Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (15 page)

Fox followed the wide, blue-uniformed back of the NYPD Commissioner Sven Peterson down the hallway, poised to enter the chief’s office for a meeting, when his implant beeped. Fox usually turned it off before important meetings, but the caller beat him to it. The name
Jonas Whitmore
sounded and he felt a mix of relief and apprehension. Jonas was still pulling for him and had always provided sound advice amongst the mayhem. He would keep pressing Fox to reverse the situation and start generating some revenue improvement though. Fox signaled for the Commissioner to go on, and that he would join them in a moment. He stepped out of the hallway and into a darkened room.

“Jonas,” Fox said.

“Where are you, Bryan?”

“I’m about to attend a meeting with Sven Peterson. Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re moving, getting things happening. Not giving in to these hyenas.”

“I assume you saw the news about Bryce Adler?”

“I did. Unfortunate.”

“I don’t buy for one second it was an accident.”

“What do their communications records say?”

“Not much. I had IT pull them for Dom and Bryce. They might have been tampered with.”

“That’s means somebody fairly high up in the organization.”

Fox lowered his voice. “I have my suspicions. IT did a sweep on all level four and above employees, and I’ve got them tracking Jennings' communications.”

“If you need anything from my people, just let me know.” Jonas cleared his throat.

“Thanks, Jonas. I’ll take care of it for now.”

“What about the revenue, Bryan? It won’t go away. We’re a week into this. You need something big, like the flu pandemic of '31 or the Ebola outbreak of '19.”

Fox sensed the concern in his old friend’s voice. He was worried that Fox wasn’t going to make it, that he wasn’t going to get the numbers up and would end up as one more in a long line of casualties. “Still working through the preliminaries.”

“Jesus, Bryan. You’d better get moving. Did you get your team together?”

“I did, but… the truth is, I don’t know if I can do it any more, Jonas.”

A long silence followed. “None of us want to hear that, Bryan.”

“I haven’t got the mental energy to deal with both of these issues at once. And I’m not going to resort to a mass culling of the population just to get his numbers up. There's a certain dishonor about it, as much as I understand honor might never be a part of what we do.
She
would never have let the company lower their standards the way Chekov has.”

“Maybe you can’t do it the way you’ve always done it, Brian. Maybe that’s why you’re in this position—because you’re relying on strategies that were effective a decade ago. You need to change your perspective. You need to change whatever you’re doing, because it’s not working.”

Maybe Jonas was right. Maybe that’s why Fox had struggled so much in recent years, because the world around him—the people with whom he dwelled and fought and stood beside—was changing and he hadn’t adapted. Perhaps the dishonor—the ruthlessness—was mandatory to survive in a modern world. His style had been the same for thirty years, and it had worked for that long. He wasn’t going to change it at the last moment just to keep others happy.

“Brian? Brian?”

“Sorry. What?”

“Deal with Jennings. If you think he’s got something to do with it; confront him. In my experience, that’s the best way to tackle these problems.”

“I will. Thank you, old friend.”

“Without you on the board, Bryan, the balance of power falls their way.”

“Jonas, I haven’t had any real power for a time now.”

Jonas chuckled. “You’ve
always
got power, even if you don’t know it.”

Fox hung up and signaled to one of the Commissioner’s assistants that he’d be another two minutes.

He called Robert Jennings number, not for the first time since late the previous week, but it again went directly to a message.

“Robert, its Bryan. We need to talk. I know you’re travelling and I’m not sure when you’re due back. It appears you’re having trouble receiving my messages. I’m sure you’ll get this one. Meet me tomorrow at two o’clock. Fullerton’s Bar. We had a Friday afternoon meeting there once. Just you and me.And don’t miss this one Robert, or I’ll start to push back.
”

Jennings checked his watch for messages as his S Class Mercedes pulled into one of the reserved car spaces near the main entrance of the city's largest hospital. Fox hadn’t tried calling again since the previous evening, indicating he had served Jennings an ultimatum—attend, or face the consequences. Jennings wondered if he suspected something. He would meet Fox at Fullerton’s bar, otherwise he
would
suspect something. Jennings was happy to bring forward the plan and deal with the old bastard now, rather than wait, as Chekov wanted. Chekov wouldn’t be happy, but he would get over it and Jennings could focus on other issues.

He exited the soft leather interior of the Mercedes as a robot floated down to the vehicle above the center of the trunk and plugged a battery charger into the outlet. He straightened his suit, slipped the tablet under his arm, and headed towards the entrance.

