Authors: Meryl Sawyer
“True. The art they need is already in museums or in countries that won’t allow its export.” He walked behind the desk and dropped into a chair that was well-worn and appeared to fit the contours of his body. “My point is, my foundation has a sizable amount of money from the endowment I’m setting up, but it needs more funds. Scientists burn through money in search of discoveries that will benefit mankind. It can’t be helped. That’s the nature of research.”
“You’re right,” Madison said carefully. She didn’t know where this discussion was going, but she felt it was his way of persuading her to undergo the necessary tests.
There was a long, heavy silence in the room before Wyatt asked, “Do you know where the scientists in America’s labs are coming from?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Asia. Mostly India but also Japan, Taiwan and China.”
He regarded her for a moment with what she thought might be respect. “Exactly. America’s school system doesn’t promote the sciences so we aren’t producing them. The ones we do manage to nurture to graduate school are overwhelmed by opportunities in the business field.”
“Drug companies hire them.” She could have said,
Like Holbrook Pharmaceuticals,
but she refrained from taking an accusatory stance.
“Exactly. What I want to do is keep America’s scientists in the lab, keep them researching and helping mankind. That’s why I need to raise funds for the Holbrook Foundation. It will take more money than I have. After all, my money comes from Xeria, a drug I discovered, not oil like Getty. My funds are limited. I need more. It will take my time and my personal touch to set up this foundation and make sure it’s running properly.
“What most people don’t realize is medical discoveries are
coming quickly. Twenty years ago MRIs and CT scans were only used in the most advanced medical centers. Now they’re commonplace. Fiber optics has made it possible to develop numerous scopes and probes that have led to less invasive surgeries. Other discoveries are on the horizon. That’s why I need a liver transplant. It will buy me the time I need.”
“What do the doctors say?” she asked, not knowing how to phrase the question delicately. “I mean, how much time do you have?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. A year or so. Longer, of course, if I get that transplant.”
As far as Madison could tell, this man was totally sincere. He did want to do something that would benefit millions of people. Of course, these discoveries would be worth millions of dollars and would garner a place in medical history. She assumed Wyatt Holbrook sought that place in history. She honestly doubted she could help him, but how could she say no to being tested?
It certainly would be a quick way to prove she wasn’t related to this man. Madison knew exactly who her father was. She didn’t need a test to confirm it, but she realized these people wouldn’t agree. She had to take the test.
She heard herself say, “I’ll take the test. I doubt I can help you, but let’s see.”
P
AUL STUDIED
the murder book on Erin Wycoff’s death. Essentially, in almost a week, the police had no leads and no motive unless you counted Lincoln Burgess’s lame theory that Madison had killed her friend to inherit a piece of land that had recently become valuable. Paul wasn’t buying the “missing link’s” claim, especially now that he knew Madison.
She’d been silent on the drive home last night, but he figured it was best to back off and give her some space. It had taken a supreme effort not to try to kiss her again, but he’d managed. When questioned about the time she spent alone with Holbrook, Madison said she’d agreed to visit Holbrook’s office this afternoon. He assumed Wyatt was trying to persuade Madison to be tested to see if she could donate part of her liver, but then she’d informed him that she’d already agreed to take the test.
So why did Wyatt Holbrook want her to come to his office?
He closed the murder book and gazed across the crowded squad room, thinking about last night. The minute he’d taken Madison into his arms he’d felt…something. Aw, hell, he hadn’t been laid in a while and she had sex appeal in spades. When he’d held her, Paul could tell she was attracted to him. He wouldn’t have guessed it otherwise, but for those few minutes while they’d been dancing, he knew it.
Burgess breezed in, late as usual, but if you asked him, Link would claim he’d been chasing down a lead.
“What are you doing here, Tanner? Aren’t you still out on disability leave?”
“Yeah, but I’m curious about the Wycoff case.” He stood up. “It’s not every day I walk into a murder scene without someone having called the police.”
“You’re not supposed to be reading the book.” Burgess protectively grabbed the three-ring binder. “You’re a witness.”
Paul decided Burgess didn’t want anyone to know that the statements from the main witnesses, including Madison, hadn’t yet been typed up and put into the murder book.
“Any new leads?” he asked. There wasn’t anything in the book but there was always the wild-ass possibility Burgess was working on something.
Link glanced down at the book he was cradling in his arms. It took a minute before he reluctantly said, “The dog’s a problem.”
“Really? Got enough to book him?”
“Hysterical, Tanner. Just hysterical.” He dropped the book on his desk. “Guess you don’t want to know.”
Burgess had no sense of humor. So, what else was new? “Of course I want to know what’s going on. That’s why I came in. I’ll help if I can.”
