A Side Order Of Murder

by Nancy Skopin

  He nodded. “He was my favorite professor,” he said.

  “Right. You said he died three months ago, not long before your family moved here from D.C. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You also told me you didn’t believe it was a suicide.”

  “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “What were you studying with Professor Matzek?”

  Cliff’s cheeks turned crimson and his eyes darted to the left. “Physics,” he said.

  “Why are you lying to me?” I asked, incredulous.

  His face remained flushed, and he looked down at his lap. “It’s not a lie, exactly,” he said quietly.

  “Come on, Cliff. I don’t have the patience for this. Tell me the truth, right now, or I quit.”

  His eyes met mine and for a moment I was sure he was going to cry. There was so much anguish in those soft brown eyes that I almost relented, but held my tongue long enough to see what would happen next.

  “He asked us not to discuss it outside the group,” he whispered.

  “Who did? Matzek?”

  Cliff nodded.

  “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. The guy is dead. You believe the circumstances of his death are suspicious. And someone’s trying to drive you nuts. But you aren’t willing to tell me what he was teaching you because he asked you not to discuss it outside the group?”

  “He was a physics professor,” he said, quietly.

  “Cliff, Matzek is dead. He doesn’t care if you keep his secret anymore.”

  He hesitated for only a moment this time. “I guess you’re right. It was a private study group. We were trying to develop a cold fusion process.”

  “A what now?”

  “Cold fusion. It’s a process of creating fusion reactions chemically using heavy water, which is composed of deuterium and oxygen rather than ordinary hydrogen.”

  I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open.

  “It’s a cost effective method of creating limitless energy,” he said. “The reactions produce little or no pollution and are virtually inexhaustible, unlike nuclear fission reactions, which produce dangerous levels of radiation and toxins. You can understand why he made us promise not to discuss it with anyone outside the group.”

  “Holy crap,” I whispered, leaning back in the chair. Visions of OPEC and the CIA in collusion flashed through my fevered brain. Speaking of fevered brains. “Before I forget, I need your written consent to get a copy of your EEG from Dr. Nahdi.”

  I handed him my notepad and pen, not giving him a chance to refuse or even question my request. He wrote a brief note giving his approval for the copies to be made and released to me, then dated and signed it.

  Handing me back the pad and pen, he asked, “Why do you need a copy of my EEG?”

  “Because microwave transmissions can alter brain wave activity.” He gave me a puzzled look. “Tell me more about this cold fusion thing you were working on.”

  “It was Matzek’s pet project. He told us he’d perfected the process in 1994 and sold it to Batcom, but they never did anything with it. It could potentially save billions of dollars for consumers, not to mention the good it would do the environment.”

  I felt a shiver run down my spine. Batcom was a major player in the petrochemical industrial complex.

  “If he’d already perfected the process why did he form the study group? Why didn’t he just go public with it? Doesn’t a declaration utility patent run out after twenty years?” Lily had told me that. I’m sometimes amazed at the things I remember.

  “Yes,” he said. “But he’d signed a confidentiality agreement, and he was afraid of them.”

  That I could understand.

  “And he hoped the study group would accomplish what, exactly?”

  “I think he hoped one of us would come up with the same results he had, and go public with the process as a new invention. He was very clear with us about the risk involved. This technology would completely change the way we live! But there are powerful people involved who will do almost anything to stop it because of the effect it would have on world economy.”

  It was the first time I’d seen Cliff passionate about anything. Maybe he had a spine after all.

  “Did you ever talk to anyone outside of the group about this?”

  “Not exactly.” His cheeks were crimson again.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, I wrote to Mom about it once. But I told her not to tell anyone, and to destroy the letter after she read it. I was just so excited about the possibilities...” he trailed off, obviously understanding the impact of what he was telling me.

  “Cliff,” I sighed. “Did it occur to you that she might have shared that information with your father?”

  “I don’t think she would do that. She knows Dad and I don’t get along.”

  Cliff had convinced himself he had nothing to do with Matzek’s death.

  “Have you been in touch with any of the other students in the study group since you left Berkeley?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Okay. You need to ask your mom if she mentioned that letter to your dad. Will you do that for me?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t.”

  “Cliff, it’s important.”

  He nodded vaguely. “I guess.”

  “I’ll need the names of the other students who were in the study group.”

  He looked alarmed. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “Relax, Cliff. I’m just going to call a few of them and ask if they noticed anything unusual in Matzek’s behavior before he died.” I was lying, of course. I was going to ask if they’d suffered any of the psychological torment Cliff was currently enduring. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “You get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning. Jim is on his way. He’ll stay with you until I get back. He’s a big guy with red hair. You can trust him completely.”

  I tore off the page with Cliff’s letter of consent for the EEG copy and left him my notepad and pen, with instructions to write down the names of the other students, and the cities where they lived if he knew them.

  Once I was outside I walked slowly to the lot where I’d parked the van. This case was getting complicated. I wondered how I could find out which branch of the government Clifford Senior had worked for without tipping my hand. Whoever they were, I was willing to bet they had some kind of financial link to Batcom.

