Finder's Fee (31 page)

“Then what?” Judith rubbed her face. The swelling continued. She fought the urge to pull down the visor and look in the mirror. It couldn't be good. Instead, she looked at Luke again. He looked no better. He had endured two beatings and it showed.

He sighed and chewed his lower lip. “I've been thinking about that. I doubt he plans to sail a boat by himself. That means he'll have help. Frankly, I don't think I can take another beating.”

“You've been very brave.”

Luke's laughter surprised Judith. “I think you're the first person ever to say that.”

“It's true. You rescued Abel and fought to save a bunch of kids you've never met. Most people would have written them off.”

“Don't forget. I didn't volunteer, I was drafted — blackmailed.”

“What you've done goes beyond that. The Puppeteer sent us to find one boy, not thirteen.”

“I guess it doesn't matter at the moment. We had Abel and we lost him. I can't get the image of Ida's battered face out of my head. Pennington didn't need to do that.”

“Pennington is a nutcase,” Judith said. “He is far from sane.”

“He's sane enough to get the job done.” Judith closed her eyes again and longed for the deep, soft mattress of her bed. Home seemed a place she lived years ago, yet it had been only two days. “Maybe it's time to call for help.”

“Maybe. I know I'm tired of jumping through the Puppeteer's hoops. Pennington is the real threat to Abel and the others. He's the one we have to deal with.”

“So we call in the police?”

“Not yet.”

The answer surprised Judith. “And why not?”

“Because Pennington has the kids and can hold them hostage. Imagine a police cruiser or highway patrol car pulling the bus over. Pennington has thirteen hostages. I agree that it's time to bring the police in, but we have to time it right. We have to do this in a way that protects the kids, not endangers them.”

“So we're going to San Pedro?”

“Yes. Let's get on site and see what we're facing. We can call the police in. Let's make sure we get to the dock before
Pennington. Open the glove box and see if the rental company has a map in there.”

“How do you know this is a rental car?”

“Would you use your own car? I doubt Pennington is from around here. According to Vince, Pennington came in by helicopter. I'm guessing he flew in from San Diego after killing Zarefsky.”

The mention of Vince saddened Judith and she wondered if the man still drew breath. She forced the thought from her mind and opened the glove compartment.

It held a map.

Terri let the words settle in before asking the question on everyone's mind. “Karen, what do you mean Judith is connected to Dr. Zarefsky? Was he her doctor?”

“No.” Karen rubbed her hands. “I'm trying to keep this simple. I've got a feeling it's more complex than any of us realize. This is one of those six degrees of separation things. You know, I've got a sister who went to school with a guy who used to live across the street from Tom Cruise. Given enough layers of connection, anyone can connect themselves to someone else. That kind of thing. This is much tighter than that.” Karen keyed her computer again and a web page appeared on the screen.

“This is the Cal-Genotics website and I learned that Zarefsky is … was their president and CEO. I wondered what would happen now that he was dead. I ran down a few fertility doctors and asked them about Zarefsky. A couple wouldn't talk to me, one gave me an earful about ‘never having opened a book on ethics,' and another told me he couldn't speak about the man because he had brought complaints about Zarefsky's
work to the board that certified doctors in his specialty. I did find one doc who didn't mind filling me in on what little he knew. When I asked what would happen to Cal-Genotics now that Zarefsky had been cut out of the picture, he said, ‘Nothing.' ”

“Nothing?” Gaines spoke for the first time since the meeting began. “They must have a pretty tight contingency plan for the loss of key personnel.”

Karen agreed. “That's what I thought, but that wasn't my source's point. He said Zarefsky served as a figurehead. The real decisions were made by a confederacy of several biotech firms. Zarefsky put an American face on a Singapore company.”

“Why would an American doctor do that?” Marlin asked.

“Money and freedom,” Karen said. “A quick Internet search shows that Singapore is known for biomed research and loose ethical guidelines. Freedom and money.”

