Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold (5 page)

After a night of Sinatra laced with Glenlivet, morning came too soon. Redwood Bluff, nestled in the sierra foothills, was an hour drive. Fortified with coffee, Halliday caught the county road west, to Highway 99 North, to another county road headed east. The last two miles snaked up to the bluff.

Halliday cursed another pothole. He pondered trading in his old Saab for a Jeep.

A grassy meadow led into the town nestled in what had once been a grove of Douglas fir. Rustic downtown structures had been constructed of wood from the local conifers. Pinecones dotted boardwalks constructed of wood. Squirrels raced up building gutters and across telephone lines.

Although Redwood Bluff held more charm than Santa Reina, the town suffered in the details. Rusted vehicles without wheels dominated the landscape beyond the short downtown block. Most houses yearned for a fresh coat of paint. Yards needed mowing. The recession or depression had become an excuse for neglect. Halliday had read somewhere that the loss of tourism had resulted in thirty percent unemployment in the town of eight thousand.

In a civic mood he fed a parking meter that was as out of place in the rustic town as Halliday. It swallowed four quarters.

The fifty yard long wooden boardwalk groaned.

The Black Bear Diner occupied one of several lacquered wooden buildings that had been taken better care of. A trio of retirees sat at a booth near the large front window discussing the latest cuts to Medicare and MediCal. Two young phone company employees occupied stools at the counter, one reading the Wall Street Journal.

Halliday found a booth in the corner.

A young waitress said, “Can I help you?”

He introduced himself then looked at her name tag. “Carrie, can you tell me where I can find Sheriff Barnes?”

She forced a smile. “You just missed him. He’s headed to his office. The police department is a block down on the right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks. You live here long?”

“Born here twenty-two years ago. I graduated from Redwood Bluff High School. If this economy ever improves, I’m going back to school at College of the Sequoias, down in Visalia.”

Halliday grew weary of hearing of people’s lives left waiting on the economy as if it was a derailed train and they were stranded on the platform holding a ticket. “Do you happen to know Lamar Festus?”

The girl weighed less than a hundred pounds. She kept shifting as if her feet hurt.

“That’s funny.”

“How so?”

“You’re sitting in Lamar’s booth. Up until a few days ago he was in this booth every morning except Sunday. His dog, Shack, would wait for him outside. When they took Shack it broke Lamar’s heart. Poor thing.”

“Who took Shack?”

“Nobody knows. Sheriff Barnes is the person to ask.”

She was holding back. Maybe he shouldn’t have introduced himself as a cop. That never seemed to work with kids her age.

She pulled out her order pad. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

He pointed at the breakfast menu. “I’ll have the Tri-tip scramble with wheat toast, and a cup of black coffee.”

“Good choice.”

After she left Halliday called Gladstone. For once the call didn’t go to voicemail.

“Tell me what you’ve found regarding the complaints.”

“Nothing. I talked to the dispatcher. I went through the logs. There is no record of any complaints coming from Redwood Bluff citizens.”

Halliday nodded as Carrie sat a cup of coffee in front of him.

“No complaints? I’ll talk to Sheriff Barnes.”

“Okay. I’m heading to Fresno, per your directive.”

“Roger that, keep me advised,” he said and hung up.

Halliday wolfed down his breakfast wondering how there had been no complaints reported at the PD from Redwood Bluff. Carrie had said it right. The scrambled eggs accompanied by chunks of Tri-tip were an excellent combination.

When he finished he waved her over. “Great breakfast, Carrie. Did Lamar have any family or close friends in town?”

She stared at the floor, counting tiles. “He’s not… dead, is he?”

“No, he’s alive. I need to talk to him.”

She faced him now. “He doesn’t have any family. You could say that just about everyone in town is Lamar’s friend. Chuck Bibby is his closest friend.”

Why had Gladstone not been familiar with Lamar Festus? “Do you have a phone number or address where I could find Chuck?”

She hesitated.

