Thanks to Doc Howard’s information, I disabled the chip. So I’m having a hard time believing he was Darwin.
Which means Lou killed the wrong man.
“Callie thinks you’re Darwin,” I say.
Lou does a double take. “That’s crazy! Why would she think that?”
“You and Doc are the two people who claimed Darwin was trying to kill me. And you’re the one who uncovered the evidence against Doc. And you’re the one who killed him.”
“It’s logical I found the evidence,” Lou says. “It’s my research team. Plus, I worked right here in the same building with Doc Howard for more than ten years. If I’m wrong, why was Doc Howard tracking your movements and monitoring your flights? Why would a government surgeon do that?”
“The obvious answer is he wouldn’t. But Callie might remind me that you’re a computer genius. You gave us fake ID’s and wiped our paper trails clean. You’ve doctored our birth certificates and created diplomas and certifications that prove we’re lawyers, doctors, nuclear inspectors, and anything else we need to prove out in the field. For a guy like you, framing Doc Howard would be child’s play.”
“You know damn good and well I’m not Darwin!” he says.
“You’re right.”
Lou looks relieved. “You do know?”
“Yes.”
“For certain?”
“Of course.”
“Then please tell me why. I haven’t slept for days, worrying you might come after me.”
“Remember when we did the sting together and stole all that money from Sam Case’s clients?”
He nods.
“You tried to kill me.”
He hangs his head. Then looks up and says, “I don’t understand.”
“You tried to kill me by pumping the air out of the Lucite container.”
“So?”
“I didn’t know it at the time, but Darwin ordered a chip planted in my brain years earlier.”
“When you were in a coma,” Lou says.
“That’s right. If you were Darwin, you would’ve known about the chip. You could’ve killed me instantly by simply pressing a button.”
“Thank God I tried to kill you!” he says.
We look at each other and laugh.
He adds, “Well, you know what I mean!”
I do know. But while I know Lou isn’t Darwin, I also know he can’t be trusted. He may or may not believe Doc was Darwin. He may or may not be helping the real Darwin frame Doc.
Lou says, “You’re having a hard time accepting Doc Howard as Darwin.”
“I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Want to see his death?”
“You have photos?”
“Video.”
As he punches some numbers into his computer I ask, “What, no popcorn?”
“It’s a short clip.”
He’s right. The Doc Howard death video shows Lou killed Doc the old fashioned way. Grabbed him from behind, stuck a syringe in his neck, pushed the plunger.
“Doc and I were very close,” Lou says. “I made sure he didn’t suffer.”
“Why hasn’t his death been announced?”
“I’m rewriting his life.”
“Not just erasing it?”
“No. I want Doc to have the legacy he deserves. It’s easy for us to erase a person’s history. But it takes time to create the proper references, letters, public appearances, contributions, and accomplishments a distinguished man like Doc Howard would have made to the world.”
“Isn’t Ethel asking about her husband’s whereabouts?”
“No.”
“Because?”
“I’m afraid Ethel suffered an overdose.”
I frown. “You couldn’t find it in your heart to spare her?”
“Doc was a good husband. Almost never worked late. We’re still days away from fixing his background. She would’ve raised a stink.”
“What about Homeland?”
“I informed them of his heart attack this morning. They agree I should keep him on ice till we’ve cleaned his history.”
“Do they know about Ethel?”
“They think she’s here at Sensory, under a doctor’s care.”
“You’re holding both bodies?”
“I am.”
“Show me.”
Lou takes me to the cooler and shows me the bodies. I don’t know Ethel well enough to positively identify her, but this other one is definitely Doc Howard. We use a lot of body doubles in our business, but this is my old friend. I’d stake my life on it.
The question remains. Was he Darwin?
“Someone at Homeland knows Darwin’s identity,” I say.
“You’d think so.”
“If they think Doc was Darwin, they’ll want to replace him.”
“That’s my hope.”
It dawns on me Lou wants the job. If he’s framing Doc Howard, here’s another motive.
Lou says, “Don’t look so surprised. Stranger things have happened.”
“You’re a computer expert and researcher.”
“So?”
“I doubt they’ll offer you the job.”
“Maybe they’ll offer it to you,” he says.
I think about that as I head to the lobby to fetch Miranda.
22
Miles Gundy.
WHAT DO LITTLE girls and moms like to do?
Little girls take ballet. Moms take barre classes set to music. What do they have in common? Both use ballet barres, the long banister-type railing dancers use for stretching.
Miles pulls into a parking space that offers an unobstructed view of the entrance to Dancing Barre in Memphis. He tunes his radio to the local sixties station, cranks it up, and sits tight for twenty minutes waiting for the instructor to show up for the three-fifteen class. She’s early, of course, but not that early. Miles jumps out of his car, grabs the large canvass bag from the back seat, and enters the studio.
The instructor says, “May I help you?”
“I’m from corporate,” Miles says. “And you are?”
“Missy Tadasana.”
“I know you’ve got a class at three-fifteen,” he says. “If nothing’s out of order, I can be out of here in two minutes.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you, again?”
“Dancing Barre is a franchise,” Miles says. “Twice a year we test the facility for cleanliness.”
“Ms. Pranayama didn’t say anything about this,” Missy says.
“We don’t schedule our visits, Missy. That would defeat the purpose.”
“Well, this studio is spotless. You can tell by looking.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But I need to run a special cloth over the ballet barre and the floor to check for microbes. You’ll want to watch.”
“Why?”
“If the cloth turns blue, we’ve got a problem.”
“I should probably call Ms. Pranayama.”
“If the cloth turns blue I’ll call her myself. Otherwise, I’ll be out of here before you get her on the phone. You want to see how it’s done?”
“I guess.”
She follows him into the room. He places the bag on the hardwood floor, slides the zipper open, and removes two pairs of latex gloves, a spray bottle, and a thick cloth. After donning the gloves, he sprays the cloth with a chemical until it’s wet. Then he wipes the entire length of the ballet barre from right to left, sprays the cloth again, and wipes the barre from left to right.
He holds the cloth up for Missy to see.
“No blue,” she says, proudly.
He smiles. “This might be the cleanest facility I’ve ever tested,” Miles says.
“Seriously? Wow! Ms. Pranayama will be so happy to hear that. Do we get a certificate or something?”
“I don’t think so. But they’ll definitely want to mention it in next month’s corporate newsletter.”
She smiles. “We can post it on the bulletin board.”
“That’s a great idea!” he says, as he packs his gear.
“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to test the floor?” she says.