by Blake Banner
“Yeah, maybe. Let’s see what Meigh gives us.” I drummed my fingers on the desk for a bit. “You know one of the things that’s eating me? How did Jose find out about Am? He said they didn’t want to accept him on the course, but Jose recognized his genius. How? How did he even know he existed?”
“Through his application.”
I made a QED face and said, “If his conversation is anything to go by, his application form wouldn’t exactly have screamed IQ 160. He may be brilliant when it comes to electronics and engineering, Dehan, but when it comes to communication…”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you driving at?”
“I don’t know, but I can smell something. There’s Mohamed, ‘Maybe I should join your class,’ and Jose replying ‘I told you never to contact me on my phone!’ And then he deletes Telegram. So what did he have it for in the first place? And then there’s Am, coming to Jose’s notice before he joined his class. Before he was even admitted to the university.”
I studied Dehan’s face for a while and she studied mine back. She said, “It’s odd, isn’t it? ‘I told you never to contact me on the phone.’ Not ‘this phone’, but ‘the phone’. So, how else would he contact him?”
“Email and Facebook, but they are not as secure as Telegram.”
She nodded, then said, “But he obviously didn’t know that, which is telling us something.”
“It’s telling us he was not steeped in spook lore.” I sat forward with my elbows on the desk and rubbed my face with my palms. “If you were selling industrial secrets to the Saudis, and they advised you to install Telegram so they could communicate with you, would you then tell them not to contact you on your phone, and delete the app?”
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
“We are going round and round the mulberry bush.”
My phone rang.
“Stone.”
“I thought they only did that in the movies, Detective. This is Dr. Meigh. I have spoken to the Great and the Good at the university and they are willing to let you have sight of the research he had conducted so far. Obviously most of it will mean nothing to you, but he had extensive explanations and summaries that he had written in long hand which describe the work in layman’s terms.”
“That is good news. Thank you.”
“Now, there are conditions.”
“I imagined there would be.”
“We would like you to read the notes here, at my house. Nothing is to leave the room where you read it. You are not to photograph or record any part of the research, and we would require you to sign a nondisclosure agreement that, unless the research becomes material to a criminal investigation or a criminal trial, the NYPD, and you personally, will become liable to compensate the university in substantial damages if you disclose any of the contents of the research. And I do mean substantial.”
“That sounds very reasonable. Send over the agreement and I’ll get the inspector to sign it.”
“And you and your partner, Detective Stone.”
“And me and my partner, Dr. Meigh.”
“I’m sending it now. As soon as I receive the signed copy, you can come over. I’m at Port Washington for the next few days. Number fifty-five, Joels Place.”
The agreement arrived five minutes later by secure electronic messenger. We took it up to the inspector and scrutinized it. It was short and to the point, pretty much what she had said to me on the phone.
“I should send this to the legal department.” He said it running his fingers through his hair.
Dehan suppressed a sigh. “With all due respect, sir, that would kind of defeat the purpose. Once the lawyers get involved, it could delay the investigation by weeks. If we don’t find anything, it makes no odds. If we do, and it becomes relevant to the investigation, it’s in black and white. We can use it. Then we can bring in the lawyers.”
I said, “It’s two paragraphs. Send it to ADA Varufakis. See what he thinks.”
He tapped at his keyboard, then made the call.
“Costas? This is John Newman… Good, I’m fine. Listen, I just sent you something on the Jose Robles case… Yes I have my best team on it. You got an email from me?” He was quiet for a while. Then he said, “You happy with that?”
He was quiet again, watching us. Then he said, “I’ll pass it on. They’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and stared at the rim of his desk for a moment.
“He considers it is fine. He would like us all to get together for a talk when you have reviewed Robles’ research.”
Dehan spoke my own thoughts. “What is his interest in this case, sir?”
“I have no idea, Carmen. But I am becoming as curious as you are. I am curious about his interest, and I am very curious as to why Dr. Meigh has agreed to your having sight of the research.”
Dehan frowned. “Because she agrees there is a threat to her other researchers?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, Carmen. If his research was so sensitive that it got him killed, the university would deny everything vehemently, close ranks and triple their private security. The research conducted by the major universities is worth billions of dollars, it can be highly classified material, attract massive government funding, and in those cases is guarded by ex-Navy Seals who work in the private sector. But instead of closing ranks and denying everything, she is inviting you to her house and opening the books.”
