No one said anything. Finally Sergeant Atkins broke the silence. “Maybe one of the investors killed Quinn.”
Constable Gavin said, “But what about Lynn Lockhart?”
“Just because Senior is holding her, doesn’t mean she’s guilty.”
“Doesn’t mean she isn’t,” he said.
“Who found out the FBI was investigating Quinn?” Alexa asked.
“Our Chief Petrie,” Sergeant Atkins said. “He…”
Her radio interrupted her. Alexa heard Bruce’s voice.
“Ten-ten. OCU has located the weapons. Maraekaho Road and Kirby, past the cemetery. Occupants have barricaded points of entry.”
“Ten-three, boss,” Sergeant Atkins said. She motioned to Constables Gavin and Coop. “Let’s go.”
Alexa started to follow.
“Stay here,” the sergeant ordered.
The three officers were out of the room before she could lodge a complaint. She was a part of the team until she wasn’t.
She pulled out a chair and sank into it. What if something happened to Bruce? She lowered her head below her knees, trying to tamp her panic. Her loose hair created a dark cave in which she imagined a worst case scenario: shots fired, man down. Then she told herself to get a grip. This was New Zealand. Gun violence was rare.
The fax machine buzzed to life. When the printing was finished, she retrieved the papers.
The cover sheet said: FROM: Special Agent Larry Jacobs, FBI Field Office Los Angeles, TO: Sergeant Allison Atkins, Hastings Police Department, New Zealand, Confidential. She glanced at the first page—legalese about Harlan Quinn’s pending charges with conspiracy to commit theft of trade secrets. She skimmed the next page: BioMatic’s knowledge, research, and development of certain biosimilars had been obtained using misappropriated intellectual property.
Quinn had been a cheater in more ways than one.
The documents were confidential. Alexa had been privy to the phone call and knew Quinn had been in hot water, but her boss, Dan, had said no coloring outside the lines. She tidied the stack and set them on the table. More papers slipped out of the fax machine, but she ignored them and made sure the door locked behind her.
The thirty minutes she spent in the empty lab—Pamela-Not-Pam had the morning off—dragged.
She threw down her Pilot G2 pen and checked her phone. She couldn’t see anything through the smashed screen. She decided to drive to the bunker and check out the webcam herself. Catch Lynn, if it was her, red-handed. She licked her chapped lips, gathered the crime kit, and hustled to the parking lot. She thought of telling someone, but remembered a police officer was assigned to guard the Black Reef estate. She’d check in with him or her before entering the bunker.
She focused on the news from the FBI as she drove. Why did Quinn steal secrets from his former partner? Why not stay at Q&G Biologics and develop the drug there? Maybe Gupta had been a rule stickler and Quinn wanted to speed things up, to help his daughter. What did Gupta know about the investigation? Why would he come to New Zealand to assist Quinn’s family when Quinn had stolen from him?
Alexa hunched forward in the driver’s seat, anxious to pass the slow-driving car ahead of her. Who drives the speed limit?
Gupta said he was leaving today. She decided to stop by The Retreat and ask him about Quinn’s betrayal. Before he slipped away.
Movement in her rearview mirror caught her attention. A lime green camper van tailed closely, probably anxious to pass the slowpoke up ahead as well.
She lost them both in Clifton, and now the sea was out her window, gray instead of turquoise, a lone boat plying its waters.
No one greeted Alexa at The Retreat. The vase on the round table was empty. No cheerful voices or clink of glassware came from the dining room. Alexa walked into the restaurant, surprised it was empty. A server backed through the kitchen doors, carrying a tray. She turned. “Oh. Kia ora.”
Alexa hadn’t seen her before.
“It’s buffet this morning, in the lounge,” the server said. She lifted the tray a few inches. “Fresh cinnamon rolls.”
“No one was in the lobby. I’m visiting a guest.”
The server looked panicked. “Oh, well, we’re short-staffed. We’ve had a tragedy.” Her eyes brimmed and Alexa worried for the pastry. “Which guest are you visiting?”
“Mr. Gupta. He’s still here, right?”
She glanced at the rolls. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes,” Alexa lied. She tried to remember the name of Gupta’s suite. Tranquility? Serenity? Katrina had said there were only six rooms.
“Just go on, then; it’ll be fine.”
Alexa tried the opposite wing from Katrina’s office and room. She passed Halcyon and stopped in front of the door labeled HARMONY. This was it.
She knocked.
No one answered.
She knocked harder. “Mr. Gupta? It’s Alexa Glock.”
Still no answer.
Alexa looked down the spacious hallway. At the far end, a large window framed hilly dunes covered in dancing grass. She stepped down the hallway to the last room: Peace. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
She returned to Harmony, banged at the door, waited, and then turned the knob.
Locked.
Her hand tingled, as if Gupta had morphed into water and slid through her fingers.