In one swift movement, he lifted the frail woman and threw her headfirst across the room, her body slamming against the living room wall before sliding to the floor. He then moved in on her and rained more than a dozen blows to her torso, each one breaking bones as easily as if she were a crystal figurine. He finally, reluctantly, stopped. He stared down at the lifeless lump. What was left of Sarah Davis wouldn't fill a body bag.
Chapter 36
Marty Branigan edged her way
through the crowd of reporters and cameramen outside the Davis home. She ducked under the crime scene tape and walked up the lawn past a row of ficuses. The policeman at the door recognized Marty and gave her a rueful smile.
"In the kitchen,"e said.
Marty entered a large living room where chairs were overturned and broken glass littered the floor. The smell of liquor hung in the air, mixed with the metallic smell of blood. Marty waved to Vince Brezina, the cop in charge. When she first arrived in Phoenix, she had been assigned to cover one of his cases for the paper. She counted him as a personal friend. They had a colorful history.
She gazed across the carpet where a bloody footprint had been circled in chalk. Brezina was standing over a body, talking to an attractive middle age woman.
He still looks the same
, she thought. Maybe a tad heavier, but still able to turn the head of most women. He had some great qualities--some bad ones too, she quickly reminded herself. She learned the hard way. Don't get hung up on Vince Brezina.
Well, that was over now.
"Hello, Vince," she said in a neutral voice as she walked up.
"Hey, Marty." Vince grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. "How you been?"
"Good, how about you?"
"Okay. I saw your article about that cryogenics place, last year. Interesting stuff."
"Funny you should mention that. I need to talk to you about something."
"Let me guess. Another one of your conspiracy theories?"
"Vince, this is serious."
"Marty, let me give you some advice. Stick to reporting UFO's in Roswell, and leave the detective work to us. I don't mean that in a bad way."
Marty looked at Brezina askance. "I'm sure you don't."
"All right. Maybe we can go have a drink after I'm done here. That make you feel better?"
"Not really, but a drink will be fine."
Vince hurried over to the gurney where they had loaded Sara Davis. Marty followed a few steps behind. Sara Davis was covered with a sheet up to her shoulders. It was hard to tell her age. A huge gash ran from her forehead down across her left eye and the socket was sunken in and empty. The rest of her face was swollen twice its size and covered with blood. Marty leaned over the lifeless corpse.
"Jesus,
Vince. What kind of animal does this?"
"It doesn't make sense. If I didn't know better, I'd say a ghost killed her. No sign of entry, the door was locked--"
"What if it was someone she knew? Someone who was trying to shut her up."
"Branigan, you know something you're not telling me?"
"Let's go have that drink, Vince. I think you'll need it when I'm done telling you what I
do
know."
Chapter 37
Josh Logan was in the
process of wearing a path into his living room carpet when the phone rang. He heard Marty's voice when he picked up.
"Josh, something awful has happened."
Josh took a seat beside his kitchen table. "I'm listening," he said.
"There have been several murders in the last two days. One was a colleague of mine. Another was Sara Davis. That name ring a bell?"
"No. Should it?"
"Her husband died at Ford the day you arrived. And get this. He was sent to Aurora Life Extension against his wife's wishes."
Josh exhaled silently. "How'd you find that out?"
"I have a friend in the Arizona State Police. Seems Mrs. Davis called to complain about Aurora, but was told there was nothing they could do. They told her to get a lawyer. Now she turns up dead. Just like my colleague. I just found out from my editor that, when he cleaned out her desk, he found some copy I was working on about Aurora. He thinks she stole it to get the story for herself."
"Did you kill her?"
"Very funny, Jos. And there's more. I don't know who the director of Aurora is, but I can tell you this. He has an enormous amount of power. All the board members of Aurora are from the highest echelons of society."
"Your sources, right?"
"Yes. A certain mortician I threatened.
"Well, I've got some things of my own going own, too. I can't get into it right now. There's someone I need to find, fast. She may be in grave danger. And Marty, you be careful. If someone killed your colleague over the story, then they were trying to silence her, which means they may know the story originated with you. There is some dangerous stuff going on right now, and I think we may be right in the middle of it."
"I'm going to check on something tonight, Josh. And if I'm right, it's going to be the biggest story to ever hit the papers. Here or anywhere else. And by the way, I'm always careful."
* * *
Lawrence Bowman gazed out the window of his office at the distant line of lights on Scottsdale Highway. He often thought of him when he was up here alone at the top of the desert.
All this knowledge ... and I still lost him.
Bowman's son, Danny, had died at the hands of a drunk driver on his way home from USC for spring break. Danny had been groomed to take over Ford from his father since the brilliant student entered medical school. But it was not to be. A drunk who had no license, no insurance, and no business operating a motor vehicle had crossed the centerline and put an end to the elder Bowman's dream.
Lawrence Bowman had been devastated. The anguish overwhelmed him for months, as Danny lay comatose with little chance of recovery. Finally when all hope was lost and he could bear no more, Lawrence Bowman did the unthinkable.
When he finally returned to work six months later, he was a changed man.
Very changed.
Chapter 38
Marty waited until after dark,
then headed out the door, a flashlight in hand. She had already checked her toolbox for anything that could help her pry the lid off a casket. A large screwdriver was the best thing she had come up with, but as she stood there analyzing its potential, a sense of surrealism came over her.
Could she actually pull this off?
Maybe, but the flathead screwdriver she'd grasped onto wasn't going to get her inside anything. She rooted around in her car's trunk until she found what she was looking for: a heavy-duty crowbar.
The night was clear, but brisk. Just a sliver of moon hung in the sky, but stars seemed to pop out every second.
She tucked her hair into a navy blue ball cap and climbed into the car.
Traffic was light. She noticed the cars that passed seemed to contain couples and families. It must be nice, she thought.
