The Target Read online

  “Why not take him to his house?” Cortez countered.

  “What if Avery screwed somebody over?” Harris asked. “Maybe a producer or somebody who’d invested money in a film project.”

  “It’s possible. But I talked to his agent and his friends. He wasn’t involved in any films. Everyone is mystified.”

  Another silence.

  Finally, Cortez said, “I’ll pick up Alicia Freison for questioning tomorrow and canvas the businesses around ProLabs again to see if anyone witnessed anything in the parking lot.”

  “ProLabs.” Harris’ eyes lit up. “Who owns the company?”

  Cortez checked his notes. “An investment group called Biomed Holdings.”

  Harris snapped her thick fingers. “Avery is one of the investors. I saw an earnings report that was included in the financial information his accountant gave me.” She jotted the firm’s name on the board.

  “So Avery is a partial owner of the business where he was seen last?” Hawthorne squinted at the board. “I don’t know what it means, but we have to follow up.” He looked at Cortez again. “Go back to ProLabs and get a look at their books.”

  As Hawthorne grabbed his crutches and struggled to his feet, he gestured at Harris. “You pick up the Freison woman and question her. She might open up better for a woman.” He slung his briefcase around his neck. “I’m heading home.”

  “You might wait in your office until the reporters are gone,” Harris called after him.

  Hawthorne groaned and kept moving.

  Cortez grabbed his satchel and strode to the front of the department, where several distressed civilians waited their turn to talk to the desk clerk. He wanted to see how Riggs was handling the press conference. The desk clerk spotted him and warned, “It’s a circus out there.”

  Cortez nodded. “I want to see how it’s handled.”

  He pushed out the doors, surprised by the crowd. At least ten reporters, plus camera guys were gathered. The sun beat down, and one older man in the back wore a sun-brella on his hat.

  A young female reporter asked, “What about James Avery? Can you tell us how he died?”

  Riggs wiped his dark brow. “We know two things from the autopsy: Avery died of an overdose of barbiturates. But he also experienced blows to his head prior to his death, so the medical examiner’s office has ruled it a homicide.”

  The crowd stirred with excitement, and a different young woman called out, “Do you have a suspect?” It was Risa Rispoli, who he’d had a crush on for years. But today, he didn’t feel it. Adie had called Saturday, they’d had dinner, and she’d won over his heart.

  The sergeant spotted Cortez and motioned for him to come over. “We’re following several leads, but we haven’t made any arrests.”

  “What about motive?” Risa asked. “Who would want to kill a well-known actor?”

  “We’re not at liberty to talk about it yet. But Detective Cortez—” Sergeant Riggs turned and nodded at him—‌“is a member of the homicide team and is looking into a legal matter that Avery had pending. We’ll know more soon.”

  A little red meat for the wolves with microphones and notepads. A few of the reporters might be industrious enough to track down Avery’s lawyer or call the court and see what they could discover. Cortez had to get there first.

  Risa took three quick steps to where he was standing. She shoved the microphone at him. “The rumor is that James Avery had a paternity lawsuit pending. Is that connected to his death?”

  His throat closed up and he caught himself blinking. Finally he squeaked out, “I’m still looking into that.” She started to ask another question, but he cut her off. “We need the public’s help. Mr. Avery was last seen at four-thirty Tuesday afternoon. But he didn’t die until after eight that evening. We need to know where he was in between. If anyone saw him during that time, please call our tip line immediately.”

  Chapter 24

  Monday, July 14, 5:25 p.m.

  Dallas watched the clock, waiting for employees to leave the building. Her boss would probably work late, but she didn’t know Decker’s pattern yet. The bacteria samples in the lab called to Dallas. Grabbing one and sending it to the CDC seemed critical. If the pathogen matched Palmer’s wound samples, that would give the bureau what it needed for a comprehensive search warrant. How late would the lab people stay? She would wait them out if she had to.

  Decker stepped out of her office, looking surprised. “You’re still here?”

  “I wanted to finish this project. You said the FDA needed it right away.”

