Page 8 of So Lethal (Faith Bold #22)

“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!”

The agents moved down the hallway. Halfway to the exit, Faith turned around and looked at the receptionist. She was talking on the phone and staring at the retreating agents, no longer smiling.

The exit opened into a courtyard decorated with clusters of fountaingrass and lilyturf. Tables sat in groups of four at four separate corners of a diamond-shaped central area sporting a single maple tree about fifteen feet tall.

“You want to get some lunch while we’re here?” Michael asked.

Faith stared at him for a moment. “How about we interrogate the suspect first and worry about food later?”

He lifted his hands. “All right. No need to get ornery, I was just asking.”

Faith rolled her eyes and picked a table that allowed them to monitor the entrance to the building. Several groups of nurses and doctors entered and left the courtyard. “This place seems to be doing well.”

“Yeah, it looks like his almost-malpractice hasn’t hurt his financial prospects,” Michael agreed. “Might make him really touchy about people threatening this good thing he has going on.”

“It just might,” Faith agreed.

Another doctor entered the courtyard and approached them with a purposeful gait. His hair was solid gray, which threw Faith off for a moment, but as he drew closer, she realized that this was Dr. Thomas Crane.

The two human agents got to their feet. Turk growled softly. It wasn’t a foolproof sign that he had found their killer, but it was a damned near foolproof sign that the doctor had something to fear by talking to them.

“Hi,” he said, stopping about eight feet in front of them. “Kimmy said you two wanted to see me?”

"That depends," Faith replied. "Are you Dr. Thomas Crane?"

“Yeah,” he said simply.

“Then we want to speak to you. Would you like to have a seat?”

Dr. Crane blinked. “Um… is this going to take a long time?”

“Won’t be a minute,” Michael said breezily. He pulled out one of the upholstered wooden chairs and gestured gallantly toward it.

Dr. Crane blinked and, after a hesitant half-step, accepted the chair. "I really wish you guys had called ahead," he said. "I have a very busy schedule today, and I'm keeping patients waiting. What is this about, anyway?"

Faith and Michael took their seats. Turk positioned himself in between Faith and Dr. Crane and kept a steady, watchful eye on the doctor.

“We’re investigating the murders of Monica Smith and James Porter.”

Dr. Crane blinked again. “Okay?”

“Those names don’t ring a bell?” Michael asked.

“No. Are they patients of mine?”

“They were,” Faith replied. “They were part of a trial four months ago for a new method of combating hearing loss. They were two of eight individuals who left the trial early.”

“Oh. Right.” Dr. Crane folded his hands on the table. “Right, Monica was the artist, and James was the accountant.”

“So can you tell me why they left your trial?”

“Well, they were”—he cleared his throat—“they were unsatisfied with the lack of results. So were the others.”

“Did they threaten to make trouble for you?”

“Oh no. I mean, they called me names, but they didn’t threaten to hurt me or anything.”

He unfolded his hands and leaned back, then started to tap his heel on the floor. He was nervous and possibly lying.

“They didn’t threaten to file a complaint against you with the Board of Audiology?”

Dr. Crane released a single cough of laughter.

“No, they didn’t. Even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.

They signed the waivers. A medical trial is exactly what it sounds like: a trial.

We test things to see if they work or they don’t work.

That treatment only worked on thirteen of twenty-one patients in the trial.

We took it back to the drawing board and eventually concluded it wasn’t worth our time to try to make it work for more people.

We’re pursuing surgical alternatives now. ”

“I’m sure you’re legally protected, Dr. Crane,” Faith replied. “Still, considering your reputation, I can’t imagine you’re pleased when people threaten to soil it.”

He frowned. “My reputation?”

“Your board certification was suspended at one time, wasn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed, and his hands closed. Turk noticed the fists and gave him a warning growl. He glanced at Turk, confused, then realized what his hands were doing and relaxed them.

“Yes,” he admitted. “It was suspended for a period of one year five years ago because the Board didn’t believe I had been rigorous enough in my research and had proceeded to human trials too quickly.

