"Oh my God. She'll lose her zhob."
"Maybe. She should have thought of that before she got stupid."
"Yeah." I was having trouble dredging up much sympathy for Diane. "She owes me a 'pology."
"Big time."
Talking about email made me think of checking mine. I got Pete to set up my laptop for me and logged on. There was only one thing of interest. An email from Ben Goldstein.
Dr. Brodie,
I have come across a note that Dan left for me in which he suggests that you might be able to help me answer some of the questions that he left for me. I would like to meet with you in person, at a place of your choosing. Please.
Thank you,
Ben Goldstein
I showed it to Pete. "Whad do you dink?"
"Well, he did say please." Pete frowned. "It sounds like he's worried about something. He may be innocent in this and trying to figure out what's going on himself."
"Do you dink I should dalk to him?"
"I think
we
should talk to him. You're not doing anything by yourself that's remotely related to your fraud case."
I nodded. I would have argued with him if I'd been healthy, but... "Where?"
"Here."
I was surprised. "But den he'll know where we live. If he's one of de bad guys."
Pete laughed. "Hon, if he's one of the bad guys, he already knows where we live."
True.
"Okay. Dis evening?"
"Sure."
Ben's phone number was at the bottom of his email. I called him. He said, "What's wrong with your voice?"
"I got socked in de jaw las' nighd. S'ill hurds do dalk."
"Wow." He paused. "I don't want to talk about any of this on the phone, or anywhere near my office. Can I come to your place?"
I gave him directions. If he did already know where we lived, he was doing a good job of acting like he didn't. I hung up and looked at Pete. "Seben o'clock."
I spent the rest of the day alternating between dozing, drinking soup and milkshakes, and watching old movies. Pete alternated between doing laundry, fixing me soup and milkshakes, and grading papers. At precisely 7:00, the doorbell rang.
Pete answered the door. Ben was still wearing an expensive suit, but his tie was askew and he looked rumpled and tired. He introduced himself to Pete, then came in and got his first glimpse of my face. "Holy mother of God! You didn't just get socked in the jaw!"
I shook my head.
"What the hell happened?"
Pete gave him a severely abridged version. Ben couldn't stop staring. If he was faking surprise, he was doing a fabulous job. He sat on the chair next to the new window; Pete sat down on the sofa next to me. Pete started the conversation. "So, Dan left you a note."
"Yeah." Ben looked at Pete and me sitting next to each other. "Are you two a couple?"
Pete waited for me to answer; I felt him tense up a bit. I nodded. "Mmm hmm."
Pete relaxed. I could almost feel him smile.
Ben stood up and handed me a folded sheet of paper, then sat back down. The handwriting was Dan's. I unfolded it and read.
Dear Ben,
If you find this, then I'm gone. I'm so sorry. If I had known where this would lead, I would have approached it differently.
Take this to a guy named Jamie Brodie, who's a librarian at UCLA. He’s been working on a problem for me. He'll tell you what this is and why you need to know about it. Then you'll have to decide what to do about it.
All my love forever,
Dan
Underneath the signature was the citation for the Welsh article, in Welsh.
I handed the note back to Ben. He folded it carefully and put it back in his jacket pocket. "Do you know what that means?"
I nodded. "Do you remember de firs' ardicle you wrode wi' Oliver and Wray?"
"Sure."
I leaned over and handed him my laptop, with the translation of the Welsh article open on the screen. "Read dis."
He started reading. His eyes got bigger as he went. He stopped reading and started scrolling through pages, reading bits and pieces. "This is..." He looked up at me, aghast. "This is our article, word for word."
Pete took over. "The only thing that's different is the statistical section, and it's only different because your article used a higher
p
value than Hughes and Llewellyn did."
"I did the stats for this article." Ben seemed to be in mild shock. "They gave me the numbers and told me what
p
values to use." He looked up, his eyes wide. "I didn't do any of the research on this article. They told me they'd list me as an author if I ran the stats for them. It was my first publication."
Pete asked, "Who gave you the numbers? Both Wray and Oliver?"
"No. It was Dr. Oliver." The full force of the discovery hit Ben. "So our article is plagiarized from this one? Word for word?"
"It seems that way."
Ben was dazed for a moment, then looked back up at us. "Tell me how you found out about this."
Pete told him the whole story, from my receipt of Dan's letter to last night's break-in. "Frankly, we weren't sure you weren't involved."
