Death's Door (38 page)

She wanted to put her arms around him and hug the lonely little boy lurking inside him. Despite the matter-of-fact way he’d told her about this, she knew he must have been lonely. His mother had abandoned him, then his father. It was a wonder Paul was as stable as he was. Maybe he wasn’t; perhaps she’d jumped in too soon.

“I don’t think your father likes me,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. We aren’t close. I hardly saw him until I went on disability and he needed extra help at his office.”

“I am worried about it. I mean, why would he not like me? He just met me.”

He said, “Honey, forget it. My father is a loner. He doesn’t trust women. After my mother, he never remarried. I doubt that he even dated.”

Just then Mike Tanner walked through the side gate from the path along the oceanfront. He was just far enough away that she doubted he’d overheard them. Madison tried for a welcoming smile, which probably looked like a grimace.

“Madison’s mother is joining us for dinner. She’s bringing steaks.”

“Great.” His father sat beside Paul. “Steak sounds real good.”

“Let me get you a glass of wine,” Paul said.

“Got a beer around?”

“Sure, the fridge is full of everything.” Paul went into the bungalow.

How sad,
Madison thought.
Paul doesn’t know his father prefers beer to wine.
Madison could go shopping for her mother and bring back the right brand of everything.

“So this is the dog that saved you.”

“Yes,” she replied, and leaned down to stroke Aspen’s head. “This is Aspen.”

Paul came out with a Corona and gave it to his father. A few
minutes later, Madison’s mother whirled into the pool area, arms full of grocery bags. Paul and his father both jumped up to help her. Madison caught the appraising look in Mike’s eyes. Paul didn’t know his father at all. He may never have remarried, but he knew a good-looking woman when he saw one.

Paul took the bags from her mother. Madison introduced her to Paul’s father while Paul went inside to put the groceries in the kitchen.

“Excuse us,” Madison said to father and son when Paul returned. “We’re going into the kitchen to whip up a salad and stuff.”

“You didn’t tell me Paul’s father was so handsome,” her mother said in a low voice when they reached the kitchen.

“Don’t get interested in him. Mike Tanner is a real jerk.”

“You’re kidding.”

“What would you say about a man who sends his seven-year-old son off to military school when his wife leaves them?”

“My word.” Astonishment underscored each syllable. “I wasn’t interested. I’m not even divorced.”

“Mom, why did you buy five filet mignons when there are only four of us?”

“The boys gave me plenty of money. I’m going to work part-time in their shop to help repay them. I also had several promising interviews today. So when I was at the market, I asked myself who deserved a steak the most. Aspen. He saved my baby doll.”

Tears welled up in Madison’s eyes even though she was laughing. She hugged her mother. How good it felt to have her home. No matter how terrible the situation with the killer became, there was something immeasurably comforting about having her mother with her.

Paul and his father had moved into the living area to watch the television and see how extensively the press conference was covered.

“It sounds like word is getting out,” her mother said a few
minutes later. “Your name has been mentioned on every broadcast. You’d have to be on the moon not to get the news.”

“We’re not trusting one day of television coverage, Jessica.”

It was Paul’s father speaking. The guys had shut off the television and moved into the kitchen area.

“We’ve decided to wait a week and see what happens. When I’m not with Madison, she’ll be inside the Holbrook offices where we have extra security, or my father will be with her,” Paul told them.

“Why don’t we have another glass of wine and enjoy the sunset while the potatoes bake?” Madison asked to lighten the mood.

They talked about other things during dinner by the pool. Madison noticed the way Mike kept sneaking glances at her mother. He was definitely interested; no question about it. But would he call her?

Paul’s cell phone rang from his pocket. He pulled it out and checked caller ID, then walked inside to the kitchen and used the landline.

“Well, I learned an interesting fact when I was looking into identity theft,” Madison told them. “What city has the most identity thefts per capita?”

Mike rocked back in his chair. “Overall must be a big city like L.A. or New York. Per capita, huh? I’m guessing Palm Beach or some other ritzy small town.”

“You’re on the right track,” Madison responded, noticing whatever Paul was being told on the telephone was making him frown. “It’s Newport Beach in California. A wealthy town with a lot of crooks after those IDs. The latest twist is to take out credit in the name of a wealthy child.”

“What will they think of next?” her mother asked.

Paul walked through the French doors and dropped into his chair. “Remember the woman in Delray Beach who’s one of Wyatt’s donor-conceived children?”

