Deliver Us from Evil

By Michael M. Alvarez

When Nick hears about the dead man found in the desert, he doesn't give it much thought. Only thirty minutes from the Mexican border, corpses have a funny way of turning up in the strangest places.

But this is no ordinary corpse. The dead man's driver's license says he is 44 years old, but the medical examiner claims the body is that of a man named Alex Dodson in his 90's. Why the age discrepancy?

Dodson's research was intended to study the effects of the progeria disease, in hopes of finding a way to arrest the process. But Dodson inadvertently creates a terrifying new biological weapon, which certain parties will do anything to get their hands on.

Before Nick realizes it, he's hot on the trail of a vicious killer, is sidetracked by a beautiful female homicide detective, and is almost killed by a KGB agent who never heard of glasnost. In order to recover the lethal bio-weapon and save the city from a disease deadlier than AIDS, Nick must stay alive long enough to find out who really killed Alex Dodson and solve the medical mystery of the century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 25, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469772608

Michael M. Alvarez

Michael M. Alvarez wrote and published several fiction books for the Tucson Adult Literacy Volunteers, an organization created for the education of illiterate adults. The books are still in use by TALV students across the United States and Canada. He is also the author of SCENE OF THE CRIME: A HANDBOOK FOR MYSTERY WRITERS. His short story, "THE HUMAN ELEMENT," was included in the 1994 anthology, COMPUTER LEGENDS, LIES AND LORE. His medical-thriller, mystery DELIVER US FROM EVIL has been adapted by the FictionWorks into an Audio book and is scheduled for release sometime in 2001. He has served on the writing faculty of Pima Community College and has written and published numerous short stories and articles on writing. He is a member of The Society of Southwestern Authors and lives in Tucson, Arizona, with his wife and two daughters.

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All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Michael M. Alvarez

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Contents

PROLOGUE

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 25

C H A P T E R 26

C H A P T E R 27

C H A P T E R 28

C H A P T E R 29

C H A P T E R 30

C H A P T E R 31

C H A P T E R 32

C H A P T E R 33

C H A P T E R 34

C H A P T E R 35

C H A P T E R 36

EPILOGUE

As always, for Diane, Tiffany and Mariel

PROLOGUE

Pima County’s newest homicide investigator, Sergeant Lisa Davis, was kneeling on the desert floor, as a sudden October breeze raked across the arroyo where the dead man’s body lay, sending swirls of brownish dust into the dry, desert air. Lisa squeezed the bridge of her nose and succeeded in heading off a sneeze. Her sinuses were already beginning to act up.

She couldn’t wait to get away from the crime scene.

Although the afternoon sun, partially hidden by gossamer clouds, still blazed overhead, Lisa noticed, with a sad irony, a pale moon hovering silently above the eastern horizon. The dead man at her feet would never again gaze upon such a beautiful sight.

Damnit, stop it, Lisa, she scolded herself. You’re supposed to be a professional. She sighed. Did becoming a professional also mean losing one’s humanity? There were times when she thought that was the price law enforcement people had to pay. To serve and protect. And by the way, turn in your emotions and humanity on your way out the door.

Looks like the old geezer just ran out of gas, said Phil Williams, the county medical examiner. The old boy was pushing ninety.

Not any more, Lisa said, her soft blonde hair blowing gently across her heart-shaped face. There was no trace of humor or sarcasm in her voice.

Her hazel eyes studied the surrounding area. She turned to the uniformed officer on her right. Paul, make sure you have someone check the area thoroughly, about fifty yards in every direction, for anything that might help us on this one.

Paul Grimm looked as if he was about to say something, then pursed his lips and just nodded.

Phil Williams had caught the young officer’s expression. Looks as if some of the boys are still having a difficult time adjusting to taking orders from a woman. Even a beautiful gal like you.

Lisa smiled. Flattery will get you everywhere. She gazed in Grimm’s direction, as he talked to another cop. I’m only temporarily in charge…until they find a replacement for Jacobson.

Phil grimaced. Yeah, that was too bad about Jacobson, getting killed over something stupid like that. I mean who would have figured that he’d wander into a convenience market at exactly the same time two punks decided to rob it.

Phil shook his head sadly and went about his business.

Lisa’s thoughts returned to the corpse lying in the arroyo. The dead man’s wizened face was the color of old parchment paper; his hands were wrinkled and gnarled, perhaps from arthritis.