  “Thanks.” Decker gave her first tiny smile. “But don’t work too late. As long as we send it tomorrow.” She stepped toward the outer door. “I’m going down for coffee. Want some?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Decker strode out.

  Had the boss forgotten to lock her office door? Dallas waited until the footsteps in the hall faded, then jumped up and scooted around her desk. The inner doorknob turned easily. Yes! She hurried in. How much time did she have? Seven or eight minutes for Decker to make two cups of coffee and climb a flight of stairs. What could she accomplish? She had already accessed Decker’s email and could do it again. Her cell phone. Dallas trotted to the big desk and scanned the surface. Stacked folders covered most of it, but a small space by her mouse pad was clear, and the phone was there. Dallas picked it up, not caring about fingerprints, and pressed the active button. The screen lit up, but asked for a password. She keyed in AmDeck9, but it failed. Damn. She tried a couple more, then gave up, and put the phone back exactly how it had been. The bureau had probably requested Decker’s tracking information, but since government surveillance had become a public issue, the phone companies had been hesitant to supply customer information without a subpoena.

  Knowing she had little time, Dallas scooted back into the outer office and grabbed her purse. She found the bottom flap, unzipped her secret compartment, and pulled out a tiny recording device. It surprised her they’d had enough probable cause to get the affidavit signed. But federal judges tended to be sympathetic about dead law enforcement personnel. Dallas touched her Kel-Tec out of habit, then zipped it back out of sight. Maybe three minutes left. She rushed into Decker’s office and placed the self-adhering bug under the desk, far enough back that it wouldn’t be discovered.

  Dallas raced out of the main office and closed the door behind her. Footsteps echoed by the outer door. She plopped into her chair and stared at her monitor. Decker came in, and Dallas looked up. “That coffee smells great.”

  “I hope you like it black.”

  “I do.” She reached out for the paper cup. “Thanks.” After taking a small sip, she asked, “Are we the only ones working late, or is it pretty common for employees?”

  “It varies, but it’s Monday so I think it’s just us. I’m leaving by six-thirty and so should you.”

  “Do you have children at home?”

  “Just one. But she’s with a caregiver.” Decker flinched, as if in pain, then spun and strode into her office.

  Dallas worked just long enough to drink half the coffee, then slung her bag across her chest—‌in case she had to move quickly—‌and headed out. The building was silent as she took the elevator down and walked the hallways to the back exit. The administrative and sales people all seemed to have gone home. Outside the back door, the R&D lab loomed across the grassy expanse, but the sun was still so bright she couldn’t tell how many lights were still on. She hurried across to the other building, the heat making her skin moist before she got there.

  As she stood at the entrance, Dallas slipped her hand into the outside pocket of her bag and rubbed the familiar scrap cloth. She wanted to pull it out and sniff, but wouldn’t risk someone witnessing it.

  Feeling confident, she flashed her badge at the camera, the door clicked and Dallas stepped in. A beeping noise startled her. An alarm? Oh hell. She glanced around for a place to shut it down and spotted a small silver box on a side wall. She rushe
d over, pressed the most-prominent button, and held her breath. The beeping stopped.

  But what had it activated? She’d used a badge, but clearly the company wanted to know when an employee entered the building after hours. She remembered the morning meeting about stepping up security. They’d acted very quickly. She waited for a few minutes to see if a lab worker would come to the front in response to the alarm. When no one did, she made her way back to the research area she’d visited that morning, walking quietly and listening for the sound of others. Lights were on everywhere, but the building was quiet except for the hum of air conditioning.

  At the end of the hall, the door to the lab was closed this time. And probably locked. Damn. Would her badge open it or did she need special access? Dread tickled the back of her neck. She spotted the security box on the wall and reached for her badge. A sneeze welled up, and she suppressed it, letting out only a small harsh-breath sound. Please let that be the only one. Dallas slid her badge into the slot. The locking mechanism clicked. She grabbed the handle and pushed into the room. The researchers had left for the day, their stainless-steel work benches cleared-off and shiny, the microscopes all lined up for the next round of slides in the morning.

