This was going much better than last time, I thought. I wouldn’t even have to body slam one of them with my door.
I cranked the engine. It turned, and turned, and turned, but wouldn’t start. I pumped the gas twice and cranked again. Again it whinnied, as if on the verge of catching. Then it groaned to a stop. Maybe I’d flooded the engine. I pressed the pedal to the floor and cranked savagely. It gave one more whine, and then expired.
I slammed the palm of my hand against the steering wheel. I’d be having a long talk with the Scout when this was all over.
Dugan and Pratt flanked the car. I jammed down the door locks. Pratt took up a position at my window. Dugan was at the passenger door, banging on the glass.
The first few sprinkles of rain splashed on the windshield. Of course the Scout wouldn’t start. It had listened to the weather report and I hadn’t. Dugan continued to pound as my view became pocked with drops. I considered just sitting here until the men went away — if they did go away. The third one had arrived and had positioned himself in front of the jeep. He looked watery from behind the windshield. I thought about blowing the horn just to make him jump.
Dugan pounded harder on the window. “Listen to what I have to say,” he shouted.
How many people had gone to their doom by accepting such seemingly reasonable requests? But realistically, Dugan was going to get in one way or another. I might as well not have broken glass all over my interior. I reached over and lifted the lock.
Dugan opened the door and slid in. His lips drew back in that canine way he had.
“Now what?” I said.
A chuckling snort escaped through his nose. He placed the briefcase in his lap. The report of the locks opening sounded like shots in the small space.
He opened the lid, and I braced myself. Instead of a weapon, Dugan pulled out a sheet of white paper. He handed it to me. It was a memo.
To: DE
From: FM
Re: MC124
I know you are telling the truth about MC124. I’ve triple checked the results. What I am telling you is we must keep this completely confidential, at least until after Phase I. And yes, effective the start of the month, you shall have your new program and the rest. Let’s hear no more about it until then.
The time and date stamp indicated the memo was written two and a half weeks ago and sent by email.
“Frederick is a scientist, a good one, but he’s not a technologist,” Dugan said as I read. “He didn’t know that just because you delete an email, it’s not gone. We’ve recovered this and a few more. I have to thank you for pointing us in the right direction.”
I was still absorbing the memo. “Englehart identified the problems with MC124 first. McKinnon is acknowledging them and telling him to keep it quiet. There’s some sort of quid pro quo.”
“The program has a fatal flaw, as I have suspected for some time,” he announced.
“You left one thing out. You’re the instigator of the cover-up.”
“Incorrect.” Dugan pressed his thin lips together. He plucked the memo away with one hand and with the other dropped a small sheaf of papers in my lap. “Go ahead, read them. I suspected the defect, but didn’t have access to the data that would prove it. That was why I pursued Sheila, then you.”
“Come on, you don’t expect me to believe that.” My words were losing their fire, though. The papers, more transcripts of email between McKinnon and Englehart, bore him out.
“I’ll be frank with you,” Dugan said, reaching for the sheaf. He snapped the memos shut inside the briefcase. “Originally, I suspected none of this. My initial hunch was that Sheila was stealing company IP. I tracked her document flow and hired Pratt to track her movements. I had reason to think she was selling information to BioVerge. An insider deal, perhaps. When I discovered the real subject of her activities, my suspicions took a new direction.”
“You ought to pay more attention to your company’s science.”
Dugan just smiled. He was proud of his detective work and wasn’t going to let me spoil it. “That’s not my job. This is my job,” he said, tapping his briefcase. “When you outlined her conclusions for me, I had cause to look into McKinnon’s files.”
“You could have faked the memos.”
“I could have. But you know I didn’t. You’ve observed enough yourself to know they’re authentic. When the investigation is complete, it will show that McKinnon induced Doug Englehart to suppress data adverse to MC124. McKinnon is the mastermind. Englehart did the dirty work of falsifying results.”
“I wonder…” I stopped. What I wondered was why Doug would do McKinnon any favors, given what I’d witnessed between them. “What was in it for Doug?”
“Mr. Englehart is about to be promoted. Frederick recommended he be put in charge of his own program. We approved the request. Doug had earned it. If he cooperates with us, he’ll get to keep it.”
“He’s also gotten McKinnon to agree to giving him top billing when they publish their paper on MC124,” I said.
Dugan’s teeth shifted as if he was chewing on some bit of food. A look passed between us. I was willing to bet we had the same thought: Doug had virtually blackmailed McKinnon into giving him his new position. Apparently this did not disqualify him.
“Dr. McKinnon murdered your friend, Bill. He had the motive, the scientific knowledge, the opportunity.”
“You really want to get him, don’t you?”
Dugan’s pinpoint eyes took on a certain shine. “I want to do my job. Think what’s at stake for the company. For our reputation. For our investors. Not to mention punishing the guilty.”
I slumped into my seat. All the air had gone out of me. Rain streaked the windshield, blurring the world outside. Everything fit and nothing made sense. McKinnon had killed Sheila. A man I’d taken to be a good man was as self-serving as the rest, and in the end more ruthless.
A knock came at the passenger window. It was Pratt, soaked, hugging himself. He pointed to the offending sky.
Dugan held up a finger. “One more thing, Bill. Thanks to you, we can’t locate Carl Steiner. Please share with me what he said, if you don’t mind.”
I did mind, but shared anyway.
“Carl sent the tomatoes to Sheila spontaneously?” Dugan asked.
I let out a deep sigh. “No. Dr. McKinnon asked him to. He said she’d like them.”
“Thank you. That seals it, wouldn’t you say?” He yanked the door handle. The door popped open.
“You can’t leave yet,” I said. “I’ve got a dead car here.”
Dugan instructed Pratt to bring his car around to give me a jump. I’d have to do the whole hair dryer routine before that, but there was plenty of time.
Dugan stretched his hand across the passenger seat. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk.”
I stared at the hand. “Dugan, this doesn’t mean were friends.”
He showed me the canines one more time, withdrew the hand, and prepared to slam the door. “I didn’t intend it to.”
32
“What happened to you?” Karen asked.
I was at the front door of her temporary home in Redwood City, dripping like a soggy mutt wanting in from the rain. She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. When she touched the gash on my face, her fingers came away red.
“No big deal,” I said. I’d completely forgotten about it.
Karen ran to get some hydrogen peroxide. “Take off your shoes. And your jacket,” she ordered.
I sat in a chair and let her clean the wound. The sting penetrated deep into my head. It felt good. I wished it would wipe away the taste of Dugan’s triumph.