I related the conversation to Jenny, but she’d turned her brain off for the evening. She just wanted to watch her movie. I was restless. I got up and went into the living room to call Wes. After chiding him for giving away the existence of the diary, I asked what he thought of Marion.
“Marion’s a gas. Kept me up most of the night, and drank me under the table besides. First thing in the morning she was back in action. I’m not sure she’s a carbon-based life form.”
“Sounds like you’ve found your soul mate, Wes.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t go on like this for more than a week.”
“A week is a long time. Did she say anything about Sheila? Trouble she was in at work?”
“Yeah, something about Sheila putting her nose where it shouldn’t have been. That’s all I know.”
“Wes, do you think I can trust Marion?”
He snorted. “Trust her? Sure, as long as she’s in short sleeves and you can see both her hands.”
“Do me a favor, then. Don’t pass any more information to her unless I ask you to.”
I called Rita next. I was going to be out for the funeral on Wednesday, I said, and might miss some more days after that if the Sheila business continued.
Rita was not happy. She’d have to bring a new director of photography up to speed on the project. Plus, the look of the film would change from day to day, depending on who was shooting. “I might have to drop you, Bill, if you’re not sure what days you’ll be there. Maybe I should just go with the new DP the rest of the way.”
“I understand. You know I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t absolutely, totally, completely necessary.”
She let out a loud sigh. “I do, Billy. That’s the problem. Now I can’t even be mad at you. Wait a minute.” She paused, as if checking. “It turns out I can be mad, after all. This sucks.”
“I’m really sorry, Rita. Will you forgive me someday?”
“What a stupid question.”
“You’re the best.”
Next I called the hotel and confirmed that the diary had been given to Mr. Harros. Yes, the clerk was sure.
That left just one more call to make. Dugan. I punched in the number he’d left. I was and wasn’t looking forward to this.
He recognized my voice before I finished introducing myself. “I hope you’ve got good news for me.”
I made myself take a slow breath. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Sheila’s diary is in the proper hands. Her parents have it.”
“It’s not a diary. It’s a notebook. If you’ve stolen our work product, we’ll prosecute.”
“This was not a company email account. It was a private diary. Her family owns it. If it was so important, why didn’t you take it while you were removing her hard drive?”
A slight delay let me know I’d gotten him. “I hope you have a very good lawyer,” he said.
“You, too. You’ve got a couple of felonies to deal with. One, when your agents stole my personal property in the parking lot. Two, when they broke into my house.”
There was another hesitation. His answer had some pleasure in it, and I wasn’t sure why. “I’d like to see you file charges. I’d like it very much. In the meantime, I think everyone will be interested in the fact you photocopied the notebook. Twice, if the cashier is correct.”
He had me there. My first thought, which I kept to myself, was that I needed to make yet another copy in complete secrecy. I told Dugan, “The copies are for the police. They’ll want to look into the circumstances of Sheila’s death.”
“I’m sure they will. I’m sure they’ll want to take a close look at your girlfriend’s apartment and everyone who was there.”
“We have no problem with that. I’m sure they’ll also want to look at Sheila’s place of work.”
“I’ll be assisting them in every way.”
A drop of sweat trickled down my spine as I hung up the phone. I’d had an answer for everything Dugan had thrown at me. So why did I feel like I’d lost?
Maybe I was in over my head. If we got into a battle of lawyers, he had me outgunned. So what did I have on my side? Information. The journal. I’d yet to find any keys in it, but maybe that was a matter of correctly understanding the lock. I needed an interpreter, a data miner. Marion came to mind, if only she could be trusted. She did work for Dugan. There was also Karen, the woman Sheila was going to meet before our dinner party.
It could be, though, that Dugan’s strength was also his weakness. Yes, he had the company arsenal behind him, but he also had a lot to lose if damaging news came out about LifeScience. Me, I didn’t have much to lose. Not much in the way of assets except my cameras. And a couple of little things like life and limb.
13
Work with Rita at Kumar Biotechnics kept me fully occupied on Monday and Tuesday. Sheila’s funeral took place on Wednesday at the Mount of Repose mortuary in Colma, south of San Francisco. Colma had once been the terminus of the coffin railroad, which ran from the funeral homes in San Francisco down to the cemeteries here. Three-quarters of the town consisted of green hills and white headstones. Someone had to do it — San Francisco didn’t have room for dead people. In recent years the Lucky Chances casino had enlivened Colma’s commercial base.
Mount of Repose had a neoclassical theme. A grand pediment and four columns framed a generous veranda. A few knots of people milled outside. I was glad I’d dusted off the only suit I owned, and glad it was a somber color. Jenny was stylish but subdued in a deep blue cashmere sweater and long skirt.
A group of guys stood on the steps in khakis, blazers, and dark shoes. The one woman among them wore a skirt that no longer fit. She fingered a wrap as if unsure what to do with her hands. The men all had theirs in their pockets. Engineers, I speculated.
They glanced at us as we paused on the steps. I nodded to the one closest to me. He’d made an effort to slick his hair back, but a few strands flew solo. His tie looked like a gift from an aunt. His head nodded in my direction, though his eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine.
I set down the small briefcase I was carrying. Inside was a mini-DV camera, a DAT recorder, and a small shotgun mike. I wasn’t sure I’d use the gear, but having it around made me feel better. A few years in the documentary world had helped me lose any inhibitions about walking up to people and posing questions.
“Hello,” I said, stepping forward with my hand on Jenny’s waist. “How did you all know Sheila?”
The guy with the bad tie scratched under his chin. “We worked together.”
“I remember how excited she was when she started at LifeScience. Did you work with her before or after she got transferred?”
Glances were exchanged, then most of them gazed at their shoes. Finally the woman spoke up. “None of us were happy to have her go. She was really into the program.”
“She told me about the monoclonal antibody. It’s going to do some good things, I hear.”
Their mouths remained closed. Jenny gave one of her candy-apple smiles, which loosened up the group. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’re not in the industry.”
“It’ll be big,” the guy next to me allowed, but went no further.
“Sheila had a real intuitive understanding,” the woman added. “She always seemed like a favorite of Dr. McKinnon.”
“That’s why it was so strange that she got moved. Seems like the kind of thing Dugan would do, huh?” I tried to sound casual yet certain about my conjectures.
The group shifted uncomfortably. No one seemed to want to respond. The guys kept turning their heads, like pond ducks checking a dog on the bank. I followed their glances to the veranda and saw a man, medium height, in a plaid jacket. When he turned his head, I realized it was Doug Englehart, the balding leader of their group. Then another man stepped from behind a pillar. I saw only the back of his head, but the short hair and crisp, hard neckline of Neil Dugan were unmistakable.