“And yet, Addison and Markham, in a paper published in the April 2002 issue of the Journal of Biomechanics,stated that cross-pollination by genetically modified corn had been shown to extend several miles beyond the target field. Surely you recall that paper, Dr. Chauncy? Addison and Markham, April—”
“I’m familiar with the paper!” Chauncy said.
“And then you must also know of the work of Engels, Traumerai, and Green, which demonstrated that the 3PJ-Strain 5 genetically modified plant produced a pollen toxic to monarch butterflies. Are you by chance working with the 3PJ strain?”
“Yes, but monarch mortality only occurs in concentrations greater than sixty pollen grains per square millimeter—”
“Which is present within at least three hundred yards downwind of the field, according to a University of Chicago study published in the Proceedings of the Third Annual—”
“I know the bloody paper! You don’t have to cite it to me!”
“Well, then, Dr. Chauncy. I ask again: how are you going to prevent cross-pollination, and how are you going to protect the local butterfly population?”
“That’s what this whole experiment is all about, Pendergast! Those are the veryproblems we’re trying to solve—”
“So Medicine Creek will be, in effect, a guinea pig location to test possible solutions to these problems?”
For a moment, Chauncy spluttered, unable to reply. He looked apoplectic. Corrie could see he had lost it completely. “Why should I have to justify my important work to a—a—a fucking cop—!”
There was a silence as Chauncy breathed heavily, the sweat pouring off his brow and creeping through the underarms of his suit jacket.
Pendergast turned to Corrie. “I think we’re done here. Did you get it all down, Miss Swanson?”
“Everything, sir, right down to the ‘fucking cop.’ ” She slapped the notebook shut with a satisfying crack and jammed the pen into one of her leather pockets, then gave the group at the table a broad smile. Pendergast nodded, turned to go.
“Pendergast,” Ridder said. His voice was low and very, very cold. Despite herself, Corrie shivered when she saw the look on his face.
Pendergast stopped. “Yes?”
Ridder’s eyes glittered like mica. “You’ve disturbed our lunch and agitated our guest. Isn’t there something you ought to say to him before you leave?”
“I don’t believe so.” Pendergast seemed to consider a moment. “Unless, perhaps, it is a quotation from Einstein: ‘The only thing more dangerous than ignorance is arrogance.’ I would suggest to Dr. Chauncy that in combination, the two qualities are even more alarming.”
Corrie followed Pendergast out through the darkened bowling alley and into the strong sun. As they climbed into the car she couldn’t hold herself back any longer and laughed.
Pendergast looked at her. “Amused?”
“Why not? You really ripped Chauncy a new one.”
“That is the second time I’ve heard that curious expression. What does it mean?”
“It means, well, you made him look like the fool he is.”
“If only it were so. Chauncy and his ilk are anything but fools and are, as such, decidedly more dangerous.”
Thirty
It was nine o’clock when Corrie got back to Wyndham Parke Estates, the mobile home community just behind the bowling alley where she shared a double-wide with her mother. After leaving Pendergast she had driven to her secret reading place on the powerline road to kill time, but as soon as the sun had set she got spooked and decided to head on home.
She carefully opened the shabby front door and closed it behind her with a silence born of years of practice. By now, her mother should be out like a light. It was a Sunday, her mother’s day off, and she would have started hitting the bottle as soon as she was up. Still, silence was always the wisest policy.
She crept into the kitchen. The trailer had no AC and was stiflingly hot. She eased open a cupboard, took out a box of Cap’n Crunch and a bowl, and carefully filled it. She poured in milk from the refrigerator and began to eat. God, she was famished. A second bowl disappeared before she felt sated.
She carefully washed the bowl, dried it, put it away, put away the cereal and the milk, and erased any sign of her presence. If her mother was really out cold, she might even be able to play an hour or two of the latest Resident Evilon her Nintendo before going to bed. She took off her shoes and began to sneak down the hall.
“Corrie?”
She froze. What was her mother doing awake? The raspy voice that issued from the bedroom boded ill.
“Corrie, I know it’s you.”
“Yes, Mom?” She tried to make her voice as casual as possible.
There was a silence. God, it was hot in the trailer. She wondered how her mother could stand being in here all day, baking, sweating, drinking. It made her sad.
“I think you have something to tell me, young lady,” came the muffled voice.
“Like what?” Corrie tried to sound cheerful.
“Like your new job.”
Corrie’s heart fell. “What about it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just that I’m your mother, and I think that gives me a right to know what’s going onin your life.”
Corrie cleared her throat. “Can we talk about it in the morning?”
“We can talk about it right now. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Corrie wondered where to start. No matter how she put it, it was going to sound strange.
“I’m working for the FBI agent who’s investigating the killings.”
“So I heard.”
“So you already know about it.”
There was a snort. “How much is he paying you?”
“That’s not your business, Mom.”
“Really? Not my business? You think you can just live here for free, eat here for free, come and go as you please? Is that what you think?”
“Most kids live with their parents for free.”
“Not when they have a good paying job. They contribute.”
Corrie sighed. “I’ll leave some money on the kitchen table.” How much did it cost to buy Cap’n Crunch? She couldn’t even remember the last time her mother had gone shopping or cooked dinner, except to bring home snacks from the bowling alley where she was a cocktail waitress during the week. Snacks and those miniature bottles of vodka. That’s where the money went, all those vodka minis.
“I’m still waiting for an answer to my question, young lady. What’s he paying you? It can’t be much.”
“I said,it’s none of your business.”
“You don’t have any skills, what can you possibly be worth? You can’t type, you don’t know how to write a business letter—I can’t imagine why he’d hire you, frankly.”
Corrie replied hotly, “ Hethinks I’m worth it. And for your information he’s paying me seven fifty a week.” Even as she said it, she knew she was making a big mistake.
There was a short silence.
“Did you say seven hundredand fifty dollars a week?”
“That’s right.”
“And just what are you doingto earn that money?”
“Nothing.” God, why did she let her mother goad her into the admission?
“Nothing? Nothing?”
“I’m his assistant. I take notes. I drive him around.”
“What do you know about being an assistant? Who is this man? How old is he? You drivehim around?In yourcar? For seven hundred and fifty dollars a week?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a contract?”
“Well, no.”
“No contract? Don’t you know anything?Corrie, why do you think he’s paying you seven fifty? Or do you already know why—is that what it’s come to? No wonder you’ve been lying to me, hiding from me this little job of yours. I can just imagine what kind of jobyou do for him, young lady.”