SURVIVORS: a gripping thriller full of suspense (Titan Trilogy Book 2) (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE / Monday, 3:31 PM

Brendan caught up with Sloane on the sidewalk. She turned around as he approached. He made towards the rental car, but she blocked his path.

“Happy? That make you feel better?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He moved to go around her, but she blocked his way again.

“Want me to get confrontational with you now?”

“Sloane, come on. Thank you for your help in there. But I had it.”

“You had it. You insult a guy in his place of business. Sleazy as it is, dirty as he is, you get all hot and bothered. For what? Because something he said reminded you of yourself?”

“Come on, give me a break, Sloane.”

Brendan side-stepped her and walked toward the rental, thumbing the button on the key fob to unlock it.

It was early afternoon, and they had turned a few heads with their exchange. Brendan smiled wanly at a woman carrying some shopping bags. She didn’t smile back.

He got in the car and Sloane came around and slipped in the passenger side.

She wasn’t exactly pouting, but she wasn’t saying anything else. She just looked out the window. If anything, she seemed a little sad.

“Look, Sloane . . .” he started.

His phone interrupted.

* * *

“This thing is incredible, man.” It was Colinas. He sounded nervous. Plum scared. Colinas could ride a little hot and cold, but he usually took things in his stride. If anything, he didn’t take things seriously enough. It sounded like he was now. “You know how messed up this all is?”

“I think I have an idea,” Brendan said, glancing at Sloane. “Hold on, Colinas, one sec.”

Brendan moved the phone away from his mouth and covered it with his palm. In a low voice he said to Sloane, “We got another couple stops to make. You still in?”

She nodded without looking at him.

He pulled out of the parking space and then put the phone back to his ear. “Tell me what you know.”

“What I know? I know that Delaney has been following me around.”

“Delaney?” Ambrose Delaney had been the senior investigator in the Heilshorn case. He’d been something of a mentor at first, but had grown intractable during the investigation. He’d seemed to have an agenda – to pin the murder of Rebecca Heilshorn on her brother, Kevin.

That had seemed like a good idea to the County Prosecutor, a man named Skene. After all, a few hours after the discovery of his sister’s body, Kevin Heilshorn had ridden up on his motorcycle and opened fire on Brendan and Olivia Jane, who’d been acting as Kevin’s grief counselor.

It occurred to Brendan, as he turned right onto Central Ave, headed north, that one thing the investigation into Rebecca’s murder had never clarified was what had motivated Kevin Heilshorn to perform such a desperate, violent act in the first place. He’d been a troubled kid, smart – a bit like Sloane. But he hadn’t been a murderer. Something had driven him to it.

Brendan’s own theory was that Kevin had known who Olivia Jane really was, and exacted revenge. Jane was a sociopath, without question, funneling girls into the XList escort service and pornography, and eventually killing Rebecca. It was possible that Kevin’s rage had eclipsed any rational thought, and he’d come after her, and seen Brendan as mere collateral damage.

“What’s Delaney doing?” Brendan asked.

“He’s got a tail on me, I know it. I’ve seen him. He called me, just this morning. Asked me how I’ve been, said it’s been a long time, wanted to know what the State had me working on. And, oh, if I’d heard from you. Because he said a little bird told him you were in a diner in Westchester County this morning with some young girl. What the fuck, Healy?”

“Listen,” Brendan said. He weaved through the traffic, driving a little too fast. He couldn’t help it. “That girl is Taber’s daughter.”

“What?”

