Nicole was seated in the small kitchen of the home the Gatlings had rented at a moment’s notice per the demand of Dr. Gatling’s immediate supervisor, Dr. Michael King. Mrs. Gatling was brewing coffee. She looked out the window, her fingertips drumming on the granite countertop. Nicole watched her profile. The women’s lips moved while she thought, sometimes shaping words, other times knotting while she frowned. She was a woman with something to say, but who worried about her words. Nicole hoped the silence would trouble her more. The doctor stood at the back door, removing his snow boots. He left them on the mat and walked to the table in his wool socks.
“Where is King staying?”
Gatling took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and began pushing numbers. “It’s a big house, overlooks the lake.” He found what he was looking for—a text—and read off the address to Nicole. “We were invited for Christmas dinner—” He snorted. “That was a fiasco.”
Nicole took a moment and radioed the address to Lars. He and a wave of deputies were en route. She was familiar with the home. It even had a name—Big Horn—and was infamous in Blue Mesa, synonymous with waste and excess, an indulgence that threatened the natural environment.
Nicole was closer to it, just two minutes down the road from the Gatlings’ rental, and she thought about leaving then and coming back for the interview. Heading out alone. But that would be stupidity. The grounds at Big Horn were wooded, the house nearly a fortress. And backup was on its way.
She clipped the radio at her shoulder and returned her attention to Dr. Gatling.
“A fiasco, you said. How so?”
“The guest list, for starters.”
Mrs. Gatling spoke up then. She had turned to them and was leaning against the kitchen sink with her arms crossed over her stomach. “Dr. Esparza was there,” she said. “And that was just one of the surprises.”
“What was another?”
“Some guy named Benjamin and his lovely wife Charlene.” Gatling’s upper lip curled with the sarcasm in his voice.
Nicole felt her world tilt slightly. Benjamin and his wife, here in Blue Mesa, at the proofing. What was their involvement? She knew what Benjamin was capable of and added him and Charlene to the list of suspects.
“She wasn’t lovely?”
“She was …” Nicole watched emotion flash across the doctor’s face, but he finally settled on simple agreement. “No, she wasn’t lovely, Sheriff. They were an odd couple. She stood about a foot taller than her husband, but he was definitely the alpha.” He snorted at some private thought.
“Alpha?” That was an odd description, and she pressed Dr. Gatling for an explanation.
“He spoke and she barked,” he said. Nicole felt her frown deepen, and he elaborated. “You know, something similar to the human-canine relationship.”
Nicole raised an eyebrow.
“They wore matching identity bracelets,” Mrs. Gatling added. “A cute idea, right? And they were beautiful. Platinum and jeweled, but not overdone. I asked her if I could take a closer look. That’s when it got creepy.”
“Creepy how?”
“She lifted her hand, and his came with it. You know what I mean? They were chained together. Like handcuffs. It took me by surprise. Martin says they’re some kind of S and M thing. I laughed, because I was uncomfortable, and she smiled, but there was nothing funny about it.”
It caused a stir of discomfort in Nicole too.
“Did she say anything?”
“She said, ‘I belong to him.’ After that we kept our distance.”
“It was easy to do. We had our kids to look after and the house is pretty big,” Dr. Gatling explained.
“How long have you worked with Dr. King?”
“Three years.”
“And he’s always been Dr. King?”
He paused, and Nicole could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “He’s in a high-level position. He’s the meet and greet. The detective and the charming host. And he has a mind for money and medicine.”
“How does this connect to his name?”
He shook his head. “I would be surprised if King is his real name.”
“Why?”
“They’re chameleons. By job description, certainly, but they don’t stay in one place too long. Turnover is high. They move on to another company. Maybe a start-up. Maybe a little fish that wants to swim in the big ocean. And change their names as it suits the circumstances.”
“How long do people in King’s position usually stay with a company?”
“Three to five years. Definitely no more than that.”