For now, he switched thinking to his meeting with James McDevitt, the CEO of Monterey Hospital. Although he was one of the company's largest customers in the area, McDevitt wasn’t paying his bills. Charlie Billings couldn’t do anything about it so Jennings had to bring McDevitt into line; Charlie too, but that was in play.

A spattering of people passed through the entrance doors—admittedly not as busy as Jennings had witnessed in the past; McDevitt was likely to complain about that. Jennings slipped between the people and headed towards a private elevator off the main hallway. He placed his hand against the plate and felt warmth on the panel. The doors opened and he stepped in.

Jim McDevitt’s office was on level fifty-eight; a corner piece at fourteen hundred square feet, filled with columns of glass bookcases against clear interior walls. At the edge of the wide, panoramic window sat a rectangle mahogany desk, opposed by two thick brown leather armchairs. Nearby, two sofas encircled a glass coffee table and further on, a narrower wooden table with eight chairs around it. McDevitt had his own robot server, which stood in one corner, and as soon as the CEO saw Jennings into the room, the ‘Bot enquired as to his preference for liquor. Jennings waved it away—he didn’t intend on staying long enough to need it.

They sat on the sofas around the glass table. Jennings removed the tablet and opened up to a screen full of information.

“You’re payments are overdue, Jim.”

McDevitt leaned back, a foot crossed over his knee. “I know.”

“Some of them are out to ninety days.”

“We’ve had some cash flow issues, Robert.” McDevitt waved the ‘Bot over. It carried a short tumbler of brown liquid—probably iced tea. “We just need a little more time.”

Chuckling, Jennings shook his head as if to clear it. “We’ve been through this before. Your cash flow problems are not my cash flow problems.”

McDevitt’s soft smile disappeared. He stiffened, leaned forward. “I’ve got piles of medicine and vaccines in storage doing nothing, Robert. People are just not getting sick the way we thought they would. They’re not rushing out to get immunized against illnesses that don’t exist. Mind you, that’s a good thing, but you sold the stock to me on the back of that scientific data that said we were in line for our worst influenza season on record.”

This sort of resistance was a result of Fox’s inactivity. “Things haven’t… transpired the way we anticipated.” McDevitt shrugged. “I gave you first access to that vaccine ahead of all the other hospitals in New York. Others were begging me for that. I even had a better monetary offer, but I gave it to you.”

“We paid an exorbitant price for it.”

Jennings had auctioned the vaccine to the highest bidder in terms of both hospitals who administered the drug and pharmaceutical companies to manufacture it. But McDevitt was right, without sickness, people weren’t getting vaccinated or requiring medicines to fight off the infections. “That’s business.”

“Our numbers are
down
, Robert. This is the worst year we’ve had in the last dozen. Consults are down. Admissions are through the floor. We’ve got
empty beds
.
I’m forcing doctors and nurses to take annual leave because there’s no work. I’m cutting the staff. The outpatient’s waiting room is
empty
.” He stuck his palms out and shrugged his shoulders again. “What do I say to that? We’ve got no patients.”

“We’re working on another vaccine now. The forecast for this winter is severe. You’ll need this, Jim. Believe me.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“We’ve worked the data again. This time, I’ll guarantee it.”

McDevitt screwed his face up. “You can’t guarantee people are going to get sick, Robert.” Jennings swallowed hard and bit down on his lip.
Is that so?
“And I’m not sure we’ll be putting in a bid for the next vaccine.”

Jennings took it all in with a kind of detached awareness. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Without Janefield’s actions, the hospital couldn’t charge for the vaccines. They had purchased the stock from the pharmaceutical company, giving Janefield a huge royalty, but they hadn’t sold enough to cover their costs. And if this were the way the hospitals were going, the pharmaceuticals would likely follow. Soon he’d have pharmaceutical companies telling him they weren’t bidding on their vaccines and medicines because people just weren’t getting sick.

There were two options for Jennings: leave it and assure McDevitt they were working on solutions, or use force. The former was how Fox would have handled it, and hence why they were in this predicament. The latter was his favorite approach. It reinforced the Company’s position as the true power in the relationship.

“…Robert?”

“Listen to me,” Jennings began, tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Paying your bills is separate to all of this.” He glanced at McDevitt, and pushed himself out of the lounge. In slow, meaningful steps, he walked behind the other sofa. McDevitt tried to follow him, but Jennings moved out of sight. He knelt down behind him and spoke in a low, controlled voice. “Your predecessor, Miles McKenzie; how did he die, Jim?”

“What?”

“Heart attack if I remember correctly?”

