Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold (4 page)

Cindy’s Diner had been serving Santa Reina and the PD for over fifty years. The diner’s walls were layered with paint, the ceiling with grease. Overhead fans droned over loud conversations accompanied by breakfast odors that pervaded the diner 24/7. Late in the afternoon, grease stained Santa Reina Tribune pages flapped on the tables.

Gladstone sat in a corner booth staring into a cup of coffee while gazing at the sports page.

Halliday scooted into the booth across from him.

The scruffy linoleum covered floor creaked until a waitress ambled over to the vinyl covered booth. “The usual John?”

He nodded. “Thanks, Carmen.”

Halliday interrupted Gladstone’s sports page. “Why in hell didn’t you advise me about your conversations with Sheriff Barnes and Chief Brayden?”

Gladstone held up his hands as if to ward off a defensive tackle. “Hey boss, I heard you had your hands full out at Sur on a domestic violence.” He paused too long and said, “That’s what Sergeant Garcia told me.”

Halliday held up his phone. “If we are going to work together I expect you to keep me advised of information that’s pertinent to an investigation. If I don’t answer, then you leave a detailed voicemail. Is that clear?”

“Sure, boss, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The waitress placed Halliday’s ice tea in front of him.

When she left, he responded. “Another thing. I’m not your
boss
, Gladstone. Sure, I have seniority. You can call me Halliday or Detective Halliday in front of witnesses, perps, officials, and waitresses.”

Gladstone gulped. “Sure, Halliday.”

He moved inches closer. “My expectations are that you are going to grow as a professional with regards to your approach to investigative detective work.”

Gladstone digested what he had said with a gulp of coffee that went down the wrong way.

The kid coughed it out. If Gladstone didn’t shape up Halliday would jump in his shit at every opportunity.

Halliday said, “What did you learn regarding Lamar Festus?”

The lanky detective straightened up, clearing his throat. “Not much, really. Do you know Sheriff Barnes?”

“No, never met the man.”

“Barnes is… well, he gave me an earful. He believes Genevive had a hand in all the missing
animals
. He said Lamar Festus was looking for his missing dog, a German shepherd named Shack. Of course, you knew that from your discussion with Festus this morning.”

“No, I found out when Chief Brayden informed me during our meeting.”

“Shit. Festus didn’t tell you?”

“He said his
friend
was missing. I assumed it was a person not an animal.”

Gladstone glanced at him with a sheepish grin. “I should have contacted you earlier.”

“In the future let’s stay on the same page so we don’t embarrass ourselves in front of the chief. Or, for that matter, anyone involved in an investigation.”

Halliday accepted the kid’s nod. “What did Sheriff Barnes have to say about Genevive Labs?”

Gladstone’s eyes widened. “The
evil empire
is at the top of his shit list. He’s a minority, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Most folks in the county are thrilled to have Genevive Labs as a neighbor. Genevive pays good wages with first class benefits. They give back to the community. Just look at our new PD. I hear the working environment at the Labs rivals a country club.”

Gladstone sounded like a commercial. Halliday had talked to several Santa Reina and Redwood Bluff citizens who were distrustful of the biotech giant.

Gladstone scratched his head. “Sheriff Barnes told me that several farmers had made complaints. They claim Genevive has abducted animals—livestock, pets, wildlife. They said they had seen Genevive security trucks rounding up animals during the graveyard shift.”

“Official complaints? To the sheriff?”

“Barnes said the complaints were filed with Santa Reina PD.”

Redwood Bluff and Santa Reina jurisdictions overlapped in the north and northeast sections of Santa Reina. “I haven’t heard of any complaints here. Have you?”

“No.”

“Find out who in the department has been taking complaints. What was the nature of those complaints? How were they handled? Begin with the dispatcher.”

“Got it.”

“What else did the sheriff have to say?”

“Festus was no vagrant. He has a Master’s degree in agriculture from UC Davis from over forty years ago.
He set up several AG programs over the years in Redwood Bluff through the auspices of UC Davis. Barnes said local farmers view Festus as a hero because he introduced some robust strains of produce that were less susceptible to disease and infestation.”

Halliday found it difficult to believe the Lamar Festus he had encountered in the clearing owned a Master’s degree. “Go on.”

“Barnes said that Festus took up the cause of the farmers and ranchers with Genevive Labs. Either he didn’t receive a kind reception at the labs or else he rubbed someone the wrong way. An altercation ensued. I didn’t get much out of the sheriff regarding details.”

