“Right.” Sally’s tone was troubled.
“Hey, don’t let that vivid imagination of yours take over.” Monty berated himself for opening up his big mouth. “You know very well that I always go into overdrive when I see the end in sight.”
“Is that what you see this time?”
“Yes. So take a deep breath and leave the worrying to me.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Maybe. But try.”
“Only if you—”
“I’ll call you if there’s anything to tell,” Monty assured her.
“Okay.” Sally didn’t sound convinced. “Good night, Pete.”
“Sweet dreams.” Monty punched off the Bat Phone and shoved it in his jeans pocket. He took another belt of coffee, staring off into space and frowning.
No matter how he sugarcoated things to Sally, he was uneasy. Something was wrong.
He’d stay put until he knew what it was.
SOMETHING JARRED DEVON out of a fitful sleep.
Her eyes snapped open. For a second, she couldn’t get her bearings. Then she realized she was in her mother’s house, in her old bedroom. Blake’s arm was draped across her, his naked body wrapped around hers.
What had awakened her?
She squirmed into a sitting position, whisking her hair off her face and groping around the nightstand until she found the lamp and switched it on.
Soft light filtered through the room, illuminating the digits on the alarm clock. Two forty.
She scanned the room. Nothing. No one.
She slipped out of bed, shrugged into her robe, and padded out of the bedroom. The hall was quiet. So were the stairs. From the landing, she could see that the front door was shut, the dead bolt thrown.
She was about to turn around and return to bed, chalking the whole thing up to her imagination, when she spied the white business envelope lying on the hardwood floor just inside the front door. Heart thumping, she made her way downstairs and over to the door to pick it up.
Inside was a single folded sheet, its message two laser-printed lines:
Mind your own business. Stay away from the Piersons—all of them. Or your mother won’t be the only Montgomery in danger.
Clutching the note, Devon marched forward, unlocked the front door, and threw it open.
There was no sign of anyone.
She went outside, arms wrapped around herself for warmth. She shivered, her breath coming in cold misty puffs as she scrutinized the grounds.
Deserted.
For a long moment, she stood motionless, waiting to see if there was any movement in the woods surrounding her mother’s property.
The night was still.
Slowly, she made her way back inside, rereading the note as she locked the door.
“Devon?” Blake was halfway downstairs. “What’s wrong?”
“This.” Devon ascended the steps and handed him the page, continuing on her way to the bedroom.
“Shit,” Blake muttered, reading as he followed behind her.
“Exactly.” Devon sat down on the bed, drawing up her knees, resting her chin on them. “Either your grandfather’s not wasting any time, or I made someone else feel cornered.”
Blake gave a tight nod. “Whoever it was knows you’re here. Which narrows it down to my entire family, Dr. Vista, and a chunk of the staff at Pierson & Company.” He strode over, picked up the telephone, and thrust it into Devon’s hand. “Call your father. Now.”
Devon punched in Monty’s home number.
“Yeah?” Her father answered on the second ring. His voice was rough with sleep, but his mind was already alert. Years in the Seventy-fifth had done that.
“Monty, it’s me.”
“I had a feeling I’d hear from you. What’s up?”
She told him everything, starting with the threatening note.
“You ruffled somebody’s feathers pretty bad,” Monty commented. “That means you’re close.”
“I know. Which is why I’ve got to get inside Vista’s trailer. We can’t play this one safe. Time is against us.”
“I agree. About everything except you getting into Vista’s trailer. That’s not happening. Have a stiff drink and go to sleep.”
Devon bristled. “Don’t get all paternal on me, Monty. You’re the one who made me your partner in this case. Well, I’m doing my job. We don’t have any evidence, so we can forget getting a warrant. And Vista’s scared enough to get rid of whatever he’s hiding behind that curtain.”
