When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [37]
Kit’s face betrayed nothing. “You came here from San Francisco? You were at University Hospital there. Another in vitro clinic.”
Brownhill nodded. “Five years ago, and I’ve never regretted the move. I can’t imagine why the FBI would want to talk to me, though. Murder investigation? I help couples have babies they otherwise wouldn’t be able to have.”
Kit peered into the doctor’s eyes, measuring him. “Did you know Dr. James Kim while you were working in San Francisco?”
“Yes, I knew James Kim. Not very well, I’m afraid. We were both in California around the same time. Please tell me what this is about. I have pregnant women waiting out there to see me.”
Kit nodded sympathetically. “I interviewed Dr. Kim in May. He was involved with illegal experiments in the Bay area. He told me that a doctor by the name of Anthony Peyser was hiding out here in Colorado. He said that both he and you had worked with Dr. Peyser.”
Dr. Brownhill shook his head. “Now wait a minute. That’s simply not true. Yes, Dr. Peyser was accused of unethical practices in the lab he supervised at Berkeley. But I had nothing to do with the lab or with the experiments. I’ve never been accused of any wrongdoing, and I’m certainly not in hiding.”
Kit lowered his voice. “Do you know that James Kim is dead? He was murdered a week ago in California. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
John Brownhill seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear about Dr. Kim. I still don’t see how I can help you, though. I have no idea what happened to Dr. Peyser.”
Dr. Brownhill tried to get up and leave. Kit held up a hand. “I have one other subject. It’s important, doctor. Would you tell me about Dr. David Mekin? You worked with Dr. Mekin here as well as in San Francisco. I understand that the two of you were friends. David Mekin was murdered. Is that a coincidence, too?”
Dr. Brownhill rose from the chair at his desk. “You’ll have to excuse me now. I have patients to see. David Mekin was a friend and I don’t care to revisit his death again.”
Kit took his time getting to his feet. He left the in vitro clinic. He thought that he’d accomplished what he needed to do.
He had gotten a doctor there uncomfortable, gotten him to hedge and probably lie. He had rattled some cages, and that was a good start.
Chapter 37
NIGHT HAD FALLEN across the foothills east of the Rockies. The sky was a dense midnight blue and covered with gleaming stars. The security team crouched at the edge of the clearing near the summer house.
They wore night goggles and looked like a police or army strike force about to move into serious action.
They had the girl. They’d spotted her not too far from the blueberry bog.
The house was a perfectly yuppified weekend place, a modern A-frame with enormous windows looking out on the mountains. Nouveau riche folks from southern California owned it and only stayed there on weekends.
Harding Thomas took in all the details. It was just after ten and the place was mostly dark. Except for the grayish-blue light in one downstairs room. Then a brighter, almost white light.
A television set was on, and she loved TV. She called the TV at the School her “mom and pop,”
“the baby-sitter,” and her “pal.”
“Let’s get her now,” Thomas whispered to the others. She’s eleven, but she’s strong,” he warned. “She’s stronger than most men. She has a designer chest and shoulders.”
“What is she, supergirl?” one of the others asked.
“That’s about right,” Harding Thomas told the man. “You’ll see if you screw up. Just don’t think of her as an eleven-year-old girl.”
The steps to the first level of the deck were tight and practically new and they squeaked. Harding Thomas stepped around pots of geraniums stacked on the landing. There were three pairs of discarded in-line skates, Roces Barcelonas.
The hunters adjusted their night goggles. They climbed the next flight of stairs in a hurry, making more squeaking noises. They brushed past metal deck furniture,