Текст книги "Fangs Out"

Автор книги: David Freed

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Seven

My jeans were ringing on the floor beside the bed. I reached over, half asleep, and got out my phone.

“Logan.”

“Mr. Logan, Gary Castle, Castle Robotics, returning your call of yesterday. My apologies for not getting back to you sooner. I was back in Washington on business. Got in last night. Hope I’m not catching you too early.”

Savannah was snuggled into my back, her arm draped over my side, snoring softly. I glanced at the time display on the phone. It was nearly 9:30 A.M. The last time I’d slept that late was in a crib.

“Not too early at all, Mr. Castle.”

“Hub Walker tells me you’re doing some work for him.”

“That’s affirmative.”

“Hub’s been like a father to me. One of the finest men I’ve ever known, hands down – and unquestionably one of the greatest pilots who ever lived. I don’t know if he told you: we met when I was working as a line boy at the Camarillo airport, gassing up planes, washing windshields. He flew in for an air show that summer. Quite a thrill. That was years ago, though, when I was still thinking about becoming a pilot myself.”

“Never too late.”

“It is for me, unfortunately. I’ve got some heath problems that would prevent my passing a flight medical.” Castle’s tone brightened. “In any case, Hub tells me you’re a flight instructor. Must be a blast, getting paid to teach people how to fly.”

“A total blast – if you don’t mind shopping at the Salvation Army and eating ramen several times a week.”

Castle laughed a little too hard. “How can I help you, Mr. Logan?”

“Actually, Hub wants me to help you.”

I told him that I’d been hired to refute Dorian Munz’s last-minute allegations. Any nuggets of information Castle could provide, however small, that hadn’t already gone public could go a long way, I said, in restoring his good name.

“Needless to say,” Castle said, “I wasn’t pleased with the field day the press had over the lies Munz told, but I honestly don’t know what more I can tell you that didn’t come out during his trial.”

“Hub seems to think there still may be a few apples left on the tree.”

“Well, if that’s what Hub thinks… I trust his instincts implicitly. Tell you what, Mr. Logan, why don’t you swing by my office in an hour, if that’s convenient. We can go somewhere, catch a little late breakfast.”

He gave me the address. I said I’d be there.

I thought it odd that Castle hadn’t mentioned Ruth Walker’s name during our conversation. Ruth had been a loyal employee. She was the daughter of the man Castle said was like a father to him. But I let it go. I was naked and in bed with Savannah. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else.

* * *

Crissy Walker was standing at the kitchen counter, mixing a big glass bowl of batter, when Savannah and I entered through the patio door. Hub was sipping coffee at the breakfast bar, reading the morning paper. They were wearing matching blue terry cloth robes.

“This is Savannah.”

“You didn’t tell us she was so gorgeous,” Crissy said, hugging her.

“You’re the one who’s gorgeous,” Savannah said, her face radiant from our evening together.

Walker clasped her hand in his two. “Y’all make a fine-lookin’ couple, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,” he said, his mood having improved appreciably from the night before.

“Actually, we were a couple,” Savannah said, “and, while we may still look like one, we’re really still more at the exploratory phase. We’re hoping to determine whether a sufficient foundational framework exists to reestablish something potentially long term.”

“Savannah’s a life coach,” I explained.

“Gotcha.” It was clear by Walker’s confounded expression that he had not a clue what a life coach was or did. I wasn’t sure I knew, either.

“By the way,” I said, “the faucet out in the guesthouse is leaking. Not sure if you knew that already.”

Walker sighed, pouring us coffee in two ceramic mugs. “I replaced that whole sink not two years ago. Guess I’ll have to get out there again with my toolbox.”

“You shouldn’t be getting out there on your hands and knees doing plumbing, Hub,” Crissy said. “Hire somebody.”

“I ain’t paying somebody to fix something I can fix myself. We’ve been over this I don’t know how many times.”

“Well, maybe if you’d hired somebody to do it right the first time, you wouldn’t have to be going out there to fix it.”

The sudden tension between them was discomforting.

“So, I hear you have a very pretty granddaughter,” Savannah said, playing referee.

Walker smiled. “Ryder. She’s at zoo camp. Goes every morning. You’ll meet her tonight.”

“She absolutely adores animals,” Crissy said. “We can’t have any, unfortunately. She’s highly allergic to all forms of pet dander.”