Halliday ran his thumb around the rim of his glass. This was all pointing toward Genevive Labs, exactly where the chief didn’t want to go. In April of last year a Genevive security guard had been accused of raping a local girl. Halliday had been close to an arrest when all charges were dropped per an agreement between the girl’s attorney and the chief. Halliday never got the full story. According to the chief, the girl had lied. Halliday, who had questioned the young woman several times, believed she had been telling him the truth.

His phone rang. “Halliday.”

“Halliday, Sergeant Garcia. What did you say to Martinez?”

“What are you talking about, Sergeant?”

“I am at the Martinez house watching it go up in flames.”

“Flames?”

“Yeah, the fire department is calling it arson. I wondered who might have started the fire.”

Garcia’s insinuation was bullshit. “It couldn’t have been Martinez. The family preceded me out to Highway 99. They were on their way to Chowchilla.”

“I’m betting that asshole Martinez made a U-turn. He returned to torch the place.”

“Do you have any evidence to back up your premise?”

“Well, no. No hard evidence.”

“What did the neighbors say?”

“Neighbors never talk in Sur, at least in English.”

“Jesus, Garcia, did you question anyone?”

“A neighbor told me that Martinez had promised to get revenge before he left.”

“Revenge?”

“Revenge for losing his house… I suppose.”

Or revenge on Garcia. “Garcia, you know why I removed you from the situation there this afternoon?”

“You tell me detective.”

“You were so goddamned wound up you could’ve ignited a powder keg. Break down the door? Then what? Race in with your weapon out? Force Martinez to go for his weapon? I wanted to avoid all that.”

“The neighbors are fucking crazy.
El fantasma
.”

“What do you mean Sergeant? Tell me what they said.”

“Sergeant?”

“The neighbors claim a ghost started the fire,” Garcia said in a voice barely audible.

More ghosts. “What?”

“The Latinos out in Santa Sur are
‘loco en la cabeza.’
Crazy in the head.”

Halliday had no reply.

“Martinez had a prior,” Garcia countered. “The neighbors had made several complaints.”

“I checked the records, Garcia. You were the arresting officer two months ago. You were this close to getting suspended for entering the Martinez home without provocation.”

“Shit, I gotta go detective.”

“Don’t hang up. Listen to me, Garcia. I’d better not hear any derogatory remarks or any insinuations in your report or your conversations in the office. If you don’t find concrete evidence against Martinez you stay the hell away from him. You understand me?”

“Yes,
sir
.”

“Don’t even try to mess with me.”

The line clicked off. Halliday put the phone down.

Gladstone’s face was all animated. “Jesus, what happened?”

He needed to talk to Brayden about Garcia. “Garcia called in reference to the domestic dispute call out this afternoon. I moved the family out. The place burned down an hour ago.”

“Sur’s a tough area,” Gladstone said in a low voice.

Gladstone exercised good judgment not to pursue his issue with Garcia. The egocentric sergeant had been way out of line with the Martinez family. What was that about a ghost starting the fire? It hearkened back to the ghost that little Maria and her mother mentioned.

Halliday stewed on while Gladstone’s direct gaze made him keep his emotions under wraps.

Gladstone’s DROID buzzed. When he looked up he said, “I received an e-mail from Fresno PD. They found a missing person.”

“What do you mean,
found
?”

“A farmer discovered a deceased male Caucasian in a cornfield.”

“Go on.”

“His upper body had been mutilated,” Gladstone said, leaving a pause.

“They’re trying to make an I.D. from dental. Someone or something removed the man’s face.”

Halliday recalled what Festus had said this morning, about how they had done terrible things to his dog, Shack. “Any evidence?”

“Fresno PD didn’t specify.”

“We’ll split up tomorrow. You research the Redwood Bluff complaints here then head to Fresno. Check out the deceased MP.”

“Why—”

“Tell them we’ve been investigating missing persons here.”

“You sure you don’t want to run this by the chief first?”

“I’ll talk to him. Meanwhile, I’ll visit Redwood Bluff. I need to learn more about Lamar Festus.”

“Good luck with Sheriff Barnes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sheriff Barnes is not keen on filing reports.”

Halliday didn’t understand. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Have it your way.”

“I believe Festus is hiding out not far from the clearing we were at this morning. He’ll return to Redwood Bluff. My job tomorrow is to find out where he will return to.” Halliday read Gladstone’s face. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Gladstone rose up after receiving another call. With smiling eyes he spoke into the phone, “Hi Babe.” He nodded at Halliday as he hustled to the door.

