Helluva worldview.
Genetics, ay? Jack remembered what he'd seen on the notepad in Gerhard's office and decided to see if his next question would wipe that smile off Levy's face.
"So as a geneticist you've probably heard of oDNA."
The smile vanished. "Wh-whal? What did you say?"
"Little-oh, big D, big N, big A—oDNA."
"Where did you hear of that—of such a thing?"
Jack winked. "I'm a crack detective."
Levy recovered a little. "You must mean crack-head detective. There is no such thing. Forget about it."
"You mean if I do some heavy research I'll come up empty?"
"Exactly. But if you do stumble upon anything, let me know. I'd be very interested to read whatever you find. Now if you'll excuse me…" He guided Jack toward the door. "I have other matters to attend to."
Jack noticed how Levy's hand shook when he reached for the knob.
"Sure thing. Be seeing you."
Oh yeah, doc. Count on that.
12
Aaron closed the door and leaned against it, exhausted. The stress of this project alone was wearing him out, and this detective, this man calling himself John Robertson, was making it worse.
Where the hell had he heard of oDN A? Only a handful of people besides him and Julia, all with top security clearances, were privy to it. Every mention of it—and there hadn't been many—had been expunged from public and private records.
So where had…?
Gerhard must have told him.
But he'd said Gerhard was dead when he found him…
Just last night, Aaron had concluded that someone had tapped into his home computer. He assumed it had been Gerhard. His own damn fault, really. Last year he'd succumbed to the alluring convenience of a home wireless network. His daughter wanted it—everybody was doing it—and after a while the idea of sitting down with his laptop and surfing the Internet from any room in the house had proven too seductive.
He'd been able to set up the network—firewall and all—in a matter of hours, and it had been a great convenience. But last night he'd discovered that a few old documents on his hard drive had been recently accessed. It hadn't been him, and he was sure it wasn't his wife or daughter.
That left someone from outside. If Gerhard had the means to breach the firewall, all he'd have had to do was sneak to the side of the house with a wireless-enabled laptop and tap into the network.
The good news was that Aaron had a habit of turning off his computer before turning in, otherwise Gerhard would have had all night to wander through his files.
That had been the end of the Levy wireless network.
As for this detective, he'd worry later about how he'd heard of oDNA.
He peeked out the sidelight and watched Robertson get into his car. Had he bought the story about Bolton's alibi? Flimsy at best, but no way to disprove it. As he drove off Aaron tried to get a look at his license plate but couldn't make out the numbers. He remained at the sidelight, watching the yard after Robertson's taillights disappeared.
Bolton could be out there. He shuddered at the thought. Damn it, he wished the man were back behind bars. He didn't care what Julia said, or what warnings or threats she'd issued to Bolton, he was a loose cannon, primed and ready to fire.
Aaron wanted to see the therapy succeed as much as Julia did. Well, almost as much. Nobody had more invested in D-287, time and careerwise, than Julia. But he wanted someone other than Jeremy Bolton to be the guinea pig. He'd been overruled, however, and he couldn't risk doing anything to jeopardize the clinical trial. At least not directly.
But indirectly…
Robertson or whoever he really was… he struck him as someone as foolish as Gerhard, someone who would keep poking his nose where it didn't belong.
Which wouldn't be a bad thing if Aaron could guide him in a useful direction, one that would trip him into exposing Bolton's identity and ending the trial. Robertson could act as a stalking horse of sorts. And if he wound up exposing Bolton, the resultant shit storm would focus on him, leaving Aaron watching safely from the sidelines.
Yes… this had possibilities.
13
As Jeremy Bolton reached for the front doorknob on his townhouse, he knew he'd have to play this very carefully—just the right combo of hurt pride and indignation. Strike a single clinker and Dawn might start to wonder. Couldn't allow any doubt in that little girl's head. She had to believe him like his momma had believed in Jesus on her deathbed. Before that, she hadn't believed in nothin except maybe a snootful of hooch before she bedded down with the latest truck driver stopping over on his way to Shreveport, but she became a major Bible thumper after she heard she had the cancer.
Yeah, Dawn damn well better believe, because turning away from those stacks of C-notes had been just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. All those zeroes… damn! His fingers had fought like they'd had a life of their own.
He shook his head. He could have taken off with that envelope and had a real good time—maybe even started a new life.
But no go. He had to keep his eye on the prize and stay on course. Plenty of time—all of time—for fun and games afterward.
He patted his pocket. He'd left the money behind but the photo was about to come in very handy.
He stepped inside and found Dawn sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and a thong. His groin stirred at the sight of her smooth, firm, young flesh. Not a pretty face and not a fantasy body, but no flab, no sag, no wrinkles, no lumps—the freshness of her flesh made up for whatever flaws she might have.
God, he'd been horny when he got out of Creighton, so horny that he couldn't wait till he'd sweet-talked Dawn out of her clothes. He didn't know how experienced she was—not too very, from the look of her—but he knew he wasn't. Damn near all his adult life without a woman. He wanted to come on as more experienced than her, but to do that he had to get some experience. So he'd hired hookers and had them teach him ways to make Dawn forget she'd ever had anyone else.
And it had worked.
He noticed she had her damn iPod buds plugged into her ears and didn't even know he'd come home.
These iPods drove him crazy. Every damn kid her age or younger didn't seem to be able to exist without them. Earlier today he'd watched a clump of five teen girls shuffling through the Queens Center Mall, two on cell phones and the other three plugged into their iPods. Why go out together if you've got nothing to say to the people you're with?
I'm showing my age.
Couldn't come across as an old fart with Dawn. She had to see him as cool and very much of the moment.
But this illusion of connectedness had to go. Technology—especially the Internet—gave the illusion of bringing people together when actually it was isolating them. They "met" in chat rooms, IM'd and TM'd people who were fifty yards away, and used smilies to overcome the physical and emotional distance that separated them.
That had to change. And it would. Oh, yes, it would.
Finally Dawn spotted him. She disconnected herself from her iPod and ran across the room to throw herself into his arms.
"What happened? What did she say?"
He hugged her, gave her a kiss, then broke free.
"I called you on the way back but you didn't answer."
She pointed to her iPod and shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't hear you, I guess. But what did she say?"
He turned away, stepped to the window, and stared out at the night sky.
"I'm not sure I know how to tell you this."
"Oh, God, what?" She was close behind him, breathing on his neck. "Tell me what?"
Without looking around he removed his phone from his pocket, called up the photo, and handed it over his shoulder.
"Take a look."
He felt it snatched from hand, and waited as he heard Dawn fumbling with it. Any second now…