Knockout Mouse (26 page)

I was still in my clothes. That was good. I shuffled into the bathroom, splashed myself with some cold water, and shuffled into the kitchen. The kettle was humming over a burner.

“Did you sleep all right?” she asked.

“Like a wall. I didn’t know where I was for a minute.”

She folded her arms and leaned against the sink. Her form was hidden under a long flannel nightshirt decorated with bluebells. I stood by the refrigerator with my hands in my pockets. The patina of morning brightness fell from her face. She looked at me from under lidded eyes. I remembered why it had been so nice to kiss her.

“I’m sorry Bill. Last night, I—”

I stepped forward and took her hands. “Same for me.” I was sorry, too, though I wasn’t sure whether it was for what happened or what didn’t happen. Not that I would have cheated on Jenny—more out of principle, I had to admit, than direct feeling at the moment. The little pang of guilt I’d felt when I awoke did not center on Jenny, but on Sheila. As if somehow we’d taken advantage of her death.

Karen touched a finger to my lips. “You have the nicest little fold at the corners of your mouth. And eyes.”

I kissed her forehead. She gave me a slap on the hip. And we got on with our morning. She fitted a filter into a coffee cone. I hunted up some food in the cupboards and refrigerator. We moved past each other easily in the kitchen, as if it were a familiar choreography.

We ate quietly, looking through the Sunday paper. Karen did the crossword. It was a pleasant fiction to eat the little smorgasbord we’d rustled up—toast, apples, cheese, tomatoes, olives, jam—as if we had nothing much else to do today.

At eleven-thirty I folded the paper and said it was time for me to go to LifeScience.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Karen asked.

“I better go alone. Marion is taking me inside. You never know, Dugan might be hunting for you.”

“Nah, he’s scared of me now.” The hint of bravado in her smile told me she didn’t mind staying in.

I tucked in my shirt and put on my jacket. The DAT and mini-DV were still in the pockets. I changed the DAT cassette and cued it up. Karen gave me a peck on the cheek and asked at what point she should start to worry about me. I waved it off, but she fixed me with one of those direct looks.

“I’ll check in around three. Call Wes if you don’t hear from me.” I borrowed her pen and wrote Wes’s number on the crossword.

“Fine. What do you plan to do when you get inside?”

I’d started thinking about it last night on the way back to the condo. “I’ll see what else I can get out of Doug Englehart and Frederick McKinnon. New information tends to make people talkative. Marion’s going to look for more on MC124. I’ll try to find other senior people in the company, too. With the big Curaris deal happening tomorrow, I expect they’ll all be working. I’ll tell them I know how Sheila died. I won’t accuse anyone; I’ll act like I think someone else is to blame. Then I’ll watch how they react. See what I see on their faces, listen to what they say, and decide on my next move.”

“What if you run into Dugan?”

“I’ll hope I don’t. But if I do—same as the others.”

Karen nodded and sent me off. The sky was an immense plate of scalloped ridges, puckered with billows and whorls. The first big rain front of the season was approaching from the Gulf of Alaska. The barometric pressure had dropped, and there was an expectancy in the air.

Marion was waiting for me about a hundred yards down the street from the turn to the LifeScience parking lot. I motioned for her to follow me, then I drove another quarter mile to an empty industrial street. I parked the Scout and got into her car.

The first thing I did was explain why I’d invited Abe Harros to her house the night before. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t sore about Dugan showing up. “I was trying to bring Abe over to our side,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it. If you ask me, Dugan practically convicted himself. All we need to do is gather
a little proof, and we’ve got him.” Her elbows flapped with excitement as she took the turn into the parking lot. She disliked Dugan more than I did, if that was possible.

We parked in the back. Marion used her card to get in through an electronically controlled door to the agri division. She was wearing a slim pair of black jeans, a sweater, and a scarf. I asked if I could put the scarf over my head just long enough to get through the door. “For the video cameras,” I explained.

The halls of the agri division were empty. We had to pass through the central tower of executive offices to get to Doug’s lab. We crossed over on the second floor to avoid running into anyone before we were ready: Dugan’s office was on the fifth floor, McKinnon’s on the fourth.

