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THE SIDEWALKS AND ROADS had melted clean by the time they stepped outside, but a layer of snow still covered the grounds around the hospital. The air hung heavy with a promise of more to come. Pink edging on the horizon gave away the location of the sun as it dipped lower, still mostly hidden behind a curtain of cloud.
Zander zipped up his coat and led the way across the street to where he’d left his car. A black Lincoln Navigator was parked beside it and as they drew nearer, he saw a man standing between the vehicles with his back to them, a cell phone to his ear.
He stepped quickly between a tall pickup and an old Mustang, pulling Emma with him, put his finger to his lips and motioned for her to stay down. The man was only three car widths away and even though he spoke in a low voice his words carried clearly on the brittle air.
“He hasn’t come out and I’m tired of waiting. I’m going in to see what he’s up to.” There was a pause while he listened to the speaker on the other end. “I know you have someone on the inside, but that doesn’t mean they can keep an eye on the kid every minute. I’ll get back to you.”
Zander tugged on Emma’s jacket, indicating she should follow him around the front of the pickup to stay out of sight as the man stepped out from between the vehicles and headed toward the hospital entrance. He was dressed all in black: leather jacket, charcoal slacks, dark cap and sunglasses. Zander thought he may have seen him somewhere before but couldn’t be sure. When the man was gone, they moved quickly toward Zander’s car.
“What’s going on? Why is that man looking for you?”
“Hurry. We need to get out of here before he returns.”
“Maybe we should go back in and tell my parents. If you’re in danger, shouldn’t the police be notified? They can protect you.”
He shook his head and pulled open the passenger side door. “Just get in. The police won’t do anything unless we have proof. We need to speak with Dr. Brock.”
He glanced back at the hospital as she hesitated. “Please, we’ve got to go.”
She slid into the seat and he closed the door. He glanced in the window of the SUV. On the front seat was an I.D. from Howard Pharmaceuticals. The photo was hard to make out through the darkened window.
Zander glanced back at Emma. She stared straight ahead, hands laced tightly around her drawn up knees. She must be freezing. He dug in his jacket pocket for his keychain. Public school rules banned weapons of any kind, even tiny pocketknives, but thankfully they didn’t yet consider the damaging effect of a pocket screwdriver. He flipped it out, bent down, and jammed it into the SUV’s front tire. Then quickly turned and did the same to the rear tire. When he straightened up, Emma was staring at him through the window as though he’d gone mad.
He hurried around the car and climbed in. “That should keep him from following us.”
Once they were a mile or so down the road, he let himself relax and glanced over at Emma. She still looked tense and cold. He cranked up the heat and turned the radio on to a station playing classical piano. He thought she’d like it. “Sorry I scared you. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
She nodded. “I know. This is all so strange and new to me. Until I saw that man waiting for you, I don’t think I truly understood the danger you could be in. What will they do if they find out you contacted me?”
Zander shook his head. “They don’t know you exist, so I don’t know, but I’m not going to wait and see. The authorities may not believe our story, but they’ll believe Dr. Brock. She’s an adult with first hand knowledge. I think she’s felt guilty for a long time and would be willing to testify.”
“What about your parents? Won’t they get in trouble if all of this comes out? Wasn’t your dad involved somehow?”
The mention of his dad was a sober reminder. “Oh no. I forgot to turn my cell back on. My mom will be calling and wondering why I’m not home yet.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed the power button. “She worries a lot,” he said, his voice caustic.
“I understand. That’s what parents do.”
“She worries more than most. Could you check my messages for me?” He handed her the phone. “I’ve got to watch the street signs.”
Emma listened and then flipped it closed and handed it back. “Your mom’s been looking for you. She left three messages. Seems you skipped school and she’s worried you’re with some kid named Michael? Then your dad left a message. He said to call him back right away. He sounded really worried.”
“I’ll call him as soon as we talk to Dr. Brock. Tell me when you see Fischer Street.” He stopped at a red light and glanced down at the directions he’d printed off the computer. “It should be coming up in the next block or two.”
As they neared the next intersection, Emma pointed. “This is Fischer, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to get down there. There’s all kinds of emergency vehicles parked in front of that building.”
Zander turned right and proceeded slowly, moving past a police car, fire engine, and ambulance as though he lived there and had every right to approach. A young police officer standing near the entrance to the underground parking garage stepped into the street and motioned for him to stop.
Zander rolled his window down. “What’s going on, officer?”
The policeman leaned down to peer into the window. His blue eyes, alert and bright with interest, scanned the inside of the car, rested briefly on Emma and then settled on Zander. “You kids live here?” he finally asked.
