Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4), Nick Pirog [classic children's novels .TXT] 📗

Me just how fucking easy it is to get a gun. Anyhow, one of the five who were killed had worked for the Lunhill Corporation.

Forty-seven year-old Neil Felding worked for the Lunhill Corporation for nearly twenty-two years. He was one of the lead scientists on a number of their big hitter projects, including possibly their worst Frankenseed creation, Bt-corn, which has been genetically modified to produce its own insecticide. Only it doesn’t stop producing that fun insecticide after little Joey eats his taco shell, and two years later he gets colon cancer. Yes, this is happening, people. Here’s the link: http://www.medikjournal.com/2349484

Anyhow, three weeks before his death, Neil Felding stepped down from his position at Lunhill after a heated quarrel in the corporate cafeteria with Lunhill CEO, David Ramsey. Yes, THE David Ramsey. AKA, Vader himself.

One can only wonder what the argument was about. Had Felding had a change of heart? Had he decided to turn his back on the Dark Side? Had he decided to join the Rebellion?

But because of one stupid asshole and a state with possibly the most lax gun laws in the known universe, we’ll never know.

I set my phone down on the table.

There was only one word on my mind.

Whistle-blower.

What if Neil Felding uncovered something mind-blowing, something he felt the public had a right to know about? Then he confronted his boss, this David Ramsey, in the cafeteria. There was a heated argument, and Neil stepped down. Now maybe it was just semantics, but usually when you verbally assault your boss—at least from my experience—you don’t “step down,” you’re “fired.” But then again, maybe the CEO begged Felding to stay. Maybe Felding knew too much for this Ramsey guy to let him go.

With a company like Lunhill, Felding would have been forced to sign all sorts of non-disclosures with likely heavy repercussions should he break them. If Felding leaked anything, it would have been sure to cripple him financially.

But what would stop Felding from leaking whatever he knew anonymously?

Is this what Mike Zernan thought, that Neil Felding was the real target of the Save-More murders? Is that why he sent me the notebook with “Lunhill” as the clue? Did he think Lunhill was behind it?

I ran my fingers through my hair and thought about the theory that was taking shape.

Neil Felding was about to blow the whistle on Lunhill. Something big, something groundbreaking. And coming from Felding, one of their top-dog scientists for more than twenty years, it would carry unquestionable validity. It would shake Lunhill to the core. It would cost them millions, maybe even billions.

So they (Lunhill) need to get rid of Neil Felding.

But if Felding gets murdered or has an accident so close to his stepping down, it will look suspicious. A good investigator—like Mike Zernan or yours truly—might even trace it back to Lunhill. They would need Felding to go away, but it couldn’t look like he was the target—just that he was caught in the line of fire.

But how do they do this?

I smirked.

Where is the only place in a small town everyone is going to go at some point?

“The grocery store,” I said out loud.

Somehow Lunhill learned about Lowry Barnes, a felon who was just fired from the grocery store. They get to him. Offer him money, threaten his family, or both.

For the first time, I thought about Lowry Barne’s family. He had a wife and two kids. Where were they now?

I made a mental note to find out.

Anyhow, Lowry Barnes agrees to do it, to kill Neil Felding but make it look like it is a revenge murder and Felding was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I thought back to what Victoria Page had said, how Lowry Barnes had come into the Save-More just a few seconds after Neil Felding.

My head unconsciously began to nod up and down. Maybe this was plausible after all. Maybe this wasn’t science fiction.

Lowry does the deed. Then he makes his getaway. The police find him in his car on the side of the road where he’d supposedly killed himself. But what if he hadn’t?

What if he was there to meet someone? Maybe to get his money. And they overpowered him, shot him in the temple, and made it look like a suicide.

“Holy shit, Mike,” I said. “You could have this right.”

I wondered what Mike stumbled on to make him think this. And if he thought this, why would the Tarrin Police Department and Chief Eccleston not want this to come out?

Did they have ties to Lunhill?

I would have to find out.

Regardless, there was still one giant piece missing. Lunhill was a multibillion-dollar corporation. They spent millions on lobbyists, they spent millions on lawyers, but if my theory was correct, then they also employed murderers.

I searched “Lunhill and murder” on my phone. There was only one article that contained both words. It was titled “Lunhill tied to Elite Murder Squad, Blackwater.”

“No way,” I said, staring at my phone.

Blackwater.

Them I knew.

In my decade-long tenure with a number of different law enforcement agencies, I’d heard rumblings about the private military for hire. Founded by a former Navy SEAL in the late nineties, Blackwater provided contractual security services for the federal government, including a $250-million contract with the CIA. They were infamous for a 2007 incident when a faction of Blackwater’s employees killed seventeen unarmed civilians in Iraq.

According to the article, Lunhill and the controversial security firm were in bed together, or as they put it, “Lunhill contracted with the shadow army in order to protect the Lunhill brand, to develop an acting intel arm of the company, and to collect intelligence on anti-Lunhill activists, politicians, and competitors.”

No wonder Mike Zernan was so paranoid. He must have feared this shadow army was listening to his every word and watching his every movement.

I thought back to the ligature marks on Mike Zernan’s neck.

The garrote.

A military weapon.

Chapter Nineteen

Lunhill headquarters was located on the outskirts of St. Louis, a little over an