Webster City

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER SIX

  Shortly before he died, Alexander Webster drew up a masterplan for Webster City. He envisaged Pasteur Plaza in the center, near Lake Michigan, and six wide boulevards radiating out like the spokes of a wheel to the outskirts. Later Chancellors scrupulously followed his blueprint.

  Soon after they left the diner, Davidson followed Helen Watkins down one those spokes - Jonas Salk Boulevard - until they reached Pasteur Plaza. She circled around the plaza and headed out along Albert Schweitzer Boulevard. They drove past the bunker-like Pantheon, in which all Chancellors were buried, and the huge statue of a screaming woman which commemorated the victims of democracy.

  Next to the statue was a neo-classical building that housed the City Museum. A huge banner on the pediment announced a forthcoming exhibition would focus on "The Monstrous Crimes of George Washington." All Websterites were taught in school that Washington was the evilest man in history because he started the global democratic movement that led directly to the Dark Years and the Great Plague. Adolf Hitler made a valiant attempt to free the world from that scourge. When he failed, Armageddon was inevitable. However, Davidson had now read enough banned information about the Old Times to know that was a huge over-simplification and didn't plan to attend the exhibition.

  After about a mile, Watkins reached the Centre for Disease Control building, a huge glass-skin box marooned in the middle of a massive carpark. Wrapped around the carpark was an electrified fence topped with razor-wire.

  The CDC building was one of the few structures in Webster City built before the Great Plague. Originally, it housed the US Army Disease Research Institute in which Alexander Webster worked. That made it a shrine for many Websterites. Indeed, Davidson once visited it on a high school field trip during which his class slowly trooped through the modest-looking and carefully preserved office in which Webster once worked.

  The only way into the carpark was through a heavily guarded checkpoint. Watkins stopped her car in front of a boom-gate and showed her ID card to a white-uniformed security officer, who nodded. She pointed back at Davidson's vehicle and said a few words. The officer nodded again and hit a button that raised the boom-gate. After she drove through it, the officer left the boom-gate open and waved Davidson past.

  She drove around the crowded carpark for about a minute before finding a vacant bay. Davidson squeezed into a nearby one. They got out and she led him across the carpark into a large marble lobby, where she got an officer at the security desk to give him a Visitor's Pass. "You'll have to leave your weapon here."

  He always carried his pistol while on duty and was deeply attached to it. "That won't happen."

  She glared. "Standard procedure."

  "Not for ISB officers."

  She frowned and nodded. "Alright. But don't use it."

  "I'll try to restrain myself."

  "Good."

  They got out of an elevator on the top floor - the fifth - and she led him down a long pine-paneled corridor lined with blow-up photographs of famous medical scientists. He recognized Pasteur, Fleming and a few others he studied during Hygiene Class in High School. At the far end, she pushed open a door marked "Security Unit" and stepped into a huge room where half-a-dozen white-uniformed security officers sat watching surveillance footage on televisions. She exchanged waves with several as they crossed the room and stepped into a small office where a beady-eyed woman sat behind a desk typing on a computer.

  Watkins said: "Hello, June, we're here to see the boss."

  "I know. He's waiting for you - charge in."

  "Thanks."

  They went through an open doorway into a large pine-paneled corner office overlooking the carpark. The Chief Security Officer, Eric Tanguy, sat behind his desk wearing the standard white uniform with red stripes. His hair was now gray and he was a good deal heavier than when Davidson last saw him, 15 years ago. Booze or drugs, or both, had blurred his features. However, there was still a reckless glint in his eye. When they served together in the Air Cavalry, Tanguy was the most trigger-happy and ill-disciplined of a wild bunch. Indeed, Davidson wondered if he was thrown out of the Air Cav for an infraction of some sort.

  Tanguy stopped writing, stood up and pumped Davidson's hand. "Hello, Carl. Haven't seen you since you transferred to the ISB. You're still there, I see, chasing enemies of the City ..."

  "There are plenty around. What about you? When did you bail out of the Air Cav?"

  "Five years ago. Made it to major and decided I wanted something cushier and better paid."

  "That doesn't sound like you."

  "We all slow down. Anyway, take a seat."

  Tanguy dropped into the chair behind his desk; Davidson and Watkins sat facing him. The large bible sitting on the desk reminded Davidson of the proverbial wisdom in Webster City that you should never trust a man with a bible on his desk.

  Tanguy said: "I was surprised to hear the ISB is interested in this, umm, unfortunate death. Why not let the cops investigate it? It was probably just a suicide or even an accident."

  Davidson was there to obtain information, not provide it. "You're probably right. But we love sticking our noses into other people's business - you know that."