“I remember.” A cold prickling sensation brought goose bumps up on Madison’s skin.

“Sandra Morton is dead. Her husband said she received a candygram supposedly from her sister.”

“She just posted last night and her profile was removed. An officer went up there to warn her,” Mike said.

“She was warned, but she’d posted on a few lesser-known sites earlier in the evening. Said Godiva chocolate was her favorite. A candygram arrived and she ate a few pieces, then keeled over and was dead when paramedics arrived. Looks like a fast-acting poison that paralyzes the lungs and major organs.”

Madison was actually trembling now and she could feel her throat closing up.
That bastard,
she thought,
going after innocent people
.

“Succinylcholine, like what killed that Smith guy?” Paul’s father asked.

“My first thought. Trey was right on it with a call to our lab. Succinylcholine can’t be injected into candy. It’s too unstable with sugar or something.”

“What are we going to do?” her mother asked.

“As much as I hate to say it, this might be good news. The killer took out a known donor-conceived child. He didn’t come after Madison again.”

“I hate to look at it as good news,” Madison said. “Someone’s dead.”

“I think we should take one additional precaution,” Mike said. “Corona del Mar is behind walls and a security gate with two guards patrolling all night long. Paul is staying with Madison. You’ve got the dog, who’s proved he’ll bark at the first suspicious sign. But I think we’re vulnerable from the beach. I’m staying here all night and watching the beach myself to see no one comes up from there.”

“I’ll help you,” Madison’s mother said. “I can’t go home if my baby doll is in danger.”

T
HE KILLER GREETED
the new day with a smile. Killing Sandra Morton had been ridiculously easy. People posted so much personal information on the Internet. It made killing her a nobrainer. The others had been more fun because those killings had taken planning and a certain amount of finesse. Nevertheless, this murder brought a smile to the killer’s face.

Death by chocolate.

Don’t you just love it?

Even though the woman had died in the Delray Beach police jurisdiction, the killer had no doubt Paul Tanner would be involved. Like a cat chasing its tail, the world-class prick would find a woman in a bikini bought the candy at the South Beach store. An hour later another bikinied bimbo brought it back, then paid a hundred dollars extra for delivery to Delray Beach. The killer doubted either of the bimbos would learn of the death by chocolate, but even if one of them went to the police, the killer had taken the precaution of a good—make that great—disguise.

The police would play hell trying to find the poison. The killer actually doubted it could be traced, but maybe given enough time someone would figure it out.

Only the strong survive
.

Walk without fear through the camp of your enemies. Death comes when you least expect it.

The killer wasn’t finished. Oh, no. The fun was just beginning.

M
ADISON READ
through several reports to get up to speed on other scientific foundations. She understood what Wyatt wanted her to know. Several set up years ago were bound by restrictions and couldn’t use emerging technology like stem cells and nanotechnology.

She rummaged through the desk that Rose Marie had stocked with various office supplies and found a yellow highlighter. She highlighted the section of the report that interested her. A second later, her mind drifted to the woman who’d eaten the fatal chocolate.

Who would do something like that? She’d hardly been able to sleep, thinking about it. Her mother had spent the night with Mike Tanner, watching the beach—just in case. Paul felt she was safe, insisting the killer wouldn’t care if she couldn’t help Wyatt. Madison hoped he was right.

The telephone on her desk rang. From the blinking light on the second button, she knew it was a call from outside the building. Maybe it was Paul, she thought. He’d walked her through a gauntlet of media camped out, and into the building.

Paul had gone down to Delray Beach. She knew how badly he wanted to solve this case. She wouldn’t feel truly safe until he did, and her mother would worry about her at a time when she should be rebuilding her own life. Jessica Whitcomb deserved better. She’d been a fabulous mother. Madison hadn’t realized how much she’d been loved until Paul had talked about his childhood.

“Hello,” she said, and cradled the telephone against her shoulder so she could put the report in the bottom drawer of her desk.

“Still up for watching an experiment?” asked Garrison.

“Sure.” Actually, she didn’t have much to do now that she’d finished with the report. “Do I have to put on a special hazmat suit or something?”

“Nah. Not for this experiment. Just take the service elevator to the garage.”

“You’re doing an experiment in the garage?”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “I didn’t think you wanted to deal with the pack of media hounds outside. I’m in the other tower. You’d have thought we would have designed a skywalk or something between buildings. We didn’t. The only way is to go through the basement garage.”

