Mind-Altering Murder Page 22

  "First of all, I don't believe that," Gus said. "I realize that in the world you've created in your mind, you have complete control over everything and everyone, but this is reality. This is business. And it's a lot bigger than whatever scheme you've cooked up. Billions of dollars are at stake and the man who owns this company isn't going to risk them just because you tell him to."

  "You think so?" Shawn said.

  "It doesn't matter what I think. It's a fact," Gus said.

  Shawn didn't respond directly. Instead he pulled out his cell phone and hit two keys. Even from where he was standing, Gus could hear the ringing on the other end of the line, then a voice answering. "Are you at the Krab Shack, D-Bob?" Shawn said, then waited for the answer to come over the line. "I just wanted to warn you, I'm getting a very negative vibe from one of the oysters there. I can't tell you which one it is, so I'm going to warn you off eating anything in a shell."

  Shawn held the phone out to Gus in time for him to hear D-Bob thanking Shawn profusely, then ordering a waiter to remove something from his plate. Shawn disconnected the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

  "Okay, so you've convinced him you're some kind of psychic dining guru," Gus said. "That doesn't mean he's going to take your orders when it comes to running his company."

  "No, but he does," Shawn said. "And you know it as well as I do."

  Gus did. This was San Francisco, after all, where the question of what to have for dinner was considered far more crucial than little issues like life and death.

  "Okay, fine," Gus said. "For the sake of argument, let's say it was your idea that D-Bob make me president. It's done. So thank you. What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is that the president thing was part of the plan when I thought we were working together undercover."

  "Again, I say, what's the big deal?" Gus said.

  Shawn looked at him gravely. "The big deal," he said, "is that the president is going to be killed next week."

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Gus took a deep breath and held it in his lungs. He'd only been gone for a few months but he'd forgotten how sweet the Santa Barbara air tasted. Funny how you could spend an entire lifetime in one place and never notice how special it was until you went away.

  It wasn't just the soft breeze from the ocean or the light scent of jasmine that made this air smell so good to Gus. There was another scent. The aroma of triumph.

  Gus had left Santa Barbara as a failed detective, a parttime salesman, and an all-around loser. He'd spent close to thirty years on the earth and what had he accomplished in all that time? He'd lived in a crummy one-bedroom apartment, driven a company car that was barely one step above a skateboard, and spent all his free time hanging out with the one close friend he'd ever made, arguing about nonsense and doing nothing.

  Now look at me, he thought as he walked along the edge of the cliff that marked the western edge of the fabulous Zahara Resort and Spa. In a few minutes he would be striding to the stage of the resort's conference center to be named president of the world's largest privately owned pharmaceuticals company. He had a penthouse apartment in San Francisco, thousands of devoted employees, and a mandate to make a real difference in the world. Best of all, he wasn't afraid anymore. Now that he knew where his future was taking him he could look back on his days at Psych without even a tremor. There was only one thing that could make his life even better, and that was the love of a beautiful, intelligent woman who would be his partner in the future.

  And maybe he was about to have that, too.

  He was still having a little trouble believing it. It had just happened a little more than an hour before. He'd put on his best suit for the occasion of his swearing-in, giving himself plenty of time to make sure the end of his tie just kissed the top of his belt buckle, a process that could take anywhere from one minute to an entire workday, when there had been a knock on the door.

  "Come on in," he called, assuming it was the roomservice waiter come to take his tray away. He'd been too nervous to do more than pick at the food, and normally he would have made sure he was out of the room before letting the tray go, so as not to have to answer questions about whether or not he'd liked his breakfast. But he'd left it out on his ocean-view balcony, and a couple of seagulls had eaten everything except the rind of the decorative melon slice.

  The door didn't open, but the knock came again. Gus gave the Windsor knot in his tie a quick tug into position, then walked over and threw open the door.

  It took Gus a moment to recognize the woman standing in his doorway, even though he'd seen her every workday since he started at Benson. It must have been because she was wearing a long coat that came down nearly to her ankles. Until this moment Gus had never known Chanterelle to cover any part of her body lower than midthigh.

  "I'd like to talk to you for a moment, Gus," she said shyly. "That is, if you're not too busy for me."

  "I can't imagine being too busy for you," Gus said.

  At least those were the words his brain sent down to his tongue. What actually came out of his mouth sounded more like the distress call of a geriatric harp seal, but she didn't seem to notice.

  "Maybe we could walk along the bluff," she said.

  Gus glanced out the sliding door to his balcony and saw the palm trees on the terrace bent nearly double in the wind. If it blew any harder Gus would not have been surprised to see one or more of his elementary school teachers fly by, pedaling on bicycles with stolen dogs in the basket.

  "I'd love to," he said, and if his tongue couldn't make his meaning clear, he managed to convey his intention by grabbing his room key, stepping into the hallway, and closing the door behind him.

  "Not now," she said, looking around as if to see if she'd been followed. "Meet me there in twenty minutes."