“Taber had a . . . situation down here, years ago. When he first knew Argon. He slept with someone, and didn’t know she got pregnant. She tried to abort the pregnancy, but the baby survived. That’s the girl I’m with.” He looked over at her. He expected her to be sunk down into the seat, still stewing about their encounter with Shortcake, or embarrassed that he was talking about her so frankly. Instead, she was sitting up straight, watching the scenery go by.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. Any word from Taber?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. This thing is crazy. He’s gone, man. Even his wife doesn’t know where he is. Ex-wife, anyway, or about to be. She had about three seconds for me on the phone, but she said she had no idea. And no one’s heard from Thomas, either, Taber’s son. I tried college classmates, friends, an ex-girlfriend of his, even professors. Nothing, man, nada. But then I get that call from Delaney. It’s clear he’s trying to rattle me, to get me to back off.
He
says Taber is fine. On vacation. Took the son with him. Needed to get away – all of this divorce business, not easy for the kid, blah blah. He said whatever you were on about, that you were nuts. The Heilshorn case had been too much for you, and you cracked.”

“You told him that you and I were talking?”

“Of course not. That’s the
thing
, man – do you hear what I’m saying? Delaney knows. He knows where you’ve been, he knows what you’ve been saying. How the hell does he know? You’ve been careful, right? Keeping it cool?”

“I’ve been doing what I have to.” Suddenly Brendan felt cold, realizing how stunningly out of his depth he was. The animal urge to flee came over him. He could get away, now. He could take Sloane with him. They could find a place – maybe Argon’s place on Cape Cod.

No, that location wouldn’t be safe, either. He’d have to go completely off the grid. Take the girl and just get out of town. This was a matter for people much higher up the food chain than he was. He’d known it from the get go, but he’d been doing right by Argon. And Taber. Taber had been his sheriff, and he had also been a friend. Even fatherly, in his own way. But Taber had been lying. He had a past as dark as Brendan’s own – and apparently he was either still working hard to cover up that past, or he was in trouble with some very dangerous people. Or both.

“You’re being watched, Healy. Maybe tracked. Have you checked for bugs?”

“Yeah, I checked. Didn’t find anything.” He hated lying to Colinas.

“Well, man, you got to be careful. You’re on a prepaid cell, right?”

“Right.”

“Still. Got to be careful.”

“I used to get one every few months, now it’s every few days.”

Rudy was quiet for a moment. “Jesus, Healy.”

“I know.”

Brendan looked over at Sloane again. It was becoming clearer and clearer that she was at the center of this thing. Her relationship to Taber was part of it, but there was much more.

She knew something else.

He thought of Leonard Dutko, talking vehemently about political corruption, about leaders embroiled in scandal.
Every twisted son of a bitch in office. Every mayor, sheriff, governor, attorney general, president, you name it. Barely an honest one among them,
Dutko had said.

What else did Sloane know? Were there others out there like her? Women who had survived an attempted abortion, abuse, enslavement? Were there more children endangered? Dutko had been understandably sickened by the idea of that baby found in the trunk in Ohio. Brendan felt the same – there was nothing on Earth more horrific than the wanton taking of a child’s life.

To save someone’s ass. To protect their lies.

“Healy?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t go any further with this, man. I . . . my wife . . . my kid . . .”

“I know.” Brendan glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes. He was closing in on their next stop.

“Don’t go it alone anymore,” Colinas said. “Tell everyone. Send it up the ladder. Or turn and run yourself, Brendan. No shame in that. Find a place like you had out there in Lewis-and-Clark territory.”

“I can’t run,” Brendan said, deciding for himself in that very moment. He saw Sloane sneak a look at him. He thought of Shortcake, his back turned, guilt, insolence, anger combined. Brendan had set him off. Sloane was right. “I can’t run, but, you’re right, I can’t do it alone.”

“Okay,” said Colinas, sounding relieved. But then the cop part of him took back over. “But, what have you got, Healy? The girl you got with you . . .”

“Sloane Dewan.”

“Sloane Dewan? Quite the name.”

“Irish first name, Indian surname from adoptive parents.”

“Got it. She’ll submit to a blood test? A DNA test?”

“That’s where we’re headed in a few minutes. Back to Westchester Medical Center.”

He saw Sloane out of the corner of his eye. She gave him another look, and a scowl.

“Okay, good. But, so, I mean, aside from her, what have you got? What’s concrete?”

