The Proteus Cure (32 page)

You’ll be to blame …

Kaplan’s parting words kept hammering at him.

What if he was right? If someone from VecGen was eliminating anyone who threatened VG723? It seemed so insane, yet those two women—who had no doubt become mosaics just like the KB26 kids—were both dead.

Would telling Sheila what Kaplan had said put her in more danger?

These killers knew that Kaplan was in on their secrets, but probably thought self-preservation would keep him quiet. They couldn’t know that Kaplan had spilled the whole story, so if Paul kept quiet, Coog, Sheila, and he might stay out of harm’s way.

If
they stopped nosing around.

But the whole idea rankled him. Here, only hours after sharing such intimate moments with Sheila, he was considering betraying their budding bond of trust. Didn’t seem right.

His cell rang. He recognized his home number and opened the line.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Coog. Why aren’t you at Tommy’s?”

“He got sick so I didn’t go.”

“Why didn’t you tell—?”

“Dad, I thought I heard someone in the garage.”

Shit.

“Is the door to the garage still locked?”

“Yeah. Should I call the cops?”

“No. I’m just a few blocks away. Hang on. Be there in two minutes.”

Paul felt an icy blanket settle over him. Was Coog imagining things or did they have another prowler? Kaplan’s story made him fear the latter.

His free hand tightened on the wheel as he goosed the SUVs’ speed.

Gerald had just started packing the second suitcase when he heard a noise toward the rear of the house, then a flow of cool air around his ankles.

An open window?

Heart pounding, he snatched his pistol from where he’d left it on the bed.

Earlier he’d moved the Glock from the kitchen to the upstairs bedroom while he was packing. He’d told himself he was overreacting, but now he was glad. In a few hours he’d be far away, but until then he was taking no chances.

He hefted it and worked the slide to chamber a round. He’d taken it out to a firing range a few times to become familiar with it. After all, what good was a weapon you didn’t know how to use? He’d proved to be a terrible shot, but home defense didn’t require marksmanship. Anything that happened would be within a few feet. Just point and pull the trigger.

He prayed he wouldn’t have to, but if it meant his life he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Hello?” he called as he stepped into the hall. “I’ve got a gun!”

God, that sounded stupid, but he imagined that half the effectiveness of the weapon lay in your enemy’s awareness that you had it.

He checked the three bedrooms on the upper floor, then headed downstairs, moving slowly but stepping heavily to announce his descent. He didn’t want to surprise anyone.

“I’m coming down. And I’ve got a forty-caliber Glock ready to fire.”

He turned on all the lights and did a thorough search, room by room.

No sign of anyone. He was alone. As usual.

He rushed back upstairs to finish packing. The sooner out of here the better.

He tossed the Glock on the bed. He wished he could take it with him, but no way on a plane.

Paul found no sign that anyone had been in the garage. As for around the house, the rain made a reconnoiter unfeasible.

Now he sat and stared at his phone. He owed Sheila a call. Even if he hadn’t gone to see Kaplan, he’d be expected to call. He wanted to call but …

She’d ask a thousand questions and he didn’t know what to tell her. The truth would play right into Kaplan’s scheme—set her charging about and acting as a lightning rod. A lie … he hated the idea of lying to her.

But he had to call and say
something
.

And then it hit him: Sheila was still at the hospital. He could call her home phone and leave a message. Great. Make contact and duck questions—at least until tomorrow.

He punched in her number. He’d tell her about the wonder of this afternoon and how lucky he felt—all true—then say something about Kaplan changing his mind about spilling the beans. He was no help … see you tomorrow …

That would work. He hoped.

Gerald had to sit on the second suitcase to close it.

He checked his watch. The cab should be here soon. His flight to Florida left in two hours and he wanted to get to Logan with time to spare.

He groaned with the weight of the suitcase as he lifted and lugged it downstairs to the front door. As he set it on the floor he sensed that he wasn’t alone.

