Jeff Buick - Lethal Dose

The SAC out of Washington glanced about. “How’s that, Arthur? It looks kind of busy.”

“The father is someone in the Cuban community. He’s big in the local church and ran for political office last municipal election. It’s hitting the fan, Jim.”

“Yeah, it’s in my dossier,” Allenby said. “What’s the status of the victims?”

“Three dead, fourth won’t last another hour.”

“The bodies?”

“Two already bagged and en route to Fort Detrick. We’re holding the third body until the last family member dies so we can send them down together.”

“What spin are you putting on this?”

“That they contracted a strain of bacteria at the restaurant four days ago. The press is going to put two and two together and figure out that the quarantine on TGIF is related, so we gave it to them. No sense appearing uncooperative.”

“Anybody asking why the Bureau is involved?”

“No serious questions yet. They’ll clue in sometime soon. Miami Dade is all over the place right now, so that keeps the camera crews busy filming the local cops. We’re trying to stay in the background.”

“Who’s here from DHS?”

“One guy, one woman.” He motioned with his head without pointing. “That’s them over there.” An average-looking couple, dressed in summer clothes and watching the event from just outside the yellow tape, nodded back at him when he made eye contact.

“Everyone going inside that house protected?” Jim Allenby asked.

“Fully suited. Portable HEPA filters. They’re okay.”

Jim Allenby stood and watched the scene unfold. This was going to be a public relations nightmare. It was containable as long as they kept to the infectious-bacteria story and assured the public the source had been located and destroyed. That meant getting the press on side, and that was his job. He created the new strain of bacteria in his head, gave it a cellular structure and an antidote, then headed across the street to the nearest camera crew. He was good at this stuff, but one thing gnawed in the back of his mind.

What would happen the next time the terrorists unleashed the virus?

Jennifer Pearce glanced at the clock. It was after ten Tuesday evening, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. There was a second knock on the front door, and she walked through her living room to the foyer. She stuck one eye up to the peephole. It was dark out, but she recognized Gordon Buchanan’s face in the shadows. She opened the door, feeling bewildered.

“Hello, Gordon,” she said, moving aside so he could enter. “Now, this is a surprise. Never in a million years would I have expected you to be standing on my doorstep.”

He gave her a grin of sorts. “If this isn’t okay, I’ll leave and call you tomorrow.”

“No, no, come on in,” she said, closing the door behind him. She waved at the front room. “Have a seat. You want some coffee or tea or something?”

“Water would be nice,” he said, sitting on the love seat next to the baby grand. “What a beautiful piano.”

“Thanks. You play?” Jennifer asked as she disappeared into the kitchen. She reappeared a half minute later with two glasses of water.

“No. Always wanted to start but never found the time. Wish I had.”

She handed him the water. “So what brings a logger to Richmond? No trees left in Montana?”

He laughed. Her easygoing nature had taken any edge off the situation. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since Saturday. In fact, I’ve done more than just think. I took a trip to St. Lucia and had a look about.”

“Kenga?” she asked, sitting on the sofa a few feet distant, facing him.

Gordon nodded. “I know a few people on the island, and I got one of them to pull the police file. He drove me to the crash site, and I had a look around.” He sipped his water. “I’m not a forensic investigator, but if I had to guess, I’d say that the car Kenga was in when she went over the cliff was pushed.” He explained to her the series of switchbacks and tight corners at and close to the crash scene, and the gash he had noticed in the tree. “Another week and that evidence will be covered over with moss and lichens.”

“So whoever murdered her is going to get away with it,” she said bitterly.

He shrugged. “I doubt if the Lucian police will do anything, if that’s what you mean. But maybe there’s something we can do.”

She tilted her head slightly and looked at the man, this time staring into his eyes and seeing inside him. She saw pain and anger tempered with patience and cunning. And she saw an inner strength. Buchanan had lost his brother, and he saw Veritas as the responsible party. Instead of sitting back and complaining, he was going on the offensive. Her type of guy.

“What would that be?” she asked.

Gordon held up the water glass. “This isn’t cutting it,” he said. “If that offer for coffee is still on, I’ll try some.”

“Sure,” she said. “Come on in the kitchen.”

They talked about her new house, Gordon complimenting her on the wooden plank flooring, which she disliked, and asking why anyone would have a white kitchen, which she liked.

As the coffee perked, he asked about restaurants, the Richmond theater scene, and what driving was like in the city. When they were each settled in at the kitchen table with a hot, fresh mug of coffee, he took some time to explain things to her.

“I suspected right from minute one that the antibalding drug had altered Billy’s body chemistry somehow. Both of us have suffered cuts over the years, it’s just part of working with saws, and he’d never had a problem with his blood clotting before. Things like that don’t just change overnight.

“The only variable was Triaxcion. So I went to a local law firm and had them dig into what legal avenues were open to us. What we found pointed to the possibility that Veritas could be responsible for Billy’s death.”

“What did you find?” Jennifer asked, cupping her coffee mug, the warmth comfortable on her palms.

“There are a few other people out there who have had a family member die and have retained legal counsel. All of them are looking at possible tort suits against Veritas.”

“But none have been filed yet. Why is that?”

“No definitive proof. My lawyer pushed pretty hard but couldn’t get any sort of positive response from Veritas. In fact, they were adamant that if we filed, they would defend Triaxcion to the Supreme Court if necessary. My lawyer, Christine, advised me that Veritas could wear me down financially, destroy me unless there was some sort of massive tort action taken against them. And that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”

“So it would have been David against Goliath, except this David would have been overrun with lawyers.”

He nodded. “I’m not one to run from a fight, but I’m not one to start a scrap that I don’t stand a chance of winning. So as the picture began to come into focus and I realized the legal route wasn’t going to work, I changed my approach.”

“You talked Kenga into getting you information on Veritas,” she said.

He hesitated. Then he swallowed. “In one way, I suppose I’m responsible for her death. But I never thought Veritas would go to such lengths to protect themselves.”

Jennifer shook her head vigorously. “You are not responsible for her death,” she said. “If the company discovered she was passing privileged information to a third party, they should have fired her and had her charged criminally. Killing her was not a normal reaction.”

“I would never have asked her if I’d known this would happen,” Gordon said, his eyes wet. “She was a nice kid.”

“How did you meet her?” Jennifer asked.