B007GFGTIY EBOK (6 page)

Beckerman rose from his seat. He gestured to the computer, laptop, and storage media. “What do you want me to do with all this?”

“Dispose of it,” Lockhart said. “I think our leaks are plugged.”

Beckerman frowned. The frown dulled Lockhart’s mood.

“Something else on your mind?”

“We have one other loose end.”

“Do we?”

Beckerman nodded. “Chaudhary’s nine-one-one caller.”

Beckerman was a security specialist. It was his job to see conspiracies everywhere. It was what made him good, and the truth was that the 911 caller had been on Lockhart’s mind, too. He had been an unexpected bonus. Chaudhary hadn’t left a suicide note, but the caller had substituted for one. His anonymous call to the 911 operator gave Chaudhary’s death the validation Lockhart needed. A man commits suicide and an onlooker witnesses it. The cops wouldn’t look beyond the supporting facts.

“I can’t see this person being much of problem for us.”

“He could be. We both know as we press forward, Chaudhary’s death will increase in significance, as will the nine-one-one caller’s significance. At some point he’ll turn himself in. That makes him a liability. Who knows what Chaudhary told him before he died?”

“So what do you want to do about it?”

“I want to find this guy before anyone else does.”

“You have no leads. You’ll be stretched too thin, and I don’t want any hired help at this point.”

“Do you really want to leave this guy out there?”

Lockhart weighed his decision. “No. You’re right. Find the caller.”

Lockhart’s cell rang. Bellis’s name came up on the caller ID. An idea came to Lockhart and he smiled.

“I may have your solution,” he said, then answered the phone. “Good morning, Trevor.”

“Shane Fallon hanged himself last night,” Bellis said.

Beckerman got to his feet to leave, but Lockhart put a hand up to stop him.

Lockhart wandered over to his window. He stared down at the San Francisco streets below. He kept this office in the city. It was nothing showy and didn’t have a view of the bay or the Golden Gate. His view looked into the darkened windows of other similarly unimpressive buildings. But it didn’t matter. The office wasn’t supposed to showcase his business. It was where he and Beckerman could work without interference or scrutiny.

“I know. It made the morning news.”

“That’s the second of my people to die.”

“I know. It’s tragic when someone so young dies like that. Maybe the pressure of this project is too much. No matter. We must focus on the task at hand.”

“Jesus Christ. Listen to yourself. These are people’s lives we’re talking about.”

“Trevor, calm down. Please.” Lockhart gave the CEO a moment to compose himself before speaking again. “I’m not oblivious to the tragedy of these men’s suicides.”

“I’m not so sure that they were.”

“What do you mean?” Lockhart’s tone was sharp. He wanted it to be. Bellis wouldn’t bully him.

Bellis went silent. Nothing but nervous breathing came down the line at Lockhart.

“Come on, Trevor. What do you mean?”

“Fallon’s and Chaudhary’s deaths seem wrong. They weren’t suicidal. Everyone says the pressure of work caused them to snap, but that’s the problem. The work isn’t that difficult. There’s a lot to do, but it’s not taxing.”

“So what are you saying? If the suicides weren’t suicides, what were they?” Lockhart cut the sentence short, leaving the obvious conclusion for Bellis to complete.

“You said the work we do is highly sensitive and risky.”

“Yes, I did. The technology is highly prized. It’s why I haven’t been able to divulge the complete purpose of it. You’re not the only one who’s signed a confidentiality agreement.”

Beckerman studied Lockhart, absorbing the one-sided conversation.

“Would someone kill for this technology?”

It sounded like Bellis was trying to take two and two and make an equation of it. Lockhart guessed two deaths would do that to a person.

“It’s possible, Trevor, but I doubt very much someone would kill your people.”

Beckerman’s expression tightened. Lockhart shook his head in a don’t-worry-about-it fashion.

“Trevor, the news said someone witnessed Shane’s death. Is that right?”

“Yes, Hayden Duke was there. You met him last weekend.”

“Yes, I remember Hayden. He seemed like a smart young man. What’s his take?”

“Suicide.”

“Well, there you have it.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what? Shane committed suicide. Sundip committed suicide. There were witnesses.”

Lockhart made a dramatic pause to allow the information to sink into Bellis’s brain. He was a salesman and knew exactly how to close a sale. He used the moment to look out his window and watch a senior citizen look over his shoulder at a hot little number walking the other way. He smiled. The old guy still had a little tiger in his tank.

“We only have the nine-one-one caller’s account of Chaudhary’s suicide,” Bellis said.

