25
The queue at his check-in desk at LAX was longer than he expected. Pulling his suitcase behind him, David Jacobs jointed the waiting travelers. When his turn came, he put his suitcase on the belt. Wiping his chin, he placed his electronic ticket and passport on the desk. The airport attendant looked intently from the passport to its owner. David’s heart pounded loud in his chest. If it wasn’t so busy in the terminal the attendant might have heard it beating. Did the woman suspect something? When she finally handed him his boarding card and passport, David released a sigh.
Calmly like nothing special was going on he walked towards the passport control. To his surprise, the man in the booth let him through after he eyed Jacob’s identity. Content with the situation, David entered the tax free area. He passed a liquor and tobacco shop. Across from them were a souvenirs and a luxury confectionary shop, with expensive chocolate and sweets wrapped in plastic. He didn’t need to buy any of those, why would he, everything was cheap in Brazil. Instead he walked directly to the gate from which his plane would leave. He covered the distance with quick steps. It took him nearly twelve minutes to reach the waiting area where he took place on a free chair. There weren’t many passengers yet. Most of them were occupied with their notebooks or iPhones.
When his flight was called, David joined the queue. Passenger after passenger reduced the line, until his turn came. Except for two attendants in airline uniforms there were two men dressed in yellow safety vests present.
Immediately after David surrendered his passport and boarding pass the two men in the yellow vests moved forward. Before he could react, one of the men grabbed him while the other said, “David Jacobs, we’re arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy of the murder of Senator Collins. You don’t have to say anything. What you do say can be used against you as evidence in a court of law.”
*
A squadron of police cars raced across the city. Their blue lights and sirens filled the midnight air. Lieutenant Bob Dupree was driving behind the third car.
They found the Delphi Clinic in a blaze of fire. Fire fighters were in a frenzy to rescue anyone still inside the building. The fire marshal stood beside of one of his trucks. He was completely occupied with his job. He gave orders via a walkie-talkie to his men inside the building. Dupree approached the marshal with caution because he felt the man stood near enough to the building to be roasted.
“Any survivors?” Dupree had to shout to hear his own voice. After he had been informed by the operator from the emergency call center, he put one of his men to check the call.
“We don’t know yet,” the marshal replied.
“About an hour ago we had a call from the chief operator of the 911 center,” Dupree shouted. “A woman from inside the clinic said she knew who killed Senator Collins.”
A stretcher with a covered body passed them. Dupree stopped the man who pushed it. Lifting the sheet, he was able to make out a female figure, blood covered most of her face. As he looked over her body, he noticed there was something in her pajama pocket. With a handkerchief in front of his mouth and nose he took the semi melted item from the scalded woman, Dupree bagged it. Then he turned away from the smell of burned flesh.
*
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight, Mr. Mendez. Are you saying Detective Wolters went to an address she found scribbled on a postcard yesterday evening?” Lieutenant Dupree sat behind his desk after another long day. He couldn’t believe his ears.
Jose gazed at a half-eaten donut which lay on the Lieutenant’s desk. “That’s right, I don’t know what’s going on but I haven’t heard from her since. I need my car back. I need it to go to work. I tried to contact her several times today but every time her mobile rings out and there is no reply. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Let’s hope she didn’t get herself in too much trouble though, where ever she is, I can assure you she will when I get my hands on her. Did she tell you where she was going?” Dupree asked.
“She left the postcard behind at her home.”
“Was there any one with her when she set off?”
“She took Shabty with her,” Jose confirmed.
*
“The bullet wasn’t what killed Rodrigo Mendez,” Dr. Simon sat in his office beside the examination room. With him were officers Adams and Burnett “Granulomatis Amoebic Encephalitis was found in his central nervous system. This is a disease caused by a parasite called Balamuthia Mandrillaris, or in short BM. The disease was first discovered in 1986 in the brain of a baboon. There were also concentrations of the Rhino virus found in his blood stream. I am 99 present sure this is what killed him,” Simon said.
“Then it was this so called medicine the scientists in TRS are working on. But that still doesn’t explain the blisters on his body,” Adams remarked.
“Those eruptions are a complete mystery to me too,” Simon replied.
“How long would it have taken before he died?” Burnett asked.
“It’s hard to say, I’m guessing a couple of hours,” Simon answered.
“But why did he get shot if he was already dead?” Adams asked.
“Detective Wolters told me they found a shot gun shell about 30 feet away from the victim, which means whoever shot Mendez didn’t know he was dead already. Remember it was dark when this happened. The kids found the body early the next day,” Simon answered.
“Do you suppose the shooter could have been mistaken for the identity of the victim? He might have thought it was Edgar Ellis, he was driving the man’s car,” Burnett asked.
“That could be a possibility. It explains why Mendez was shot. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Simon said.
“If Ellis is still alive, which is very unlikely, he must be in some kind of illegal hospital. We checked all registered hospitals and clinics in California,” Burnett said.
“If I was Ellis, I would be moving all the time, Adams said.