Halliday sighed. The young man response to the wife’s demands took precedence over his call to duty.

He pondered the events of the day. Lamar Festus, a well-educated man, not a vagrant, had led him into the forest by fabricating a story of his dead dog. Had the Sierra Contractor or DOD vehicle also been a fabrication? Why did Festus have to run off? Now another MP has been discovered, this one a mutilated corpse.

It could be that he was spinning his wheels. Two unrelated incidents were fueling Halliday’s intuition. They might lead him to where the chief didn’t want him to go.

Halliday’s downtown apartment suffered the same inferiority complex as the PD. The Santa Reina Palms owner was fond of bragging that the structure had survived six Presidents and the big earthquake of a decade earlier. Halliday’s fourth floor one bedroom unit exhibited long cracks above the entry that didn’t possess the quaintness of exposed adobe walls.

Several framed Thomas Kincaid “Christmas” themes hung along the walls. Halliday had intended to return the pictures until the previous occupant had taken up residence in San Quentin. The crook was helped along after Halliday had discovered a deck of stolen credit cards underneath the bedroom dresser.

One of the sofa springs had sprung a year ago. He had compensated by purchasing large throw pillows. The heater acted erratic in the winter so he bought four thick Korean blankets during one of his trips to the Bay Area. The lavish Asian designs spread warmth and color around the apartment. Made it feel like home, or so he thought.

Halliday poured Glenlivet single malt whiskey over ice then chose an old Sinatra CD. The Bose
Lifestyle
entertainment system was his one luxury item.

As the title track
Fly Me to the Moon
played, Sinatra’s smooth voice and the alcohol massaged the tension from his neck.

He walked to the bedroom. Once inside, Halliday took a hefty slug of Glenlivit before he pulled out the squeaky bottom dresser drawer. A spider crawled out, signaling its disapproval by rising up on all eight legs before disappearing into the cabinet.

The large thick envelope resided underneath a faded calendar.

Sinatra sang, “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”

The crooner’s voice partnered with the Glenlivit to ease his tensions. Loneliness had become his partner, never intrusive to the point that it irritated him.

He lifted the manila flap and pulled out several hand worn documents. His discharge papers from Diplomatic Security; accommodations he had received on various protective details; the photo of he and Special Agent Judy Solvano taken during the Niagara Falls detail; the Madam Secretary’s gift of DS cuff links. He lifted the Asia report labeled CONFIDENTIAL out of the bottom.

When his eyes stayed too long on the photograph, he laid Judy’s likeness face down.

“In other words, hold my hand.”

He resisted the urge to read through the Diplomatic Security report again. The politically correct document had neither established blame nor commended. It would only provide an excuse to drink too much, which could sway loneliness against him.

Restless, Halliday returned all the items to the envelope. He tucked it back into the bottom of the drawer.

The spotlight from a distant automobile sales lot swept into the bedroom window. It crawled up the wall to the tune of Sinatra’s rendition of
Embraceable You
.

“Embrace me, you irreplaceable you.”

Loneliness had a lot of relatives, including haunted memories.

# # #

The three months following Special Agent Judy Solvano’s partnership with Halliday in Berlin had run down a slippery slope lined with sharp rocks. They bumped heads on politics, she was a democrat, he an independent. Their investigative methods clashed, she was quick to take action, he methodical. He drank black coffee, she muddied her java with heaps of powdered creamer and sugar. During the subsequent Diplomatic Security details across the globe they had tried to keep their battles close in. Halliday waited for the moment when someone would bring it up with the AIC during a team meeting.

When the odd domestic detail had appeared on the radar screen Halliday voiced his preference for Frontierland. The AIC had assigned them to Fantasyland.

“To be quite frank, Halliday,” Special Agent in Charge Carl Blankenship said in a private meeting in the Disneyland Hotel, “despite your constant bickering, you and Solvano are the best team I have.”

Tell the truth Blankenship. We both know that the Madam Secretary—a women’s rights cheerleader—would love to have Agent Judy Solvano take the lead in a protective detail.

“I want you two to take the lead today,” Blankenship said. “Turns out the Madam Secretary is keen on Disneyland’s ‘It’s a Mad, Mad World’ attraction.”

Blankenship had a weird sense of humor. “You mean, ‘It’s a Small World?’”

“Yeah, that’s it. Listen, Halliday, you’ve done a hell of a job with Agent Solvano. I’m proud of the way you’ve molded her into a member of the DS team.”