He turned and gasped at the sight of a soaked Asian man. His eyes were cold and black, his expression almost sad, but the baseball bat clutched in his gloved hands sent a spasm of fear through Gerald’s gut.

He reached for his pistol but it was still upstairs.

“Who—?”

“I am very sorry for you,” he said as he lifted the bat.

Gerald opened his mouth to scream, raised an arm to ward off the blow, shifted his weight away to leap aside, but too late. The impact against his skull rocked him to his toes. The world went white as he slammed back against the door. His legs turned to water and he slid toward the floor.

He heard the voice say, “May your soul find the peace it deserves,” and then he felt another, crunching impact on the top of his head.

After that, Gerald Kaplan felt no more.

Paul was sitting in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

He’d spent the morning agonizing over what to tell Sheila. She’d called three times already but he’d let the answering machine take it. Finally he’d decided to come clean and tell her. She deserved to know.

The doorbell again. The clock on the kitchen wall said just a little past ten and Coog was still asleep. Who’d come knocking on a weekday morning? Jehovah’s Witnesses? He hoped not.

Paul took his coffee with him as he headed for the front door. His heart tripped a beat when he pulled it open and saw the men on his front stoop.

One was a uniformed cop. Paul recognized him: Evers, who’d shown up in response to Coog’s 9-1-1. The second, although dressed in a suit and an overcoat, had cop written all over him. Rain splashed them but Paul didn’t invite them in.

They made him uneasy.
More
than uneasy—scared. What was going on?

“Officer Evers,” he said. “Did my son call you again last night?”

He’d told Coog not to call, but …

Evers looked puzzled. “A nine-one-one? If he did, someone else must have taken it. Another prowler?”

Paul nodded. “Thought he heard someone in the garage. But I got home a few minutes later and couldn’t find anyone.”

“We’re here on another matter, Mister Rosko.” Evers cocked his head at the second man, mid-fifties and tired looking. Willy Loman at the end of the line. “This is Detective Winters from Marblehead PD. He’s got some questions.”

Marblehead? The word set off an alarm in his head.

He took a sip of coffee to hide his confusion. He sensed he’d better tread carefully here.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Paul said, “but why is a detective from Marblehead standing on my front step?”

Winters cleared his throat and wiped water from his face. “Do you know a Doctor Gerald Kaplan?” The detective’s voice was unexpectedly soft.

He sensed what was coming.

“Yes, but not well. We’ve only met a couple of times.”

“Are you aware that he was murdered last night?”

Paul lost his grip on his coffee cup, caught it before it hit the floor, spilling coffee on his jeans.

“Oh, God! Jesus! How—? Who—?”

Evers said, “May we come in, Mister Rosko?”

“Sure, sure.” Still numb, he stepped back to let them pass. “Jesus, who would do a thing like that?”

He felt like he’d been dunked in the Copper River. Deep down he’d been hoping that Kaplan was just a paranoid head case. Dear God, someone
was
, as he’d put it, tying up loose ends.

He glanced at his coffee cup and noticed it shaking. He grabbed it with his other hand to steady it. He had to say something … but what? Then he knew: Exactly how the average person would react.

“Hey, wait a minute. Why are you coming to me about this?”

“We talked to his staff first thing this morning. They said you had an altercation with him a few days ago.”

“I had an argument with him and you think I killed him?”

“We’re just checking all possibilities, Mister Rosko.”

“Well, you can cross me off your list. I did not kill Doctor Kaplan.”

“But you did threaten him.”

“Like hell!”

Winters pulled out a tattered notepad, flipped through half a dozen pages until he found what he was looking for.

“According to witnesses you said, ‘You’re hiding something, Kaplan. I’m going to find out what it is, and when I do, you’re through.’ ” Winters looked up. “That sounds like a threat to me. How about you?”

Did I say that?

He didn’t remember. This was looking bad. He felt cornered.

“Yes, I … I guess it does sound like a threat but, Jesus, against his reputation, not his life.” He had a question of his own, but was almost afraid to hear the answer. “How … how did he die?”