Terri's frustration grew. “How does this tie Judith to Zarefsky?”

Karen worked the computer and a page with Zarefsky's picture came up. “This is the man's bio page. He took two degrees from Stanford and a business degree from Harvard. During his Stanford days, he worked for and received financial support from a fertility clinic in Palo Alto. I got that last bit of info from my source.”

“How does this
source
know that kind of information?” Detective Wilson looked suspicious. “That seems the kind of personal info that people keep under wraps. I doubt Stanford would tell you where one of their students worked and who helped him along his way.”

“That's where luck came my way, or fortune or fate or whatever you want to call it.”

“Providence,” Terri said.

“If you like,” Karen said. “My source went to school with Zarefsky and worked at the same fertility clinic — and so did someone named Judith Maurer.” She looked at Marlin. “What is your mother's maiden name?”

Marlin's skin faded a shade whiter. “Maurer. My stepmother went to Stanford? She told me she couldn't afford to attend the better colleges.”

“Maybe she couldn't,” Karen said. “Zarefsky went to Stanford. That doesn't mean Judith did. There are other colleges in the area. The connection isn't the university but the fertility clinic.”

Terri struggled to take it all in. Every bit of information raised more questions than it answered. “Did your source say what Judith did for the clinic?”

“Called her a recruiter. Zarefsky and my source were lab techs. In exchange for their work, they earned some good money, picked up lab skills, and the clinic gave them money for tuition.”

“Why do I feel like there's more to this?” Wilson said. “By the way, I'm going to want that source's name.”

“We'll argue about that later, Detective,” Karen continued. “According to my source, Judith did some office work but spent a good bit of her time as a recruiter.”

“Recruiter?” Terri didn't like the sound of the word.

“The clinic paid for eggs.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

“Excuse me,” Gaines said. “It's the lawyer in me so I need to ask for a clarification. You're not talking about the kind of eggs that make for a good breakfast. You're talking about …”

“A woman's eggs. Ova.” Karen paused as the words sank in. “Judith Maurer, later Judith Find, was hired to encourage young women to sell their ova.”

Marlin rubbed his forehead. “Let me get this right: my stepmother used to approach a woman and say, ‘Hey, lady, you want to sell a couple of your eggs?' ”

“Nothing so crass. She was one of several recruiters who would select the best and the brightest and offer them money. Most were college coeds and some needed the cash. The clinic also recruited … um, donations from high IQ men.”

“The clinic was experimenting with selective genetics?” Dwayne said.

“Best they could in those days. My understanding is that the science has made great strides since the eighties.”

Dwayne had another question. “Didn't someone else try to create high IQ children by selective fertilization? I read something about it. Graham … Robert Graham? That's it. Didn't he try to improve the human race by preselecting donors for infertile couples?”

“Good memory,” Karen said. “In the 1980s he launched the Repository for Germinal Choice. It became known as the Nobel prize sperm bank. He recruited high IQ males to make donations. Several had won Nobel prizes. Graham believed that he could improve the overall level of intelligence of the children born to chosen infertile couples. It's debatable how successful he was.”

Emotion boiled in Terri. “You're saying that Judith, while a college student, worked for someone like Robert Graham?”

“According to my source she did,” Karen spoke softly. “She worked at the same place as Zarefsky. I can't say she knew him. The timeline is a little muddled. My source thinks Zarefsky left before Judith got there. He wasn't certain.”

“Still,” Wilson said, “there may be motive.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Detective.” Terri's words came harsher than she intended. “Judith isn't a killer. And you said that there's reason to believe that someone is setting her up.”

“I did, but I'm not allowed the luxury of concrete opinions until all the facts are in. You can bet the San Diego PD feels the same way.” Wilson turned to Karen. “Is the clinic still around?”

“No. My source said it went belly-up. I checked news archives and confirmed it. There was a brouhaha in the mid-eighties. The head of the clinic got into deep trouble.”

