Demon in the Dark: Hate + Greed = Murder

By William Carl

DEMON IN THE DARK is his fourth book. His novels vary widely in themes. UNTIL TOMORROW is a Christian mystery, DARING TO LOVE is a romance, and MY PRIZE is a murder mystery. He has a number of active projects for the near future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 28, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462800933

William Carl

Writing is a third career for William Carl. First a banker, then a research chemist, and now a novelist. Carl has a BBA, BS, and MS, plus professional certifications in several fields. Active in the arts, he has written and directed public access TV presentations for a Christian Gospel singing group, performed in music theater and directed a church choir for several years.

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Copyright © 2009 by William Carl.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Chapter 1 GRASPING AT SHADOWS

Chapter 2 LIVING THE DREAM

Chapter 3 NOW THE PROBLEM IS PERSONAL

Chapter 4 NEW LIFE AS A CHEMIST

Chapter 5 SOMEWHERE, THERE’S A RAT

Chapter 6 THE PROJECT ALMOST TAKES SHAPE

Chapter 7 SHADOWS

Chapter 8 ON PAPER, IT LOOKS GOOD

Chapter 9 RANDOM VIOLENCE

Chapter 10 SOME YOU CANNOT PUT BACK TOGETHER

Chapter 11 IGNORANCE TAKES COURAGE

Chapter 12 STRATEGY FOR THE BATTLE

Chapter 13 STEPS ON THE WAY TO FAME

Chapter 14 TURNING OVER THE ROCKS

Chapter 15 DAYTIME RECONNAISSANCE, NIGHTTIME WORK

Chapter 16 SCIENCE STILL WORKS, BUT PEOPLE ARE AN ENIGMA

Chapter 17 PAPER SKELETONS TELL TALES

Chapter 18 IN CONFRONTATIONS, PEOPLE GET HURT

Chapter 19 THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL

Chapter 20 SOMETIMES BIG THINGS ARE IN SMALL PACKAGES

Chapter 21 A GLIMPSE UNDER THE SHROUD

Chapter 22 JUNCTURE OF THE PURPOSES

Chapter 23 FORMS OF TRIUMPH

Chapter 24 HOW TO SUCCEED WHILE REALLY TRYING

Chapter 25 DIFFERENT MOTHS TO THE FLAMES

Chapter 26 BATTLE IN THE DARK

Chapter 27 PULLING BACK THE CURTAIN

Epilogue

Chapter 1

GRASPING AT SHADOWS

Doctor Stanley Potts, Director of Research for Driver Chemical Company hung his dripping raincoat on the hall tree in his office with a smile. His brilliant scam to deceive Albert Driver III was working. Brenda McIntyre, his secretary handed him an internal company mail envelope addressed as personal. The mail route just delivered this for you.

Potts strutted toward his office. Thank you, Brenda. I have some phone calls to make, so I don’t want to be disturbed. Hold my calls.

Yes sir.

Oh, I have a few letters to write. You might have to stay a little later. Is that a problem?

No sir. Fred is on evenings today and there isn’t a lot for me to watch on TV.

Potts looked down his nose. Fred McIntyre is a shift foreman on days. What is he doing on evenings?

Brenda had an indulgent smile. Fred volunteered to take one of the young men’s shifts so he could have a date with his girlfriend. He does that a lot, too often in fact.

Potts took the envelope with him and closed his office door. He unwrapped the thread from the button holding the flap and found a sheaf of papers inside. Rocking back in comfort in his executive leather chair, he nonchalantly took a look at the first page. Terror gripped him like a vise. There was a note written in a crude, ragged hand with a fatal message:

Davilo Barta is a fraud and both of you have filed false patents infringing on Steck Chemical’s work. I have copies of your fake data books and proof of Barta’s plagiarism. You will inform Albert Driver that unless he pays me 1% of his gross sales, I will expose all of you.

The open envelope on his desk was a death sentence for his career as Director of Research at Driver Chemical Company. Someone knew what he had done. Stanley’s vision wavered and sweat trickled down his temples. The threats of exposure by this unknown person who signed himself as Doctor Demon were too real. His private telephone line buzzed.