Lockhart stared down at his well-manicured fingernails. The index finger on his left hand had dirt underneath and spoiled an otherwise perfect set. He picked up the letter opener off his desk and cleaned his nail. Bellis made this so easy. Shepherds and sheep populated the world. Naturally, he came from shepherd stock, whereas Bellis’s obvious place was among the flock. It had hardly been a challenge to guide him down the path he’d wanted him to go. It was a thing of beauty. It truly was.

“Trevor, don’t you think that’s a little fanciful?”

“No more fanciful than two of my people dying in a week.”

“There’s an easy way to resolve this.”

“Is there? How?”

“Obviously, the person who called in Sundip’s death isn’t going to come forward, no matter how nicely the police ask. Go to the media. Put out an appeal. Ask the person who made the nine-one-one call to come forward. There’ll be no police involvement. I’ll put up a reward as an incentive. It’ll give some closure to Sundip’s family.”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“Great. You get it under way. I’ll have one of my people handle the reward.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, James. I’m sorry if I came off a little rough.”

“No need to apologize. Death is never easy to accept, especially under these circumstances. I want answers as much as you do. I know this is going to sound callous, but our work still lives on. So I have to ask, when can I expect project completion?”

“We’re pretty much finished. We’re just getting everything ready for the handover. I would say by the end of the month, to allow for final corrections to be made.”

Lockhart could feel excitement rising. Once he had the designs, manufacturing could start and theory could be put into practice. “Do you think if you made a push I could have the design package by a week from Saturday?”

“It’s doable.”

“Then tell your people to burn the midnight oil and I’ll send a man to get everything then.”

Bellis hesitated. “OK, I’ll make sure that everything is ready for you.”

Lockhart smiled. Bellis would be only too willing to wash his hands of their association. The quicker he had the designs the better. This project had run on long enough. It was about time he brought this stage to an end.

“You’re still OK for dinner on Friday, Trevor?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hopefully, we’ll have contact from the nine-one-one caller by then and all your problems will be forgotten.”

Lockhart hung up and put his cell away.

Beckerman clapped. “Nicely done.”

Lockhart took a small bow. “I think our loose end has been taken care of.”

R
ebecca Fallon drove from LA to the Bay Area. A flight would have taken no time at all, but she’d have had to pretend to be a normal person in front of her fellow passengers and she wasn’t up for that. There was privacy in her car. She could cry and scream and curse Shane for killing himself and for leaving her alone in this world. It didn’t matter if other drivers saw her emotions get the better of her. No one would stop to ask what was wrong or offer help. She drove because it let her mourn.

The call had come in just as she was leaving for work. A Marin Sheriff’s detective had broken the news and broken her heart at the same time. Shane had betrayed her. How could he have left her? He was all that was left of their family. In less than a hundred miles, she would drive over the section of I-5 that had claimed both of their parents. Evidence suggested a gasoline tanker had jackknifed after being cut off by an impatient driver. A pickup truck hit the tanker in just the right spot to flip it on its side. The inevitable fireball followed when vehicle after vehicle struck the vulnerable tanker trailer.

Rebecca’s parents weren’t in one of the vehicles that hit the tanker. They were just in one of the nineteen vehicles caught in the subsequent pileup, trapped inside their sedan as the flames ripped through them.

Jerry and Dee Fallon were two of the twenty-seven people to die that day. Every child expects to bury their parents, but not as a teenager. Shane, as her big brother, ensured it didn’t affect her as much as it could have. He took over as her father and mother, as well as being her brother. At that point, the future only existed because Shane made it exist. The sun rose and set because Shane said it would.

“You and me, right?” he’d said after the funeral. “We need each other. This family is as small as it gets, but it’s strong. Nothing can break it. Not you. Not me.”

“But it can be broken,” she said to the memory. “You broke it, Shane.”

The section of freeway before Los Banos came up more quickly than she had expected. She’d always avoided driving over the spot where her parents died, and now it was upon her. New asphalt covered the exact spot, but she knew when she drove over it. A chill scurried through her and unleashed fresh tears.

She realized how tenuous the sequence of events had been. Her parents had only been on the road that day to spring a surprise visit on Shane at college. If they hadn’t been such spontaneous people, they’d still be alive.

Now she was making the same trip her parents had, but for totally different reasons.

