Intrusion (4 page)

We had saved Candy for the
coup de
grâce
.
She would sweep into the meeting, wowing the mostly male moneybags, turning on the old charm machine. By the time it was over, our hosts were our investors. They’d done very well by us.

“Come on, Betts.
Step lively.”
Candy snapped her alligator clutch shut. “And use some lipstick, for heaven’s sake. Tommy liked women to look good.”

I ignored her. It was easier that way. I handed the young receptionist my card and settled into the no-frills waiting area. Not many firms hired a man for the front desk. I smiled at him, thinking what a nice change he made from the usual eye candy.

We didn’t wait long. I felt Candy’s elbow jab me in the ribs and looked up into a smiling male face with smooth brown skin and perfect, very white teeth.

“Mrs. Buckley, Ms.
Ott
. Welcome. I’m
Arun
Rao
.”

I’d already done some checking on him. Dr.
Arun
Rao
had a slew of credentials and an enviable family pedigree. Like many of the high-tech tribe, he was an MIT man specializing in Theoretical Cryptography, a field I’d never heard of.

“Glad to meet you,” I said. “Tommy spoke a lot about his colleagues.” I almost made it without breaking down. I’d practiced that stiff little speech all morning. Something about saying his name to a stranger made Tommy’s death, his murder, seem more real. Candy squeezed my shoulder and flashed her mega-watt smile at
Arun
Rao
. It helped that he was personable and attractive, defying the MIT stereotype of the clueless nerd with taped eyeglasses.

“Dr. Cahill is waiting for us. Are you ready to meet her?”
Arun’s
eyes twinkled as he surveyed my partner. His English was flawless. No accent, no indication that
Rao’s
family had rather recently come from India. According to his CV, they had sent their only son to prep school, college and graduate school in New England. No wonder he blended so seamlessly into his surroundings.

Before pressing the elevator button,
Arun
Rao
hesitated. “I knew Tommy for only a short time.
Nothing like you two ladies.”
He stared at the floor, seeming to gather his courage. “Still, I considered him my friend, a good friend. I want you to know that I’ll do anything in my power to help the police.” He spun around and held open the elevator door.

“That’s very sweet. I guess we’re all family now.” Candy had an odd way of constructing family units from total strangers. I loathed it, but it worked for her.

“Dr. Cahill feels the same way,”
Arun
said, “but she’s reserved, like most physicians. Doesn’t let her emotions show.” He guided us toward an oblong conference room in the middle of the corridor. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll find Dr. Cahill.”

There was nothing opulent about the room. Sweet Nothings has stylish furniture, warm yellow walls and plenty of vivid artwork. CYBER-MED was all business, shapeless chairs in Parcel Post brown, a faux wood conference table and walls lined with every imaginable computer device and video screen. As an owner, I should have felt gratified. Instead, I found the austerity chilling.
Hard to imagine vivacious Tom Yancey toiling in this mind-numbing place.

“Ugh,” Candy said. “What a dump. I don’t see one personal touch in here.” She dimpled at a sudden thought. “I wouldn’t mind getting a personal touch from Dr.
Rao
, though. What about you, Betts?”

“Me?
Certainly not.
He seems nice enough, though. I’m glad Tommy had a friend here.”

“He’s nice and tall. As tall as Tommy, wouldn’t you say?”

“Who?”

Candy sighed, one of those deep, theatrical gestures.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.
Focus, Betts.
I’m talking about
Arun
Rao
.” She tapped her pen on the table. “Good hair, even though it’s receding a bit. At least there’s no grey in it like Kai had.”

That got my attention. “Wait just a minute.” Kai’s hair had been gorgeous.
Thick, glossy, perfect.
Those grey streaks in a young man’s hair made him more irresistible.

The door swung open, sparing Candace
Ott
from certain death. I trained my eyes on the cardiologist who glided into the room and sat at the head of the table. Dr. Meg Cahill was a presence in the Boston medical community. She was older than us, closer to my mom’s age than mine, but you’d never know it by the wall of energy that surrounded her. The woman had her own magnetic field.

