Iain’s eyes unfocused, and I could almost see the calculations going on in his head. “And what do viruses do?”
“They inject their DNA into a cell and cause it to replicate little viruses.”
“So what if a virus was to be engineered to do that, but to cause the cell’s DNA to express CLS symptoms if that propensity were there?”
“As in a viral vector? You know, that makes sense. Instead of using the viral vector to inhibit the patient’s CLS gene expression, it enhances it. CLS is recessive, but with the vector, only one of parents needs to have the gene.”
“So why kidnap the children?”
“Because adolescence is when the CLS really takes off along with the expression of secondary sex characteristics, acne, the works. All the victims were pre-adolescents.”
Everything fell into place then, like a perfectly arranged Tetris grid. I only had two more questions. One was how my grandfather had gotten hold of records from a pediatrician’s office. The second was for Peter Bowman. Why had his son been taken? Sure, the family had the gene, but little Lance was too young to participate in the CLS “field research”. His kidnapping had to have been for other, more sinister purposes.
“I have some friends at the FDA,” Iain told me and broke me out of my reverie. “I’m going to give them a call first thing in the morning. They’ll probably be very interested in these ideas as well as possible contamination of the vaccines with viral vectors for a genetic disorder.”
“But what if the viruses are so cleverly engineered that they won’t be able to detect them?”
He drummed his fingers on the metal tabletop. “I wish there was some way we could get a sample of it. Without it, we don't have any proof, and I’m sure they’ve got clean materials to give to the FDA if requested.”
The hopelessness of the situation struck me. “You’ve got me there. I don’t know how to get a contaminated vaccine or a sample of the viral vector.”
“Still, I’ll call in the morning.”
“Just stay hidden until then. If you need to go upstairs for anything, try not to turn on any lights.”
“I’ll also try not to kill myself stumbling around in the dark.”
“Good call. And stay away from any explosive devices too.”
“That’s not funny, Joanna.”
“None of this is.”
“And where are you going?”
“I have to speak with a mother and a lawyer.”
He looked up from the notes in his hands. “You’re going to sue Robert?”
“Nope. I’m going to find out why Peter Bowman’s son was kidnapped.”
Iain elected to catch a few hours’ sleep, his jet lag and the adventures of the past two nights having caught up with him. I put him in one of the guest rooms down the hall at the Manor, changed into clean clothes in my room, and ignored the siren song of my own bed.
I stood outside the apartment complex where Honey Jorgens lived. It seemed like I had questioned her a lifetime ago. The light in her apartment living room shone red through the curtains, and I thought I could see someone moving around.
I took a step forward to go up the stairs and knock on her door, but a large gray wolf bounded in front of me, its lips curled in a snarl.
“Easy there,” I said. “Matthew, isn’t it?”
The wolf sat back on its haunches and studied me.
I’m not as young as the others, so changing is tough, it said, and I recognized the voice as the wolf who had complained that they needed to figure out how real wolves hunted.
“It’s okay, I can hear you just fine.”
You have the talent. Your grandfather did, too.
I didn’t have time to talk about my family abilities. “Why won’t you let me pass?”
Because she’s been through enough. The shame of knowing that you figured her out may kill her.
“She knows her son is still alive because you told her. And you called Lonna up here because you knew what was going on, but you couldn’t report anything without outing yourself as a CLS sufferer. You wanted her to do the dirty work for you.”
I wanted her to find out with human methods. No one would believe me. I got close to the lab once, and they did this to me.
“So H.J. is Honey Jorgens? She got the records for my grandfather from the pediatrician’s office, and that’s why her son was taken and why her mother was killed.”
How did you figure it out? There are many people here with those initials.
It had struck me as strange the first time I’d been here that in a poor community, Honey wasn’t working—not even to take care of other people’s small children. It didn’t click until later that she’d lost her job and was probably having difficulty finding another one, especially if she was under suspicion by a powerful entity. Louise had wanted to talk to me about something, likely the tough time her daughter was having or to encourage me to become involved in the search for the missing kids in my grandfather’s place, and so had headed up to the Manor before work to talk to me in private. I bet she was being followed, and when They figured out where she was going, They ensured she would never reach the Manor alive. And then after she had, They took every bit of evidence she’d been there.
“I’m good at figuring stuff out.”
The wolf gazed at me with suspicious eyes.
“Fine, I’ll leave her alone. You’ve pretty much confirmed what I suspected anyway. Are you here on your own or did They send you?”
A little of both. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Them you were here. If you leave now. The intent behind the snarl was unmistakable.
I glanced up at Honey’s window one more time. Someone had to have tipped Them off that Louise and I had talked about meeting, and I knew just who that Someone was. Rather than try to fight my way through Matthew or risk him blackmailing me to keep knowledge of my snooping away from the sheriff, I decided to cut my losses and go visit a lawyer.
Dawn just tinged the sky as I walked up the circular Bowman driveway. I was afraid I’d have to rouse the household, but I saw a light shining from a bay window on the side of the house. A quick inspection showed me a library and a disheveled, unshaven, bleary-eyed Peter Bowman sitting at a desk in the middle of it. A green-shaded desk lamp cast unflattering shadows over his face as he struggled to keep his eyes open to pore over the documents in front of him.
I rapped on the window with my fingernail, and he sat up and looked wildly around. I tapped again, and he came over and scowled into the darkness. A third time brought his face to eye level with me. I had to stand on tiptoe and balance myself with a hand on the wall as his holly bush got fresh with my backside.
“Who’s out there?” he snarled.
I resisted the urge to intone, “The grim reaper.” Just the thought was almost enough to put me into a fit of giggles. Thank goodness for that holly bush. It’s hard to be funny when your rear end is getting pricked.
“It’s me, Doctor Joanie Fisher. I know where your son is.”
He scowled but pointed toward the rear of the house. “Back door’s that way. I’ll let you in.”
I found the back door just as the light came on, and he let me in through the mudroom. A small pair of galoshes and a little red wagon reminded me the house had been missing its youngest inhabitant for a couple of days. He looked at them and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture reminiscent of Leo.
“You said you had news of my son?” He kept his voice lowered, so I only nodded. “Come with me, and quietly. Marguerite has finally fallen asleep, and I can’t take any more of her shrieking and crying.”