Free Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold by D.K. Matthews Page A

instructed him where not to go. The subtle message was: “Do not stray.” One sign warned against entering building B24 without proper clearance. Beyond the admin building, the Genevive security office, a small fortress of glass and steel, jutted against a manmade hill. The hill rose above the two buildings. It supported a microwave cell tower overlooking a huge water tank.
    A woodsy exterior camouflaged the admin building’s busy lobby of green tinted glass and polished steel. Halliday entered through a metal detector. He had left his gun in the hidden compartment in the Saab.
    The ditzy receptionist confessed that she was “into cops” as she motioned to the visitor lounge as if it were their rendezvous point in a hotel lobby.
    A security camera in the corner ceiling patrolled the room. It froze on him when he reached inside his jacket. He held up a Reisen chocolate caramel.
    Ten minutes later a suave gentleman exuded confidence as he strolled through the lobby doors. He made his way to where Halliday sat amid a group of visitors.
    The executive made eye contact and said, “Hello Detective Halliday, Brad Palmier.”
    He accepted the man’s soft hand that, besides shakes, probably had been reserved for computer keyboards and women’s bodies.
    Palmier led the way down the busy hallway into an unused office. He shut the door behind Halliday.
    “Have a seat. Would you like coffee, anything to drink, John?”
    “No, I’m fine.” Halliday sat down. He watched the busy executive appraise his stained tie and wrinkled sport jacket purchased from the Men’s Wearhouse three years ago.
    Brad Palmier owned the savoir faire look of a young George Clooney or Pierce Brosnan. Halliday understood why Laurel McKittrick had been charmed by him. Halliday’s hair, the same shade of jet black as Palmier’s silky mane, lacked shape. The man’s gold-flecked hazel eyes left Halliday’s brown eyes commonplace. Palmier’s face had been chiseled by a fine craftsman while Halliday’s face looked lived in. At least that’s the way he saw it.
    Palmier hung his jacket on a hanger so as not to get it wrinkled. He sat at the small table, across from Halliday and said, “What’s on your mind John?”
    Halliday pulled out the flash drive and explained the message from Laurel.
    Palmier’s face lost some of its color. With a little less confidence, the man took a sizable gulp of air and said, “My ex-wife is deceased, Detective Halliday.”
    He didn’t respond.
    “It’s a joke, right?”
    He handed the busy executive the flash drive. Palmier laid it on the pad in front of him.
    “You need to listen to the recording on that flash drive.” Halliday nodded at the laptop on the table.
    The young exec shot him a steely-eyed glance honed during hundreds of business meetings. He reminded Halliday of an insurance adjustor who would sit down with a terminally ill patient to clear up “loose ends.” Was he too judgmental? Experience had told him that first impressions were tantamount to sizing up people.
    The man’s eyes were riveted on the flash drive. “Plug it into the USB drive on the side of the laptop there.”
    Palmier’s eyes retreated to a mere flutter. “I’m pretty familiar with computers.”
    Halliday nodded. Palmier plugged the flash drive into the MacBook Air. He pushed dangling earphones into his ears.
    The man’s eyes were like butterflies floating on the air, never landing. Midway through the message, probably at the point where Laurel described Palmier screwing his secretary, they landed on Halliday’s face for a brief moment. When Palmier recovered, he offered an expression that stated, “I’m above all of this.” His soft hands caressed the laptop keys. His well-defined posture remained perfect.
    He hadn’t seen Brad Palmier work up a sweat yet. Had the lab rats at Genevive conjured up a “no sweat” pill, too? Palmier’s fashioned professionalism gave Halliday thoughts of… well, he wouldn’t do