Hands trembling, he picked up the phone. Stanley Potts.

Potts, have you received my message? The impact of the abrasive, high-pitched voice was like a fist in his gut. Potts’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

Potts, do you understand me? This time, it was a scream.

The words barely came out. Yes… who is this?

"I am the personal demon of you and that fraud, Davilo Barta. You know I can destroy you and the company. Go to Albert Driver and tell him that I want 1 percent of the company’s gross sales in bearer bonds each month or I will expose your and the company’s fraud.

Tell him what I want or you and Barta will be exposed on the front page of the Chemical and Engineering News for the world to see.

Potts’s pitiful reply was, But, but, but… we can’t.

You can, or your professional life is over, and the Driver Chemical Company is no more, the voice continued, even more sinister, and maybe your life, as well. My people will contact you with instructions.

The rain was over. Albert Driver III, CEO, and majority stockholder of the company enjoyed the gold light of the emerging afternoon sun. His thoughts were of the life he had cost himself for being a workaholic. It cost him his wife and children. That was bad enough, and now his secretary said Potts was back again. He could hardly stand Potts and another dose of him so soon was worse. This time, Potts looked sick to his stomach.

Albert, I have terrible news.

Driver saw the frantic look on Potts’s face. What could be so terrible, Stanley? Have you found the industrial spy? He referred to problems they had with leaks of Driver Research technology to a competitor, damaging Driver’s business.

In a way. Potts’s face contorted in a grimace.

Driver snapped at him, Spit it out Stanley.

The spy is us.

Us? Driver went to his feet. How can we be the spy?

Potts’s face sagged. We have been copying the Steck developments from the U.S. Patent Abstracts and filing claims with altered experimental data.

Driver was thunderstruck, wide-eyed in amazement. We are infringing on Steck patents? Which ones?

Potts’s voice cracked. Well, the big one is Drivalex.

Driver collapsed into his chair. If Drivalex is a fraud, it is the end of Driver Chemical Company.

Well, not necessarily, Albert. Potts’s fertile, opportunistic brain maneuvered to keep his position as Director of Research. I am in touch with a contact who can keep this quiet until we figure out what to do.

What to do? I should shoot you on the spot. We invested millions in building the Drivalex plant, putting us in a bad capital position.

Potts explained the naked position they were in, and Driver sat stunned at his desk. His work of a lifetime was trashed by a couple of petty criminals he thought he knew.

*     *     *

Wind whistling through the structure was typical of the short-lived, icy fronts that pushed past Freeport, Texas, into the damp air mass over the Gulf of Mexico. A thin coating of ice formed over the steelwork of the distillation tower, making the going slippery for Fred McIntyre. He was a medium-sized man in his early fifties with a fringe of gray hair escaping from his hard hat. From the goodness of his heart, he agreed to take this shift to give a younger co-worker the night for a date. D-1, the twelve-foot tall, condensate tank partially shielded him from the chilling blast. Collecting a test sample from the pipe was tough when the temperature was below freezing point.

Fingers aching from the cold, in spite of a double-layer of cotton gloves, he attached his sample container to the outlet side of the Hill ball valve, He swore when he discovered the handle was frozen shut. Sample fittings were supposed to be heat traced and insulated for smooth operation in cold weather. He was hot under the collar because the steam tracing line was cold. It wasn’t turned on.

Even thoughts about how Brenda would love the garnet ring he bought her for Christmas, and his imminent retirement didn’t help. Damn! he swore aloud. This is one more time, cold weather preparation procedures haven’t been followed. Somebody gets his rear in a sling, words that flew away with the frigid wind. He twisted the handle on the steam line a full turn, listening to the trap begin to rattle.

Standing to keep his knees from stiffening, he looked down, across the alley between his unit and Beta-381. Why were those guys holding a meeting over there? One of them was a suit wearing a camelhair overcoat. What kind of suit would be there at this time of night? He leaned over the railing to get a better look. That guy looked familiar.

The trap behind him blasted out with a burst of hot water and steam. The men on the slab looked up. Seeing his vantage point, they dispersed. He turned back to his collection and rotated the twist-lock seal.

