Dead Air (Sammy Greene Thriller) (42 page)

“You’re mad!” Palmer screamed. “Absolutely mad.”

“Do not even think about running,” Ishida said. “Or you will meet the same fate as our patient.”

Sammy felt a rush of panic. Ishida was trying to kill her!

“She’s more alert. Look, her lids are fluttering.”

Sammy slowly opened her eyes. Colors spun like a psychedelic light show across the ceiling. Struggling to move, she sensed something binding across her chest and thighs. They’d strapped her down.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. They’re just safety belts. We didn’t want you to fall out of bed.”

That voice sounded strangely familiar. “Thirsty,” she croaked.

A hand lifted her head gently and held a glass to her lips. She gulped it down, then turned to focus on the face.

“Dr. Osborne.” With her head, Sammy motioned for him to approach so she could whisper in his ear. Even in her sluggish state she noted how out of character he seemed. His blue blazer was missing a button, his cotton shirt was poorly tucked, his tan slacks wrinkled. “You found me . . . Have to get out of here . . . Not Taft . . . Ishida
wants to kill me.” She strained against the straps, but they held tight and she lay back on the pillow, gasping.

“I’m really sorry.”

Something in his tone disturbed her. She gaped up at him with alarm.

“You had to be so persistent, didn’t you?” His face grew bleak. “If you’d just stayed in your apartment as I asked.”

“Peter Lang would have made your end much more pleasant than I’m afraid it’s going to be now.” Ishida had come over to stand behind Osborne.

“Help me!” Sammy appealed to Osborne.

Osborne looked away. “It’s out of my hands.”

“There’s too much at stake to let you leave the institute alive.” Ishida’s statement left Sammy numb.

Sammy was unable to breathe. Her whole world was collapsing. Osborne? The man whose eyes had been so kind, whose wisdom and understanding had helped her to open up her heart and reveal feelings she’d kept buried for so long. Could this same man be part of such evil? She turned to him with a look of despair and strained to speak. “You? You’re involved?”

“From the beginning,” Ishida confirmed as Osborne turned away. “How do you think we picked our best subjects?”

Reed rushed from the Nitshi Institute as Pappajohn pulled up the driveway in his Land Cruiser.

“Hold it right there.” Pappajohn leaped out of his truck and ran up to him.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“I’ll bet you do. Where’s Sammy?”

“Sammy Greene? I was just on my way to her apartment. I —”

Pappajohn nodded at the building towering behind them. “She’s somewhere in there.” He described the disturbing message that had flashed on his computer screen.

Reed looked genuinely surprised. “No way. There’re no patients
in the —” His voice trailed off as he spotted Sammy’s peacoat lying on a nearby bench.

Luther Abbott. Nurse Matthews told me he was admitted to Ells-ford General, but when I was there yesterday, I heard one of the nurses say he’d been transferred to Nitshi.

My God! He’d never considered that Sammy might be right. Luther and Sergio sent to the institute. To die.

It was too horrible to believe. Palmer conducting some kind of AIDS vaccine study that had gone terribly wrong? And if Sammy
was
in there, she could be in the gravest danger. Reed’s face reflected his panic. “We’ve got to get her out!”

“Back-up’s on the way.”

Reed shook his head. “There may not be time!

It’s a big building. She could be anywhere.”

Reed peered up at the institute. “I think I know where they may be keeping her.”

Pappajohn only hesitated a moment before reaching into the truck for his gun. “All right,” he said as he strapped on the holster and replaced his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Now. Inject it now!” Ishida ordered.

Trembling, Palmer approached Sammy’s hospital bed, clutching a syringe filled with clear liquid. When he was just a few feet from her, he turned and faced Ishida. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m not a killer.”

“Do it!” Ishida pulled a .22-caliber handgun from his suit jacket and pointed it at Palmer. “Fitting, don’t you think?” he asked as Sammy watched the drama with growing horror. The effects of the chloral hydrate Ishida had slipped into her tea had nearly worn off, leaving her senses raw. “My stepfather’s gun.”

“How did you get it?” Sammy tried to keep her voice steady, fighting to retain control of her fear — and her rage.

“Lang stole it from the police property room.” Ishida said. “Keeping it in the family, so to speak.” He laughed at the irony.

“You’re crazy!” Sammy appealed to Palmer. “Please!”

