Authors: Margaret Fenton
“Sure. I do periodic updates on his
software. Why? What’s he done?”
“I think his son may be involved in
Michael’s death.”
“Trey? How?”
“You know him?”
“I’ve met him once. Stop that pacing and
tell me what’s going on, for God’s sake.”
I didn’t stop. “Ashley, she’s Michael’s
mom, remember?” He nodded. “Ashley had two jobs, one in a restaurant and one
cleaning offices at night. Four nights before Michael was killed, Friday, she
worked at BaxMed.”
“So?”
“So Michael died of a GHB overdose. One
of the drugs that BaxMed is developing is very similar to GHB, to treat
narcolepsy.”
“Isn’t that where you fall asleep all
the time?”
“Yes. So, here’s what happened. Ashley
goes to work as usual on Friday night. She goes to BaxMed to clean for the
first time and sees Trey. She recognizes him.”
“Why would she know him?”
“Because he’s her baby’s father’s best
friend. There’s a picture of him in Ashley’s apartment. And her baby’s father
is a big-time drug addict. I’m betting that they all used to party together.”
“Oh, but —”
“So she gets to BaxMed and sees Trey —
or sees Trey doing something — I mean, think about it. You’re making GHB,
right? Or something very close to it. Granted, it’s for a legitimate reason, to
treat this disease. But what’s to stop you from making up an extra batch and
selling it on the street? Or to your friends? Or —” I could barely breathe with
the realizations hitting me. “Or in your other friend’s nightclub?”
“And you think Ashley didn’t know what
Trey was doing before she saw him that night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. I’m willing to
bet she does now, and that’s why her son died. And why she almost died. Can you
show me what’s on BaxMed’s computers? Is that illegal?”
“No, it’s not illegal. Just very
unethical.”
“So is killing a two-year-old.”
“Right. Come on.”
He led me back to his office, unfolded a
chair and set it next to his. His monitor was the biggest one I’d ever seen. I
watched as he logged onto his system, then into BaxMed’s.
“What if there’s a password?”
“There is, but I know it. I do their
upgrades.”
“What if they’ve changed it?”
“There are ways. Be patient.”
He hit a few more keys and suddenly we
were looking at a menu of the contents of BaxMed’s server. “What do you want to
look at?”
“I don’t know.” I hardly expected to
find a signed confession, although that would have been lovely. “What do you
think?”
“There’s a ton of document files here.”
He clicked and read several of them. “It looks like some letters and
applications to the FDA, trying to get approval for tests.”
“This could take all night, even if we
knew what to look for.”
“Let’s check out the books.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. Watch.” He pulled up QuickBooks
and logged in a password.
“How did you do that?”
“I told you, I upgrade their software. I
have my own set of passwords. Let’s see —” He studied something called the main
checking ledger for several moments. I’d never used the software and had no
idea what I was looking at.
“There’s an initial deposit of six
hundred thousand dollars from Dr. Baxter. A few checks going out to Edgewater
Properties. I assume that’s for the rent, then a check to me —” He scrolled
down. “A lot of big checks to medical supply companies. Then some checks to
about twenty different people.”
“That must be the study subjects.” I
told him what Heinrich had said about people getting paid in clinical trials.
“Then another deposit from Dr. Baxter
for another six hundred grand. Whew, that’s one point two million he’s put into
this. I bet that’s most of what he got for his former practice. And it goes
fast.” He scrolled down some more. “Here’s another deposit. From Global
Holdings of Birmingham. I wonder who they are.”
“One of Dr. Baxter’s friends told me he
had a sponsor. I guess that’s them.”
“It looks like Global Holdings has been
depositing a steady stream of a few thousand dollars every week into BaxMed.
It’s what’s keeping them afloat at this point. Barely.”
We looked through more documents on the
Baxter’s server, correspondence and reports, and some statistical data about
the medicines they were developing. We didn’t understand the stats much. And we
didn’t see anything immediately incriminating. After a while, Grant starting
yawning.
“You should go to bed,” I said.
“What about you?”
“I think I’ll stay up a little longer.”
Grant logged out of BaxMed’s system and
loaned me a T-shirt to sleep in. It came almost to my knees. He kissed me good
night and I curled up on the couch under the same striped comforter as before.
I spent most of the night browsing through TV channels, not really watching,
but not able to sleep. Mental pictures of Michael wouldn’t let me rest. I
finally drifted off about three thirty.
Grant kissed me awake — which was nice —
at seven. He handed me a hot cup of coffee and sat in the living room with me
while I sipped it and tried to get my mind together after only three and a half
hours of sleep.
“So what’s the next step?” he asked.
“I’m going to talk to the police. First
I’ve got to go home and get something to wear to work.”
“Maybe I should go with you.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m not going to be
there long. You can go to work.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I changed back into the clothes I’d worn
yesterday, brushed my hair, and locked Grant’s door. I scanned the lot
carefully for Jimmy’s truck, but I didn’t see it. He was the only part of the
equation that hadn’t come together. What in the world could he have to do with
BaxMed? If my theory was right, maybe he was one of Trey’s customers. It
wouldn’t be the first time an addict like Ashley had hooked up with another
addict. Many romances bloomed in recovery. Maybe Jimmy had relapsed and was
protecting his dealer. Still, he didn’t seem like a user. At least not of GHB.
I’d never seen him high, and he didn’t have that strung-out-and-desperate look
I was so familiar with. Then why would he want to kill me? To keep Ashley’s
secret?