Some of these people in this outfit are so far out that I don’t know how we make money, he said aloud. Waxy liquid filled the container to the level line. He blocked the ball valve and finished the procedure, pouring the residue into the waste container.

Time for lab work… even better, to go inside and warm up. Tiny specks of sleet chattered against his hardhat and stung his face. McIntyre slipped the sample into the insulated carrier on his belt and started down the stairs. A touch of whimsy recalled that in the Navy, this was called a ladder. The railing, stairs, and platforms were icy. He kept his grip all the way down. He was grateful when he made it to the slab level without a single slip. A surprise slap on his hardhat knocked it off and a powerful blow with a wrench followed. Blazing pain exploded in his head. Total blackness overwhelmed him.

Two dark figures lifted his limp body from the slab. A third carried a small sack, the hard hat, and the sample container. They climbed slowly up the steps to the upper platform. Soon, the horrible sound of Fred McIntyre’s body striking the ground from high above ended the terrible coincidence. For a tiny slice of time, he was in the wrong place—and saw something he shouldn’t have.

*     *     *

One Year Later

Driving all day revived the aches and pains of wounds he received in the triple-canopy jungles of Viet Nam. Fresh PhD Doctor Bradley Grant’s metallic red Camaro drew an admiring look from the guard at the Driver Chemical Company gate. Visitor’s pass on his collar, Brad drove in.

He rubbed the sore place on his right arm while he drove. These were earned scars, inside and outside, losing friends and killing the enemy—face to face. Two years in ‘Nam, two years recovering in Audie Murphy Hospital and four more years of college. Now, without Jennifer, he wasn’t sure of anything.

He drove at the required ten miles per hour to Doctor Potts’s office. Stepping up to the sidewalk by the office, the door flew open before he touched the handle. A small, dark-haired young woman wearing blue jeans rushed out in a near miss. She gave a quick smile and a wave, Hi and good-bye, rounding the corner.

He grabbed the door before it closed and stepped in. Brenda McIntyre gave an appreciative look to the tall young PhD.

His thirty years hung solid on his frame, wrinkles at the corners of his green eyes and the cleft in his chin lent a maturity and a thoughtful look beyond his age. Short, brown hair—was neatly trimmed but not enough to completely conceal a slight wave.

Brenda smiled, You must be Doctor Bradley Grant. I remember you from your interview visit last summer. I will let Doctor Potts know you are here. She pressed an intercom button and announced his presence with a silky tone.

The past year was terrible for Potts; the telephone was a constant threat. Daily screaming torment drove him to distraction. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down his temples and his hand holding the receiver shook. If he had the courage, he would find Doctor Demon and kill him. Potts squeaked out, I have a visitor.

Put my call on hold, we have more business, the terrifying voice said.

Send him in, Brenda. Potts mopped his brow with his handkerchief and tried to straighten his tie with shaking hands. He was not ready for the knock on his door.

Come in, Bradley, Potts said.

The tall, lean young man entered with an enthusiastic smile on his face. Potts rose to greet him.

Bradley, good to see you again. We are pleased that you accepted our offer. You have a slot made to order for you. Sit down and tell me about your trip. How is the move going? He riffled nervously through loose papers on his desk.

Brad watched the nervous mannerisms of his employer and wondered if it was a mistake to work for the Driver Chemical Company. The red hold light on the telephone blinked steadily and Doctor Stanley Potts’s collar was damp, strange circumstances for welcoming a new employee. There seemed to be more damp ‘ring around the collar’ on Potts’s shirt. The hold button on his telephone continued to blink. Thanks, Doctor Potts—

Call me Stanley, we are co-workers now.

The move is going okay. My belongings will arrive tomorrow. My personal gear is in my car and I leased an apartment on the beach. I plan to be all set by tomorrow night. He watched the blinking hold button.

Potts studied a point in space. His weak smile reminded Brad of a Saigon street vendor.

I am looking forward to my assignment.

Brad… can I call you Brad? You will be working on one of the most powerful developments in the energy field today. Have you heard of fuel cells?

