Jayla took the day off following her dinner date with Nate Cousins, using personal days she’d accrued. She had a number of items on her to-do list beginning with a ten a.m. appointment with Mackensie Smith to go over her employment contract. Annabel was there when she arrived.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Jayla said.
Smith laughed. “We’re discussing whether to spend money sprucing up our kitchen. I suppose that’s important.”
“Yes, I would say that it is,” Jayla said.
“How are you, Jayla?” Annabel asked.
“Confused would be the best way to describe it.”
“You mentioned that you have an employment contract you wanted me to take a look at,” Mac said.
She pulled it from her briefcase and handed it to him.
“I’d better be going,” Annabel said. “I don’t like to be late opening the gallery.”
“I’d love to stop by and see it one day,” Jayla said. “My father had a few pieces of pre-Columbian art, although he primarily collected artifacts from the Sepik River region, tribal masks, smoking apparatus, headdresses, bamboo musical instruments.”
“Maybe you should start collecting those things, too, Annie,” Mac told his wife. “You could set up a corner of your shop featuring items from PNG.”
“I’m having enough trouble keeping up with the market for pre-Columbian art,” she said, “but it’s an intriguing suggestion.”
“If you ever decide to do it,” Jayla said, “I’ll be happy to help.”
“And you’ll be the first person I’ll turn to,” Annabel said. “Please stop by the gallery one day soon.”
“I’ll make a point of it.”
Annabel left the office and Mac read Jayla’s employment contract.
“Well,” she said when he’d finished, “will Renewal own the rights to anything I do with my father’s research?”
“They could certainly make a case for it,” Mac replied. “I’d like to give it some more thought. Leave this with me?”
“Sure.”
“Have you heard from your father’s assistant, Mr. Waksit?”
“No. Knowing that he’s in the United States prompted me to consider working with my employer, Renewal Pharmaceuticals, to further develop my father’s research. If Eugene stole the notes from the lab—and I don’t know for certain that he did—he’s probably already trying to interest a pharmaceutical company in buying dad’s discoveries.”
“He’d have a tough time selling that information, Jayla,” Smith said. “As far as I know from speaking with your attorney in PNG, there’s nothing in writing to confirm that he has legal rights to the research. By the way, Mr. Taylor told me during our most recent conversation that the police in PNG have arrested someone in connection with the murder of that fellow who oversaw your father’s acreage.”
She was about to respond when Brixton knocked and entered Smith’s office. “Sorry,” he said.
“Come in, Robert,” Smith said. “Jayla and I were just discussing her father’s murder and the death of the man who tended his plot of land.”
“Walter Tagobe,” Jayla said.
“They’ve arrested someone in his murder,” Smith said. “It seems that this man got drunk in a bar and bragged about killing him. He’s an Australian, works for an outfit called Alard Associates.”
“Whoa,” Brixton said, sitting forward. “Alard Associates? That’s a private security firm that hires out to any government.”
“Did this man admit to having killed Walter?” Jayla asked.
“He claims he did it in self-defense,” Mac said.
“Ever hear of a lobbyist named Morrison?” Brixton asked.
“I’ve read about him,” Smith said.
Brixton said, “Morrison is evidently friends with the guy who runs Alard Associates. Morrison represents big pharmaceutical companies, you know, shoveling cash under the table to politicians in return for voting his way. Anyway, Jayla’s father was involved in developing a new medicine, right?”
“A pain medication,” Jayla said.
“A pain medication,” Brixton repeated. “Okay. Morrison is a friend of the guy who runs Alard Associates. The guy who killed your father’s helper works for Alard Associates. If your father had hit on a new and better pain medication, that’s got to create plenty of sweat in the pharmaceutical industry. Am I right?”
Smith looked at Jayla before responding. “Go on Robert,” he said.
“Look,” Brixton said, “I don’t know anything for sure, but it just seems to me that your father’s murder is somehow wrapped up with these other people. Want some juicy insider D.C. gossip?”
Smith and Jayla stared at him blankly.
“This lobbyist for Big Pharma, Eric Morrison, has a U.S. senator in his pocket. Senator Gillespie? Ring a bell?”
“Of course,” Smith said.