“No sir. We’re visiting a friend. Is something wrong? Was there a fire in the building?” he asked, although there was no sign of smoke and no residents stood shivering outside the building in the cold afternoon.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Dr. Brock. Alicia Brock,” he said. “Is it safe to go in?”
The officer’s gaze narrowed, and he straightened. “Could you pull your car over to the curb, please. And stay inside.” He watched as Zander parked behind an old Datsun, then walked around to the rear of the car to speak into his radio.
“What’s he saying?” Emma asked, releasing her seatbelt and turning around to get a better look.
“I don’t know. But something strange is going on.”
After a few minutes, two men in suits stepped out of the building and approached the car. The taller of the two leaned down to speak to Zander through the window. He had spiky grey hair and a mustache. He pulled a wallet from his coat pocket and flipped it open to reveal a badge. “I’m Detective Miller and this is Detective Johnson,” he said, hooking a thumb back at his partner. They reminded Zander of the agents on Men in Black. “Could you step into the building a minute to answer some questions?”
Zander nodded, reluctant but knowing they had no choice. He glanced at Emma as he pulled the key from the ignition. Her eyes were wide, and he could feel fear building in her. He tried to sound calm and unworried, when he whispered, “It’ll be all right.” But he had a very bad feeling his words would soon be proven false.
They climbed from the car and followed the detectives inside. A police officer stationed at the entrance of the lobby held the door wide for the four of them, then stood quietly against the wall, his hands on the duty belt at his waist.
A vaulted ceiling echoed the click of hard soles against marble tile. An elderly man sat at the service desk across the lobby, shoulders slumped, head resting in his hands. He straightened at their approach, curiosity apparent in his rheumy eyes.
“Officer, those young people don’t live in this building. I know all the tenants by sight, you know.”
Detective Miller grunted and gave the man a curt nod but continued on to a sitting area by the elevators. They followed obediently, Detective Johnson bringing up the rear. Four overstuffed chairs and a coffee table were placed in a quiet nook, along with a potted fig tree that appeared in need of plant food or at the very least, a drink of water. Dry and curling leaves lay scattered about the base of the pot like confetti after a parade.
Miller directed them to sit and they did. Zander flashed Emma a look of confidence before addressing the detective. “Sir, what’s this all about? We stopped by to see a friend and suddenly we’re being interrogated by the police.”
The big detective settled stiffly on the edge of the chair across from them and opened a little notebook. He began to scribble notes inside and answered without looking up. “I’m not interrogating you. I just want to ask you a couple of simple questions.”
The difference in definition didn’t ease Zander’s mind. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back, resigned. “Fine, but could you tell us if this has something to do with Dr. Brock?”
The black detective stood by the dying tree, fingering a limp leaf. “What’s your relationship to Dr. Brock?” he asked, turning his gaze on Emma.
“She’s our family pediatrician,” she said without hesitation, “and a friend. She said we could call anytime.”
“Your names?” Detective Miller asked, still writing in his notebook.
Zander answered before Emma could respond. “Alexander Howard and my sister Emma.”
The detectives didn’t appear to think his introduction strange or lacking in information. The names were added to his book and Zander was relieved Emma didn’t speak up and clarify that she was not a Howard but a Tatum. That would only have prolonged the questioning and convoluted the outcome. Especially since they still didn’t know why they were being questioned at all.
Detective Miller picked at his front tooth with a fingernail, trying to dislodge something left over from lunch. He asked, “What did you want to speak with the doctor about?”
Zander frowned. “That’s a private matter.”
He raised his brows. “Are you citing Doctor/patient confidentiality, Mr. Howard?” His voice dripped with sarcasm and the other detective chuckled.
“No, I just don’t see how this is any of your business.”
Emma reached out and rested her hand on his arm, showing a united front to the detectives, but something quite different to Zander. He touched her hand and immediately the thoughts of both detectives poured into his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to weed out the jumble. There was anger, impatience, and revulsion. Revulsion at something witnessed recently...
Detective Miller broke in on his thoughts. “Are we boring you, son? Because if so, we can all go down to the station and finish this.”
Zander opened his eyes. He met the detective’s hard gaze but saw clearly what was behind it. “No sir. I’m not bored. I was thinking.”
“Well, think about this. Your doctor friend was murdered. We want to know when you talked to her last, what you talked about, and where you were Saturday night between seven and ten p.m.”