Mrs. Gatling brought three mugs to the table and placed one in front of Nicole. She returned to the counter for the coffeepot and creamer, but she said over her shoulder, “And King has overstayed his welcome.”
“Why do you say that?” Nicole probed.
Mrs. Gatling placed a pint of half-and-half on the table next to Nicole but said to her husband, “Tell her, Martin.”
Dr. Gatling shrugged, discomfort in the movement. “He was going rogue. Maybe. Definitely he was extending himself beyond traditional expectations.”
“In English,” Nicole requested.
“King was working Esparza alone. He allowed liberties with our lab and equipment I’ve never seen before.”
“Did he say why?”
Gatling shook his head. “But he was excited. King really thought they had something.” He hesitated, and Nicole waited. “He needed it to be something,” he confided. “Something big.”
“Because that was all that would save his daughter?”
“Yes. You know about that, then.” Nicole nodded, and he continued. “That was it. The reason I thought King was giving Esparza liberties—they have a kinship of sorts.”
“They both have daughters who are sick,” Mrs. Gatling said.
“And they were both desperate for a cure,” he added.
And that gave King plenty of reason to want Beatrice alive.
“Why are you here in Montana?” Nicole asked. “Why now, with King and Esparza?”
“To close the deal. I’m called in at only two stages in the process—the initial, when the pitch is made, and at the close.”
“You’re the closer?”
“No. That’s King. My job is black and white, no speculation. I point out strengths and reasonable concerns.”
“What was Esparza’s discovery?”
More hesitation. “I know it’s something at the molecular level. Something that controls cellular regeneration, only more.”
“You don’t know the exact discovery?”
“No. No one does. No one except Esparza.”
“How can a deal close without at least King knowing?”
“He’s closed deals with less than what Esparza has already given him.”
“So why the delay here?”
“There’s reasonable doubt.”
“What is it?”
He hedged. “I signed a confidentiality agreement,” he told her. “Telling you more will require a warrant.”
She felt her lips tighten but changed direction to keep the information flowing.
“How well did you know Beatrice Esparza?”
“Not well. Yet. We met at King’s last night, but the girl bolted.”
“Why?”
“King didn’t say.”
“It had something to do with those people,” Mrs. Gatling said. “The odd couple. They talked to her. Upset her.”
“It was like watching sharks in a fishbowl,” Dr. Gatling agreed. He shook his head, and disgust thinned his lips. “They’d approach her, say a few words, and she’d take off. Dart over to her sisters or King’s daughter.”
“And they followed,” Mrs. Gatling agreed. “And her father wasn’t any help at all.”
“He kept his distance from Beatrice,” Dr. Gatling said. “And she from him. There was definitely friction between them.”
“You don’t know what it was?”
Gatling shook his head. “No. Esparza wasn’t supposed to be at the proofing at all. Direct involvement is against protocol. I got the feeling he was keeping a tight hold on his daughter and she resented it.”
“Was he friendly with Benjamin and Charlene?”
“He stuck with King, but he did introduce them to Beatrice,” Mrs. Gatling said. Some thought twisted her lips, and she shivered delicately.
“What?” Nicole probed.
“Nothing. I just don’t like those people.”
“But there’s something,” Nicole persisted. “Something that disturbed you.”
Mrs. Gatling shook her head but said, “She touched Beatrice. Put a hand on her shoulder and stroked her arm, all the way down to her wrist. She did it like, I don’t know, like ownership or something. Like she was petting something pretty.”
“I saw that too,” Dr. Gatling agreed.
“What did Beatrice do?”
“She shook her off,” Mrs. Gatling said, and there was a note of approval in her voice. “Then she went straight to King. She complained. I could tell, because her arms were orchestrating it—you know how teen girls can get into the role?”
Dr. Gatling nodded. “King was sympathetic. He spoke to them. To Esparza too. I don’t know what King said, but Esparza was offended.”
