Knockout Mouse Page 21

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it. If you ask me, Dugan practically convicted himself. All we need to do is gather a little proof, and we’ve got him.” Her elbows flapped with excitement as she took the turn into the parking lot. She disliked Dugan more than I did, if that was possible.

  We parked in the back. Marion used her card to get in through an electronically controlled door to the agri division. She was wearing a slim pair of black jeans, a sweater, and a scarf. I asked if I could put the scarf over my head just long enough to get through the door. “For the video cameras,” I explained.

  The halls of the agri division were empty. We had to pass through the central tower of executive offices to get to Doug’s lab. We crossed over on the second floor to avoid running into anyone before we were ready: Dugan’s office was on the fifth floor, McKinnon’s on the fourth.

  In the next wing, we took stairs up to the lab on the third floor. I waited in the stairwell while Marion checked out the lab. “Doug Englehart is working by himself. I can’t poke around with him there.”

  “I’ll draw him into his office.”

  She nodded. I unpaused the DAT recorder and went in. Doug gave me a glare, but it was a hard-at-work glare. He had a deadline tomorrow and didn’t want to be interrupted.

  “Give me just ten minutes,” I said. “I have new information about Sheila.”

  “What is this, social hour?” he growled. But he went with me into his office. I made a point of closing the door.

  “We—Karen Harper and I—know how Sheila died,” I said.

  This brought only a disappointingly small lift of his brows. “You were going to bring the notes.”

  I ignored the request and went on. “It was a combination of MC124 and a shellfish protein genetically engineered into a tomato. The protein wasn’t pure enough to induce anaphylactic shock on its own. But it was enough to stimulate MC124 into triggering a severe immune reaction.”

  Doug’s fingers were spread on his desk. He was startled now, but not stunned. A flash of respect crossed his face before a mask of denial descended.

  “Any connection to MC124 is coincidental. Where did this tomato come from?”

  “Carl Steiner’s garden, by way of LifeScience’s agri division.”

  Doug shook his head. “I knew that guy was trouble. Bothering Sheila the way he did. You know, I think he actually tried to prevent her from going to your party that night.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, Carl was up here, badgering her about what she was doing, who she was having dinner with.”

  “He said she didn’t return his call.”

  “That’s why he came up. He was agitated, I’m telling you.”

  “Yet he said it was someone else who requested that he give the tomatoes to Sheila.”

  Doug tilted his head back. “Who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “I’m not a psychic—who?!”

  “Frederick McKinnon.”

  “No…” Doug bit his thumb. “Frederick wouldn’t…”

  “Tell me what’s really going on, Doug. You knew about the problems with MC124, didn’t you? Sheila injected it, didn’t she?”

  He dug a finger into his ear. A whole range of possibilities seemed to run through his mind, until he lashed out: “Who the fuck are you, anyway? I’ll talk to the proper authorities about this. If they’ve got a case against Frederick, well… It would be very sad, if he went and did such a thing to protect the program. But you’re not part of this. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  “You’ve been very helpful already,” I replied calmly. “Get out of here! Now!”

  I gathered my jacket around me and made as much noise as I could opening the door to give Marion notice. The lab was empty. I passed by it quickly, but not before I heard Doug yelling after me, “Wait a minute! How’d you get in?!”

  I turned the corner and raced back to the stairwell. Marion was gone. I wondered if Doug had seen which way I went. He might be calling security. I descended a flight, hurried through the corridors back to the central tower, and ascended to the fourth floor.

  The lanky frame of Frederick McKinnon was bent at his door. I called to him from down the hall. He swung around in alarm.

  “Sorry to surprise you, Dr. McKinnon. Can we talk?”

  “I was on my way to lunch. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got new information about Sheila.” I was getting good at sidestepping questions I didn’t want to answer. “I’ll go to lunch with you.”

  “No, you won’t.” He turned the key in the lock, opened his office door, and waited for me to enter. “Make it quick.”

  We stood on the rug between the two sofas. “We know what killed Sheila,” I began, and went on to repeat what I’d just said to Doug.

  McKinnon’s first question was about the tomato. I told him where it came from. He began to pace in front of the door. “We never should have acquired Tomagen. It was a bad deal. We’re losing our focus as a company. It’s just ruining—”

  He stopped and glared at me. “Wait a minute, what did you say about MC124? It had nothing to do with Sheila’s death.”

  “She injected it. It caused her immune system to overreact. Just like the knockout mouse. We’ve got the documentation. We’ve got the pathologist’s report.”

