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.”
31
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.