Murder, She Wrote: Prescription for Murder (7 page)

“I’d appreciate knowing if you come up with any other conclusions,” Seth said as they shook hands. “I’m not only a doctor; I was Al Vasquez’s friend.”

“You’ll hear from me,” San Martín assured him. “Thank you for coming in with Dr. Hazlitt, Mrs. Fletcher. May I suggest that you take the trolley when you visit Ybor City? It’s part of the experience.”

Seth and I decided to take advantage of the warmer weather that day by walking back to the hotel rather than hailing a taxi. He’d arranged to meet with K-Dex’s Bernard Peters at noon at Vasquez’s lab, and for the three of us to have lunch following the appointment.

“Shakespeare wrote about lightning,” I said as we walked slowly.

“Say again?”

“Shakespeare,” I said. “I remember when I taught Shakespeare back when I was an English teacher. Let me see if I remember it. ‘To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke of quick, cross lightning?’ It’s from
King Lear
.”

“He knew a lot, didn’t he?”

“Shakespeare? He certainly did. Unless you meant Dr. San Martín. He’s a lovely man.”

Seth nodded his agreement. “Well,” he said, “at least we know that Al didn’t die of a lightning strike. I was pretty certain of that.”

“A sudden respiratory attack, enough to kill him instantly,” I said. “Have you ever seen that in a patient?”

“No, can’t say that I have. It’s not possible, as far as I’m concerned. There has to be some other explanation.”

I stopped Seth and placed a hand on his shoulder as I raised a foot to shake out a pebble that had gotten into my shoe. As I did, I looked back from where we’d come and noticed a small silver vehicle driving very slowly. The driver had stopped when we did.

“Do you see that car?” I asked Seth.

“Which one?”

“The small silver one.”

“What about it?”

“It was behind us when we took the taxi from the hotel.”

“So?”

“Here it is again, driving slowly, as though trying to stay behind us.”

“You feeling a little paranoid this morning, Jessica?”

I squinted at the car, trying to see if I recognized the driver through the tinted windshield. The car suddenly sped up, turned a corner, and was gone.

“Sorry,” I said as we continued our walk.

“About what?”

“The car. Nothing unusual about a car being where we are twice in a day.”

We’d almost reached the hotel when Seth said, “Did you see the driver of the car?”

“Not clearly. It was a man. He was alone, I think. Why?”

“No reason. Just asking.”

As we entered the lobby, we were stopped by a desk clerk. “Someone came by and left you this, Dr. Hazlitt.” He handed Seth an envelope on which his name was handwritten.

Seth opened it, frowned as he read the note that was inside, and handed it to me.

Dear Dr. Hazlitt,

It is important that I speak with you. Please call me at my cell number as soon as possible.

—Dr. Pedro Sardina

He included the number.

“Sounds important,” I said, handing back the note.

“It does, doesn’t it? I’ll call from my room. Meet you back here in a half hour.”

The message light was flashing on my room phone. It was a call from Oona Mendez.

I don’t know what your schedule is like, today, Jessica, but I would like very much to meet with you at your convenience.

She, too, left a phone number.

I told Seth of Oona’s message in the taxi on our way to the laboratory.

“Seems we’re popular folks these days.”

“It appears that way.”

“I reached Dr. Sardina. He’ll be at the lab when we’re there with Bernie Peters, but he said he didn’t want to talk with him around.”

“I wonder why.”

“I suspect there’s going to be some tense times between Peters and Sardina,” Seth said. “Sardina knows how far Al got with his research, and Bernie obviously wants to know, too.”

“I can’t fathom why a smart businessman like Bernard Peters would allow Dr. Vasquez to keep his research results under such close wraps. After all, Mr. Peters’s company is paying for it.”

“I don’t understand it either, Jessica, but I intend to find out.”

The conviction with which he said it startled me. I had no idea that he’d decided to seek answers to that question, or any question, for that matter. I knew that Vasquez’s sudden death had had a tremendous impact on Seth. He’d kept his emotions in check, but it was obvious to me that he was struggling with them. Despite the little time they’d spent together, Alvaro Vasquez had become a treasured friend, something that few people I knew could claim. Yes, Seth Hazlitt had a world of friends back in Cabot Cove, but few were truly allowed entry into his inner circle, and I thankfully counted myself among them.

I decided to push him.

“Care to elaborate?” I asked.

“About what?”

“About wanting to find out the situation between Dr. Vasquez and Bernard Peters?”

“You sound as though I shouldn’t.”

“Not at all, Seth, but I didn’t realize that you had issues to resolve aside from naturally grieving over your friend’s death.”

He thought before responding. “The way I see it,” he said, “Al devoted his life to finding a cure for Alzheimer’s. He pursued the cause despite interference from Castro’s totalitarian regime, and he showed guts when he and Ivelisse left Cuba and came here to continue his work. He was one hell of a fine man, and I want to make sure that his work gets the credit it deserves.”