  Feeling a sense of urgency, Dallas crossed the room, heading straight for the cold vault the lab worker had accessed after Santera yelled at him. She reached for the handle on the bottom, then hesitated. Should she put on latex first? Dallas glanced around, looking for a box or dispenser full of gloves.

  Footsteps pounded in the hallway, making her heart jump. Someone was coming! She yanked open the bottom drawer, feeling a cold blast, then grabbed a handle and pulled out a tray of vials and Petri dishes. She took one of each, slid them into evidence bags, and shoved them to the bottom of her purse. She was about to be caught, but at least she had the bacteria samples to walk away with. She might even be able to bullshit her way out of this and not lose the job.

  The door opened and Curtis Santera call out, “What are you doing in here?”

  “I wanted to talk to the lab worker who was here earlier today. I thought he might be working late.”

  “Clearly, he’s not, and you have no business in this building after hours.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dallas gave him her best innocent, about-to-cry look. “I didn’t know it was off limits. This is only my second day at TecLife.”

  “What did you want to see Josh about?”

  “His name’s Josh?” She let her face fall in disappointment. “I only got a glimpse of him this morning, but he looked like someone I went to high school with. An old boyfriend. But I guess it’s not him.” She let out a small sigh. “I would have talked to him then, but you were mad, and it seemed like a bad time.”

  “It’s still a bad time.” Santera gave an angry shake of his head. “Get out and stay out, unless Cheryl sends you.” He stepped aside to let her pass.

  “Okay. I said I was sorry.” Dallas started for the door. A tiny clinking sound in her purse filled the quiet room.

  “Stop.” Santera grabbed her arm. “Did you take something from the lab?”

  Dallas fought to calm her thumping heart. “Why would I? Let go of me.” She pulled free and started walking again.

  “Stop or I’m calling security.”

  Shit! She turned back and gave him her best smile. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. Please don’t take it out on me.”

  “Let me see what’s in your purse.”

  Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to come up with a believable explanation for having bacteria vials in her purse. Oh fuck it. Santera was either part of the criminal activity and could be turned to bust the others, or possibly a source of insider information. She glanced up and down Santera’s body to see if he was carrying. Not that she could tell.

  “I’m an FBI agent. And I have taken bacteria samples that likely match a pathogen that killed another agent.”

  His mouth fell open and he blinked rapidly. A moment later, he scoffed loudly. “No you’re not. You’re a spy from ProtoCell. I’m calling the police.” He reached for his cell phone.

  Dallas lunged forward, grabbed both his wrists, and squeezed the pressure points until he dropped the phone.

  “Ow! Shit. That hurt.” His expression was a mix of pain and confusion.

  She eased up, but didn’t let go. His body language didn’t show any sign of aggression, so she released her grip and stepped out of striking range. “You need to come with me to the bureau and answer questions. But first, kick the phone over here.”

  For a long moment, he didn’t move, his eyes twitching as he calculated his options.

  “I have a gun in my purse, but I can put you on the floor faster than you can say ‘What the fuck?’ So push the cell phone over with your foot and turn around.” With one hand, she reached in and unzipped the pocket, not taking her eyes off him.

  He kicked the phone. “Prove you’re an FBI Agent. Call the bureau or something. We had a spy in here on Friday.” His eyes widened. “The first day you started. What a coincidence.”

  She finally had the compartment open and the plastic-tie cuffs in her fingers. The gun was accessible now too. “We suspect you in the murder of Agent Joe Palmer. Cooperate and turn around.”

  Santera bolted through the door.

  Dallas sprinted after him. She caught him mid-point in the hall and grabbed the back of his shirt. After looping a foot around his ankle, she shoved his back with her free hand. Santera went down hard, barely getting his hands under him. Knees on his back, she jerked his left arm up, looped the plastic cuff over a wrist, and grabbed his other arm. When he was secured, she started working through the cover-up. “Are there cameras in this hall?”

  “No.” He rolled over and struggled to sit up. “This isn’t necessary. I’m not a criminal. But I’m convinced you’re with the FBI.”

