Drift (27 page)

With my back against the side of the silo, I slid to the ground, staring at the reagent. Son of a bitch. Apples. What was that about?

I sat there for a few minutes, watching the reagent, waiting for it to say, “Sorry, just kidding,” and change back.

Looking around at the scene of so much carnage, I knew I shouldn’t be hanging out here. If the bad guys came back, it would be bad. If the good guys came back, that would arguably be worse. But I couldn’t figure out where to go or what to do.

Why would someone spike apples with heroin? Maybe someone was smuggling heroin into the county in apples that were spiked, like watermelons with vodka. But although apples were pretty hardy, they were still perishable. It was a crazy idea.

Was it a sinister plot to poison school kids? Janie had said the hospital had admitted school kids ODing. The thought gave me chills.

When I was trespassing in the fields behind Nola’s property, the apple trees were corralled behind a security fence. That suddenly made sense if the apples were full of heroin.

But the fence wasn’t around boxes of apples, it was around apple
trees
. Maybe the heroin was in the apples already.

Moose and Nola had talked about crops that were genetically engineered to create pharmaceuticals. Maybe these were, too. That would explain the fences
and
the guns.

But I didn’t know if that was even possible. There was only one person I could think of who knew enough about it to tell me. Jason Rupp.

*   *   *

The fancy black Mustang was parked in front of Rupp’s house, just as before. I parked behind it and knocked on his door.

He answered almost immediately, and when he saw it was me, a half smile formed on his face. He looked left and right, maybe for Nola, then said, “You? Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any info on your friends’, corn.”

“That’s okay, I have a couple of other questions. Mind if I bounce them off you real quick?”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

I think he was waiting for me to apologize and go away. I didn’t.

He let the silence hang there a good long while before he sighed and stepped back into the house. “Okay. Real quick.”

“Thanks.”

The place looked barren on the inside, even compared to before. The bookcases were empty, and boxes were stacked in the corner.

“You moving?” I asked.

“What?” He seemed annoyed at the question.

“I saw the boxes. You moving?”

“No. Well, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I’m teaching abroad for a little while.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s that?”

“France,” he said, his vague accent suddenly stronger. “University of Paris.”

“You speak French?”

“Doyle, that’s your name, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’m busy here, Doyle. If I had time for chitchat, I’d call my mom or something.”

“Okay, sure. So, you’re a geneticist, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, I’ve heard that it’s possible to genetically engineer plants to produce medicines.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay, would it be possible to make apples that could create heroin?”

He laughed. “Apples that create heroin…” He laughed again. “That’s pretty crazy. What are you, writing a science fiction movie?”

“So is that a no?”

“You must admit, it does sound like something a room full of stoners would come up with.”

“So that’s a no?”

He sighed and scratched at one of his sideburns, like he was trying to think of a way to dumb it down for me. “Production of a compound isn’t attached to a single group of cells or a single gene, it’s systemic. People think plant metabolism is this simple thing—‘this’ produces ‘that’—but it’s unimaginably complex, with different pathways and molecules interacting in different ways. It is flexible and dynamic and can be as dependent on environmental or developmental factors as genetics.”

I was quiet for a moment, and had almost caught up with what he had just said when he continued. “So, the short answer would be no. The longer answer, well, I’m not saying it could never be done. I’m just saying it hasn’t, and it would take an astonishing intellect to pull off something like that.”

I was pretty sure I had more questions, but standing there with him looking at me impatiently, I couldn’t think of any. When my phone chimed, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, like we both knew that was my cue to leave.

It was Rothe, the developer.

Rupp nodded indulgently as I thanked him and moved for the door. He closed it firmly behind me, and I heard him lock it. It’s an effect I tend to have on people.

Out on the front step, I answered the phone.

“Doyle, here.”

“Hi, detective, it’s Jordan Rothe. I got your message. Sorry I didn’t call you back earlier. We’re a little shorthanded, and it’s been a hectic few days. What can I do for you?”

