Chapter 19
Jack
For the second time in that many days, I’m detained in a small, dimly-lit room, questioned by idiots. Andy, living just a few hours north, will be here any minute.
A woman detective works the bad-cop angle. She’s got messy brown hair, a matching suit, and saddle-shoes. “What were you doing at Mr. Barlow’s home?”
“Looking to talk to him.” I figure I can get a few preliminary questions out of the way without my lawyer present.
“Why is that?” When she leans over the table, I rest back into the uncomfortable slats of the wooden chair, not wanting to challenge her authority.
“I just wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“Why he killed Yan.” My voice stays flat and unemotional but she takes it up a notch and slams a fist on the table.
“You killed Yan and were planting your wife’s gun in his house!”
“Get real. Lance killed Yan, gave the gun to Mike, who planted it at his house. If I was going to hide a weapon, I wouldn’t’ve used the top dresser drawer. Give me a little credit.” At that, I lawyer up until Andy enters the final act.
He takes off his long wool coat and adjusts his white cuffs. “I thought we agreed you’d stay quiet until I got here.”
“They were so stupid, I had to say something for fear it might be catching.” When I grin, despite his best efforts, he cracks one, too.
After that, I tell him all that went down and in about two hours, Andy and the woman reenter the small room.
“You’re lucky all the evidence supports your story.” She motions me toward the door but I linger and tap Andy’s arm.
“Did Lance give up the password to the hard drive?”
“Yes.” He motions we should exit the room into a dingy hall but I’m still dying to know.
“So, tell me, what did he have on Jackson Pharmaceuticals?”
The woman detective shakes her head. “Working as a lab tech, he found traces of fentanyl in the contaminated samples. The hoax was pure bullshit.”
“Get out of town.” I did not see that one coming.
A few days later, the Feds drop all my charges and to celebrate, Blake invites everyone to our house for eggnog made with real cream and fresh nutmeg.
Grayson sits next to Isabella on our couch, Slate has Lilac in his lap in our leather lounge recliner. Lucky’s breaking in the new rocking chair while me and Blake pass around hors d’oeuvres playing host and hostess.
Lilac turns with her arms around Slate. “I can’t believe I missed all the fun while I was working. I still don’t get it. Why did Philip, I mean Lance, kill Yan?”
I cross the small living room and hold forth a plate of bacon-wrapped scallops. “After Lance found the Fentanyl, he went to the Chinese Embassy, hoping they would pay him off to keep quiet. Instead, Yan put a contract out on him. The Feds think Lance found out and beat him to it.”
“Wait, so Yan knew about the fentanyl all long?” Grabbing a toothpick, Lilac plucks an orb from the middle of the serving tray.
“Yan was in charge of the whole US operation. Lance thought he was muscling a diplomat and when he learned about the contract, he panicked and convinced his old roommate he had evidence of a big cover-up. The hoax was an easier story to sell to his friend, Mike. Poor crazy guy got no Pulitzer. I heard The Times fired him, too.”
“I can’t believe you guys didn’t ask me about the vaccine. I could’ve shared the latest stats with you.” Lilac stands and grabs another beer while Blake sits next to me on the couch.
She asks, “Hun? If Yan’s suppliers were shipping fentanyl and replacing it with some kind of placebo, and Lance’s hoax was all made up, why didn’t anyone notice?”
Lilac reenters the room. “Sad, right? Over a third of the vaccine was fake, no one knew and I can guess why. It takes a lot of money to start a big study and honestly? The US government and Big Pharm wouldn’t do it. What if the vaccinewasless effective than stated? Would they really want people to find out?”
“Wow. So, if Jack didn’t listen in on McAlister’s blackmail, people would still be getting phony flu shots and fentanyl would still be flowing into the US in vaccine bottles?”
Slate nods. “The Chinese are far bigger importers than Mexico. They just keep a lower profile.”
“Well, I for one, am glad it’s over.” Blake raises her virgin eggnog. “To the New Year.”
“Cheers!”
