“So you’re having trouble conceiving?” the woman asked.
Her name was Joyce Alenski. She wore a white lab coat and a name tag that identified her as a “Fertility Consultant” at FriskyLife. We sat in her office, small and cozy, with photos of babies and illustrations of the human reproductive system surrounding us on the walls.
“We really want a baby.” Rachel patted my knee.
Maureen Alcott had agreed to let us check out FriskyLife. Fortunately, we’d gotten an appointment for the next day, when Rachel only had a night class.
She was excited about playing detective with me again. Maybe a little too excited. She came up with names, complicated backstories—”I’m the youngest of seven sisters and they’ve all got kids, you’re an only child and your mother always wanted another child but couldn’t get pregnant, and, oh yeah, we’re both lawyers at competing firms”—and changed clothes five times for just the right outfit. She wore a silk blouse and one of her two skirts—not the short one—and I was in my business suit after a quick trip to the dry cleaner.
“How long have you been trying?” Alenski asked.
“A year,” I said. “Year and a half. Maybe longer. Seems like forever.”
Rachel—Robyn Dulles—punched me. “You haven’t been complaining, Johnny.”
I laughed. My name was John Turner. “Beats playing Scrabble.”
Alenski smiled. “Well, let me tell you what kind of services we have available . . .”
We spent close to an hour going through the ins and outs of egg freezing, sperm donation, in-vitro fertilization, hormone shots, and everything else involved in helping happy, eager young couples get pregnant. By the end I knew more about the male and female reproductive systems than I’d ever wanted to learn. Rachel asked most of the questions. My character was supposed to be “reluctant but willing,” according to the backstory she’d created, so I mostly just grunted and asked about prices.
Eventually we said we’d talk things over and get back to her, but as we all stood up to shake hands, I asked, “Any chance we could see what this place is all about? I’d kind of like to know what happens to my, uh, stuff here.”
Rachel glared at me. Alenski looked uncomfortable, but after a moment she nodded. “I suppose.”
She opened her office door and looked down the hall. “Sandy? Could you give this couple a quick tour of the labs? Do you have a few minutes?”
Sandy was a young black man in blue scrubs and a sweater. He looked us over, shrugged, and waved an arm. “Come on.”
“Thank you,” Rachel told Alenski. I nodded to Sandy and took Rachel’s arm.
The young man walked us through the first floor of the two-story facility, showing us rooms were eggs were frozen and sperm was stored, and other technological marvels of reproductive science. Rachel asked lots of questions. I peered at the machines, looking confused and amazed. It wasn’t difficult.
Then we walked past a window, and I spotted the mystery building outside. “What’s that?”
Sandy looked over his shoulder. He was paying more attention to Rachel than me, not that I blamed him. “Special facility. Protected area.” He sounded like he’d memorized the phrases and had no idea what they meant.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Are we almost done?” Rachel looked down the hall toward the front of the building.
“Hey, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” I pointed toward a restroom door. “I’ll meet you up there.”
“Which way?” Rachel smiled at Sandy.
“Uh, right here. Let me get that for you—” He had to enter a code to let me into the restroom, and I watched him escort Rachel up the hallway toward reception.
I waited inside for 30 seconds, then opened the door. The hallway was clear. I headed in the opposite direction, toward the back of the building, where I’d spotted a door to the outside. It didn’t seem to have any alarm attached to it, just a bar to push, but when I looked up I spotted a security camera in the corner of the ceiling.
Oh, well. I’d only have a few minutes, if that, but I could always claim I’d gotten lost. As Rachel says, I’m good at playing stupid.
I pushed the bar, stepped outside, and headed for the mystery building.
It was one story, with gleaming walls, no windows. Two cars were parked on the side. One of them was Haldane’s BMW. Beyond them, I spotted another vehicle, tucked in halfway behind the building. It looked like the ambulance from the other night, with “FL Services” printed across the back doors along with the logo.