“It’s spread out. But it’s in Heilshorn’s relationship to Titan Med Tech – that’s one. The technology he pioneered that oxygenates the blood, that’s through Titan. Just like the poison that came from the paramedics bringing Forrester into the hospital. It’s all Titan Med Tech. You know how it goes; the most devious company in the world has that public face where they’re these huge philanthropists. It’s the ones purporting to do the most good you’ve got to watch out for. But I think Rebecca Heilshorn knew the truth about her father’s business, and I think that’s why she was murdered.”

He could still see her, the reflection of Rebecca’s open eyes in the bureau mirror. He’d always felt she had something to tell him.

He flipped on his blinker and slowed at the next intersection to make a left. He was almost there. He finished what he wanted to say to Colinas.

“XList is like Silk Road, Sheep Marketplace; all of the black markets for drugs, humans, whatever, using untraceable bitcoin as currency. Titan is their muscle, Rudy. Just like we first thought two years ago. Titan protects the people who make the biggest profits from XList, and who knows how many other black-marketplaces like it. This is major, major money we’re talking about. Enough to tilt the American economy. Cut the debt, put the country back on top. It’s underground capitalism. Titan shores it all up with these front companies, while its real identity is something I have yet to uncover.”

He stopped talking. It had just come out of him in a stream-of-consciousness rush, and he realized that this whole picture had been forming in his mind for a long time. It felt good to get it out.

“So you understand that I’ve come as far as I can,” Colinas said. His voice sounded small, far away.

“I do. You take care of that wife and kid, Rudy.”

Brendan hung up and made his turn towards the hospital. He was sure it was the last time he’d speak with Rudy Colinas for a while, and he felt a kind of grief at that. Colinas had been a true friend.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO / Monday, 3:55 PM

He came through the door into the large, empty studio. Jennifer retreated to the middle of the room.

He shut the door behind him and stood there, looking at her.

She stared back, her heart pounding in her chest. He wore a gun on his hip. She expected him to start unbuttoning his pants and come for her, but he remained just inside the door, unmoving.

Seducing her captor had been an idea she had just run with, out of desperation. Part of her had figured that it would never work, anyway. After all – they had poisoned her. If they just wanted her dead, there were easier, less elaborate ways. The poison took time – not a lot, but it seemed like a risk. Why keep her in this room and let her die slowly?

She began to wonder if death was the sole objective. Leaving her to die from the thallium was macabre, perhaps meant as torture, but it could also be a device for something else. To get information out of her.

“You’re something,” he said to her.

“I’ve had better days.”

“I bet.” Her captor had a darker complexion than Staryles. He didn’t possess any of the special operative’s matinee-idol looks but had a broken nose, deep brown skin that looked scarred around his right temple and ear. She remembered the flash of his face as he’d rushed up behind her in the park and seized her.

“I wasn’t supposed to do this yet,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I was supposed to wait another four hours. By then, you’d really be feeling it.”

“You’re to interrogate me?”

He looked up from his watch. “That’s right. And depending on your cooperation, I might be able to help you.”

Jennifer felt an incredible relief. It was ironic, given that she was still here, still dying from the poison, still held captive by an armed man, but his admission mitigated her fear. It was something. It was dangerous to feel hope; she knew it, but she couldn’t help it.

He came further into the room. Jennifer took a step back, but then forced herself to hold her ground. He stopped and leaned against the far wall, keeping his distance from her. She realized that this wasn’t out of courtesy. He looked like he didn’t want to get too close, to risk being contaminated by her.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She lowered herself to the floor and sat cross-legged. It wasn’t comfortable – her joints were stiff and sore. Her arms tingled in that unpleasant, electric way. Her muscles felt heavy, as if filling up with something molten.

She tried to straighten her spine. She needed to have her wits about her. To play this just right. It might be her only chance.

He looked levelly at her. “There is an antidote to the poison.”

Jennifer felt another tidal surge of relief. She couldn’t help it. But while her primitive-self clamored for any chance to survive, her more rational mind detected manipulation.