I accepted their judgment and altered my approach.

The trial in which Miss Smith and Mr. Porter participated didn’t suffer from the same issues.

In any case, why are you jumping right to murder?

What could it possibly gain me to kill them? ”

“A very rational question,” Michael replied. “Only when you’re really pissed off, it’s hard to think rationally.”

Dr. Crane rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, I didn’t kill them. I didn’t even know who they were until you told me they were both at the trial four months ago.”

Turk growled again, baring his teeth slightly.

“Okay, does your dog have a problem?” Dr. Crane asked irritably. “Is he going to bite me or something?”

“You play nice, and he’ll play nice,” Faith replied.

“Well, I’m playing nice, and he’s looking at me like he can’t wait to eat me.”

Faith crossed her arms. “You’re replying to our questions with hostility. He notices that. So do I. I’d very much like to know why.”

“Because…” He pressed his lips together and tapped his heels again. “You’re accusing me of murder!”

“We haven’t accused you of anything,” Michael said. “You jumped right to accusation. For all you knew, we could have just wanted to know if they mentioned anything to you that suggested someone else was after them.”

“Oh please,” Dr. Crane scoffed. “You’re here now?

Four months later? There’s no chance I’m among the last people to see them alive, and as for knowing anything about them besides their medical records?

Guess what? I saw them four times in two weeks.

Medical trials are handled by nurses and PAs.

The MDs show up at the beginning and then during occasional checkups.

I wasn’t their friend. But you know that.

So you’re not here looking for information.

You’re here because I happen to be a common connection between two deaf people who were murdered, both of whom had a poor interaction with me.

Not even with me, just associated with me.

But you get my point. No way you don’t suspect me. ”

Faith thought for a moment and decided to be blunt. They weren’t getting anywhere being coy. “Yes, Dr. Crane. We suspect that you might have killed Monica Smith and James Porter. Further, we suspect that you might be planning to kill the others who exhibited dissatisfaction with your trial.”

"Oh, for God's sake," he said, getting to his feet.

"That's so stupid. I won. I still have my license, my certification, and my funding. I still have my medical practice, and I'm still conducting research trials into the effectiveness of different treatments for hearing loss. A few people whining that their specific trial wasn’t a medical miracle isn’t going to ruin my life. You know what will ruin my life? Murdering people.”

“So you can tell us where you were last night and Saturday night?” Michael asked.

“I was home. No, no one can corroborate that story. No, I don’t have security cameras that could show my face.

I was home like a normal person who doesn’t think he needs to create an alibi for murder.

But you have nothing on me. You have old history with the Board of Audiology and a one-sided spat with two trial participants from months ago.

Do some detective work. Find some real evidence. Stop wasting my time.”

He spun on his heel and started back toward the building. Turk growled again, and Faith patted his shoulder. “Easy boy.”

The agents watched the doctor throw the door open and storm back into the building. When he turned the corner out of sight, they got to their feet and headed back to their car.

“Well, that was interesting,” Michael said.

Faith frowned. “He’s not wrong. Our evidence is pretty thin on the ground right now.”

“I think we should take his advice,” Michael replied. “I think we should find some real evidence.”

Something in his voice caused Faith to raise a questioning eyebrow.

“I think he did it,” Michael clarified. “I think he’s grandstanding because he’s scared. I think if we put some elbow grease into looking into him, we’ll find the evidence we need to pin him.”

“You don’t think we’re jumping to a conclusion?”

“No, I think we’re following a lead, and after our conversation with him, I think that lead delivers us right to the doorstep of one Dr. Thomas Crane.”

Turk snorted approvingly. Faith wasn’t as certain as they were, but she did have to admit that his behavior was rather suspicious.

They got into the rental and headed back to their hotel. Faith replayed the interaction with Dr. Crane in her head. It wasn’t quite enough to convince her that the doctor was guilty, but it was definitely worth a closer look.

All right. Elbow grease it is.