The Arx (20 page)

“Have you seen today’s paper?”

“I won the lottery?”

“No such luck.” Rebecca slid a folded section over to him. “There’s an article in the business section. Kaffir are about to release a new version of Olmerol.”

Frank tensed. “A new version?”

“According to the article, the new formula reduces some minor side effects like trouble sleeping, and it’s longer lasting, so it can be taken less frequently.”

“When is all this is supposed to happen?”

“September sixteenth, two weeks from now.”

Frank read the article.

“You can bet they’re not telling us everything,” he said as he finished reading. “I wonder what else they’ve messed with.”

He looked up. She was staring at him.

“What?” he said.

“You’ve been holding out on me – trying to protect me according to some ridiculous cop-male code of honour. I have a right to know what’s going on. Gloria was my sister.”

Frank was torn. At least if she knew more, she’d be frightened enough to look out for herself.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “There’s things I’m still trying to work out.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks now.”

“Trust me,” he said, smiling. “All will be revealed.”

She rolled her eyes.

“There is
one
thing you could do,” he said, changing the subject.

“Yeah?”

He leaned forward. “Something’s been bugging me. Kaffir Pharma’s a pretty prestigious operation, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“It would attract some really top-notch, brilliant types.”

“Probably.”

“Well, if
we’ve
figured out there’s a pattern to these deaths and disappearances, doesn’t it make sense that one of these geniuses might have thought of it too?”

“I guess.”

“You said several of the original researchers on the Olmerol project died.”

“Yes, and several others disappeared.”

“The ones that died – do you know much about the deaths? How they died, whether their bodies were found, whether there was an inquest?”

“I didn’t go into minute detail but, yeah, I made some notes on their deaths.”

“Were there any deaths where the body was never found or wasn’t positively identified?”

“One guy – they were all men, by the way – died in a hunting accident. Another was in a car crash. I think both their bodies were identified. One died on a camping trip. He fell out of a canoe or something and was presumed drowned. I don’t think his body was ever found. What’s this all about?”

“You got any information on the canoe guy?”

“A little. I’d have to look through my notes.”

All through the meeting Rebecca had seemed hurried and nervous. Several times she glanced at her watch when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Going somewhere?” he said.

She turned red and for a few seconds looked stunned.

“Oh… yes,” she finally admitted. “I’m just meeting a friend for coffee.”

Frank stared at her. Was she acting suspiciously or was he being paranoid? Finally he shrugged. “Anyway, can you look into the canoe guy? It could be important.”

“Come and see me tomorrow,” she said. “I really have to go…”

Frank felt guilty as he pulled out into traffic and followed Rebecca’s aging white Mercedes at a respectable distance. He figured he was being paranoid, but he had to know.

He promised himself he’d just check out her story. If she was going for coffee like she said, he’d leave it at that.

He relaxed when she pulled into the parking lot of the Boathouse Restaurant in Kits. He drove as close to the doors as he dared. Rebecca met and hugged a distinguished-looking middle-aged woman. Frank studied the woman’s face before they walked through the front doors, but it wasn’t familiar. Rebecca didn’t spot him.

“Get a grip,” he scolded himself as he drove away.

***

Despite her apprehension, Rebecca was flattered that the VP of Research for one of the largest pharmaceutical corporations in the world would take time from her busy schedule to have coffee with her.

As to the question of why, she pushed that to the back of her mind.

Her talk with Janet had shaken her belief in Frank’s theories about ‘the case’. Not only had he said nothing to convince her that Kaffir was kidnapping children, there was no proof that, other than Ralphie, the children were victims of kidnapping in the first place, and the deaths and disappearances at Kaffir could be coincidence. Even if Kaffir
was
involved in something shady, she couldn’t believe that Carla De Leon was part of it.

Even so, she lectured herself on the need to avoid saying too much or revealing anything about her original mission. She was dying to ask Carla about the new formulation for Olmerol, but in the end decided to leave it alone.

Rebecca arrived at the Boathouse, a casual eatery right on the beach, exactly on time. As she reached the door she noticed Carla approaching. She waved and waited for her new friend. She was expecting to shake hands, but Carla leaned in and gave her a polite hug. They each ordered a latte and Rebecca grabbed a biscotti.

They got a table on the patio. Rebecca smiled at the expanse of Kits Beach below. Beyond it, the sparkling waters of English Bay were dotted with kayaks, sailboats and, in the distance, the rust-coloured hulls of several gigantic freighters.

Rebecca’s initial nervousness melted away as Carla explained her research and implications it held for pregnant women. As the conversation got more personal, Rebecca was surprised at the depth of the bond they shared. Their life experiences were extraordinarily similar, and Carla seemed to understand – like few others, male or female, Rebecca had ever met – the forces that had shaped her.

Inevitably they got to talking about their relationships. Carla was once married, now divorced. Rebecca asked her about her husband.

Carla explained how her ex-husband, James, eventually came to resent her success and her race up the corporate ladder at Kaffir.

“He couldn’t compete with you,” Rebecca guessed.

Carla nodded. “In some ways being what most people would call ‘gifted’ has been a curse. James was intelligent, but I think he realized early on that I was out of his league.” She gazed wistfully at the crowded beach below.

“I was head of research for Olmerol when I was still in my twenties.”

Carla took a sip of coffee. “It didn’t help that I was a workaholic. He got downright nasty. Then he started fooling around. I decided that marriage wasn’t for me. I’m too driven – you could even call it selfish – to share my world with someone else.

