The Death Row Complex (21 page)

“No way,” Jason objected immediately. “Why do you think Katrina would break in here? Why now? She’s known me for years. And anyway, Katrina doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. I know you have a number of suspicions about her—I’m not blind—but you’re totally wrong.”

Jason could not say what he needed to. Katrina had absolutely no motive for breaking into his apartment. He had kept nothing from her, ever. She knew exactly where the activator data was. Jason and Katrina had dropped it into the liquid nitrogen tank together. And with federal agents in the lab at all times, there was no way he could have moved it even if he had wanted to.

And maybe he and Katrina should have thought of that when they hid it there in the first place.

“Well, thanks for your input,
Doctor
Fischer,” Gilman was saying. “And no offense, but your opinion doesn’t weigh any more heavily with me than your mentor’s. From what I’ve seen, you’re both about the antithesis to trustworthy, as a matter of fact. And that brings me to the other suspect that comes to mind. Or perhaps several of them.”

Jason looked over at Angela. “Can we talk about this in private?”

“No need,” Gilman retorted. “I have every intention of finding out what all of your lady friends were doing tonight.”

He turned to Angela. “What time was the break-in?”

“Around six thirty, I think,” Angela said. “And Jason, I already know about all of your little bimbos. I really couldn’t give a flying fuck at this point.”

Gilman stood and brushed a stray ball of couch stuffing from his slacks, then stepped past the coffee table and toward the door. Nonchalantly, he turned back before exiting and addressed Angela. “And by the way, thank you for the tip—but you’re also far from above suspicion, so don’t even think about leaving town.”

7:22 P.M.
PST

As Sean McMullan and Katrina Stone stepped out of the Irish pub, the noise level dropped dramatically. Only then did McMullan hear the chime on his cell phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked. He had missed a call. There was no message, and he did not recognize the number.

McMullan shrugged. “I guess if it’s important they’ll call back.”

With full bellies and relaxed minds, Katrina and McMullan continued down Fifth Avenue. At first, neither spoke. It was McMullan who broke the silence. “Strip Club?” he asked, tipping his head to indicate an establishment.

Katrina laughed as she looked toward the restaurant. “That’s not really a strip club; it’s a cook-your-own-steak house.” A moment later, she added, “but I bet a strip club would do pretty well down here.”

“They could call it the Ass-Lamp,” McMullan said.

Chuckling, they reached the arch over the street that marked their exit from the Gaslamp Quarter. Directly in front of them, the jutting peaks and glass curves of the San Diego Convention Center punctured the sky.

“So,
this
is where the convention center is…” McMullan mused.

“Yep, this is where the biotechnology convention will be. I bet all the hotels in this area are already booked solid for that entire week. My personal favorite is the Hyatt, down the street.” She pointed along the coast to the pair of skyscrapers that distinguished the skyline of downtown San Diego. “There’s a gorgeous view from the bar at the top, and I hear they make one hell of a martini. I’ve never tried one though…”

They began walking up the several flights of stairs that led to the balconies of the convention center. “It looks so futuristic,” McMullan noted, his eyes wandering over the layers of curving glass.

“You should see the UCSD library,” Katrina said.

“I have seen it. I jog by there almost every day. Thanks for the tip on that route, by the way. It’s awesome, as long as you aren’t intimidated by naked strangers.” He glanced over at her. Was that a blush?

They reached a semi-circular balcony and for a moment, neither of them spoke as they took in the view of the bay. To their left, the Coronado Bridge formed a gentle arch, its lights speckling the sky over the horizon like an unusually ordered arrangement of stars.

Katrina shivered and wrapped her thin sweater around herself once again. McMullan stepped toward her to block the breeze as he had on the crowded street. She leaned in toward him, her eyes tipping upward to meet his, but when he bent down to kiss her, she stepped away.

Katrina cleared her throat and spoke curtly. “So, you think I should just be a bit more prudish?”

McMullan stepped back. “Huh?”

“With Gilman. If I let him know I actually have pretty old-school values, despite being a scientist, do you think Gilman will lighten up on me a bit?”

McMullan pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. “Ahem… ah, yes, that will probably help. Good idea.” He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Shall we keep walking?” Katrina asked.

“Sure. Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m all the way up by your gym.”

“Oh, yeah. Me too.”

They walked in silence back down the flights of stairs leading back down to the street, a full three feet of space between them. Once back on the street, they stopped at the traffic light intersecting West Harbor Drive and Fifth Avenue.

