“This guy’s too good to let us see it. Watch the way he moves. He knows the camera’s there. Look at the way he hides his face under the brim of that baseball cap.”
The lieutenant made a show of looking at the wall clock in the conference room, signaling that their meeting was about to end. “Even if I assume that this guy broke into McKenna’s office, which I don’t, how would that change anything? We found a copy of Tartaglia’s e-mail in McKenna’s home with his fingerprints all over it — after he told us that he never got it. Tartaglia’s mother puts him at the murder scene. And now, with what we’ve learned about Barnesdale and his dealings with Zenavax, McKenna has a clear motive for killing both Tartaglia and Barnesdale.”
He was right. When O’Reilly confronted Zenavax with the contents of Barnesdale’s safe deposit box — Tartaglia’s supposedly nonexistent employment contract with University Children’s, and Zenavax stock options worth nearly $3.2 million at the expected IPO price — the company’s CEO admitted to giving Barnesdale up-front cash and stock options under a “consulting agreement.”
The truth was clear: Zenavax had bribed Barnesdale to “lose” Tartaglia’s contract, leaving University Children’s attorneys with no choice but to drop the lawsuit. Though the CEO had denied knowing about Tartaglia’s contract and characterized the stock options as reimbursement for Barnesdale’s subsequent consulting services, O’Reilly knew that federal investigators would view the evidence differently.
“If the feds wanna prosecute Zenavax on some securities law violation, they’re welcome to it,” Groff said. “But I’m trying to capture a murderer here, and the dirty little secret between Barnesdale, Tartaglia, and Zenavax seals it. McKenna decided to go after the people who stole the flu vaccine from his father. McKenna must’ve found out about Barnesdale’s deal with Zenavax, or maybe he knew all along. Who the hell knows, and who the hell cares. Our psychologist is right — something sent McKenna over the edge and he went off on a killing rampage.”
O’Reilly had already told Groff about the fragments of Zenavax’s malaria vaccine found in the dead Guatemalan boy’s blood. As expected, the lieutenant was less than impressed after hearing that it was McKenna’s father who had run the tests. The truth was, O’Reilly didn’t know what to make of it himself, especially when, under questioning, Zenavax acknowledged the mysterious illness.
But one aspect of Groff’s theory still bothered him. “Your theory is that McKenna discovered the bribery scheme,” O’Reilly said. “But if this is some sort of vendetta killing spree, and Zenavax’s CEO was at the center of the bribery, why didn’t McKenna also go after him?”
The phone rang and Groff grabbed it. As he listened to the caller, the lines in his face darkened. When the call ended, he slammed down the receiver. “Goddammit.”
“What?”
“That was the State Department. Someone traveling under a fake passport who matches McKenna’s description just murdered the head of Zenavax’s research lab in Guatemala. The killer was ID’d by some workers at the lab. So do me a favor, O’Reilly — stop wasting my time with horseshit leads about some guy breaking into McKenna’s office.”
“How long will this take?” Ben asked.
Elmer attached one end of the large-diameter tube to a portal on the side of the mosquito enclosure. “I should be done in another twenty minutes or so.”
“I’ll keep watch outside the door. And while you’re finishing this, think about what I said. If you tell O’Reilly about finding your mosquito antigen in Josue Chaca’s blood, it’s probably only going to cause trouble for you and Luke. My advice is, don’t do it.”
Ben turned to leave.
Standing ten feet away, against the closed door, was the black man who had intercepted him in the doctors’ parking lot several days ago with the messages from Luke.
“You — what are you doing here?” Ben asked.
“You both need to come with me.”
Elmer turned. “Who are you?”
“Your escort.”
“Escort?” Elmer glanced at Ben. “Where are we going?”
Sammy Wilkes pulled back his jacket and showed them a nickel-plated revolver tucked into a holster under his armpit. “Wherever I tell you.”
58
The antibiotics had brought down Luke’s fever, but the throb in his left shoulder was pounding like an air hammer when they arrived in Mexicali at 7:00 A.M. on Friday. He had slept only six hours in the past three days and his body was deadlocked in its battle with the infection.
Mexicali was a tourist town on the U.S.-Mexican border, and Los Angeles was less than a four-hour drive, but he was on the wrong side of the border and had no car, no passport, no weapon, and no idea what sort of protective phalanx he would encounter when he finally tracked down Caleb.
Luke, Megan, and Frankie checked into a motel room and took turns showering under a fixture that gave up its water reluctantly. After a shave that left Luke with the beginnings of a goatee, he and Megan left the boy and walked along a boardwalk in one of the more modern, tourist sections of town. They purchased a new set of clothes and then prowled for tourists who matched their target profile: gregarious college-age American males whose brains were marinating in hormones and alcohol.
Fifteen minutes later they were seated at a sidewalk café eating chorizo and drinking beer with a trio of male students from the University of Arizona. The thinnest of the three, a blond kid, was so busy ogling Megan that he hardly noticed Luke’s presence. The other two just seemed pleased to have met someone who wanted to pay for their breakfast.
The students pasted sympathetic expressions on their faces and nodded as Luke spun a story about how thieves had stolen his car and belongings. The skinny one loaned Megan his cell phone, which Luke used to dial two numbers.
He tried calling Sammy twice, and both times got a recorded message stating that the number was no longer in service. The phone’s battery died as he was dialing information for Big Bear Lake.
By 11:00 A.M., Luke and Megan were sitting in the backseat of the students’ blue Ford Explorer with Megan’s admirer between them. The other two were in the front arguing about the way college football rankings are determined.
Their SUV inched its way toward the front of the line at the border checkpoint. Luke would have preferred a small sedan, figuring that smaller vehicles garnered less interest among agents who were looking for stowaways and contraband.
“Damn, that’s a shame.” The skinny one sitting between Megan and Luke shook his head. “You’re never gonna see your car again. You know that, don’t you?”
Luke nodded as if he were acknowledging a sad truth. “I never thought our vacation would end this way.”
The student seemed to study Luke’s profile. “It looks like those thugs worked you over pretty good.”
Luke fingered the large knot on the side of his head. “I figure we’re lucky to be alive.”
“You got that right, pal. You’re lucky those thieves just took your car.”
Megan said, “They took our wallets too.”
“Oh, man, I hope the border agents don’t ask for your ID.”
Luke pointed over the driver’s shoulder at the third of six lanes. “Hey, this middle lane is moving faster.”
The young driver nodded and moved over, right behind a large motor home that Luke was hoping would be picked for a search. As they were drawing closer to the front of the line of vehicles, Luke had been watching out his window. The agents were waving most of the larger vans and motor homes to an inspection area on the side of the road. When that happened, the agent’s attention was divided for a brief moment, watching to make sure the vehicle did as instructed while he processed the next vehicle. The agents had usually waved the next few cars through with only a passing glance.