She slowed at the sign for Holliston, then followed the arrows that took her back over the freeway and into the surrounding blackness. The two-lane road paralleled the interstate for half a mile before swinging north. She followed its curve, eyed the sign declaring HOLLISTON, POPULATION 1020, then quickly passed a fossil shop, a small market, and a row of old frame houses that appeared long deserted. She passed through the entire town limits in less than thirty seconds.
Marty continued along the main road. It was dark as funeral granite along the roadside, the moon's light seeming to have diminished as she left the city. A few minutes later, she saw a sign announcing: HOLLISTON MEMORIAL PARK, JUST AHEAD.
A glint of light in her rearview mirror caught her eye, but when she looked closely, she saw nothing. Her body shuddered when the road approached a huge macadam entranceway adorned with concrete angels that must have been thirty feet tall. Marty followed thrance as it curved through an oasis of greenery and deciduous trees.
This is it!
She slowed her car and looked for a place to park out of plain view. The grounds were dark and silent. Marty, for all her journalistic adventurism, had to admit she was creeped-out. Small ground-level lights lit up large mausoleums and monuments on all sides of her. Marty realized that it would have been nearly impossible to find the right one if she hadn't threatened the mortician for directions. The place was huge. She could feel her pulse coursing through her neck as she adjusted to the glare of lights reflecting off all the polished gravestones and marble mausoleums that surrounded her. Holliston Memorial Park was the largest cemetery in Arizona. Its grounds stretched five miles in every direction and its plots contained some of the wealthiest people ever to live, or die, in the state.
Tonight, Marty Branigan was convinced that the bronze and mahogany casket sealed in Governor Teaks' family mausoleum
did not
contain the body of his daughter.
Now she was about to prove it.
* * *
Josh drove toward Kelly Frock's house using only memory to find his way back. The sky was getting black and low purple clouds were rolling in from the east. His mind was filled with fears about Kelly. Where could she be? Josh pressed on the gas.
Driving toward Kelly's, he felt a vague but very powerful fear building. He had no concrete proof of anything, but his shoulders and jaw were as tense as they'd ever been. He thought of Marty and worried about her, too.
He stopped the car in front of the house, climbed out, and strained to hear. The house was just as nice as Josh remembered--although he'd only visited for a little while the first time. In contrast to that visit, though, tonight, the house was dark. Josh crept up to the front door, his pulse pounding in his neck. The door was ajar, and the first thing that struck him was the foul odor that wafted through the opening. Josh jammed his arm against his nose and pushed the door open. Reaching across the door jam he found a bank of light switches. He flipped the first one.
In the middle of the room, Kelly Frock lay dead.
Josh stared at the body, just beginning to comprehend what had happened, and the events that led up to it.
Josh had two burning questions in his mind.
Did I cause this murder? Should I have left Kelly out of it?
Maybe Kelly had the answer. But it was too late for that.
Now she was the victim.
Chapter 39
The lab of Aurora Life Extension
was dimly lit and Victor Stone had to squint his eyes to see who was coming into the room. When he saw the director, he smiled affably and leaned back over his microscope, peering intently into the lenses.
"Are we on target for our demonstration?" the director asked.
Stone looked over his bi-focals. "Yes, yes we are."
"Excellent. Our guests will be arriving tomorrow morning."
"Everything is ready."
The director turned and walked from the room. He stood outside the door and suppressed a sigh.
It was finally going to happen.
Resurrection was going to happen and science would never be the same again. The fools of the world couldn't see it coming. They were about to rewrite the ethics governing life and death. The medical breakthroughs they had achieved would change the way humanity perceived the meaning of life.
The director smoothed his tie and took one last look at Victor Stone through the small glass window in the door. He was a brilliant scientist, the director thought, but he would no longer be needed after tomorrow. It was too bad-the director had almost got to like him.
But not quite.
No, like everyone else on his special ist, Stone, too, was dispensable.
Chapter 40
In the silence of Holliston
Memorial Park, Marty followed the directions the mortician gave her, and it wasn't long before she picked up a glimmer of light through the trees. She honed in on it and soon found herself less than ten yards away from a huge marble structure. It was entirely windowless, its door guarded by two bronze statues on either side that appeared to be saints or apostles. Staying low to the ground, Marty eased her way along the trees toward the building. There was a steel double door on the front with the inscription: TEAKS engraved in the metal, lit by a small light. A sidewalk led from the door to the main walkway and the access road. Marty darted out from the tree line to the side of the mausoleum. She was hit immediately by as foul stench, but before she had time to contemplate its origin, she noticed a huge compost pile a few yards off to the right. It was comprised from what looked like straw, and it reminded her of the barn at her grandfather's farm in Maine. Ignoring its stench, she focused on the mausoleum.
After waiting long enough to determine no security guards were patrolling the grounds near her, she crept forward, approaching the doors. A six-inch latch attached across the front of it connected to the opposite door by a hinge. She reached tentatively for the latch and tried to move it upwards, but instead of resistance as Marty expected, miraculously, the door opened. Instantaneously a light came on inside causing Marty to fall back. Squinting, she stepped forward. As if choreographed for some teenage horror flick, Marty found herself staring at three caskets. One was still covered in fresh flowers.
Stay calm,
she coached herself.
Keep your wits.
Worried that security might see the light; she glanced around and looked for the source of it. Spotting a switch that ran from the door hinge, she flipped it off. Marty now stood in pitch-black mausoleum.
Letting her eyes adjust to the dark, she reached in her pocket and found a small penlight she had brought with her. Pointing it in the direction of the caskets, she looked for a nameplate on the one nearest her. At the end of the casket, a bronze plate was engraved with the name: AMANDA TEAKS.
She moved to the second casket: GEORGE TEAKS.