“Crissy’s a television producer,” I said to Savannah.

“Aspiring producer,” Crissy said. “I haven’t actually gotten any projects on air yet, though I do have one that looks promising. Animal Planet seems very interested. Fingers crossed.”

I told Savannah about The Cat Communicator. Savannah laughed and clapped her hands.

“What a great idea for a show,” she said. “I’d definitely watch.”

“With that kind of enthusiasm, you can come with me to my next pitch meeting.”

“Maybe I just will.”

Hub asked me if I’d had any more news on Janet Bollinger. I said I didn’t.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink, thinking about her,” Walker said. “Finally had to take something to knock me out.”

“We prayed all night,” Crissy said.

Savannah over looked at me.

“Janet?”

“I’ll explain later.”

I told Walker that I was meeting Greg Castle for brunch.

“Excellent. You’ll like Greg. Outstanding young man. Can’t say the same for Ray Sheen, his No. 2, though. Smart fella. Something about that guy I don’t trust.” Hub shot Crissy a quick glance. She seemed not to notice as she poured milk into a batter bowl.

“Too bad you can’t stay for breakfast,” Crissy said. “I’m making Belgian waffles. With real whipped cream.”

“I love waffles,” Savannah said. “I just wish they didn’t go straight to my hips.”

Hub smiled. “Gotta die of something, darlin’.”

I said I’d be back in a couple of hours. Savannah urged me to have fun, then kissed me goodbye. It was an awkward kiss, like new lovers, unfamiliar with each other. After so many years apart, I suppose you could say we were.

* * *

Walker stepped outside with me to his driveway.

“Some looker, that ex-wife of yours. What’s she doin’ with the likes of you?”

“You have no idea how often I ask myself that same question.”

The azure of Walker’s ocean view melted into the cloudless heavens above, a cobalt that seemed to stretch all the way to Asia. The wind was out of the east. A desert wind. The promise of a warm day.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night,” Walker said. “I don’t know what came over me. I just got a little tossed off my horse when you told me about what happened to Janet. I got no problems, you talking to the police about anything. I just want you to understand that.”

Across the street, a squat, barrel-chested man in his mid-sixties wearing khaki walking shorts and a cinnamon-colored hairpiece you could spot from the International Space Station was watering pots of red and purple impatiens on his front porch and glaring.

“Cut down those trees, Walker!”

Hub waved like a good neighbor, then turned his back.

“My neighbor, Major Kilgore. Says my palms ruined his view. Keeps threatening to take me to court. Problem is, his house never had a view to begin with.”

“Cut ’em down, Walker, or I swear to God, you’re gonna regret it!”

“He’s been harping at me like that ever since he moved in last year. Never took a shine to me ’cuz I was Air Force and he’s Marine Corps. He’s basically harmless, though.”

Major Kilgore looked anything but harmless. He was scowling vengefully, fists clenched, shaking with rage.

Walker ignored him and squinted up at the sun. “High pressure’s building in. I might drive out to Montgomery and do a touch-and-go or two. Crissy said something about wanting to take Savannah shopping.”

I climbed into the Escalade. “You mind me asking you a question, Hub?”

He smiled. “It’s not about the medal, is it? I thought we covered that ground yesterday.”

“It’s about Janet Bollinger.”

Walker’s smile faded. “What about her?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything you’re not telling me, would you?”

He ran a hand over his face, struggling to control his anger.

“All I know is what you told me.”

I watched him stride up the driveway and back into his house, the door slamming behind him. I’ve spent a lifetime lobbing blunt-spoken questions, offending innumerable friends, relatives, bedmates, DMV workers, airline reservationists, one ex-wife, and, from what I was later told, the entire faculty of my high school. Hub Walker to my recollection was the first Medal of Honor recipient I’d ever pissed off.

* * *

Forty-something Gary Castle was everything Walker said he was. Clean cut. Athletic. Articulate. The All-American straight shooter. In his cuffed khakis and yellow golf shirt, with a hint of gray at the perfectly coiffed temples, he could’ve just as easily passed for a Republican seeking the White House.

“This is why I work so hard,” Castle said, proudly handing me a framed photo of his exceedingly blonde wife and four towheaded boys, one of more than a dozen family pictures crowding his desktop.

