Page 15

But the killer couldn’t do that yet. There was still work to be done.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’ve got something,” Michael said.
Faith sat up straight and looked at him. “Oh yeah?”
The two of them had been working for the past forty-five minutes to find a connection between the two victims that was more meaningful than the simple fact that both were deaf.
“Check it out.”
Michael turned his laptop so Faith could see. She walked to him and looked over his shoulder. “Well, look at that.”
It seemed that both Monica Smith and James Porter had once been treated at the aptly named Auditory Research Center, a private clinic in Fremont run by a Dr. Thomas Crane.
“It gets better,” Michael said. “I looked up this Crane guy, and apparently he was reprimanded several times by the American Board of Audiology for unethical research practices. His board certification was suspended for a year following the last of those reprimands five years ago. He’s avoided problems since, but other researchers have expressed disappointment in his methods.”
“What methods are those?”
“I can’t seem to get details, but it looks like the board’s issue was that he rushed human trials on some experimental techniques to cure hearing loss.”
“Hmm. Were our victims unhappy with their treatment?”
“It doesn’t say, but both were among a group of individuals who left a trial early four months ago.”
“Aha. That sounds like motive to me.”
“I don’t know about that just yet, but it sure as hell sounds suspicious.” He stood up. “Shall we, mademoiselle?”
“We shall, Herr Prince.”
“Wrong language, but all right.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
***
Fremont was an affluent city a few miles north of San Jose. Like many cities in the Bay Area it was full of tech businesses in just about every industry there was. The Auditory Research Center was located in a medical center that contained no fewer than seven different “Research Centers” in different medical specialties.
The Auditory Research Center occupied the first floor of the five-story central building. Its interior was modern and sleek with tinted glass walls, gleaming tile floors and whisper-smooth elevators. Medical staff in coats as spotless white as the tile moved back and forth, leading patients both hearing and deaf to different rooms.
The three agents approached a reception desk where a smiling woman with an intense stare asked, “Hello. How may I help you today?”
She spoke with a slight lisp, and it occurred to Faith that she was deaf and her intense stare was because she was reading their lips. “We need to speak to Dr. Crane.”
“Of course,” the receptionist replied. “Do you have an appointment?”
Faith and Michael shared a look. Michael met the receptionist’s eyes and tapped the FBI logo on his jacket. “This isn’t about an appointment.”
The receptionist’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Let me see if he’s available.” She looked over the counter. “Um… I’m afraid we’re not allowed to have dogs in here. Even K9 units.”
“Then Dr. Crane can meet us outside,” Faith said.
The receptionist looked about to protest, but Faith’s expression must have made it clear that she didn’t want to hear it. “Of course,” the receptionist replied. “There’s a cafeteria with outdoor seating through that hallway to your left. I’ll have him meet you there.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Enjoy your day!”