I started to say something, but he continued.

“There’s more to it, though, Jessica. There’s a real foul smell, the way he died. It wasn’t lightning like everyone assumed. Sudden and complete respiratory collapse? Never heard of such a thing. Doesn’t make sense.”

It was my turn to think before speaking. When I did, I asked, “Are you suggesting there might have been foul play?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Jessica. All I know is that something’s rotten in Denmark, only it’s here in Tampa, Florida, and I want to know what it is. I owe it to Al.”

T
he guard who’d been at the door when we’d first visited the laboratory was on hand when we arrived to meet with Peters and Sardina. But this time the door to the building was open, and we weren’t questioned as we approached. We entered and followed the narrow corridor back to where the lab itself was located. Peters and Sardina were there, and neither man looked happy.

“Good to see you,” Peters said, shaking Seth’s hand as we entered the lab. “Thanks for coming.”

“No trouble at all,” Seth said. He looked over at Vasquez’s assistant. “Hello, Dr. Sardina,” he said.

Sardina muttered what passed for a response and busied himself at one of the computers.

Peters indicated with a flip of his head that we should follow him outdoors, where he led us far enough away from the guard to ensure privacy.

“Hate to get personal,” Seth said, “but I get the impression that you and Pedro Sardina were not havin’ a pleasant chat about the weather.”

Peters’s tight lips and angry eyes confirmed that supposition.

“Anything I can do to help?” Seth asked.

“It’s missing,” Peters said flatly.

“What’s missing?” Seth asked.

“Al’s laptop computer, the one he used to chart the progress of his research.”

“It can’t just be missing,” Seth said. “There’s got to be a simple answer.”

“You know the computer I’m referring to,” Peters said. “I understand that Al shared some of the material on it with you.”

“Ayuh, he did. I got to read some of the entries.”

“That’s more than he did for me,” Peters said.

“Mr. Peters,” I said, “I obviously have no knowledge of what transpired between you and Dr. Vasquez, but I have to ask a question that’s been on my mind ever since I got here. Dr. Vasquez joked once that he kept progress reports from you. I can’t help but wonder why you, as the source of Dr. Vasquez’s funding, would be kept so much in the dark about his progress—and, I suppose, why you would put up with it.”

Peters’s smile was rueful. “Want a straight answer, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Whatever answer you wish to give.”

“I let Al get away with it because, frankly, I had no choice. His research was vitally important to me and to K-Dex. I’d known for years about his research in Cuba into the impact of sugar on the brain, and the role it might play in promoting the growth of beta-amyloids, a chief component of the plaques that are a definite hallmark of brain abnormalities in Alzheimer’s patients. The same holds true of how glucose, and insulin resistance, could influence the unusual growth of tau proteins, another provable aspect of the disease. To be honest, I was taken in by Al’s faith in his research. But who wouldn’t have been? Every report that leaked out of Cuba said he was on the brink of a truly major medical breakthrough.”

“And you believed those leaks?”

“I did. You might also have noticed that Alvaro Vasquez was a charming, manipulative man.”

“Charming? Yes,” I said. “Manipulative? I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Take my word for it,” Peters said angrily. He made a fist and rammed it into the palm of his other hand. “I trusted him,” he growled. “I had to. So much depended upon his research providing a leap forward. If he’d found a definite link between how glucose influenced brain cells and Alzheimer’s, and had come up with a way to reverse it, it could have led to a cure, with K-Dex leading the way. Think about what that would mean to millions of people, Mrs. Fletcher. I never
stopped
thinking about it.”

I thought for a moment that Peters might break into tears.

“Let’s get back to his laptop,” Seth said. “Surely it wasn’t the only documentation of his research and the progress he’d made.”

“I’ve been led to believe that it was,” Peters said ruefully.

“What about Dr. Sardina?” I asked. “Would he know where it is?”

Peters’s sad expression turned angry again. “I trust Dr. Sardina as far as I can throw him, the little weasel.”

His harsh statement lingered in the air, and neither Seth nor I responded.

“I was questioning Sardina when you arrived. He’s an arrogant young man, that’s for sure. He claims that Vasquez kept him uninformed about how his work contributed to the big picture and that Al kept the overall progress reports to himself. Sardina would work on a specific project, give the results to Al, and that’s the last he’d hear about it. When I asked him about the laptop, he told me that Al kept it under lock and key and took it home with him every night.”

“Then that’s probably where it is,” I said.

“I can only hope, but I’m not sure I believe him. Of course, it might all be a moot point, depending upon how far along Al was. If he hadn’t achieved the sort of results he was always promising, his progress reports won’t be worth diddly.”

There were other questions on my mind at that moment, all of them pertaining to why a businessman like Bernard Peters would enter into such a loose and problematic business arrangement with Vasquez. Of course, there undoubtedly were legal documents cementing Peters’s interest in Vasquez’s work. At least I hoped there were, for his sake.