He continued watching her. “Tell me what you know about Titan.”

“Titan,” she repeated. Already her mind was racing, considering all the options. “Titan is a moon that orbits Saturn. In Greek mythology, it is the name given to a race of powerful deities. They were said to descend from Gaia and Uranus – the Earth and the Sky. In modern times, Titan is a name used in a variety of businesses. Over eight hundred in the U.S. that I discovered. ‘Titans’ is the name of a Tennessee football team. It is a name that at once evokes great power, but is common enough to be unremarkable. Should I continue?”

The man smiled. He leaned into the wall with his arms folded. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Good.

“Tell me what you know about Alexander Heilshorn.”

“What I know as fact, or what I conjecture?”

His smiled deepened. “Mix it up, Jennifer.”

“You know my name. It’s unfair I don’t know yours.”

“It’s Apollo.”

“Apollo? That’s one of Zeus’s sons in Greek and Roman mythology.

“Affirmative. The god of plagues.”

He was educated, she thought, at least to some degree. He waited for her to go on.

“Also known as
Apollo Helios
, Titan god of the sun,” she said. He looked at her with his unsettling grin, and said nothing. She went on. “Ok. Well, Alexander Heilshorn is a medical doctor, an OB/GYN here in New York City. He is seventy-three years old. Some of his family calls him ‘Bops,’ and he is something of an outdoor enthusiast, and owns several classic guide boats. His wife is Greta, sometimes called ‘Ma’am,’ and they have custody of their granddaughter, named Leah, who is now five years old. Heilshorn is also an avid investor with an impressive portfolio. Pharmaceutical companies. Medical suppliers. One of his biggest stakes is in Titan Med Tech – there it is, that name again. You see?”

She knew she was being snarky – it was deliberate. She paused for a moment. His smile had faded, and he looked at her impassively. His silence invited her to continue.

“He also owns a piece of the large construction company, also called Titan. Are we seeing a pattern here, Apollo? I think so. But let’s go back a few years. When his daughter, Rebecca, was still alive, she sort of slinked away from the family and got into her own thing. She did more than just ‘experiment’ while in college; she met two people who would lure her into an alternative lifestyle definitely
not
approved of by Alexander. He knew she was getting into something sordid, and he had her followed. He had a private investigator keep track of her for years. A man named Brown.”

Jennifer took a deep breath.

“Now here’s where I have to wonder about things. Rebecca gets into a world that – either unknowingly or to spite him – her father himself already has a hand in. That’s one theory. The other theory is that Heilshorn has her followed because he’s a father with a reputation and with the resources to do so. But meanwhile, Brown, his investigator, is reporting back. What Rebecca is into goes beyond some salacious videos and a little arm-on-arm companionship. Heilshorn sees a very dark world. He knows that the type of people paying for girls like his daughter don’t have a revolving-door policy. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. But, you know what else he’s seeing? Opportunity. Here’s something that not only he can marshal the muscle to back, but he can profit from, too. I don’t have the proof yet, but I’d bet there are XList clients all over. And maybe the escorts can be used to glean information, or even create a scandal. That’s how the lobbying industry works, when it doesn’t get what it wants; the purchasing power of the multinational corporation, the conglomerate - that only works if the officeholder takes the bribe. Or, I mean, ‘campaign contribution.’ So when it doesn’t work, there are other ways to torque someone into a more agreeable position, and when that doesn’t work they are eliminated. So, maybe Rebecca, and others like her, use sex to entrap these guys.”

“Like what you just attempted with me.”

Jennifer ignored the comment. “At first, I believe Rebecca was a huge liability for Heilshorn. He needed some very serious leverage over her. Her own child. Her eyes then opened to the whole operation – she knew what happened if a pro like her took a baby to term. In some cases, that child was then taken from them, used to blackmail them to keep working and quiet.