“Good idea. I don’t want to deal with the media. I have nothing to say. You know another woman died.”

“I heard. Damn it.” Anger echoed through the telephone line. “At this rate my father will never find a donor.”

“Let’s hope the police solve this soon.”

“I’m praying, believe me. I’m praying.” He sighed. “Do you know where the service elevator is?”

“Yes.” The office tower’s layout wasn’t that complicated. “Should I come down right now?”

“Yes. Just don’t mention you’re watching one of my experiments. It’s a first. My father doesn’t get to see what I’m doing.”

“Why are you letting me watch?”

“Because you’re going to be director of the Holbrook Foundation. One day, you may fund a project of mine. Plus I think you need to understand how experiments are conducted.”

“You’re right. I know a little from my days at MIT but I could learn more. I appreciate your taking the time to show me. I won’t mention it to anyone.” She looked out at the other offices, which were glass-walled. “No one’s around anyway except Rose Marie. How long will this take? I won’t tell her where I’m going, but she’ll ask when I’ll be back.”

“It’ll take four hours. We start the process and have lunch in the café in this tower, then go back and see the results.”

Madison told Rose Marie that she was going to check out a lab and would be back after lunch. The receptionist was busy on the computer and nodded. Madison found the service elevator and went to the garage.

Garrison was waiting for her in a lab coat.

“Who parks down here?” she asked.

“This is where trucks unload supplies and we keep special bins with hazardous material until it’s picked up.”

She looked around and saw several huge barrels with biohazard emblems on them. “What’s that smell? It’s kind of sweet.”

“Come with me,” he replied with his charming smile. “You’ll see.”

I
T WAS ALMOST NOON
and Paul was in his father’s office. Mike had arrived a few minutes ago. After pulling an all-nighter on the beach with Madison’s mother, Paul’s father had gone home for some sleep.

“I’ve got an ex-cop lined up to guard the beach tonight,” his father announced.

“Great, but I don’t think that’ll assure Jessica. I’ll bet she sleeps on the sofa or something.” Paul was standing at the window in his father’s office. A gull was riding an updraft, floating in a clear blue sky.

“You went to Delray?”

“Yeah. For all the good it did.” Paul turned to face his father. “The candy was purchased for cash in South Beach by a blonde in a bikini, then returned an hour or so later by a brunette in a bikini who paid extra to have it delivered to Delray Beach.”

“Didn’t the clerk think that was strange?”

Paul paced the office. “Come on. It’s South Beach. Nothing is too weird down there.”

“Any leads at all?”

Paul stopped at the far end of the room. “Nope. One of the girls who purchased, then paid for delivery, might come forward. Trey has the SoBe beat cops asking questions. He has Explorer scouts canvassing the beach. With luck, one of the women will be sunbathing today.”

“If the killer’s been careful, he will have had a good disguise.”

“Probably. But we might catch a break.”

“What do you think of Trey Williams? Is he a good detective? He wasn’t around when I was there.”

Paul sat in the chair opposite his father’s desk. He wanted to talk to his father, a discussion that was long overdue. Talking to Madison last night and seeing how her mother treated her had made him think. “Trey’s the best detective on the force.”

“Better than you are?” his father asked with surprise.

“Yes,” Paul admitted. “I’m too close to this case. I care too much about Madison. Trey went to Delray last night even though it isn’t in our jurisdiction and convinced them to put the poisoned candy on a plane to the FBI lab in Quantico. That thought didn’t occur to me when it should have.”

“That was a good idea, but knowing what the poison is might not be the key to the case.”

“True, but you never know. Sometimes it’s the little things that trip up these lunatics. FBI put a priority on it because it’s a serial-killing situation. They promised an answer by noon.” Paul checked his watch and saw it was ten minutes until twelve.

His father had an odd look on his face. “Let me ask you something. Would you feel strange if I asked out Jessica?”

Paul stared at his father. “No, of course not. She’s very attractive.”

“And interesting. We talked a lot last night. I think I’d like to take her out. You know, see what’s there.”

“Go for it.” Paul meant it. His father worked too much. The guy didn’t have any hobbies. Paul had been in danger of going down the same path. Until Madison. “Now let me ask
you
something.” Paul leaned forward in his chair. “What really happened with my mother?”

A tense silence enveloped the room, then his father spoke, his voice low and awkward. “Your mother left me for another woman.”

