“Now is not the time.”
“Once again, I’m very sorry.” Pendergast brushed past the sheriff, Corrie following.
As they approached the table, Corrie noticed that Art Ridder, too, had risen, an angry smile frozen on his smooth, plump face.
“Ah, Special Agent Pendergast,” he said in a voice that almost managed to sound amiable. “Good to see you. If it’s about the, ah, case, we’ll be with you shortly. We were just finishing here with Dr. Chauncy.”
“But it is Dr. Chauncy I’ve come to see.” Pendergast held out his hand. “My name is Pendergast.”
Chauncy, failing to rise, took the hand and gave it a shake. “I remember you now, the fellow that refused to relinquish a room to me.” He smiled as if making a pleasantry, but irritation lurked in his eyes.
“Dr. Chauncy, I understand you will be leaving us tomorrow?”
“Today, actually,” said Chauncy. “The announcement will be made at KSU.”
“In that case, I have a few questions.”
Chauncy folded his napkin into a neat square, taking his sweet time, then laid it down beside a plate of half-eaten stewed tomatoes. “Sorry, but I’m running late as it is. We’ll have to have our chat some other time.” He stood, shrugged into his jacket.
“I am afraid that won’t be possible, Dr. Chauncy.”
Chauncy turned and raked him with arrogant eyes. “If this is about the killings, naturally I know nothing. If this is about the experimental field, then you are out of your jurisdiction, Officer, you and your, ah, sidekick.” He cast a pointed glace at Corrie. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
When Pendergast spoke again, his voice was even milder. “I determine whether or not questioning a person is relevant.”
Chauncy reached into his suit coat, pulled out a wallet, took out a business card. He handed it to Pendergast. “You know the rules. I decline to be interviewed except in the presence of my attorney.”
Pendergast smiled. “Of course. And your attorney’s name?”
Chauncy hesitated.
“Until you give me the name and number of your attorney, Dr. Chauncy, I must deal with you directly. As you said, the rules.”
“Look, Mr. Pendergast—” Ridder began.
Chauncy snatched the card out of Pendergast’s hand and scribbled something on the back. He thrust it back. “For your information, Agent Pendergast, I am engaged in a confidential business of great importance to the Agricultural Extension at KSU, to Kansas, and indeed to the hungry people of the world. I will not be sucked into a local investigation of a couple of sordid murders.” He turned. “Gentlemen, I thank you for lunch.” He managed a brief pause before the word “lunch” that made it sound like an insult instead of a compliment.
But even before Chauncy had finished speaking, Pendergast had removed a cell phone from his suit and was dialing a number. This unexpected action caused everyone to pause. Even Chauncy hesitated.
“Mr. Blutter?” said Pendergast as he glanced at Chauncy’s card. “This is Special Agent Pendergast of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Chauncy frowned sharply.
“I am here in Medicine Creek with a client of yours, Dr. Stanton Chauncy. I would like to ask him a few questions about the killings that have occurred here. There are two ways we could proceed. One is voluntarily, right now; and the other is later, through a subpoena, issued by a judge for cause, in a public proceeding. Dr. Chauncy seeks your advice.”
He held the phone out toward Chauncy. The man grabbed it. “Blutter?”
There was a long silence and then Chauncy exploded into the telephone. “Blutter, this is pure harassment. It’s going to drag KSU through the mud. I can’t have any negative publicity. We’re at a delicate moment here—”
There was another, longer silence. Chauncy’s face darkened. “Blutter, damn it, I’m not going to talk to this cop—”
Another pause. Then “Christ!” He hung up and almost threw the phone back at Pendergast. “All right,” he muttered. “You have ten minutes.”
“Thank you, but I’ll take as long as I need. My very capable sidekickwill take notes. Miss Swanson?”
“What? Yeah, sure.” Corrie was alarmed; she’d left her notebook in the car. But almost as if by magic a notebook and pen appeared in Pendergast’s hand. She took them and flipped the pages, trying to look as if this was something she did every day.
Ridder spoke again. “Hazen? Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?”
Hazen looked back at Ridder, his face an unreadable mask. “And what would you have me do?”
“Stop this farce. This FBI agent is going to ruin everything.”
Hazen’s reply was quiet. “You know very well I can’t do that.” He turned to Pendergast and said nothing, his face neutral. But Corrie knew Hazen well enough to read the look in his eyes.
Pendergast spoke cheerfully to Chauncy. “Tell me, Dr. Chauncy, when did Medicine Creek first come up as a suggested host for the experimental field?”
“A computer analysis produced the name last year. In April.” Chauncy spoke in a curt monotone.
“When did you first visit the town?”
“June.”
“Did you make contact with anyone here at that time?”
“No. It was just a preliminary trip.”
“Then what, exactly, did you do?”
“I fail to see—”
Pendergast held up the phone and said cheerfully, “Just hit redial.”
Chauncy made a huge effort to control himself. “I had lunch at Maisie’s Diner.”
“And?”
“And what? It was the most revolting lunch it has been my misfortune to consume.”
“And after?”
“Diarrhea, of course.”
Before she could stop herself, Corrie burst out laughing. Ridder and Hazen looked at each other, not knowing how to respond. Chauncy’s face broke into a mirthless smile; he seemed to be recovering his equilibrium, if not his arrogance. Then he continued. “I inspected a field owned by Buswell Agricon, the agricultural combine, who are our partners in this venture.”
“Where?”
“Down by the creek.”
“Where exactly by the creek?”
“Township five, Range one, the northwest quadrant of Section nine.”
“What was involved in the inspection of these fields? How did you proceed?”
“On foot. I took samples of earth, corn, other samples.”
“Such as?”
“Water. Botanicals. Insects. Scientific samples. Things you wouldn’t understand, Mr. Pendergast.”
“What day, exactly, was this?”
“I’d have to check my diary.”
Pendergast folded his arms, waiting.
Scowling, Dr. Chauncy fished into his pocket, pulled out a diary, flipped the pages. “June eleven.”
“And did you see anything unusual? Out of the ordinary?”
“As I’ve said, I saw nothing.”
“Tell me, what exactlyis this ‘experimental field’ going to experiment with?”
Chauncy drew himself up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pendergast, but these scientific concepts are rather too complex for a non-scientist to comprehend. It’s pointless to answer questions along that line.”
Pendergast smiled in a self-deprecating way. “Well, then, perhaps you could simplify it in a way that any idiot could understand.”
“I suppose I could try. We’re trying to develop a strain of corn for gasohol production—you know what that is?”
Pendergast nodded.
“We need a strain that has high starch content and that produces a natural pesticide which eliminates the need for external pesticides. There’s the idiot explanation, Mr. Pendergast. I trust you followed it.” He gave a quick smile.
Pendergast leaned forward slightly, his face assuming a blank expression. He reminded Corrie of a cat about to pounce. “Dr. Chauncy, how do you plan to prevent cross-pollination? If your genetic strain escaped into this sea of corn around us, there would be no way of putting the genie back into the bottle, so to speak.”
Chauncy looked disconcerted. “We’ll create a buffer zone. We’ll plough a hundred-foot strip around the field and plant alfalfa.”