“Good-looking brood,” I said.

Less handsome was the view from Castle’s second-floor office, located in a large, highly secure, two-story building with mirrored windows that overlooked a heavy equipment storage yard just off Pioneer Way. The “El Cajon Zone,” as the locals call it, may be a mere half-hour drive inland from San Diego’s La Jolla, but it is decidedly more industrial, a haven of machine shops, warehouses, fast-food outlets and guys driving jacked-up pickup trucks with oversized tires.

“Unfortunately, I realized after we spoke this morning that I have a meeting at noon,” Castle said, “so I took the liberty of ordering in. I hope you don’t mind.”

A nearby credenza bore heaping platters of fresh pastries and bagels. There was a crystal pitcher of orange juice on ice and a silver coffee decanter. I picked out a chocolate doughnut with chocolate frosting, garnished with crumbled peanuts.

“These things,” I said with my mouth full-to-overflowing, “should be outlawed.”

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Castle said. “I thought it might be helpful if you first got a brief overview of what it is we do here at Castle Robotics.”

As if on signal, a slim man about Castle’s age, with a slicked-back, receding hairline, sockless Weejuns, stylishly faded jeans, and an untucked black dress shirt rapped on Castle’s open door.

“Come on in, Ray. I’ve asked my chief operating officer, Ray Sheen, to join us. Nothing gets done around here without him. Ray, this is Cordell Logan, the gentleman I mentioned. Hub Walker seems to think he might be able to help us out of this pickle.”

Sheen had long, flared sideburns, like some nineteenth-century riverboat gambler, and a pronounced scar on his left cheekbone that reminded me of the Nike swoosh. In his hand was a Louisville Slugger, which he gripped as if it were a walking stick. An affectation if there ever was one.

“You must be a ballplayer,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Second base. Started all four years at Arizona State.”

“Ray and I roomed together in college,” Castle said. “He got his pilot’s license way back when, but it’s been a few years since he flew.”

“I have better things to do,” Sheen said, “like helping this country defend itself.”

Ray Sheen exuded an obnoxious, self-important air.

“Gentlemen, please.” Castle gestured toward four wine-colored lounge chairs on the far side of his office surrounding a round coffee table upon which rested what looked like a mechanical hummingbird.

I resisted the urge to get myself another doughnut and sat.

“So,” I said, “what exactly does Castle Robotics do?”

“Nano technology,” Sheen said. “This company, Mr. Logan, stands on the brink of delivering technology to America’s war fighters that will viably reduce unmanned aerial vehicles – more commonly known as ‘drones’—to the size of this.” He held up the hummingbird and showed it to me.

I remembered sitting in on a classified briefing in which we learned all about plans by the Pentagon’s Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency to create such drones. The incentive was to reduce collateral damage from bomb strikes. High-orbiting Predator UAVs aren’t always discriminate when lobbing Hellfire missiles. Target a terrorist who stops in for a quick bite to eat at the House of Hummus, and innocent people often get blown to smithereens with him. On the other hand, a battery-powered, remote-controlled drone packing miniaturized optics and a small warhead could buzz in through an open window at the House of Hummus, land unobtrusively, wait until the bad guy visited the men’s room, then blow him to smithereens. That was the concept, anyway. Nano technology was little more than theoretical when I worked for the government. How times had changed in only a few short years.

Castle Robotics’ relationship with the Pentagon, Sheen said, had taken a substantial hit following news reports of Dorian Munz’s unfounded, eleventh hour assertion that Ruth Walker had been murdered in part because she supposedly had knowledge of malfeasance on Castle’s part. The company had also taken a financial hit. In the weeks following Munz’s execution, the value of the company’s stock had tanked on the NASDAQ.

“The board is meeting next month in New York to hold a vote of confidence,” Castle said. “If I lose that vote, I’ll have no choice but to step down.”

“That won’t happen, Greg,” Sheen said. “Not as long as I have any say in it.”

Castle got up, patted Sheen on the shoulder and paced the room. “If Munz were still alive, I’d sue him for libel. To imply that I killed the daughter of the one man I most admire in this world, because I was somehow trying to protect this company, or that she and I had an affair and I impregnated her, is outrageous on the face of it.”

“Can you prove Munz lied?”

“Absolutely. I took a paternity test.”

