Knockout Mouse Page 22

  The creases in my fingers were sticky with blood. When Karen was done, I trooped off to the shower. The hot water helped, at least with how my body felt. I threw on someone’s terrycloth robe and sank into the couch in the living room. Karen sat next to me. I recounted what had happened at LifeScience. We drew closer and closer until my head was on her shoulder.

  Karen’s voice was somber. “This is not how I thought it would turn out. Frederick McKinnon. Of all people.”

  I straightened. “The worst part was having to admit to Dugan that was he right. And that he wasn’t the murderer himself. But McKinnon knows the molecule, and he was in a position to know about the tomato. He couldn’t bear to fail again. If MC124 flopped, McKinnon was finished.”

  “He had a lot to lose. And I can see how he’d want to reclaim control of the company from Dugan. But I still can’t believe he would hurt Sheila.”

  “I keep trying to imagine a scenario in which it could be someone else. Doug. Marion. Carl. Or Dugan, in league with McKinnon. Dugan was not the man whose side I wanted to end up on. He and Pratt were not the ones at all.”

  “Sheila thought she was in heaven when she went to work for Frederick,” Karen mused. “Yes, he was single-minded, but he really did inspire people. He cared about the work. He was a true scientist.”

  “I have to admit, I admired him, too,” I said. “I hate the idea of seeing him brought down, leaving Dugan in charge.”

  “It’s the old story all over. A good idea ruined by money.”

  We were silent. The rain tapped on the roof.

  “So where was Marion during all this?”

  “Good question.” I went to the phone. Marion’s voicemail answered. I left a message saying that I was all right, thank you very much, and I hoped she was, too. I called Wes and got his voicemail as well. I wondered if he and Marion were unavailable for the same reason.

  “So what do we do now?” Karen wondered.

  “It’s probably safe for you to go back to your apartment.”

  She gave a sly smile. “I kind of like our secret hideout.”

  I returned to the couch. Karen pretended to sway unsteadily, then toppled over into my lap. I stroked her eyebrows. Karen let them grow, which I found sexy after Jenny’s plucked commas. I tried to put the comparison out of my mind.

  “Case closed,” she murmured.

  I looked down at her for a sign as to which case she meant. Her eyes remained serenely shut. I decided to take her words literally. “It’s closed unless we come up with an improved set of facts before tomorrow. That’s when Dugan will take his evidence to the police.”

  Karen’s eyes opened. “Results can be tweaked, but don’t make the mistake of trying to force them to the conclusion you want. Accept what the results tell you.”

  “I’d like to have one more look at Sheila’s apartment,” I said. “Maybe I can talk Abe Harros into it this afternoon.”

  “Good idea.” Karen sat up slowly, stretched her arms, and yawned. Her hand came to rest on my knee. She searched my eyes. Her mouth resolved into a bittersweet smile. “Accept the results,” she repeated, more to herself than to me.

  I went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Having the receiver in my hand reminded me I hadn’t called Jenny today. She’d want to know what happened, to know I was safe. My finger hesitated over the keypad. I punched in Abe’s number. He, of course, wanted to hear the whole story on the phone. I made a deal: he could hear it inside Sheila’s apartment. He told me to be there in half an hour.

  In the living room, Karen was holding the large brown leather bag I’d seen Sheila carrying in the parking lot. Karen hefted it with one hand, mutely asking what to do with it.

  “Hold on to it a little longer. The police can have it, if they want it. I don’t want to give it to Dugan. Right now I’m going to meet Abe.”

  “I’d come, but I think it’s better if I stay here and clean up this place.”

  “I’ll be back soon. I’ll help you move back to your apartment.”

  I opened the door. The rain was coming down steadily now. The Scout started right up—it usually did, once it overcame its initial obstinacy about dampness.

  Abe was waiting for me by the back gate to the complex. The lounges around the pool looked wet and forlorn. Raindrops pattered in the blue water.

  He said nothing as he led the way to the apartment. We sat at Sheila’s dining table. It was still stacked with books and journals.

