The Adamas Blueprint (8 page)

CHAPTER 10

The air conditioning was on the fritz again, and Detective Guy Robley was sweating his ass off. The HPD headquarters was already 85 degrees, and it was only going to get worse.
Why did
it always quit on the hottest day of the year
? he thought. The commissioner probably had pissed off somebody on the city council, and this was the punishment.

Robley filled out the report as fast as he could type. As soon as he was done, he could hit the field again in his nice cool Caprice. There was no way he was going to spend a minute longer in this hellhole than he had to. The phone rang, and he stopped typing, looking at the black receiver with disgust. He picked it up, handling it as if it were a used Kleenex.

“Robley.”

It was Joe Johnson, who was sitting on the other side of the homicide division office. “Hey, Robe, some guy on the line says he has to talk to you. Says it’s an emergency.”

“Who is it?”

“Name’s Hamilton. Says he talked to you earlier about the Stein case.”

“That crank again? Goddammit, what is it with the heat that brings out these nuts?”

“You want me to get rid of him?”

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“No, I’ll take care of it. Put him on.” Under his breath he muttered, “Goddamned heat.”

As soon as the transfer was made, Robley could hear the noise of traffic in the background and the ding of a service station’s bell.

“Detective Robley here.”

“Detective Robley, this is Kevin Hamilton. We spoke about twenty minutes ago.” The voice was slightly higher in pitch than the last time, but it was definitely the same guy.

“Yes, Mr. Hamilton, I remember. We got disconnected.”

“I’m sorry, but I had to hang up.” He paused, as if struggling for words. “Some men tried to kill me.”

Robley rolled his eyes. “Someone tried to kill you, Mr. Hamilton?” Johnson, who was watching him from across the room, shook his head and chuckled. “You mean, while we were on the phone, or afterwards.”

“I know this sounds crazy, Detective, but these two guys who came to my door and said they were cops, shot at me and then chased me in a blue Pontiac. A Bonneville.”

“Uh huh. And did you get their license plate number?”

“Uh, no, I couldn’t see it. They were behind me, and we were going too fast.”

“I see. Look, Mr. Hamilton, why don’t you come down to the station and make a statement.

You know, give us a detailed description of the assailants and an account of the events.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll see what we can do about it.”

“That’s it? You’ll see what you can do about it? Those guys tried to kill me! They know where I live.”

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“Why would they want to kill you, Mr. Hamilton?”

Another pause. “I don’t know. I think it has to do with this note I got from Dr. Ward. You know, Michael Ward? The South Texas professor who died this morning? I used to work for him.”

“The professor and his wife who died in the home fire?”

“Yes, in the note he said the same people who killed Stein were after him. Then he said it has to do with an experiment we did together.”

“What’s so special about this experiment?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Of course he doesn’t.

“Look, I do know that a guy in a business suit and his muscle-bound buddy came to my apartment this morning pretending to be cops and tried to shoot me.”

Robley wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Where do you live?”

“The Sycamore apartments.”

The Sycamore was on the west side. No reports of shots fired came from that area this morning. “Did anyone else at The Sycamore hear the shots?”

“I doubt it. They were using silencers.”

This was too much. “Silencers? Mr. Hamilton, you’ve seen too many movies.”

“If you don’t believe me, my car is on Newcastle just south of Westpark. It has two bullet holes in the driver’s door.”

Robley sighed. “Okay, I’ll check it out. But falsely reporting a crime is a serious offense, Mr.

Hamilton. Do you want to stick with your story?”

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“It’s the truth! I swear!”

“Fine. Give me the license number on your car.” As Robley jotted the information on a notepad, he shook his head. Maybe it wasn’t the heat that brought out the nuts. Maybe it was the humidity.

***

Kevin let out his breath in relief as he saw the familiar gray Honda pull into the Exxon station.

He emerged from the shadows of the food mart and dashed to the car as it came to a stop. Even before she had stopped, he flung the door open and leapt in.

“Go. Romanelli's. It’s dark and it shouldn’t be too crowded yet.”

As Erica began heading in the direction of the Italian restaurant, Kevin looked behind her to see if he could spot anybody following her, particularly a Pontiac sedan.

“What’s going on?” She glanced at him. Her dark eyebrows were furrowed with a mixture of concern, curiosity, and skepticism.

“In a minute. Turn here.”

“What?”

“I want to make sure you weren’t followed.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. Then take the first left. Go!”

“All right,” Erica said in a voice normally reserved for small children telling you about their imaginary friends.

After another three turns, Kevin was satisfied that they were alone. “I know I must have sounded like a nut...”

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“You still do.”

“Okay, I’m sounding like a nut. But I didn’t want to be stranded at that gas station.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, welcoming the rest, and then began to tell her about his encounter with Barnett and Kaplan. During the entire story, Erica didn’t say a word. Kevin was glad. The act of explaining what had happened helped to clarify the events in his mind. By the time he was finished, they were pulling into Romanelli's parking lot.

“Park in the back, out of sight,” Kevin said.

Erica pulled into a space in the almost empty lot. Turning off the engine, she said, “Why aren’t we at a police station? You said somebody tried to kill you.”

Kevin let out another sigh. “The police don’t believe me.”

“What? When did you talk to them?”

“After I called you, I called them and asked for Robley.”

“The detective who told you he didn’t know who Barnett and Kaplan were?”

“Right. I probably sounded like a nut to him, too. He said I could make a statement, but that’s about all. Maybe when they have the Mustang, they’ll believe me.” He looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to call him back in about ten minutes to see if they found it. One thing’s for sure, I’m not going down there until I know they’ll give me some protection.”

“Why not? What else can you do?”

