“Now you’re getting it,” he says, as I feel myself beaming at the approval. “But the lab missed it, because they didn’t know what they were looking for. It’s completely understandable.”
“But if he proved he could synthetically produce his own DNA, why did he have to use the process to create the dog?”
“Because copying DNA is one thing, but creating a living thing with it is far more complicated. And to exactly copy a champion show dog, that’s about as good as it gets.”
“So why would the FBI be watching Timmerman? What would they be afraid of?”
McCarty shakes his head as if disappointed. “Maybe you’re not getting it after all. This is the ticket to creating anything… a new life-form, fuel, anything. For instance, you could create bacteria and viruses that we don’t know how to deal with; you think the government might be interested in that?”
“Holy shit,” Sam says, an appropriate comment considering the circumstances.
“Did you say fuel?” I ask. “This stuff can create fuel?”
He nods. “Sure, that’s probably the main reason companies are pursuing it. You can tell cells to make biofuels. If Timmerman could figure out a way to do it cost-effectively, you know what that would be worth?”
“I can imagine,” I say, though I’m not sure I can. “One thing I didn’t mention. I think that there might have been a secondary explosion that took place in Timmerman’s laboratory.”
McCarty smiles and says, “Fuels have a tendency to do that.”
I DON’T HAVE TIME TO CONSIDER the staggering implication of what McCarty had to say. I’m in danger of being late for court, and I’m aware that Hatchet would strangle me, DNA strand by DNA strand, for that offense. On the way in, I get a call from a local TV reporter asking me if I’ve heard that Waggy was stolen last night, and that Charles Robinson is out making statements accusing me of being behind the theft. He is threatening to go to the police and file charges, an empty threat since he has no evidence. At least I hope he has no evidence.
Since it’s been all over the news this morning, I acknowledge that I’ve heard about it, and am outraged by Robinson’s accusations. I deny any involvement; once I’ve committed a serious felony, lying to a reporter seems easy by comparison.
I tell the reporter that I will have more of a comment later, after court, but I manage to find the time to accuse Robinson of not adequately providing for Waggy’s security, and I further threaten a lawsuit against Robinson on Steven’s behalf if Waggy is not quickly found, safe and sound.
I make it to court with only ten minutes to spare, and I can see that Kevin was getting nervous that he might have to take over. We don’t talk about the events of last night, but he obviously knows what happened.
I wish I didn’t have to be here; it requires my total concentration, and I’d much rather be thinking about what I learned this morning. McCarty was credible. It may turn out to be a lunatic theory, but it had the ring of truth to it, and his confidence in what he was saying was contagious.
Hatchet makes no mention of the Waggy kidnapping; he probably doesn’t care much either way, as long as it doesn’t involve him.
Richard calls Philip Sandler, Walter Timmerman’s attorney. He is there to testify about his preparation of Walter’s will, and Steven’s connection to that.
Sandler says that Timmerman called him three weeks before his death and mentioned that he was considering disinheriting Steven.
“Did he say why?” Richard asks.
“He had a contentious relationship with Steven, and he was particularly upset with him at that point.”
“Did he share with you what he was upset about?”
“He felt that Steven was mistreating his stepmother, Diana. His view was that Steven never accepted her into the family.”
“What happened after that phone call?” Richard asks.
“About a week later, he called and said that he and Steven had argued about it, and he definitely wanted to disinherit Steven.”
“So he was taken out of the will entirely?” Richard asks.
“No, but he would only receive money if Diana were also not alive when the will was settled.”
When Richard turns the witness over to me, my first question is, “Mr. Sandler, you said that Walter and Steven Timmerman had a contentious relationship. Would you say they never got along?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. It was up and down. Sometimes things were good, sometimes they weren’t.”
“And sometimes Steven was in the will, and sometimes he wasn’t?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“How many times did Walter Timmerman instruct you to take Steven out of the will?”
“Probably twenty times.”
“And did you do so each time?” I ask.
“No, on a number of those occasions he called and told me he had changed his mind before I had a chance to do it.”
“How many times did you actually do it?”
“Nine.”
“And the first eight of those times, he subsequently instructed you to put his son back into the will?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever say that Steven had threatened him, or that he was afraid for his life if he kept Steven disinherited?”
“No.”
“And as far as you know, Steven never physically assaulted his father?”
“I am not aware of any such thing.”
I excuse the witness, and then catch a break when Hatchet announces that he has received a note that one of the jurors is feeling ill. That will give us some time without having to listen to, and try to deflect, the mounting evidence against Steven.
I go home and decide to take Tara for a long walk. I haven’t done it for a while, because I didn’t have the heart to leave Waggy at home alone. But now that Waggy is in the basement with Marcus, Tara and I are free to be on our way. Walking Tara is the thing I do that for some reason most allows me to think clearly, and clear thinking is what is need right now.
Before I leave I go down to the basement to check on the unlikely duo. Marcus is throwing a tennis ball, and having Waggy chase it. What he does is run after the ball, often skidding to a hilarious stop on the slippery floor. Then he mouths it for a while, but neglects to bring it back to the person who threw it in the first place. Instead he looks up hopefully, as if wanting the person, in this case Marcus, to once again throw the ball that he does not have. It is up to Marcus to walk over and retrieve the ball before tossing it again.
Marcus is laughing at Waggy’s antics, which brings to a total of one the number of times I’ve seen Marcus laugh. I ask him if everything is okay, and he nods and throws the ball again. This is working out better than I thought.
I realize that I haven’t even mentioned to Waggy yet that he may be a creation of science rather than sex, but I think I should. I don’t want him learning it from some stranger later in life.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier dog than Tara as we set out. I’m not sure if it’s that we’re going on the walk, or if it’s that she finally will get some time away from her lunatic companion. But away we go, Tara’s tail wagging and her nose sniffing, and me thinking.
There are two parallel tracks to this case. One is the trial itself, and the other is our investigation into whatever it was that Walter Timmerman was doing before he died. I am willing to believe that his work in some fashion caused the death of himself and his wife, mainly because it makes sense and it doesn’t help me to believe otherwise.
If this becomes purely a matter of defending Steven, we are in deep trouble. Richard is presenting the jury with some very compelling evidence. Though I am poking some holes in that evidence and questioning its authenticity, it is basically me asking the jury whether they want to believe me or “their own lying eyes.”