  “No. That can’t be.” His face showed genuine fear and anguish.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. McKinnon.” I actually felt bad for him, until I remembered what he might have done.

  “This will not prove out,” he declared. “Who are you in league with? Dugan?”

  I laughed. “No. In fact, I suspect he’s the one behind all of this. I was hoping you’d help me find out how. Carl Steiner said you were the one who requested the tomatoes for Sheila.”

  McKinnon’s eyes widened with incredulity. But before he could speak, his phone buzzed. He went to pick it up. His voice became irritated. “Yes, he is… No… Really, what business is it of yours?” He slammed the receiver down and strode back to the door.

  “Neil’s trying to set me up,” he said. “He must be stopped. We can’t allow this to destroy LifeScience. But I’m late for lunch with my wife. Keep this under your hat for another forty-eight hours. Then I’ll give you all the assistance you want. But only, only if you keep out of sight until then.”

  He jerked the door open and waited for me to exit. I stepped into the hall and was about to slip in one last question. Then I saw the two security guards moving rapidly down the corridor. McKinnon had already shut his office door behind us. I was cornered.

  “Walk me out,” I said to the doctor.

  One of the guards grabbed my right arm. “There’s no need for that,” McKinnon said to the guard. “He’s with me.”

  “Orders of Mr. Dugan,” the other guard said.

  “He’s mine, Frederick.” The commanding voice echoed down the hallway. It was Neil Dugan, briefcase in hand, striding confidently toward us. Behind him were Pratt and his partner. My time was up.

  The other guard took my left arm. “I said to let him go!” McKinnon bellowed. “What is this, Neil? He’s my visitor.”

  Dugan’s lips stretched into a grin. He didn’t bother to answer the question. He and Pratt inserted themselves between me and McKinnon. Then Dugan turned and walked away. The guards pulled me along behind him.

  “Start counting, Frederick,” Dugan said over his shoulder, not bothering to look. “Your days here are numbered.”

  31

  As we rode down the elevator to the lobby, I could have sworn I smelled salami. Mustard, vinegar, onions—I looked at Pratt. His mouth opened in a smile of triumph, and I saw specks of the remnant sandwich in his teeth.

  As the guards jostled me out of the elevator, one knocked his hand against the camera in my right pocket. He let go of my arm to reach into the pocket. “Mr. Dugan, he’s got something—”

  I gave the other guard a swift heel stomp on his foot and yanked my
arm away. Using this split-second opening, I bolted across the marble floor to the exit in the rear of the atrium. The guards ran after me, but neither was in very good shape. Their lumbering forms blocked Pratt. Dugan was last, with his briefcase. I made it out the door before any of them could lay another hand on me.

  “Go that way!” I heard Dugan yell to the guards. “Find his car!”

  I vaulted the planter enclosing the patio and sprinted to the rear of the building, again passing between the agri division and the garden. I had a thirty-yard head start on Dugan, Pratt, and the other PI. The guards were headed to the front lot.

  A tall wire fence defined the outer perimeter of LifeScience. On the other side lay an industrial culvert. I hit the fence at full speed, scaled it with three quick toeholds, and dropped down the other side. The shallow water was a sick green. I didn’t want to think about what chemicals turned it that color. As I splashed through the culvert, Dugan and Pratt reached the fence. Dugan was as athletic as he looked, but Pratt was also surprisingly agile for a man with his figure. I kept moving.

  A wood fence ran along the bank on the far side of the culvert. It was too high to climb without hand- or footholds. I ran alongside it, looking for a way through. At last I found a rotten board, turned my back, and gave it a few well-placed heel kicks. The wood splintered. I broke open the hole wide enough to wriggle through. A loose shard gashed my cheek, but the pain didn’t register.

  I found myself in a derelict yard of twisted rebar, old railroad ties, and random truck trailers. Gasping for breath, I moved as fast as I could across the yard to a locked gate along another wire fence, this one fifteen feet high. I scrambled up the fence, the wire cutting into my fingers. Balancing precariously at the top, I swung my leg over, and then lost my footing on the other side. For a long moment I hung by my fingers, legs pedalling for purchase. Finally I found new toeholds and finished my descent.

  Now I was on the street where my jeep was parked. I dug into my jeans for the keys. I fumbled the key into the lock and got the door open as Dugan and Pratt began their assault on the locked gate, then on the fence. The other PI was lagging behind them.

  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 a
s 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.

  “Now your hands.”