Halliday said, “I don’t know Lamar Festus. All indications are that he was a good citizen who has given a lot to this town. I’m committed to help Sheriff Barnes find him.”

A few minutes later when Halliday paid the bill, Carrie handed him a card with an address. “You can’t miss Bibby’s place.”

She said it as if maybe he could miss it. In a lowered voice she added, “I heard Lamar tell Chuck that Genevive security was breaking the law. Lamar said that some men had been following him. Ask Chuck, not the sheriff.”

“Thank you, Carrie,” Halliday said. The waitress wilted under the pressure of his light pat on her shoulder.

On the way to the sheriff’s office Halliday passed the Old Sequoia Saloon. The western style bar eclipsed the surrounding structures. The faux gabled entry invited pedestrians for “spirits guaranteed to soothe hard times,” according to the sign.

Halliday felt it odd that, after all this time, he had never met Sheriff Barnes. The day Halliday had arrived in Santa Reina Leo Bergman told him that there was no love lost between Barnes and Chief Brayden so he had steered clear. Leo said that rumors were circulating that Chief Brayden was in bed with Genevive Labs. Sheriff Barnes, on the other hand, sat out on the porch at night with a shotgun awaiting their arrival.

The sheriff’s office looked as welcoming as a wasp at a picnic. The rundown converted two-bedroom cottage could have used a paint job. As Halliday opened the door, he was hit with a blast of warm, stuffy air that smelled like stale bologna sandwiches.

A thin balding man at a large desk shot him a distrustful glare. One of the desk legs was supported by several aged volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica. It looked about as sturdy as the man slouched in the swivel chair who didn’t bother to get up.

“Sheriff Barnes?”

The man’s expression didn’t consider a response.

Halliday decided against extending his hand. “I’m Detective John Halliday from Santa Reina PD.”

“I heard you used to work for the government. Came to Santa Reina to hideout, huh?”

He didn’t need this bullshit. “I understand there have been complaints from citizens regarding missing animals in Redwood Bluffs.”

Barnes gave him a piercing stare. “You’ll have to bring that up with Chief Brayden. It’s hidden away in the same file labeled, ‘Bribes from Genevive Labs.’”

“You’re way off base about me, sheriff.”

The abrupt silence confirmed that Barnes had expected an argument.

Halliday said, “What happened to Lamar Festus?”

“You tell me, Halliday. I understand you had Lamar in your sights yesterday. Then you spooked him. That could’ve signed his death warrant.”

Had Gladstone slammed him? Halliday felt rigid, ready to defend himself if necessary. “What the hell are you saying, Sheriff Barnes?”

“What I’m saying is if Genevive security finds him first then we’ll never see Lamar Festus again. He knows too much about the evil goings on in Genevive’s labs.”

“What
is
going on at Genevive?”

“Lamar told me. Not any details, though. He said that he didn’t want to put me in danger. Did Brayden tell you to scare Lamar off?”

“You’ve got the story wrong, sheriff. Festus called me. I responded to his plea for help. He had been classified as a missing person last Thursday. We had no record of it at Santa Reina PD.”

“Tell me, why in hell did you scare him off?”

Halliday stared the man down before he said, “Sheriff Barnes, I’m not the enemy.”

“You work for that son-of-a-bitch Brayden. That’s good enough for me. I bet you’re pretty tight with those Genevive assholes, too.”

Halliday felt he was wasting his time here. “Sir, are you willing to discuss the circumstances around the disappearance of Lamar Festus?”

“I told your deputy all I knew on the phone yesterday. You should be knocking on doors at Genevive Labs. Chief Brayden told you to lay off Genevive, right?”

Sheriff Barnes twisted around in the chair. He ran a wrinkled hand through sparse hair. The man’s dirty nails hadn’t been cut in weeks. Barnes’s edgy behavior perplexed Halliday.

“I’ll visit Genevive if my investigation leads to them,” Halliday said. “Otherwise, I’m here. I need answers.”