“I don’t assume he is,” Simon said.
“How do you know this?” Burnett asked.
“There are only three reported survivors in the world of the BM parasite,” Simon said.
*
A female reporter from Fox TV stood beside a large man dressed in a light grey suit. “Lieutenant Dupree here has been leading the investigation into the disappearance of Mr. Ellis a scientist at the Thompson Research Station in LA. Lieutenant what can you tell us about the case so far?”
The reporter put the microphone in front of Dupree’s face. “So far all we know is that Mr. Ellis’ disappearance is connected with a prototype of a new medicine stolen from the research station. Further, we have reasons to believe he might be either in the hands of a terrorist group or part of this same group. We also suspect this group of conspiracy and assassinating Senator Collins. We request anyone who has seen or heard anything out of the ordinary the last couple of weeks to contact us at the following number or contact your local police station.”
Mr. Weissmuller swallowed his food quickly and picked up his mobile. Ever since his return to St. Bernardino, he had been thinking about the strange encounter with the female doctor in the desert. The images of the mummified patient they carried in the back of his hearse were just too bizarre to forget. Of course, he’d understood something wasn’t right, but at the time the financial offer made by the doctor was too big to refuse. Now he knew the doctor might be involved in terrorism, he decided it was time to reveal her whereabouts. There was no question in his mind she was hiding the scientist.
*
Anthony also watched the news in Martin Tyler’s living room. Images of a burning Delphi Clinic filled the screen. Not realizing he was doing so he kept his hand in front of his mouth and stared at the TV without blinking.
“Please let her be all right,” he said to himself.
“Who’s going to be all right?” Martin asked.
“Oh, nobody,” Anthony said quickly.
“It doesn’t seem to me you mean nobody, the way you’re sitting there.” Anthony’s face had turned an unhealthy grey and his breathing became shallow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony denied.
“Look at yourself sitting there, another minute and you’ll drop off your seat. You know damn well what I’m talking about. You know one of the other patients in the clinic and you told her about the Senator. You brought it on yourself Baker, it’s your fault your friend was barbequed.” Picking up the remote control, Martin switched off the TV. Facing the TV he continued. “You’re some killer, first the Senator, then your new girlfriend, who’s next, your wife?”
“I’ll never hurt my wife, I love her and she’s not here, she’s at home in Ireland,” Anthony raised his voice. The color in his face was slowly returning.
“Ha, Baker you’re wrong, she’s here in LA. She has a search party out for you to bring you back home. I even helped her a little bit by setting up a meeting in a hotel room. You better pray she doesn’t find you. She wants to prove you were sane when you committed your crime in Ireland. Do you know what this means Baker? With the two murders here, you will go to prison for life,” Martin said.
“You’re lying, I didn’t kill Anika, it‘s not my fault what happened in the clinic. You can’t blame me for her death,” Anthony shouted the words.
“You better watch out, the neighbors might hear you,” Martin hissed between his teeth.
“I don’t care who hears me,” Anthony yelled. He rose to his feet, moving towards Martin, he bent over and grabbed the man’s collar.
“Keep your hands off me,” Martin demanded. His own hands closed around Anthony’s wrists.
“You can’t tell me what to do any longer,” Anthony cried.
“I’m telling you to let go of me,” Martin replied.
“I won’t, take back what you’re said. I am not a killer. You made me do it,” Anthony whined like a little child.
“I wasn’t there when you killed the Senator, you were,”
Martin said.
“It’s your entire fault,” Anthony replied while he hit Martin full in the face with his fist.
Checking his nose for blood, Martin stood up from his chair.
“You’re going to regret this,” he exclaimed.
Before Anthony knew, Martin punched him in the stomach. Leaning forward, he held the painful area. He stood there for a few moments, and then he tilted his head upwards gazing through his eyelashes at his opponent. Martin stood with his hands placed in his sides and said, “So big man, what you are going to do now?”
Standing up straight again Anthony kicked Martin just above the shins. He could hear Martin’s kneecap crack. He knew it was a mean move, but after all the man had deceived him from the beginning. The rage inside Anthony was now at boiling point.
Screaming with the pain, Martin tried to get away from his attacker. He stumbled as he did so. Losing his balance, he fell against the coffee table. His head struck the glass surface, blood spilled from his skull. He lay there quietly, Anthony approached him. Kneeling beside the motionless man, he said, “That wasn’t meant to happen, you son of a bitch.”
How could I have been so naive to believe this man? In the office of Mr. Greystone in St. Joseph’s everything had felt so good. Mr. Greystone himself had approved the situation. Didn’t he say he read the contract for him and that he hadn’t found any problems with it? Mr. Greystone was one of the few people he still trusted at the time.
Have I been wrong? Did Mr. Greystone lie like all the other people? Why didn’t father warn me when he sat beside me in the car?
Nothing had worked out the way he thought it would, each and every person had lied to him. Even his own father couldn’t be trusted. Except for Anika, he felt sick to the stomach, but she was dead now.
I should have protected her. I should have looked after her better.