The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (10 page)

From across the street, Devin scanned the parking lot but didn’t see the white car. She pulled her hood over her head and hurried to the sidewalk. The brightness of the day made her feel exposed, so she put on dark glasses too. At a break in traffic, she jogged across the busy road, a main artery leading to Fort Carson. On the sidewalk in front of the clinic, Devin paused, trying to get inside the other girl’s head. Where would she park? Someplace easy to get to but not out in the open. Lopez’s caution had surprised her last night and now it troubled her again. Devin blamed the reporter and was still upset with herself for losing them.

After walking a few blocks in each direction from the clinic, she located the Jetta under a tree near a yoga studio on a side street. She strode toward it, moving rapidly without running, and pulled out the knife she carried. She would puncture one of the tires, just in case the pair got out of the clinic without her spotting them. Three women emerged from the studio and started across the small parking lot, cheerfully arguing about their instructor. They stopped next to the Jetta and continued their loud discussion.

Well, hell.
Devin couldn’t wait for them to move on. Her targets could be leaving the clinic at that moment. If they continued their careful behavior, they might head away from the car or even abandon it. She spun around and jogged back to the main avenue, turning toward the clinic. The parking lot was still quiet, and she didn’t spot anyone leaving. But a dark sedan was pulling in. Two men in business jackets. Police officers? Or FBI?
Damn it all to hell.

No point in jumping to conclusions. She would watch and wait.

The sedan parked, and the men climbed out. One wore a navy-blue suit, and the other sported jeans with a gray tweed jacket.
Local detectives
. Were they investigating the receptionist’s death? As the men walked toward the entrance, the glass door opened, and the female target came out, moving quickly. Devin was close enough to hear the man in the blue suit say, “Taylor Lopez? We need you to come with us.”

Police!
Taylor’s heart skipped a beat. Her gut screamed
Run!
, but instead she froze. What did they want? They weren’t in uniform, and that made her even more nervous. “What’s this about? Can’t we talk right here?”

They stared at her belly.

She flushed with shame at the fake bump under her shirt. How would she explain it? Stick to the truth, without mentioning Jake. Why had she let him talk her into this?

“We have questions about the murder of Bonnie Yost.” The younger man in jeans stepped close and grabbed her elbow. “I’m Detective Miller, and this is Detective Blunt with the Colorado Springs Police Department. You’re coming with us.”

To an interrogation room! Her heart raced, and she felt faint. “I never met Bonnie in person! She didn’t come to the door when I went to her house.” Taylor heard the panic in her voice and tried to calm herself.

“We’ll talk when we get to the department.” Detective Miller steered her into the parking lot.

Taylor’s legs buckled, and she couldn’t move.

“Cuff her,” the older cop snapped. “The clinic reported a security issue, and I’m sure she’s involved.”

“Then we have to Mirandize her.” The younger detective had turned away from her, but Taylor still heard it.

“So do it.”

Miller pulled her hands together and snapped cold steel around her wrists, while citing her rights to remain silent and obtain an attorney. Tears welled in her eyes, and Taylor fought back sobs.
No crying!

The detective grabbed her elbow again and started walking. Taylor stumbled a few times before her weak legs started functioning. Suddenly, the wail of an alarm filled the air. They all turned to stare at the clinic. Nothing seemed wrong. No smoke or fire. No one running out the front door. Yet Taylor knew Jake had somehow set it off. She hoped he wasn’t busted.

The detective put her in the back of a dark sedan and locked the doors. She was a prisoner! Her heart pounded so hard it ached. A full panic attack hit her, and she couldn’t breathe. For a moment, she saw little stars around her forehead. Taylor lay sideways on the seat, closed her eyes, and took long slow breaths. She had to get calm before she passed out from hyperventilating.

Her phone beeped, indicating a text. It was probably Jake, and she hoped the cops hadn’t heard it.
Please let him get away.
Worrying about Jake seemed to ease her panic. She took five more long breaths and talked herself through the situation. She hadn’t done anything illegal. She would tell the truth, and this would turn out okay.

