Whistleblower

'Damn you, Jack!' Everyone had a breaking point and Cathy had reached hers. She couldn't help it; without warning she burst into tears. 'For once in your life will you listen to me?'

That's when Victor's patience finally snapped. He didn't need a degree in psychology to know this Jack character was a first-class jerk. Couldn't he see that Cathy was exhausted and terrified? Up till this moment, Victor had admired her for her strength. Now he ached at the sight of her vulnerability.

It was only natural to pull her into his arms, to ease her tear-streaked face against his chest. Over her shoulder, he growled out an oath that impugned not only Jack's name but that of Jack's mother as well.

The other man didn't seem to take offense, probably because he'd been called far worse names, and on a regular basis. He simply crossed his arms and regarded Victor with a raised eyebrow. 'Being protective, are we?'

'She needs protection.'

'From what, pray tell?'

'Maybe you haven't heard. Three days ago, someone murdered her friend Sarah.'

'Sarah...Boylan?'

Victor nodded. 'Tonight, someone tried to kill Cathy.'

Jack stared at him. He looked at his ex-wife. 'Is this true? What he's saying?'

Cathy, wiping away tears, nodded.

'Why didn't you tell me this to begin with?'

'Because you were acting like an ass to begin with!' she shot back.

Down the hall came the click-click of high-heeled shoes. 'She's absolutely right!' yelled a female voice from the foyer. 'You are an ass, Jack Zuckerman!' The front door opened and slammed shut again. The thud seemed to echo endlessly through the mansion.

There was a long silence.

Suddenly, through her tears, Cathy laughed. 'You know what, Jack? I like that woman.'

Jack crossed his arms and gave his ex-wife the critical once-over. 'Either I'm going senile or you forgot to tell me something. Why haven't you gone to the police? Why bother old Jack about this?'

Cathy and Victor glanced at each other.

'We can't go to the police,' Cathy said.

'I assume this has to do with him?' He cocked a thumb at Victor.

Cathy let out a breath. 'It's a complicated story....'

'It must be. If you're afraid to go to the police.'

'I can explain it,' said Victor.

'Mm-hm. Well.' Jack reached for the bathrobe lying in a heap by the polar bear rug. 'Well,' he said again, calmly tying the sash. 'I've always enjoyed watching creativity at work. So let's have it.' He sat down on the leather couch and smiled at Victor. 'I'm waiting. It's showtime.'

Special Agent Sam Polowski lay shivering in his bed, watching the eleven o'clock news. Every muscle in his body ached, his head pounded, and the thermometer at his bedside read an irrefutable 101 degrees. So much for changing flat tires in the pouring rain. He wished he could get his hands on the joker who'd punched that nail in his tire while he was grabbing a quick bite at that roadside cafe. Not only had the culprit managed to keep Sam from his appointment in Garberville, thereby shredding the Viratek case into confetti, Sam had also lost track of his only contact in the affair: Victor Holland. And now, the flu.

Sam reached over for the bottle of aspirin. To hell with the ulcer. His head hurt. And when it came to headaches, there was nothing like Mom's time-tested remedy.

He was in the midst of gulping down three tablets when the news about Victor Holland flashed on the screen.

'...New evidence links the suspect to the murder of fellow Viratek researcher, Dr. Gerald Martinique....'

Sam sat up straight in bed. 'What the hell?' he growled at the TV.

Then he grabbed the telephone.

It took six rings for his supervisor to answer. 'Dafoe?' Sam said. 'This is Polowski.'

'Do you know what time it is?'

'Have you seen the late-night news?'

'I happen to be in bed.'

'There's a story on Viratek.'

A pause. 'Yeah, I know. I cleared it.'

'What's with this crap about industrial espionage? They're making Holland out to be a—'

'Polowski, drop it.'

'Since when did he become a murder suspect?'

'Look, just consider it a cover story. I want him brought in. For his own good.'

'So you sic him with a bunch of trigger-happy cops?'

'I said drop it'

'But—'

'You're off the case.' Dafoe hung up.

Sam stared in disbelief at the receiver, then at the television, then back at the receiver.

Pull me off the case? He slammed the receiver down so hard the bottle of aspirin tumbled off the nightstand.

That's what you think.

'I think I've heard about enough,' said Jack, rising to his feet. 'I want this man out of my house. And I want him out now.'

'Jack, please!' said Cathy. 'Give him a chance—'

'You're buying this ridiculous tale?'

'I believe him.'

'Why?'

She looked at Victor and saw the clear fire of honesty burning in his eyes. 'Because he saved my life.'

'You're a fool, babycakes.' Jack reached for the phone. 'You yourself saw the TV. He's wanted for murder. If you don't call the police, I will.'

But as Jack picked up the receiver, Victor grabbed his arm. 'No,' he said. Though his voice was quiet, it held the unmistakable note of authority.

The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down.

'This is more than just a case of murder,' said Victor. 'This is deadly research. The manufacture of illegal weapons. This could reach all the way to Washington.'

'Who in Washington?'

'Someone in control. Someone with the federal funds to authorize that research.'

'I see. Some lofty public servant is out knocking off scientists. With the help of the FBI.'

'Jerry wasn't just any scientist. He had a conscience. He was a whistleblower who would've taken this to the press to stop that research. The political fallout would've been disastrous, for the whole administration.'

'Wait. Are we talking Pennsylvania Avenue?'

'Maybe.'

Jack snorted. 'Holland, I make Grade B horror films. I don't live them.'

'This isn't a film. This is real. Real bullets, real bodies.'

'Then that's all the more reason I want nothing to do with it.' Jack turned to Cathy. 'Sorry, sweetcakes. It's nothing personal, but I detest the company you keep.'