“Voluntarily,” Sheen added, “and passed.”

“You took a paternity test?”

Castle rubbed his forehead. “I can’t believe I just admitted that. I’ve never told anybody, except Ray. And Munz, of course.”

I tried not to appear as surprised as I was.

“You told Dorian Munz you took a paternity test?”

“I don’t recall the specific date,” Castle said, “but it had to have been a few weeks before Ruth was killed. She told me Munz was running around town saying I was the father, so I offered to take a test, to prove him wrong.”

“Where did Munz come up with the idea you were the father?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Munz is dead. I’m asking you.”

Castle poured himself some orange juice. “I don’t exactly appreciate your tone, Mr. Logan.”

I reminded him that I was there to help, and asked him again where Munz had gotten the notion that he’d sired Ruth Walker’s child.

“Honestly? I have no idea. I’d always assumed that Munz was the father and simply didn’t want to accept responsibility. All I know is, I went to a clinic ten years ago, they swabbed the inside of my mouth, and the results showed it wasn’t me. I assumed that was the end of it. It never came up in Munz’s trial. Then, ten minutes before he’s put to death, he pops off with all these insane accusations, and the news media reports them like it’s fact.” Castle gulped his juice. “You have no idea, Mr. Logan, the strain this has put on my marriage. My wife’s a practicing Roman Catholic. She can’t understand how anyone could lie like Munz did, knowing they’re about to face their maker.”

“If you shared the results of that test with the news media,” I said, “you’d be golden.”

“Share the results? With those bloodsuckers? So they can boost their ratings or sell a few more papers? It’s none of their damn business.”

“It is if Munz’s accusations ruin your company and take you down with them.”

Castle looked over at Sheen as if for guidance.

“The press would probably just ignore it anyway at this point, Greg,” Sheen said. “You know how that tune goes – never let the facts stand in the way of a good story.”

“You mind if I have a look at the report?” I asked.

“I really don’t see how this is any of your business, either,” Castle said.

“Hub Walker hired me to help find a way to get you out of a jam, Mr. Castle. This could be that way.”

Castle thought about it for a couple of seconds, sighed, then crossed the room to a four-drawer oak filing cabinet.

“Greg keeps everything,” Sheen said admiringly. “He’s very well organized.”

It didn’t take Castle long to find what he was looking for.

“Here we go.” He pulled open a manila-colored file jacket, gave the single sheet of paper inside a quick look, and handed it to me.

It was a report, dated August 21, 2003 and printed on the letterhead of SoCal Genetic Laboratories in nearby Kearny Mesa. It stated:

“Sixteen genetic loci were tested using DNA amplification with the Accu-track/16 system, an XY-300XL genetic analyzer, and second-generation, Geno-Chromosomal marking software. Based on the DNA analysis, GREGORY CASTLE is excluded as the father of the female child, RYDER WALKER, because they do not share sufficient genetic markers. The percentage probability of the stated relationship is zero (0).”

“I rest my case,” Castle said.

I asked if I could have a copy to pass along to Walker. Walker would then distribute the results to the newshounds, proving that Munz had lied.

Castle rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d have to think it over. I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

“If I could weigh in here for just a second,” Sheen said. “Greg, my primary concern is that directors meeting in New York next month. I mean, do you really want to be having to explain to the board whether you did or didn’t sleep with someone ten years ago?”

“I may have no choice, Ray.”

“Maybe. But even if Munz’s allegations were true, which of course they weren’t, having a child out of wedlock reflects in no way on your ability or inability to manage this company,” Sheen said. “The more onerous allegation, obviously, is that Castle Robotics was stealing from the government. No paternity test addresses that.”

“An independent audit would,” I said. “Send out a press release. Tell the world you’ve commissioned one, and that Castle Robotics has nothing to hide.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sheen said. “The transparency of a fresh audit could do us nothing but good.”

“And dignify the lies of a condemned killer who’s gone to his grave?” Castle shook his head. “Our bylaws already require an annual audit of the corporation’s books. A supplemental audit would be a waste of money – money better spent in product R&D.”

Castle readily agreed that Munz’s allegations had created a public relations nightmare for his company and him personally. He agreed that the federal government’s confidence in Castle Robotics had been undermined, and that something had to be done public relations-wise if the company hoped to continue securing the multimillion-dollar defense contracts that were its lifeblood. But Castle was hesitant to get involved directly. Decorum, he said, prevented him from standing up in his own defense.