“Are you buddies with the spooks that drive around in the black suburbans? Sierra Contractors my ass. CIA? DOD? Tell me, detective.”

Halliday was losing patience. “Sheriff Barnes, I don’t know what’s bothering you. You should have a little more respect.”

“Respect?”

The man’s face flushed crimson. His eyes narrowed.

“Get the hell out of my office.”

The sheriff needed help. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I know you’re from the Department of Defense. They recruited you to work undercover with Genevive Labs. You’re in cahoots with Brayden.”

The sheriff grabbed a flag pole jutting against a bookcase. He pointed it at Halliday. “For the last time, get the hell out of my office. Or I’ll throw you in jail.”

Halliday lunged for the flagpole.

Unprepared, the sheriff back stepped. Halliday snagged the flagpole. Barnes fell back into his chair. Halliday held the flag end, careful not to damage the faded folds. He pivoted, and with a swift motion, whacked the stack of encyclopedia books.

The table tipped in Halliday’s direction. Dozens of books and papers slid to the floor. The sheriff’s coffee cup skidded, dousing everything.

The sheriff froze in the chair, his mouth agape.

Halliday planted the flag in a potted palm that needed water. He stopped at the door before he left and said, “Sheriff, two words for you.

Fix it.”

Chuck Bibby’s small ranch style house lay off by itself in a woodsy area a mile outside Redwood Bluff. The home had a new roof. It appeared the exterior had been recently painted. The yard, a close cropped blanket of green, led up to a bed of red roses, without weeds. Rows of Cyprus trees lined the edges of the property.

A twelve foot high totem pole, out of place in the middle of the front yard, glared at passersby.

Halliday knocked on the door and stepped back.

The door opened as if he had been expected.

A tall elderly man with youthful eyes stood between the jambs. The man’s gray hair was tied into a ponytail. Turquoise bobbles hung from long droopy ear lobes. His tanned face exuded intelligence.

“Hello, Mr. Bibby, I’m Detective John Halliday from Santa Reina PD.”

The man glimpsed Halliday’s badge. “I believe you.”

The musky odor of incense that didn’t mask a cannabis scent stirred Halliday’s nostrils. “Sir, I have some questions. I understand you’re friends with Lamar Festus.”

“Did you talk to Sheriff Barnes?”

“I tried. It was like having a conversation with a wounded bear.”

Bibby grunted. “His wife passed away a few months ago. Will Barnes hasn’t been the same since. You heard about the lawsuit?”

He didn’t remember the details so he shook his head.

“We can sit down here on the porch if you like. The weather’s fine.”

“That works for me.”

They sat on white wicker furniture. Halliday let the man gather his thoughts. The totem pole and the man’s dress made Halliday think Bibby was part Indian. He didn’t ask.

“The trial took place at San Francisco Superior Court. Sheriff Barnes’ wife had qualified for an all-volunteer pilot program. Genevive Labs beta drug Procoxylate killed her. The defense failed to present any expert witnesses to testify against Genevive. Barnes refused a settlement. He lost the case on technicalities.”

“They found no negligence on Genevive Labs part?”

“No. They spent millions to keep a lid on the case. Genevive dropped production of Procoxylate. They made an enemy for life out of Will Barnes. Most folks around Redwood Bluff sided with Barnes.”

“You can add me to Barnes’ hate list.”

“Sheriff Barnes and Lamar Festus are afflicted with the same disease called Genevive Labs. Anybody associated with them is the enemy. Since you are not from around here, naturally it adds to the stigma.”

Outsiders had no advantages. Usually, he didn’t let strangers get away with the slight. He didn’t think Bibby said it out of spite. “Mr. Bibby, do you believe Genevive is involved in any illegal activities?”

Bibby regarded the totem pole. He seemed to channel into it.

“Illegal activities.”

He said it as if it was a joke. “What do you mean, Mr. Bibby?”