  Abe demanded to know all. I told him, leaving out no details. The further into it I went, the more his features tightened into objection. He didn’t believe McKinnon was the one. I said I didn’t want to believe it either, but everything pointed toward him.

  “I’m a doctor, Bill,” Abe declared. “I’ve worked in Africa and the Balkans. I’ve seen killers and I’ve seen healers. Dr. McKinnon is ambitious, like most of us, but he’s not a killer.”

  He was a couple of years younger than me, but his somber eyes had soaked up plenty of illness and death. They were the same almond shape and rich brown color of Sheila’s eyes, but showed less openness, more authority. The kind of authority a doctor expected to command. I stared into them for a long moment before saying, “You thought I was.”

  “I thought you were covering up for your girlfriend. I thought you were sneaky. I thought you were in the way.”

  “Your father saw what he wanted to see, and you followed suit. You wanted someone to blame—fast. But you never put your theories to the test.”

  “We tested what Pratt got out of your kitchen. It was clean.”

  “You could have let me know. We could have worked together on this. Face it, you were late on the scene, Abe. You resented that there were people who knew more about your sister’s life here than you did.”

  “Proximity is not knowledge.”

  I paused. He wasn’t going to budge. “Did you ever wonder why Sheila moved so far away?”

  Abe froze, then drew up as if he was going to hit me. I held my ground. His eyes fixed on the gash on my cheek. Then his shoulders collapsed and his hands covered his face for several seconds. I felt like a cad. But when he spoke, his voice had softened.

  “I thought we had plenty of time.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry, Abe. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He shook his head, then looked away. “No. I can handle it. I’ve read the diary. What you said about my father was also true. We were unfair to you.”

  I let that sit for a minute. “To be honest, I’m hoping this thing isn’t settled yet, either. That’s why I wanted to meet you here. I want to look for the pages Sheila tore out of her diary. With your permission.”

  He regarded me, perhaps recalling his accusation that I had taken them. Or maybe he was considering how it would feel to search his sister’s apartment. I assumed he’d already gone through her effects and found the obvious things. We’d be searching the nooks and crannies.

  He stood. “Let’s look.”

  We started with her shelves, reasoning that she might have folded the pages and inserted them into a book. Abe kept expressing delight at the volumes he found. Novels, poetry, history of science. He was getting to know his sister anew.

  As we worked, I said, “If you don’t think McKinnon did it, then who did?”

  Abe paused. “Last night, I would have said Neil Dugan. But the fact is, Dugan didn’t know the science. If he engineered the murder, he succeeded through sheer luck.”

  “He wouldn’t do it in such an elaborate way anyhow. If he wanted to kill Sheila, he’d just have killed her.”

  Abe let out a bitter laugh. “True. Whoever planned this thought they had everything figured. It has the intricacy of science.”

  “What about Doug Englehart? His stake in MC124 is almost as big as McKinnon’s. And his resentment of McKinnon is strong enough to blackmail him.”

  Abe nodded. “Possible. Or Marion. I still haven’t deciphered her motives.”

  “Marion becomes more myster
ious every day.” I was as baffled by her disappearance yesterday as by her recent call to Wes.

  Abe and I looked at each other. I saw a new receptivity in his face, and a humility. “Let’s not drop this yet, Abe. Let’s go down to LifeScience tomorrow morning. Dugan will see us if we ask him to.”

  “Some big meeting tomorrow, isn’t there?”

  “McKinnon is supposed to be signing the Curaris deal,” I answered. “If, that is, he’s not in jail.”

  33

  Neil Dugan’s office was in an uproar. By coming at eight in the morning, I had thought we’d beat the crowd. I was wrong. The secretary, who was as orderly and methodical as a Dugan secretary ought to be, showed us in. “The Mercury News is on line one,” she told him.

  “Bastards! Someone at the police leaked.” He punched the button and grabbed the receiver. “Who is this? All right, listen. You leave us alone for twenty-four hours, and I’ll give you the exclusive tomorrow morning. Got it? Good.”