That got him. Link was the laziest SOB on the force. How he’d ever made detective was a mystery that couldn’t be solved. He was always trying to get someone to do his work for him. Even though this was a sensitive case, Paul wouldn’t be surprised to learn Burgess had handed the tapes of the statements given by witnesses to one of the police volunteers to type up. A major no-no because too many volunteers leaked info to the media.
“Forensics found fur from the retriever in the victim’s car and on clothing dropped on the floor of her bedroom.”
“Not surprising. Erin Wycoff had bought the dog for the Connelly woman.” He deliberately avoided giving Burgess the
impression that he’d seen Madison since the discovery of the body. “Of course the dog was in the house. I saw it in the kitchen.”
Link shrugged again, an annoying habit. “Wilson’s working an arson and burglary at Dicon Labs. They were testing some of their products on rabbits and dogs. The firm didn’t list any as missing, but the investigators found nothing but charred empty cages. You’d expect a few bones at least.”
“Do you think A—the dog—was a lab animal?” Paul stopped himself from using Aspen’s name.
Burgess shrugged. “It’s a possibility. A friend claimed Erin Wycoff had been involved with an animal rights group but thought the victim had given it up.”
Another item not properly noted in the murder book. “If she was still involved, something should turn up on her computer or phone records.”
“Nothing so far, but the geeks downstairs are still checking her computer.”
“What time was the fire at the lab reported?” Paul asked.
“The alarm went off just before midnight. They’d had several false alarms, so the fire department was slow to respond. When they arrived, no one was around but the night watchman, who hadn’t seen anything until flames appeared.”
Paul considered this information for a moment. Having been a lab animal would explain Aspen’s eye problem and might account for Madison’s protectiveness. She struck him as the kind of woman who wouldn’t approve of experimenting on animals.
“Plus—” Burgess flashed a shit-eating grin “—we can’t track down the name on the bill of sale for the retriever. The address listed is an office complex.”
“Well, there’s a hot market for stolen purebreds. Maybe someone just wanted to make a quick buck.”
Burgess had been present at the crime scene when Madison
said she had to take Aspen to the vet. Evidently, he didn’t connect the “eye infection” with testing in the lab. Paul saw no reason to enlighten Link at this point.
“If Erin had been involved, it might explain why she was in the tub at two in the morning. Fire means smoke and soot. You know what clean freaks women are.”
The glazed deer-in-the-headlights look in Link’s eyes told Paul that the jerk hadn’t considered this possibility. “Right…right.”
“Do you want me to recheck with the folks at Dicon Labs to see if they are missing any animals?”
“Well…as long as I don’t know about it. You’re not supposed to be working—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t mention a thing. Walking in on a murder makes me curious. That’s all.”
“Do you think it’s possible the victim stole something from the lab and someone killed her for it?”
“It’s possible,” Paul replied. “What was stolen?”
“From what Wilson told me, nothing was reported missing. It could have been some of those animal rights folks, except as I said, no lab animals were listed as missing or dead, either.”
“Did any of the local groups claim responsibility or brag about it on the Internet?” Again, Paul could tell Burgess hadn’t considered this angle.
“Dunno. I guess Wilson’s checking.”
Yeah, right. And pigs fly.
Torching buildings was a major business in the Miami area, a way of getting an insurance payoff for a failing enterprise. Wilson and the arson task force were overworked and on a tight budget. Paul didn’t see them trolling the Internet over a fire where nothing valuable seemed to be missing and no one had been killed or injured.
“The animal rights groups don’t usually steal anything but the animals. That’s hardly worth murdering someone over.”
Burgess dropped into his chair like a load of cement. “Then my money’s on the Connelly woman. She’ll inherit millions.”
“Did forensics tell you if the attacker was right-or left-handed?” All that was in the murder book so far was a preliminary report. A good detective would have asked this question immediately. Madison was left-handed—as were all the Holbrooks—but Paul doubted she was physically strong enough to commit the crime. Not that he believed she’d killed her best friend.
“Forensics didn’t say. I guess the knot on the belt around her neck would tell them, right?”
The belt from the robe that had been used to strangle Erin Wycoff hadn’t been knotted. Trust Link not to notice such details. Talk about missing a link.
“I suspect the angle of the torque on her neck will tell forensics the tale.”
Burgess picked up the telephone and punched the speed dial for the forensic department. Moments later, he hung up the phone with a smile.
“Left-handed. I’m liking Madison Connelly for this one better and better all the time.”
M
ADISON WALKED
into the glass and marble lobby of Holbrook Pharmaceuticals just after two o’clock. She’d spent the morning in her own office. Aiden was still with Chloe. The staph infection she’d gotten when her “headlights” had been installed continued to be a problem. Madison had worked, then left Aspen with Jade while she came here.
She’d told herself a thousand times that this was a mistake. She didn’t want to get to know Wyatt Holbrook any better, didn’t want to feel sorry for him. He was a talented, remarkable man, but he wasn’t her father. It would be like hitting the moon with a BB gun should her test show she could donate part of her liver.
