Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold (20 page)

Sam Waylen.

“Let’s go,” Halliday whispered to Laurel.

“Detective Halliday,” Waylen yelled, “Remove your weapon. Put it on the ground in front of you.”

He leaned forward, his Glock cupped in his hand. As he laid it down he whispered to Laurel, “Walk to the side of the road. Hide in the trees.”

“John, I’m afraid.”

“Do it now.”

“Listen to the chimes,” she said, her voice trailing off.

The headlights blinded him. Halliday heard footsteps approaching from the front.

“Are you alone, detective?”

“Yes.”

A beam of light illuminated the inside of his car. It searched both sides of the road.

“Give me your car keys.”

“Sam Waylen,” Halliday said. “Once again, out of your jurisdiction. You’ve broken the law for the second time today.”

Waylen’s fat face held a big question mark.

“You remember, the Latino girl you beat up earlier this morning?”

Waylen’s sour face told Halliday his comment had hit home.

“Check the trunk of his car,” Waylen barked. He swiped the keys out of Halliday’s hand and tossed them behind him. “He might have the woman hidden in there.”

Moments later the trunk popped open.

“A bunch of mountain climbing gear,” the voice yelled out.

“Going mountain climbing detective?” Waylen’s voice ached with disbelief.

“Some of us have more interests than harassing bargirls,” Halliday said. “Last month I climbed Mount Shasta.”

Waylen ignored his comment. “Where were you heading, Halliday?”

“To the sierras for a practice climb.”

“Wearing a suit?”

“I change clothes up at the camp.”

“I think we both know this road dead-ends at the back gate of Genevive Labs.”

“Yeah, I think I took a wrong turn. I was just going to stop and ask directions.”

“Hey, Sam, are you taking him to Deer Meadow or the cabin?” a voice called out from behind. “To the cabin,” Sam barked out. “Just sit tight until I return. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

Waylen leaned into Halliday’s face. “I don’t believe a fucking word you’ve said, detective. What say we go for a ride, hotshot. I know a clinic where we can straighten your attitude out real quick.”

Sam Waylen had not headed to Genevive Labs as Halliday had expected. After reiterating that Halliday’s, “Ass was grass,” the security man drove in absolute silence over a series of dirt roads.

They arrived at a lit sign:

GENEVIVE LABS PRIVATE PROPERTY—AUTHORIZED VISITORS SIGN IN AT GATE AHEAD—ALL OTHERS TURN AROUND.

Through the trees, Halliday glimpsed a large cabin in a clearing surrounded by pine trees. The same fortified fence that he had tackled at Genevive Labs enclosed the property.

Waylen pulled up. An electric security gate slid partially open. An armed security man came out of the guard shack wearing the standard orange vest. He strode to the driver’s side on long, stilted legs. Waylen rolled down the window.

The guard leaned in as a giraffe would. “Is that Detective Halliday from the Santa Reina PD, Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s him Frankie,” Waylen said, all goofy like.

“Mr. Palmier is waiting,” the guard said to Halliday, as if he was to meet the boss of the chain gang.

Halliday barked, “Hey Frankie, didn’t I see you at the Staples Center?”

Frankie smiled like the sun shined just for him. “No man, I never player for the Lakers. I was starting center for the Mobile Monarks.”

“Darn, I could have sworn I saw you workin’ a hot dog concession. Aren’t you ‘Skyscraper Dog?’”

“Fuck you, Halliday.” Frankie scribbled on a clip board, glared at him and said, “I’ll open the gate now.”

Waylen chuckled in spite of himself. He pulled into a graveled parking area off to the side of the rustic cabin and shut off the engine.

Gray silhouettes lingered behind black trees. Halliday smelled burning wood. Smoke trailed out of the cabin’s chimney. A man in a black suit emerged from the darkness. The agent tugged on the leashes of two nervous Dobermans that looked like they were trying to bite their nonexistent tails. Night vision binoculars flopped on the agent’s chest.

“This way detective,” Waylen said, nodding toward the cabin.

At the cabin door Halliday read the sign next to it: GENEVIVE LABS—ANNEX J.

The door opened to a cloud of cigar smoke. Palmier sat in an oversized chair in the center of a semi-circle of four other men. The chairs were fanned out so that Palmier could see the others without having to lean forward. Polished driftwood supported a half-moon shaped glass coffee table top. Coffee cups, small glasses and a decanter of cognac sat on the tabletop.

“Detective Halliday,” Palmier said. “When I heard you were in the neighborhood I couldn’t resist having you stop by.” The confident executive scanned from left to right. “Gentlemen, this is Detective John Halliday from our illustrious Santa Reina Police Department.”