“Genevive employs scientists, engineers and technicians who are in business to make money—a lot of money—at any cost. Think of manifest destiny, only the Conestoga wagons heading westward are filled with gold bullion instead of people with dreams. Institutions like Genevive Labs need watchdogs. The federal government has lost the capacity to do that. The Food and Drug Administration has become a joke.”

Bibby let out a short snort. “That only leaves hillbillies like me to read the medicine labels.”

Halliday didn’t know the extent of the man’s activism. Bibby seemed to know a lot. He suspected that Genevive Labs’ influence over the county went far deeper than what he knew. “To answer my question, you
do
believe Genevive Labs is involved in illegal activities.”

“Sure do.”

“Mind elaborating on that Mr. Bibby?”

“Peddling toxic drugs, trespassing on personal property, theft of livestock, and invasion of privacy. I’m sure they’ve indulged in crimes that I am not privy to. Find Lamar Festus. He’ll enlighten you.”

“I understand Lamar Festus graduated from UC Davis several years ago.”

“We graduated in the same class from UC Davis. Lamar went on to earn his Masters. I urged him to stay on at UC Davis, to go for his PhD. He could have been at the forefront of the California AG industry today. Lamar had this crazy idea that he owed this one-horse town something.”

Halliday was baffled. In no way had Lamar Festus presented the aura of a doctoral candidate in his brief meeting with the man.

“Looks are deceiving,” Bibby said, as if reading his mind. “Lamar Festus was not an imposing man by looks or conversation. He owned a keen investigative mind. During his career, he obtained a wealth of information in the science we both love.”

Bibby spoke of Festus in the past tense, as if he had already passed. That intrigued Halliday. “Mr. Bibby, where does Lamar Festus live?”

“Lamar lives out back in a little cottage we built for him. He spent his life helping other people. Never thought of himself.”

“Who are
we
?”

“The local ranchers and farmers. I can give you their names.”

“That would be helpful, sir.”

Bibby reached for a pencil and a writing pad on the table in front of him.

He wrote down the names. Halliday wondered about Genevive Labs. Were they the monsters that many citizens of the county, including Chuck Bibby, depicted? Or were they a company that took risks of sometimes questionable legality in the business of helping people?

“Mr. Bibby, have you talked to any other law enforcement officers from Santa Reina PD?”

“Not personally. Several of the farmers have made complaints. No one ever comes from Santa Reina PD to follow up.”

Bibby handed the short contact list to him.

“Detective, you can call me Chuck,” Bibby said. “I don’t believe the rumors that you’re a government stooge sent here to aid and abet Genevive.”

Halliday laughed. Word did get around. “Chuck, I just want to do my job, to find out what happened to Lamar Festus.”

“I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Okay, Chuck, when is the last time you saw Lamar?”

“It was last Thursday morning, after he was released from jail. We ate breakfast at the Black Bear Diner in town then I dropped him off at Jim Rogers’ ranch. Jim’s first on the list. He said Lamar was walking to the bus stop, a half mile from Rogers’ farm. Nothing unusual. But somewhere between Jim’s place and the bus stop Lamar disappeared.”

“Any reason you know why Lamar would want to disappear?”

“No.”

“Did Sheriff Barnes investigate?”

Bibby waved his hand. “Despite Sheriff Barnes’ attitude toward you, he’s a capable law man. He’s had some tough times of late. Will’s a good man at heart.”

Halliday didn’t comment.

“The sheriff found Lamar’s blue handkerchief alongside the road. Lamar had always been a frugal man who never threw anything out. He wasn’t prone to lose things, either. Sheriff Barnes found tire tracks nearby. He concluded that it was a lightweight pickup truck.”

Halliday recalled his conversation yesterday with Festus. He scribbled some notes in his memo pad, including: verify Genevive security vehicle types.

Bibby rubbed his chin. “Something click detective?”

“Notes to jog the memory. Chuck, what do you know about missing animals in the area?”

