“You’d have to clamp me in chains to get me to live in the valley. What I paid for this place would buy me a studio in Palo Alto.” She crossed her legs, shook a slippered foot at us, and grinned. “So, here we are. Come on, out with it. Don’t be shy.”
“Here’s what we’ll do, Marion. We’ll take turns. I’ll go first and tell you that Sheila gave Karen her notes on MC124. We know what’s wrong with it, and we know how the knockout mouse died.”
“And that is?”
As Karen explained, Marion’s mouth puckered into a kind of grudging acknowledgment. “You may be right. Of course, it’s not my field, and I don’t have all the data.”
“Tell us about the agri department,” I said. “Tell us about Carl Steiner.”
Marion started to ask another question, but I wagged my finger.
“Carl’s probably the best man at the whole company.” She paused to enjoy our dubious looks before adding, “As long as he’s not in love with you. He’s harmless, really, but I meant it about his talent. He knows plants like no one else. He was just as upset as I was when management decided — but I’m getting ahead of myself. Why don’t you tell me something.”
“All right. MC124 wasn’t enough to kill Sheila by itself. Something had to trigger it. Maybe something from your department.”
Marion clucked her tongue. “Could be. It’s scientifically feasible. And those people are capable of it. The division has taken a wrong turn. It’s getting into dangerous territory. Dugan’s regime — they’re not scientists. They’re not even responsible executives. Short term profit, that’s all they’re about.”
“What do you know about the heart tomato?”
“It was Tomagen’s, before the acquisition. So packed full of exogenous DNA I half expected it to sit up and start barking.”
“Are there any tomato plants left in the company garden?”
“No. Everything we’re growing now is for drug production. That’s the new direction. They’re aiming to steal some of Frederick’s thunder. It’s expensive to produce monoclonals in quantity using mice. But if you engineer a plant, or even a goat, to produce it, you’ve got a cheap source. The drug is produced in fruit or in milk.”
Marion’s rocking chair was rolling now. She motioned to hear more. It was my turn.
“Carl’s still growing a few of the tomatoes in his home garden. He likes to share his crops,” I said.
“Yeah, some of his zucchini is sitting in my fridge. But what about these tomatoes?” Marion said.
“They had certain shellfish proteins engineered into them, to help them survive cold,” I said. “The same protein humans are allergic to. Sheila brought some to the dinner party, remember? I recognized it right away in Carl’s garden. He said he didn’t know about Sheila’s allergy. But what are the chances that he—”
“Nope,” Marion cut me off. “Not Carl. Not to Sheila.”
“He says someone asked him to bring them in for her.” I didn’t want to tell her who just yet.
Marion’s brow furrowed. “Now you’re starting to make sense. Someone who knew about the allergy.”
“Someone who also knew the truth about MC124,” Karen added. “Someone who knew how it would react with the tomato. Neither would do the job on its own.”
Marion stood up. “I have to say, you’re turning up some good soil. This calls for some wine, don’t you think? It’s getting to be dinnertime.”
Karen got up to help. I slumped into the couch and let the wool scratch against my neck. Marion seemed to have chosen the precise moment when I’d revealed the most and she’d revealed the least to break off the conversation. I still hoped to bring her over to our side, but it looked like her allegiance remained only to herself.
The tree branches had turned to dark fingers. A few lights twinkled out in the bay. I let them drift out of focus, then noticed a stack of magazines under the wicker coffee table. I picked up a few. They were standard fare: Science, Nature, Annals of Botany. A couple, though, reflected a more definite point of view: Living Planet, Earth Island, The Greenpeace International Newsletter.
The doorbell rang, followed immediately by a sharp knock. I jumped up to get it.
Marion met me at the entry. “It better not be Wes,” she warned.
I shook my head. I knew it wasn’t. She swung open the door to find a sullen face staring back at her. It was Abe Harros. And standing right behind him was Neil Dugan.
29
I slid past Marion to shake Abe’s hand. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”
His expression remained flat. “Why not? Sounded like a party.”
I looked at Dugan and said, “I was hoping you were a waiter on wheels.”
Dugan, in his own special way, smiled. He hadn’t shaved, and yesterday’s five o’clock shadow smothered his jaw. “The party will have to wait.”
Marion’s mouth hung open. It seemed for a moment that she had lost her touch. But then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the three of us in a standoff. It only ended when she returned and stuck a glass of wine into each of our hands. They were flat glasses, European style.
“Go sit down,” she ordered.
I led the way into the living room. Dugan and Abe took the couch, Dugan on the far side. I planted myself in the rocking chair across from them. Marion and Karen reappeared with glasses of their own. Marion put a plate of Gouda on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor. Karen gave Abe a friendly greeting and pulled up a chair between me and him. I had a bite of cheese and smiled, hoping to force Abe or Dugan into the first move.
Abe didn’t touch his glass. His eyes had not left me since we sat down. “You asked me to come here,” he said. “Now tell me why.”
I ignored a seething glance from Marion. “There are some facts you should know about your sister’s death. It would be better if we could talk without Mr. Dugan, but what the hell.”
Abe’s face was set like stone. Karen seemed about to burst. “Listen to him, Abe!” she said.
Abe swivelled slowly to look at her. His features softened a tad. “We got your message yesterday, Karen. That’s the only reason I’m here. I wouldn’t trust him an inch otherwise.”
“Doesn’t matter to me one way or another, Abe,” I said. “Just listen for a change. Your father can drop the lawsuit against Jenny. Sheila herself brought the food that killed her at dinner. This is not about negligence. It’s about murder.”
Dugan broke into laughter. Abe didn’t.
“We thought so,” Abe said. “What are these facts you’ve got?”
“MC124 was fatal to a lab mouse. Sheila was investigating how it killed the mouse. The reason appears to be that it puts the immune system of certain mammals on a hair trigger.”
“A dead mouse and a dead woman are quite different things,” Dugan said.
“We believe Sheila herself injected MC124,” I said evenly.
“She’d already knocked her own genes into the mouse,” Karen added. “It came over from Salzmann’s lab with her.”
Dugan and Abe simultaneously leaned forward. “You have proof?” Abe demanded.
“We can back it up, Abe,” Karen said. She avoided Dugan’s scowl. “The shellfish protein that set her anaphylaxis in motion had been engineered into a tomato line by Tomagen, which is now part of LifeScience’s agri division. Sheila brought those tomatoes to the dinner party, tomatoes someone at LifeScience had given her that day. She suffered an allergic response. She might have had only a mild reaction to the protein in the tomato if that was the whole story. But MC124 had primed Sheila’s immune system. It went after the allergen with a fury. That’s what killed her.”
Abe was bent forward now, elbows on his knees. “This is incredible, Karen. If it wasn’t you telling me…” He glanced at Marion.