“It would look undignified,” he said.

“Fair enough,” I said. “All you have to do is get a copy of that paternity test to Hub. He’ll do the rest.”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“It’s your rodeo.”

I got up to leave. Castle and Sheen walked me out.

“When we first heard that Ruth had been murdered,” he said, “quite frankly, we thought it was the Chinese.”

“Why the Chinese?”

“Because of the classified nature of the work we do,” Sheen said. “Ruth was involved from a design standpoint in some of our most sensitive projects. Chinese intelligence has always been eager to pirate proprietary technology from U.S. defense contractors, especially here on the Pacific Rim. Who’s to say they didn’t kidnap her, then kill her when she resisted interrogation? That’s what we assumed, anyway, before the FBI determined that Munz was the real killer.”

“Ruth was a good employee,” Castle said. “Boundless energy. Very ambitious. Highly intelligent. I probably would’ve hired her whether she was Hub Walker’s daughter or not.”

We paused at his office door.

“What about Janet Bollinger? I understand she used to work here, too.”

“Janet Bollinger?” Castle smiled to himself. “I haven’t thought about Jan in years. She was what we call around here a ‘short-time friend.’ I believe she was hired as an entry-level CAD operator, was she not?”

Sheen nodded.

“Her heart wasn’t much in the job,” Castle said. “From what I remember, she seemed more interested in meeting Mr. Right. I’m not sure she even made probation.”

“She did,” Sheen said, “but she didn’t last long after that.”

“How close were Janet and Ruth?” I asked.

“Close enough that she started seeing Munz after Munz broke up with Ruth,” Castle said. “I remember that much. What either of them saw in that loser is beyond me. Tell you the truth, I was glad when they finally executed him. Why it took as long as it did, I’ll never know.”

“’Tis better that ten guilty escape than one innocent suffer.”

Sheen and Castle both looked at me funny.

“William Blackstone, the English jurist – at least I think it was Blackstone. I doubt it was any judge in Texas.”

Sheen scratched his ear. “What’s your interest in Janet Bollinger?”

“Somebody stabbed her yesterday, in her apartment.”

“Jesus,” Sheen said, “She was stabbed? Do they know who did it?”

“Not yet.”

Castle cupped his hand over his open mouth and asked me if she was going to be OK.

“I’m not a doctor.”

I studied Castle’s nonverbal gestures. Behaviorists commonly contend that covering one’s mouth when speaking is a sign of dishonesty, a clue that somebody’s covering up the truth. Others say it’s a self-soothing gesture, an innate human reaction to unsettling news. I didn’t know Castle well enough to speculate either way. As for Sheen, his response to the news didn’t strike me as anything other than normal. He seemed genuinely stunned. Neither man said they had any idea who would’ve attacked Jan Bollinger, or why.

“Dorian Munz is put to death and a month later a woman he dated is attacked in her own apartment.” Castle rubbed his chin. “I would think that’s more than coincidental, wouldn’t you?”

I shrugged. True Buddhists don’t believe in coincidence. They believe that cause and effect rule the universe. This philosophy is personally problematic for aspiring Buddhists like me. I find little comfort in the notion that there is some logic hidden in the chaos of existence. Call me jaded, or call me a pragmatist. Anybody who’s been kicked down the block a time or two recognizes that, sometimes, there’s no “why” to the happenstance of life. It is what it is.

Was there a conspiracy involving the murder of Ruth Walker, the execution of Dorian Munz, and the knifing of Janet Bollinger? Possibly. Maybe even probably. But right then, all I could really think about was the glorious night I’d spent with Savannah – and those delicious doughnuts speaking to me from atop Greg Castle’s credenza. I grabbed two on my way out – one for me and one ostensibly for Savannah.

Who the hell was I kidding? I wolfed them both down before I left the building.

* * *

Walking out toward my rented Escalade, I caught a glint of sunlight coming from a pearl white Lexus idling at the far end of the parking lot. The car’s occupants, two young Asian men, were snapping photographs of Castle Robotics’ headquarters.

They noticed me noticing them, put down their cameras, and slowly motored on.

I told myself they were probably tourists.