“I can’t go home now. For all I know the police could be in on this. If those guys
were
cops, they’ll know where I am the minute I set foot in the station. And it’s possible they know who you are.”

“Is that why you wanted me to leave the townhouse?”

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Kevin nodded. “Something bothered me about the conversation I had with Barnett and Kaplan, something that wasn’t right. It wasn’t until after the call from Robley that it sunk in. It was something Kaplan said. I told them about the message and the experiment, and then he asked me if I knew why someone would be interested in an experiment involving superconductivity.”

“So?”

“I hadn’t told them what kind of experiment it was. I had just told them we had conducted one. But Kaplan asked me specifically about superconductivity. He couldn’t have known that unless he’d heard you and me talking about it. The phone was bugged.”

“Come on, Kevin! Do you know how crazy this sounds?”

“Yes. And don’t say I’ve been watching too many movies. Besides, I know they heard your voice on the answering machine when I was hiding in the closet.”

Erica tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “And you think they might have traced the phone call to my apartment.”

“I think it’s possible. For all we know, they could be over there right now.”

“This is crazy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How about we continue this inside?” she said as she grabbed her purse. “It’s getting hot out here.”

* * *

Romanelli’s was one of the trendy new restaurants springing up around Houston with antique-looking knickknacks strewn about, bookshelves lining the walls, and so little light that identification of the food was difficult. The effect was supposed to be elegant privacy, but Kevin MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

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hated it. He just liked the fact that it was dark. As they entered, he saw that he’d been right to choose it. The lunch time rush hadn’t started yet, and most of the tables were empty. He asked the hostess for a dim booth in the far corner, close to the telephones.

They both ordered Diet Cokes and told the waiter they needed some time to examine the menu.

After the waiter left, Erica said in a lowered voice, “Are you sure these men were trying to kill you? You couldn’t have misunderstood?”

“I heard every word they said!” he exclaimed and then, realizing how loud he was, lowered his voice. “I know it was muffled in the closet, but I heard Barnett clearly. He said Kaplan should kill me if...” He looked at Erica’s concerned expression, and now he didn’t know if it was his safety she was worried about. “You don’t believe me.” The thought that she wouldn’t hadn’t occurred to him until this point.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just want to make sure we have all the facts straight. Now, you said that this Barnett shot at you.”

He paused, not sure that he wanted to go on, angry that she even doubted him. But it
was
a fantastic story. He didn’t know if
he
would believe it if he hadn’t lived through it himself. And if she didn’t believe him, then the police wouldn’t either. He needed to convince her. “Either that or he blew out my window from fifty yards away with his finger.”

“But you didn’t hear any shots.”

“He must have been using a silencer. The car’s engine would have been loud enough to cover the sound.”

“How do you know that?”

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Kevin shrugged. “I heard one at a shooting demonstration one time.” Erica gave him a puzzled look, but he didn’t elaborate. “Besides, I saw the bullet holes in the car door.”

“You could see them even with all the damage to the car?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t they just kill you in the apartment?”

She had a point. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why they would want to kill me in the first place. All I can figure is that it has something to do with the message from Dr. Ward and experiment NV117.”

“OK, let’s assume somebody was trying to kill you because of the email he sent you. Then the answer has to be there. What exactly did it say? Something about...”

“Shit!” Kevin said. “I totally forgot!” The printout. He still had it in his pocket. He dug out the crumpled and torn pieces of paper and flattened them on the table between them.

Erica furrowed her eyebrows and frowned as she read the message. Kevin focussed on the last line of the message and ran it over and over in his mind.
DA483H3 is the
... That had to be it.

Nothing else told him anything. The code had to be the key.

“‘Is the’ what?” Erica said. “Are you sure he never used a code with you?”

“It could be anything for all I know. A combination, a locker number, something he mentioned to me once. But Ward was hiding this notebook from someone, and he was telling me how to find it. I’m sure of it. It has to be what these guys are after.”

“Or maybe they already have it and they didn’t want you to find out about it.”

“Then why would they ask me what the code means?” he asked, receiving only a shrug in reply.

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Kevin looked at his watch. It was time to call Robley back.

Leaving the printout with Erica, he went to the phones and dialed the number Robley had given him.

“Detective Robley.”

“It’s Kevin Hamilton.”

“What are you trying to pull, Hamilton?”

This wasn’t the response Kevin was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“I checked with dispatch. Seems your Mustang was reported stolen at 9:30 this morning.”

“What!”

“Luckily, we’ve already found it. In the Fourth Ward.”

“The Fourth Ward? But it was out of gas. How did it...” Kevin ran his fingers through his hair, searching for an explanation. “They must have moved it. Did the officers who found it tell you about the bullet holes?”

“Yes, they did. They found exactly zero bullet holes.”

Kevin’s mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible. I know I saw two bullet holes in the door.”

“They also found zero doors on the vehicle. It was totally stripped. Dispatch said it looked like it had the hell beat out of it, too.”

“Detective, believe me. I know this sounds weird, even crazy. But this has something to do with Stein’s...”

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“Hamilton, I don’t know what your angle is, and I don’t care. I just want to get the hell out of this hothouse. If you want a copy of the report for your insurance company, fine. Call traffic.

I’m through with this shit.”

Kevin heard the phone slam down. He slammed his own receiver in return. Damn! Robley’s probably bitching about Kevin to his friends at this very moment. And since he was the one handling the Stein case, Kevin wouldn’t get help from anyone else trying to connect Ward’s and Stein’s deaths. If Kevin went to the police now, they’d throw him out of the station.

He plodded back to the table and slumped into the bench across from Erica.

She leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

“They found the Mustang in the Fourth Ward, stripped. No evidence of any wrongdoing.

Other than my car being stolen and vandalized. The theft was reported at 9:30 this morning.”