Black Water (29 page)

Rayborn heard exhaustion in his voice. "Did Julia ever talk to you, Archie, after she was gone? Like Gwen is?"

"No," Wildcraft said curtly.

"Why not?"

"Because they took her
away,
Sergeant. Gwen's different. They killed her, but she came right back to where she was. With me."

"The same guys, do you think, Arch? The same ones that took Julia also killed Gwen?"

"Fuck all of you."

He hung up. She tried the star-sixty-nine trick, but as usual it didn't work. She waited right there, in the warm living room of the orange grove house, for Wildcraft to call back. What a stupid thing to have said.

Three hours later she woke up. Her neck was sore from the couch and the police scanner was still turned to low.

She checked Tim then sat in the rocker, wondering how Wildcraft must feel with large pieces of his recent past blasted from his mind. Specifically, memories of what had happened on the night that left his wife dead and a bullet lodged too deep in his brain for the surgeons to take out.

Infuriated.

Frustrated.

Confused.

Helpless.

Alone.

Like he's in hell, she thought, whether or not he still remembers what hell is.

But he still hears her voice

_T
he next morning Merci had the coffee cup almost to her lips when she saw the lead story in the business section of the Orange County
Journal:
SNAKES GO SOUTH AT SISTEL

Venom-based Cancer Treatment Slithers Away

Drug giant B. B. Sistel Laboratories yesterday announced an immediate end to the development of MiraVen, a snake-venom-based antitumor treatment.

Company vice president Carol Spenser said that all Sistel plans for manufacturing and marketing the treatment have been "suspended immediately," and that the OrganiVen Division of Sistel, which was responsible for bringing MiraVen to market, will be restructured. Wall Street reacted to the announcement with a huge sell-off, bringing Sistel stock down to $45 per share, off from Friday's close of $55, a loss of almost twenty percent.

Of further concern within Sistel is the fate of the 100-plus OrganiVen Division employees, and the nearly $400 million paid for OrganiVen late last year. Sistel Laboratories is based in Minneapolis and valued at close to $3 billion. Sistel holds patent, manufacturing anddistribution rights to some of the world's most effective and profitable drugs. "We'll try our best to absorb the OrganiVen Division into our work force," said Spenser. "We have a history of taking care of our own."

The much publicized cancer "cure" was based on the tissue-destroying effects of snake venom. The idea, decades old, yielded dramatic animal trial results for San Diego-based OrganiVen. OrganiVen researchers used the tumor treatment in combination with an antivenom "immunity" program that allowed cancer patients to tolerate high levels of toxicity. The tiny OrganiVen start-up company originally raised capital through a friends-and-family offering of shares sold for twenty-five cents each. When OrganiVen—founded by UCSD-based doctors— showed dramatic results in animal testing with its cancer treatment MiraVen, venture capitalists such as CEIDNA, Trident Capital and Brown Brothers invested heavily.

Pricewaterhouse Coopers, the accounting firm that released a recent survey on venture capital, put the combined venture investment in OrganiVen at $56 million. Sistel purchased OrganiVen for $400 million in cash and stock in September of last year, planning to take MiraVen through the uncertain and costly human trials necessary to bring a new drug to market. "There's some sense of disappointment over MiraVen," said Spenser.

"But there's simply no way we could see an effective human cancer treatment within the timeline necessary to insure profitability. We have shareholders to consider, and we ran into some development glitches that just weren't solvable. It's too bad." Of the total number of new human treatment drugs researched and developed each year by pharmaceutical companies, less than one percent ever find their way into production, industry sources say.

Merci read the article twice, her coffee untouched. "Archie and Gwen's company got canceled," she said.

Her father sat at the opposite end of the table, his gray hair in a storm and his eyes on the sports page. "I saw that."

"How can it be worth millions then nothing?"

"Those problems the lady talked about."

"What the hell is a four-hundred-million-dollar glitch?"

Clark looked over his glasses at her. "Ask her."

With little hope of getting through to industry captain Carol Spenser, Merci took the B. B. Sistel general number from the operator, then dialed. The receptionist put her through to Public Information. Carol Spenser's assistant answered the phone. Merci identified herself as an Orange County Sheriff's Homicide Detective and asked to speak to Ms. Spenser.

"Just a moment, Detective."

"This is Carol Spenser." She had a sweet, middle-aged voice with the distinct ring of intelligence in it.

Merci explained that one of her homicide cases involved OrganiVen investors, and she wanted to know just a little more about OrganiVen's restructuring.

"That just means we keep the people and the equipment but drop the division," said Spenser.

"But why? I saw the MiraVen video—it worked great."

"Those were animal trials, as you know, and human ones would have turned out to be much more complicated and expensive."

"What was the development glitch, Ms. Spenser?"

"Detective Rayborn, I can't tell you that. I am a vice president and the head of public information for a multinational company, and part of my job is to protect proprietary information about our company and its employees. We're under no legal obligation to reveal that kind of information unless we're under subpoena in a United States court. Some of that information we are not required to disclose under any circumstances. To do so would be like you giving out details of an investigation."

"I understand. But I've got a murder case to close."

"Well, certainly, our decision to restructure a division here at Sistel can't have had anything to do with a murder? I mean, we just made the announcement yesterday, and your case must have begun before then. Correct?"

"A week ago. The victim was an OrganiVen start-up investor named Gwen Wildcraft. She and her husband made two million dollar when you bought the company last September."

"And?"

And, Merci thought: her husband, shot in the attack and perhaps suspect, now suffering brain damage, said that a huge man he
believe
to be connected somehow to that investment met with his wife in bar and
may
have had something to do with the killing.

