The Lincoln Towers Hotel
Room 809
Nothing.
Margaret Wellington shook her head.
Mollie Fischer couldn’t have just disappeared. Where is she!
Lien-hua was standing beside the bed, carefully studying the room. “We found the wheelchair in here but no other physical evidence?”
“That’s right.”
“But how could that be? The video of the suspect wheeling Mollie into the hotel shows that they entered at 1:29 p.m. And Pat was shot just after 3:00.”
“That means at least one of them was in a room with an abducted woman for approximately an hour and a half,” Margaret said, following Lien-hua’s train of thought, “but yet managed to leave no forensic evidence behind.”
“That’s not likely.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Margaret thought, They faked Mollie’s death… left her purse in the habitat… left Mahan’s car at the scene… left the glove in the parking garage…
They used misdirection every step of the way…
Of course.
“They used another room,” she said. “Just left the wheelchair in here to mislead us.”
Lien-hua considered that for a moment. “According to Pat’s report, there were two maids in the hall when he was pursuing the subjects. I wonder-”
“Come on,” Margaret said, heading for the door. “We need to have a talk with those maids.”
Tessa and I grabbed drive-thru bean burritos for lunch and were on our way to the primate center.
I convinced her to listen to her iPod for a few minutes so I could make a call, then I speed-dialed Lien-hua’s number, and, speaking quietly so Tessa wouldn’t overhear me, I cancelled lunch, then summarized my meeting with Rodale and Fischer. Lien-hua listened attentively, and toward the end of my explanation, I heard Margaret speaking incredulously somewhere near her. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“We’re wondering if the killers kept Mollie in a room other than-”
I heard Margaret’s voice again, the words were indistinguishable, but she was obviously upset. “Just a sec,” Lien-hua said. She spoke off-phone for a few seconds, then said to me, “You’re not going to believe this: there is no Aria Petic.”
“What do you mean? We have footage of her leaving the facility.”
She took another break from talking with me to get an update from Margaret, then spoke into the phone again. “Margaret just got a call from Doehring. Apparently, the primate facility contracts out their janitorial services. Aria’s name appears on the computerized records, but that’s all. No one by that name has ever worked for them.”
“How come we’re just finding this out now?”
“Why do you think Margaret is so upset?”
Unbelievable.
“So,” I was thinking aloud, “the killers get into the research facility, they enter a fictional name onto the janitorial records so if the woman is seen leaving the building it won’t raise any immediate red flags.”
Plus, as a contract employee, the security guard and keeper wouldn’t be expected to recognize her if she were detained.
“But as it turned out, she wasn’t even questioned,” Lien-hua said. “In the confusion she just walked away. Slipped out one of the side doors after the EMTs arrived.”
Spaghetti.
I heard Margaret call for Lien-hua, who subsequently told me, “I have to go.”
“Listen.” I was thinking of Lien-hua’s drowning incident in San Diego during the Project Rukh case. “Remember how things went down in February? If these killers are involved in any way with the conspirators from San Diego-”
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I promise.”
“Be extra careful.”
“I will.”
After we’d ended the call, I saw that Tessa was staring out the passenger-side window, still listening to her music. We were only a few minutes from the research center. “Look, college guys,” I said softly, quieter than I’d been speaking to Lien-hua, and Tessa’s head snapped in my direction.
She realized her mistake and quickly averted eye contact.
“You heard my conversation,” I said.
She unplugged the earbuds. “What?”
“Yeah, right. You need to forget anything you just heard.”
“I only heard my music.” And then: “If anyone asks.”
Great.
We arrived at the research facility, and I pulled into the lower level of the parking garage.
Although I was certain the glass-enclosed habitat in which Twana’s body had been found would be sealed off, the Gunderson facility itself was no longer considered an active crime scene. And I was thankful, because this way I wouldn’t have to leave Tessa in the car.
“You’ve read more about this place than I have,” I said. “You’re coming with me. But you can’t ask any questions related to the case. You’re only looking for information concerning the primate research.”
“Seriously? You’re letting me help?”
“Just with monkey intel, not with the investigation. I want to find out more about the metacognition research.” And finances… ethically controversial research… politically charged implications “Did you just say monkey intel?”
“I’ll introduce you as my research assistant.” I opened my computer bag and pulled out a clipboard. “Maybe you’re an intern or something.” I handed it to her.
Dressed like she was with her black tights and black fingernail polish, I wasn’t quite sure my plan would work, but she did look old enough to be a college student if it came down to that.
She stared at the clipboard. “What’s this for?”
“That’s the most powerful ID in the world. If you walk into any building with an air of confidence and a clipboard, no one will question why you’re there.”
“Nice.” She looked impressed. “I can so do an air of confidence.” Then a pause. “Just don’t say monkey intel again while we’re in there.”
“Right.”
I popped open the car door.
But then I had realization.
Closed it again.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Are you sure you want to do this? This is a research center, after all. The animals are all going to be-”
“Caged. Yeah, I know.”
There was really no subtle way to put this. “I’m not sure exactly what their research involves, but-”
“Medical tests. I thought of that too.”
“Are you cool with that?”
A long silence. “Almost all medical advances in the last hundred years have come from animal testing. And I’ve never heard of anyone, not even a PETA board member, denying himself life-saving medical treatment in conscientious objection to the fact that research has been done on nonhuman subjects.”
Her carefully phrased response made it clear that she really had been thinking about this. “Well put.”
“But that doesn’t make cruelty right. It doesn’t make suffering okay.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
By the look on her face I could tell she was dealing with a torrent of conflicting emotions.
Finally she spoke, and her voice was on fire with both loneliness and resolve. “A few more cancer tests and Mom might still be alive.” She opened her door. “Let’s go.”