Fear

TWENTY-FIVE

‘A man is here to see whoever’s in charge.’ The guard stood in the fourth-floor hallway, swallowing, looking at a point to the left of Groote’s shoulder.

They’re afraid of me, Groote thought. A pleasant discovery, like learning a woman thought you were attractive. ‘I don’t see anybody.’ He’d closed the door behind him, but he wondered if the guard had spotted Nathan.

‘Said he had absolutely to see whoever was in charge.’

‘What’s this guy’s name?’

‘Sorenson.’

Interesting and unexpected. Groote kept a poker face on for the guard. ‘Is he a suit or is he trouble?’

‘Trouble. Big guy. He knows how to handle himself.’

‘I’ll talk to him downstairs, in the conference room. You stay close, outside, in case I need backup.’

The guard complied. Groote went back into Nathan’s room. He lay there, listless, staring at the ceiling.

‘Your buddy Sorenson’s here,’ Groote said.

Nathan looked at the ceiling.

‘So I’m supposed to think you and Michael Raymond were telling me the truth now about this third guy.’

‘I told you… I didn’t know why he came to Allison’s.’

‘He’s downstairs, we can ask him. If you capped him on the head, I’ll invite him to bash you in return. Describe Sorenson again.’

Nathan repeated the description and Groote took the stairs down to the ground floor. It gave him time to think. He had been convinced that Sorenson was a ruse, agreed to by Michael Raymond and Nathan, to put suspicion on a nonexistent third party. But maybe the two guys had told the truth and this Sorenson, he was Allison’s real partner. Maybe.

Groote went out into the lobby and found Sorenson waiting. The man matched Nathan’s description: big, blond, with a well-cut suit and a rough face that preferred shadow.

‘I’m Groote, director of security at the hospital.’ He offered a hand.

Sorenson shook it but Groote saw that he braced himself, as though he suspected Groote might try to yank his arm, throw his balance. Sorenson jerked his head at the guard seated at the reception desk. ‘I need to talk to you privately. Regarding Allison Vance.’

‘What’s your interest?’

‘That’s best discussed alone.’

Groote led him back to a quiet conference room on the first floor, shut the door. He decided not to say he’d heard the man’s name before – let the guy talk, spin his web, see what story Sorenson had to peddle.

‘I acquire projects for Aldis-Tate.’

Groote knew the name: a big international pharmaceutical. ‘And?’

‘And we were interested in buying research from Mr. Quantrill that he’s testing at this hospital.’

‘I’m just a security guy…’

‘I think not,’ Sorenson said. ‘You were at Allison Vance’s house on Tuesday, shooting at people. I observed you from the bathroom door. You missed them. I made you for a much better shot.’

This was a guy he could deal with. Groote raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll be damned. They told me the truth.’

‘They?’

‘Ruiz and Raymond. They said you were at her house, I didn’t believe them.’

Sorenson shrugged. ‘I went there to talk with Allison Vance. I woke up badly tied with sheets, sitting in a tub, with a migraine that I’m still nursing.’

‘Why are you here, Mr. Sorenson?’

‘Allison Vance approached one of our research directors, a college friend of hers, about a prototype drug being tested here called Frost.’

‘I don’t think I could comment…’

‘She offered to sell the Frost research to us. I think now she must have made that offer under the table.’

Sell it? Quantrill had been worried she’d publicize it, destroy their chances of getting it to market. The bitch had been a mercenary. It almost restored his faith in human beings as creatures of profit.

‘Did you accept her offer?’

‘No.’

‘So why are you here now?’

‘Because we’ve received another offer to buy Frost,’ Sorenson said.

Groote said, ‘Those would be stolen goods.’

‘I suspect so. Goods that Allison Vance was murdered for.’

Michael Raymond had killed her for Frost and this was it, confirmation of his theory. ‘So why not just buy it from him, why come to me?’

‘Because we’re not going to buy stolen research. Mr. Quantrill, despite loving the shadows, is a known quantity. And I believe, knowing that Aldis-Tate’s coming to you with this information, we can strike an accommodation on the pricing of Frost. Before the auction.’