Ben was angry, but not at us. "Oh, no. Fuck, no." He got up and started pacing, then turned back to us. "So someone killed Danny because he found this out?"
"We think so."
Ben looked at me. "Why did he ask you to find out about this?"
"I dink because he knew me well enough to know I'd dig undil I god de answer. An' because I'm a UC librarian. I could find the Welsh ardicle."
Ben started pacing again. "I thought from the beginning it wasn't right that Dan died from a seizure. He hadn't had a seizure in the two years I'd known him. And he never missed his meds. Never. If we were out someplace at the time he was supposed to take them, we'd have to leave right then. I got his autopsy report myself, but since it didn't show anything else..." He stopped to think. "Since it didn't show anything else, then how did he die?"
Pete mused. "Hard to say. When I was a cop, I talked to the coroner about that once. He said there were ways to kill people and leave no trace, but usually with an injection of some kind. He mentioned potassium and a couple of other things."
Ben sat back down. He looked deflated and ten years older. "My employer killed my boyfriend. Or had him killed. Unbelievable." He shook his head. "Oliver is all about the kindly dad image, the rich dad who wants to make your life as comfortable as possible. It's just hard to imagine him being responsible for this."
"Is there any way it could be Dr. Wray?"
Ben rubbed his eyes. "I don't see how. She didn't even know Dan. And you tell me that Oliver was at Cambridge when these Welsh guys were at Oxford...it has to be him, right?"
Pete shrugged. "It seems to be pointing that way."
Ben leaned back in the chair and huffed out a breath. "Well." He stared into space for a minute, then looked back at us. "What are you going to do about this?"
"There's a task force connected to LAPD that deals with fraudulent medical practice. We figured we'd start with them. Let them take the investigation from here."
Ben nodded. "Okay." He looked at his watch and stood up. "I have to be on my way. I have some unfinished work at the lab. And then I have to get my CV updated and start looking for a new job." He shook our hands. "If you think I can help you in any other way, please let me know."
Pete nodded. "We will. But you'll probably be hearing from the LAPD within the next couple of days."
"All right." He looked back at us solemnly. "Thank you. I mean that. And thank you for being someone Dan knew he could count on."
My voice failed me at that, but I nodded. Pete saw Ben out, closed and locked the door and turned back to me. “He doesn’t know you and Dan had a history.”
“He doesn’ need do know. Doesn’ madder.”
“True.” Pete sat back down beside me. “It’s still looking like Oliver is our guy, huh?”
“Yeah. If Ben was involved, he’s in de wrong business. He needs a Hollywood agen’. And Dan didn’ suspec’ him.”
Pete nodded. “I believe him. But we still don’t know about Dr. Wray.”
“Dere’s nod’ing poinding ad her. Id’s all Oliver.”
“Yeah.” Pete sighed. “Well. We’ll see what happens at our summit meeting tomorrow.” He looked at me closely. “You look worn out. Ready for bed?”
“Yep.”
We took another hot shower and went to bed.
Friday June 8
The next morning I woke up later than usual, in spite of going to bed earlier than usual. Before I moved, I surveyed my body parts. My head pounding had devolved to a dull ache; that was an improvement. I opened my jaw a bit; it seemed that I had a little more motion than I had yesterday. My muscles were still sore, but not quite as stiff as they had been. It was good to see a little progress.
Pete was already up; I could hear him rattling around downstairs. I got up slowly and made my way to the bathroom. I figured another hot shower might loosen me up even more, and it did. I got dressed in jeans and a polo shirt and went downstairs. Pete was in the kitchen; he met me on the landing and gave me a hug, then stood back and surveyed my face. "You still look terrible."
I smiled as sweetly as I could and gave him the finger.
He laughed. "Are you feeling better?"
"A little. Not as stiff. And I can make t's."
"Good. I'm impatient with not being able to kiss you. Are you up to chewing food yet?"
"Don't think so."
"Okay. Want another milkshake?"
Yes, I did.
