Big Medicine (A John Tall Wolf Novel Book 5) Read online

“Yes, but not in a straightforward way.”

  “What other way is there?” John asked.

  “The kind that involves the CIA.”

  “What?”

  “After I told Abra what was going on, she said making direct requests of foreign governments to be on the lookout for a new wonder drug might backfire.”

  “How?” John asked.

  DeWitt was silent for a moment, not due to a mental lapse on his part.

  He was giving John the time to reach the answer on his own.

  Which he did, “Because at the very least they’d like the prestige of pretending that the breakthrough came from one of their own people. All the money one of their companies would make would only add to the glory.”

  “Right on the first part. The monetary windfall part is going to be problematic.”

  John was about to ask why again. Instead, he thought about what the problem might be. He came up with what he thought might be an approximate answer. “The FBI and the CIA are looking at the national security implications here. There are, what, two schools of thought? Find the thieves, recover Dr. Lisle’s research, take over the development of the drug and deliver the end product only to our military personnel so we’ll have the unbeatable edge if, God forbid, we ever have to use a biological weapon.”

  DeWitt said, “Scary as hell, isn’t it? The way I see it, the military would get the first supply of the drug and then mass distribution would be made available to the general public. There is, of course, a far more benevolent plan.”

  John had no trouble seeing that idea. “Make the new drug available to everyone worldwide for free or at a few pennies per pill. Eliminate any chance that this particular type of biological warfare could ever be used successfully.”

  “Also kill any chance of anyone making a fortune off the drug,” DeWitt said. “It’d be a kick in capitalism’s ass, but that’s by far the lesser of two evils as I see it.”

  “Me, too,” John agreed.

  “Dr. Lisle could still make a tidy little sum from the Nobel Prize she’d win.”

  “Uh-huh. I wonder how ‘tidy’ and ‘little’ will appease her.”

  “I don’t know the woman so I can’t say, but I have talked to the President about all this. Hope you don’t mind, but I felt I had to do it.”

  John took a deep breath and let it go. “I understand.”

  “She’s on the side of good medicine for everyone.”

  “Happy to hear it.”

  “There’s something else pertinent to you in particular.”

  “What?” John asked.

  “Well, the CIA is already on the job outside the U.S., looking for any sign of the thieves who took Dr. Lisle’s computer. Abra Benjamin desperately wants to launch a 50-state domestic investigation, supplanting your efforts.”

  John said, “I hope there’s a ‘but’ lurking around the conversational corner.”

  “There is. The President says you’ve got three days to accomplish whatever you can and then the FBI will take over. Oh, and she’d like to know your decision about the Cabinet offer by then, too.”

  John sighed.

  “You think she might grant clemency to Great-grandfather regardless of my decision?”

  “I’ll work on that,” DeWitt told him.

  McGill Investigations International — Los Angeles

  Rebecca Bramley, Emily Proctor and Arcelia Martin sat in Rebecca’s office drinking coffee spiked with cognac and sweetened with whipped cream and morsels of dark chocolate. It was late enough in the day to have an adult beverage, and all of them were young and fit enough not to worry about the caffeine or calorie content.

  Having had no one but Arcelia to talk to for the past three weeks, Rebecca had come to value her office manager as whip-smart, bluntly honest and able to leaven her frankness with a sharp, often self-deprecating, sense of humor. Beyond that, Arcelia had a graduate degree, which neither Rebecca nor Emily possessed. Didn’t mean she was any smarter than they were, but a case could be made that she was more dedicated to learning. That was nothing to be overlooked.

  Anyway, Emily showed the good sense not to object when Rebecca asked Arcelia to sit in on their meeting. Emily said, “Hearing from another smart woman might be helpful.”

  As the head of the office, Rebecca set the agenda.

  “I’ll go first,” she said. “I’ve got the feeling my day was less dramatic than Emily’s.”

  Emily said, “Yeah, my departure from LAPD, it was a narrow escape.” The other two women leaned forward, the better to hear the details, but Emily offered a thin smile and said, “That was my cliff-hanger. How’d your meeting with my dad go, Rebecca?”