“Yeah, but there are other considerations. My guess is whatever’s back there cost a bundle and is at a critical point in development, or experimentation, or whatever the hell Vista’s doing for Edward. I agree that it’s shady. That’s why Edward doesn’t want the workstation set up in his stables. But the research obviously means a helluva lot to him. So Vista can’t just toss his secret goodies out, not without Edward’s okay. As for a warrant, you’re right. It’s not happening. Not without something more than instinct. So I’m moving on this now. Tonight. I’ll get into the trailer before dawn, while it’s deserted. Find out where Vista’s staying. Ask Blake.”
Devon complied. “Is Vista here in Dutchess County?” she murmured to Blake.
He nodded. “My grandfather puts him up at the Best Western.”
“Did you hear that?” Devon asked into the phone.
“Yup.” Monty was pulling on his clothes. “That’s all I need. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”
IT WAS FOUR thirty when Monty pulled into the dark parking lot of the Best Western motel.
He drove around to the section designated for trucks. There. Vista’s trailer. Devon’s description made it impossible to miss. And the rear end was definitely low to the ground.
Monty parked to a side, turned off his lights and his motor. The lot was deserted. Still, he gave it a minute or two, just to be on the safe side. When he was sure no one was around, he got out, taking his tools with him.
Collar turned up, he made his way to the trailer. He flicked on his penlight, gripping it between his teeth so the beam was aimed directly on the lock. Grabbing his tension wrench, he slid it into the keyhole and turned. Next came the pick. He yanked it out of his pocket, inserted it into the keyhole, and began lifting each pin in sequence until the last pin had fallen into position. When they were all lined up, he used the tension wrench to turn the lock.
It slid open.
He braced himself for the blare of the alarm. Once that siren started blasting, he’d have a prescribed amount of time to get in and out.
In one fluid motion, he yanked open the door.
Silence.
A wry grin tugged at Monty’s lips. That was the nice thing about rural life. Everyone was so damned trusting.
He hopped into the trailer and shut the door.
Quickly, he darted his penlight around, orienting himself and getting a feel for the space. Then he focused the light directly in front of him, keeping it low and steady as he went straight for gold.
He shoved aside the curtain, marching into the back of the trailer and peering around.
The place looked like something out of Scientific American—a compact but comprehensive molecular physiology lab. There was a variety of high-tech equipment on the counters, most of which was Greek to Monty, and a lineup of test tubes arranged near a serious-looking microscope.
Monty examined the rest of the area. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the trailer was so weighted down. Two heavy-duty freezers stood in the back corner. Beside them was a whopping uninterruptible power supply and a hefty generator thrumming rhythmically to keep the freezers running. And on the opposite wall was a thick steel file cabinet.
First, Monty went to the freezers, opening the doors and checking out what was inside. Small glass dishes, all neatly labeled and containing samples the size of pencil erasers. Puzzled, he crossed over to the file cabinet, sliding open the drawers and rifling through the manila folders, one by one.
<
br /> It didn’t take him long to see the pattern.
CHAPTER 26
Devon was sitting up, staring out the window and watching the first few rays of sun, when the phone rang. She snatched it on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Mission accomplished,” Monty said.
“Are you okay?” Gratefully, she took the mug of coffee Blake pressed into her hand, scooting over so he could sit down beside her.
“Did you doubt it?”
“No. But I worried anyway. What did you find?”
“Frankenstein’s laboratory. I didn’t know what half the stuff was. But it looked as serious as a heart attack.”
“Describe it to me.”
Monty plunged into a description of the freezers, the generator, and the UPS. “He’s powering a lot more than the average vet needs.”
“And a lot more than a consultant who’s sending out his tissue samples. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it there.” Devon tucked her hair behind her ear. “Did you check out the contents of the freezers?”
“Yeah. There were a bunch of those petri dishes, filled with what I’m guessing were tissue samples. Thumbnail size, flesh-colored.”
“Yup. Biopsies,” Devon supplied. “Go on.”
“Well, get this. The dishes were labeled. Names, dates.”