In the next wing, we took stairs up to the lab on the third floor. I waited in the stairwell while Marion checked out the lab. “Doug Englehart is working by himself. I can’t poke around with him there.”

“I’ll draw him into his office.”

She nodded. I unpaused the DAT recorder and went in. Doug gave me a glare, but it was a hard-at-work glare. He had a deadline tomorrow and didn’t want to be interrupted.

“Give me just ten minutes,” I said. “I have new information about Sheila.”

“What is this, social hour?” he growled. But he went with me into his office. I made a point of closing the door.

“We—Karen Harper and I—know how Sheila died,” I said.

This brought only a disappointingly small lift of his brows. “You were going to bring the notes.”

I ignored the request and went on. “It was a combination of MC124 and a shellfish protein genetically engineered into a tomato. The protein wasn’t pure enough to induce anaphylactic
shock on its own. But it was enough to stimulate MC124 into triggering a severe immune reaction.”

Doug’s fingers were spread on his desk. He was startled now, but not stunned. A flash of respect crossed his face before a mask of denial descended.

“Any connection to MC124 is coincidental. Where did this tomato come from?”

“Carl Steiner’s garden, by way of LifeScience’s agri division.”

Doug shook his head. “I knew that guy was trouble. Bothering Sheila the way he did. You know, I think he actually tried to prevent her from going to your party that night.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, Carl was up here, badgering her about what she was doing, who she was having dinner with.”

“He said she didn’t return his call.”

“That’s why he came up. He was agitated, I’m telling you.”

“Yet he said it was someone else who requested that he give the tomatoes to Sheila.”

Doug tilted his head back. “Who?”

“Who do you think?”

“I’m not a psychic—
who?!”

“Frederick McKinnon.”

“No…” Doug bit his thumb. “Frederick wouldn’t…”

“Tell me what’s really going on, Doug. You knew about the problems with MC124, didn’t you? Sheila injected it, didn’t she?”

He dug a finger into his ear. A whole range of possibilities seemed to run through his mind, until he lashed out: “Who the fuck are you, anyway? I’ll talk to the proper authorities about this. If they’ve got a case against Frederick, well… It would be very sad, if he went and did such a thing to protect the program. But you’re not part of this. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“You’ve been very helpful already,” I replied calmly. “Get out of here! Now!”

I gathered my jacket around me and made as much noise as I could opening the door to give Marion notice. The lab was empty. I passed by it quickly, but not before I heard Doug yelling after me, “Wait a minute! How’d you get in?!”

I turned the corner and raced back to the stairwell. Marion was gone. I wondered if Doug had seen which way I went. He might be calling security. I descended a flight, hurried through the corridors back to the central tower, and ascended to the fourth floor.

The lanky frame of Frederick McKinnon was bent at his door. I called to him from down the hall. He swung around in alarm.

“Sorry to surprise you, Dr. McKinnon. Can we talk?”

“I was on my way to lunch. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got new information about Sheila.” I was getting good at sidestepping questions I didn’t want to answer. “I’ll go to lunch with you.”

“No, you won’t.” He turned the key in the lock, opened his office door, and waited for me to enter. “Make it quick.”

We stood on the rug between the two sofas. “We know what killed Sheila,” I began, and went on to repeat what I’d just said to Doug.

McKinnon’s first question was about the tomato. I told him where it came from. He began to pace in front of the door. “We never should have acquired Tomagen. It was a bad deal. We’re losing our focus as a company. It’s just ruining—”

He stopped and glared at me. “Wait a minute, what did you say about MC124? It had nothing to do with Sheila’s death.”

“She injected it. It caused her immune system to overreact. Just like the knockout mouse. We’ve got the documentation. We’ve got the pathologist’s report.”

“No. That can’t be.” His face showed genuine fear and anguish.

“I’m sorry, Dr. McKinnon.” I actually felt bad for him, until I remembered what he might have done.

“This will not prove out,” he declared. “Who are you in league with? Dugan?”

I laughed. “No. In fact, I suspect he’s the one behind all of this. I was hoping you’d help me find out how. Carl Steiner said you were the one who requested the tomatoes for Sheila.”

McKinnon’s eyes widened with incredulity. But before he could speak, his phone buzzed. He went to pick it up. His voice became irritated. “Yes, he is… No… Really, what business is it of yours?” He slammed the receiver down and strode back to the door.