  The office was slightly bigger than McKinnon’s and had better views. The furnishings were all sharp edges, black metal, mahogany. The desk was so polished I could see cloud reflections moving across it. Few books were on the shelves; instead an elaborate media center was in the back corner of the room, faced by two sofas in tight leather. Dugan himself sat in a high-back leather chair. He was outfitted in double-breasted pinstripes. It was probably the suit he saved for really big days, when he planned to squash someone.

  Dugan slammed the phone down. He gave us barely a glance, then started punching furiously at a keyboard on one of the many gadgets on his desk. We retreated to the sofas. For the first time I noticed the figure pressed into the corner of one sofa, looking small and frightened. It was Carl Steiner. I introduced Abe, and asked Carl if he’d been treated all right. He nodded.

  “Quiet!” Dugan shouted at everyone.

  The door burst open. I heard the secretary’s protesting voice outside. Frederick McKinnon strode in. He went straight to Dugan’s desk and slammed it with his palm. “You can’t do this, Neil!”

  Dugan leaped to his feet. “What are you—”

  The two men began a shouting match. McKinnon raised his voice another notch. His face was red. “I demand an explanation!”

  “You demand nothing! You can’t—”

  “You spilled to Curaris!”

  “I spilled nothing. You’re no longer—”

  “Curaris cancelled!”

  “Bullshit they cancelled!”

  “They called off the deal!”

  Dugan stared at him with wide eyes, fists pressed to his desk. Echoes of the shouts still rang in the room. “What do you mean called it off?”

  McKinnon turned down the volume. “Someone told them about MC124. Told them everything. They’re out. Gone.”

  “It wasn’t me, Frederick. I had every intention of proceeding with the deal—with or without you.”

  “Oh, stuff your absurd accusations. We’ve got real problems to handle, not delusions of murder.”

  Dugan’s mouth went into a little pucker. “The police are reviewing the evidence. They will arrive later today.”

  “This is outrageous, Neil. It’s a scheme to unseat me. The board will see right through it.” McKinnon’s voice had reached a new calmness and resolve. He realized it was going to be a battle to the end with Dugan.

  Dugan finally acknowledged my presence with a demand. “Bill, I hope you brought the materials you promised.”

  “They’re safe.” Abe and I had failed to turn up anything new in our search of Sheila’s apartment. I had my DAT recorder, but everything else was with Karen. “If the police request them, we’ll turn them over. But only to the police.”

  McKinnon slowly turned to me. His look of betrayal made my stomach go queasy. I stood up. “We’re not sure who actually—” I started to say.

  I was interrupted by the arrival of Doug Englehart. Abe stood up with me. Doug marched straight past us to the desk, across which McKinnon and Dugan faced each other. Carl was still sitting in his corner, staring at the door.

  “What’s going on?” Doug said. “I heard Curaris—”

  “Were you the one?” McKinnon demanded. “You told them about the problems with the antibody?”

  “Why in hell would I do that?” Doug looked at McKinnon as if he were an imbecile.

  “Come on, Doug.” McKinnon’s face had gone red again. “You’ve been trying to undermine me for months now. Are you in on this with Neil?”

  “Get off it, Frederick. I found the antibody! It’s mine, and you virtually stole it!”

  “What happened to your loyalty, Doug? Where would you be without me?”

  “Where you are!” he cried, his mouth twisted in spite.

  Dugan raised his hands. “Enough. Enough! I’m going to find out who’s responsible for this breach of confidentiality. In the meantime, the program will continue. Contrary to what either of you might think, we do not want to kill it. We simply want to know whether MC124 is what the two of you say it is. We have information now that it’s not. But under the right leadership, the program can be salvaged.”

  Doug wrinkled his forehead. “What are you talking about, Neil?”

  “Forget it, Doug,” McKinnon said. “They know about Sheila and the problems with MC124.”

  “I don’t care what they know. One little knockout mouse does not destroy a brilliant antibody. Yes, we know now not to use it on people with food allergies. We know to be careful with dosage. So what? Add a caution. Aside from that, Phase I will prove it’s safe.”