“I’m a little lost,” McMullan said. “So we cross here, and then walk back up Fifth Avenue and that will take us back to E street, right?”

“Yep,” she said.

A gust of cold wind blew across West Harbor Drive, and Katrina shivered so hard her teeth chattered. She clamped them together. When the light changed, she stepped into the crosswalk. McMullan remained motionless behind her. Katrina turned and gave him a questioning look.

He gestured toward the Hyatt Hotel. “You know what, I think I wouldn’t mind trying one of those martinis.”

For a moment, Katrina stood immobile in the crosswalk. The crosswalk signal changed from flashing green man to flashing red hand, and then to solid red hand. The traffic light turned yellow. As it turned to red, she stepped back out of the crosswalk and took McMullan’s arm, and the two slowly turned to walk up West Harbor Drive toward the Hyatt.

Except for candles on the tables and a few, dim sconces on the walls, the bar at the top of the Hyatt Hotel was dark. An invisible sound system played a soft selection of romantic music.

The bar was attended by two handsome gentlemen in tuxedos. A smattering of patrons, some in jeans, others in slacks or dresses, populated the tables and the bar in the center of the space. McMullan looked down at his gym shorts and T-shirt. “Ya think I’m a little under-dressed?” he laughed.

“Um, yeah. But don’t worry about it. You don’t stink
too
badly.”

He opened his mouth in an exaggerated gesture of shock, and then gave her a soft shove. Katrina chuckled and ducked away.

A few moments later with cocktails in hand, they wandered around the room, peering out the windows at the panoramic view. McMullan sipped lightly at his martini. “Well?” Katrina asked. “How is it?”

“I think I’d rather have gone for a beer.” He laughed. “Oh, wow, there’s the balcony we were just on.” He motioned through a window to direct Katrina’s gaze downward. Beyond the balcony, the Coronado Bridge sprawled behind the convention center.

Katrina walked over to an open table with two plush chairs beside it. She set her drink onto the table and sat down, and a waiter approached to ask if they needed anything else. Katrina leaned forward and whispered in the waiter’s ear as McMullan sat down at the table next to her.

A few moments later, the waiter returned with a pint of beer for McMullan. He laughed when he saw it, but then drank deeply and smiled. “Much better,” he said, “and you nailed my favorite variety. You must have been a good bartender.” He offered a wry smile.

Katrina looked up at him, at first surprised. Slowly, she realized that the man in front of her knew almost everything about her. The thought was both unnerving and oddly comforting. “And you must be a good FBI agent,” she said.

“How’s yours?” McMullan asked, motioning to her drink.

“Actually, I kind of wanted to taste yours,” she said and leaned in to steal a passionate kiss before he could remind her that it was probably a bad idea.

J
ANUARY 17, 2016
7:31 A.M.
PST

The plastic chair of the visiting area creaked as the muscular prisoner sat down. Today, he was expecting a different guest.

The visitor arrived and sat down across from him, and the mirror image from the neck up was striking. Except for a small scar above the right eye of the prisoner, the dark faces of the two men were indistinguishable.

The prisoner wore the standard-issue pale blue of the San Quentin minimum-security wing. His visitor wore a black muscle shirt. Underneath, both men bore the same signature, etched in bold arcs across their powerful chests:

MORALES

“Thanks for coming,
hermanito
,” the prisoner said.

His visitor chuckled. “Four fuckin’ minutes apart and I’ll always be
hermanito
. What do you need?”

The prisoner brought a hand up and across the visiting table. “First, give me some skin,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The visitor’s hand rose to meet his, and when he lowered it once again, it was closed. “What was that for?” He pocketed the money his brother had just handed him.

“I need you to take care of something for me. Or maybe I should say, ‘someone.’ ”

A guard approached and casually stood nearby. After a moment of silence, both brothers looking defiantly at the guard, they began to speak again. But this time, it was in a language that only existed between the two of them. A language they had invented as children. A language of twins.

“Who?”

“She’ll be here in a minute.”

“She?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

The guard walked away, and the visitor switched back to English. “Course not, bro. As long as you tell me why.”

The prisoner smiled. “Because she’s the only link between me and the unfortunate incident that happened in the death row wing a while ago. If this bitch is gone, I’m in the clear.”

The visitor thought for a moment. “So what’s the plan?”

“Follow her. Find out where she hangs. Then when you can do it, do it. And be careful. Remember that she knows my face—your face. I don’t want my baby brother in the other wing of this fuckin’ hell hole.”