COSMOS magazine

Wednesday, July 2

Bruce Blick forced himself to make three circuits of the garden, walking slowly and savouring the colours and forms of the flowers, breathing their perfume, keeping his mind otherwise empty. By the time he sat down on his favourite bench his mind was free of anger, and he could think clearly.

Tom was proving to be something of a disappointment. Not that Bruce had expected a flawless performance, but allowing a man like Preston Bowie access to sensitive information had shown a surprising lack of thoughtful analysis. And now Tom was complaining that there was nothing he could do, because the police were watching both Shannon and Gibson.

Blick considered these facts calmly, as nothing more than data. The best thing to do under the circumstances, he decided, was to leave Tom nominally in control but to call the shots himself. He opened his notebook and began making a to-do list.

Preston Bowie was keeping a low profile at a friend's mountain hideaway in Montana and would cause no further trouble, at least not for a while. He could safely be ignored for the present time.

Jill Shannon was an unknown. She could be a disaster, she could be harmless, or she could even turn out to be an asset if she could provide useful information about her boyfriend Gibson. At the very least, Blick needed to have her interrogated.

Paul Gibson and Roberta Treadwell were definitely problems. Once before, BlickPharm had attempted to buy patents from MTJ Labs, but Treadwell required provisions forcing Blick to market the products at or below a certain price. Evidently she saw herself as some sort of crusader. Gibson might be easier to work with, but somehow Blick doubted it. If Gibson moved to MTJ Labs, he probably would surrender the rights to the products or processes he developed. Blick considered himself a non-violent man, but in this case there was no evading the fact that the most effective way to deal with Treadwell and Gibson would probably require sharp, brutal force. Police reports indicated a recent break-in to Gibson's lab. That would provide a useful cover, perhaps.

The latest word from Blick's main Austin contact was that Jill Shannon's ex-husband had filed a lawsuit alleging Shannon had provided the child with inadequate medical treatment. Was it possible that the treatment in question was based on Gibson's DNA research? Unlikely, but worth considering. Apparently the child now lived with its father. Blick made a note to have Tom look into the logistics of acquiring the child.

Finally, Rutherford's live wire. Earthsavior. Blick blinked, then, two facts fusing like crossed electric lines. Of course. The supposed drug addict who had shot up Gibson's lab was Wayne Elliot. Too bad he hadn't taken out Gibson. Would've saved everyone else a hell of a lot of trouble. Elliot had disappeared from sight years ago, and Blick did not even try to predict what the former asset might do next. Futile waste of time, trying to analyse the behaviour of the insane, as Rutherford should have realized at the outset.

Blick contemplated these pieces on one small corner of his strategy board, mentally composing possible paths they might take, searching out tipping points where a small action on his part was likely to trigger a major reaction, tapping out notes for himself. At length he set the notebook aside and called his executive assistant to order his lunch. He would eat a leisurely meal first, then move steadfastly into action.

Wednesday, July 2

The one good thing about staying at Dad's house, well two things really, were Sherry and Tamara. Alex's little half-sisters worshipped him, followed him around like faithful puppies.

"Alex, will you read to me?" Four-year-old Sherry leaned against his shoulder, thrusting a book in front of his face.

"Not right now." He gently pushed the book away. "Don't you want me to finish the present I'm making for you?"

The little girl plopped down on the floor next to him. "You can't give me my own horsie. A present's gotta to be something new."

"Just wait'll I finish."

Sherry pointed. "What's that thing?"

"It's a part I got from that old VCR Dad set out for the trash collectors."

"Why are you putting it in the horse?"

"Patience, little sister. You'll see in a minute."

"Is it a present just for me?"

"We-el. Maybe you could let Tamara play with it sometimes when you're not using it."

"She might break it."

"If she breaks it, we'll fix it. Okay? Now watch this." Grinning, he set the toy on the floor in front of Sherry and pressed a button on the VCR's remote control. The toy horse advanced toward Sherry, all four legs moving. As Alex worked the buttons, it turned away at the last second to avoid running into her. The little girl shrieked, delighted.

"Can I try it, Alex? Can I do it?"

"Sure. Here you go." He handed her the remote control. "Push this button for forward, this one for left, and—" The quick step in the hallway told him that April was coming, and he found himself looking around for a place to hide.

"What in the world are you two doing sitting here in the closet?" April shot an irate glance at Alex. She never missed an opportunity to let him know that she considered him a bad influence on her daughters, unworthy of playing with them. "What have you done, Alex? Why did you break the little horse's legs?"

"He made the horsie run, Mommy! Look!"

"Alex, I've told you, you're to leave the girls' toys alone. Do you understand me? From now on, every time you break one of Tamara's or Sherry's toys, I'm going to take one of your toys away from you."

"But Mommy, look! He made the horsie run." The little girl pulled at her mother's skirt.

"Stop that, Tammy! Alex, I want you to pick up this mess right now and then get yourself cleaned up. It's almost dinner time." She picked up the toy horse. "Look at what you've done!"

"No, Mommy, where are you taking my horsie?"