The word had gone around the team that Blankenship had been touted by the Deputy Assistant Secretary for Security, for hiring Solvano. Good, maybe the secretary would promote Blankenship right on out of DS.

“Keep up the good work, Halliday. I’ve got my eye on you for advancement.”

Yeah, right.

Halliday and Solvano strolled down Disneyland’s busy Main Street in Southern California. He wondered at how grown men managed to lose their adulthood here. A fellow in a “Kansas is Corny” T-shirt pleaded with Snow White to say hi to his young daughter. Snow White moved away as if he had offered her a poison apple. The man stood there in the middle of Main Street. Halliday swore he saw a tear glistening in his eye. Then “Kansas” caught sight of the arcade across the street. He grabbed his daughter’s hand while digging in his pocket for loose change.

Solvano’s professional attire had customers asking her for directions. She pointed a family in the direction of Cinderella’s castle and said to Halliday, “I heard you had a private meeting with the AIC.”

Halliday looked at his watch. The Madam Secretary wouldn’t arrive at the park for another seventy-five minutes. “Don’t worry, you still have a job.”

Solvano stopped in her tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She had been around him long enough to recognize his wry humor. “Blankenship said you were doing a great job. That’s why he assigned us to Fantasyland. You should be proud.”

Solvano whirled. “Are you following me?” she said to Mickey Mouse.

The big eared character scurried off in the opposite direction doing his cute waving routine. As the Midwesterner had learned, the Disney icons were not allowed to fraternize or utter a word around customers.

“Listen up, Solvano,” Halliday said. “We pick up the Madam Secretary’s entourage when they enter Fantasyland. She’ll be accompanied by the Madam Chancellor of Germany as well as three aides. Eyes and ears, Agent Solvano.”

Despite their differences, Halliday had recognized Solvano’s talent. On a DS detail to Jakarta he had learned that during Indonesian President Sukarno’s reign that culminated in 1967, the elite palace guards could determine visitors’ intent by gazing into their eyes.

Agent Judy Solvano also had that penultimate ability to read eyes. A single glance could detect the human frailties of guilt, inadequacy, or superiority. Many of their cohorts looked for what were in people’s hands. He and Solvano searched their eyes.

Besides her discerning eyes, Solvano’s reactions were based on sound judgment. She rarely made mistakes.

“Bashful, Dopey,” the AIC’s voice buzzed through their earphones. “Be advised Snow White has departed the cottage enroute to the Enchanted Castle.”

“Roger, Doc,” both Agents Halliday and Solvano replied.

“She’s early for once in her life,” Halliday said. “They’ll arrive in less than an hour.”

“I’m Bashful,” Solvano said with raised eyebrows. “You know what your problem is Halliday?”

He planted his feet in anticipation. “I’m Dopey?”

Solvano surveyed her surroundings, gathering support from the anonymous throng. “It’s ironic, you know? You exude this façade of professionalism but honestly… with your child-like imagination and lack of maturity you belong in Fantasyland with Goofy and all his friends.”

Although his Cheshire cat grin might have humored Alice, not Agent Solvano.

“Naming me Dopey wasn’t my idea,” she said.

“You think I would have chosen Bashful for me?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Dufus would have fit you.”

“There is no Dufus,” Halliday replied as he stepped up the pace. “Double time, Bashful. We’ve got to get to Fantasyland before Snow White arrives and takes a bite out of the poison apple.”

He looked over his shoulder. Agent Solvano walked in a straight deliberate line. Her eagle eyes warned him that she could swoop down for his jugular at any instant.

They met the Disney official at the gate. A sign had already been posted, closing the attraction from 10:00
a.m.
to noon. The customers complained. The AIC’s words had been prophetic when he had labeled the attraction, “It’s a Mad, Mad World.”

Before Halliday could speak Solvano jumped on the Disney official, barking instructions that he should cordon off the crowd in a timely manner.

“Solvano,” Halliday said. “Let the man do his job. He’s been at this for a dozen years.” He whispered in her ear, “The Madam Secretary is not the first dignitary to visit the Magic Kingdom.”

“My job is to protect Snow White,” Solvano blurted out loud, without thinking.

“No way, lady,” a voice in the crowd called out. “I’m Prince Charming. That’s my job.”

Halliday couldn’t hold back a grin. Agent Judy Solvano’s face grew a darker shade of crimson as Mickey, Goofy, and all the other kids chortled.