Or not.
Hundreds of people were serving long prison sentences for crimes they hadn’t committed. Most of them weren’t young women though. Her light-brown skin might work against her, but her clean record should at least make them hesitate to charge her with murder. That’s what this was about. Bonnie’s death. Tight Bun must have recognized her and called the police. The cops might not even care about her little drama scene. But she would have to explain the fake belly. She could say she wanted to get more information from the clinic and thought they might open up more to a pregnant patient. She hadn’t lied about her name, and it wasn’t illegal to pretend to be pregnant. Was it?

Her mother’s voice was suddenly in her head, soothing her and praising her for caring about the lives of strangers. But her mother was dead, and she had no one to call if things went badly.

The trip to the police department was a five-minute ride down the same main avenue. When she heard the car’s lock release, some of the tension went out of her body. But the cuffs behind her back were still painful. Detective Miller opened the door and pulled her from the vehicle. As she awkwardly climbed out, the pillow fell out of her waistband and landed on the ground.

Detective Blunt picked it up. “What is this?”

Taylor’s throat closed up.

The older man leaned in, a fierce expression on his face. “Answer me.”

“I needed an excuse to go into the clinic. I wanted more information.”

The younger detective pulled on her elbow. “Let’s take this conversation inside.

They crossed a narrow parking lot and approached a three-story, red-brick building. The bright sun and big sky only made her feel small and hopeless in comparison. What if they didn’t believe anything she said?

Inside the department, they led her to a small room with no windows. Her worst fear! Miller uncuffed her hands, then recuffed them in the front. She almost cried out with relief. After he searched her pockets, he took her cell phone pouch, the only thing she’d taken into the clinic. She knew her rights and forced herself to speak. “You’re not legally allowed to search my phone.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get a warrant.” Miller pointed to a wooden chair on one side of a metal table. “Sit down. We’ll be back in a minute.”

They were gone much longer. After a while, she stood and paced the room. What were they doing besides an illegal search of her phone? Breaking her down. That was probably the point. To make her so anxious she would tell them anything.

After what seemed like an hour, the two men came back. Detective Miller put a cup of water on the table in front of her. She noticed for the first time that he was handsome with a wide face and thick dark hair. His partner had sagging skin, a shaved head, and a mean expression. Blunt would probably play the bad cop. She would ignore him, as though he weren’t important—a strategy that had gotten her through some tough times with one of her mother’s boyfriends.

Detective Miller, seated across the table, told her the session was being recorded, then moved quickly to the real questions. “How do you know Bonnie Yost?”

“I don’t.” Taylor paused, hoping to steady her voice. “Except that she was a receptionist at Carson Obstetrics. I talked to her on the phone once.”

“You were seen at her house around the time she was murdered. What were you doing there?” Miller kept his voice deadpan.

Should she tell them about the experiment? Would they think she was crazy? The list of subjects was in her satchel, which she’d left in the car. She would give the information to them slowly and test their reactions. “I wanted to ask her questions about my birth. My mother was a patient at the clinic in 1995.”

“Why now? What prompted that?”

“I work in the Denver morgue. A guy my age came in a few days ago, and he had drowned.” Taylor reached for the water with her cuffed hands and managed to take a sip. “The man was also a Carson clinic baby from the same year. It made me curious about my birth. My mother’s dead, and she never talked about it.”

Detective Miller blinked, jotted down a few notes, then asked, “Did Bonnie Yost refuse to give you information? Is that why you got angry and killed her?”

“That’s absurd.” Taylor shook her head, hoping to sound sincere. “I went to her house because she abruptly retired after I called the clinic. I thought maybe she’d been forced out, so I went there to follow up.”

Miller scowled. “Why would a medical clinic force her to retire? Maybe you were the one who intimidated her.” He leaned forward, his voice intense. “
You
were the last person to talk to her at the clinic.
You
were the last person to see her before she died. What were you
really
hounding her about?”

