The Fluorine Murder (4 page)

Teresa's space was surprisingly pink for the
modern girl that she seemed to be. A pink stuffed animal of generic
makeup sat atop her four-drawer file cabinet. I bent my neck to
read the nameplate on the side wall, to be sure I had the right
cubby. Peter's cubicle was spare, no decorations except for a large
poster of chess champion Boris Spassky. I wondered if Peter was
even around during Spassky's reign in the early seventies.

I came to Carson's cubicle and stopped short.
I knew of his passion for the early days of atomic energy, but I'd
never seen the array of photographs in his workspace.

Many of the shots were familiar from my own
passion, reading science history and biographies. Carson's
collection included a sketch of the pile at the University of
Chicago, where sustainable nuclear fission was born; a startling
black and white image of Little Boy; a fiery mushroom cloud.

Most striking was a series of time-lapse
images of test houses at the Nevada Proving Ground. Several
operations during the era of above-ground testing consisted of
building houses at different distances from ground zero and blowing
them up to test their responses. The set of pictures on Carson's
wall showed six shots of one house, from standing upright to
collapsing in a surge of flames, in less than three seconds.

I felt a shiver as it dawned on me how Carson
Little's hobby was woven into his approach to his research.

I walked back toward our meeting room knowing
all I needed to know about the fires.

****

Matt and the fluorine team seemed to have
taken a break at the same time that I did. I wondered if Teresa had
looked for me in the women's room.

Now Matt was ready to resume. He pulled four
copies of a photo from a folder and placed one in front of each
chemist. He folded his hands and watched their expressions, like a
macabre Nevada blackjack dealer: Hit or no hit?

Not only the chemists gasped at the sight of
the charred body, face down, surrounded by a thick layer of debris.
So did I. Up to now, I'd seen only the cleaned up image of her
tattoo. I couldn't help staring at this image, making out a human
form that was as black as carbon and so thin in places that I knew
it could be pulled apart with very little force. I was grateful
that I hadn't eaten yet.

"
Is this the woman who died in the
fire?" Peter asked.

"Not in the fire," Matt said. "Someone
murdered her first."

Teresa shivered. "Why are you showing us
these? Are we supposed to recognize her?"

I knew better. Matt was trying to shake loose
a telltale reaction—a show of remorse, a slip of the tongue, an
uncontainable need to confess.

No such thing happened, however. Instead,
everyone looked ill; they drew back from the table and now all arms
were folded across chests.

"Can you tell me a little about your work
here?" Matt asked. He smiled and added, "In layman's terms,
please."

Teresa volunteered. "Sure, I'll explain what
we do. We're investigating various flame retardant coatings."

"Coatings for … ?" Matt asked.

"Anything," Carson said. "Once we figure out
the process, we'll be able to use the coating for leather, glass,
ceramic, plastic, wood … you name it."

As the other members of the team pitched in
to inform us of the value of their research, I got a chance to slip
Matt a hastily written note that read TATTOO IS DANIELLE. He nodded
and paused.

"You have quite a testing facility here." I
said.

"Sure do," Peter said. "We have all the
standard stuff."

"But there's nothing like testing in the
laboratory of real life, is there?" I asked. "It reminds me of the
model town built at the Nevada Proving Grounds in the fifties." I
turned to Matt, as the one who might need an explanation. "The
government built houses of every kind of material, furnished them,
and then blew them up and studied the results."

"Is that what you're doing?" Matt asked,
looking from one chemist to the other.

Stan stood up, kicking his chair behind him.
"Absolutely not," he said. "Is that why you're really here? To
accuse us of setting the fires in town?"

"Just so we can do research on the ashes?"
Teresa gave me a look that was part sad, part disappointed, mostly
angry.

"It beats your plan, which is to wait around
forever," Carson blurted.

"What are you talking about?" Teresa asked
him.

"You guys may have all the time in the world,
but that's not what I signed up for." Carson unleashed his
frustration in a loud blast of words, then stretched his arms out
on the table and put his head down.