Why hadn’t she recognized any signs in her brother? In some respects, it was her fault. She had her own life and she didn’t call him as regularly as she used to. Did it matter if they only got together for birthdays or holidays and not just because? Maybe. Maybe not. She knew she shouldn’t blame herself. She hadn’t tied the rope around Shane’s neck or given him the nudge he needed to jump. But she hadn’t been there to untie it and help him down from the edge, either. Right now, she couldn’t forgive him for what he had done, but neither could she forgive herself for what she hadn’t done.

She drove the rest of the journey on autopilot. Neither San Francisco’s elegant skyline nor its famous Golden Gate Bridge managed to shake her from her thoughts. She threaded her way through San Rafael to Shane’s house and pulled into the driveway.

She remained behind the wheel with the engine running. She didn’t have to go inside. She didn’t have to see how her brother lived out his last day. Somebody else could take care of it. But that was a coward’s way out. Shane had taken that route. She wouldn’t. She switched off the engine, grabbed her luggage from the trunk, and let herself in.

She’d failed to prepare for the carnage inside. The detective had told her that Shane had trashed his home, but she hadn’t expected this level of devastation. She dropped her bag at the door and rushed into the living room. She scoured the wreckage for the picture frame. She found it, in pieces, the photograph inside punctured but intact. It was a picture of the Fallons taken the Christmas before Jerry and Dee had died. Creased but smiling faces looked up at her. She dropped the shattered frame on the floor. It was instantly lost among the debris. The broken picture frame galvanized her into action. She began restoring order to Shane’s chaos. She called the local trash service to make a special pickup for the following day. She bagged up what had been destroyed, righted furniture that still could be used, and rehung clothes in closets. Order would never be restored, but it would be respected.

The plane tickets stopped her. She found a receipt for a vacation to the Caribbean between Christmas and New Year’s. The names on the tickets were hers and Shane’s. She’d found her Christmas gift. The realization set her crashing to the floor. She’d been cursing Shane’s existence from the moment the call came, but he’d been planning to take her on vacation for Christmas. She looked for a purchase date. Shane had made the reservations two weeks ago. Could someone lose their love for life in two weeks? She remembered her parents’ deaths and knew someone could. But surely nothing that horrible had happened to Shane.

She pulled out her cell and dialed the detective’s number.

“Santiago.”

“It’s Rebecca Fallon.”

The detective’s tone softened at the mention her name. “Yes, Ms. Fallon. How can I help you?”

“I’m at Shane’s house. I’m going through his things and I found something strange.”

“What is that?”

“Shane booked a vacation two weeks ago.”

Santiago didn’t respond to her revelation the way she had expected.

“What kind of person books their Christmas vacation, then kills themselves two weeks later?”

Santiago sighed. “I wish I knew. I’ve encountered a number of suicides over the years and I’ve never managed to find an explanation. All I know is that your brother killed himself.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t murder?”

“Yes. I have an eyewitness.”

Rebecca appreciated Santiago’s directness. He could have sugarcoated his answers, but it was the last thing she needed. She needed answers, not coddling.

“Rebecca, I need to be up-front for a moment. As I mentioned in my call this morning, it appears Shane was under the influence of narcotics.”

“My brother wasn’t a junkie.”

“I didn’t say he was. It could be a one-time thing. Maybe he had a bad reaction to the drug. Some drugs act as depressants. That might explain Shane’s behavior. Look, at the moment, drugs are only a suspicion. We won’t know one way or the other until the tox screen is complete.”

“Hayden Duke is your eyewitness, right?”

“Yes. You know him?”

She remembered how kind and supportive he’d been when her parents died. He’d been the glue that kept Shane together when he needed to be strong. She took comfort from the knowledge that Hayden was there when Shane died. No one deserved to die alone.

“Yes, I know him. Hayden is my brother’s friend from college. Did he say Shane was high?”

“Yes, he did.”

The answer felt like betrayal. “Did he see him take drugs?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Did you find any at his house?”

“No.”

“Then all you have is Hayden’s account of the truth.”

Santiago pounced on her remark. “Is there some reason to doubt Hayden’s account?”

Was there? She hadn’t realized what she’d said until she’d said it. It wasn’t a conscious remark. She’d just been in a hurry to dispel the taint of drugs. But was she on to something? Could Hayden have been involved? Could he have even supplied Shane with the drugs that night?

What was she thinking? Hayden was a good guy. She tried to dislodge her disparaging remarks but couldn’t. She didn’t know what to think. Santiago was trying to prepare her for the possibility that Shane had taken drugs. Shane had never touched drugs, but if the tox screen proved otherwise, then everything she believed was a lie. It just seemed wrong.

“Ms. Fallon?” Santiago prompted.