  Gus passed the requested time span watching an enormous seagull lift the breakfast plate in its beak, then smash it down on the table like a mussel it was trying to shell. Then, with two minutes to spare, he walked quickly through the broad avenues that wound around the resort's whitewashed haciendas. Finally he reached a metal gate, elegantly dusted with rust to show that it dated back to the area's agricultural roots even though it had only stood here since the resort's construction three years ago, and passed through onto a long meadow that ran to the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

  Chanterelle was waiting for him on the edge of the cliff, staring out to sea as if waiting for her French soldier to come back and make an honest woman of her. As Gus came up to her she started, then gave him a warm smile.

  "You came," she said.

  "Of course," he said. "How could I refuse? I'd never get another phone message."

  He winced at the stupidity of his joke. The most beautiful woman he'd ever met had asked him to meet her at this, the most romantic place in the world. And what did he do? Act like she was the receptionist and he the boss.

  She didn't seem to notice. She took his hand and led him to the edge, although once he had felt the touch of her skin against his he had stopped noticing where he was going.

  They stood together and watched the waves pounding against the rock far below. After a moment that Gus would happily have let stretch into eternity, Chanterelle dropped his hand and turned to face him.

  "May I ask you a question?" she said shyly, her face cast down to the ground but her eyes peering up at him.

  "Anything," Gus said.

  "They say," she said, then broke off. "This is stupid. Maybe I should just go back. ..."

  "No, go ahead," he said. If the question was so personal or so difficult she was this hesitant to ask, there was no way he could let the moment slip away. "Anything at all."

  She smiled up at him and his heart fluttered. It's amazing how much prettier her face is when you're not distracted by those legs, he thought.

  "They say that you've got just about no experience in the pharmaceuticals field," she said. "That before you took this job you were
some kind of security guard."

  If anyone else had said this he would have bristled. From her it was an adorable misunderstanding. "I was a partner in a private-detective firm," he said. "But I was also a salesman for a local pharmaceuticals company."

  "I see," she said. "But still it's such a huge thing, to go from that to being president of Benson. It's so impressive."

  Gus was even happier he hadn't become defensive at her first question. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time," he said, assuming as much modesty as he could.

  "It's got to be more than that," Chanterelle said. "It has to be."

  "I hope I bring some fresh perspective to the position," Gus said.

  "The very freshest, I'm sure," she said. She turned her eyes back to the ground as if she were searching the ground for a particular blade of grass.

  "What's this all about?" Gus said. "I'm sure we didn't come all the way out here just so I could recite my resume."

  "It doesn't seem like it would take all that much time, does it?" she said, then colored. "Oh, no, that came out all wrong."

  "It's all right," Gus said. "Please go ahead."

  "I wanted to talk to you about a job," she said. "Something in the executive suite."

  Gus felt mixed feelings flood through him. On the one hand he had hoped that whatever it was she wanted to talk to him about would turn out to be a little more personal than a request for a job. On the other hand, though, if she were an executive, they'd be working closely together every day. She might even get the office next door to his, which wouldn't be too much of a problem since no one had moved into Ecclesine's former space. And a relationship between two highly placed executives would cause far fewer problems than one between the company president and its receptionist.

  "It's funny you should mention that," Gus said. "One of my first priorities is to establish an executive-training program for our employees so that we can more easily promote from within when we spot someone with great potential. You'd make an ideal first participant."

  None of that was entirely untrue. Although he had never thought of such a thing until this very moment, the trainee program had become Gus' first priority as soon as Chanterelle suggested she might want an executive position. And since the entire program was designed to bring her into greater proximity to Gus, it would be hard to argue that she was anything but ideal for it.

  Gus studied her closely, waiting to see if she'd give him one of those heartbreaking smiles. But she was still studying the greenery at her feet.

  "I didn't mean for me," she said. "I meant for my da."

  "For Jerry?"All of a sudden the concept of the executive-training program seemed so much less appealing.

  "He knows so much about this company," she said. "And he's a hard worker. And everyone loves him."

  "That's all true," Gus said. "Do you think he'd like to be, I don't know, manager of information services? Or does he know anything about computers? How about manager of physical information services?"

  "I'm serious," she said. If she had stomped her foot on the grass before marching away, it wouldn't have felt out of place. "I mean a position of real authority and responsibility, not some fancy title to make him feel better about what he's been doing for decades."

  "I thought he loved doing what he's been doing for decades," Gus said. Why was he arguing with her? Why didn't he just say he'd make Jerry an associate vice president? He had the power now, and what was the point of having power if you couldn't use it to reward those who had helped you on the way up? Especially when their daughter was staring up at you with eyes like the moon, and all you had to do was say yes and she'd fall into your arms. Not that she had made that an explicit part of the deal, but Gus was definitely getting that vibe.

  He wanted to say yes. And that was what stopped him. Because he understood the instincts that were driving him toward that answer, and they weren't the instincts of a successful corporate chieftain. He might well decide later that the idea of promoting Jerry was an excellent one. But before he committed himself he wanted to do a little due diligence. The man had been with the company for decades and he'd never been promoted before. Maybe there was a reason for that.