Think fast, she thought. She thought as fast as she could and came up with almost nothing.

"I thank you for your time," she said.

"Feel free to call again if there's anything I
can
help you with, wish you success in solving your case."

Merci hung up, hit redial and asked for the B. B. Sistel security department. The receptionist put her through to Plant Security, which transferred her to Personnel Security, which transferred her to the Legal Department, Patents and Infringements.

"Ron Billingham," a smooth voice announced.

Merci identified herself and told Mr. Billingham that she was investigating a Southern California homicide, Gwen Wildcraft, a woman who had invested substantially in OrganiVen before it was bought b Sistel.

There was a pause, then Billingham put her on hold for nearly two full minutes. Merci listened to music and drank her coffee.

He came back with an apology, then, "Sergeant Rayborn, I'm going to give you a number for Ardith Day at the Federal Trade Commission in Washington, D.C. After you've talked to her, you can call me back if you need to."

Merci took down the number and called Ardith Day. Day took HER call immediately and gave her the number of FBI Special Agent Nicholas Behrens in Washington. Behrens took her call immediately and gave her the number of Special Agent Carl Komer in the FBI Investigative Resident Agency in Orange County. She left a message with the Santa Ana RA and Komer called back in less than one minute.

"We should talk," he said. "How about my office, eleven-thirty?"

"Thank you. I'll be there."

Sheriff Vince Abelera looked at her unhappily as she walked across the blue carpet of his office and sat in front of his desk. Marilyn shut the door behind her and Merci felt the familiar hush of the office.

"Have you heard from Wildcraft?" the sheriff began.

"Last night, sir, at ten-fifteen. He called. He would not tell me where he was. He would not let me come get him. He refused to surrender himself or go to UCI Medical Center for treatment. His mental condition seemed. . . unstable. Physically, he claims to be feeling fine."

"Why did he call you?"

"To tell us that he's okay, not to worry about him."

"Feeling okay, now that he's threatened a reporter with a shotgun on television and said he'd kill himself?"

"Archie told me he didn't say that. He said he told Brice that he'd 'kill them myself,' but somehow the 'them' got lost on the tape. To Archie's credit, sir, Brice was falling into the orange tree when Archie was talking. I remember the noise that caused when I watched the broadcast again."

Abelera's sharp dark eyes bored into hers. She broke the connection and looked out the window to the hazy August morning.

"We've got an all-unit alert for him," said the sheriff. "All-agency, all-unit. Nobody's seen him. Yet. We've got surveillance teams watching both sets of parents and the sister."

"He called from a pay phone, I believe. I heard road noise, two Harley-Davidsons."

Abelera eyed her. "I've called a press conference for one o'clock today. That's enough time to get it out onto the evening news. I've got Public Information blowing up two department photographs of Wildcraft, to be put on easels beside the podium. I've got stills from the CNB video to show. I've got Dr. John Stebbins coming in to explain Wildcraft's precarious medical condition. And
you
will conduct the conference, telling our community that we need the deputy's whereabouts reported
immediately.
You have his trust."

"I think so, at least some of it."

"Then I want you to use it to get him in here."

"Yes, sir."

"You will indicate that we have no plans to charge Wildcraft with the murder of his wife. You may indicate that we do wish to question him in this matter. You will deny that the district attorney plans to charge him with threatening Mr. Brice but you will express deep concern about Mr. Wildcraft's apparently suicidal statement. You will be telling Mr. Wildcraft—because that's who this damned circus is really for—that we are concerned first and foremost for his well-being. You will order him to please report to the nearest law enforcement or medical facility as soon as possible. And when we get him, Sergeant Rayborn, I'll be turning this case over to Wheeler and Teague. Am I not clear on any of this?"

"I think you're making a mistake, sir."

"That's not what I asked you."

"No, sir, you're very clear on what you want."

"Sergeant, I don't care about your personal feelings regarding this deputy. He's a suspect, whether you choose to believe it or not. His prints are on his gun. His gun was used to kill his wife. He fired that gun. He left the hospital without our authorization and then he ran and hid. Those are
facts."

"Yes, sir, they are. But, sir, please let me continue as lead investigator. I've made mistakes but I'll correct them. I'll close it. This isn't a matter of feelings. Forget my feelings. I don't like them any more than you do. But I have to be successful on this case. It's absolutely necessary. If you pull me, you may as well write me out of Homicide Detail. That would be two disasters in a row, sir. Don't do that to me."

In the silence that followed, Merci tried to think loud. Tried to make her thoughts clearly audible, because she would go to her grave never putting these thoughts into words, never saying the words to another living soul, true as they were. But Abelera needed to hear them, and she willed those thoughts into his ears while her dark brown eyes stared into his.

I put you here. My blood and shame opened this office for you. I almost died for you. I need your help now. Give me your help.

The sheriff broke off this time, looking out the same window Merci had looked out of, at the same damp, warming morning. He pushed back in the rolling chair and stood.

"All right, Rayborn. All right."

_T
he FBI Orange County Investigative Resident Agency is housed in four-story building not far from Sheriff's Headquarters. The building has other tenants besides the FBI, one of which is the Government/Courts Bureau of the Orange County
Journal.
The building wraps around a ground floor courtyard that is shaded by potted palms and is cool even on late August mornings. Merci was early enough to try the ground-floor ladies' room, but it was secured with a brawn lock system and she didn't have the numbers.

Komer led Merci and Zamorra to his office on the second floor and closed the door. He poured three coffees from a pot on a stand and offered it black and without questions.

"Well, it's obvious by now that Sistel is having some problem with MiraVen," he said.