The men eyed him like he was on exhibition.

Palmier didn’t offer Halliday a seat so he ignored the stool next to him. A muscular man, not part of the group, stood at the door, awaiting instructions. Halliday pegged Agent Coulter in the seat next to Palmier on the right. He had never seen the DARPA agent face to face. Coulter, Jillian’s woodsman, wore a perpetual tan. His broad shoulders and curly reddish brown defined outdoorsy athletic features that must have been what attracted her.

The black man at the other end of the table had to be the security chief, George Altman. A stubby, wild-eyed man with a leprechaun’s beard sat on the other side of Palmier. His short legs dangled from the oversized chair. The bald gentleman he had seen at Cindy’s Diner sat at the near end exuding confidence.

Palmier leaned forward. The fireplace made his face glow. He placed his cigar on an ashtray.

“Detective Halliday,” Palmier said, “Why don’t you tell us about my ex-wife Laurel McKittrick?”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

Palmier smiled. “I had a conversation recently with the Tribune’s editor. I told her we had a human interest story involving one of Santa Reina PD’s finest.”

The bald man held up a folder.

“It concerns a former federal agent who joins the Santa Reina PD. Turns out the man has a checkered past. His female partner is killed in action on a security detail in Asia and….”

Angry as hell, Halliday clenched his fists. He took a step forward.

Palmier nodded to the security man at the door. “Due to security reasons the Office of Diplomatic Security kept the sensational story under wraps. It never got out to the public that the female agent was Agent Halliday’s fiancé.”

“What about you Palmier? What about the Genevive executive who sold his wife out in a cave in New Mexico? That would make a great human interest story.”

Palmier’s expression turned sour.

Halliday, seething inside, had to keep his cool.

“I’m not going to have your exposé printed unless you choose not to cooperate,” Palmier said. “Now, why don’t you tell us what you know about Laurel McKittrick?”

Halliday struggled to regain his composure. “I can tell you this, Palmier,” he said, eyeing the DARPA agent. “Mr. Coulter here was correct. FBI lab results came in this morning. The voicemails were clever recordings using your deceased wife’s voice print. They must have pulled her voice off her website. She had recorded a few podcasts on caving safety. Rather ironic, huh?”

Palmier glanced at Coulter, who wore a folksy smile that must have charmed Jillian. “Forward the reports to me, detective. Do you have my e-mail address?”

“This is police business, Mr. Palmier.”

“I believe Chief Brayden has instructed you to fully cooperate with me.”

No way in hell would he cooperate with the scumbag. “Your business card’s in my wallet.” He glanced at the silent security chief, George Altman. The big brute’s smirk had remained unchanged since Halliday’s arrival. Down at the other end the bald man’s glazed over face gave no hint of his cards or how he might play them.

“We’re waiting, detective.”

Palmier’s arrogance coupled with Altman’s acrimony urged him on. “I received reports from the FBI. They have been monitoring the bio-extremist group.
Morning Glory
plans to do more than demonstrate here day after tomorrow. Their leader has placed multiple calls to an audiophile expert in Los Angeles who created your ex-wife’s voicemail sent to me using old recordings of her voice. Amazing what technology can do these days.”

Palmier’s expression told him that the exec had accepted his fabrication, with skepticism.

Halliday stared Palmier down before he said, “One other thing. The FBI mentioned an assassination plot.”

All four men leaned forward. Palmier said softly, “Assassination? Who’s the target?”

Halliday had nothing to lose. “You are. That’s the reason for the bio-extremists bringing your deceased ex-wife back to life. The bureau is not sure how it all ties together yet. October 31
st
seems to be the day of reckoning.”

Palmier stared at the fireplace. The flames reached high up into the chimney. His perfect posture had slacked. He adjusted his jaw with one hand.

Halliday regained Palmier’s attention. “You mind telling me why this bio-extremist group is targeting you? Why not CEO Gartner or members of the board? Is there something you’ve got to hide?”

Palmier glanced over at the bald man. They had a general in their midst.

Halliday detected a slight nod from the man. Palmier said with an edge to his voice, “Halliday, you find out who the hell’s behind this. Otherwise, keep your nose out of my affairs.”

The contradiction elicited a smile from Halliday.

Palmier regained his composure. He turned to his security chief. “George, do you think this assassination threat could be credible?”

The “gentlemen’s club” shit-eating grins had abated. Their stogies sat simmering on bear paw shaped ashtrays. Altman turned to Palmier and said, “We consider any threat seriously. I haven’t been contacted by the FBI. An assassination plot sounds farfetched to me. We’ll look into it.” Altman eyed Halliday suspiciously. “Can I expect Santa Reina PD’s full cooperation?”