“Mrs. Buckley, Ms.
Ott
.” She leaned over and shook our hands. “I want you to know that I liked and valued Thomas.”

Candy and I exchanged puzzled looks. Finally, it dawned on us. She was talking about Tommy.

Meg Cahill shook perfectly styled platinum hair. Even I knew a superior cut when I saw one. Candy could probably name the salon it came from.

“Oh, excuse me. That sounds so stuffy.” Meg’s eyes crinkled. She bounced up and poured coffee from a silver carafe. “Can I tempt you with some?” She was polite, professional and perky. I suppressed a shudder: perky people give me a rash.

Arun
Rao
sat directly opposite her as if observing an informal pecking order. Despite his subdued manner, those lively dark eyes never missed a step.

“Our work here is complicated,” Meg Cahill said, shrugging. “I’d be glad to give you a tour, but I’m sure your makeup company needs you.”

I patted Candy’s arm to calm her down. The good doctor was playing with fire by equating Sweet Nothings with the corner drugstore. I summoned my corporate smile and flipped open my notebook.

“Actually, we carved out a block of time just for this. I’ve read your corporate brochures, but they’re rather vague.
Understandable, of course.
Competition is fierce these days in high tech.”

Our new partners exchanged blank looks.
Arun
Rao
was the first to recover.
“Of course.
We just assumed you would want to sell your shares. You know, reinvest the proceeds in your own company.” He carefully distributed two vellum folders to us.

Resisting temptation, I folded my hands and waited. Candy’s head jerked up. She had plenty of dreams for Sweet Nothings, and most of them required cold, hard cash. I caught her eye, giving her the steely glare reserved for competitors and tardy vendors. She followed my lead and did nothing.

Rao
finally broke the silence. “Forgive me. Aren’t you going to read it?” Some of the veneer had worn off his grin. He seemed twitchy and unsure.

Meg Cahill widened her smile. “Check it out,” she said. “It’s a very attractive offer. I had our attorney draw it up in case you wanted to sign today.”

I ignored the spark of hope in Candy’s eyes. Meg Cahill’s rush to judgment made me shiver. Why the sudden sales job?

“I’m afraid we couldn’t make that kind of decision so soon. Besides, I need to consult my own estate attorney. Trusts aren’t my field of expertise.”

Dr. Meg Cahill was a deft politician who knew when to punt. “Naturally,” she said. “After you consider it, I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have. Forgive us for our haste. We never meant to be insensitive.”

Arun
Rao’s
frown broadcast a different message: angst, uncertainty, and a touch of anger. There was one sure antidote to that, my secret weapon, Candace
Ott
.

She got the message and targeted
Rao
. I stifled a grin, confident of what was to follow. Most men succumbed immediately to her feline grace and big-eyed stare.
Rao
was no exception.

“Help me out here,” she said. “Can you explain what CYBER-MED does?”

Meg Cahill disguised a sigh with a sudden cough while Dr.
Rao
transformed from ninja to knight errant. He sprang up, grabbed a laser pointer and touched a convoluted wall chart. I recognized a process analysis diagram so beloved of technophiles. Within seconds, he launched into a spiel about outputs, capacities, bottlenecks, and performance measures. It was business school
redux
. I’d always loathed using techno-babble to obscure truth. For Candy it was sheer torture. Her eyes crossed immediately, and she held up her palm like a traffic cop.

“Please,
Arun
,” she pleaded, “have mercy. Use plain English.”

“Of course,” Meg Cahill interjected. “I’m afraid
Arun
gets carried away sometimes. We all do around here.” She poured more coffee and swiveled toward us. “Simply put, CYBER-MED is a watchdog. We monitor electronically implanted medical devices for physicians and hospitals. Think of us as a type of shield, protecting patients from malfunctions and intrusions that could cause them harm.” She shrugged. “It’s simple, actually.
Simple but elegant.”

