Chapter Thirty-Seven Margo Angelhart #2
“The original company doesn’t own Neurovantix anymore,” Gabriel explained. “That means anyone who wants to sue has to go after
the new owners first. It goes through the courts, and that can take years. The new company will argue they’re not liable because
they didn’t develop the drug—they just market it. Then the victims will turn around and sue the original company, which can
take even more time. And the original company might claim they’re not responsible either, since they’re no longer manufacturing
or profiting from the drug. If the lawyers see enough money in it, they’ll file a class action, which drags on for three to
seven years. In the end, the people who suffered might get a modest settlement, while the lawyers walk away with a third of
the total. It’s a slow, messy system that rarely delivers real justice.”
“He’s right,” Cal said.
“That sucks,” I said.
“Because people suck,” Nate repeated and winked at me.
“Is there any connection between Zachary Ames and Mildred or any of these other people before they started working at the
VA?” Jack asked.
“Nothing we could find,” Tess said. “That’s not to say there isn’t, but it’s not obvious.”
“This is good,” Nico said.
“But is it good enough to prove Dad didn’t kill Devin Klein?” Tess asked.
No one had an answer for that.
I said, “To prove Dad is innocent, we need a viable suspect. Is Peter Stockman the killer? Or Mildred? Or maybe Willa Blankenship?
She moved halfway around the world.”
“Willa had returned to Syracuse weeks before Klein was killed,” Tess reminded us.
“Who pulled the trigger?” I asked. “Who sent Dad the photos of us? Did one person make the decision to kill Devin and the
others just helped cover it up, or were they all in it together? Who knew what, and when did they know it? I’ll tell you this—nowhere
in the police reports were any of those people interviewed. So no alibi, no anything.”
“They weren’t?” Cal asked. “That doesn’t make sense. You’d think that at a minimum the police would interview people who directly
worked with Dr. Klein, to confirm that he and your dad had animosity, or bolster the confession with evidence that they had
a beef with each other.”
“They had the killer in custody,” I said bluntly. “Easy to close the case.”
“Still,” Cal muttered. “Seems like sloppy police work.”
I glanced at Jack. Likely, we were thinking, because Mom urged them to accept what Dad said at face value.
“You have hundreds of people who work at the medical center, and hundreds more who work in the hospital wing, and nearly a hundred who work in the research wing,” I said.
“Devin was killed in his office in the medical center. Dad was the only other person in that wing at the time because it was well after hours. But there are a multitude of ways you can go from one wing to the other without having to sign in with the guard. And after hours, employees can swipe in at the employee entrance. If Stockman came in through the research wing, are they going to have evidence of that years later?”
“Doubtful,” Gabriel said.
“Where do we go from here?” Tess asked. “I still have plenty of reports to analyze.”
“I’m going to Honor House Cave Creek tomorrow morning to talk to Jim Novak,” Nate said. “I know what information we need from
him, if he can remember, if anyone wants to join me.”
He looked at Luisa and I almost did a double take. Was there something going on? No way.
Luisa shrugged, not looking at him. “You don’t need me.”
Maybe, I thought. Nate and Luisa . . . interesting.
“I wish we could fly to Australia and talk to Willa Blankenship,” I said.
“Maybe we should,” Jack said.
“Why would she talk?” Tess said. “She got away with it, she lives in another country, she will have to be charged with a crime
in order for the US to extradite her, and that could take months, maybe years.”
“Maybe she didn’t know until after the fact,” Luisa said. “Maybe the house and job in Australia was to keep her from letting
her guilt convince her to speak out.”
“So why talk now?” Tess said. “She cut off ties with her daughters, so there’s no reason for her to return.”
“It’s something to think about,” Jack said.
“The FBI has legal attachés all over the world,” Cal said.
“They’ll have an office in Sydney and could interview her.
They probably can’t arrest her, but they could ask the local authorities to detain her pending extradition proceedings.
That’s definitely not my area of expertise, and if she’s a legal resident of Australia there will be other issues they have to deal with.
But Australia could always revoke her visa and kick her out. ”
“Oh, we should be that lucky,” I said.
“It’s happened.”
“Sounds like you know from personal experience,” I said.
“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he said with a smile.
Jack said, “Mom and Quincy return early tomorrow afternoon. Lu and Tess, continue what you’re doing, and especially dig as
deep as you can legally dig on Stockman and Maddox.”
I inwardly winced. Jack suspected that Luisa had overstepped . . . though he didn’t know. An educated guess? Probably. I needed to keep my mouth zipped on that.
Tess said, “I’m doing a more complete background on both Willa Blankenship and Mildred Maddox. Mildred is the youngest of
three kids, but her parents are divorced and her mother remarried to a man named Leonard Marconi. They are both deceased now,
buried in Illinois. They had at least one child, a boy, twelve years younger than Mildred. I don’t know his name and haven’t
found him yet—it might take some time. And,” she added, “I’m not sure it’s important.”
“Keep the ball running, but there are other things more important,” Jack said. He turned to me. “You want to explore the illegal
gambling circuit?”
“Yep. I have a few contacts in that world, I can feel them out, see what I can learn about Peter Stockman. What he likes to
play, where he likes to play, if he owes anyone.”
My cell phone rang. It was a local number, but I didn’t immediately recognize it.
I excused myself and walked out of the den, more because I wanted quiet than because I didn’t want to talk around my family.
“Margo Angelhart,” I answered.
“Margo, I’m in deep shit.”
It took me two seconds, but then I recognized the voice. “Tim?”
“They’re going to kill me. You have to help.”
“Are you at your condo? Stay put, I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Hell no, I’m not in my condo. Where do you think they’ll look for me? I’m at a short-term rental house in Flagstaff. But
I don’t know how long I can stay here.”
“Why should I help you?” I snapped. “I know you weren’t completely honest with us this afternoon, and now you’re calling me
for help?” I didn’t know know, but Jack and I had our suspicions that he was holding back. “Maybe I should let you pay for your crimes with your life.”
“No! No, I told you almost everything.”
“Almost?”
“Please, I don’t have anyone else to call.”
“I’m waiting for information that you have that I want.”
Yes, I was playing hardball, and no, I wouldn’t let Tim Miller die if I could help it—even if he deserved it—but I needed
him to know that I was serious.
“Peter told me that your dad, Dr. Angelhart, killed Dr. Klein. And I wanted to believe it. I did, for a long time. But . . .”
“But what?” I pushed.
“Someone else did. An outsider. I, um, Peter asked me for a universal key card to access the medical center. A key that wouldn’t
raise flags.”
My heart skipped a beat. Hope blossomed. This was it.
“Who was it for?” I said, trying not to sound excited, or desperate.
“I’ll tell you when you and your brother get here. I need protection.”
“Then you should have gone to the FBI like I told you to,” I said.
But I already knew I was going.
“Please. They’re going to kill me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll text you the address. Thank you, Margo. Thank you so much. I don’t want to die.”