  “Good. Think of this as protective custody. Are there cameras in the lab where I took the samples?”

  “Yes.”

  Shit. “Let’s find the footage and destroy it.”

  Then what? She needed River’s help to get him into the bureau. Her cover was still intact, and she had to keep it that way.

  Chapter 25

  Monday, July 14, 7:40 p.m.

  Watching Grissom to see if he would meet anyone made River’s nerves jangle. The big-screen TVs and loud music were not her scene, and she was restless to get moving. She glanced over again. The man was off his stool and reaching for his briefcase. Finally. He’d been drinking at the bar for an hour without so much as a trip to the urinal. Should she watch to see where he went? The text he’d received the week before, from someone asking him to bring cash, flashed in her mind. The screenshot Dallas had captured said our usual spot at 8. River checked her phone: 7:42. Was Grissom meeting his contact again? She needed to stay with him and find out.

  River sat back down and turned away from the door. Grissom would have to pass behind her, then she’d pick him up outside. Not ideal, but it was too late to do anything else. He wasn’t likely to notice a strong-jawed, middle-age woman in jeans and a T-shirt.

  After he pushed out the door, she counted to five, then followed. On the sidewalk, she spotted him heading to the right. The sun was sinking in the sky, but people were still clipping down the sidewalk, in search of something—‌food, entertainment, or maybe just escape.

  Ahead, Grissom disappeared behind a young couple coming her way. River quickened her pace. After the couple passed, she spotted her target veering off into a building. A moment later, the Sunset Motel came into view, surprising her. The neighborhood was otherwise a mix of industry and apartments, but not an area she was familiar with. She’d grown up north in the university area and hadn’t ventured out much as a teenager.

  Why a hotel? Was he meeting the hired saboteur? It didn’t look like an establishment with a drink lounge for conversations. River hurried to the front door, made of solid wood that kept her from seeing inside. She hesitated to go in. If the
lobby was small and Grissom was the only person at the counter, he might turn and get a good look at her, compromising her ability to tail him. A deep breath calmed her. She would wait a minute for him to register, then take a peek. If he’d disappeared, she’d question the clerk.

  A woman in high heels strode noisily up the sidewalk. She looked like a tall Dolly Parton, with a bouncy blond wig and breasts that were significantly larger than her tight red dress. The woman headed inside the motel, and River stuck her foot in the door before it closed, catching a glimpse of the interior. Dimly lit with dark wood-paneled walls. But her focus was on the counter, where Grissom stood with his back to her. The blonde stepped up next to him, their bodies only inches apart.

  The clerk greeted her, calling her Tasha. Grissom didn’t speak or look at the woman, but before he walked toward the stairs, he gave her a pat on the ass.

  A hooker. Grissom’s eight o’clock cash meetings were about sex—‌or some other private need. Tasha could be a well-disguised corporate-thief/arsonist, but that seemed unlikely. River let the door close.

  On her way back, her phone beeped. A text from Dallas: Things went south, and I have Santera in custody. Need you to pick him up.

  Oh dear. River wanted to call and ask questions, but texting was safer, in case there were other employees in the building and Dallas wasn’t free to speak. She keyed: Be there in six minutes. Where should I meet you?

  A block later, Dallas texted back: Side parking lot, next to the R&D building. Dumpster.

  The image made her smile. River jogged for two blocks, then had to walk again. Her morning yoga kept her flexible but didn’t do a damn thing for her stamina. The thought of taking up running to get in shape distressed her, so she quickly let it go. This assignment was unusual and personal, and her typical work in Eugene didn’t require her to be an athlete.

  Her rental car was on a now-empty block, and she made a last-minute decision to drive it over. Less risk of someone in the company spotting the head of R&D being walked away in cuffs, then alerting someone that they were under investigation. She cruised to the back of the R&D parking lot and spotted the dark dumpster. River waited in the car, windows open, assuming that less activity was better. A moment later, Dallas came around the metal container, leading Santera, who was cuffed behind his back. Dallas opened the passenger door, and the R&D man climbed in, smelling like a clove-flavored e-cigarette.