Emma gasped and covered her face with her hands. Her pain and sadness were as palpable to him as his own heartbeat. He leaned forward in the chair and cradled his head in his hands. How could this happen? He felt responsible and sick to his stomach. He had practically led some crazy murderer to the doctor’s door. If he hadn’t gone to the clinic, she wouldn’t be dead. On the other hand, if he hadn’t gone to the clinic he might never have learned of Emma. Dr. Brock said she wanted to make up for separating them sixteen years ago. She couldn’t have known it would cost her life.
Zander lifted his head and met the detective’s probing gaze. He had to give them something. He certainly didn’t want whoever did this to get away scot-free. “I was on the phone with Dr. Brock a little after eight Saturday night. She told me to hold on and then I heard her speaking to someone. A few seconds later the phone went dead. I tried to call back, but her phone went straight to voice mail. I thought maybe she was called to the hospital for an emergency or something.”
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to kill Dr. Brock?” Emma said, pulling her coat close around her. She hunched within the shell of down and nylon, all color drained from her face.
“I think I should take my sister home now. She doesn’t look well.” Zander stood up and reached down to give Emma a hand. She didn’t respond but sat dazed and unmoving.
Detective Miller stood also, his gaze intent on Emma. “I think that’s a good idea. But before you do, I’d like to ask one more question. What were you here to speak with Dr. Brock about today?”
Zander bit his bottom lip. There would be consequences if he divulged any Howard Pharmaceutical secrets, even inadvertently. His father could go to prison. His mother might withdraw so far from reality she might never return. He could put all of their lives in jeopardy. After all, there was a killer out there willing to do whatever it took to guard the truth about SensilineU40. But he also knew these detectives were trained to know when someone was lying. So, the safest thing he could do was tell the truth. As little of the truth as possible and then get Emma out of there as quickly as possible.
“We found out we were adopted, but the state won’t let us look at the legal documents until we turn eighteen. It’s not fair, you know.” It was the truth, mixed with just enough teen angst in his tone to be believable. “Since Dr. Brock was there when we were born, we thought maybe she would tell us about our birth parents.”
Detective Miller scribbled something in his notebook, then scratched the side of his nose with the pen. “All right. That’s all for now, but I may need to speak with you two again.” He took down a phone number and address before letting them go.
*****
“WHERE ARE YOU, ZANDER?” Steven demanded as soon as his cell rang. “We’ve been calling all over looking for you.”
“Sorry, Dad. I forgot to turn my cell back on.”
Steven knew there was much more to be said, but Serena sat across the kitchen table from him, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, rocking back and forth. She was about to lose it. He smiled reassuringly and mouthed, he’s okay. She expelled a breath of relief and reached out for the phone.
“Let me talk to him,” she said, her words a plea rather than a demand.
“Zander, your mom wants to talk to you.”
“But Dad...”
He handed her the phone.
“Honey, where have you been? We were so worried. The school called and said you’d left.” She got up and wandered about the kitchen as she talked, randomly opening cupboard doors and closing them again. She didn’t pause long enough in her interrogation to allow Zander time to really answer any questions.
Steven finally got up and gently took back the phone. “I’ll talk to him, hon. Better get dinner started. He’ll be home soon and I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”
She nodded, brushing hair back from her face. “I’m so relieved he’s all right.”
“I know. Me too.”
Steven pushed through the door of the kitchen and out of Serena’s hearing. “Zander, you need to get home right now. Something’s come up.”
“You’re right about that,” he said, his voice sounded unnaturally strained and tense. “I’m driving Emma home first. It could take an hour or so. She lives clear out in–.”
“Zander!” Steven interrupted abruptly, in case someone was listening in. “Get home. Soon. We have Cabin Fever.” The code words he’d drilled into his son’s head when he was a little boy, sounded idiotic now. Would he remember? Or think he was speaking jibberish?
There was a lengthy pause. “I understand, Dad. See you soon.”
Steven slipped his cell phone into the front pocket of his white dress shirt. He patted it reassuringly as though it were a lifeline to his son. Zander would be home in the next hour or so and he could put his contingency plan into action. He’d hoped this day would never come, but it had. There was nothing to do but deal with it.
He paced the length of the living room, his mind whirring. Serena had hired professional decorators to update this part of the house a year ago. The stiff-backed chairs, glass and nickel tables, and uninviting couches strewn with bright, over-stuffed, satin pillows made him feel about as comfortable as a farmer in a tuxedo. Absolutely nothing about the room appealed to him.
He escaped down the hall to his office where Serena had allowed him to keep the old leather recliner the decorators had wanted to throw out as rubbish. This was his sanctuary, his room with a view. Okay–the view might only be family photos, memorabilia, and two goldfish in a bowl, but it was relaxing and felt like home. Something that might soon be gone–in the blink of an eye.
