Robbie could hear the music as soon as he stepped out of the car. He recognized Macy Grey’s voice, whom he liked pretty well. As long as they didn’t play rap all night. He could only take about twenty minutes of the bass beat before he started thinking he would rather be deaf.
Only about fifteen people were in the house, but they all seemed to be talking about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, a movie showing at the Bijou. Robbie hadn’t seen it. He sipped his beer slowly and wondered why he could never seem to connect to people the way others did.
He tried. He discovered that telling people he worked for Prolabs usually sparked a conversation. The subject of drugs was always popular with young people, and the company was in the news because of its controversial expansion plans. After listening to a girl rant about greedy pharma companies, he had to get away.
“Excuse me, I need some air,” he said abruptly and walked toward the sliding glass door. Once outside, the sudden burst of cool air gave him a rush. Robbie stood at the edge of the balcony overlooking a split-level back yard where two guys tossed a frisbee in the dark. A couple in the corner didn’t stop kissing to notice his presence. Their intimacy shot a cold ache through him. He’d only slept with one girl in his life and that had been more than a year ago. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of the episodes of hopelessness.
Robbie looked out at the space below and wondered what it would be like to jump. To feel the ground rushing up at him in one glorious flight, knowing that when he hit, it would be over. He envisioned it for a moment, feeling its pull, then stepped back. This balcony wasn’t nearly high enough. Unless he landed on a sprinkler, he might not even get seriously hurt. He made a mental note to use that thought for comedy material.
He turned to go inside. The lights of a big vehicle cruised by on the side street. He watched it pass and realized it was a black Jeep Commander. Was that his dad? It sure looked like him. What the hell was the old man doing cruising 29th Avenue at midnight?
Rudker parked two blocks from the corner and shut off the engine. He regretted bringing the Commander, which stood out from the smaller cars. Yet the neighborhood was so dark and quiet, he saw no reason to abandon his plan now. He’d passed a party a few blocks back and from here he could see the glow of one TV across the street, but other than that, there were few signs of life. He pulled his wallet out of his jeans and slid it under the seat. Now all he had in his pockets were a small bright flashlight and an expired credit card with his ex-wife’s name on it. From the jockey box, he extracted a pair of thin leather driving gloves and pulled them on.
Rudker eased out of the vehicle and gently closed the door. He suspected he hadn’t used enough force to latch it properly, but he was more concerned with drawing someone’s attention with the crunch of a car door than with someone stealing the Commander.
He moved down the sidewalk, his black jogging shoes making almost no sound. Rudker had also worn black jeans and a dark brown sweater Tara had bought him for Christmas two years ago but he had never worn until now. She thought he was having drinks with a JB sales rep.
He approached the side of the fenced yard and slowed. It was fortuitous that Sula lived on a corner lot, making it that much more accessible. With one easy motion, he reached over the gate, lifted the closing mechanism on the inside, and pushed though. A dog in the backyard of a nearby house let out two loud barks. The noise was jarring, but Rudker had taken a beta blocker earlier for that very reason-to keep his nerves calm during this excursion no matter what happened. Rudker moved briskly toward the attached garage where moonlight bounced off the glass of a side door. He would try it first.
It wasn’t even locked. Even if it had been, a fourteen-dollar dead bolt from Home Depot was no match for someone with a credit card and a light touch. Rudker had been prepared to climb in a back window if necessary, but he was relieved that he didn’t have to. He pointed his pen light at the floor, clicked it on, and made his way across the surprisingly spare garage. A large metal object caught his eye. It appeared to be some kind of sculpture representing a human form. He would have liked to see it in better light. Abruptly, he turned away and stepped toward the door leading into the house. It was locked.
It only took forty seconds with the card to pop the slider bolt out of its slot. Rudker turned the knob and entered the kitchen. The scent of chili powder and cantaloupe filled the air. He moved quickly through the galley- style room and turned left into the living area. Moonlight filtered through the curtains and he could see the furnishings were minimal: a couch, a TV, an end table, and a few plants. Sula either hadn’t lived here long or was as minimalist as a Buddhist monk.
Moving rapidly, Rudker went left again down a short hallway and opened the first door. Even without illumination, he knew it was a bathroom. The air felt wet and reeked of jasmine scented shampoo. Rudker moved on to the next door. He flipped on the light to see a small bedroom that was completely empty except for a few boxes in one corner. Stranger still, he thought. He shut the light off and turned to the door opposite.
The overhead fixture in this larger bedroom gave out a dim glow, which suited him fine. Rudker headed straight for the computer desk. Only a small notepad and pen sat next to the monitor. Otherwise the desk was devoid of clutter. He pulled open the top drawer: nothing but pens and paper clips and assorted office supplies. The next drawer revealed a stack of crumpled, folded-in-half papers. Rudker examined them closely with his pen light. They contained observations of Nexapra’s Phase I clinical trials patients.
Sula had been in Warner’s office. The nosy bitch. Spending one night in jail was not enough punishment. He had warned her, but she’d foolishly underestimated him. She would beat the theft charge, of course. He could live with that-as long as he rounded up and destroyed all the files relating to the Puerto Rico patients and their DNA.
He folded the papers in half, stuffed them into a back pocket, and continued to search. The girl may have taken more than what he saw in her hands, and as long as he was here, he would be thorough.
Rudker failed to find any more incriminating paperwork, but he did find a shoebox in the bottom desk drawer that contained an assortment of CDs. He rifled through them, only to discover they were all set-up disks: Windows, Photoshop, and such.
Seeing the disks made him think Sula might have copied files from Warner’s computer and hidden the CD somewhere in her home. He did a quick search of her night stand, dresser, and closet. Nothing except a lot of black, pink, and beige clothes in soft fabrics. Rummaging through her bras and panties gave him a little thrill. Rudker would have liked to linger, but he heard a siren in the distance and it made him nervous.
The voice in his head was suddenly there, telling him the police were on their way and he had to get out. Rudker tried to ignore it. Sula was in jail and he doubted if any one had seen him enter the house. He really wanted to boot up her computer to see what she had downloaded last.
He walked over and stared at her monitor for a moment trying to decide if it was worth the risk. He noticed the CD sitting on top of the computer tower. He picked it up. At first, the case appeared to be unlabeled, then he saw the letters PRS in small print along the spine. Puerto Rico suicides?
Rudker clicked on the machine. After twenty seconds, he grew irritated waiting for Windows to load. Get out, idiot, the voice nagged. Finally, icons appeared on the screen. He loaded the disk, accessed the CD drive, and a window displayed the contents. Four file names were listed: Miguel Rios, Luis Rios, mr DNA, lr DNA. A sharp pain flashed through his chest. Jesus! The girl had everything she needed to shut down Nexapra and ruin his career.
The traitor! The bitch!
Rudker popped the CD out of the drive, put it back in its case, and crammed it into his other back pocket. He clicked off the computer, picked up his penlight, and left the room.
He left the same way he’d come in, out through the garage and the side yard onto 26th. Rudker found himself whistling as he hurried to his vehicle. He was in control of his company and career again. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Sula. If she were trying to destroy someone besides himself, he might have admired her audacity.
Chapter 17
Saturday, April 17, 10:43 a.m.
Bruised, exhausted, and in desperate need of a shower, Sula walked out of the jail. She had barely slept. In the middle of the night, a deputy had herded everyone out of the holding area and into a smaller room so the larger area could be cleaned. Then an hour later, they were roused and moved back. The activity seemed bizarre and
