The Rook (13 page)

27

As Tessa went back to her room to get her satchel, she thought about the conversation she’d just had with Patrick. On the one hand he was right, it didn’t seem to make sense—she wanted to live her own life, but she also wanted to be part of his: to need him but also be free of him. It was kind of weird, or maybe it was normal, she didn’t know. She was still trying to get used to the whole idea of having a dad around.

Besides, Patrick wanted two things just like she did. He wanted to work on his cases but also spend time with her. Both were important to him, she knew they were. So what was the difference?

Maybe she and Patrick weren’t all that different after all.

She grabbed her satchel, as well as the lotion to rub on her scar, and walked back to the elevators.

On my way to the car, the medical examiner returned my call but scoffed when I asked about an autopsy. “We already know how John Doe died—death by trolley. Besides, there wasn’t enough left of him to put in a Ziploc bag, let alone enough for an autopsy.”

You have to hand it to these MEs. They really know how to humanize a tragedy. “I was hoping we could look into this a little more,” I said. “There’s something here that doesn’t add up. Have there been any other suicides like this recently?”

“Bowers, this is the sixth largest city in the country. What do you think? The guy had no driver’s license, no social security number, no passport, and thus, no identity. As far as the system’s concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

“What about relatives?”

“No one showed up to claim the body, and no one will. This is a city of 1.3 million legal residents, plus nearly three hundred thousand illegal ones. What do you want me to do, interview each one of them, see if I can find someone who’s related?” He paused to catch his breath. “I need to get back to work.”

I thought maybe I could speak to one of John Doe’s relatives at the funeral, but when I asked the ME about the time of the interment, he said, “Unless someone claims the …” I could tell he was searching for the right word and
body
wasn’t it. “Unless someone claims the remains, there’ll be a public burial on Thursday. That’s all I know.” And then, in a tone bordering on compassion, he added, “So, why does this guy matter so much to you, anyhow?”

“Because he deserves to matter to someone.” I reached into my pocket and felt John Doe’s tooth, then the ME ended the call and Tessa arrived.

Trying to put the tragedy of his suicide out of my mind, I slid into the car next to Tessa and we headed to the aquarium, where Lien-hua had agreed to meet us.

At exactly 11:56 a.m. Creighton Melice discovered Randi’s cell phone in his car.

He’d decided to move the car eight blocks away from the warehouse so there would be no way of connecting him to it, or it to him.

But when he opened the car door and saw a phone on the dashboard, he realized it was hers. A tight knot formed in his gut.

Where was the phone Shade had provided him? Creighton searched between the seats and then beneath them and then behind them, but the phone was not in the car.

Creighton remembered Randi grabbing a phone as he shoved her out of the car.

She took the wrong one.

Randi now had the phone Shade was going to call.

And in that moment, despite how strongly he felt about not blaspheming, Creighton Melice did exactly that.

28

Last year after Victor Drake had hired Geoff and Suricata and was considering the final two people for his team, he’d carefully researched Dr. Octal Kurvetek’s job responsibilities at the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. During the vetting process, Victor had found out that the doctor oversaw the proper administration of the three-drug cocktail used for lethal injections at the time: sodium thiopental, to induce unconsciousness; pancuronium bromide, to induce paralysis; and potassium chloride to bring about cardiac arrest.

From 1986 through 2006, Dr. Kurvetek had been the on-site medical supervisor for 219 of the 369 executions by lethal injection that took place in the state of Texas. His experience at the TDCJ and his background in neurophysiology all seemed to make him ideal for the job that Victor Drake was trying to fill. So he’d hired him.

It was only after Dr. Kurvetek had been on the team for six months that he told Victor his secret. “It was always more satisfying to let the convicts remain conscious while the pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride were administered. I didn’t do it all the time, of course. Just when the mood struck.” He seemed proud of what he’d done. “It’s prohibited by the Eighth Amendment, of course, which states that executions may not include ‘the unnecessary and wanton infliction of pain.’ But I don’t necessarily agree with that provision.”

“And?” Victor had said, anticipating the answer.

“Let’s just say that administering those two drugs to a conscious person would cause …”—Dr. Kurvetek’s lips curled into a worm-like grin—”an unconstitutional amount of pain.”

In a nutshell, Dr. Kurvetek’s specialty was death.

Death by pain.

And now, Victor had to rely on this man not only to pull the Project Rukh research findings together but also help take care of the problematic Austin Hunter. Victor didn’t want to, but finally he dialed Kurvetek’s number. “Have you found Hunter?” he asked as soon as the doctor answered the phone.

“No,” Octal replied evenly. “Geoff even checked GPS for his phone as well as his credit card use. Nothing. It’s as if he disappeared.”

Of course it is. That’s his specialty! That’s one of the reasons he
was hired, because he can disappear without a trace.

“All right,” Victor said. “I need you to focus on the test results, give me everything you can. I have a meeting on Thursday afternoon with the general and I need to make sure he’s convinced the device is operational. Have Geoff and Suricata find Hunter.”

And then he ended the call before Dr. Kurvetek could reply.

After all, the doctor wasn’t calling the shots, Victor was.

That’s what he told himself as he went back to work managing his vast biotech empire.

29

As I drove to the aquarium, I asked Tessa to read me the Sherrod Aquarium brochure that she’d picked up from the hotel lobby.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Go ahead. I want to find out as much as I can before we get there.”

She complained for another minute or two, but at last she obliged me. “‘When it was completed in November 2008, the Sherrod Aquarium was the largest and most ambitious aquarium complex in the world. Boasting more than five hundred thrilling exhibits, this world-class vacation destination promises fun, educational, and memorable experiences for the entire family. Also respected around the world as a cutting-edge shark research facility …’” She stopped and mumbled, “Do I have to do this?”