“Shorthanded? You mean people out sick?”

“That’s right.”

“What do they have?”

“What do…? I don’t know. The sniffles. There’s something going around.”

I paused for a moment, wondering again how the whole flu thing fit in. Maybe I paused longer than I thought, because Rothe prompted me with an elaborate clearing of his throat. Unless he was coming down with something, too.

“Sorry,” I said. “Thanks for getting back to me. I was just wondering, with all those different sellers, how are you managing to complete all those deals in such a short time?”

“Right. Well, normally yes, something like that would take a long time, especially since there’s a one-month lease-back.”

“A what?”

“A lease-back, so the purchase is completed, but then the land is leased back to the seller for one month, to give them time to vacate or find another location. It’s not unusual, although it’s more common with smaller deals.”

“Isn’t that risky, leasing it back? What if there’s a problem with the property?”

“Real estate is always risky, especially in a market like this,” he said with a nervous laugh. “But I doubt there will be any problems a dozen bulldozers can’t rectify. We’re re-grading the entire site anyway.”

“I was wondering about that, actually. Just out of curiosity: Why are you investing in a big development way out here, right now?”

“Between you and me, I think it’s kind of crazy, too. But I’m getting an amazing deal on the real estate. That’s what’s driving the whole thing. I think some of these other developers overpaid on their land, couldn’t make it work. Now they have to get rid of it. So I get a great price. I keep my inputs low, keep my costs down, I can offer a killer price on new construction. I know for sure I can sell enough units to pay for the land and the infrastructure. If some of the parcels sit until the market turns around, that’s fine. It’s still a good investment.”

“You said you were breaking ground next month. Isn’t it unusual to start construction so quickly?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, Detective Carrick, I don’t have time to go into all of the nuances of this deal—it actually get’s kind of complicated when you get down to it—but the sale of the main parcel includes a clause that construction on the infrastructure must begin by a certain date. That’s probably part of why it was such a good deal.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not terribly.”

“Okay, and the lease-back, doesn’t that make the deal even more complicated? And that brings me back to my first question, how are you getting all those deals closed so quickly?”

“The lease-back was no big problem, and the deals were all structured the same. Plus, we’re dealing with the same local listing agent on all of them. We’ve structured the deals to make everything as smooth as possible.”

“The same agent for every one of those deals?”

“That’s right. She made a lot of money from it, but she’s been pretty helpful in putting the whole thing together.”

“And who is that?” I asked.

“Her name is Sydney Bricker.”

56

Sydney Bricker didn’t pick up, so I left her a message saying I wanted to talk to her. I didn’t say why. I drove in the direction of her office, but I wasn’t sure yet if that’s where I wanted to go. I wasn’t entirely satisfied with Rupp’s answers, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask all my questions, but he had made it pretty clear he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.

When I saw signs pointing toward Pine Crest College, I turned to follow them.

I was looking for Simpkins’s office, but instead I found Simpkins himself, walking across the quad in the middle of a small cluster of young women.

He must have seen me out of the corner of his eye because his head whipped around and our eyes met. He looked back at one of the girls who had been talking. When he glanced back a moment later, there was resignation in his eyes; I was still there, and getting closer. He took a few more steps, then turned in my direction.

A couple of the girls almost stumbled as they tried to adjust their stride. One of them stifled a cough.

“You’re Nola’s friend. Carrick, right?”

“Detective Carrick, that’s right.”

“What brings you to Pine Crest?” Simpkins asked. “Thinking of taking some classes? We have a great continuing ed program.”

“I spoke to your friend Rupp, and I wanted to ask you a couple of the questions I asked him, or tried to ask him. Do you have a moment?”

He sighed heavily, then turned back to his retinue. “Okay, everyone, I will see you tomorrow. Remember, if your lab partners were out sick, you need to get them your notes. And Maria, don’t forget you owe me a lab report.”