“Have you gone to the house to see if the laptop is there?” I asked.

“I called and spoke to Al’s daughter, Maritza.”

“She’s here?” Seth said.

“She just arrived from Cuba.”

It had been in the back of my mind that the Vasquezes’ daughter had not accompanied her parents to Tampa. I remembered a conversation Seth and I had had shortly after we’d learned that Al had asked the United States for asylum.

“The newspaper said that both he and his wife defected,” I’d said. “Do they have any children?”

“Oh, they do,” Seth had replied, “a son and a daughter. I met them when I was in Cuba.”

“They didn’t defect?”

Seth had hesitated before answering, and I’d wondered why.

“It’s a bone of contention with Al and his wife,” he’d finally said. “Really none of my business. His son came to the States more than a year ago, which didn’t sit well with his folks. The daughter is in medical school and refused to leave Havana. You know how families can be. Kids have minds of their own.”

“Where does his son live?” I’d asked.

“In Tampa. He’d gone to Miami from Cuba, according to Al, but moved to Tampa not long after he arrived in the States. I imagine that played a role in Al’s decision to settle there.”

“So the parents and son are reunited,” I’d said.

“Seems so,” Seth had said. “I’m sure that pleases Al and his wife.”

“I would imagine it does,” I had replied at the time.

But the prickly relationship between father and son that I had witnessed at the party made me wonder whether Al had regretted moving to live near his offspring. Perhaps the decision had been made because Ivelisse was close to her son, but choosing to live near one child came at a cost. Her daughter had remained in Cuba. The Vasquezes had never returned to their homeland. How long had it been since they’d seen Maritza?

“What did you say to Maritza?” I asked Peters.

“I expressed my condolences, of course, and I asked whether I could come to examine some of Al’s belongings but didn’t get anywhere. She said that her mother was in no condition to have visitors and that I should call back in a day or two.”

Peters was obviously distraught, and I wasn’t sure we should go through with plans to have lunch with him, but he settled it when he said, “Look, I have to cancel our lunch plans. I’m meeting with my attorneys to see if they can come up with a way to untangle this mess. If we can’t, the company stands to go under. We’ll do it another time.”

“Of course,” Seth said.

Peters went to his car and drove off, leaving us to decide what to do next.

“I suppose we should go back inside and talk to Dr. Sardina,” I suggested.

Sardina was still at the computer when we walked in.

“Hope we’re not disturbing anything important,” Seth said.

Sardina looked up and shook his head.

“Mr. Peters has left,” I said.

“Good,” was Sardina’s reply.

“We were talking about Dr. Vasquez’s laptop computer, the one he used to keep track of progress,” I said. “Did you help him input lab results?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

A rare laugh came from him. “Me? I think he would have chopped off my arm if he’d seen me go near that laptop.”

“He let me take a look a few times,” Seth offered.

“I know,” Sardina said. “He evidently trusted you more than he trusted me.”

His bitterness was palpable.

“I’m sure he trusted you,” I said. “After all, you worked side by side with him every day.”

“Need to know,” Sardina said. “That was his favorite saying, need to know. He told me just enough to keep me interested. I should have left ages ago.”

His anger permeated the lab.

“Apparently, he didn’t share any more information with Mr. Peters,” I said. “He said if he can’t find the laptop, the company will be ruined.”

“Don’t you worry about him,” Sardina said sourly. “Bernie Peters ain’t goin’ to be missing any meals anytime soon,” he said, putting on a southern accent.

“We understood the company invested millions of dollars in Dr. Vasquez’s work and this laboratory,” I said. “That’s a lot to lose.”

“And don’t forget his home on Davis Island, and his boat, and all the other perks the great doctor received.”

It was clear to me that Dr. Sardina had not been on the receiving end of any extra benefits and was resentful. “Don’t you think those losses will affect K-Dex and Bernie Peters?”

“They would if they weren’t well insured.”

“What do you mean?” Seth put in.

“Peters had key-man insurance on Vasquez. Anything happens to him, the company recoups all its investments and Peters himself walks away with a tidy sum.”

Seth pursed his lips and whistled. “Did Al know about this?”

“If I know, he knew,” Sardina replied.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Seth asked. “You called and said you wanted to get together.”

Sardina pressed his lips together and stared at the computer screen. He then looked at me.

“Anything you want to say to me can be said with Mrs. Fletcher present,” Seth said.

Sardina looked directly at Seth and said, “How much do you know about Alvaro’s research?”

“Some,” Seth said, “but from what he told me, he was about to reach a major advance, one that could lead to new pathways for drug trials.”

Sardina’s smile was small but said volumes.

“Tell you what, Dr. Hazlitt. You buy me a nice lunch and I’ll tell you things about Dr. Alvaro Vasquez that I’m sure he never told you about himself.”