  CHAPTER 14

  WHEN I GOT TO THE MARINA I retrieved Buddy from Kirk’s boat and we went straight home. I dropped my clothes on the stateroom floor and climbed into the shower. Being careful not to move my left arm too much, I did my best to wash off the day. I dressed in shorts and a button down shirt and put the shoulder sling and cervical collar back on. Then I called Bill and asked him to bring food.

  He arrived at 9:15 carrying Chinese takeout, yellow roses, and the fingerprinting kit. He made the appropriate sympathy noises when he saw me. I actually enjoy sympathy. As twisted as it might sound, the recognition by someone I respect that I’m suffering actually makes me feel better.

  I told Bill about the events of my day over dinner. He agreed with Jim that the light in my eyes just before the accident must have been the sun reflecting off someone’s rear windshield. I wasn’t convinced. When I got to the part about cold fusion technology and Batcom, he froze with the fork halfway to his mouth.

  “Jesus Nikki, what have you stepped in now?”

  That pretty much summed things up. I’d taken this case because I felt sorry for Cliff. Now I was up to my ass in alligators. Hungry ones.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll know more after I contact the other students in Matzek’s study group.”

  I reached into my purse and found the DVD I’d taken from the surveillance camera in Cliff’s bedroom. He’d said that nothing had happened last night, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. I popped the disk into my DVD player in the main salon. The focus was excellent, with an inclusive view of t
he two windows and the bed and through the sitting room into the kitchenette. I sat down next to Bill on the settee and hit the fast forward button. We watched Cliff moving around the screen in quick, jerky movements, coming out of the bathroom in pajamas, and getting into bed. I noted that the blinds were shut tight.

  A few minutes later in fast forward time, both windows lit up like Armageddon. I hit the play button to slow the action. The light we saw on the screen was extremely bright, and the video camera would have buffered it automatically. Cliff remained motionless for about the first minute of the onslaught, and then he opened his eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. His mouth opened wide as though he was screaming. I tried adjusting the volume, but there was no sound. Then the screen went blank.

  “What the...?”

  I pressed fast-forward on the remote, but the rest of the DVD was nothing but static.

  “How the hell did they do that?” I whispered.

  “Maybe the equipment was disabled by whatever was transmitted through the windows,” Bill offered.

  Holy shit. It was real. Poor Cliff! I glanced at my watch. It was 9:47. Jim would be with Cliff, but cell phones didn’t always work inside hospitals. I called information for the phone number of Mills-Peninsula, then waited through five rings before the hospital switchboard operator picked up.

  “Room thirty-seven seventy-one please,” I said.

  “We don’t put calls through to the patients after nine o’clock.”

  “This is an emergency,” I tried again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hold on just a moment please.” I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and spoke to Bill. “They won’t put me through. Can you use your clout?”

  “I can try.” He took the phone. “Good evening,” he said. “This is Detective Bill Anderson with the Redwood City Police Department, badge number four-two-five. I have urgent business with the party in room three-seven seven-one.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Thank you,” and handed the phone back to me.

  I heard the phone ring once and then Cliff picked up.

  “Hello?” He sounded breathless.

  “Hi, Cliff. It’s Nicoli. I hope I didn’t wake you. Is Jim there?”

  “You just startled me. I wasn’t expecting any calls this late. Hold on. He’s right here.”

  Jim came on the line. “Hey, Nikki. How’s the shoulder?”

  “The drugs are helping. Listen, Bill and I just watched the DVD of Cliff’s bedroom from last night, and the lights he told me about are real.”

  “I see,” Jim said, noncommittally.

  “Keep your guard up. Someone is definitely tampering with the poor guy’s sanity. Cliff told me today that his physics professor at Berkeley developed a cold fusion process. He sold it to Batcom in ‘94, but the patent has run out and he was using the kids in Cliff’s study group to recreate the process, hoping one of them would have the balls to go public with it as a new discovery. Are you with me?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Be careful, Jim. I assume you’re armed?”

  “Of course.”

  “By the way, did you find anything interesting in Cliff’s car?”

  “Not a thing,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  We ended the call and I felt my dinner straining for release. I’d handled dangerous cases before, but nothing on this scale. This had implications way beyond my concern for Cliff. I was in over my head.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE NEXT MORNING I woke up alone. This was not uncommon. Bill is an early riser and is considerate enough not to wake me when he leaves for work. I had a vague recollection of him kissing me goodbye, like a nice dream that lingered after I woke up.

  I rolled myself into a sitting position in the bunk and took a pain pill before my feet hit the floor. My shoulder was throbbing and I couldn’t turn my head without excruciating pain. I filled Buddy’s kibble and water dishes, started the coffee, then ate a bowl of applesauce so my stomach wouldn’t fuss about the drugs. I felt the medication kick in. Very nice. I could see how these things might be addictive. I drank the whole pot of coffee and started to feel almost human.