Candy raised her eyebrows. “I don’t get it. What kind of things are we talking about?”

Rao
dropped his pointer and returned to his seat. He grinned at Candy and me, doing a cultured, scientific version of an ‘aw shucks’ routine. “Think of people you may know. How many have pacemakers or infusion pumps to control diabetes? How many lives have been saved by implanted defibrillators? These devices transmit health data directly to physicians through wireless connections. They can be monitored without ever stepping into their doctors’ offices.” He flashed that grin again. “Pretty cool, no?”

“I assume some risks are inherent in this process?”

He looked startled, as if he’d forgotten that I existed. Dr. Cahill nodded, giving me a brisk stamp of approval.

“Exactly, Mrs. Buckley,” she said. “That’s where we step in. If anything goes awry, CYBER-MED identifies the problem and its source. We immediately interface with both the patient and the physician.”

Tommy’s newspaper clippings sprang to mind. I decided to table that discussion until Meg Cahill left us. Her sharp, probing eyes saw way too much for my comfort level. Visions of an angry bird of prey sprang to mind, Meg the hawk, focused and deadly.

“We’re set up like a regular security company with one big twist.”
Arun
beamed like a proud papa. “Our shift supervisors are either physicians’ assistants or nurse practitioners. They evaluate the problem and refer it immediately to our doctors.”

“Ingenious,” I said. “How big is the staff?”

“Fewer than fifty for now.
We only service the immediate Boston area.” Meg adjusted the jacket of her tailored red suit. “But we have plans for expansion, big plans. Once we prove ourselves, CYBER-MED can franchise its offices nation-wide.”

No wonder Tommy had been so excited. With a modicum of luck, he was sitting on a veritable gold mine, an untapped field with tons of potential.

“Perhaps you can give us a tour,” I suggested, ignoring Candy’s yawn. “It’s so fascinating. I’d love to learn more. This kind of startup reads like a business school case study.”

“Naturally.
Dr.
Rao
and I have a meeting we can’t miss, but I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my executive assistant, Rand Lindsay. He’s just completing his PhD in computer science.”

“Another MIT
alum?” Candy asked. “The woods are thick with them around here.”

“So true.”
Meg Cahill shrugged. “A mere cardiologist like
myself
gets left at the starting gate half the time.”

We joined in a chorus of polite, disbelieving laughter. Dr. Meg was one of the nation’s top specialists, a close friend of the wealthy and well positioned. She had leveraged the political connections of her husband, philanthropist Carter Cahill, to climb still higher.

She buzzed her secretary and issued brisk instructions.
“One final thing, ladies.
If you decide you’ve got too much on your plate, our offer to buy you out still stands. Right now we’re a privately held corporation. We’re prepared to offer you ten percent over the current share price. If we ever take CYBER-MED public, the value would escalate considerably.” She pushed aside that dainty porcelain cup. “That won’t happen for some time, if at all.”

“I guess Betts and I are the new bosses around here,” Candy giggled.
“Pretty cool.”

Meg flexed her fingers as if she longed for a scalpel. If she’d had one, Candy’s tongue might have felt its sting. “Technically, I suppose that’s true.
Rao
and I worked as a team with Thomas, so I assumed that would continue.”

I leapt to the rescue.
“Of course.
We’ll certainly consider your generous offer. Thank you for your time. I’ll set up an appointment later to review your financials.”

Dr. Cahill maintained a tight, minimally polite smile. “I forgot you’re a lawyer, too, Mrs. Buckley. Thomas said you were his classmate at business school. Well, you’re wise to be cautious. After all, CYBER-MED is his legacy to you.
Both of you.”

After a soft knock on the door, a large man with thinning brown hair and a million dollar smile entered. I liked him immediately. That’s a bad habit of mine, although invariably, it serves me well. Rand Lindsay was older than I expected, in his mid-forties, I’d guess. His affable grin was the antithesis of the Cambridge computer culture. I would have pegged him for a sociologist if he worked anywhere else.