‘Auction.’

‘Yeah,’ Sorenson said. ‘Whoever took the Frost files from Allison is staging an auction in four days. I told Quantrill this yesterday. Didn’t you know?’

Heat built in his face, in his chest.

Sorenson noticed. ‘Odd. I figured your boss would have told you. I’ve been told the opening bid is half of what Quantrill would have asked. It’s going to gut him, the thief selling Frost at cut rate.’

‘But the drug would still get produced, right?’

‘If Aldis-Tate acquires the research, Frost would be the top priority for us. I don’t know about the others. There’s a certain amount of smokescreening to be done, to cover up the research’s origins. But if we work directly with Quantrill’s team, as opposed to buying it from a murderer and a thief with whom we could never consult on matters of research or testing, Frost could be produced faster.’ Sorenson shrugged.

‘You want me to make you a deal for Frost.’ A year or two of life for Amanda.

‘We’re willing to pay Mr. Quantrill quite well for Frost. But he cancels his auction, you close down this thief’s auction, and we’re the exclusive buyer.’

‘You’re a real humanitarian.’

‘Patients will get it sooner. And I prefer not to deal with a murderer like Michael Raymond.’

‘How do you know so much about him?’

‘Allison identified him as a patient who was helping her in acquiring the research. I got the impression he was a very dangerous man.’

A patient; it wasn’t what Groote had expected to hear about Michael Raymond. ‘But your deal’s worthless if he’s conducting an auction.’

‘Mr. Quantrill puts the word out to the other buyers that the research is flawed. The buyers lose interest. The deal is then between us and Mr. Quantrill. Michael Raymond needs to be dead so he doesn’t tell the media or the FDA Frost’s dirty secrets, but I expect you can drop him. I can help you. I could arrange a meeting. You could show up in my place. Michael Raymond solved.’

Michael on a plate, Jesus, that sounded sweet. ‘Let’s you and me make a deal of our own, Mr. Sorenson. You want Frost. I want a reputable drug company that will get Frost on the market. I don’t want to put my life on the line anymore just to make a bigger profit for Quantrill and Hurley.’

Sorenson kept an amused expression on his face. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m just tossing out an idea. I’ll deny it if you take it to Quantrill. But if you help me make sure Michael Raymond can’t blow the whistle on the testing here, Aldis-Tate gets Frost. I’ll give you the research myself if Quantrill won’t play.’

Sorenson smiled. ‘You’re a bad boy, screwing over your boss, but I like you, Mr. Groote.’

‘When Aldis-Tate starts the legitimate testing…’ Groote lost his voice for a second, coughed his throat clear. ‘There is a person I would insist be involved. If you can guarantee she gets Frost, not the placebo, not a damn sugar pill.’

Sorenson nodded. ‘I’ll consider your proposition and I’ll keep it private. One request, while I’m here. Might I see Nathan Ruiz?’

‘Why?’

‘Allison was supposed to provide him as an interview subject to our researchers.’

‘Forget he attacked you. He was scared.’

‘I don’t wish him ill. But I’d like to examine a patient who’s benefited from Frost.’

‘All right. He’s upstairs. He ran from us but got roughed up, so he’s not the picture of health right now.’

‘Let me,’ said Sorenson, ‘be the judge of that.’

A knock sounded on the door. Groote opened it. The front-desk guard stood there, frowning, leaning close in worry.

‘You have another visitor. His name is DeShawn Pitts and says he’s a federal marshal, and he won’t leave until he speaks to someone in charge.’

The feds. He glanced at Sorenson. ‘Wait here for a minute.’

Sorenson stood. ‘I don’t need the hassle of the feds. I’ll leave.’

‘Wrong. They’d come in force if they were in arrest mode. This is one guy. Let me find out what he wants and I’ll be back in a few.’

Sorenson gave the slightest of nods and Groote closed the door. He knew he was double-flipping on a tightrope, cutting a deal without Quantrill, and now a fed showing up after business hours. He sauntered into the lobby, hand out for a hearty shake, saying, ‘Hi, I’m Dennis Groote, ex-FBI, I’m the security director. What can I do for you today?’