Halliday said, “Santa Reina PD is here to support
all
of our citizens.”

Palmier fiddled with his tie. “Halliday, I’m glad that you’ve decided to be more cooperative. Life will be a lot easier for you, believe me.”

“I’m just doing my job,” he said.

“By the way,” Palmier said. “How did the investigation go at the Hot Springs?”

“I wasn’t involved,” Halliday said. The tone of Palmier’s voice told him the exec was fishing for something. “Why?”

Palmier glanced at Altman whose eyes lifted to offer an objection.

The executive’s hands formed a steeple over his nose. Halliday suspected Altman’s concerns would be overruled.

“It’s been brought to our attention that Jillian Andrews may have been preparing a lawsuit against Genevive Labs,” Palmier said. “I understand you checked out Miss Andrews’ home. Did you come across any official documents?”

This is why he had been brought here. Jillian had incriminating evidence. If Laurel didn’t have it, then who did?

“Halliday?”

“No, we didn’t come across anything. What I can tell you is that Jillian didn’t keep anything of value in her house. She apparently kept her valuables locked in her office safe at the hot springs. I couldn’t even find her computer log-in information.”

Palmier frowned.

“Of course, Chief Brayden will tell you what they retrieved out of the safe after the fire.”

Although Palmier caught his barb, he said nothing.

“What motivated Miss Andrews to file a lawsuit?” Halliday said in a quiet tone.

Palmier gave it careful thought before he said, “Jillian Andrews, nee Foxworth, planned to challenge the sale of the parcel of land to Genevive Labs. I don’t think she had much of a case but Genevive doesn’t need the publicity of a lawsuit. You can understand that, can’t you Detective Halliday?”

“You should get the FBI involved. Who knows, maybe Miss Andrews had stepped beyond her legal bounds.”

Their expressions told him that his advice didn’t go over well.

“Who’s your contact at the FBI?” Agent Coulter said.

“Sorry, it’s confidential,” Halliday said.

Palmier rose up. The other men stayed in their seats.

Halliday went on alert as Palmier approached. The exec placed his hand on his shoulder. It required extreme patience for Halliday to refrain from punching the creep’s lights out.

Palmier leaned into his ear and whispered, “Don’t hold back
anything
regarding Jillian Andrews
Foxworth
. If I don’t hear from you tomorrow afternoon by 2:00
p.m.
regarding the FBI’s involvement with my ex-wife, expect your life to change for the worse.”

Why Palmier kept what he said from the others was another mystery. Halliday figured the little man, who had remained silent, didn’t need to know.

Palmier took his seat.

Halliday believed that his fabrication had bought him time to find Laurel. He had to admit that he enjoyed watching Palmier squirm. However, he had no doubt that Palmier would reciprocate when he didn’t receive an e-mail tomorrow as promised. Halliday hadn’t finished stirring the pot yet.

“Is there something else on your mind, detective?”

“Missing animals,” Halliday said, “and missing
persons
.”

“I assure you detective that our experiments are humane,” the little guy blurted out.

“Dr. Krabbi, please,” Palmier barked, cutting him off.

DARPA Agent Coulter no doubt played a large role. Up to now he hadn’t participated in the discussion. “Does the name Lamar Festus ring a bell?” Halliday said.

Coulter remained tightlipped.

The front door opened. A young Harry Potter type said to Doctor Krabbi, “Sir they have the test results.”

“Dr. Krabbi struggled out of the chair. When his little feet hit the carpet, he waddled to the door. The scientist didn’t acknowledge his cohorts as he left. Palmier led the others with an acidic grin.

After the door closed, Palmier apologized to the room. “Dr. Krabbi is a brilliant scientist, but he has a permanent case of cabin fever.” The group’s smirks said they concurred.

Although Dr. Krabbi appeared to be a rare duck, his presence, like a schoolmarm at the chalkboard, had kept the boys out of mischief. Except the bald man, above it all.

Halliday believed that Palmier and his comrades wouldn’t harm him tonight. He was safe as long as they thought he had access to evidence. His link to Laurel McKittrick—whether they considered her alive, dead, or merely a hoax—remained his trump card.

Palmier replied, “Missing animals? Missing people? Detective Halliday, you’re fast becoming the Tommy Hartnett of the Santa Reina PD. What’s next? Genevive Labs harboring aliens?”

Maybe they were setting him up to take Tommy’s place as the guy who cried wolf too often. “Tommy has served this community well over the years.” He wanted to say more but decided against it.

“Speaking of Tommy Hartnett, did you hear what happened to him?”