  A frown. "Very true. Anyway, I told the head of the CDC, Professor Fisher, that you were about to visit. He wants to meet you. Let me give him a call. He'll be here in a minute or so."

  Tanguy picked up a phone receiver and punched several numbers into the keypad. After a brief pause, he said: "Tanguy here. Tell the Professor that the ISB guy is here, in my office ... Good." He put down the receiver and looked at Davidson. "He won't be long."

  A minute later, a tall man with a high balding forehead spattered with freckles and a beaky nose strode into the office carrying a thick manila folder. He wore a white lab coat and distracted expression, as if he'd just been dragged away from an exciting scientific discovery. Davidson had often seen the Professor on television talking about disease eradication and good hygiene.

  Tanguy stood up. "Professor Fisher, this is Major Carl Davidson from the Internal Security Bureau. He's inquiring into the death of Robert Meredith."

  The Professor clasped Davidson's hand and gave him a stare that was far from absent-minded. "Pleased to meet you. Sad news about Robert. I only met him a few times, but he was a good scientist and seemed like a nice guy. Are you the only person from the ISB conducting this investigation?"

  "Yes, for the moment."

  "Why is the ISB interested in this death? Surely, you should leave it to the police."

  Davidson had to be frank with the Professor, who had plenty of political muscle. "You run a very important and sensitive institution. We want to make sure there is no threat to its security."

  "Have you seen any sign of a threat?"

  "Not yet. But I've only seen Meredith's body and searched his apartment. I don't know why he went over the balcony."

  Did a trace of relief flutter across the Professor's face? "Maybe it was suicide."

  "That's quite possible. I just don't know."

  "Well, I'm sure Chief Tanguy has already told you that the CDC will give you as much help as possible. What can we do?"

  "First, I'd like a copy of Robert Meredith's personnel file."

  A smile. "Way ahead of you. Here you are." He handed Davison the manila folder. "I just glanced through it. Nothing of great interest, as far as I can see. Got good job appraisals. Nobody complained about him. Never late. Rarely sick."

  "Thanks. I'll look through it when I get a chance. Now, I'd like to speak to his colleagues. Maybe they can shed some light on his death. Will you arrange that?"

  "Of course. He worked in the Vaccine Testing Unit, in the basement. The head of that Unit is Doctor Tom Carpenter. You probably should talk to him first. If you head down to the basement, I'll give him a call and say you're on your way. Officer Watkins will take you there."

  "Fine. Does he know about Robert Meredith's death?"

  "Yes, I phoned him an hour ago. He was shocke
d, of course."

  "Did he have any idea why Meredith died?"

  "If he did, he didn't tell me."

  Davidson looked at Watkins. "Alright, let's go."

  The Professor said: "Like I said: let me know if you need any help."

  "Thank you."

  Helen Watkins led Davidson back to the bank of elevators and they caught one down to the basement. They stepped out into a large laboratory with about a dozen parallel benches laden with microscopes, test-tube racks, small fridges, centrifuges and similar paraphernalia. About twenty lab-coated workers sat on stools, hunched over various instruments. Thirty or forty wire cages containing mice were stacked against the far wall.

  Watkins led him along the side of the laboratory, past a heavy metal door with a sign above it that said: "Vaccine Storage Area".

  She said: "Vaccines are manufactured on the second floor and brought down here for testing before being used on the public. After testing, they're stored in that area. There are millions of ampoules in there."

  They reached the end of the laboratory, turned right and walked up a short corridor to a door with "Head of Vaccine Testing" stenciled on it. She pushed it open and led him into a small ante-room.

  A ginger-haired young woman sat behind a desk, typing on a computer. She looked up at Watkins. "Hello. You're here to see Doctor Carpenter?"

  "Yes. He knows we're coming. This is Major Davidson."

  "Alright, I'll tell him you're here." She picked up a phone, announced that Major Davidson had arrived and listened briefly before hanging up. "He's coming out."

  The door behind her opened and a small balding man with a furrowed brow, wearing the ubiquitous white lab coat, emerged. His eyes darted between them and rested on Watkins. "Hello, Helen. I heard you were on your way." He turned to her companion. "And you must be Major Davidson, from the ISB?"

  "That's right."

  "You want to talk about Robert Meredith? I'm shocked about his death. A lovely guy. Excellent scientist. Terrible, terrible news. Come into my office."

  He stood back and let them enter a small window-less office. A functional metal desk with a couple of chairs dominated the room; several gun-metal gray cabinets were squeezed against a wall.

  He pointed to the chairs. "Please sit down."

  As they dropped into the chairs, he circled behind his desk and plopped into a swivel-chair.

