I, Richard

the picture of Brittany once-that's my little girl?-that I keep at my window-right over there?-and he asked me about her and that's how we got to know each other. He said he had a little girl as well only she was older and they hadn't seen each other in years and he missed her and that's what we talked about. He was divorced. I knew that because he said ‘my ex-wife' and I thought at first… Well, he made me feel special and I thought wouldn't it be neat if I met someone right here at the bank? So I watched him and I was friendly. And he didn't seem to mind.”

“He's dead.”

“Dead. Oh my gosh. I'm sorry. I didn't know.” She gestured to the metal box. “I was curious about this, is all. Really. That's it.”

“How long has this been here?” Charlie asked. “The money, I mean.”

“I don't really…Two weeks? Three?” Linda said. “It was in between times when he usually came in with his paycheck.”

“What happened? Why did you watch him?”

“Because he was… He was all lit up that day. He was high.”

“On drugs?”

“Not like that. Just happy high. Flying. He had this briefcase with him and he rang the bell just like you did and I went over and he signed the card. He said, ‘I'm glad it's you, Linda. I wouldn't trust this day to anyone else.' ”

“ ‘This day?'”

“See, I didn't know what he meant, which is why I watched him. And what he did was put the briefcase on the counter. He opened the deposit box and took out a slew of papers and he put them in the briefcase and put what was in the briefcase in the box. And that was the money. And that's what I saw. I thought he was… Well, it looked like he'd sold drugs or something because why else would he be carrying around so much cash. And I couldn't believe it because he seemed so straight. And that's all I saw. I didn't talk to him when he left, and I didn't ever see him again.”

Eric selling drugs. Charlie snatched at the thought. Drugs. Yes. That was the answer. But not the type Linda was thinking about.

The girl pictured Eric dealing in those bricklike bags of cocaine one saw on TV or in movies. She fancied him pushing marijuana to high school kids outside the local liquor store. She thought he was supplying yuppies with heroin, Ecstasy, or some other designer drug. But she didn't imagine him stealing from Biosyn-an efficacious immunosuppressant, a cutting-edge form of chemotherapy with no side effects, an AIDS vaccine ready to be marketed, a Viagra for women…What was it, Eric?-and selling it on the international black market to the highest bidder, who would make a fortune manufacturing it.

Terry Stewart's words came back to Charlie as she stood looking down at the closed deposit box in the airless confines of the bank's secure vault: Pipe dreams, Charlie. That's all they were. Except they hadn't been. Not for Eric. He'd been forty-two years old with the majority of his life behind him. He'd seen his chance and he'd taken it. One negotiation, one sale, and a vast accumulation of cash. So many things were beginning to make sense now. Things he'd said. Things he'd done. Who he had become.

Charlie locked the deposit box and returned it to its space in the vault. She felt sick at heart, but at least she was uncovering the truth about her husband. The only question remaining for her was: What had Eric stolen from Biosyn? And the only possible answer seemed to be: nothing at all.

He'd taken money-perhaps a down payment?-for something which he had promised to deliver. He'd failed to procure what he had sold, and as a result, he'd died. With him gone, her house had been searched in an attempt to find the drug, and that search presaged danger for her as long as the promised substance wasn't placed into the palm of whoever had paid for it. Charlie knew that she had to get her hands on that drug and hand it over if she wanted her own security to be inviolate. That being impossible, her only recourse was to track down the person who had paid in the first place and return the money.

Sharon Pasternak seemed the likeliest source of information. She'd been the first person to search Eric's study, after all. Having made the unexpected discovery of money, Charlie knew she'd be a fool to believe that Sharon had come looking for anything unrelated to that money in the safe-deposit box.

She left the bank and headed for the freeway.

Biosyn was located on a stretch of highway called the Ortega, which snaked over the coastal mountains, linking the dreary town of Lake Elsinore with the more upscale San Juan Capis-trano. It was a dusty road that attracted bikers by the thousands on Sundays. During the week, it was a mostly treeless, boulder-strewn thoroughfare traveled by men and women who worked in service jobs in the restaurants and high-price hotels on the coast.

The company itself was some twelve miles into the hills, an unwelcoming low building the color of dirt that was separated from the rest of the environment by a high chain-link fence with coils of barbed wire springing from its top. Charlie had never been to Biosyn, and she would have missed the turnoff altogether had she not had to brake for a FedEx truck that was making a left turn from Biosyn's concealed entrance into the highway.

It was an odd place altogether to find a pharmaceutical company, Charlie thought as she turned into the narrow drive. It was an odd place to find any company. Most of the industry was miles away, erupting from unsightly industrial parks and strung like bad teeth along the county's multitude of freeways.

There was a guard shack some fifty yards up the drive and iron gates closing off entry to anyone unexpected. Charlie braked there and gave Sharon Pasternak's name as well as her own. She had an anxious minute while the guard phoned into the sprawling building on the hill ahead of her. For all she knew, Sharon Pasternak was a phony name, which certainly seemed likely if the woman was in on Eric's deal.

But that wasn't the case. The guard returned to Charlie's car with a pass, saying, “She'll meet you in the lobby. Park in visitors. Go straight in, hear? Don't wander around.”

Why on earth would she want to wander around? Charlie wondered as she took the visitor's pass. The place was a wasteland of dust, boulders, cactus, and chaparral. Not her idea of a spot for a saunter.

She pulled in front of the main entrance to the building and went inside. It was frigidly cool, and a shudder went through her. She was momentarily lost, blinded by the contrast between the bright light outside and the darkly painted walls.

Someone said, “Yes? May I help you?” from a dim corner.

Before Charlie's eyes could adjust, another voice came from the other side of the room. “She's here to see me, Marion. This is Eric Lawton's wife.”

“Dr. Lawton's…? Oh, I'm awfully sorry. About… How d'you do? I am sorry. He was… Such a lovely man.”

“Thanks, Marion. Mrs. Lawton…?”

Charlie finally began to make out the shapes of things: the white-haired woman behind a mahogany reception desk and reflected in the mirror behind her, Sharon Pasternak who'd just come through a heavy-looking, metal- plated door. She was wearing a lab coat over black leggings, Nike running shoes, and athletic socks.

Sharon Pasternak came to Charlie's side and put a hand on her arm. “Have you actually found that paperwork we were missing?” she asked determinedly, fixing her eyes on Charlie. “You'll be saving my life if you say yes.” She squeezed Charlie's arm, and it felt like a warning. So Charlie nodded and forced a smile.

“Great,” Sharon said. “What a relief. Come on back.”

“She doesn't have clearance, Dr. Pasternak,” Marion protested.

“It's okay, Mar. Don't worry. I'll take her over to the coffee room.”

“Dr. Cabot won't-”

“It's cool,” Sharon said. “We'll be less than five minutes. Time us.”

“I'll be watching the clock,” Marion warned.

Sharon guided Charlie across the lobby, not to the heavy door through which she herself had emerged but rather to a less secure door that led to a cafeteria-style room that was, at this time of day, deserted. She made no preamble when they got inside. She said tersely, “You've figured it out. Someone must have phoned your house. Did they leave a name? A number I can call?”

“Someone searched my house,” Charlie said. “Someone tore it apart. After you were there.”

“What?” Sharon glanced around hastily. “This is serious trouble. We can't talk here, then. The walls have ears. If you'll give me the name, I'll contact them myself. It's what Eric would've wanted.”