There was nothing remarkable about his clothes, just a pair of dungarees and an old red, long-sleeved flannel shirt. The shoes were black wing-tips, definitely not hiking footwear.

They’d found a hundred dollars in his wallet. That, and the gold Rolex still wrapped around his bony wrist, indicated that the old man was not killed for money.

What was he doing out in the desert all alone? There were no signs of tire tracks, but the soft desert sand wouldn’t have held such tracks for long. Had he been dumped here after being killed? Phil had said that he was murdered, hadn’t he?

Lisa couldn’t recall how Phil said the old man had died. Maybe the heat and lulling silence of the desert were beginning to take its toll on her senses.

Phil, did you say the man died of natural causes? Lisa asked.

Phil, still crouching over the body, looked up. My preliminary assessment indicates that he had a stroke or heart attack. He ran a hand quickly over his thinning brown hair. There are no signs of a struggle or external trauma, so foul play is pretty much out of the question. Of course, he could have been dumped out here by someone, but with the lack of discernible tire tracks it’s hard to tell.

If he wasn’t brought here, what the hell was he doing out in the middle of nowhere?

Phil grinned. That’s your department, isn’t it?

Lisa nodded and turned to leave.

Sarge, here’s something that you should see. Paul Grimm handed Lisa the dead man’s wallet. Something is very wrong.

Although she had briefly inspected the dead man’s wallet earlier, Lisa again looked at the wallet’s contents: a Social Security card, a public library card, some photos of a woman with a German shepherd at her side, and a current Arizona driver’s license.

What exactly am I looking for?

Grimm pointed to the Arizona driver’s license. That was issued last year. Look at the date of birth and the picture on it.

Lisa squinted in the late afternoon sun’s brilliance and focused on the picture: it was the photo of a man in his forties—presumably the same man lying dead at their feet.

This can’t be right. Phil says the man is close to ninety. According to his driver’s license, he’s only forty-four years old.

Grimm stared at her. Kinda sends a chill down your spine, doesn’t it?

C H A P T E R 1

Clive Masterson’s office was spacious and pleasantly decorated in a laid-back Santa Fe style, with plush gray carpeting and comfortable chairs. A huge picture window overlooked the Catalina Mountains. But that never seemed to ease the uneasiness Nick Madrid experienced every time he walked into the office.

Masterson was wrapping up a phone conversation. Yes, that will be acceptable. I’ll expect to hear from you soon. Bye. He replaced the receiver on its cradle and turned to welcome his temporary head of computer security. Nick, how the hell are you? Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I can have Ruth get you a fresh cup of espresso.

No, thanks, Mr. Masterson, Nick said. I think I’ve had my quota for today. The caffeine really does a number on me.

Masterson nodded. No prob. He punched a button on his phone console. Ruth, could you bring in a cup of decaf? Thanks.

Nick didn’t really want coffee, but he decided to humor his employer. Masterson had gotten a new oil painting since Nick’s last visit. It was an American Indian kneeling beside a Palomino on a high plains plateau. It looked expensive, as did everything else in the immaculate office.

Nick accepted the cup of coffee on a gold-rimmed saucer from Ruth and nodded a thanks, then took a sip and watched the satisfied look on Masterson’s face. Once again, the big man had managed to maneuver someone into complying with his wishes.

How’s the coffee, Nick?

Perfect, sir.

Excellent. Let’s get down to business, shall we? Masterson shuffled a few papers on his massive oak desk, then looked up. Nick, we have a security problem. I’d like you to drop everything else and devote all your time to this.

Masterson paused, then smiled. By the way, Nick, I want to tell you how pleased I am with your work. Since you stepped in to handle security after Charlie’s heart attack, everything has run quite smoothly, much better than I ever expected.

Nick nodded. Charlie Denkins is a good friend. When he called me after his heart attack, I assured him I’d take care of things here until he’s able to return to work.

Yes, I’m extremely lucky that you were available, Nick. Masterson smiled. Even after Charlie gets back, I’m sure I can find a position for you on my technical staff.

Thanks, but I think I’ll be ready to return to my own detective agency, Nick replied. There’s something about running your own business that I find very satisfying.

Masterson grunted agreeably. I know exactly what you mean.

Clive Masterson, president and founder of New Age Chemicals, locked his meaty hands behind his head and leaned his barrel-shaped body back in his executive swivel chair. His pale blue eyes seemed to cloud over as he lost himself in thought.