“Oh yeah,” his wife agreed. “He got real uptight. The man is all about posture,” she added. “You know, body language can bludgeon.”
Nicole hadn’t heard the expression before, but she understood it. “And Beatrice?”
“King took her out of the room. He was concerned, had his arm around her, and it looked like he was taking her upstairs. I thought maybe to a bedroom. The girl needed some rest and we needed a tissue sample.”
“And Dr. Esparza left too?
“He made a grand exit,” Mrs. Gatling confirmed. She picked up her cup of coffee and blew on the liquid. “Right after King took Beatrice upstairs.”
“And the couple?”
“They stayed,” Gatling reported. “But they made themselves scarce.”
“But you definitely saw them again?”
They both nodded. Then Mrs. Gatling said, “But not together. Not until they left.”
“Yeah, he must have set her loose,” said Dr. Gatling. “For a while he roamed around the party alone. He spoke some to King. He was on his phone a lot. Stepped out of the room for a while too.”
“I know, because I made sure he was nowhere near my daughter,” Mrs. Gatling said.
“And the woman?”
“She was laying down upstairs,” Gatling said. “Benjamin told King she was ill.”
Nicole nodded. “Did you see Beatrice again after that?”
“No.”
“But the woman, Charlene, you saw her later?”
Dr. Gatling nodded. “They left the same time we did. They had a car and driver, and Benjamin had her bundled up—” He shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. Her face was flushed. She had the chills.”
“When did you realize Beatrice was gone?”
Gatling thought about it. “About an hour after King took her upstairs. I asked him about her. I had to remind him I was there to do a job. He said to give her twenty more minutes and then he would check on her. And he did, but when he came back downstairs, it was without the girl.”
“What did King say?”
“That she was gone. He didn’t know where, and he was upset about it.”
“And she didn’t turn up. We left at eleven thirty.” Mrs. Gatling’s tone tightened with disapproval. “King wouldn’t let us leave before that.”
“Because we were supposed to start the proofing,” Gatling said.
“And King thought Beatrice would be back?”
“Yes.”
“Was the couple there for the proofing?”
“They were the neutral party. They were supposed to broker the deal.”
“They knew that the moment of truth was upon Esparza?”
“Of course. We all knew it,” Gatling replied.
“What would you have done with Beatrice? If she hadn’t left?”
“Proven the presence of malignancy.”
“So that Esparza could cure her?”
“Yes. And he was going to do it fast. In days rather than months. And better. No radiation. No surgical intervention.”
“How?”
“He didn’t say, but it could be done through the cath lab, so I thought maybe he’d invented some kind of nano-cell.”
“Nano?” Nicole questioned.
“Small but mighty. We have a lot of them at our fingertips already, but none that can do what Esparza claims his can.”
“Did it alarm you that Esparza used his daughter as a test subject?”
But Gatling shook his head. “No. He had FDA approval. I saw the paperwork myself. He had his daughter classified as a viable subject—that’s what got our attention initially. Approval of that nature is hard to come by. It gave him credibility with us. But the girl had cancer, and that gave the whole project an edge of desperation. Her father developed the cure. He was sure of it. Or he was blinded by need. It was hard to tell which, because King kept a tight hold on this one.”
“How do you know she had cancer?”
“It was in the paperwork.”
“Did you confirm it? Run tests to prove its existence?”
“That wasn’t necessary. Not at that point. His cure worked in the lab and would be tested on Beatrice. Just as soon as we proved the malignancy.”
“The reason you’re here.”
“Exactly.”
“And there’s promise in his cure?”
“Definitely.”
“King told you this?”
“Yes. Esparza too. I saw his lab notes—what he’d give to us, anyway. I went through them myself, checked and double-checked every detail. Esparza’s documentation backs up his claim. I left our first meeting believing.”
“You no longer believe?”
He shrugged. “If he had something, if it was genuine, then why haven’t we begun the proofing?”
