Gerald Davis: A Murder Too Personal

Still no alarm. I held my breath and opened the door wide enough for me to slide in. Once in, I peeled off the tape and the cardboard, put them in my pocket, and eased the door shut. My back was in the hollow of the door frame. I shifted my shoulder holster so it would be easier to grab the gun.

A blank wall faced me and a corridor ran to the right and left. Hobley said I’d have to go left and make the first right to get to the security guard.

I looked to the right to make sure it was clear. Then I started down the corridor to the left. The hum of the air-conditioning muffled my steps on the asphalt tile.

It was twelve thirty-six. Hobley said the relief guard didn’t come on until one-thirty, but sometimes he showed up early to shoot the breeze. He also said there was a guard in the other building.

I got to the right turn and stopped. Straight ahead was a set of double doors and above them was a sign that read:

LABORATORY-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I dropped to one knee and snuck a peek around the corner to the right. At the far end of the corridor the guard sat at a console of closed circuit monitors.

There was just one tiny problem.

He was looking straight at me.

I jerked back.

It felt like Peter Rabbit and Farmer Mac Gregor.

Had the son of a bitch seen me? There was only one way to find out.

I took another look.

The guy hadn’t moved.

OK. I couldn’t just saunter up and say, “Nice night, isn’t it?” On the other hand, I didn’t know if I’d come around behind him if I went up the other corridor. Such are the vagaries of life.

Might as well chance it. I headed back the way I came, passed the exit door and stopped at the end. The johns were to the right. Straight ahead was an unmarked door. The corridor angled left. Above the door was a TV camera. The guard was probably watching my smiling face right now on his monitor.

This was not my idea of a fun night. I headed left up the corridor. There were more rooms on both sides. Some of the doors had small windows in them. The rooms appeared to be auxiliary labs and offices. Any one of them could be occupied. I edged along the outer wall and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. Like a tarantula on top of a slice of angel food cake.

I made it to the end of the hall without setting off General Quarters or causing any other kind of disturbance. The place was as quiet as the grave. I took a deep breath and peeked around the corner.

The guard still hadn’t moved. He just sat there, his left side to me, his hands on the console. His hat was slanted forward over his eyes.

Two to one the guy was catching some z’s. What else would you do on the night shift, besides dance the tango?

I took two steps over to the far wall and put my back to it. At least I was outside his field of vision.

I sidled along the wall like a crab and hoped the son of a bitch was a heavy sleeper.

He looked like a retired cop with a pot belly and a fringe of white hair under the cap. As I got closer, he started to fidget in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. Then he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and began the slow process of waking from his alpha state.

I was next to him and five feet from his left shoulder. Over his shoulder I could see the console monitors and the control board.

He was still half asleep. I crossed the five feet and tapped him gently on the shoulder. He spun his chair around slowly, his mouth wide open. I smiled at him, just as sweet as could be, put my index finger over my mouth and whispered, “Shhhh.” He blinked. I pointed behind him at the corridor straight ahead. He swiveled around the way he was facing to get a look, giving me the back of his head. I removed his hat and rapped him smartly with the Glock. Just enough to stun him. He fell forward over the console.

Neat.

I tied his hands and feet and taped his mouth. Then I maneuvered him so he was under the console.

I checked my watch. Twelve fifty-seven. Little more than half an hour. Tight but not impossible.

I walked down the corridor straight ahead to the lab. The double doors were locked. It wasn’t hard to jimmy them open with a screwdriver.

The lab was dark except for the light that slanted in from the hallway. The shapes and shadows were the same as any other lab. Refrigerators, autoclaves, centrifuges, petrie dishes, racks of syringes.

Beyond the lab was the room with the clinicals. I edged down the long counters, trying not to knock anything over in the semi-darkness. The place smelled like a hospital-full of odors of disinfectants and chemicals. The only things missing were the patients and the flowers. And it was quiet. There were no gongs and no loudspeakers.

The door to the file room wasn’t locked. I pulled a flashlight out of my back pocket and flicked it on and swept the beam around the room. It was small, maybe twelve by twelve. There were half a dozen file cabinets against the wall on the right and two metal desks against the wall on the left. Wedged between the file cabinets and the wall were a couple of folded corrugated cartons. Good old Hobley.

I shut the door behind me and put the flashlight on the nearest desk so it gave enough light to work. I set up one carton and looked for the file drawer with the telltale piece of Scotch tape. The drawer opened smoothly. As I put the files into the box in the proper order, I started to understand why Laura had been killed.

Alicia had sent that manila envelope with some extracts of the clinicals and instructions to Laura to open the envelope if something happened to her. When Alicia was killed, Laura saw the clinicals, didn’t realize what they meant and contacted Chisolm. She was so innocent. So trusting. She didn’t know it meant her own death.

The envelope was postmarked the day before Alicia was killed-the day after I’d turned down her plea for help. Was that why Alicia wanted to see me? Would she have given me the clinicals? Would I have been able to save her?

The first carton was filled. I folded the top flaps down so they interlocked and started filling the second box.

Why didn’t Laura come to me instead of Chisolm? Do you have a closer bond with somebody you fuck than with somebody you don’t?

The second carton couldn’t hold any more files. I shoved down the contents as much as possible and closed it.

The boxes were too heavy to carry both at once. I grabbed the first one and backed out of the room, shoving open the door with my shoulder. I retraced my steps through the lab back to the exit and dropped the box there.

Then the alarm went off. The goddam bloody alarm went off. My heart started pounding like a jackhammer.

Why the hell did it have to go off now?

It was loud and it didn’t stop. I couldn’t tell which was louder-my heart pounding or that damn alarm. It howled through the night like a wounded beast in its death throes. At most I’d have five minutes.

I went back to the file room. I picked up the second box and lugged it through the narrow aisle between the counters in the lab. My side was aching again but I couldn’t put the box down.

Then a door slammed behind me.

I tried to turn in the darkness but I couldn’t move fast enough with the box in my hands.

I heard Chisolm’s scream a couple of feet away. “Rogan-you son of a bitch.” His yell was high-pitched, like an angry woman. “Let go of my papers. Give me my papers.” He sounded frantic, hysterical. Like he’d lost control of himself. “I want my papers.”

I saw the flash from the muzzle out of the corner of my eye and felt the slug hit my shoulder at the same moment. It knocked the wind out of me. I lost my grip on the box and it fell into Chisolm’s path. He stumbled over the box and fell on top of me in a dance of death that felt so slow, it was as if time had stopped.