‘We may not have much time-’ Miles started, and a beep sounded.
‘My front-yard sensor,’ Celeste said. The doorbell rang.
‘You expecting anyone?’ he whispered. The door was still unlocked, he remembered she insisted he not lock it when he first came inside.
She shook her head. ‘No one but my friend Nancy, and she’s already left.’ She aimed a remote at the TV; clicked on the camera view of her front porch.
A man, wearing a white lab coat over a rumpled suit, stood on the stone tiles, peering up at the camera.
‘You know him?’ Miles asked.
‘Never seen him.’
‘Talk to him on the intercom. See who he is.’
‘I don’t take orders in my own house, Miles.’
‘Sorry. Please.’
She pressed a button on an intercom. ‘Yes?’
‘Ms. Brent?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Leland Hurley. I’m an associate of Doctor Vance’s from Sangre de Cristo. You called me and I wanted to be sure you were all right. May I come in?’
Miles stood close to Celeste. ‘He could tell us what we need to know.’
‘What, he just spills the beans? Or let me guess, you go all nuclear on his ass.’
‘Neither. But he can’t see me or know I’m here; I can’t risk he knows what I look like if they’re hunting me. I can hide and listen and you can talk to him. I won’t let him hurt you.’
‘No, I can’t.’ A sudden terror strained her voice.
‘You can,’ he said. ‘Please, Celeste. Please help me. For Allison.’
She put her hands over her face as the doctor blinked uncertainly at the camera.
TWENTY-FIVE
‘A man is here to see whoever’s in charge.’ The guard stood in the fourth-floor hallway, swallowing, looking at a point to the left of Groote’s shoulder.
They’re afraid of me, Groote thought. A pleasant discovery, like learning a woman thought you were attractive. ‘I don’t see anybody.’ He’d closed the door behind him, but he wondered if the guard had spotted Nathan.
‘Said he had absolutely to see whoever was in charge.’
‘What’s this guy’s name?’
‘Sorenson.’
Interesting and unexpected. Groote kept a poker face on for the guard. ‘Is he a suit or is he trouble?’
‘Trouble. Big guy. He knows how to handle himself.’
‘I’ll talk to him downstairs, in the conference room. You stay close, outside, in case I need backup.’
The guard complied. Groote went back into Nathan’s room. He lay there, listless, staring at the ceiling.
‘Your buddy Sorenson’s here,’ Groote said.
Nathan looked at the ceiling.
‘So I’m supposed to think you and Michael Raymond were telling me the truth now about this third guy.’
‘I told you… I didn’t know why he came to Allison’s.’
‘He’s downstairs, we can ask him. If you capped him on the head, I’ll invite him to bash you in return. Describe Sorenson again.’
Nathan repeated the description and Groote took the stairs down to the ground floor. It gave him time to think. He had been convinced that Sorenson was a ruse, agreed to by Michael Raymond and Nathan, to put suspicion on a nonexistent third party. But maybe the two guys had told the truth and this Sorenson, he was Allison’s real partner. Maybe.
Groote went out into the lobby and found Sorenson waiting. The man matched Nathan’s description: big, blond, with a well-cut suit and a rough face that preferred shadow.
‘I’m Groote, director of security at the hospital.’ He offered a hand.
Sorenson shook it but Groote saw that he braced himself, as though he suspected Groote might try to yank his arm, throw his balance. Sorenson jerked his head at the guard seated at the reception desk. ‘I need to talk to you privately. Regarding Allison Vance.’
‘What’s your interest?’
‘That’s best discussed alone.’
Groote led him back to a quiet conference room on the first floor, shut the door. He decided not to say he’d heard the man’s name before – let the guy talk, spin his web, see what story Sorenson had to peddle.
‘I acquire projects for Aldis-Tate.’
Groote knew the name: a big international pharmaceutical. ‘And?’
‘And we were interested in buying research from Mr. Quantrill that he’s testing at this hospital.’
‘I’m just a security guy…’
‘I think not,’ Sorenson said. ‘You were at Allison Vance’s house on Tuesday, shooting at people. I observed you from the bathroom door. You missed them. I made you for a much better shot.’
This was a guy he could deal with. Groote raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll be damned. They told me the truth.’
‘They?’
‘Ruiz and Raymond. They said you were at her house, I didn’t believe them.’
Sorenson shrugged. ‘I went there to talk with Allison Vance. I woke up badly tied with sheets, sitting in a tub, with a migraine that I’m still nursing.’
‘Why are you here, Mr. Sorenson?’
‘Allison Vance approached one of our research directors, a college friend of hers, about a prototype drug being tested here called Frost.’
‘I don’t think I could comment…’
‘She offered to sell the Frost research to us. I think now she must have made that offer under the table.’
Sell it? Quantrill had been worried she’d publicize it, destroy their chances of getting it to market. The bitch had been a mercenary. It almost restored his faith in human beings as creatures of profit.
‘Did you accept her offer?’
‘No.’
‘So why are you here now?’
‘Because we’ve received another offer to buy Frost,’ Sorenson said.
Groote said, ‘Those would be stolen goods.’
‘I suspect so. Goods that Allison Vance was murdered for.’
Michael Raymond had killed her for Frost and this was it, confirmation of his theory. ‘So why not just buy it from him, why come to me?’
‘Because we’re not going to buy stolen research. Mr. Quantrill, despite loving the shadows, is a known quantity. And I believe, knowing that Aldis-Tate’s coming to you with this information, we can strike an accommodation on the pricing of Frost. Before the auction.’
‘Auction.’
‘Yeah,’ Sorenson said. ‘Whoever took the Frost files from Allison is staging an auction in four days. I told Quantrill this yesterday. Didn’t you know?’
Heat built in his face, in his chest.
Sorenson noticed. ‘Odd. I figured your boss would have told you. I’ve been told the opening bid is half of what Quantrill would have asked. It’s going to gut him, the thief selling Frost at cut rate.’