“I’ve been researching human trafficking for two years now. When the average person thinks of human trafficking, they imagine a container full of Asians coming in on some boat. That happens. But human trafficking is an umbrella term for the sale and distribution of people for any reason – prostitutes and escorts among them. We have the best agents in the world cracking the online black markets, and field agents going out there and physically dismantling the operations, with the sharpest prosecutors sending everyone to prison, for life.”

She took a moment to gauge his reaction. This little threat at the end of her speech hadn’t come out as confidently as she’d hoped – it sounded more like she was trying to convince him, or herself, of the efficacy of her department. After all, here she was, in her yoga pants and running shoes, dying in this godforsaken room.

“Back to Heilshorn,” she said, trying to outrun her own doubts. “When he knows his daughter is taking things into her own hands – not only trying to get out, but to expose the whole operation, talking to her brother, gradually bringing others in – maybe even someone like Seamus Argon – Alexander Heilshorn calls in Reginald Forrester. He’s pure psychopath, a killer for hire. But the whole thing goes to shit when Brendan Healy tracks him down and stops him.”

“Tell me about Healy.”

“My guess is that Healy was totally green, and fell into this thing. From what I’ve seen, it nearly killed him. He was removed from the case for a while, but in the end, his superior let him keep going.”

“Why? Wouldn’t the Sheriff, Taber, want someone more capable on such a high-profile case?”

She blinked at him. She suddenly felt like he was testing her. Why? What were they worried that she knew? Or maybe they just wanted to know what others knew.

“Because Taber was under pressure.”

“What kind of pressure?”

“He had his own past wrapped up in the situation.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” It was the truth. She squinted at Apollo. “What I do know is that Healy opened the whole thing up. And my guess is that Alexander Heilshorn tried to stop him at some point. To warn him to stay away from Reginald Forrester. But Healy is stubborn. He kept going anyway. No matter what anyone said, despite getting shot at, nearly run over, beaten, threatened, he kept going.”

Apollo dropped his hands to his sides. He seemed to be considering this. His eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

Jennifer recalled the conversations with Agent Petrino and later with Olivia Jane, who both presented Healy as frequently reckless, unprofessional, barely able to call himself a detective. Even as a man of science, he seemed to fail. He hadn’t finished school. He’d picked a field which had attracted a whole new wave of neuroscience converts, in her opinion – people who thought that everything could be explained by the chemicals in the brain. She’d spent half of her life in libraries, in classrooms, and online, and nothing she’d found indicated a simple way of explaining human behavior. We were the product of an assortment of genetic, epigenetic, cultural, and familial influences. We were hardwired at birth, and yet our genes could switch on and off given environmental cues. Our brains retained plasticity well into old age – there was no end to learning and changing.

Yet, there was something about him.

She liked him. She’d never met the man, and now feared maybe she never would, but, she liked Healy.

She felt a pang of self-pity. She pushed the sadness away by focusing on the present. She answered Apollo’s question.

“Why? Because unlike whatever twisted ideology drives you, whatever corrupted logic you use to justify torturing and killing people, enslaving women and children, basically perpetuating evil – when it really needs no help, if you don’t mind me saying – Healy keeps fighting despite it all, survives, keeps trying.”

She looked to see if this had any impact. Apollo’s dark face was inscrutable.

“The world’s gotten very complex. Sometimes the best weapon is simplicity. A woman is dead, you find her killer. A child is in danger, you rescue it. There’s no complexity there, no muddling or morals or bullshit philosophies about ‘getting yours’ while the whole thing burns. People like him just put their boots on.”

Apollo smiled again. He seemed to have two expressions – flat and unreadable, or wearing this hyena’s leer.

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and started poking at it. He was texting someone.

And Jennifer felt a fresh current of fear ripple through her. Apollo’s demeanor now suggested that whatever he’d been looking to get out of her, whatever information Staryles or someone else had tasked him to elicit from her – he had. But surely Staryles and his organization – Titan – already knew everything she’d said. The interview was over. She had an idea what would happen next.

She was ready. Already he was sliding his gun out of his holster, checking for a round in the chamber.

She would have one chance.