"It's broken, Tammy. Alex broke it. Broken toys go in the trash can."

As the clicking of April's heels receded along the tiled floor of the girls' playroom Alex leaned toward Tamara and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll fish him out of the trash later on, and we'll find a hiding place for him and only take him out when the coast is clear. Wait'll you see what else I'm working on, Tammy."

"What? What?" Her tears were forgotten.

"I'm making a flying machine that really flies."

Thursday, July 3

Jill was not a complete stranger to Associate Judge Mary Patterson's courtroom. She had assisted Art Sutton with a couple of divorce cases, although her own divorce had been uncontested. At the time, Keith had convinced her it would be a waste of money for them each to hire a lawyer, that the judge's signature on their agreed divorce decree was a mere formality. God, she'd been naïve.

Being here as a party in a contested matter, for the first time, made a chilling difference. "Just pretend it's someone else's case," Carol had suggested. Good advice, but hard to act on it when the outcome might have a significant effect on Alex's life—indeed, on his very lifespan.

 

Keith, called as the first witness by Grady Bridges and dressed in conservatively cut suit, presented the perfect picture of the successful young lawyer. At once refined and masculine, his features were composed into an expression of deep sincerity.

Grady swiftly went on the attack. "Did anything out of the ordinary lead to your filing the motion that brings us here today?"

"I was shocked to discover that my ex-wife has moved in with a man she's only known for a very brief time." Carol jotted in her notebook. Keith looked directly at Jill; she stared back at him in disbelief. "Alex has been staying with my family, and I didn't like the idea of sending him back to an unwholesome environment."

"During the years since your divorce, how often have you seen Alex?"

"At least once a month, usually more often." His open, honest expression never faltered as he lied under oath.

"That son of a bitch! Jill whispered furiously. "He never—"

Carol laid a hand on her arm. "We'll get him on cross."

"What was the nature of your son's illness?"

"As I learned belatedly, he was diagnosed with cancer several months ago. The usual course of treatment would have been surgery followed by radiation and standard chemotherapy, but his mother chose to take him to a—" Keith did not say the word quack but his expression made it clear what he thought of Dr. Les Collins "—an unconventional doctor who used some sort of experimental low-dose chemotherapy."

Grady was shocked. "Had Ms. Shannon consulted you about Alex's medical treatment?"

"No, I never would have agreed to it. But I doubt if anything I could have said would matter to her. My ex-wife has very strong opinions."

Grady actually shuddered. Don't overdo it, thought Jill. You're not playing to a jury today.

"Did Ms. Shannon explain why she had moved in with this man?"

"She hasn't been able to hold down a job lately, can't afford the house payments. I've been helping her out as much as I can, but I have my own family to take care of. She's moved in with this man, who isn't even a permanent resident of the United States, and plans to sell the house that was awarded to her when we were divorced."

"Did you discuss any of your concerns with Ms. Shannon?"

"I tried to, but she insisted that Alex and this man get on well and that the chemo treatments had nothing to do with my son's deteriorating condition. I think under the circumstances it would be far better for Alex to live with us—my wife and me and our two daughters, Alex's sisters."

"How do Alex and his sisters get along?"

"Very well. They'd be devastated if they were separated. And the boy's condition has improved dramatically since he's been with us. I think our stable family life is good for him."

Thursday, July 3

Tom had been barely able to conceal his irritation when Bruce Blick instructed him to attend the custody hearing in Austin. But when Carol Glassman stood to cross examine Keith Hindle, Tom had to admit the assignment was not completely uninteresting. Glassman was strikingly beautiful, tall, slender, darkly exotic.

"I wonder if you could tell me, Mr. Hindle, which kindergarten Alex attended?" She asked the question blandly, casually.

"No. Jill never told me." For the first time, Hindle looked uncomfortable.

"Mmm." The iridescent purple of her turban shimmered as she nodded. "It was a long time ago."

"Yes. Yes, it was."

Glassman paced slowly towards the judge then turned gracefully back to Hindle. "Maybe you could tell me, then, which school Alex attended last year."

"I don't know. I generally see Alex on the weekends."

"You testified a few minutes ago that when you picked Alex up from his mother's house, he looked much worse than last time you'd seen him. When was the last time you saw Alex before that day?"

"I'm not sure of the date, but it wouldn't have been more than a month. I've always tried to see Alex at least once or twice a month."

Glassman assumed a thoughtful pose. She looked positively regal, her jacketed dress at once businesslike and cleverly sexy. Tom wondered what it would feel like to run his hand down her back, along the smooth curve of her hips.

"Why did you have notice of this hearing delivered to the offices of Allen Hoffman and Flory when you knew Jill Shannon no longer worked there?"

"It was the last known..."

"You hoped Jill would not learn about this hearing until it was over?"

"Of course not!"

"You've stated that Mrs. Hindle would look after Alex if he lived with you. What special qualifications does your wife have to care for a child with cancer?"

"She's a very nurturing person," Hindle said, glancing at his lawyer.

Tom briefly toyed with the idea of introducing himself to Glassman after the hearing. In your dreams, he chided himself. Bruce would kill me.