“Horses’ names?”
“Uh-uh. People’s names. Or, to be more specific, illegals. Vista’s got a file cabinet full of manila folders, each one labeled with a subject’s name and containing his personal data and medical history. All the subjects are Mexican. All their social security numbers are ‘not applicable.’ And all their histories are vague. Now, here’s the kicker—all their names match the names on the dishes.”
Devon swallowed hard. “He’s doing genetic testing on human beings?”
“Sure looks that way. He’s paying them enough cash to stay in this country. In return, he’s using them for his research.”
“That’s sickening. But I don’t get the connection.” Devon raked a hand through her hair. “How will that benefit Edward’s horses?”
“I’m not sure—yet. But give me time.” Monty paused, and Devon could hear the road noise in the background.
“You’re driving home?”
“On my way as we speak,” he assured her. “By the way, was Louise Chambers up at the farm last night?”
“Yes. She spent the night. Why?”
“I need to talk to her. When’s she due back in the city?”
Devon repeated the question to Blake.
“This morning,” he replied. “She and I are both involved in a ten thirty meeting. Which means she’ll be in the office before ten.”
“Good.” Monty sounded pleased. “I’ll catch her before that meeting.”
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Devon asked.
“Later.”
Devon sighed. “Fine. Blake and I are about to pack up and head home. I’m due at the clinic at eleven. I’ll be out by six. At which time you and I are meeting, either at my place or yours. Pick.”
“Yours. I’ll cook. Tell Blake he’s welcome. So’s Chomper. See you later.”
AT NINE TWENTY that morning, Louise Chambers turned her car over to the midtown parking attendant and walked toward Pierson & Company.
She was in a foul mood. A long drive, a stressful evening, and a sleepless night. And all for what? To see Blake take off with Devon Montgomery for a romantic night alone.
Her last-ditch effort to salvage things was dead in the water before it began.
She rode up in the elevator, unbuttoning her coat and trying to figure out if there was anything she could do to keep her long-term plan from backfiring. A quick fix was out. She’d have to bide her time—again. That had been her course of action for two-plus years. It was starting to get old.
Maybe it was time to give up.
The elevator doors opened, and she headed toward her office, murmuring good mornings to people as she passed.
She paused when she reached her secretary’s station. “Hi, Diana. Anything urgent? I’ve got a ten thirty meeting to prepare for.”
“A few messages. They can wait,” her secretary said brightly.
“Good. Hold my calls.”
Walking into her office, Louise put down her briefcase, hung away her coat, and sank down in her leather desk chair. She had a slew of papers to review before the meeting with Pierson’s key suppliers. Her concentration sucked, and her head was pounding.
She poured herself a glass of water and was swallowing two Tylenol when the door opened and Pete Montgomery strode in.
“Good morning,” he greeted Louise. “Glad I caught you.”
Something about his choice of words unnerved her.
“I’ve got a meeting to prepare for, Detective,” she informed him. “I should be free late this afternoon. Please check with my secretary and make an appointment.”
“That won’t work,” Monty replied, waving away the curt brush-off. “My situation trumps yours. It’s a matter in which—what’s that phrase you attorneys use? Oh yeah. Time is of the essence. But don’t worry. I won’t be here long.”
Before Louise could respond, Diana burst into the office. “I’m sorry,” she told her boss breathlessly, glancing from Louise to Monty. “I stepped away from my desk for a minute.”
“That’s all right, Diana.” Louise interlaced her fingers on her desk and stared Monty down. “I suspect the detective waited for that opportunity and used it to his advantage.” She nodded at Diana. “You can go. This meeting will be brief.”
Her secretary left the office, shutting the door behind her.
“Okay, Detective Montgomery, what’s this about?” Louise inquired. “I assumed you’d be barking up a more fruitful tree by now.”
A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “That depends on which aspect of this case I’m investigating. The one I’m here about sent me barking right to your office door.”