Maybe. Perhaps Ashley wasn’t safe in
jail. Maybe by uncovering what she’d been hiding, I was endangering her.
Whoever had threatened her might be able to get to her in prison. But if Jimmy
killed me, the secret was safe. I hadn’t thought of that before, and it gave me
the creeps.
Noticing the time on the dashboard
clock, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, searched through the calls
received, and dialed Kirk’s cell. I could hear traffic in the background when
he answered.
“I need one last favor,” I said.
“Boy, they’re really piling up. I’m
going to get something good.”
“Do you know how to find out who owns a
certain company?”
“Sure, at the courthouse. That’s
Investigative Reporting 101.”
“I need to know who owns Global Holdings
of Birmingham.”
“Global Holdings of Birmingham. Gotcha.
They’re here in Jefferson County?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll stop by the courthouse on my way
to the office.”
“Okay, I’m running late to work, so call
my cell.”
Speaking of running late, I called my
secretary to tell her I’d be there in an hour.
I still had a touch of the willies as I
pulled into my carport. I checked the carport door to make sure it was still
locked, then the sliding glass door at the back. All was secure. I detoured to
the mailbox before letting myself in the front door.
I threw the mail on the table and went
to take a shower, activating the little alarm with the keyring remote as I went
down the hall. Out of my closet I grabbed a pair of jeans and a black V-neck
top and set them on the bed. Today was Friday, and we were allowed to dress
down a bit, as long as we didn’t have to testify in court. I didn’t have court
today, just a home visit in the afternoon, and a huge stack of vouchers to tackle
so my kids could get back-to-school supplies and uniforms. Registration time
was soon upon us, and things were going to get busy.
I showered quickly, dried my hair, and
went to the bedroom to dress. I heard my cell phone beeping from inside my
purse, lying on the bed next to my clothes. I had a message.
Kirk. “Call me. I’m at the courthouse,”
was all it said. I dialed his cell.
“Sorry. I was in the shower,” I said.
“Wait. Let me just hold that image in my
mind for a minute.”
“Kirk —”
“Okay, okay. I know. Global Holdings of
Birmingham is owned by Walter Arlington Baxter.”
“Which one?”
“Huh?”
“There are at least two.”
“Hang on.” He came back on the line
after a minute. “The third. Walter Arlington Baxter the Third. Hey, is that the
BaxMed kid?”
“Yep.”
“So what’s it mean? What’s DHS got to do
with BaxMed?”
“I’ll let you know. I’ll call you
later.”
“Claire —”
“Trust me.”
So Trey Baxter owned the company that
was financing his father’s research company. That made no sense at all. Why
form a company? Why not just give the money to his father? Unless, of course,
the money was coming from an illegal source. Like drug dealing. Trey could
deposit the cash into the Holdings bank account, then give it to BaxMed. That
was money laundering, right?
I stripped off my bathrobe and dressed.
I needed to call Brighton. I didn’t know if he could act on any of this
information, since what I had wasn’t exactly evidence. More like a theory. A
theory I was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear. After all, he had his man. Or
woman, as the case may be. Maybe once I told him what I knew, and what I
suspected, he could lean on Ashley for the truth. If she wouldn’t give it to
me, maybe she would tell him.
I was sliding into a pair of black clogs
when the alarm screamed. Every nerve in my body jumped and my hands flew to my
ears. My first instinct was to run and shut the horrible screeching thing off,
but then it hit me.
Someone was in my house.
I ran to the bedroom door, slammed and
locked it. Pressing my ear against the door, I heard two men.
“Shut that fuckin’ thing off.” I didn’t
recognize that voice.
“There’s no button.”
Lucas Donovan, the bartender from
Kaleidoscope.
“She’s back here.”
Out. I had to get out. My bedroom had
one window that opened into the back yard. I ran to it. Ripped off the curtain,
unlocked the window, and tugged on the frame with all my might. It didn’t
budge. I grabbed a lamp off the table next to my bed. Tore off the shade and
used the base to shatter a pane of glass. Shattered the next and tried to break
out the wooden grid.
“She’s in here!” the first man shouted.
I broke out the third pane as one of the
two men kicked in my door with a loud crash. The alarm was still blaring. I
tried to force myself to scream. But fear had frozen my throat.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Lucas said. He
lunged across the room and grabbed me around the waist. I fought as hard as I
could, kicking and punching him as he tossed me onto the bed.
I landed on my back and rolled over. Got
up on all fours before Lucas got my ankles and pulled me onto my stomach.
Terror vibrated through me. A buzzing in my head mixed with the scream of the
alarm and the thumping of my heart.
Lucas straddled my back as reality
seemed to grow distant. I didn’t want to live through whatever was going to
happen next.
“Hold her still,” the second voice said.
I whipped my head around to see Trey Baxter at my side, long blond bangs
hanging over his face. His brown eyes were intense, focused. As I struggled
some more, Lucas gripped my arms and held them to my sides.
Trey had a needle. With an orange cap.
“No,” I said, weakly.
“Don’t worry,” Trey said. “It’s just
something to put you to sleep.”
“Permanently?” I squeaked.
He chuckled.
Trey shoved the sleeve of my shirt up. I
twisted, trying to free my arms, but Lucas was too strong. I felt a pinch as he
sank the needle into a vein.
Within a few seconds my body felt heavy,
as if my flesh had turned to steel. Lucas got off me. I tried to say something,
anything, but my mouth wouldn’t work. I thought about my father. My brother.
Grant. My last thought was a prayer.
Please, God, let that autodialer
doohickey work.