He carefully lifted down the oil painting Serena had done of Zander when he was two. Set in a heavy oak frame, it covered the wall safe completely. Not that a burglar would be fooled by the subterfuge, but it made him feel a little like James Bond to have a safe behind a painting. He spun the knob and slowly turned it to each digit until the final click. The door swung smoothly open. Pushing aside the savings bonds, coin collection, passports, and bundle of official documents stored there, he removed a large envelope from the back of the safe and swung the door shut again.
He went to the office door and peered down the hall. Serena was still in the kitchen, cooking. A faint clink of dishes was followed by the sound of water running in the sink. He closed the door and drew a deep breath, slowly releasing it as he eased into his recliner, envelope in hand.
The items slid out onto his lap as he upended it. He stared at them, contemplating the enormity of his decision. Hiding his son away from Devlin and the company might be harder than he’d originally thought. The intervening years had turned the tables on everything he believed to be true. He had thought Frank was the ultimate force to be reckoned with, the way he controlled everyone by manipulating them through personal weakness. He was wrong.
Frank no longer pulled the strings. But dark forces were still at work within the company. Steven had once feared arrest and imprisonment for his involvement in the Sensiline Project. Now he feared losing his son, destroying his family, and letting Devlin and his cohorts get away with murder.
Once Zander was safe, then he could work on finding the evidence to convict them. Proof that Akhilish did not commit suicide. Proof that Frank’s death was not coincidence, but part of Devlin’s plan. And proof that Devlin was using children to commit heinous acts in the name of science.
He stuffed the bundle of twenty-dollar bills back into the envelope, as well as the key to the cabin and the GPS with coordinates already uploaded. Four thousand dollars. That would give Zander enough cash to get by for a while. It was only for emergencies. The cabin was fully stocked with canned food and other non-perishable items. He’d been there a little over six months back to check things out. While there he’d chopped enough firewood to last the entire winter or more.
Lastly, he fingered the key to the old Buick he’d purchased less than a month before. It was registered under his mother-in-law’s name and stored in a rented garage nearby. Serena didn’t even know about it. She couldn’t know about it. Zander’s safety might depend on it.
*****
“SO, YOU LOST HIM.” Devlin said, expelling a derisive breath. “The company has enough inadequate employees, Andrew. We can’t afford to keep you on payroll if you aren’t capable of fulfilling a simple task. How hard is it to follow a teenage boy?”
Andrew Fillmore stood between the twins, his bland expression unchanged. He didn’t seem intimidated by them at all. He glanced casually around the lab, his gaze landing on the security camera in the corner of the ceiling before responding. “I don’t work for you.”
Devlin smirked. “Then whom do you work for? Frank Howard is dead. You’ve been protecting his interests for a long time. And his interests were centered on this lab and the Sensiline Project. Exactly what I’m trying to protect and preserve.” He spread his hands to encompass the room. “What goes on here must not be open to public scrutiny. It’s too important.”
“I understand that. I took care of the doctor, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “Yes, you did. Without approval, I might add. If you left any evidence that will tie her murder in with this company...”
“I didn’t.”
Devlin licked his lips, wondering what made this man tick. He was an enigma. Was he just covering his own tracks or still covering Frank’s out of a twisted sense of duty? He gestured toward the table. “Have a seat, Andrew.”
The man remained standing. “I’d rather not.”
“Then let’s get right down to it, shall we? You were following the boy. He left school and went to the hospital. When you went inside to check on him, his car disappeared from the parking lot and two of the tires on your vehicle had been punctured.” He cleared his throat. “Quite a streak of bad luck.”
“Maybe. But in the hospital, I overheard an interesting conversation. Some nurses were talking about a little girl. She’d been diagnosed with leukemia and was scheduled for radiation treatment. Her brother and sister were in the room alone with her right before her treatment was to begin. The older sister was singing. The nurses said that it sounded like an angel,” he quoted in a voice void of inflection. “A few minutes later, to everyone’s surprise, the sick girl no longer showed any symptoms of the disease, and the doctor decided to release her.” His lips stretched slowly upward but no mirth reflected in his pale eyes. “The nurses were debating whether or not it was possible to be healed by music.”
Devlin raised his brows, his patience reaching an end. “That’s a very touching story, but what does it have to do with our situation?”
Andrew unzipped his leather jacket and reached into the inside pocket. He pulled out a small photo–a simple school picture taken for the yearbook, to hand out to friends and family. The young man’s blonde hair and dark, penetrating eyes were unmistakable. “I showed this to the nurses. They recognized him immediately. He was in the room with his sister while she sang. His twin sister.”