Mean Streak(50)

It occurred to Jeff that perhaps he had underestimated these two. By an act of will, he brought his temper under control, and, when he spoke, he made himself sound bored. “The company had gone through all the steps with the FDA—and there are many—and had received approval to conduct patient trials.”

“What was the drug for?”

“To help prevent obesity in children who are genetically predisposed. Emory was invited to be one of the participating physicians.”

Grange said, “But when the trail was over, she didn’t endorse it.”

“In her opinion, the side effects weren’t worth the benefits derived from the medication.”

“In other words, it did more harm than good.”

“Those other words are yours, detective,” Jeff said. “Not Emory’s.”

Knight said, “You had encouraged clients to invest heavily in this drug.”

“No,” Jeff said, drawing out the word. “I encouraged clients to invest in a company that is on the leading edge of pharmaceutical breakthroughs that target current medical problems, like childhood obesity, which affect millions of people globally, not only healthwise, but in every other way. Culturally, socially, financially, and so on.”

Knight chuckled. “Skim off the BS, Jeff. The SEC’s not eavesdropping. Translated, a high sign from your wife would have gone a long way toward helping make your clients, and thereby you, a lot of money.”

“Emory hasn’t yet given the drug either a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down. She merely withheld her endorsement pending further study.”

Knight and his partner exchanged a look that indicated further study of this issue was also pending. Jeff looked away as though unperturbed.

“Oh, by the way,” Knight said, “would you mind if we sent some guys over to the motel to take a look inside your car?”

“My car? What the hell for? Do you have a warrant?”

“Do we need one?”

“No. Search all you want. Strip it. While you’re at it, search my house, too. Send cadaver-sniffing dogs. Be sure to check the pine grove at the back of our property. That’s an excellent place for a grave.”

Knight looked over at Grange. “Told you he’d be upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

But to Jeff’s own ears, he sounded upset. Rather than give them the satisfaction of watching him seethe, he turned his head to stare out the window. For the next half hour, they drove with only the two in front occasionally exchanging a few words. Nothing important was discussed.

The gaining altitude and curviness of the road increased Jeff’s carsickness. The drop-offs where there were no guard rails made him more anxious than he already was. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come along. The day had started off badly.

He hadn’t slept well and had gotten up before his alarm and turned on the TV. As expected, all the Atlanta stations covered the story of Emory’s disappearance. Within minutes of the broadcasts, his phone had begun to ring. Acquaintances—some he barely knew—were clamoring to know more. He’d answered only a few of those calls, letting most go to voice mail.

While waiting for Knight to pick him up, he’d ruminated on everything that had been said and tried not to put too much stock in the detectives’ apparent suspicion. By Knight’s own admission, putting the spouse under a microscope was routine. If he let their insinuations rattle him, they would assume he was guilty.

But with all this talk of Emory’s finances, and now the search of his car, he was second-guessing his decision not to retain an attorney, as Alice had suggested.

She had also called this morning in spite of his telling her not to. They’d kept the conversation brief, but he was angry at her for defying him, and even angrier at himself for giving in and answering when her number came up on his phone.

He was angry at the pair of small-time detectives who apparently thought he was too dense to see through the ludicrous law-and-order charade they were playing with him.

Mostly, he was angry at Emory. It was her fault that he was being made to suffer through this.

*





“Know what I can’t get over?” Norman, who’d been eating a bowl of cereal at the dining table, tipped his chair on its back legs. “What I can’t get over is you being so stingy with your name. Guess I’ll just keep on calling you neighbor.”

“Your mother called me Dr. Smith’s guard. Guard, neighbor, whatever is fine with me.” He had accepted Pauline’s offer of a cup of coffee because the water to brew it had reached a boiling point and he’d washed the cup himself. Under Norman’s thoughtful stare, he blew on the hot coffee and took a sip. “But don’t think too hard about it, Norman. You might strain something.”

With a good-natured grin, Norman picked up his bowl and spooned another bite. “What I figure is, you’re a fugitive from justice.”

“Is that what you figure?”

“Me too,” said Will, who glowered at him from what seemed to be his permanent place on the couch.

“You can tell us,” Norman said in a wheedling tone. “We’ve had brushes with the law ourselves.”

“Have you?”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the stunts we’ve pulled.”

“Shut the hell up, Norman,” Will said.