He perched on the edge of a chair. “Here’s the scoop. I have a client. A wealthy, decent man who’s crazy about his wife. Only she’s carrying on with some young stud. He hired me to get the goods on them. So I tailed them, watched them go at it like rabbits. Something about the whole scenario struck me as weird. Talk about staged photo ops. It was like she knew her husband had hired a PI and was trying to be as obvious as possible. Which would mean she wanted to get caught. But why? She and my client had a prenup. She’d never be awarded the hefty settlement she was angling for if he could prove she was screwing around. It just didn’t make sense.”
“How fascinating.” Louise’s tone and expression remained impassive.
Monty leaned forward. “Then I met with my client, and it all suddenly clicked. The guy was a mess, thanks to his wife. Physically shot. Weak. Sickly. During our meeting, he shoved a couple of nitroglycerin tablets under his tongue. That’s when I realized he had a heart condition. A serious one. The kind that could prove fatal if he were faced with a severe shock. You know, like the shock of seeing porn shots of his wife and her boy toy.”
Louise pinned Monty with a cold stare. “That’s a shame, Detective—although not exactly a unique scenario. What does it have to do with me?”
“Quite a bit. It got me thinking about Frederick Pierson’s wife, Emily. She had a heart condition, too. A serious, debilitating heart condition—not the recently acquired one you indicated during our chat. Because of it, she was a recluse. She stayed holed up in her apartment for years. Saw no one. Oh, except you.”
A hard light glinted in his eyes. “When we spoke last week, you told me you’d met Emily Pierson. You also said nothing went on between you and Frederick until after she died. Well, as it turns out, there are some major discrepancies in those statements.”
“I’m not following.”
“Sure you are. It’s true you met Mrs. Pierson, but not as some innocent Pierson employee. You were having an affair with her husband. You knew he’d never leave hi
s wife. So you found a way for her to leave him—permanently.”
Louise’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re suggesting I harmed Emily Pierson, you’d better have some damned strong evidence, or I’ll be suing you for defamation.”
“Don’t bother.” Monty waved away her threat. “I learned a long time ago never to confront lawyers without proof. You see, Ms. Chambers, I did some digging. Turns out you visited Frederick Pierson’s apartment the day his wife died. You paid off a doorman to let you upstairs and to forget he ever saw you. I tracked him down. As luck would have it, he regained his memory when I flashed a wad of cash at him. So, incidentally, did the concierge at the hotel you and Frederick used as a love nest for the first months of your affair. As you can see, I’ve got more than enough proof. Care to fill in the blanks? Or should I?”
He pressed on without waiting. “You walked into Emily Pierson’s home and told her you were sleeping with her husband. Maybe you took it a step further and hinted that Frederick was on the verge of leaving her. Whatever you said, it was enough to trigger a heart attack. She died. You got Frederick. And you were on your way to happily-ever-after.”
“That’s not the way it happened,” Louise snapped. Her hands shook as she refilled her water glass and took a gulp. “Yes, I went to see her. And, yes, I told her about Frederick and me. But I did it so she’d let him go, not so she’d die. I was thirty-two years old. It never occurred to me that a blunt talk about a marriage that was in name only would be enough to induce a heart attack.”
“But it did.”
“It’s possible. It’s also possible the two events were unrelated. I wouldn’t know firsthand. I left.”
“That’s a lie. You were there when it happened. The nurse who cared for Emily Pierson told me she heard someone leave the apartment as she reached Mrs. Pierson’s side. She assumed it was a servant. But it wasn’t. It was you. I’ve got times on everything, right down to the minute. Arrivals. Departures. When Emily Pierson’s body was discovered. It’s all right here.” Monty walked over to Louise’s desk and slapped down a sheet of information. “I’d quit playing the denial game. It won’t fly. And before you decide to opt for silence, let me remind you that there’s no statute of limitations on murder. You’re an attorney. You know that.”