As they drifted away, Simpkins indicated which way he was walking and I fell in step beside him.

“So, what can I answer for you?”

“I have a question about genetically engineered pharmaceutical crops.”

“I doubt I can help you any more than Rupp can,” he said. “He’s much more up on that sort of thing than I am.”

“Maybe so. Would it be possible to genetically engineer apples to produce opioids?”

“Would it be possible? Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Sure, I would think so. Why not? I mean, I don’t think anyone has done it, but they’ve done things like it, so why not? I’m sure there would be hurdles to get past, but there are all sorts of drugs being genetically engineered into plants. The bigger question is why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you do it? Why would you engineer a plant to create a substance that is already created by another plant? Heroin comes from opium poppies. Why go to all that trouble when you can already get it from them? It would be like engineering apples to produce orange juice. Why bother, when there are already oranges, right?”

“Maybe because heroin is illegal and orange juice isn’t.”

“Point taken.” He shrugged.

“And poppies only grow in certain places, forcing people to go to great lengths to transport heroin to other places.”

He shrugged again. “I guess it makes some sense, but it seems like a lot of trouble. Then again, people have done much stranger things in transgenics.”

“Like what?”

“You mean apart from the glow-in-the-dark puppies and the mice with human ears on their backs?” He laughed. “It’s a strange new world out there, Carrick. Why do you ask about the apples and the opioids?”

“When I asked Rupp if it could be done, he said no.”

“Really? He probably thought you meant had it already been done.”

“He said it was very unlikely, and that only someone with an astonishing intellect could pull off something like that.”

Simpkins laughed. “I don’t know Rupp all that well, but I think the only intellect he would be astonished by is his own.” Simpkins stopped and turned toward me. “Look, I have another class in ten minutes, and I have to prepare. I don’t know what you’re getting at, but Rupp is much more of an expert in these matters than I am.” He shrugged. “Maybe there is something about that plant and that compound that makes them ill-suited for each other. Maybe there is some other reason I’m unfamiliar with as to why it wouldn’t work, okay?” He looked at his watch.

“Right. Well, thanks for your time.”

*   *   *

As I was getting back into my car, another call came in. I thought it might be Bricker, but I didn’t recognize the number. I considered not answering it, but that hadn’t worked out so well for me lately. “Hello?”

“This Doyle Carrick?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Charlie Brand, at Brand Agricultural Aviation. You were out here looking for me?”

“I was out there looking for a red biplane crop duster with a black-and-white stripe. You got one?”

“Nope. Why you looking for it?”

“I just want to talk to whoever owns it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Someone sprayed my property in the middle of the night. I wanted to find out what it was and why he did it.”

“Right. You’re a cop?”

“Philly PD. But in this matter, I’m just a landowner.”

“Guy’s name is Ricky Spetzer. I got a few questions for him myself. You get here in the next ten minutes, I’ll take you along with me.”

“I can be there in twenty.”

He grunted. “Hurry up.”

*   *   *

Charlie Brand came out of the office to meet me. He was a big guy, a couple of inches taller than me and maybe twenty pounds heavier. He had the posture and the demeanor of someone who had left the military with a full pension.

He eyed me appraisingly then smirked as I approached him with my hand outstretched. I gave his hand a firm shake, but that didn’t seem to count for much.

“Come on,” he said, turning on his heel. “We’re out back.”

The hangar door was open, and the yellow single wing was out on the grass, waiting to go.

“You’re lucky I got a two-seater,” he said over his shoulder.

“We’re flying?”

My lack of enthusiasm must have been apparent, because Brand’s face opened up in a cruel smile. “Yup.”

He gave me a helmet to wear and climbed into the front compartment. I put the helmet on, and as he went about checking readouts and flicking switches, the helmet speakers crackled.

“Buckle up,” he said. The engine growled to life, then settled into a loud purr. A moment later, we were bouncing down the runway and skipping up into the air.