“So,” Brixton said, “Senator Gillespie is a champion in Congress of the pharmaceutical industry. Morrison does lots of favors for the senator besides funding his campaigns with money from his clients, including arranging an abortion for a young gal back in Georgia whom the senator got in the family way, as the saying goes.”
“That’s shocking,” Jayla said.
“Welcome to Washington, D.C.,” Brixton said. “Anyway, this Alard Associates, according to my very reliable source, hires out to whoever pays the most, which naturally includes the government.”
“And?” Smith said.
“And,” Brixton said, leaning forward as though he’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery, “if the guy who killed the native, Toby—”
“Tagobe,” Jayla corrected.
“Right, Tagobe,” Brixton said. “The guy who killed Tagobe might also be the one who torched your father’s land, Jayla. And maybe he was also the one who killed your father. And maybe he did it because he was told to do it by his employer, Alard Associates. And…”
They waited for him to complete his thought.
“And maybe our lobbyist friend, Morrison, put him up to it on behalf of one of his clients, a pharmaceutical company.”
Everyone fell silent.
“Plays for me,” Brixton said proudly.
Mac started to say something but was interrupted by Mrs. Warden, who’d knocked before entering. “Mr. Brixton,” she said, “you have a call from a Mr. Eric Morrison.”
Brixton looked from Mac to Jayla before saying, “This should be interesting. Don’t go away. I’ll be back to give you a play-by-play.”
Brixton took the call in his office.
“Brixton here.”
“I’m returning your call,” Morrison said.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Morrison.” He injected pleasantness into his voice.
“What’s this all about?” Morrison asked brusquely.
“Well,” Brixton said, “to cut to the chase, I’m investigating a situation involving Senator Ronald Gillespie. You know who he is, of course.”
“Of course I know who he is.”
“A very important senator, chairs important committees including one that oversees the pharmaceutical industry.”
“So?”
“So, Mr. Morrison, I’m wondering why you would pay an abortionist to cover up for this important senator.”
“You have one hell of a nerve suggesting that.”
“Hey, I’m not shooting in the dark. I have plenty of proof that this happened. What I’m doing is giving you a chance to tell your side of it.”
“You say you have proof. What proof?”
Brixton forced a chuckle. “You didn’t think that you could pull off something like this without other people getting wind of it, did you?”
“Is there any other reason that you called, Mr. Brixton?”
Brixton decided to go for broke. The scenario he’d painted in Smith’s office for Mac and Jayla had been another what-if exercise. But as long as he had Morrison on the phone…”
“Mr. Morrison, what about the murder of Dr. King on Papua New Guinea and the guy who was hired by Alard Associates to burn his crops—and, maybe kill the doctor? Ring a bell?”
The silence on the other end of the line said that Brixton’s statement had hit home.
“You there Mr. Morrison?”
“Yes, I’m here.” He was breathing heavily. “I know nothing about what you’re talking about.”
“Did one of your pharmaceutical clients suggest that you arrange to get rid of the doctor’s crops—and the doctor himself?”
“You keep spouting these kinds of lies and you’ll be on the hot end of a slander suit.”
“It won’t be the first time. Look, Mr. Morrison, Dr. King had a daughter who would like some closure on her father’s murder. I’m not looking to get you in trouble. I know that you’re a successful and respected lobbyist in town. How about we find time to sit down, someplace private and quiet, and talk it over? I’ll make myself available anytime you say.”
Morrison’s response was to slam down his phone.
Brixton held his phone away from him as though it might be contagious. “Touchy, huh?” he said as he hung up and rejoined Mac Smith and Jayla King in Smith’s office.
“I’m sure you have a compelling tale to tell us,” Mac said.
Brixton replayed his conversation with Morrison.
“You realize, Robert, that you’ve gone out on a limb with those kinds of accusations,” Smith said.
“Just trying to stir the pot,” Brixton countered. He turned to Jayla. “You have a problem with what I’ve done?”
“No,” she said. “I would like closure about my father’s murder.”
“Which you deserve,” said Mac.
“Hear anything about where your father’s assistant, Whatsit, is it?” Brixton asked.
“No,” Jayla said, deciding not to correct him.
“I’d be wary of him,” Brixton offered. “If he stole your father’s research he might be capable of other things that aren’t very nice.”