“What’s that got to do with—?”

Jennings stood over him. “The pressures of the job can be quite overwhelming. We wouldn’t want you to get that blood pressure up too high, would we?” McDevitt stared around at him. “All this pressure, Jim. The hospital isn’t performing. Revenues are down. Profits. A lot of pressure. It’s not within the realms of possibility for you to… end things,
is it
?” McDevitt flinched. “Pay your fucking bills, Jim, and you’d better bid for the next tender.” He stood and headed towards the door. “Oh, and say hello to Theresa and the little ones, Jenny and Clark, for me.”

“I’m going to talk to one of them,” Gutterson said, holding the sushi and wishing for something more decadent. The smell of pastry and bread filled the café and he couldn’t look at Camilleri’s chocolate scone.

“You’re not.”

Gutterson nodded and glanced beyond the window where rain fell in light sprinkles. Skyward, flashes of lightening filled the boiling clouds and, in the distance, thunder grumbled. “It’s time.”

The approval to engage a witness in a potential murder investigation had finally come through the previous evening. Gutterson had ended up resubmitting the request to Newell himself. He still didn’t know what had happened, but suspected the woman had misplaced the file and feigned knowledge of it having ever been submitted.

Camilleri’s expression—raised eyebrows, big brown eyes peering back at him—foretold what she was going to say. “Which one?”

“Who do you suggest?”

“Charlie Billings,” Camilleri said, moving a tablet across the table to Gutterson. He noticed how long her eyelashes were as she looked down at the device. His stomach fluttered.

Gutterson tapped the screen and it filled with the image of one of the men from the café. He appeared younger in the picture, as though he was not of age to be caught up in such treachery. He wore a blue suit, was above average height, with a wave of dark hair, glasses, and pale skin. Almost the same as Gutterson remembered. “Why him?”

“I think he was friends with both Dom Curwood and Bryce Adler. Curwood had a photo with Billings and Alder on social media.”

“Perfect.”

“He has a Lamborghini registered to his name.” Gutterson whistled. “When will you speak with him?”

“Tomorrow. First thing.”

Camilleri hesitated, considering her next words. “You really think there’s something more to this than a suicide?”

Gutterson closed his eyes, and opened them. “I can
feel
it. I’m absolutely convinced.”

“Are you going to pressure him into talking?”

“No. I don’t want to spook him. I’ll lead in with questions about Dom Curwood. Maybe even ask about Bryce Adler.”

“I think that’s smart.”

“I’m running out of time on this though. Martinez has given me your services until the end of the week. I have to take some chances—a risk. Otherwise I’ll lose you and, to be honest, if that happens I don’t know if I can get this thing done.”

Camilleri placed her scone on the plate and hinted at a smile. With the insults and anger gone, Gutterson found himself attracted to her more every day. “I do appreciate that, but I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Gutterson put up a hand, the familiar discomfort of praise creeping in. “I give myself enough credit. Point is… if I can give Cap something more, he might let me keep this case open a bit longer. Give us a chance to find out the truth.”

The soft beep of an incoming call sounded through his implant. Such was his focus on Camilleri, that it took Gutterson a moment to realize it was him. He considered not answering it, but the caller did not identify. He glanced up at Camilleri before answering, and read her furrowed brow.

“John Gutterson.”

“John, it’s your mother. I just wanted to check that you’d be home on time tonight. Six o’clock. Amber’s soccer match?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’ll do my best.”

“She’s going to ask me ‘Is Daddy going to be there?’ the moment I pick her up from school, John.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Six o’clock. I promise I’ll do my best.” He hung up.

Camilleri paused before taking another bite. “You have kids?”

He nodded. “Two.” Her eyebrows remained raised, waiting. “A girl, Amber; she’s eight. A boy, Joe; he’s six.”

“I love kids.”

“Really?” She nodded. “My mother picks them up from school care most days. Amber has a soccer match tonight. I sort of promised I’d be there.”

“You should.”

Gutterson rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were so nosy.”

“I am. Must be difficult, you know… ”

“My parents are good.”

“You said at the first briefing that your wife passed away while the other investigation was on?”

“She got sick in the early stages. I… struggled with it.”

“In what way?” Gutterson put his food down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shook his head. “I hid from her illness. Buried myself in work.”

“I doubt you’re alone there.”

“Part of why I want to solve this so much is to repay her for not being there. To make it so my absence was not in vain. But…”

“You’ll never get over the guilt of not being there.”

He nodded. “I’ll solve this thing, or die trying. For Carolyn’s sake.”