Near 10:00, we drove up to the West LA station, went in, and got our visitor IDs. Pete stopped to say hello to a few people along the way; this was his former workplace. I recognized a couple of people from previous visits, when I'd come to drop something off to Kevin. We made our way to the detectives' area and were ushered into a small conference room. We were the last ones there. Roger Blake was horrified to see my face; I explained quickly what had happened. Tim introduced us to Steve Ringland and John Kaliszuk, the Wilshire detectives; they were there because Cedars was in their territory, and Dan had died there. The HALT liaison was a woman named Sherlene Passey. Kevin was squeezed into a corner, looking glum. I made a "what?" face at him, and he shrugged. Nothing major, then.
We got settled at the table. Tim stood up at a whiteboard and laid out the timeline of the case for everyone: Dan's death, his letter to me, my request of the articles and the ensuing sabotage of my computer, my visit to Dan's office and the slashing of my tires in the Cedars parking lot, my being followed, the attempted break in at my apartment, Dan's autopsy results, the break in and fire at my apartment, the hacking of my medical records, my discovery of the plagiarism, my beating, and the break in at the townhouse. The Wilshire guys were taking notes.
"So, we've got two of the perpetrators." Tim started a new list on the other side of the board. "Mauro Politano is the guy who broke in to both Jamie's apartment and Pete's townhouse. He's got a longish sheet, mostly burglary and petty theft. The apartment was his first arson. He did both the apartment and the townhouse burglaries alone. He's also one of the two guys that beat Jamie up."
Everyone turned to look at my face again; I rolled my eyes.
"He's the one that held Jamie's arms, not the one who did the punching. Politano has told us that he was hired by the guy who did the punching, whose first name is supposedly Ed. He gave us a description, which is too generic to be of use. We've had him looking at mug shots, but so far nothing. We do believe he's telling us everything he knows."
Tim turned back to the board and wrote Andy Mitchell beneath Politano's name. "Andy Mitchell is the UCLA employee who sabotaged Jamie's computer. He told us he was paid to do the job, but won't tell us anything else. He did say that he didn't know anything about any of the other crimes, but I'm not to the point where I believe what he says yet. We're working with his attorney to try to make a deal, but right now it doesn't look good. I get the feeling he's protecting someone, but he won't say."
Tim paused for a couple of mouthfuls of coffee. I raised my hand.
"Yeah, Jamie?"
"We had a visit yesterday." I pointed to Pete, who recounted the entire conversation we'd had with Ben.
"Holy shit." Tim turned back to the board. "Okay. So Goldstein thinks that Tristan Oliver stole the original article and that Dan stumbled across the plagiarism and might have been threatening to expose Oliver. But why would Oliver kill him? Why wouldn't he just pay him off?"
Kevin chimed in. "He may have offered to do that, and Christensen wouldn't go along with it."
I nodded. "That would be consistent with what I know about Dan. He wouldn't take a payoff."
Tim looked at Pete. "Do you think Goldstein was legit?"
"Yeah, I do. He was absolutely shocked and appalled to see Jamie's face. I really don't think he had any prior knowledge of the trouble Jamie's been having. And Dan apparently didn’t suspect him of being involved. But he could be a stellar actor, I guess."
"Hmm." Tim gave Pete a half-grin. "You were always one of the best at picking out the liars. But, yeah, theoretically he could still be on the suspect list." He wrote (Ben Goldstein-unlikely) under Andy's name.
The woman from HALT, Officer Passey, spoke up. "This doesn't sound like a situation that would fall under HALT's jurisdiction. We investigate fraudulent medical practice, and it doesn't sound like these guys are practicing medicine. They're just doing research, right?"
Tim said, "Right."
"Okay. However, it does sound like something the state medical board would be interested in. I'd definitely report it to them."
I raised my hand again. "Gotta find out for sure who to report. I don't want to get Ben in trouble if he's not involved."
"Right." Passey smiled at me, stood up. and shouldered her bag. "Good luck, you guys. If you get in there and find out they've been doing experiments on people stashed in their back room, call me."
Everyone laughed uneasily.
"Okay." Tim set down his marker and rubbed his hands together. "Now we need to bring in all three of the doctors, separately, and have a talk with them. Goldstein first since he's the one we want to rule out. Everyone agreed on that?"
A consensus was reached, and the meeting broke up. I stood up and stretched. Kevin patted me on the shoulder and went back to work. Pete looked at me. "Anywhere else you want to go before we go home?"
"Yeah. Could we stop by the library?"
"Yeah, but why?"
"I just wanna put things there in order. I'll go back to work Monday. I want to have everything ready."
Pete grinned. "You're a little OCD, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Occupational hazard with librarians."
