John Lutz - Spark

Carver watched silently as she raised the lid, booted the system, and began working the keys. Within a few seconds her expression became that of a mystic gazing into a crystal ball that held all answers to all questions. Computers did that to people.

After a while she said, “Keller Pharmaceutical.”

The name was barely familiar to Carver. “What about them?”

Instead of answering, she played the keyboard some more. The disk drive clucked and whirred softly, as if in pleasure.

At last she said, “Major-league pharmaceutical company. They’re one of the suppliers for the Solartown Medical Center.” Studying the glowing monitor, she looked disappointed. “I thought I remembered . . . wait a minute.” Her long fingers danced gracefully over the gray keyboard. “Not Keller-Mercury Laboratories.”

“They supply the medical center, too?”

“They don’t supply; they’re a much smaller company that does research and development for Keller Pharmaceutical. I came across them when I was following Solartown funds to various subcontractors and suppliers. When the recipients were publicly owned companies, I used accessible information to carry the trace several steps further, assuming they might be acting as money launderers.”

“I think I’ve heard of Keller Pharmaceutical,” Carver said.

“Sure, they’re headquartered here in Florida and they’re listed on the big board.”

“You thought a company on the New York Stock Exchange might be laundering money from Solartown?”

“I can name you two big-board companies that launder drug money,” she told him with a direct stare, “so why not money from con-job real estate repossessions? Or whatever else is going on here?”

“Why not indeed,” Carver said.

“Anyway, Keller Pharmaceutical’s annual report shows regular payments to a number of companies, including Mercury Laboratories.”

“That unusual?” Carver asked.

“Nope. They fund several research laboratories. Here’s what’s interesting about Mercury.” She swiveled the laptop computer so he could see the screen. The organizational chart of Mercury Laboratories was displayed there. “The president and chief executive officer was Dr. Jamie Sanchez.”

Carver said, mostly to himself, “Same guy?”

“Figures to be. Mercury Laboratories is located in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Figures to be,” Carver agreed. He dragged the phone over and punched out Fort Lauderdale directory assistance. When he asked for the number of Dr. Sanchez and gave the address of the house where Roger Karl had left the briefcase, the operator informed him that Dr. Sanchez’s number was unlisted. So the address was correct. Carver hung up and nodded.

“I’ll do some checking around,” Beth said, “make sure the two men really are one and the same. But I think we can proceed on the premise that they are.”

“Dr. Sanchez is moving money through a bagman,” Carver said, “for whatever reason.”

“Might not be Solartown money, though. Or it might not have anything to do with Keller Pharmaceutical. And who’s the final recipient of whatever was in that briefcase if it went farther than Dr. Sanchez?”

“I don’t know,” Carver said. “What I do know is Roger Karl sure as hell didn’t want me to find out. That’s why he panicked and sent the giant in overalls to convince me I should forget about any more snooping.”

Beth switched off her laptop and snapped the case closed. “Way I see it, Fred, you were hired to look into an old man’s death, and now you’re into something unrelated and plenty dangerous.”

“Maybe not unrelated.”

“Why would Solartown, Inc. or anybody else want to do away with an old gent like Jerome Evans? I just can’t buy the idea it’s Solartown trying to set up his widow so they can reclaim their property. What do you think, lover, there’s oil under that house?”

He wished it could be that simple. Poke a stick in the ground, find a motive. “Maybe it has nothing to do with the property. Maybe Jerome found out something he shouldn’t have known. And maybe somebody was afraid he’d told Maude Crane.”

“If that’s true-”

“Right,” Carver said. “He might also have told his wife.”

Beth frowned. “You best move that woman outa that house, Fred. Soon as enough time passes so it won’t look so suspicious, Hattie’s liable to wind up a suicide like Maude.”

“If she’ll leave,” Carver said. “I doubt anyone ever ran her out of the classroom in her life.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I’ll talk to her.”

“When?”

He rolled onto his side, reaching for his cane. “Now.” His headache flared when he stood up.

Beth idly ran her hands across her bare midsection, up over her rigid nipples. She said, “A lot came outa this business meeting, don’t you think?”

He didn’t feel like crossing words with her; his head hurt.

“Not gonna answer, huh? Gonna play the strong silent guy in charge?”

He told her to wait exactly five minutes after he was gone before she left his room, and to be sure nobody saw her.

She told him to leave the shower running for her.

Hattie Evans sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her knees pressed tightly together, her haunches on the very edge of the sofa. Carver didn’t think she looked persuadable.

He was right.

“Nothing you’ve said changes my mind,” she told him. “I’m still not going anywhere. I refuse to leave my home. When you reach my age, certain possible consequences don’t scare you, so you don’t easily abandon what’s dear to you.”

“This house?”

“This home ,” she corrected.

“I had the impression you didn’t even like living here.”

“It doesn’t matter where home is, Mr. Carver. Or how much you like it. What matters is that no one should be able to uproot you from the place where you’ve sunk roots and grown memories. That’s very important. The concept of home becomes less portable as we grow older.”

Carver shook his head. “You’re stubborn, Hattie.”

“You would know about stubborn, Mr. Carver.” Maybe she’d been talking some more to Desoto. Or to Beth. “The names I mentioned-Roger Karl, Dr. Jamie Sanchez-do you remember Jerome mentioning either of them?”

“Of course not. He had no reason.”

Carver decided there was no way to get through to her on this issue. It reminded him of when he’d once tried to talk an unwilling octogenarian into a hearing aid. “I’m uneasy about you remaining in this house,” he told her. “Or anywhere you can be easily located.”

“You’ve made that clear. But there’s no need for you to feel that way. Jerome didn’t have any secret information, or he would have told me.” A faint smile crossed her features like a shadow. “He could never keep anything from me.”

“What about Maude Crane?” It was cruel, but he had to say it, had to convince her she might actually be in danger.

“That woman was no secret,” she said, lifting her chin high.

“I mean, he might have told Maude what he knew, and that’s the reason she’s dead.”

“The woman hanged herself.”

“As far as we know.”

She smiled tolerantly, as if he were a pupil who’d spelled “Albuquerque” wrong. “Believe me, Mr. Carver, Jerome wasn’t the type of man to get involved in conspiracy or illegal money transfers. He was an old fool I happened to love too much, but I knew him. He might well have been killed because he possessed some dangerous knowledge. But if so, he didn’t realize he had it.”

“The people who killed him, and possibly Maude Crane, wouldn’t know how much he understood, or who he might have talked to about it.”