I read about them and saw them in news reports on the NASA projects. It produces electrical current and gives off pure water. I was not aware that Driver was involved in that technology. He paused, I understood that my project will be working on new types of plastics.

Yes, you will be working on new plastics. We are not into the mechanical part of it, we are the polymer end. For a fuel cell to work, the separator must be a high technology polymer and we foresee millions of square feet of very expensive polymer in use in the future. You were not told about it when you interviewed because we wanted to forestall any possibility of an accidental leak of information. Potts rocked back in his high-back maroon leather chair playing with a gold Cross pen and pulling at his shirt collar. It is crucial to the development plans for the future of Texas Driver.

He gripped the edge of his desk and leaned forward. We believe this project will spin off a laundry list of products. The telephone hold light continued to blink.

That is the type of project I hoped for, Brad said. He leaned forward with his own enthusiasm. What will my part of the project be?

Davilo Barta will be your immediate supervisor, Potts said. "Dav is our sharpest, toughest group leader and we always put him on the critical projects. He earned his PhD in polymer science at Astoria University. His dissertation was New LadderPolymers. In six years here, he is already a group leader—definitely a fast track young executive. Your job will be significant because we operate lean and hungry. Driver is the right name for the Company."

Something nagged at the back of Brad’s mind but the drama of the moment brushed it aside. Potts buzzed Brenda, Call Doctor Barta and tell him that his newest group member is here and ready to begin check-in.

Brenda ruled the office from behind her brass nameplate at her perfectly ordered desk. She dressed severely and groomed carefully. Despite her faultless makeup, Grant decided during his previous interview trip that she was not generation X (or Y for that matter), but she possessed a mature beauty. On this occasion, her face had a hidden sadness about it.

I am officially reporting in, Brenda.

We are happy to have you on board, Doctor Grant. She sorted through her papers. We have your check-in sheet ready.

Doctor Potts thinks you are psychic.

With a furrowed brow, she handed the paperwork to him. Don’t ever test me on it. Her voice was cool but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes.

In Potts’s office, things reached another critical point. With a trembling finger, he pushed the flashing hold button on his private line, I am back, he squeaked.

Are you finally ready? The terrible, scratchy voice screamed at him. It’s time for another one percent from Driver. Tell him now! Demon slammed the receiver down. Potts’s pudgy body appeared to collapse into his chair with relief that another ordeal had ended.

In building Alpha-1401 the sharpest, toughest group leader hung up from Brenda’s phone call, wrestling with the problem this new chemist presented. Davilo Barta usually loved being himself. Today, the face he adored was perplexed. His new polymer group was making poor progress; they didn’t grab-hold as he expected. There was a broken-down old engineer, Bill Max; a chemist named Walter Edquist who was an eccentric dreamer; a female senior technician, Kay Dempsey; and a bald-headed, middle-aged research technologist, Jack Vaughn. Unfortunately, they lived down to his expectations.

Barta attempted to sketch out the project for them and let them find their niches; instead, they drifted. Now, what had Potts done? He hired a PhD chemist ten years older than the others in his group with no industrial experience. Barta stretched his muscular, six-foot frame and luxuriated in his sumptuous swivel chair. As usual, a smile crossed his face when his gaze fell upon his wall of tribute. His doctoral diploma was ensconced in the center.

Barta’s chest swelled with pride again, thinking about his scholastic and industrial record. He constructed the master plan for his rise to power using numerous, carefully laid planks: people to schmooze, favors to dole out, and people to cut off at the knees. The arrangement between Potts and himself with their cursed puppet master had advantages to it.

In spite of his intense, Latin good looks, he endured slights because of his Hispanic heritage. Arrogant, condescending people at school and at Driver Chemical would pay for their corrupt thinking. When Barta generously helped other students in laboratory work, the best he ever heard was a disinterested Thanks, except for certain of the girls.

He excelled in his scholastic work after he developed ways to help himself overcome biased tests. The tests were compiled for privileged people. He felt zero remorse for seducing the department secretary and having her get copies of the tests—or for carrying notes to the tests.