A flash of guilt. Had she harassed the old woman with her questions?
No.
The receptionist had sent her an email with a list of names. Bonnie had wanted to help her. Had the cops searched the old woman’s computer? If so, why hadn’t they asked about the list? “It wasn’t like that.” Taylor tried to explain. “I called and asked a few questions. Bonnie wasn’t free to talk at the clinic, but she emailed me that same evening. She sent me a list of babies born that year to clinic patients.”

Miller leaned back, perplexed. The other detective slapped his hand on the table. “Bullshit! Bonnie Yost didn’t have a computer in her home, and I doubt she violated patient confidentiality just because you were curious about your birth. What the hell are you hiding?”

Taylor’s lips trembled. “She emailed me. I have the message on my phone. I have the list in my car.”

“Why did you want to know about the other kids born that year?” Detective Miller had softened his face and tone. “What’s so special about them?”

This was the quicksand, and she had no choice but to step in. “I think they all share some abnormalities. There wasn’t just one body that came into the morgue. A few weeks earlier, another young man with a similar body died in a fall from his balcony. He’d been born that same year to a clinic patient.”

A long silence.

Blunt looked disgusted, and Miller looked skeptical. “What are you saying? You think those deaths weren’t accidents?”

“It seemed too strange to be coincidence.”

Blunt crossed his arms and shook his head. “This is a bullshit distraction. What’s your connection to Bonnie Yost?”

“None. Other than she worked at the clinic and sent me the list of babies born in 1996.”

Miller jumped back in. “Tell us what happened when you went to see Bonnie.”

“Nothing! She didn’t come to the door. I was worried about her, so I looked in the window and saw her on the floor with all the blood. I knew she was dead.” This part was embarrassing, and Taylor felt her cheeks flush. “I panicked and drove back to Denver. But I did call 9-11 and report it.”

“You never went inside?”

“No.”

“Why were you worried?”

“Because Bonnie retired suddenly. Because two guys born that year were dead. Bonnie had tried to help me, and I thought maybe someone had silenced her too.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Detective Blunt stood. “We’re not entertaining any conspiracy theory bullshit. When you’re ready to tell the truth, we’ll be back.” He tapped his partner’s arm. Miller hesitated, then got up, and they both walked out.

Oh god.
They were going to leave her here in this windowless little hole, handcuffed and hungry for days. They would break her down. Taylor fought the tears, but they came anyway.

The intensity of the security alarm unnerved him. So much louder than he’d braced for. Jake ran along the back of the building, hoping Taylor had made it out. He rounded the corner but didn’t see her anywhere. Worried that the staff was looking for him—or even at him through the windows—he crossed the parking lot and took cover behind a minivan. He sent Taylor a quick text:
I’m out. Side parking lot.

She didn’t respond, so he called. No answer. Jake moved along behind the row of cars until he could see the front of the building. Two men walked with Taylor, who was handcuffed. She was being arrested!
Shit!
How had the police arrived so quickly?

If they hadn’t already detained her, he would have tried to distract them and give her a chance to get away. But those weren’t uniformed officers. They wore suits. Detectives didn’t respond to trespassing or theft crimes. Her arrest had to be about the receptionist’s death, and Taylor was probably terrified. He shouldn’t have encouraged her to come back here.

His guilt was interrupted by the sight of someone in dark clothes barreling toward him from the back of the building. The man had a fierce expression and didn’t look like a clinic staffer… or a cop. Was that a gun at his side?

Run!

Jake leapt over the low-growing hedge dividing the two properties and sprinted across the back lot of the carwash next door. A neighboring concrete building blocked his path, so he rounded the corner of the carwash to head for the street. A glance over his shoulder escalated his fear. The man was coming after him! He had to be the killer.

At the sidewalk, Jake turned away from the clinic and ran for his life. The guy wouldn’t murder him in plain view of passing traffic, would he? Taylor’s car was around here somewhere, but he didn’t have a key. He either had to put distance between him and the hit man or find a great place to hide. Or both.

At the corner, he spotted a grocery store. Jake pumped his arms and sprinted as hard as he could for the automatic door. He had excelled at track in high school and prayed that he was faster than the man coming after him. An older couple coming out the entrance saw him barreling toward them and stepped aside. The woman cursed at him to “Slow the hell down!”