“Bludgeoned.”

Paul winced. God knew he hadn’t liked the man, but beaten to death …

“Can I ask with what?”

“That’s under investigation.” Winters pencil hovered over a fresh page on the pad. “Now, just what was this disagreement about?”

Paul coughed for time. How much should he say?

“A professional matter.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He decided to stick close to the truth—a version of it.

“It had to do with a cancer treatment developed by his company. My son received the treatment and lately I’ve developed some concerns.”

Winters scribbled, then said, “Such as?”

“I prefer not to get into that. It’s … it’s personal.”

“There’s nothing personal in a homicide investigation.” His pencil remained poised over his notepad. “When was the last time you saw Doctor Kaplan?”

Here it was. The big question: Come clean or not?

If he said last night he’d become their number-one suspect. And that meant they’d do a background check if they hadn’t already. And once they did … they’d never believe he was innocent.

A thought struck him like a blow. Did the killer know the truth about him and set it up so he’d be a suspect?

The smart thing to do right now was clam up and call a lawyer. But that would send Winters’s suspicions soaring.

“That morning at his office.”

“No contact with him since?”

“None.”

“Any contact before?”

Again: truth or lie? His fingerprints had to be in Kaplan’s home. If he denied any other contact and they found the prints …

Go with the truth.

“Once. It was—last week. Doctor Takamura and I had an impromptu meeting with him at his house.”

“What about?”

“The same subject: my son.”

Winters stared at him for a long, uncomfortable time. Then he let out a breath that puffed his already ample cheeks.

“Okay, Mister Rosko. One last question: Where were you between five and eight P.M. last night?”

Paul felt as if he’d wandered into an episode of
Law and Order
. He saw no choice but to lie again.

“Well, earlier I was with Doctor Takamura—in her office. Later I was home here with my son. And in between I was on my way home.”

“Spell the doctor’s name for me please.”

As Winters began questioning him about precise times, Paul felt himself beginning to sweat. He said he’d left Sheila around six. It had been more like four. Did he dare ask her to cover for him?

As to what time he arrived here—

“Wait,” he said. “Let me check my cell phone.”

He retrieved it from his bedroom and keyed his way to the “Calls Received” list. There—the last call had been from Coog.

“My son called me at six-seventeen while I was in transit. I was three minutes away then. That would mean that I’ve been here since six-twenty last night.”

No way he could have been to Marblehead and back in that time—
if
they bought his half-true story.

Sheila was the weak link. If they asked her what time he’d left—and he was pretty sure they would—and she told them the truth, he’d be cooked. He had to talk to her first.

“Okay, Mister Rosko,” Winters said. “I think that’s all for now. Sorry to bother you and thanks for your cooperation.”

Evers gave Paul a friendly nod. “Have a nice day.”

And then they were gone. Paul leaned against the door he’d closed behind them and gasped for air.

This can’t be happening, he thought. It
can’t
be.

Paul felt like a heel asking Sheila to meet him outside in his car, but he couldn’t risk walking into Tethys today. Who knew who was watching? Being seen together might not be safe for either of them.

He wished he could waltz in there with a dozen roses,
two
dozen, and tell her how much yesterday meant to him. Instead, he called her on his cell phone.

“
I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning,”
she said.

He could hear the hurt in her voice.

“I couldn’t take the calls. Believe me, if I could have I would have. We need to talk.”

“
I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Not about us. And not in your office.”

“What?”

“Look, I hate to go all cloak and dagger on you, but can you meet me outside? It’s important.”

“
Come on. What happened last night? What did Kap—”

“Don’t say his name. I know that sounds a little crazy, but just don’t.”

A pause, then, “
You’re worrying me, Paul.”

She’s
worried, he thought. I’m scared half to death.

She sighed. “
Okay. We’ll play it your way: What did our friend say?”

“Just come outside, okay?”

“
Give me ten minutes. Where are you?”