“The government isn’t making it easy as far as legalization, and we’re investing in real estate where growing marijuana is legal,” Leffert said matter-of-factly.
“Of course. Very smart move. I am not necessarily looking to sell the property but perhaps to partner with a company looking for the same benefits.” Corbett knew he could get a half million for the land and building, but he was looking for something more long range. Something that would keep bringing in the cash.
“I see.” Leffert paused. “What kind of partnership did you have in mind?”
“Lease option? Percentage of profits? What exactly are you looking for?” Corbett was trying not to be cocky or anxious.
“Can you get me a survey of the property? I’d like to see the location and the schematic for the building.”
Corbett thought for a moment. He did not want to reveal the exact location of the cooker. Not just yet. “I can certainly do that.” He knew he could stall for a while, but for how long?
Outside the restaurant, Sasha was getting antsy. The men had been in there for two hours. She spotted her reflection coming off the door as the men finally exited the restaurant. She quickly shifted her fanny pack, which held a high-tech camera, in the direction of the men. A few snaps, followed by a backup using her phone. She should have enough images to identify the man with whom Corbett had had lunch. Sasha immediately sent the photos to Avery, jumped on her bike, and began following Corbett again.
This time he stopped and entered Bottega Veneta. He felt he had earned it. His plan was beginning to take shape.
Within fifteen minutes, Corbett was seen leaving the boutique with a large shopping bag and heading toward his apartment building. Sasha spoke into her recording device. “Subject is returning to apartment after two-hour lunch at San Pietro with person yet to be identified. Photos sent at fourteen hundred hours.” Sasha pedaled her way between the cars and settled outside the luxury apartment building, waiting for Corbett’s next move.
An hour later, he exited the building, dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, a button-down shirt, and a gray cashmere blazer, carrying his new Bottega Veneta duffel bag. He had opted for the four-thousand-dollar bag instead of the briefcase when he had returned to the store. It was much more practical, he had told himself, and a lot more noticeable. He hailed a cab, and Sasha pedaled toward it, dodging other cyclists, cabs, Ubers, and buses. The taxi made a right turn down Lexington Avenue and pulled over at Fifty-Ninth Street. Corbett got out and got in line for the Hampton Jitney. A young, well-dressed collegiate-looking kid walked up to him. They shook hands and exchanged cordial greetings and eventually swapped manila envelopes. The young man smiled and nodded and waved as he walked away. Corbett put the manila envelope he had been given in his new bag. He found the smell of the Italian leather intoxicating.
Sasha thought it likely that what she had just witnessed was a drug deal, so she took a quick photo of the young man and hit the speed-dial number for her helicopter pilot pal. “Jason? Hey. You busy? Want to give me a lift to East Hampton?”
It would take Corbett almost three hours on the Jitney. The chopper would take thirty minutes. That would give her plenty of time to grab her gear and meet up with Jason. Once they landed, she would rent a car, wait at the Jitney’s first stop in Southampton, and follow the luxury bus until Corbett got off.
* * *
Just as Avery Snowden landed in Aspen, his phone buzzed. Sasha had sent photos and some info. Avery immediately recognized the mystery man in the photos. It was Carlton Leffert, CEO and part owner of Leffert Industries. That’s odd, Avery thought to himself. Why would someone like Leffert be having a very expensive lunch with Corbett? I guess we’ll find out.
Avery unfolded himself from the small passenger plane that had brought him from Denver to Aspen. He really hated bouncing around in those things. It was like being on an amusement-park ride but without the fun. Happy to be on solid ground, he headed to the car-rental kiosk and punched in the membership number he had under the alias of Harry Walters. A set of keys and a contract were delivered by the machine. He picked them up and walked to the rental car. After he was behind the wheel, Avery pulled out a road atlas to get directions. He did not want to put anything into the car’s GPS, so he had to rely on good old-fashioned cartography. But that was something all of them were used to doing: keeping the use of technology to a minimum when not in control or in a secure environment.
He found directions to his motel and registered under another assumed name, Walter Harrison. He was beat and hungry. He called Uber Eats and asked them to suggest a place where he could order a BLT and fries. After a long hot shower, he would pull out the maps and plan for the next morning, when he would begin tailing Dr. Harold Steinwood.
Eileen was already in Europe, so she would arrive in London that same evening. Within the next twenty-four hours, they would have a good idea about the doctors’ routines.
Chapter 16
Pinewood
Nikki burst through the kitchen door, waving a folder. “This is unbelievable!” The dogs were yapping in response to her brisk entrance. She stopped for a moment and gave each of them the required hug, rub, and scratch.
Myra hurried from the atrium. “What is it? Is everything all right?”
“Where is Charlotte?” Nikki was almost breathless.
“She’s at Dr. Falcon’s. She’s getting a full workup.”
“How long has she been off those meds?” Nikki asked as she tossed the folder on the kitchen table.
“Almost two weeks. Why?”
“Some of it is a cytochrome P450 inducer. Also known as phenobarbital—but this is some kind of synthetic version. Other pills were Adderall. And Adderall is in the same class as cocaine and methamphetamine!” You could see the loathing in Nikki’s eyes.
“What?” Myra was horrified. She looked as if she was going to start shaking at any moment. Charles came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Let me take a look at those lab results.” Charles calmly opened the file and began reading. “Turmeric. Ginkgo biloba. CoQ10. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But yes, the phenobarbital seems to have been in half the vials. All different milligrams. And the Adderall is in three of them.” He continued to study the results.
Myra clutched her pearls. “Those bastards! They were doping them up!”
“They were indeed. The phenobarbital is probably what was making Charlotte foggy. Then they would introduce the Adderall every other day to give her a feeling of euphoria,” Charles noted. “They put her on a pharmacological roller coaster.”
Nikki chimed in, “That’s what they must have been doing while working in Mexico. Coming up with a concoction they could package and sell.”
Myra was on the verge of fury. “To think poor Charlotte was taking all that medication. It could have killed her!”
“That’s exactly what I think happened to Lorraine Thompson,” Annie, who had joined them in mid-conversation, surmised. “She probably got confused about her dosage and took too many of the phenobarbital pills at once. We need to get Maggie on this immediately.” Annie immediately sent a text to see how soon Maggie would arrive.
Coming through the door now, Maggie pinged back.