“And if her family founded that company, she must own a sizable chunk,” Kilburn pointed out. “You heard what Ryland told us about SeptoMed being unable to survive a third failed antibiotic? Byington’s financial viability might even hinge on Oraloxin’s success.”

“True,” Cohen said. He looked from Kilburn to Lopez. “You two have already gone above and beyond the call. If you need to head back home …”

Kilburn shrugged. “I’m going to stick around for Ellen’s funeral.” Then he added quietly, “She doesn’t have much in the way of family.”

Lopez smiled at Cohen. She reached over and touched the bandages above his eye tenderly. “I’m not going anywhere, Seth.”

66 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

66

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Stepping into Ed Franklin’s second-floor Homicide office, Lopez noticed the chill in the lieutenant’s greeting. But Franklin saved most of his wrath for Cohen. Franklin listed the points with his fingers, and said, “I got two murdered security guards, a hole in the side of a skyscraper, two injured Portland detectives, a very dead hit man, and a whole damn city up in arms.” Franklin stared hard at Cohen. “What I don’t have is the person responsible for it all.”

“Ed, we had no choice but to follow Martineau’s instructions,” Lopez spoke up in Cohen’s defense.

“Lina is right,” Kilburn said. “Martineau painted us into a corner.”

“Doctors,” Franklin snapped. “Sergeant Cohen knows a thing or two about police procedure. He knows we’re capable of responding discreetly in these situations.”

“You’re right, Ed,” Cohen said. “I knew better. I’m sorry.”

Lopez admired the way Cohen made no effort to deflect the blame. Franklin responded well to the apology: After a deep sigh, his expression lightened. “We just heard from Martineau’s bank. Apparently, he moved a considerable amount of money—or at least tried to—last night.”

Cohen tilted his head. “How so?”

“He put in an electronic sell order for two hundred thousand SeptoMed shares, but as trading was halted on the stock this morning, the order wasn’t filled. However, he did manage to move about three quarters of a million dollars in cash to an offshore account.”

“He’s padding a nest for himself somewhere, isn’t he, Ed?” Lopez asked.

“Looks that way,” Franklin agreed with another sigh.

“Where did he get that kind of money?” Kilburn asked. “Has he been dumping SeptoMed stock all along?”

Franklin shook his big head. “Not according to his bank records. The money came in from some private numbered Cayman Island account the day before.”

Cohen nodded. “Ed, do you know where he placed these electronic transactions from?”

“The tech boys traced the order back to a wireless laptop. Somewhere in Greater Philadelphia,” Franklin sighed. “I don’t understand all the mumbo jumbo—something to do with WiFi and IP addresses—but apparently they can’t pinpoint it any better.”

“What time?” Cohen asked.

“About 1:30 A.M.”