“And if the tissue sample showed no malignancy?”
That seemed to stump him. He was quiet for a moment as he processed Nicole’s words and thought about all the implications.
“You mean, if Beatrice didn’t have cancer?”
“Yes. What then?”
“End game,” Gatling said. “Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“There would be no deal?”
“Because there could be no deal.”
Beatrice didn’t have cancer. And even if Esparza had a cure, if his super cell existed and did everything Esparza claimed it did, with no viable way to prove it, he really had nothing. And yet the victim had been sick, multiple times. Sick and then cured in a deliberate cycle. Nicole had seen it for herself in the girl’s sport diary. She’d heard it from Joaquin and the mother. Was it possible that Dr. Esparza had given his daughter cancer just to cure it? The thought raised the bile from Nicole’s stomach.
“Have you ever known Michael King to be in possession of Rohypnol?”
The doctor’s eyes flared, and his mouth tightened. “I’ve never seen him have it in hand.”
“But he could get it?”
“Easily,” he acknowledged.
“Beatrice had it in her system,” she told him. “How do you think that happened?”
Gatling stood, and Nicole could see she’d insulted him. His body and mannerisms became stiff. His voice too. “I don’t know. We don’t medicate patients to get their compliance.”
“It’s a pretty common practice.”
“In a hospital. Not in the lab. Testing is voluntarily or not at all.”
Nicole nodded and accepted his answer, and then she let him have it. “Beatrice Esparza is dead, Dr. Gatling. She was murdered. Her body was discovered early this morning.”
Mrs. Gatling stepped closer. Her arms tightened around her torso. Her body vibrated with tension.
“She’s dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes,” Nicole confirmed.
“And you think it was King?” Dr. Gatling asked.
“Let’s talk about Beatrice’s sisters,” Nicole suggested, redirecting the conversation. “You saw them at the party?”
“Yes. Sofia and Isla,” Mrs. Gatling confirmed. “Little girls, younger than our daughter.”
“Were they still at King’s when you left?”
“Yes. Yes, they were sleeping over,” Dr. Gatling explained.
“And the girls never made it home?” Mrs. Gatling paled and blinked rapidly to push back tears.
“No, ma’am. We think they’re still with King.”
“But why?” Dr. Gatling asked.
“You said it yourself: Dr. King went rogue. He has too much to lose. And Magellan wasn’t the highest bidder for Dr. Esparza’s super cell, was it?”
“No.” Gatling shook his head. “We bid, because everyone agreed there was promise in Esparza’s cure, but we came up short.”
Nicole walked toward the back door, thinking ahead. Big Horn House was less than a mile up the road, hidden behind belts of forest. It was a fairly new construction built in tiers so that each level jutted out farther than the one below it. This placed the top floor over the surface of the water, with a large party deck that the owner and previous occupant had used to exhaustion. It’d caused trouble in the community, from blocked views to pollution and flotsam in the lake. Nicole had pulled champagne bottles and even fine china to shore and written more than a single fine for it, but a county permit existed, and even after the owner grew bored and left for finer climes, the home had been a popular rental.
“We’ll want to talk to you again, Dr. Gatling.”
“We’re leaving Friday.”
“Where is home?”
“Dillon.”
Just south of Butte. Three hundred miles southwest of Blue Mesa.
“Magellan’s home base is in Dillon?”
“No. It’s a satellite lab and a few administrative offices.”
“Why? Is that normal, keeping the lab separate from headquarters?”
“Most pharm companies have the same setup. HQ with its main lab, smaller labs lost in the boonies or the urban jungle.”
“A secret location?”
But he shook his head. “Hard to find, but not completely off the map.”
She moved toward the back door but paused long enough to connect with Mrs. Gatling. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She didn’t tell them she was sending a deputy their way. That Friday would come and go and the Gatlings would remain tucked in the small rental, material witnesses to the crimes of murder, kidnapping, and medical malpractice.