Barta’s oral defense of his dissertation ranked alongside Disraeli or William Jennings Bryan. Those fools who questioned him—including his major professor—remained oblivious to a single word of his brilliant work.

After he bowed his head to receive the hood representing his PhD from Stemmons, the President of Astoria, the jerk made a big deal out of their generosity in programs to promote minorities. He could hardly believe his ears when the chancellor and the department head spoke and they gave him no credit at all for his achievement.

That moment sealed his methodology: To get what he wanted, including a big corner office in the Administration Building, he must use any means.

At Driver Chemical, he found the way to succeed: stay close to his department head and soak in every word. The cherry on top was another simple discovery: Potts was doing the same with his supervisor.

The dirty little practice in developing managers was obvious to all of the employees and it was a guarantee that the character and behavior of the people in those jobs never changed. Managers chose people who sought power like themselves and sponsored them in assuming the management jobs when they themselves rose in the organization. Not that it was a deliberate Old Boy system… but the consequences worked out that way. Barta broke-in with the EEO diversity card.

Brenda called to notify him of Grant’s arrival, interrupting his formulating a plan to cement Potts as his sponsor. He headed for the department office.

How would he deal with this guy who would be so out of touch with the current, Statistical Quality Control-conscious technical people? This guy was an ex-Marine with combat experience, for god’s sake; not a research chemist.

Arriving at building Alpha-416, a flash of inspiration came to him. His enthusiasm for the idea grew with each step into the office.

Brenda, my beauty, he said in a suave voice, is Bradley’s paperwork ready?

Of course, she replied, ignoring the tenor of his greeting. He has his paperwork and the check-in schedule. I called security and scheduled his picture and a permanent pass for any time after lunch. Locks and Keys has a spot too. Fit the rest of the check-off points in as you like. Her eyes gave off sparks.

Bradley, are you ready to jump into the hottest research project at Driver Chemical? Barta blustered. Our team will be the one to make the big breakthrough. We are lean and hungry and we have a lot to prove. Grab your briefcase.

Your badge says you are Davilo Barta, Brad said, with a slight edge. He offered his hand in greeting. (Was that a hint of a smile in Brenda’s eyes?)

Barta was thrown off his track, Sorry, he said, shaking hands. I was so enthusiastic about our plans that I was in outer space. I am Davilo Barta. I was on a recruiting trip when you came for your interview. He steered Brad toward the door.

Chapter 2

LIVING THE DREAM

Brad’s get-acquainted session stirred his creative juices, but he had to complete the check-in list. Idle thoughts drifted through his mind while he drove back toward the security office at the front gate.

Jennifer would have loved to experience this day with him. She died of cancer two years ago, leaving him alone with his private demons of loss. His dreams were filled with her presence. He reached for her in the night. Fresh in his thoughts, he looked for her when he awoke. Her scent and the texture of her skin were strong in his remembrance.

She believed in his decision to return for his PhD after ‘Nam. They worked hard together to stand on their own feet and not live off his wealthy parents. Imagining her glowing face in spirit at his hooding ceremony floated into his thoughts. The picture in his mind drifted away when he pulled into the security parking lot.

He liked the clean, modern lines of the stone facade, tall windows by the entrance, and sago palms to either side of the walk. Cool air in the lobby was a relief from the hot humid air outside.

A stocky, uniformed clerk stood by the counter. Can I help you, sir?

Bradley Grant for an ID badge.

Ready for you Doctor Grant.

The middle-aged clerk with thinning, gray hair wore sergeant’s stripes and he looked as if he could hold his own anywhere. His voice was the slow, deliberate kind that you know you have to believe. His badge said, Casteleberry. There was no room to spare on the edges.

Thanks. Do they call you Cass?

My friends do. The rest call me ‘Sir’. He ended with a smile that lit up his leathery face. Doctor Banks wants to talk to you before I take your pictures. Step around the corner and you will see the office.

Fair enough. I am in no hurry to get my picture taken. He rounded the corner and saw the nameplate above the third office. He rapped on the door

The response was a pleasantly low female voice. Come in, please.

