"Anything good?"
"Lots of correspondence with Sean Moss. He was one of the four founders. Their talks seem to relate to one or two topics, but the language is vague. Like they're worried about privacy."
"Read a couple."
" 'Hello Gwen: No problem at all on the cerastes rum. We've got some ideas on how to keep plenty around. Don't worry. Be happy Later, Sean.'
" 'Hello Sean: I'm sure there's a way to get more. I'll leave it you guys and do my job. Brought in another eight K today-some good friends from high school. Thanks for being cool. You be happy Best, GW.' "
Merci asked Zamorra to spell cerastes and he did. She pictured the word, knew she'd never seen it, frowned. "What's cerastes rum?"
"No idea. I've got a friend who's a bartender at the Ritz-Carlton, though. He'd know. It comes up a lot in these e-mails. I think they liked each other, Gwen and Sean."
"Is he married?"
"The company bios said he was single. Here-Gwen refers to getting twenty dollars an hour to 'rep a treatment I've come to believe in.' Then Sean, he says she's worth fifty and he'll see about getting her a raise. Then she makes a joke about bringing in one hundred and eighty thousand dollars for OrganiVen 'so far.' "
Merci looked up at the four remaining photographic portraits of Gwen and Archie through the years. "She brought in eight thousand dollars for OrganiVen in one day, and didn't make that big a deal about it. I wonder how much she got for them, total. I wonder how much she got for herself."
"I'll let you know. But at twenty bucks an hour it wasn't a fortune."
"Unless she took the payment in stock."
Zamorra looked at her. "Then it's a different story."
Ten minutes later Merci's cell phone rang.
"Hello, Sergeant, this is Bill Jones. Archie's gardener just pulled up in front of his house. Is that your unmarked in his driveway?"
"Yes, Bill, it is."
"I haven't seen that big ugly guy or his ugly little partner since they were at the park."
"Meet me in the driveway in one minute."
"Consider it done."
Merci held back the file cover to show Jones the FBI photographs of Sonny Charles and Al Apin. Jones angled them to catch the sun better. He moved to one side, then the other. He never took his eyes off them.
"That's them. The ones I saw at the park."
"Any doubt?"
"None. They're older now."
"Thank you, Mr. Jones."
"I'm here to help. If I see them again, I think I know what to do. I've got your numbers in my wallet."
"Keep me posted."
"I will. I don't have anything better to do. By the way, when you ask the gardener about Archie and Gwen yelling at each other day the day she died, remember that he wears ear protection when he's blow leaves and a tape player when he's pulling weeds."
"Thank you, Mr. Jones."
"Bring you coffee, a soft drink, anything?"
"No again. But thanks."
"Doughnut? Heh, heh, just kidding. Ten-four."
The gardener was small and stout, tan jeans and a white T-shirt, no size sixteen. He was looking around like he wasn't sure what to do. He's heard, she thought. He's heard what happened and doesn't know if he's still got a job.
"Over here," she called, waving.
He came her way, stopped six feet away. Black hair and eyes nice smile, two silver-capped teeth front and top.
Merci told him who she was. He nodded and said he was Jesus and that he spoke English.
"Let me show you something."
She led him down the walk to the Chinese flame tree where Size Sixteen had stood. "Did you rake in here last Tuesday?"
"Yes."
"Did you stand under this tree-right here, like this-and face this direction?"
She stooped under the foliage and arranged herself where the man had stood.
"Here, like this?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"I don't stand. I rake."
Merci considered. "What shoes were you wearing?"
He looked down at his worn brown boots. "This boots."
"Did you wear some other boots over them? Mud boots, maybe, or boots to repel water?"
"No. I wear this boots. I don't stand there."
"Did you hear Archie and a woman arguing that day?"
"No. Did not hear argue."
"Did you see a woman here?"
"Gwen sister. I don't know her name."
Jesus said that he first saw the sister around three. He heard no argument, no conversation. He said he had a cassette player he listened to when he worked.
Merci led him around the walkway, past the pool and into the rear yard. She pointed to the hole in the window, now blocked by a piece of plywood held in place by duct tape.
"Was this glass broken when you were here last week?"
Jesus stared mournfully. "I don't see. I don't look at this."
"You don't know."
"I don't know. Mrs. Gwen is dead?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Bad. Mr. Archie get shot, too?"
"He's alive. That's about all I can tell you, Jesus."
"I like. Archie and Gwen is good family."
"Yeah. I know."
She asked him about people looking onto the property, very big men in specific, but Jesus had not noticed any. No unfamiliar vehicles, nothing out of the ordinary with Archie or Gwen. He had worked for Archie for six months, and for the previous owners for six years.
She got his full name, address and phone number, and thanked him.
Rayborn closed by saying Vaya con Dios because she thought the expression was elegant and meaningful, but Jesus himself looked at her as if the words were pointless.
Two hours later, midway through OrganiVen I, Merci picked up the trail she was looking for. In yellow highlighter, Gwen had begun to mark certain passages in the promotional literature, then keyed those passages to the research stats found in the research folder.
From the OrganiVen Company Overview brochure, dated March 2001:
OrganiVen researchers have found the extracted pure-form venoms of many vipers to be effective in the animal trials, especially the from animals indigenous to the deserts of the American southwest.
Gwen's handwritten note referenced the SeruCure research date from October of the previous year:
The results of double-blind test series 12-C and 12-D strongly suggest that the serum obtained from C. cerastes is the only serum with toxicity levels necessary to destroy carcinoma cells at an acceptable rate with acceptable damage to surrounding tissue. Venom compounds using C. ruber, C. viridis and atrox resulted in significantly lower anaerobic reactions but high healthy cell destruction. See charts for comparative venom strengths and collateral tissue damage.
"Paul," she said. "
Cerastes rum isn't liquor, it's a kind of venom
Serum."
He looked at her. "Okay, that tracks with what I'm getting here through the e-mail. Gwen was worried there wasn't enough of it, wasn't going to be enough of it. Lots of correspondence between her and Sean Moss. Something about a breeding program to make sure the supply would last."
Rayborn's heart jumped when she read one of the cross-referenced statements in an OrganiVen brochure. "She's marked up the promotional lit and cross-referenced statements to the research. All it talks about here is viper serum, nothing specific. So the research and the brochures are saying two different things. Let me see what I can find on a breeding program."
"Look for Dailey, or Dan, or Harvesters-all three seem to be the game."
God rest Gwen Wildcraft's orderly soul, thought Merci, because she found a purple folder dedicated to Harvest Specialists. Inside was what looked like a hastily produced company brochure and a letter Sean Moss from Harvest Specialists president Dan Dailey of Temecula California.
In the letter, Mr. Dailey talked about his education as a biologist, his lifelong interest in herpetology, and his familiarity with the reptiles of the American Southwest.