  He said: "I understand Robert was found beneath the balcony of his apartment?"

  "That's right."

  "Do you know why he fell?"

  "No. That's what we want to find out."

  "I was stunned to hear about his death. I mean, I saw him yesterday evening, just before he went home, and he looked fine. Now, he's gone."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "Not really. He just strolled past and said he was off home. He looked quite cheerful - was even whistling, I think. I saw no sign anything was wrong."

  Maybe Meredith looked cheerful because a woman was going to visit him that night. "How long did you know him?"

  "I've been his boss since he started here about five years ago. He was a good worker: diligent, smart."

  "He reported to you?"

  "Yes, I assigned him tasks and monitored his work."

  "What sort of work did he do?"

  "Down here, we basically do quality control. We test vaccines before they leave the building to make sure they have no impurities or adverse side-effects and the active ingredient works - that sort of thing."

  "Was he working on a particular vaccine when he died?"

  "Yes. We've just finished testing the new seasonal flu vaccine. The CDC manufactures a new one every year to combat the latest strains of flu."

  "How did the testing go?"

  "Fine. It's been approved for use. In fact, it will be administered to all citizens during Immunization Week."

  Davidson knew that Immunization Week was due to start in four days' time. "OK. Do you know much about his private life? Was he seeing a woman?"

  "No idea. We only really chatted about work. But I assumed he was single: he didn't strike me as a Don Juan."

  "Did he have an office?"

  "Yes, a small one around the corner, where he kept his files and personal gear. But he spent most of his time in the main lab."

  "OK. Will you show me his office?"

  "Sure, follow me."

  Davidson and Watkins followed Doctor Carpenter out of his suite and around a corner to a corridor lined with numbered doors. He stopped in front of door number "9".

  "This is it." Carpenter pulled out a bunch of keys, inserted one into the lock and turned it. "Mmm."

  "What?"

  "The door was already unlocked." He turned the handle and the door swung open.

  Davidson said: "Was it supposed to be locked?"

  "Yes. Robert should have locked it when he went home."

  "You think he forgot?"

  A shrug. "I guess so. Bit unusual, though."

  "Who else has a key to his office?"

  "There are several master keys floating about. I've got one, of course, the Security Unit has one, and the cleaners another. There are probably several more around, but I can't think who's got them right now."

  "OK. Let's go inside."

  They entered a small room, little bigger than a cubicle, with a computer bench running along one wall, a swivel chair and a filing cabinet. Very tidy, with no personal effects.

  Carpenter frowned. "Mmm."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Can't see his workbook."

  "Is it usually here?"

  "Yes. He usually left it on his desk."

  Davidson realized Carpenter was probably referring to the notebook he found in the apartment and now had stashed inside his tunic. No need to mention that to Carpenter.

  Davidson opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and saw a dense array of hanging folders. He pulled one out and glanced inside. It was packed with charts and schedules.

  Doctor Carpenter said: "They're the results of experiments he undertook. The cabinet is full of them."

  Davidson replaced the hanging folder and looked at Carpenter. "OK. Did he work closely with anyone?"

  "He had a lab assistant called Fiona Clarkson."

  "Is she here today?"

  "No, she's having a day off."

  "You mean, she was scheduled to stay home?"

  "Yes. I phoned her apartment, to tell her about Robert's death, but nobody answered. Must be out shopping or something." A long sigh. "I'll have to tell her tomorrow morning, I guess, when she arrives."

  "Where's her apartment?"

  A frown. "Why do you want to know?"

  "I might drop in to see her."

  A frown. "She lives a long way from here and probably won't be home. You can speak to her tomorrow. Let her enjoy her day off."

  Davidson wondered if Carpenter was trying to shield his employee from stress or prevent her supplying information. In any event, if he visited Fiona Clarkson's apartment, she probably wouldn't be there and he didn't want to waste time locating her. "Alright, I'll speak to her tomorrow. What time does she get to work?"

  "About 9 a.m."

  "OK. I'll be back around that time. When she arrives, don't let her talk to anyone and don't tell her that Robert Meredith is dead. I want to break the news myself."

  Another frown. "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  A shrug. "OK."

  Helen Watkins looked annoyed. "I'm afraid I can't be here at nine o'clock: I've got a few appointments. But I'm available later in the day."

  Davidson grabbed the chance to shake her off. "Too bad. I want to speak to Fiona Clarkson before she hears about Meredith's death, so I'm afraid you miss out."

  "Can't you wait for me?"

  "That's not an option. I'll have to see her on my own."

  To his surprise, she shrugged. "Alright, let me know what she says."

  "I will."