Suddenly imbued with restless energy, Masterson jumped up from his chair, made it to the window in two quick steps then slowly turned to look at Nick. Someone in my company is stealing from me, Nick.

Nick arched an eyebrow. Money?

Masterson grunted. Might as well be. Someone is tapping into our computer system and stealing confidential data. I can only assume they’re turning around and selling it to whoever is willing to pay the most for it.

How do you know this?

Masterson stared stonily at Nick. This is my company, Nick. I built it from the ground up. Something like this isn’t going to pass my attention. I realize you’ve been working on other projects, so I understand how you could have possibly missed this leak.

Nick finished his coffee. He sensed his audience with his employer was nearing an abrupt end.

As my top man on computer security—at least until Charlie gets well enough to come back to work—I need you to assess the situation and report back to me as soon as possible.

Masterson leaned forward. I can’t stress the importance of this assignment, Nick. I need to find the security leak and stop him or her before they cost me any more money.

Nick studied Masterson’s worried beefy face and the lazy blue eyes that belied the razor-sharp intelligence that he knew resided behind them.

I’ll handle it, sir.

3663.jpg

Ten miles away, in another part of the Old Pueblo, Sgt. Lisa Davis was having an incredible conversation with Phil Williams. They were standing in the county morgue.

It’s definitely the same man, Lisa said, explaining to Williams that they had run a fingerprint check on the dead man. He was printed a few years back, when he began working for some private research firm that requires all of its employees to have their prints on file. His name is Alex Dodson. He was a doctor.

Okay, if you say so, Lisa, the M.E. said, but this man is absolutely not forty-four years old. He’s eighty-eight years old, at the very least.

But how is that possible. Lisa shook her head, looking down at the wrinkled corpse. Did you perform a complete autopsy?

Yes. Williams motioned the homicide detective to his office. We’d better discuss this in private. I wouldn’t want any of my young assistants running around town with wild stories of mysterious deaths.

Lisa sat down in the comfortable leather armchair and waited patiently as Williams plopped down behind his cluttered desk.

Actually, there isn’t anything mysterious about that man’s death, Williams said. He died from a massive coronary; at his age that is certainly not unusual. Dodson didn’t only look old, he was old. I found clear evidence of hardening of the arteries. His kidneys were shot, on the verge of failure; the condition of all his internal organs is chronologically consistent with those of a man in his late eighties. He’s an old geezer, whose heart just gave out.

The photo on the driver’s license was taken last year, Lisa said. It’s the picture of a man in his forties.

Maybe someone else posed for it.

Lisa shook her head. Why in God’s name would anyone do that?

Williams opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word Lisa said, Yeah, I know. That’s my department.

C H A P T E R 2

After his brief meeting with Masterson, Nick ducked into the executive washroom next door to his employer’s office. After splashing cold water on his face and toweling it dry with the super-soft, embroidered hand towels that Masterson insisted on stocking in his exclusive john, Nick studied his weathered but handsome face in the gold-trimmed mirror.

He was in his mid-thirties and his dark features and rugged looks still turned a few female heads whenever he walked into an office or restaurant. His six-foot-two frame was only five pounds heavier than the 200 he weighed when he was in high school.

Lately, he’d also begun taking long daily walks, which made his doctor extremely happy. The only thing that would make his doctor even happier was for Nick to drink less beer and not eat so many Italian meals.

Fat chance of that happening, thought Nick.

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I don’t understand, said Mildred Dodson.

Lisa Davis had the unenviable task of informing the woman that her husband was dead. Although that was never easy, this time it was easier than trying to explain why her husband looked forty-four years older than the last time she had seen him.

So you say that you haven’t seen your husband in over two days, Lisa said.

Mildred Dodson was in her early forties, an attractive dishwater-blonde, with sad blue eyes and a pretty smile. Lisa had gotten a glimpse of it when the woman had first opened the door. Lisa doubted she’d see the widow’s smile again anytime soon.

It’s not that unusual for Alex to stay over at work, she paused, dabbing her teary eyes with a Kleenex. Whenever he was in the middle of some important project, he usually preferred to sleep over, so he could return to work at his discretion.

Did you speak to your husband recently? Did he call and say that he wasn’t coming home?

Mildred shook her head. "No. Frank called. He and my husband work together. Frank called and said that the team was very close to a breakthrough and