His father’s words were like a knockout punch. For a second, Paul couldn’t breathe. Of all the things he’d imagined over the years, this wasn’t one of them. Somehow by the time he was
around fifteen, Paul had decided his mother had run away with another man. Going to California by herself just because she liked California didn’t cut it.

“Remember her art teacher, Annette Webster?” his father asked, his expression bleak. “She came to dinner a few times.”

“Not really. I remember Mom painting. She had an easel set up in the garage. She let me use her special paints.” He was still trying to come to grips with what his father had told him. “She didn’t want me?”

His father hesitated, measuring Paul for a moment. “She wanted you—she loved you very much. But Annette wanted to go to Spain for a while, then on to Italy to study the masters. Your mother didn’t want to drag you all over Europe. I told her it would be over my dead body. If she left, it had to be a clean break. She agreed it was for the best.”

“She never wrote to me or anything?”

“She wrote, she sent postcards. She even called. When I wouldn’t let her have contact with you, she finally stopped.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” In his opinion, his father had had no right to keep things from him.

“I didn’t want you confused. You were young and it would have been hard to explain what a lesbian is.”

“You could have told me when I was older.” He hated to criticize but his father had been wrong.

“When would have been a good time? I started to say something a dozen times. Then I’d think you were a teenager. It was a confusing enough time for you without my adding to it.”

“What about when I came back here and joined the force?”

“I planned to, but you never asked.” His voice was filled with anguish, which surprised Paul. His father never showed emotion. “I decided to leave well enough alone, but if you did ask, the way you have today, I would level with you.”

Paul fought back a sarcastic comment, asking himself how he would have handled the situation. What if Madison left him
for another woman? A flash of betrayal and despair hit him. No wonder his father didn’t trust women.

“You didn’t have any idea my mother was…attracted to women?”

“No, I didn’t, but looking back I should have. When Annette came to dinner the first time, I felt something wasn’t right. I just didn’t know what. I realized I was a cop without an interest in art. I figured the women had more in common.”

“When was the last time you heard from Mother?”

“Years ago, when you were due to graduate from high school. I told her you had top grades and could go anywhere but you were planning to study criminal justice and would probably join the police force.”

“What did she say?” Paul tried to imagine his mother’s face, but time had blurred the memory.

His father actually smiled. “Like father, like son.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” His father tapped on his computer keyboard. “I’m not much good with the computer but I did an online search and found her. She has a Web site for her art.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Let’s pull it up. She’s still with Annette and living in Key West, which makes sense. It’s an arty community loaded with gays.” He turned the monitor toward Paul.

He looked at the picture and saw a middle-aged woman with dark wavy hair smiling out of the screen at him. “I wouldn’t have recognized her if she walked by me on the street.”

“Maybe she has,” his father said. “Key West isn’t that far away.”

Paul nodded as he read her personal information on the “Get to Know Me” page. A watercolor artist with several credits for winning shows. Her paintings were in a few collections with names Paul didn’t recognize. Molly Tanner lived in a coral and white bungalow typical of Key West. There was a picture of a chunky-looking woman with short iron-gray hair. Annette
Webster, the woman who had lured his mother away from her loving family.

Paul was amazed to feel a surge of anger, or maybe it was hate. What right did that woman have to ruin his father’s life and leave a small boy motherless? Then he reminded himself that it had been his mother’s choice.

“They have a gallery,” Paul’s father said. “Grand Designs. It’s right on Duval Street. Apparently, they show their own work and sell other artists’, as well. There’s a phone number.”

“Mind if I call her?”

“No,” his father said in a clipped voice. “I’ll leave and give you some privacy.”

“Wait,” Paul said, standing. “You’re my father. I love you.” He realized he did love his father but he’d never said those words. Thank you, Madison. “I just need to talk to her.”

“I love you, too, son,” his father replied in a choked voice. “I should have been a better father. I just didn’t know how.”

“It’s okay.” Paul picked up the desk phone and his father walked out of the room. A man answered the gallery’s telephone and informed Paul that Molly and Annette had just gone to lunch. “Tell her that her son called.” He left his cell number and hung up.

He went to find his father, who was making himself a cup of coffee. “She wasn’t in. I left a message.” Paul’s cell phone rang and he pulled it from the clip on his belt. Caller ID told him it was Trey, not his mother.

“The report came back on the poison,” Trey told him. “It’s not much help but I knew you would want to know.”

“What was in the candy?”

“Got a pen? You might want to write this down.”

Paul found a pen on the counter near the coffee machine and fished a piece of paper out of the wastebasket. “Okay.”