He stepped into her office and introduced himself. Her auburn hair was shoulder-length, fashioned in soft waves surrounding her face. Her wide-set, gray eyes in a heart-shaped face were a mile deep. Fashionably arched eyebrows and a small, straight nose gave her a no nonsense look.

He was powerless to stop himself from staring. She stood and put out her hand. She was easily 5’10", within a few inches of his height. The beautifully cut beige pants outfit accented her trim figure.

Laura Banks, Doctor Grant. I am the technical liaison from security to the plants and laboratories. Have a seat.

The warmth of her handshake ran all the way up his arm. He sat in the visitor’s chair at her executive-sized desk. What is a technical liaison between security and the plants and laboratories? he asked. Confident that he already knew, he wanted to hear her voice again.

My responsibility is to receive all information from the technical end of the business concerning real or suspected theft of data, products, or information. Plus any contamination or sabotage of products, data or information.

She rocked back in her chair and continued, You are reporting to work in a new project and security is vital for investment reasons as much as anything. Money invested in the project is wasted if competitors get their hands on it or sabotage the development process. People on the project will be cautioned to watch for signs of anything unusual or unexpected. Anything on or around the workplace.

Graceful fingers of her left hand had no wedding or engagement ring. He swiveled his eyes like a gecko, checking the pictures on her desk. Mom and Dad were a given. The young man in an army officer’s uniform was unsettling to him. His thoughts returned to the present. And what do you do if we observe anything? he asked in a flippant way.

Those confident, gray eyes looked directly at him. We will take care of it. Her voice was level and firm as before. We are licensed and deputized. Theft of products or company documents is illegal. Destruction of property is illegal and malicious mischief is illegal. Sabotage in or around a normal work place area can be interpreted as attempted murder or assault with intent, Doctor Grant. We will take care of it.

I am sorry. This is all unfamiliar to me. He winced shifting in his chair. That right shoulder still bothered him. Maybe the surgeons missed a few bone fragments in the rotator cup. At the edge of his vision, something about the picture of the soldier on her desk nagged at his memory.

She flicked her gaze at him and back to the file. You were a captain in the Marines?

Oorah! he said with a smile. Always a Marine.

Naval Ordinance Depot, she said. Four years.

You might have made those wonderful weapons we used. Many of them saved as many of our lives as they took from the enemy. Thank you.

If I could have saved my brother, it would not hurt so much. She glanced at the picture. He was sad for her but in a way, he was relieved.

She continued, As an officer, you were responsible for a lot more than any of the men realized. Would you consider taking on more than your routine responsibilities here at Driver?

What is it? And what if I don’t? He felt a burden like his first patrol in Vietnam.

We need a confidential contact in the Advanced Polymers laboratory. You are the person with no history at Drive. If you agree, from time to time we will ask you to handle on-site covert tasks.

If it will help with our project, I will. His eyes were still drawn to her. Just say the word.

Cass will contact you personally—not through anyone else. She pulled his file together into the folder and stood—he followed suit.

Remember—if you notice anything that appears to be irregular, notify either Cass or me—no one else. You will tell anyone who asks that I gave you the usual notice about confidentiality of company information.

You or Cass? He was puzzled. Isn’t Cass a clerk?

No, Cass is one of my personal team. He works the desk when the clerks are on break. You are not entitled to know any more for now. Remember, no one else.

You are the boss, he said.

She opened her door and spoke out. Cass! See that Doctor Grant gets your best portrait package.

The sergeant escorted him to a stool in front of a blue backdrop. A digital camera recorded his image a half-dozen times in an instant. Brad didn’t know such cameras existed in 1979 outside of futuristic science exhibits.

Doctor Banks seems to have a critical job here, a subtle attempt for more information.

Doctor Banks is as tough and smart as any combat officer I ever worked with in Korea, Cass said, in a non-answer.

How long has she worked here?

About a year and a half, Cass replied, absently removing the pictures from the printer. He enclosed one in an ID card holder and handed it to Brad, who left the building, wondering how critical the security problem was.

And why me? he asked himself, then realized it was a dumb question. She told him the new guy was not an employee when the problem surfaced. He was so busy staring at her striking beauty that he was