  Emily and Arcelia’s attention shifted to her. Rebecca played along and said, “I stayed on surface streets to get to Mr. Proctor’s office, discovered how outrageous the parking fees in this town can be, and met a very nice man.”

  Emily smiled. “Dad is a sweetheart. Generous to a fault. A hard-ass only in court or when a situation calls for it.”

  Arcelia nodded in approval. “Can’t ask for better than that.”

  Rebecca continued, “We had a pleasant meeting. He told me a little bit about Emily and he gave me the name and phone number of the calligrapher his firm uses, a Mr. Walt Wooten, who also headed south from Canada. I phoned Mr. Wooten, who told me to call him Walt and said he’d be available to see me tomorrow. End of story — except I got on the 405 for a few minutes coming back to the office and lived to talk about it.”

  Arcelia smiled derisively and raised her cup to Rebecca.

  “Captain Courageous,” she said.

  “Captains, plural, if you’re borrowing from Kipling,” Rebecca said.

  Arcelia nodded approvingly. She looked at Emily and said, “Can’t slip a fudged cultural reference past that one.”

  “You can fool me,” Emily replied. “I was a criminal justice major.”

  “Okay, enough chitchat,” Rebecca said, “let’s hear about this narrow escape.”

  Emily told them the story of Terry Adair making a surprise appearance and Detectives Zapata and MacDuff distracting him long enough for her to jump in her car and drive off. Emily filled in Arcelia on the backstory she’d shared with Rebecca earlier.

  Arcelia thought about the account.

  Then she said, “This is real nosy, what I’m going to ask, and tell me to get lost if you want, but did you go to bed with this guy?”

  Rebecca hadn’t been forward enough to ask, but she’d wondered the same thing.

  Emily’s long sigh was answer enough, but she didn’t back away from the truth. “Yes, I did. You could count the number of times on one hand. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t great, it wasn’t decisive. All the things he did when we were both dressed mattered a lot more. He’s a micro-manager, a control freak.”

  “He never tried to get rough, did he?” Rebecca asked.

  Emily shook her head. “We were both cops, always had our guns close to hand.”

  Arcelia said, “That had to be both comforting and scary for you, didn’t it? Not so much at first, but down the road a bit … you worried about what you might do to him. Maybe he’d tell you to do something and exactly how to do it for the tenth time, all in the same day and, bang, you’d just shoot him.”

  Both Emily and Rebecca stared at Arcelia.

  “How did you know?” Emily asked.

  Arcelia shrugged. “Heard of it happening before. An aunt on my mom’s side did that to my uncle, except she used a knife not a gun.”

  “Killed him?” Emily asked.

  “Stuck him so many times he could’ve had a cat’s nine lives and that wouldn’t have been enough.”

  All three women took a hit from their cognac-supplemented coffee.

  “Okay,” Rebecca said, “Emily showed good judgment ending the relationship but it looks like this guy — a police captain — doesn’t want to take no for an answer. Other than homicide, what’s the most effective way of dealing with the situation? Is t
here an appropriate office in the LAPD to act on a complaint like this?”

  Emily said, “The police department’s final word comes from the Police Commission. It sets policy and oversees operations. Five civilians make up the Commission’s board. You need a majority vote to make any big change.”

  Rebecca asked intuitively, “Is one of the board members more equal than the others?”

  Emily nodded. “There’s an executive director.”

  Rebecca followed up, “Among other things, is he responsible for discipline in the ranks?”

  “Yeah,” Emily said.

  “Fine,” Rebecca told her. “I’ll phone him first thing in the morning. If he doesn’t take my call, I’ll ask Jim McGill to get his attention.”

  Arcelia asked, “You can really do that?”

  “Why not?” Rebecca said. “He’s the big boss and if one of his people is being messed with, or worse, seriously threatened, shouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t he want to deal with it?”

