten.”

“I’ll have to ask my boss.”

“Call now and tell him to send it immediately. If he argues, hand the phone to me.”

She did as instructed and didn’t seem to get any flak.

“I’ll start with the bookkeeper,” Cortez said, when she’d hung up. “Where can I find him or her?”

“Zurie’s in the back office.” She pointed down the opposite hallway from the blood-draw rooms.

The manager was in the office with the bookkeeper, and Cortez could hear their voices through the closed door. They were arguing about a quarterly report, but he couldn’t hear everything or process the information fast enough. He knocked on the door, but they ignored him and continued arguing. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked.
Weird.

On impulse, he decided to check out the back exit. A metal door at the end of the hall with a red push-bar handle and a sign warning that an alarm would sound. No window indicating what was behind the building. To the right was a door that said
Testing Lab.
Cortez walked in, hoping to ask questions, even though the technicians had supposedly left before Avery arrived. Equipment filled a back wall, and two young men in blue scrubs and hairnets hunched over microscopes.

“Excuse me.” Cortez waited for their attention. They looked up, one seeming irritated, while the other was hard to read behind thick glasses. “I’m Detective Cortez with SDPD, and I’d like to ask a few questions.”

“Like what?”

“Did you see the actor James Avery in the building last Tuesday afternoon?”

Blank looks. “We don’t see clients,” Glasses guy said. “Just the
ple-bots
who bring us the blood to analyze.”

Cortez stepped toward them and pulled out his notepad. “When did you leave that day?”

“Three-thirty, as always.” The annoyed one spoke this time.

Cortez asked their names and jotted them down, but it seemed pointless. “Thanks.” He started to leave, then had a funny thought and turned back. “Is there another way out of the building besides the front door and the emergency door?”

“Sort of.” Irritated lab guy cracked a small smile.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s an old enclosed walkway between here and the building behind us, but no one uses it.”

A tremor of excitement raced up his spine. “What building is it connected to?”

“ProtoCell. We’re owned by the same company.”

In which Avery was an investor.
“Show me the entrance.”

The technician led him to a storage area with a metal door in the corner.

“Is it locked?” Cortez asked.

“Usually. We keep the key on the window shelf.” The technician reached up and located it. “Do you want to go in?”

“Not yet.” Cortez was trying to visualize Avery taking this route. “Did you see a client, an older man, enter the walkway last Tuesday?”

They both shook their heads. Cortez slipped on gloves, held out his hand for the key, and unlocked the door. It opened into a narrow passage that reminded him of a walkway in a small airport. Heart thumping, he turned back to the technicians. “Where does this come out in the other building?”

Glasses guy said, “In the R&D wing.”

“Does everyone who works here know about it?”

“I think so.”

“Thank you.” He would explore the passage, but not just yet. First, he needed to get the team’s specialist to come out and take fingerprints from the doorknob. Right now, it was time to see what the heck was going on at ProtoCell.

Once he was outside, doubts flooded him, and he stood on the sidewalk, uncertain. How would James Avery have known about the passage and why would he use it? Cortez could hear Hawthorne asking in a tone that implied his protégé was either stupid or crazy. But he had to trust his instincts. He called Hawthorne and left a message, asking him to start reviewing the new chunk of ProLabs’ surveillance video as soon as it came. “I don’t think Avery walked out the front door after his appointment,” he added. “Something weird is going on, and I’m headed to ProtoCell to find out.”

He went around to the back of the building to view the walkway from the exterior. It was about half the length of a football field and crossed a patch of wild grass before connecting with an older, metal-sided structure attached to the back of the newer building. The siding on the walkway had faded to an ugly sage green, indicating it had been there for decades.

Cortez jogged along a strip of cropped lawn to reach the front of the other building. From the street perspective, the ProtoCell offices—‌three stories of tinted glass and sandstone-colored concrete—‌sat around the block from ProLabs. The corner between them was occupied by a coffee shop and specialty bookstore that shared some of the parking space in the middle of the block.

Cortez approached the front door, pressed the buzzer, and asked to be let in. A receptionist, spoke through the intercom on the security plate. “Show me your badge and tell me who you want to see.”

Cortez complied. “I’ll start with Jonas Brickman, the CEO.”

“I’ll see if he’s in.”

Her lack of cooperation annoyed him. “I’m investigating a murder. Open the door.”

Footsteps behind him made him turn. A big man in a white button-down shirt approached. At six-two, he carried the extra weight better than most people would. Cortez recognized him right away. The ProtoCell CEO had a political website promoting his run for mayor, and Cortez had found him online soon after learning Avery owned part of his company. His size and broadly handsome face made him easily identifiable.