“Neil’s trying to set me up,” he said. “He must be stopped. We can’t allow this to destroy LifeScience. But I’m late for lunch with my wife. Keep this under your hat for another forty-eight hours. Then I’ll give you all the assistance you want. But only,
only
if you keep out of sight until then.”

He jerked the door open and waited for me to exit. I stepped into the hall and was about to slip in one last question. Then I saw the two security guards moving rapidly down the corridor. McKinnon had already shut his office door behind us. I was cornered.

“Walk me out,” I said to the doctor.

One of the guards grabbed my right arm. “There’s no need for that,” McKinnon said to the guard. “He’s with me.”

“Orders of Mr. Dugan,” the other guard said.

“He’s mine, Frederick.” The commanding voice echoed down the hallway. It was Neil Dugan, briefcase in hand, striding
confidently toward us. Behind him were Pratt and his partner. My time was up.

The other guard took my left arm. “I said to let him go!” McKinnon bellowed. “What is this, Neil? He’s my visitor.”

Dugan’s lips stretched into a grin. He didn’t bother to answer the question. He and Pratt inserted themselves between me and McKinnon. Then Dugan turned and walked away. The guards pulled me along behind him.

“Start counting, Frederick,” Dugan said over his shoulder, not bothering to look. “Your days here are numbered.”

As we rode down the elevator
to the lobby, I could have sworn I smelled salami. Mustard, vinegar, onions—I looked at Pratt. His mouth opened in a smile of triumph, and I saw specks of the remnant sandwich in his teeth.

As the guards jostled me out of the elevator, one knocked his hand against the camera in my right pocket. He let go of my arm to reach into the pocket. “Mr. Dugan, he’s got something—”

I gave the other guard a swift heel stomp on his foot and yanked my arm away. Using this split-second opening, I bolted across the marble floor to the exit in the rear of the atrium. The guards ran after me, but neither was in very good shape. Their lumbering forms blocked Pratt. Dugan was last, with his briefcase. I made it out the door before any of them could lay another hand on me.

“Go that way!” I heard Dugan yell to the guards. “Find his car!”

I vaulted the planter enclosing the patio and sprinted to the rear of the building, again passing between the agri division and the garden. I had a thirty-yard head start on Dugan, Pratt, and the other PI. The guards were headed to the front lot.

A tall wire fence defined the outer perimeter of LifeScience. On the other side lay an industrial culvert. I hit the fence at full speed, scaled it with three quick toeholds, and dropped down the other side. The shallow water was a sick green. I didn’t want to think about what chemicals turned it that color. As I splashed through the culvert, Dugan and Pratt reached the fence. Dugan was as athletic as he looked, but Pratt was also surprisingly agile for a man with his figure. I kept moving.

A wood fence ran along the bank on the far side of the culvert. It was too high to climb without hand- or footholds. I ran alongside it, looking for a way through. At last I found a rotten board, turned my back, and gave it a few well-placed heel kicks. The wood splintered. I broke open the hole wide enough to wriggle through. A loose shard gashed my cheek, but the pain didn’t register.

I found myself in a derelict yard of twisted rebar, old railroad ties, and random truck trailers. Gasping for breath, I moved as fast as I could across the yard to a locked gate along another wire fence, this one fifteen feet high. I scrambled up the fence, the wire cutting into my fingers. Balancing precariously at the top, I swung my leg over, and then lost my footing on the other side. For a long moment I hung by my fingers, legs pedalling for purchase. Finally I found new toeholds and finished my descent.

Now I was on the street where my jeep was parked. I dug into my jeans for the keys. I fumbled the key into the lock and got the door open as Dugan and Pratt began their assault on the locked gate, then on the fence. The other PI was lagging behind them.

This was going much better than last time, I thought. I wouldn’t even have to body slam one of them with my door.

I cranked the engine. It turned, and turned, and turned, but wouldn’t start. I pumped the gas twice and cranked again. Again it whinnied, as if on the verge of catching. Then it groaned to a stop. Maybe I’d flooded the engine. I pressed the pedal to the floor and cranked savagely. It gave one more whine, and then expired.