He gestured again and Desh dutifully flipped to the next photo, a small, nondescript building in the middle of an industrial strip. The building had an address affixed to it but no name.
“NeuroCure’s animal research facility,” explained the colonel. “The building that Kira Miller worked out of, and for which she was responsible. Notice there’s no way to tell it’s at all associated with NeuroCure, or that there are animals inside. Biotechs don’t like to advertise these facilities. Not with all the PETA types running around.”
Connelly stroked his mustache absently with the tips of two fingers, something he had had a tendency to do ever since Desh had known him. “Kira was a model employee her first two years at NeuroCure, performing with the level of brilliance expected of her. During this time she was promoted twice, which is fairly unprecedented.” He raised his eyebrows. “Then again, so is graduating Stanford with a Ph.D. at twenty-three.” Connelly leaned forward in his chair. “Which brings us to about a year ago,” he said meaningfully, a hint of weariness in his voice.
“Let me guess,” said Desh dryly. “That’s when all hell starts to break loose.”
“You could say that.”
“Interesting,” noted Desh. “Up until now, at least, you’ve painted Kira Miller as a model citizen. It must have been some year.”
“You have no idea,” said Connelly ominously.
3
The colonel motioned for Desh to flip to the next photograph in his thin stack. It showed a short, slightly pudgy man with a hard look, holding a cigarette loosely.
“Larry Lusetti,” said Connelly. “Private Investigator; ex-cop. One morning about eleven months ago he’s found dead in Kira Miller’s condo in La Jolla, his skull bashed in with a heavy marble bookend and his body severely lacerated. After he was bludgeoned, he fell through a picture window in the front of the condo, which explains the lacerations.” He paused. “Kira must have managed to pull him back inside and close the shutters, but a neighbor heard the glass shattering and went to investigate. When no one answered the neighbor’s knock—and then Kira sped out of her garage and raced right past him—he called the police.
“Kira Miller couldn’t be located, but later that morning police found that the victim’s apartment had been broken into and turned upside down. Turns out Lusetti had installed a motion-activated nanny-cam inside a hanging plant in the apartment. Because of the nature of his work he tended to be a bit paranoid.”
You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you, thought Desh dryly, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Lusetti’s secretary alerted the authorities to the existence of the camera, which recorded some nice footage of Kira Miller ransacking the place and leaving with a large file folder and Lusetti’s laptop. They were able to enhance the footage enough to make out the label on the file she took. Turns out it was a file Lusetti had on her.”
“Interesting. Do we know why she was under investigation?”
Connelly shook his head. “No. Lusetti’s secretary knew nothing about it. And Kira Miller’s file was the only one he kept at home. There were no other records ever located that made any mention of her at all—other than the ones she took, of course.”
Connelly gestured at the photographs and Desh flipped to the next one.
“Alan Miller,” said Connelly. “Kira’s older brother.”
Desh studied the photo. Blue eyes. Handsome. He could see the family resemblance.
“Around midnight that same day, brother Alan turned up dead in Cincinnati. His house was found burned to the ground with his charred remains inside.”
“Arson?”
“No question about it. A rental car was found abandoned near the house with traces of acetone inside, the fire accelerant used in the arson. The DNA from a strand of hair found on the driver’s seat of the car matched Kira Miller’s DNA from hair samples police had taken from her condo.”
“And she had rented the car?”
“Yes. Using an alias. The name and license she used to rent it turned out to be untraceable. But the rental car agent identified her picture from ten that were shown to him. Later, police found a cab driver who recognized her picture. The Cabbie said he had picked her up a few miles from the brother’s house, about an hour after the fire, and had taken her to the airport.” Connelly frowned. “This is where the trail ends. We presume she took a flight, but if she did she used fake identification.”