“James remarried a long time ago, and I think he’s much happier now. We’re not close, but I see him from time to time. We’re not enemies, we’ve both just moved on.”

Rebecca was touched by the sad story.

“But enough about me,” said Carla. “What about you?”

Rebecca was nervous about opening up to Carla about her personal life, afraid that she’d inadvertently blurt out something she’d regret. But Carla had been so candid about her own marriage…

“I was married once,” she finally said.

“Recently?” Carla asked.

“About five years ago,” Rebecca answered. “Bob was everything I thought I wanted in a man – intelligent, thoughtful, charming, funny. He was a lawyer, but not the slimy corporate type. He was the sort of rumpled, hip, intellectual, free-thinking TV drama type, fighting for the common man against ignorance and injustice.”

Rebecca glanced over at Carla. Her friend smiled in encouragement.

“He seemed too good to be true,” Rebecca continued, “and in the end, he was. Everything was great until we got married and moved in together. It was gradual, but over time he got more and more controlling.”

Rebecca picked up her biscotti. “First it would be my hair, or my makeup – and it was never just that he personally didn't like them. They were unattractive or in bad taste by definition – like his personal opinion was the gold-plated reference for the rest of humanity.”

She held the biscotti between her two hands. “Then he started criticizing the way I dressed. I looked ‘frumpy’ or ‘cheesy’ or ‘slutty’ – and again, it wasn’t just his opinion, it was some universally accepted truth. He started going with me when I bought my clothes…”

Carla shook her head.

“He even tried to order for me at dinner, like I wasn’t capable of deciding what I wanted.”

“I’m finding it hard to picture you in that situation,” Carla said, smiling.

“I was ready to leave anyway, but any doubts I had were blown away when he got abusive. First it was minor things like grabbing me by the arm. It kept escalating. The final straw was when he back-handed my face after I refused to obey one of his commands.”

Rebecca jumped as the biscotti she was holding broke in half. She felt warmth rushing to her cheeks as she put the pieces down on her plate.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I understand,” Carla said.

“I walked out and never went back,” Rebecca continued. “From that time on I swore I would never take crap from another man. The second I see it I’m gone, and…”

It occurred to her that she was doing exactly what she’d sworn not to do – opening up about her life. She needed to shut this line of conversation down.

“Are you alright?” Carla asked.

“I’m fine,” Rebecca said. She smoothed down her skirt and took a sip of coffee. “I’m talking too much.”

“Not at all,” Carla said. “It’s fascinating. And you’ve seen a lot of bad behaviour since your breakup?”

Rebecca cringed. She had to answer. “I haven’t dated much since then. Maybe I’ve set my standards too high.”

“I don’t think wanting to be treated with respect is setting your standards too high. So are you seeing anyone right now?”

Again Rebecca felt herself blush. “Not really.”

“Not really?”

“It’s complicated… he’s sort of a client.”

Rebecca clenched her fists.
What am I saying? s
he scolded herself.

“A client?” Carla said. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Well, it’s really more of a business relationship.”

“That does sound complicated.”

Rebecca tried to steer the conversation somewhere else. “I can’t really talk about it. It has to do with my…”

Carla eyed her in a way that made her nervous. It occurred to her what she was about to say and who she was about to say it to.

She remembered Frank’s warning:
If you go sticking your nose into the head office at Kaffir, you’re going to appear on their radar. I can guarantee that you don’t want that to happen.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “It’s really more of a friendship. I shouldn’t say anymore – it’s a confidentiality thing.”

“Of course,” Carla said, smiling and taking a sip of coffee. “I understand completely.”

A Dead Scientist

“Richard Carson,” Rebecca said when Frank showed up at her office the next day as planned. She spread several pages of notes on the desk in front of her. “He was a senior guy in the company – was there even before Carla…” She stopped short.

“Carla?” Frank raised an eyebrow.

She stared down at her notes. “Oh, Carla De Leon, the VP of Research at Kaffir.”

“You’re on a first-name basis?”

Rebecca blushed. “Hey, I’ve gone over these notes so many times I feel like I know the people.”

Frank continued to eye her strangely. He finally shrugged. “So – Richard Carson.”

“Like I said before, he drowned in a canoeing accident on a vacation sixteen years ago. The body was never found. I’ve got a picture.”

She handed Frank a photocopy of a newspaper clipping titled: ‘Researcher Dies in Boating Accident’. Frank read the article:

Doctor Richard Carson, 52, is missing and presumed dead after a tragic boating accident on Lake Nipissing in northern Ontario. Carson was the lone occupant of a canoe that capsized. According to his companions, Carson was out of their sight for about ten minutes as he paddled ahead and up an arm of the lake, exploring.

When they caught up, they found Carson’s overturned canoe. Rescuers combed the area for several days, but the body was never found. Carson was a senior researcher for Kaffir Pharma, a multinational pharmaceutical company based in Vancouver. He was single, and was predeceased by both his parents.

He finished reading and looked up. “What did the cops think about it?”

“They found a small patch of blood on the gunwale of the canoe, but not enough to suggest foul play. Their theory was that Carson had some kind of medical event – a heart attack or stroke. He collapsed, banged his head, and went overboard.

“They spent about a week searching for the body. That section of the lake is really murky and full of debris. There’s a lot of tricky currents that might have carried the body away. They sent divers down but they never found anything. The official verdict was accidental death.”