  "What do you expect him to do?" Chanterelle said. "Spend his days cursing and his nights weeping? He's a proud man, but fiercely ambitious. Sure, he's got a menial job title, but he's passionate about changing the world. He's never going to ask for what he wants, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want it as much as the next man."

  Passionate about changing the world. Gus let those words rattle through his head until they bumped up against the thoughts he'd buried there.

  "Just how ambitious is he?" Gus asked tentatively. "I mean, how far would he go to get what he needs?"

  "I'm not the right person to ask," Chanterelle said.

  "If not you, then who?"

  "Bertie Murphy, Casey Reilly, and Daniel Flynn," she said.

  "Who are they?"

  "They're nobody," she said. "Not anymore. Just three more forgotten men in Shankill Rest Garden."

  "Rest Garden," Gus said hopefully. "So they're friends of his in an old folks' home?"

  "Very old folks," Chanterelle said with a hint of a smile. "Some of them hundreds of years, all buried together."

  "Buried?" Gus said. "I assume they were someone before they were buried."

  "Provos," she said gravely.

  "What, they rode on train cars?" Gus was completely lost now.

  "Not hobos, Provos," she snapped, and for a second Gus could have sworn he saw a glint of contempt in those fabulous eyes. "Members of the Provisional IRA."

  Now Gus was completely lost. "I've got a 401 (k) through the company," he said. "I didn't know they had other retirement plans."

  "In his youth my father was a member of the Irish Republican Army," she said, enunciating the last three words carefully enough that Gus would have to realize what the initials referred to. "He and his three mates, Bertie, Casey, and Daniel. In 1969, the year they all turned nineteen, came the rupture."

  Gus had an image of all the good people in Ireland being called up to heaven while a handful of others were left behind to do battle with the devil. But that one glint of contempt in Chanterelle's eyes was enough to keep him from asking if this was what she'd meant until she'd given a few more details.

  "Ah, yes, the rupture," he said knowingly. "I remember it well. Or I would if I had been born yet."

  "Even as a boy, my da believed that the only way to resolve the troubles was through peaceful negotiations," Chanterelle said, eyeing him as if he were about to say something stupid. "But his mates lacked his patience. They bought into the anger of the Provos. They wanted to be part of the violent revolution everyone thought was about to come. But they were just boys. There was no way the Provos would take them on unless they could prove themselves."

  Gus started to feel a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, although he wasn't sure yet exactly why. "So how would you go about proving yourself back then?" he said as casually as he could, as if he thought the tenor of the answer would be determined by his tone of voice.

  "How do you ever prove yourself?" Chanterelle said. "If you want to be a thief, you steal something. If you want to be an arsonist, you burn something down. And if you want to be a killer ..."

  "Who did they kill?"

  "Simple murder wasn't enough to get them into the Provos," she said. "These people were terrorists. They aimed to use violence to coerce the English into realizing that the price for staying in Ireland was too high for the rewards. So the acts they committed had to be terrible indeed. And if my da's three friends wanted to impress the Provos, whatever they did had to be at least as bad as anything they might have done themselves."

  Gus didn't want to hear any more. But he couldn't turn away yet. "What did they do?"

  "It's what they planned to do that's important," Chanterelle said. "There was a Protestant nursery school th
ey had to walk past every day. They decided they were going to kill all the children."

  Gus was shocked beyond words. "And Jerry knew about this?"

  "They told him," she said. "They were so proud of their plan. They wanted him to join them. They could only get their hands on one gun, but they could make as many gasoline bombs as they needed, and Bertie worked for a gardening service, so he could get plenty of machetes for the close work."

  "He didn't," Gus said. No matter what suspicions he might have had about the man, there was no way he could have been capable of an atrocity like this.

  "How could you even imagine such a thing?" Chanterelle said. "Of course he didn't. He believed in a peaceful future. He believed that the world could be a better place--but only if people were willing to put aside their differences and work together. Massacring a bunch of innocent schoolchildren because their parents happened to belong to the wrong church would hardly advance that goal."

  "So, what happened?" Gus said, relieved to hear that much at least.

  "I don't know, exactly." Chanterelle turned back to stare out to sea.

  "You don't know?" Gus said.

  "Not exactly," she said, her voice muffled by the wind blowing off the ocean.

  "They didn't kill all the children, did they?"

  "I told you, Bertie Murphy, Casey Reilly, and Daniel Flynn all lie in Shankill Rest Garden, and have been there for more than forty years now," she said.

  Gus was about to ask another question when the meaning of her words hit him. "He killed them? His own friends?"

  "How many times do I have to say this?" she said. "I don't know what happened, exactly. All I do know is that the massacre of the children never happened, my father's three mates lie in Shankill, and Jerry Fellows emigrated to the United States in 1970, where he got a job in the mail room of Benson Pharmaceuticals, a job he's held to this very day. And every day in that job he has done his best to make the world a better place. Is it to atone for what he did in his youth? I don't know and he never talks about it. I only learned this much when he was in the hospital for an appendectomy and he talked when he was coming out of the anesthesia. But I do know he has spent the rest of his life trying to make sure that he leaves the world a better place than he found it. And you would deprive him of the chance to do that?"