  Emily held up a hand. “You don’t have to go that far. My dad knows the executive director. They’re old friends, in fact.”

  Rebecca and Arcelia sat back and looked at Emily.

  Arcelia gave voice to the subtext of the silence. “You don’t want to go to your father or his friend. Have either of them think you can’t manage, sorry for the pun, your own affairs.”

  “Is that right?” Rebecca asked.

  Emily nodded. “Yes.”

  “But you know guys like this, they never quit,” Rebecca said.

  “Never,” Arcelia agreed.

  “So I should have shot him?” Emily asked.

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the answer?”

  “Take things one step at a time,” Rebecca said. “Maybe we’re wrong and he can be … persuaded. Or intimidated. Maybe he loves his job more than he thinks he loves you.”

  “He might,” Emily conceded.

  “So you will talk to your father, tonight?” Arcelia asked.

  Emily sighed. She nodded, but the gesture was half-hearted.

  Rebecca wrote a 10-digit number on a slip of paper and handed it to Emily.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “That’s my father’s mobile phone number. He answers it any time of day or night. In case something awful might have happened to me. Call him, if you like. Tell him you work for me, and would like to know just who I am, embarrassing stuff and all. He’ll call me to verify, but I’ll give him the word and then he’ll talk to you quite frankly.”

  “You’re saying if you can swallow your pride, I should be able to do the same?” Emily asked.

  Rebecca shook her head. “I’m saying if you don’t tell your father what’s going on, I will.”

  Florida Avenue — Washington, DC

  John arrived home before Alan White River returned. He thought about ordering Chinese food, but he didn’t know what Great-grandfather might enjoy. John hadn’t thought to ask him about his food preferences, if any. John had lived alone long enough that he hadn’t needed to consider anyone else’s favorite meals. He was still learning Rebecca’s preferences in that area and many others. He felt a sudden yen to talk with her.

  Adolescent as the notion was, he hoped she would call and talk dirty to him.

  He decided to go with sesame chicken. Had to be one of the most popular Chinese dishes in the country. He confirmed that when he placed his order. A young woman’s voice speaking perfect American English said, “Sure, that’s popular with just about everyone.”

  “There are exceptions?” John asked.

  “Doesn’t work for vegans.”

  “Of course not.” He ordered two servings.

  He seriously doubted Great-grandfather was an herbivore.

  The young woman spoke to someone in the restaurant in Chinese and a demanding tone.

  She came back to John, got his address and said, “Twenty minutes. Tip is included in the tab.”

  “Efficient,” John said, but the young woman was already gone.

  Handling her next transaction, no doubt.

  No sooner had he clicked off than his phone chimed. Rebecca, he hoped. In vain, it turned out. The caller ID display showed Metro Police. Captain Bullard, he assumed, correctly.

  “I just heard from Abra Benjamin at the FBI, Mr. Director,” she said.

  John hoped he wasn’t going to be called out. “I just ordered dinner, and I’m waiting for my great-grandfather to return home. I also thought about calling my wife out in L.A.”

  Rockelle said, “You’re telling me you don’t want to be dragged out into the night? Don’t worry, it’s not like that. The FBI says other than getting the name and home address of the creep who bothered you and Great-grandpa last night, there’s nothing to find in the way of a criminal record. No fingerprints in AFIS. So she doesn’t feel like holding the guy and making a federal case out of a failed mugging, if that’s what it was. She asked me if I want to take custody of him. I said I’d consult you first. She gave me one hour. If I don’t get back to her by then, she’ll cut him loose. So how do you want to play it?”

  Before John could reply, Rockelle added, “I got the feeling Deputy Director Benjamin is clearing her decks because something big has come up. Not that she cared to share it with me.”

  John thought for a second. “What’s the guy’s name, the one Great-grandfather tripped, and where does he live?”

  “Wilbur Rosewell, Omaha, Nebraska.” She gave him a street address.

  John said, “Huh.”

  “Something click for you, Mr. Director?”

  “Dr. Lisle, whose computer got stolen, is a member of the Omaha tribe, comes from the same location, more or less.”