  “That’s not right,” McKinnon said. “We have to ascertain whether it stimulates immune hyperreactivity in other groups. There will be no Phase I, not until we’ve done more animal tests and we understand better how it works. We may have to rethink the molecule.”

  “Bullshit!” The veins in Doug’s neck were bulging. He directed his words at Dugan. “It’s safe, and it will be proven safe in trials. How do I know this? Because I injected it. I put myself on the front line. What kind of reaction did I get?” He jabbed a finger at his neck. “This little rash. Nothing more.”

  Dugan returned his attention to McKinnon. “So you were lying at the funeral, Frederick, when you told me you were planning to inject it—you and Doug had, in fact, already done so without authorization.”

  “Sheila did, too,” I put in. “She mentions a rash in her diary.”

  “Oh, stop with that,” Doug scoffed.

  “Doug, enough!” McKinnon commanded. He looked at me, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and contrition. “It’s true that Sheila injected it. The whole team did, to test its safety. We hoped the mouse was an anomaly. I genuinely thought it was. I didn’t know that Doug had cooked the data. I didn’t know he’d use that fact to blackmail me—”

  “That’s a ridiculous—”

  “Don’t waste your breath, Doug,” Dugan cut in. “I’ve got documentation. Your new position is safe. You may, in fact, have more responsibilities than you thought.”

  McKinnon glared at Dugan. But Abe fixed on McKinnon. “You allowed her to inject it,” Abe said in a measured, indicting voice.

  “She volunteered,” Doug snapped.

  “Reluctantly,” McKinnon admitted to Abe. “It was a hard decision for her. I could see that. She cared so much about the work. She was afraid not to test it. Afraid of what we would say. I can’t really forgive myself.”

  “That’s the least of your problems, doctor,” Dugan suggested.

  “If you’re referring to this murder charge—”

  “Who’s charged with murder?” Doug demanded.

  “Your superior,” Dugan said. His look was triumphant. “And I’m more convinced of it than ever, Frederick.”

  Doug focused a full load of hate and reproach on his mentor. I could take it no longer. I cleared my throat, loudly enough to break through the vicious triangle around Dugan’s desk, and said, “You may be wrong about Dr. McKinnon, Mr. Dugan. I’d like to ask Carl
a question.”

  The room fell silent. I prayed that my hunch was right.

  “Get on with it,” Dugan ordered.

  I turned to Carl. He stood as if to take an oath. “Carl, you said that Dr. McKinnon wanted to give the tomatoes to Sheila for the party last week. Think carefully. How did you know he did?”

  Carl scratched his head. “Well, he just did.”

  “But how did you know that, Carl?” I pressed.

  Carl’s eyes grew wide as the realization dawned on him. “It was Doug who told me so, the day before.”

  Doug burst on Carl like a pit bull. “That’s a lie! You did it, Carl! You were in love with her!”

  Carl was on the verge of tears. “Yes, I was. So why ever would I kill her?”

  “Carl,” I said, “did you come up to Doug’s lab before the party and try to make Sheila tell you where she was going that night?”

  He cringed. “No. I told you, I respect her. I admire her. I’d never do something like that.”

  “Doug said you did.”

  “No, see, I was up in Davis all day Wednesday, at our farm facility. Anyone there will tell you.”

  “I never said Carl did that,” Doug declared. “You’re inventing things.”

  I pulled a DAT cassette from the inside pocket of my jacket. “This was recorded yesterday. It’ll be fuzzy, but we’ll all recognize your voice.”

  I started to load it into my player. Neil Dugan grabbed the cassette away from me, muttering something about my rinkydink machine, and put it into the DAT player in his media center. After a few fast-forwards, I found the segment. The voices were muffled, but as I cranked up the volume, they could be made out.

  . . .“Carl was up here, badgering her about what she was doing, who she was having dinner with,” came Doug’s words.

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

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

  I stopped the tape. Carl looked unbearably hurt. “You’re trying to lay it on me, Dr. Englehart?”

  Doug’s teeth were clenched. “This is crap.” He turned on his heel and started for the door. I got there first and blocked his way.