Dwayne asked, “What's his name?”

“Her name,” Karen corrected. “Dr. Diane Corvino.” She tapped a key and displayed a picture of a severe looking woman with brown hair pulled into a bun. Terri judged her to be in her late forties or early fifties.

Karen continued. “Dr. Corvino took degrees in medicine and genetics. A real rising star, the kind that gets a Nobel prize. Apparently, she was the impatient type, always stretching the limits. Authorities closed her down and brought charges against her.”

“For what?” Terri asked.

“She made fertile women infertile. Some complained. Some donors sued. Corvino disappeared at the end of 1985. She hasn't been seen since.”

Each revelation dropped on Terri like bricks — no order, no design, just a weight that grew heavier each moment. Missing mother and child, Judith disappearing, a bombed house, a dead doctor, a missing researcher, Judith's office bugged … Her head began to ache. Yesterday, she was a personal assistant. Today she was interim CEO of her boss's firm.

Nothing made sense.

T
he Great Divide
rested exactly where Ernie had said it would and Judith had a clear view from her place behind a large metal shipping container. Luke stood beside her. The containers were stacked two high and set in rows forming narrow alleys between them.

Judith knew nothing about boats and sailing but she knew this vessel was huge. It had the feel of a yacht — sleek, white, and gleaming in the sun, but looked like a small version of a cruise liner. The windows in the superstructure — if that's what you called it — were all tinted dark. She could see nothing inside. Beneath
The Great Divide
was painted the word “Singapore.” The site of it chilled Judith.

Despite the yacht-like appearance it displayed several differences. Judith had been on several yachts, attending parties held by business associates. Those vessels were long and fairly narrow. This boat, ship, whatever, was much wider than anything she had seen in a pleasure craft. She had heard the term “superyacht,” and now she had seen one.

The vessel was impossible to miss. Not just because of its size, but because of where it had been moored. The ship immediately in back of it was a monstrous, ill-colored, battered container ship. Judith assumed the size of the
The Great Divide
prevented it from docking in the nearby marina.

“Wow,” Luke said. He had parked in a lot a half mile from the pier, afraid that Pennington would see the vehicle when he arrived and know they were there. Unfortunately, the F Pier street ran right past the lot. Luke had done his best to
hide the Humvee behind one of the many eighteen-wheelers that brought containers to the San Pedro Bay for shipping.

They had approached the area carefully, looking for guards and the presence of a school bus. As expected, they had been able to make better time than Pennington. Now the question rested on what to do next. “I don't see anyone guarding the yacht. I was afraid that Pennington might have called ahead.”

“And done what? He wouldn't warn them about us. He thinks we're dead. And we know he didn't try to call Ernie because we have Ernie's cell phone.”

“And his gun.”

“Do you know how to use it?” Judith could see the pistol tucked in the back of Luke's jeans.

“I think I can figure it out.” Luke pulled back into the shadow of the orange and blue containers. “I'm at a loss. If Pennington gets the kids on the boat and it sets sail, we may never get them back. We have to either prevent him from loading the kids aboard or somehow prevent the boat from leaving.”

Judith's heart slowed as if it had grown too weary to continue beating. “I think it's time.” The words came out as a whisper.

“Maybe I could sneak onboard and disable the ship. You know, slip down to the engine room and do something: pull wires, break a fuel line.”

“No, Luke, it's time.”

“The problem is a boat that size is bound to have several crewmembers. How do I get past them?”

Judith could almost see Luke's mind racing. His head was down, his eyes fixed on something only he could see. He wasn't hearing her. “Luke, you're not listening.”

“Maybe the key is finding a way to keep the kids from ever getting on the boat in the first place. Maybe we could — ”

“Luke!”

“What?” Startled, he spat the word.

“Listen to me.” She stepped closer and placed a hand under his chin as if she were speaking to a child. “It's time we call the police.”

“Judith, we've been through this. You're wanted …”