Palmer shook his head, then suddenly lunged at Ishida, his arm sweeping down in an awkward karate stroke aimed at the gun. But his attack was too slow and far too weak. Without hesitation, Ishida pointed the semiautomatic at Palmer’s mid-chest and fired.

“No!” Sammy screamed.

Palmer fell backward, collapsing on the floor.

The uniformed guard reluctantly led Pappajohn and Reed to the private elevator, and, using a special card, reached in and turned off the override that prevented access to the top floor. “I’m gonna lose my job,” he complained.

“You’ll lose a lot more if you don’t,” Pappajohn threatened as he punched “four.” “Stay here and wait for my back-up. Send them up as soon as they arrive,” he ordered. Pointing to the portable phone the guard carried on his belt, Pappajohn added as the car doors closed, “And stay the hell off that phone.”

Osborne bent over Palmer’s body, assuring himself that the doctor was indeed dead.

“You killed him!” cried Sammy, her eyes flaring with anger at a frighteningly calm Ishida. The CEO still held the gun, but he was no longer pointing it at anyone.

“No, Sammy, you did,” Osborne replied, standing. “Your obsessive investigations are responsible for his death. In the end, Marcus couldn’t face his own deal with the devil.” He glanced at his Japanese co-conspirator.

“And what about yours?” Sammy accused.

Osborne’s smile was patronizing. “You should’ve studied your Shakespeare, my dear. ‘The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape.’ Palmer’s only error was letting compassion overcome common sense. I won’t make the same mistake.” Osborne removed a syringe from his blazer pocket, at the same time moving to Sammy’s bedside. “I suggest we dispense with the vaccine now.”

Ishida nodded. “It’s your call.”

Sammy was stunned. Sergio Pinez, Seymour Hollis, and the
others — all innocent victims who had gone to the psychologist for help. And he’d led them to their deaths. Now he planned to give her the virus — to murder her too. “What kind of monster are you?” she cried.

“It’s the natural characteristic of man to do everything he must to ensure his own survival,” Osborne said as he slipped off the plastic cap from the syringe, and, holding it up to the light, squeezed out the air bubble and a drop of the clear liquid. Then, he bent down and moved the syringe toward Sammy’s bound arm, about to prick the skin.

“Don’t anybody move!” Pappajohn yelled as he threw open the doorway. Reed stood right behind him.

Ishida pivoted and fired his semiautomatic at the campus cop, but the shot went wide, hitting the doorjamb. Pappajohn aimed and returned fire. Ishida grabbed at his right shoulder as he reeled backward and dropped to the floor.

“Help!”

Sammy’s scream startled Osborne, who jerked back with the syringe. Reed dove, grabbing Osborne’s arm, twisting it, and sending the syringe flying to the far corner. He kicked Osborne sharply in the groin at the same moment, driving the heel of his hand upward into the man’s nose. An expulsion of air, the snap of bone, and Osborne was groveling on the floor.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Pappajohn said, his gun aimed at Osborne.

Two St. Charlesbury policemen and three campus deputies ran in, armed with rifles. Behind them rushed the Nitshi guard and the two EMTs Sammy had seen last week at Conrad’s home. The medical technicians turned their attention to Ishida and Osborne while Reed rushed to unstrap Sammy.

“You all right?”

“I am now.” She lunged into his arms and clung tightly to him, as if she couldn’t hold him close enough.

“Ow!” At Reed’s cry, Sammy let go. His hand was already swollen and discolored.

“Guess I should brush up on my karate,” Reed said with a crooked smile.

Sammy gently kissed his injury. “I never knew you were such a hero.”

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me.”

“I’d like to learn,” Sammy said as she melted back into his arms.

Four hours later, Sammy and Reed sat in the emergency room at Ells-ford General Hospital, expecting the ER doctor to return with results of Reed’s X-rays. Down the hall, in a curtained cubicle, two deputies guarded Osborne, who awaited admission for his injuries.

“Once I recognized Osborne in the Nitshi brochure, I knew you were in trouble,” Reed said, rubbing his sore hand. “How do I say I’m sorry for not believing your conspiracy theory?”

“The distrust was mutual,” Sammy admitted. “How did you figure out where I was?”

Reed pointed to Pappajohn, who approached them carrying a manila folder. “He hacked into Palmer’s computer.”

“Impressive,” Sammy said. “What made you suspect the good doctor?” she asked Pappajohn.

“I didn’t put it all together until I found that list you’d made,” Pappajohn confessed. “Every student who died had been a patient of Palmer’s. Actually, I’d been tracking Taft on this one.”