He sighed. "Okay. If you're sure you're up to it."
"I am. Plus, this will let me tell everyone the story today, so I can actually work on Monday."
He laughed. "Oh, yeah. The telling of the tale will take a while. Dr. Loomis had better call a meeting."
It was close to noon, so we went to lunch first. When we got to the library, my face created quite a sensation. People gathered around and the word spread. In about five minutes, everyone that was able came to hear the story. That was fortunate; it meant I only had to tell it once. Everyone was astounded to hear that IT Andy had been involved, and that he wasn't cooperating with the police.
My office still looked funny without a PC on my desk. It did give me a chance to clear the entire surface, though. Pete helped me clean and straighten and get everything put away that I'd left out on Wednesday, thinking I'd be back on Thursday. I put the inhaler that I was carrying with me into my desk drawer to replace the one that I’d emptied on Monday. When we finished, my office was clean and organized, just like the day I'd moved into it. I stood back and admired our handiwork. "This is awesome. Thanks for helping."
Pete laughed. "You're welcome. It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?"
I tried to grin; that still hurt. "I'm low maintenance. Give me milkshakes and a clean office and I'm all set."
Pete looked at the pictures I had on the top shelves of my bookcases. There was already one with him in it, from one of our hiking expeditions. He took it down and looked at it. "I remember this hike. That was the day we went too far and ended up in Encino."
"Yeah." I laughed. "Gonna have to get some more pictures of you in here."
He put the picture back and looked at me gravely. "When Ben asked you yesterday if we were a couple, I wasn't sure what you were going to say."
"I know. I could feel you tense up when he asked." I reached out and took his hand. "I want to try this again with you. I want to be with you. I figure-" I stopped and took a breath. "I figure if you're the one that can hurt me, then you're the one I should be with. Because you're the one that-" I stopped again and looked right into his eyes. "Because you're the one."
Pete smiled. He did have a beautiful smile. "I'm glad you think so. Because I think you're the one, too." He laughed. "And it's making me crazy, not being able to kiss you with your mouth all swollen up like that."
I shook my head. "A couple of days. I'll be all better."
"Yeah, you will." He sighed and squeezed my hand. "Okay. Are we done here? You look exhausted. And I need to turn in grades by 6:00."
“Yeah, we’re done.” And I was exhausted. There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than a nap.
We got home a little after 2:30. I changed into sweats and got on the sofa with a book. Pete went up to the office to turn in his grades. I barely got through a paragraph before I was asleep.
When I woke up, it was 5:30 and Pete was gone.
I looked for a note. There wasn't one on the ottoman. I went up to the kitchen and looked on the dining table, the counter, and the fridge. No note. I went up to the office; nothing on my desk. There was no note lying on our bed, or written in soap on the bathroom mirror.
Nothing to indicate where he'd gone.
That was odd.
I went back downstairs and walked outside to where we parked our cars. The Jeep wasn't there.
Huh. Maybe he'd run to the grocery store and thought he’d be back before I woke up.
I went back inside and saw my phone lying on the ottoman. Maybe he'd sent me a text. I picked up the phone and unlocked the screen. I was right; there was a text message. But it wasn't from Pete.
It was from Ben Goldstein.
"Found something big. Can't talk, have to see you. Meet me at lab asap."
But this text was sent to me, not Pete.
Pete must have seen the text when it came through and decided that he'd let me sleep and go meet Ben himself.
I called Pete's phone. It rang, then went to voicemail. So the phone was on, but he wasn't answering. I left a message - "Hey, where are you?" - then hung up. I texted him and waited a few minutes; no response.
Weird. If he was just at the lab talking to Ben, why wouldn't he answer?
Maybe they were in an elevator.
Or maybe something was wrong.
Shit
. Had we been wrong about Ben?
Well, there was one way to find out. I changed from sweats to jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my wallet, phone and keys, and went out. It took me about 20 minutes in the Friday evening traffic to get to Cedars. I spotted Pete's Jeep in a parking space about halfway between the front door and the street. I pulled in next to it, cut the engine, and called Pete again. Same result. I texted him again; no response.
So I called Kevin. His phone went to voicemail, too. I left him a longer message, telling him where I was, what Ben's text had said, and that Pete's car was here and he wasn't answering his phone. Then I texted him - "911 - Check your voicemail asap."