“I know it’s not Pulitzer Prize-winning material. Just humor me.”

A sigh. Then, “‘When you arrive, plan to visit Poseidon’s Odyssey, an interactive 4-D adventure that will leave you stunned, and amazed!’” She paused. “There’s an extra comma in there that they don’t need, by the way.” Then she continued, “‘And don’t miss the world’s largest indoor aquarium attraction. The Seven Deadly Seas exhibit holds more than seven million gallons of water, as well as the world’s largest bull shark in captivity. Prepare to be awestruck and overwhelmed. But be wary! Sixteen vicious species of sharks roam its deadly waters—’ Patrick, puh—
lease
?”

“Just finish it up,” I said. “We’re almost there.”

Another impatient sigh. “I’m skipping to the end. ‘Spearheaded by entrepreneur and philanthropist Victor Sherrod Drake, the Sherrod Aquarium stands as a monument to his generosity to the people of’ blah, blah, blah. It just goes on like that for a while.”

“OK,” I said. “That’s good. We’re here.”

She set down the brochure, looked up, and uttered one word:

“Whoa.”

The Sherrod Aquarium spread before us. The architects had made brilliant use of mirrored glass and expansive sweeping canopies, creating a breezy, windswept feel that made the three interconnected wings of the world’s largest aquarium look like giant glass sails billowing toward the sea. Sunlight and sky danced across the glass sides of the buildings, merging the aquarium seamlessly with the ocean that lay just beyond it.

A landscaped grove of towering palm trees and exotic flowers wove euphorically between the three buildings. Even the parking lot had been well planned, with shaded walkways, jogging trails, and small playgrounds containing interactive learning centers for children.

I fished out my ID, and the guard at the main entrance waved us through to the staff parking lot, where we found Lien-hua already waiting for us.

“How did she beat us here?” asked Tessa.

“Ride with her next time,” I said. “You’ll find out.”

“I rode with her last night.”

“She must have been holding back. C’mon, it’s time to see the sharks. Just give me a couple minutes first.”

Tessa and Lien-hua went to pick up some passes from the front desk while I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and approached Cassandra’s car. She’d parked at a hurried angle between a pair of the parking lot’s light posts, and the two criminalists who were pawing through the trunk had used the light posts, as well as the back bumper of the Cassandra’s car, to define the crime scene.

Why not? After all, they were handy.

One of the criminalists was shaped like a pear, the other reminded me of a giraffe. I found out that the squat, round man was named Ryman, the gangly, long-necked guy, Collins. After identifying myself, I flipped open the sheath on my belt, pulled out my Mini Maglite flashlight, and leaned into the car.

“What are you looking for?” Ryman asked me.

“Clues,” I said.

Silence.

I stood back, scanned the parking lot, taking note of the location of the employee’s entrance about twenty meters away, the surveillance camera pointed directly at the door, and the service road that wound around the back side of the building. Based on the angle of her car, I guessed that Cassandra had entered via the service road rather than the main entrance.

I knelt and looked under the car, then beneath the seats. Cassandra had kept the interior of her vehicle meticulously clean, no trash, no scattered papers. I didn’t even see any sand on the carpet, which was especially surprising considering we were in the beach city of San Diego. “So. Have you moved anything?”

“No,” Ryman replied.

Cassandra’s purse sat upright on the front passenger’s seat. A suitcase lay in the backseat. I looked through her purse and then opened the suitcase. A pile of clothes was strewn inside. “Did you go through these clothes, or is this how you found them?”

“I told you we didn’t move anything.” Ryman seemed to be the spokesperson.

“Was the car locked or unlocked?”

“Locked. We had to break in.”

“Engine?”

“Off.”

“Headlights?”

“Off.”

I inspected the glove box, then asked, “What station is the radio set to?”

After a blunt silence, “What?”

“The radio station?”

“I don’t know.”

I checked. The radio button wasn’t depressed. I pressed eject, no CD in the player, no mp3 player input. So, she’d had the radio off when she arrived. No music playing.

They just looked at each other. “What does that matter?” asked Collins.

“Everything matters.”

I took note of the climate control settings, the predominant genre of music of the CDs stacked between the seats, and the position of the driver’s seat and steering wheel. Based on the seat position, I figured Cassandra was tall for a woman. Not much shorter than me: five-eleven or perhaps six feet tall.

I took one final look around, thanked the criminalists for their cooperation, and turned to go.

“You’re done?” I heard Ryman say.

“Yeah.”

I’d made it six steps when I heard Collins whisper, “Idiot Fed.”

Alrighty then.

As anxious as I was to get inside, I figured I could spare one more minute. I turned and faced them. “Gentlemen. What’s your take on this? What do you think happened here?”

“She was arriving for work,” Ryman said. “Got out of her car.

Maybe someone snatched her. Maybe she went for a walk. Who knows? Probably took off with her boyfriend.”

“If Cassandra had been heading to work for the day,” I said,

“would she have parked crookedly, taking up two parking spots instead of one, and left the purse containing her makeup, cell phone, wallet, lunch pass, and name badge in the car?”

He hesitated. “Probably not.”

“She parked with the intention of quickly retrieving something or delivering something, and never made it back to the vehicle,”

I said.

“Maybe she was grabbed as she got out of the car.”

“Then the car doors would have been unlocked. If you abduct a woman as she’s leaving a car, you don’t take the time to lock the doors behind you.” I pointed. “Also, we have these light posts close by, no other cars in the vicinity. She would have seen her abductor approaching, even though it was dark when she arrived.”