Bibby, a considerate man, paused. Halliday tried to read the man’s face.

“Lamar Festus’s brilliance suffered from demons that arrived at the same time as Genevive Labs. He believed that Genevive Labs conducted monstrous experiments on livestock abducted from the area. Now, I’m not saying Genevive isn’t guilty—I wouldn’t put it past them—but I know for a fact that a pack of coyotes have infiltrated the area during the last few weeks. They’ve been killing off pets and livestock. Coyotes most likely killed his dog, Shack.”

What was the term Gladstone had used to refer to Festus’s behavior? Absence of reality? “These coyotes, do you have proof?”

“Last Monday Lamar worked late with some farmers over at the Halverstad Ranch. Shack began howling. I went out back to take a look. Shack got agitated so I put him in the house. I grabbed my shot gun. There were noises out near the rear of the property. From out beyond the Cyprus trees, several pairs of yellow eyes stared back at me. I fired a warning shot into the air. They scattered.”

“Are you sure they were coyotes?”

“What else could they be? Wolves? After things calmed down I put Shack back in his dog run. He quieted down. I thought things were fine.”

Biddle pawed at his nasal hair and said. “It was rather odd, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw a lot of yellow eyes staring at me that night. Coyotes usually hunt in pairs, not in large packs.”

“Maybe they were wolves,” Halliday offered.

“There are no wolves in California to speak of.” Bibby shook his head and continued, “Anyway, the next morning when I went out to feed Shack he was gone.”

“How did he get out of the dog run?”

“He’s scaled the fence in the past. We didn’t find Shack’s body. I suppose the coyotes could have dragged him off.”

Bibby didn’t seem so sure of himself all of a sudden. Halliday said, “Lamar had an altercation at Genevive Labs?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it. Said he didn’t want to put any of us in danger. In my opinion detective, Lamar may have been overstepping his bounds. It gets back to what I said earlier about Lamar’s
demons
.”

He saw a battle simmer in Bibby’s face. It wasn’t clear who the combatants were.

Halliday struggled, too. Part of him yearned to solve Lamar Festus’s mystery. Part of him just wanted the Genevive issue to go away.

“Something on your mind detective?”

“Why would Lamar tell me that Shack had been murdered in the forest west of Genevieve Labs?”

“Can’t tell you, detective. I hope you find Lamar.”

Halliday shook his head. He had worked around academic types in the past. Lamar Festus didn’t fit the mold. Chuck Bibby did. “Did Lamar have any contact with Genevive personnel other than the recent provocation?”

“Lamar told me that a Genevieve scientist had confided in him. The man said that Genevive security had absconded with four young calves from the Halverstad Ranch last week. The scientist told Lamar that scientists were performing unusual experiments on them. It involved some sort of super-secret defense project.”

He thought it would make more sense for the rich corporation to purchase the animals. “Did Lamar give you a name?”

“Lamar said that the scientist got fired. Said he left the area.”

“Did the owner of Halverstad Ranch file a police report?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I suggest you ask Roy Halverstad.”

Halliday looked at his watch. He had to wrap things up. “Do you consider yourself an activist?”

“I’m a social activist. Today, that just means you believe in something. If you don’t take a stand on your beliefs you’ll get steamrolled like the Miwoks and the citizens of this town have. Do I have a basement full of arms ready to attack the establishment? No sir, I’m a peace loving man. In my heart I believe justice will come to those who deserve it.”

Halliday pondered Bibby’s last statement for a moment but let it go. He eyed the tall wood pole. “Does the totem have any significance?”

“James A. Bibby planted it there over a hundred and fifty years ago. He stole it from up north, the town of Ione. This house sits on the site of the original log cabin, which I burnt down. I scattered the ashes around the totem before I built this place forty-some years ago. The totem will never leave.”

“Any relation?”

“Yes, I’m a direct descendent of James A. Bibby,” he said without taking any pride in the admission.

Halliday had never before felt like such an outsider.