A security guard in a gray uniform sat outside the front door. “You lost, sir?” He stood up. Tall and beefy, in his 50s. He looked like a retired boxer waiting to save up enough money to move to Florida.
“Just came out for a cigarette.” I pulled my mask down and patted my pockets. I don’t smoke, but it’s a handy excuse. Although my pack of stale Winston 100s was in the car. “What’s in there?”
“Private. You’ll have to step around to the front of the building.” He walked to the fence gate.
“Sure thing. Quite a place, huh?” I knew I wasn’t getting inside, and I wondered if the security guard even knew what he was guarding. But I had to do something. “We’re trying to get pregnant. They must have some weird machines and stuff in there, huh? Centrifuges and things?”
“Please move along, sir.” He sounded bored—the kind of bored that would have enjoyed a little bit of action if I gave him an excuse.
Just then the door behind him opened. The guard kept his eyes on me, not turning, but I looked past his shoulder, hoping for a quick glimpse inside. But the doorway was blocked as Lawrence Haldane came out.
He was with a woman in another white lab jacket, older than the fertility consultant Rachel and I had met. He looked at me, blinked. Did he remember me? ”Everything okay, Lloyd?”
“Yes, sir. Gentleman out for a smoke.” But the guard kept his eyes locked on me. The woman looked puzzled.
The door behind me opened. “There you are!” Rachel’s voice. “What are you doing? Don’t you remember we have lunch with my mother? She wants to hear all about the baby!” She grabbed my elbow and pulled.
Haldane definitely recognized Rachel—he’d seen her when his wife tripped in their driveway next door to Maureen’s house, and she’s more memorable than I am. He stared as we turned down the sidewalk that circled the main building, headed for the parking lot.
“Anything?” she asked quietly, holding my hand.
“They don’t want anyone going inside.” I glanced back, but Haldane and the woman were already at the door to the main facility. “The guard’s name is Lloyd.”
“You are a crack detective. Did he recognize you?”
“Maybe, but I’m pretty sure he remembered you. Serves me right for having a hot girlfriend.”
She jabbed me with her elbow. “So what now?”
I checked my phone for the time. “Lunch.”
We found a small sandwich place that wasn’t part of a fast food chain and parked out in front. Rachel checked her phone while we were waiting for our sandwiches. “Professor Dyson’s offering extra credit for a special project,” she read. “I’m just not sure if it involves shocking mice with electricity. I don’t think they do that anymore, but—”
My phone buzzed. Maureen Alcott. “Hold that thought. Yes, Ms. Alcott?”
“Adria’s in the, in the hospital.” She sounded short of breath.
“What happened?” I leaned forward.
“I don’t know. She collapsed at work. I’m here right now. She’s awake, but out of it. They say her white blood cells are crazy high, it might be some kind of immune problem. I don’t know.” She coughed. “I know there’s nothing you can do about it, I just—”
A beep. I was getting another call. From Larry Haldane. “Thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted.”
People were staring at the booths around us. “I’ll take this outside,” I told Rachel, edgeing my way out of the booth. “Sorry,” I said to a woman at a nearby table who was glaring at me. “I’m a private detective. Big case.” Maybe she believed me.
Out on the sidewalk I answered just before the call went to voicemail. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”
“You came to my business under false pretenses.” Haldane’s voice was low and tense.
“We paid the consulting fee.” There was a flat fee for initial consultations. I’d checked that out, since our insurance wasn’t going to pay for an appointment if we used different names. And we weren’t really desperate to have kids. At least I wasn’t.
“You’re harassing me. I could get a restraining order—”
“I’ve asked you a few questions and visited your place of business. You seem like you’re overreacting a little—”
“I just don’t have time for a lot of bullshit! My wife is sick. You know that, and you’re harassing me while I’m trying to—’
“Where is she being treated?”