  I needed to get to the hospital before Anna did. It was almost 7:00, so I didn’t bother to shower again. I dressed in shorts and a button down shirt once more, in deference to my shoulder. I tucked the fingerprinting kit and my Glock 26 into my pistol purse and took Buddy for a quick walk before leaving him on Kirk’s boat.

  When I walked into Cliff’s room at 7:33, Jim was in the bathroom washing his face.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” I said, sounding far more cheerful than I felt.

  “Morning, Nicoli,” said Cliff.

  Jim came out of the bathroom drying his face with a paper towel.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” I lied. “Anything happen last night?”

  Jim and Cliff looked at each other. “Nothing that I noticed,” said Jim.

  “Good. You ready to go home?” I asked Cliff.

  “Oh God, yes,” he said. “I’ll call Mother and let her know you’re driving me.”

  He called Anna, who apparently protested, but was eventually convinced. I paged Nahdi, who was already on the premises. He said he’d be right up. I often wonder how competent the average doctor can be with little or no sleep. It’s scary if you think about it.

  While we were waiting I looked around the room for my notepad.

  “Did you make that list for me?” I asked Cliff.

  He opened the bedside drawer and produced my pad and pen. “I didn’t want to leave it out,” he said.

  I looked at the list. “Is this everyone?”

  “Yes. There were only eight of us, and I could only remember where two of them live. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It gives me a starting place. Do you have any of their phone numbers?”

  “No.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Cliff wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. I tucked the notepad and pen into my purse.

  Nahdi entered the room looking as though he’d slept in his clothes, but not long enough.

  “Morning,” he said, looking quizzically at Jim.

  “Don’t you ever go home?” I asked.

  “Not as often as I should,” he said.

  He checked Cliff’s blood pressure, shone a penlight into his eyes, and asked how he was feeling.

  “Achy,” Cliff said.

  “That’s to be expected,” said Nahdi. “No dizziness?”

  Cliff shook his head.

  “Alright, then. I’ll arrange for you to be released. Just stop by the admissions desk on your way out.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” I said.

  Jim and I waited in the hallway while Cliff got dressed.

  “You going home to get some rest?” I asked.

  “I’ll probably catch a few hours before I go to the office. How are you really feeling?” he asked.

  “I feel like shit. I’m considering telling Cliff’s parents who I am. See if I can shock Dad into a confession.”

  “Have you met him?” Jim asked.

  “No. I expect he’ll be home this morning though. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Count on it.”

  Jim took off and I knocked before pushing the door to Cliff’s room open a crack. “You decent?” I called out.

  “Yes. Come on in.”

  Cliff had managed to dress himself in the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. He was in the bathroom in front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He needed a shave, but looked none the worse for wear.

  A nurse brought in a wheelchair and I followed along as she wheeled Cliff down to the admissions desk. He signed the necessary forms and the nurse wheeled him out to Lily’s van. I drove cautiously back to Hillsborough. My shoulder and I were really missing the BMW.

  When we arrived at the estate I tucked Lily’s hamme
r into my purse, then took off my shoulder sling and cervical collar and stuffed them in as well. My purse was beginning to bulge oddly and weighed at least ten pounds. I held it in my right hand, hoping to avoid pulling on my tender neck and shoulder muscles.

  Anna and a tall, grey-haired man in a three-piece suit met us at the front door. Cliff introduced me to his father. Naturally the man reached for my right hand. I set my purse on the ground and shook his hand. I was glad it was my left shoulder I’d injured. He had a grip like a vise. I did not get a warm fuzzy feeling from the contact. Clifford Montgomery Senior wasn’t a handsome man, but he had presence and he exuded authority. I met his steely gaze with one of my own. His eyes were brown like Cliff’s, but that’s where the similarity ended.

  Anna fussed over Cliff, asking if he was sure he should be out of bed. No wonder he had no self-confidence. He assured his mother that he was fine and we were finally allowed to enter the house. Mrs. Peterson stood in a corner of the foyer, eyeing me like a cobra, coiled and ready to strike.

  By the time Cliff and I managed to convince his parents it was okay for us to get on with the redecorating project, my shoulder was throbbing and my neck was stiffening up nicely. We took the elevator to the second floor and locked ourselves inside Cliff’s suite. I headed straight for the kitchen and checked the nails I’d hammered into the grout in front of the refrigerator. The nail in front of the right caster had been pushed forward, the caster smashed up against it. I had left a quarter inch of space between the nails and casters. Maybe Mrs. Peterson decided to have a look around in Cliff’s absence. I checked the paneled wall where I’d placed the strips of tape and found them all detached. The door had been opened, but with the refrigerator blocking it, no one would have been able to squeeze through. I smiled to myself as I imagined the surprised intruder.

  I dug the fingerprinting kit and the hammer out of my purse and removed the nails behind the casters. I asked Cliff to push the fridge back against the wall for me. He hesitated, probably weighing his own injuries against mine, and then did as I asked. I used the hammer to remove the other two nails, and set them aside, then using my right shoulder only, heaved the right side of the fridge about ten inches away from the wall. Cliff asked if I needed his help after the fact, and I said I only needed his flashlight. He brought me the Maxstar and informed me he was going to take a shower.