Stan took his seat again. He put his hand on
Carson's arm and shook it. "What's this about? Is everything
okay?"

"Nothing's okay. Nothing will ever be okay
again," Carson said, his voice soft.

"Carson? You did this? You set the fires?"
Teresa's face had fallen, making her seem almost as old as
Stan.

"I'd do it again," he said. "Except for
Danielle."

Peter put his head in his hands; Stan looked
up at the ceiling, an uncomprehending look on his face.

"What about Danielle?" Teresa's voice was
high pitched, her tone worried.

Carson closed his mouth, folding his lips
inward. "It was an accident."

Teresa looked at the photo in front of her.
"You killed Danielle?"

"I didn't mean to." Carson raised his voice
to match Teresa's. "She wanted to stop the project."

Stan slumped over. For a minute I feared the
revelation had given him a heart attack. Peter reached over and
rubbed Stan's shoulder seeming to console him.

"What project are you talking about?" Teresa
was nearly screaming now.

"'Big Boy,'" Stan said. "We called it Big
Boy. Danielle was fine with it for a while, but she didn't want to
use the nursing home. She came down there to stop me. We fought and
I pushed her away." Carson's voice grew more and more shaky. "She
fell … and … I … she hit her head."

"And you left her there?" Teresa had assumed
Matt's role of interrogator. I was sure that was fine with him.

Carson threw up his hands. "I had to get out
of there. The fire was coming at me. I couldn't help her. I knew
she was dead."

Stan and Peter, who'd remained silent through
Carson and Teresa's shouting match, now stood together and, as if
they'd planned it, lunged toward Carson with faces and arms ready
for battle.

Matt jumped up, handcuffs at the ready.

Carson continued to babble through the
four-man struggle. "The fire was blazing. I couldn't breathe. I
panicked." I might have felt sympathy for Carson, except for his
last words: "And I had to test the compound."

I buried my head in my hands and resigned
myself to the fact of a scientist gone bad.

****

A lot had happened between two Sunday
brunches at the Galiganis'.

"It was all there in the emails," Matt told
us during the omelet course the following week. We listened
attentively as he recounted how Carson had talked Danielle into
helping with Big Boy, convincing her that it would be good for the
environment in the long run. He'd assured her that no one would be
hurt.

I swallowed hard at the outcome: only
Danielle ended up being hurt.

"It was a different kind of motive for arson.
We've got to give him that," Frank said. "Nothing ordinary, like
vandalism, or insurance scamming, or a guy getting his kicks from
seeing the flames."

"Or someone making a political statement,
like a terrorist," Rose said.

"In a way it was a statement," I said. "About
how researchers have to struggle for funding." I put my hand up in
a STOP gesture to stem any backlash, and to protect my right to a
cannoli. "Not that I'm excusing Carson or Danielle," I said. "Not a
bit." I looked at my husband. "I'm a big fan of law and order."

"Wonderful news," Rose said. "Now let's plan
that anniversary party."

"I won't stall anymore, I promise. But I have
just one favor to ask."

"Anything, as long as we can set a date,"
Rose said.

I smiled a thank you at my best friend. "No
candles, please.

The End!

About the author:

Camille Minichino has published eight novels
in the Periodic Table Mystery series and four in the Miniature
Mystery series (writing as MARGARET GRACE). Her thirteenth novel,
"Monster in Miniature" is due in April 2010 from Berkley Prime
Crime.

Camille received her Ph.D. in physics from
Fordham University, New York City. She has had a long career in
research, teaching, and writing. She is currently on the faculty of
Golden Gate University in San Francisco, and on the staff of
Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Camille is on the boards of
the California Writers Club and NorCal Sisters in Crime, and a past
president and member of NorCal Mystery Writers of America.

Visit me:

My smashwords page:

My website http://www.minichino.com

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My blog:
http://www.killerhobbies.blogspot.com