“At a private facility. None of your business—”
“The private facility is right behind your headquarters, isn’t it? That’s where you took her. Do you know Adria Alcott is in the hospital today with compromised immunity? Your wife is also having problems with her immune system, isn’t that what you said?” I was throwing questions at him, hoping one would stick like spaghetti.
The strand that stuck wasn’t the one I expected. “Adria’s in the hospital?”
“Yes. She collapsed at work. Why is that—”
But he hung up.
I called Maureen Alcott again. “I just got a call from Larry Haldane. He seemed very interested about Adria being in the hospital. Are you there now?”
“Yeah. She’s—stable. Breathing better. They’re pumping lots of antibiotics into her, but the doctors don’t really seem to know what’s going on or what caused it. She’s never had anything like this before. I’m—I’m scared.”
I didn’t blame her. “Let me know if you hear from Haldane.”
Back inside, Rachel was halfway through her sandwich. “What?”
“Adria’s in the hospital. Then Haldane called to threaten me, but he hung up when I told him about Adria.”
“Huh.” She sipped her Coke. “What are you thinking, Sherlock?”
I picked up my sandwich. “His wife’s in that building. Maybe Caroline Tillens. He could be—I don’t know. Harvesting their organs for his wife?”
“It wouldn’t be the craziest thing we’ve run into.” Rachel sat back and folded her arms. “So what are you going to do?”
I took a big bite. “I wish I knew.”
Back home I tried to think of a strategy. If Haldane really was behind Adria’s disappearance and Caroline’s abduction, I’d need a lot more evidence than I had to get the cops to take me seriously—or to push Haldane into making a mistake.
Of course, I could be completely wrong. It’s happened.
Rachel was trying to finish up a work project and her psych homework simultaneously while I was digging into some background checks. My phone buzzed. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”
“Mr. Jurgen—this is—Elizabeth Haldane.”
Her voice was low, and she sounded as if she was having trouble breathing. I looked at Rachel, waved for her to listen, and answered: “Yes? Mrs. Haldane? How can I help you?”
“Get me—out of this place.”
I pressed a button on my phone to record the call. “I’m recording this, and I’ve got my associate listening in. Where are you?”
A long silence. I wondered if she’d hung up. Or passed out from lack of breath. Or just didn’t want to be recorded or listened to. Finally: “His company. Out back.”
“How do you know who I am?” I’d never spoken to her.
“I heard—Larry—talking about you. He—he threw your card away, I found it. There’s—there’s another girl here. I don’t know what’s going on—” She paused for a deep, raspy breath. “But I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What girl? Caroline Tillens?”
“I—I don’t know. I just want to go home. Wait, he’s—” She hung up.
Rachel and I looked at each other. “What now?” she asked. “Is there enough to go to the cops?”
I thought for a moment. Would they believe it was really Elizabeth Haldane? Would they try to get a warrant? Or would they just think I was crazy? I needed more proof.
“Not yet.” I picked up my phone and started sending the recording in an email to my computer, and Rachel’s. “I guess I’ll just have to go up there myself. What time’s your class?”
“Six thirty. Damn it.” It was 4:32 right now. She punched my shoulder. “Becky can take notes, but I won’t be able to sign up for Dyson’s project. It’s extra credit.”
“Go to class,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.”
She punched me again. “You’ll be having all the fun while I’m stuck listening to a boring lecture.”
“And signing up to shock monkeys or whatever the extra credit is.” I rubbed my shoulder. “I’ll text you everything that happens.”
She frowned, but didn’t punch me again. Instead she went back to her desk, muttering under her breath.
I’d half hoped she’d ditch the class to come with me. For a long time we’d argued about her joining me on potentially dangerous meetings, and I’d learned that I couldn’t win. Now I was used to having her along for backup. And company.
But I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I took a gulp of water from the bottle on my desk and walked over to kiss her on the cheek. “See you later. Wish me luck.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.” She leaned over her keyboard. “Stupid school.”
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