Beyond Suspicion

“You’re a very lucky guesser, Swyteck.”

“You produce just enough product to make things look legitimate, but it’s a limitless supply of inventory. You create as many sales as you want, no one the wiser. Nice money-laundering operation.”

“You’re learning a lot more than is healthy for you to know.”

“Maybe.”

“The irony is, this could really be a good business for someone. All these goons on my crew care about is generating phony invoices to legitimize the cash that washes through our company. With a little effort to collect more specimens, the blood research business could be the most profitable money-laundering operation around.”

“Except for viatical settlements,” said Jack.

She smiled thinly. “Except for viatical settlements.”

Jack crossed his legs, picked at the hole in his old te

“None. It’s just another way of laundering money. Like going into video rentals and opening a Chinese restaurant. No co

“I think differently.”

“Is this another one of your guesses?”

“No. This time it’s research.”

“A sole practitioner who does research? I’m impressed.”

“When I took Jessie’s case, I subscribed to an on-line news service about the viatical industry. Kept me right up to date on any development in the industry-trends, lawsuits, whatever.”

“And they said something about Jessie?”

“They did, but that’s not my point. I’ve been following it more closely since Jessie’s death. What really caught my interest was a recent write-up about a case in Georgia.”

“Georgia?”

“A thirty-something-year-old woman had AIDS. They found the West Nile virus in her blood. First documented case in Georgia in decades.”

“Not a good thing for someone with a weakened immune system.”

“No. But it might be a very good thing for her viatical investors.”

“You’re being way too suspicious. Viatical settlements are pretty common among AIDS patients.”

“Yeah, but this one has a twist. Not only did she have this rare virus, but she was missing three liters of blood.”

“She bled to death?”

“No. Somebody took it.”

Her look was incredulous. “What?”

“You heard me. Somebody drained three liters of diseased blood from her body and sent her into cardiac arrest.”

“And triggered payment under a viatical settlement,” she said, finishing his thought for him.

“No one’s proved step three yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know about step three.”

“You’re talking about Georgia, a whole different state.”

“We’re talking about the Russian Mafiya. It’s a very small world.”

“Look, my plate is full working for Sam Drayton and his task force. I don’t have the time or the inclination to be playing Sherlock Holmes for you and your wild-ass theories about some woman in Georgia.”

“You need to work with me on this.”

“I don’t need to do anything with you.”

“I can help you.”

“How?”

“I know that my friend Theo’s been poking around your operation.”

“Poking’s a good word for it. Like a finger in my eye.”

“I don’t know exactly what he’s up to, or how much danger he’s gotten himself into. But I don’t want him doing it.”

“And neither do I, damn it. Eight months I’ve been working undercover. I know this blood and viatical stuff inside out, partly from ru

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“So what are you proposing?”

“Help me out on this Georgia angle. See if my hunch is correct.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“I’ll get Theo out of your hair, before my big-hearted buddy with the good intentions gets us all in trouble.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “I’m not promising I’m going to find anything.”

“Do the best you can.”

“You’re just going to trust me?”

“Yeah. Money laundering is one thing. But I don’t think you’d knowingly be involved with a company that’s killing off viatical investors.”

She paused, as if sizing him up. Then she pulled a pen from her pocket and took Jack’s hand. She inked out a phone number as she spoke. “This is another level of snooping, and snooping is dangerous stuff. If you get any inkling that your friend Theo is going to do anything stupid, I want a heads-up in time to get out alive.”

Jack checked the number on the back of his hand. “Is this a secure line?”

“No cell is secure. But it’s safer than calling me at home or the office, where I can never be sure who’s listening. Just keep it to yourself.”

“You’re just going to trust me?” he said, using her own words.

“Yeah,” she said, responding in kind. “Jessie Merrill is one thing. But I don’t think you’d knowingly blow your only shot to find out if this company’s killing off other viatical investors.”

Their eyes met, and Jack felt that an understanding had been reached. She rose and said, “So, exactly how are you going to keep Theo under control?”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of Theo Knight.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Because if you don’t, I promise you: Someone else will.” She started up the sidewalk, then stopped and said, “By the way. Nice outfit.”

Jack struck a model’s pose, showing off the Goodwill special. “Thanks.”

She smiled a little, then continued on toward the blood unit. Jack had a slight bounce in his step as crossed the street and headed for the Metrorail station, digging his hands deep into his pockets, keeping Katrina’s phone number to himself.

45

•

It rained on Jack and Cindy’s first night in their new house. With no shades or curtains on their windows yet, each bolt of lightning bathed the bedroom with an eerie flash of light. Thunder rattled the windows, seeming to roll right across their roof. A steady drip from the ceiling pattered against the wood floor in the hallway. They had a leak.

Cindy rose in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen. The counter was still cluttered with cardboard boxes, some empty, some yet to be unpacked. She had hoped that her old demons wouldn’t follow her to her new house, that she might be able to leave the past behind. But no. The nightmares had come with her.

Lightning flashed across the kitchen. Outside, the falling rain clapped against the patio like unending applause. A river of rainwater gushed from a crease in the roof line, splashing just outside the sliding glass door. The run-off pooled at one end of the patio and rushed in torrents toward a big rectangular planter at the lower end. Cindy watched from the kitchen window. It was as if the water was being sucked into the deep planter, an opening in the earth from which there was no return. The harder the rain fell, the thirstier the hole seemed to get. There seemed to be no end to the flow into that planter, no limit to what that big, black hole in the ground could hold. It was hypnotic, like nothing she’d ever seen before, except once.

The dark, rainy day on which her father had been buried.

•

Nine-year-old Cindy was at her mother’s side, dressed in black, the rain dripping from the edge of the big, black umbrella. Her sister, Celeste, was standing on the other side of her mother. Her grandmother was directly behind them, and Cindy could hear her weeping. Her little brothers were too young and stayed home with relatives. It was a small gathering at graveside, just the four of them and a minister.

“Alan Paige was a righteous man,” the minister said, his eulogy ringing hollow in the falling rain. “He was a man who lived by the Scripture.”