“I don’t think there’s any reason to doubt Hayden’s account.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, that doesn’t sound like an emphatic no.”

No, it didn’t, she thought. “All I’m saying is that I wasn’t there. You weren’t there. All we have is Hayden’s account.”

“I know.”

She had questions that Santiago couldn’t answer. She needed to talk to someone who could.

“Do you have a phone number for Hayden?”

“Yes, I do,” Santiago said.

Rebecca wrote the numbers he gave her on her palm.

“He doesn’t have to talk to you if he chooses not to.”

“I know that, Detective Santiago, but he’ll talk to me.”

Hayden returned home after punishing his credit card on a shopping trip to replace everything that had been stolen or broken. He carried a replacement PC from his garage into the kitchen and stepped into a show home. Someone had gone through his recently burgled house and turned it into a home again. The Good Samaritan’s identity was pinned to the fridge door by a Hello Kitty fridge magnet.

“Hayden, I tidied up. I’ve put the spare key in the kitchen drawer. Don’t worry, I’ve made a copy for myself. I’m sorry about Shane. Call me. Love, Mom.”

Hayden put the box down and inspected his home. Everything was in apple-pie order and had been mom-cleaned. She’d done this in a couple of hours. He couldn’t have gotten his place in this good of shape if he’d taken all day.

The act of kindness didn’t come without its drawback. No matter his age and what he did with his life, his mom still viewed him as her little boy. And this little boy just proved he couldn’t keep burglars out of his world. No doubt there’d be a maternal probation period during which he’d have to endure impromptu visits to discuss real estate opportunities elsewhere or home security systems. Hayden picked up the phone in the kitchen and pressed the speed dial.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I’ll get her for you,” John Duke said. He knew his father was smiling.

Hayden’s mom answered the phone.

“Yes, Mom. I’m looking at it now. It’s wonderful. Thanks.”

After five minutes of thanking his mom and making her feel good, he found that he’d agreed to go over for dinner. It was just as easy to cook for three as it was for two, she’d explained. She nailed the deal with her closing argument: no one wants to eat alone after such a traumatic event.

“OK, Mom. I’ll be over later. Now, about that spare key…”

After his call, he unloaded the rest of his purchases, opened boxes, then set up his new computers. He needed to get back to work. People had expectations. MDE still needed their drawings revised. He was thinking practically, which prevented him from thinking about Shane. He wouldn’t be able to distract himself forever, but tonight he could. He worked for an hour, then switched off his new laptop and headed for the garage.

The phone rang when he reached the kitchen. He expected it was his mom wanting to know when he was coming.

“Hayden, it’s Rebecca Fallon. Shane’s sister. We met a long time ago.”

She’d substituted “a long time ago” for “at my parents’ funeral.” Hayden couldn’t blame her for this. It seemed that a death in her family kept bringing them together. It looked as if he wouldn’t be blocking Shane out tonight.

“I wondered if I could talk to you about Shane?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“I hope you don’t mind me calling you. The Marin Sheriff’s Office gave me your number.”

“Of course not.”

“What can you tell me about what happened?”

This wouldn’t be a short call. Hayden dragged a stool over from the kitchen counter and sat. What could he tell her? He’d been there, but he didn’t understand any of it. And what should he tell her? Hit her with it all or just the edited-for-TV version? Neither appealed.

“Maybe you should talk to the sheriffs,” he said.

“I have, but you were there. You were his friend. I’d rather hear it from someone who knew him.”

There was no dodging her. She wanted the truth and deserved it.

“You probably won’t like what I have to say.”

“I know.”

He led her through events, from his call to Shane to Shane’s suicide. She was silent for a long time after he’d finished explaining. He thought he heard crying from her end of the line. He just gave her time to take the information in.

“You told the detectives that Shane was high,” Rebecca said.

“That was how he seemed.”

“Where’d he get the drugs? From you?”

The question stung with the intensity of a slap. How could Rebecca even think that? But he didn’t have to look far for an answer. She’d talked to Santiago. He’d planted the idea in her head. At least it revealed exactly where Santiago placed him in this puzzle.

“No, Rebecca. He didn’t get the drugs from me and you know better than to even think it. You know me.”

“Really? Shane never took drugs. The cops didn’t find any in his possession or back at the house.”

“This is ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? There’s something seriously wrong with Shane’s death. He’d just booked a trip to the Caribbean. He had no history of drugs. And suddenly, after you come back into his life, he kills himself in a drug-intoxicated stupor. I find that extremely strange and I want to know what you’re hiding.”