“That explains the “Taft” file on your computer,” Sammy said.

“Figured Taft was stirring up trouble with Nitshi. But I couldn’t tie him in with Conrad,” Pappajohn continued. “When you insisted your professor was murdered, I thought I’d nose around in Conrad’s files. Somehow he’d downloaded Palmer’s study data.”

“We know Conrad called Dean Jeffries the night he was killed. Probably wanted to tell him what he’d learned about Palmer’s work,” Sammy said.

“He also called Osborne. Obviously, he didn’t know his old buddy was on Ishida’s payroll.” Pappajohn produced the faxed pages he’d scanned a few hours earlier. “Pulled a few strings with my counterparts at Berkeley to get this confidential file. Seems Osborne was
caught falsifying research data as a postdoc. The public story was that he left the university for personal reasons. It’s likely that’s all Conrad knew.”

“How did Osborne end up at Nitshi?” Sammy wondered aloud.

“Ishida must have dug up this dirt and blackmailed him,” Pappajohn said.

“So that car, those clothes —”

“Obviously not on a professor’s salary.” Reed finished Sammy’s thought

“In any case,” Pappajohn went on, “Osborne was in too deep to afford exposure. I suppose that’s why he shot Conrad.”

“Osborne shot him?” Sammy registered shock. “I thought it was Peter Lang. I mean, didn’t Osborne call Conrad from New York?”

“Maybe New Brighton or anywhere else within an hour or two of St. Charlesbury. Dave — Lt. Williams — found the rental car records for a John Darsee at La Guardia.”

“Darsee.” Sammy frowned. “Darsee and Somerville! I think I saw those names in the Osborne file on Conrad’s computer.”

“Darsee and Summerlin,” Reed corrected. “Two genetic researchers with stellar careers caught falsifying data. Ironic, he’d pick that name.”

“
Ivris
.” Pappajohn agreed. “Hubris in English. He drives up and kills Conrad on Friday night, back in New York by Saturday morning. We calculated the mileage from the odometer.”

“So Osborne confessed?” Sammy asked.

“Not yet. My men are still questioning Lang. Given that he’s facing a felony murder charge, I expect him to be very cooperative. If not, we have this.” Pappajohn pulled out a cassette tape.

Sammy jumped up. “My tape!”

“Larry Dupree dropped it off this morning after he didn’t hear from you. Your engineer friend saved it from the flames.”

“Poor Brian. He always came through.”

“We’ll have a voice expert from Boston identify Osborne and Lang as the two men with Conrad when he was killed. It should make for pretty convincing evidence.”

A deputy was waving for Pappajohn. “They’re ready to take Dr. Osborne upstairs.”

Pappajohn turned to Sammy and, smiling broadly, saluted her with the tape. “We made a good team,” he added as he walked off.

Sammy watched Pappajohn leave. The old man wasn’t so bad — all bulk and bluster.

Reed saw her look away. “Penny —?”

Sammy turned back, embarrassed. She gazed up at him. “Remember you said I was jinxing our relationship, that I was afraid you’d abandon me like my father did?”

Reed shook his head. “Amateur psychobabble. I was way off base.”

“No, you were right.“ Sammy insisted. “The trip to New York made me see that. I blamed myself for my father’s leaving. I thought any man who got close to me would leave, too. I know now I was wrong to feel that way. My parents made their own choices. I wasn’t responsible. Funny.” She peered off in the distance. The psychologist was being loaded onto a gurney for his trip to the locked ward. “For that insight I have to thank Dr. Osborne.”

The emergency room doctor walked over to them holding up X-rays of Reed’s hand. “Nothing’s broken. All it needs is some ice. Looks like you can still be a surgeon. Or an ER doc, if you’re up to the pressure.”

“Actually, I was looking for an easier specialty. Anything’s got to be less draining than research.” He reached out for Sammy and tousled her red hair. “But for the next week or so, I’m going to specialize in Sammy.”

E
LLSFORD
U
NIVERSITY
J
ANUARY 1996

It was a perfect day for a celebration — and new beginnings. One week after New Year’s, the afternoon had brought unseasonably warm weather and crystalline Vermont skies. Inside borrowed space in the new Ellsford Sports Center, twenty or so WELL staffers along with assorted faculty and friends crowded around a brimming potluck buffet table and caught up on what was now known on campus as “the Nitshi Disaster.”