The security guard at the desk checked her ID and issued her a temporary badge. He’d just finished explaining that Wyatt
Holbrook’s office was on the top floor when her cell phone rang. She wasn’t going to answer it, except the digital display told her the Russerts were calling. They owned the Fisher Island home where she was staying. They were still in Italy and wouldn’t call unless it was important.
She answered, and Claudia Russert said, “Just wanted to give you a heads-up. We’re bored here. It’s hot and Tuscany is crawling—absolutely crawling—with tourists. We’re coming home early. I hope you don’t mind.”
Of course she minded. She didn’t have anyplace to stay, especially now that she had a dog. “It’s okay. When are you coming back?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Oh God! What was she going to do? “Great. I’ll have everything ready.” She managed to thank Claudia before she hung up. Instead of getting on the elevator to the penthouse, she decided to call her Realtor. Perhaps Karen knew of a short-term rental Madison could take until she bought a home.
It took a few minutes and a call to Karen’s cell to reach the agent, who was out of the office. While she waited, Madison walked over to the plate-glass window overlooking the office complex. Two smoke-gray cylindrical buildings of staggered height shot skyward, the shortest being about eighteen stories tall. She’d had no idea Holbrook Pharmaceuticals was this large, but then what did she know? She’d never visited a pharmaceutical company before now.
“Madison, how are you?” The Realtor’s bright, too-cheery voice came into her ear. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“Really? You found something?” Yesterday, Madison had left a message, saying she had a dog and needed a place with a yard, but Karen hadn’t returned her call.
“Not…exactly.”
Something in the Realtor’s voice rang a warning bell. What was wrong now?
“I was doing a routine prequalification. You remember signing the form…”
“Of course. Prescreening for a loan. What about it? I have excellent credit.” She silently amended it to “we” had excellent credit. Much of her credit history she shared with Aiden.
“The funds in your savings account. You know—”
“The down payment.”
“Right.” Static spit into Madison’s ear, almost obliterating Karen’s next words. “It isn’t there. There’s nothing in that account.”
It took a second for the words to register. When they did, the blood left her head so quickly that she lurched sideways. “Impossible!” Madison shouted, then lowered her voice. “I put my entire divorce settlement into my savings account.”
“Well, I…ah…You might want to check with your bank.”
She snapped the phone shut. Shock seeped through every pore, spreading through her body with mind-numbing speed. Her fingers trembling so violently that she could hardly punch the keys, Madison contacted her bank. What Karen had told her was true. She had nothing in her savings account. According to the vice president, the funds had been wire transferred out of her account the day Erin had died.
“Is it possible you’ve been the victim of identity theft?” the man asked.
Madison hung up, her knees weak, locked by a type of paralysis. Her body refused to move but her mind churned. There were so many ways identity thieves could have gotten into her account. She was a poster girl for the Internet generation. She bought a lot online. She’d been careful and used secure sites. She’d thought she was safe, but this must have been how they’d accessed her personal information to steal the money from her savings account. She wondered if charges had been run up on her credit cards, as well.
Her body felt drained, as if she’d been ill for weeks, but she
was able to function again. She called Jade and explained the problem. The receptionist told her she would be happy to contact the credit card companies to see what was happening. Madison didn’t like Jade taking time away from the business to do personal things for her, but this was an emergency. She was already late for her appointment with Wyatt Holbrook.
Still light-headed with shock, Madison managed to ride the elevator to the penthouse. The top floor was more marble and glass. It was so quiet that the click-click of her high heels sounded like a hammer. In the distance she saw Biscayne Bay glistening in the afternoon sunlight like a banner of dazzling blue sequins.
The receptionist whose nameplate read Rose Marie Nesbit took her into Wyatt Holbrook’s office immediately. She wasn’t surprised to find Tobias Pennington there, but she hadn’t expected to see Garrison.
“Glad you could make it,” Garrison said as he bounded toward her, his hand extended, a welcoming smile on his face. “Thanks so much for coming. It means a lot to my father—to all of us.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, feeling a little guilty. This man truly loved his father and thought she could help, when she had no doubt that she couldn’t. It reminded her of her own father and his fight to stay alive. She understood Garrison’s anxiety and for the first time wished she could help.
They shook and she was again struck by how good-looking Garrison was, yet he didn’t seem to know it. For a split second, she wondered if he was married. Her Internet search hadn’t come across any mention of a wife.
“Garrison has his test labs in the other tower,” Wyatt Holbrook told her. “That way we can share some of the same facilities.”
“It’s more economic,” added Tobias.
“I see. The complex’s so big. You’re doing a lot more
research than I imagined.” She hadn’t really known what to expect, but certainly not this large an operation. It must employ hundreds of people.
“Like many corporations, Holbrook is known for one product—Xeria. It’s a medication for diabetes. It’s much—”