  “There’s an Omaha tribe?”

  “That’s how the town got its name. It’s a corruption of the original word, of course. And I bet you don’t like coincidences any more than I do.”

  “Don’t like them at all. So should I take custody of Wilbur?”

  “No. If you don’t mind, please ask a couple of your best detectives or undercover people to follow Mr. Rosewell surreptitiously to wherever he goes next.”

  “Within the limits of our jurisdiction, I can do that.”

  “Can you enlist help from the Virginia or Maryland state police, if you need to?”

  “Yes, I have friends I can call on. Are you going to let the FBI in on what we’re going to do?”

  “I don’t see why,” John said. “They don’t seem interested in Mr. Rosewell.”

  Rockelle laughed. “I like the way you think, Mr. Director.”

  “Not everyone does. Would you like to know what has the FBI preoccupied right now?”

  “You are not your average federal officer, are you?” Rockelle asked.

  “I’ve heard as much. I’ll confide in you, but it can’t go any farther.”

  “Deal.”

  John told her about the possible national security implications of his case.

  “Good God,” Rockelle said.

  “Yeah. I’ll have to ask the FBI for copies of the fingerprints they took from Mr. Rosewell eventually. They might not be in AFIS, but they might be on Dr. Lisle’s laptop or in her lab.”

  Articulating his thoughts that way gave John another idea.

  “Captain, would it be possible for you to access video from public closed-circuit cameras around the American University campus? Dr. Lisle’s lab is adjacent to the school.”

  “I can get the feeds from District cameras; you’d have to go after the federal databases.”

  “Right. I’ll need everything you can get for the past 48 hours within a mile radius of the laboratory. Every face the cameras have recorded. If necessary, we’ll subpoena the university and private business security videos.”

  “Who are we looking for?”

  “Everyone working in Dr. Lisle’s lab. See if any of them made an unscheduled visit.”

  “Ah, an inside job,” Rockelle said.

  A classic for anyone in
volved in police investigations.

  John added, “I’ll check their personnel files in the meantime.”

  Rockelle knew just where he was going. “See if there’s someone else from Omaha involved.”

  “Exactly,” John said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Director.”

  “For what?”

  “For trusting me with what you know, and giving me the chance to exit the MPD on a high note, if that’s what it comes to.”

  “How would you like to become Secretary of the Interior?” John asked.

  “Um, thanks, but I don’t think so.”

  John thought it was getting harder to dodge that damn job with every passing second.

  The Chinese food delivery was every bit as efficient as the woman who took the order. John understood the implication. That lady on the phone was no one you’d want to displease. He added an extra 15% to the tip-included tab, paying in cash.

  Let the delivery guy decide whether he wanted to pocket the extra money.

  If he even dared to.

  Great-grandfather came home early enough to sit down with John while the food was still hot. John said, “I know Mr. Morley said he was going to buy you dinner, but I ordered extra food in case you were still hungry.”

  “Do you think I’m underweight, Grandson?”

  White River picked up the plastic fork that came with his meal and addressed it to the portion of rice that came with his meal.

  “Depends on your future fitness plans,” John told him. “For track and field, you’re fine; for Greco-Roman wrestling, you’d need to bulk up.”

  “I’d want a freezer full of buffalo steaks, if I was going to grapple.” He popped the forkful of rice into his mouth and chewed contentedly. “Very good. Might I have something to drink?”

  “San Pellegrino sparkling water, bottled spring water or straight from the tap.”

  “The Italian stuff, please.”

  John fetched two bottles and two glasses. He took the twist caps off the bottles.

  “I could have done that, you know,” White River said, accepting his bottle and glass.

  “Okay, I’ll remember. How was your time with Mr. Morley?”

  The old man smiled. “Wonderful. He asked me to tell him about myself, and he was such a good listener I told him things I’ve not shared with many people. I told him about Awinita, how her spirit still lives within me. How I cannot wait to see her again when I, too, am a spirit.”