Dehan raised an eyebrow. “Then she has nothing to hide.”
“Then why the big show? Why the nonsense about not leaving the room, not making copies or photographs, the nondisclosure agreement? And why does Costas want a meeting afterwards?” He looked up at me. “This case has too many angles, John. What is it all about?”
I called Patricia Meigh.
“Detective, all in order?”
“It’s agreed and signed. Have you received it?”
She was quiet a moment, then said, “I have. Thank you.”
“We are on our way. We’ll see you within the hour.” I hung up. “Let’s go find out.”
EIGHT
It was a forty minute drive under heavy skies, sagging and pregnant with rain, sleet and snow. The East River looked as though it was congealing into ice, and the trees we saw along the Cross Island Parkway looked like naked zombies standing in line in a freezer. After Lake Success there were more evergreens and pines, but they did little to alleviate the gloom.
Dehan sat silent for the first twenty minutes, wrapped once again in her woolen hat, gloves and scarf, with her hands tucked between her knees. But as we slowed and started winding our way toward Manhasset, she said suddenly, “If this is what it’s starting to look like, we’ll have to hand it over to the Feds.”
I nodded. “If it is what it’s starting to look like, but the truth is, Dehan, it could look like a lot of things. Mohamed and a Sig Sauer make it look like Saudi industrial spies, Agnes and eight bullet holes in Robles’ chest make it look like frustrated love and sex. Am and his weird voices makes it look like the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Let’s reserve judgment and see what it looks like after Dr. Meigh shows us Robles’ research notes.”
She glanced at me, then looked out at the frozen landscape. “You think Varufakis has information he’s holding back from us?”
“Yup. It makes no sense his sending us on this investigation unless he knows something he isn’t telling us.”
“Something about Jose? About Agnes? Or about the research?”
I sat chewing my lip for a while as we cruised through Plandome Heights, with its genteel manor houses concealed behind a discreet overabundance of foliage. “Something,” I said, “about who Mohamed is, and how Dr. Jose Robles met Am.”
She knitted her brows under her soft wool hat. “Seriously? You think he knows about that?”
“I’d be very surprised if he didn’t.”
Ten minutes later, we pulled into Patricia Meigh’s driveway and parked beside a Jaguar that was fifty-fo
ur years younger than mine, and had a tenth of the style and the class. Dehan looked at my expression, then at the car, and laughed a pretty laugh with a red nose and red cheeks. “These upstarts,” she said, and climbed out.
Dr. Meigh opened the door herself. Behind her we could hear voices: a small group of people laughing and chatting. She offered us the smile that good form required of her, but left us in no doubt that we were intruding, and not welcome.
“Detectives, please come in.” We stepped into a spacious, elegant hall. She didn’t offer to take our coats, but turned and started walking away, past the door to the drawing room, where the voices were coming from, and speaking over her shoulder as she went. “I have put you in the dining room. We shan’t be using it until this evening. I imagine you’ll be finished by then?”
We followed her down a dark, wood-paneled corridor to a large, wood-paneled dining room. There was, in the middle of the floor, a highly polished mahogany dining table with twelve chairs about it, and above it a crystal chandelier. Two tall sash windows allowed dull, gray light in from the gardens and the driveway outside. A dull amber light was added to that when she snapped on a switch by the door.
On the table there were two cardboard boxes. She closed the door and moved to them.
“This is what there is. Most of it is equations which, unless one of you is an accomplished physicist or mathematician, will not mean much to you. However, quite a lot of it is, as I said to you on the phone, his theories and explanations of the equations. From them you will at least get an idea of what he was doing, though I am honestly not sure how that will help you.”
I held her eye a moment. “Dr. Meigh, you said when we spoke to you in your office that Dr. Robles and Dr. Shine were involved. I believe your exact words were that they were not so much involved with each other as in each other.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Detective Gutierrez’s assumption, and ours to begin with, was that this involvement provided the motive for the murder.”
“That would seem to make sense.”
I nodded and paused. “But actually, the deeper we dig, the less evidence we find that they were in any kind of relationship. They seem to have been little more than close friends.”
She looked surprised. “Well, of course, I didn’t know them socially…”
Dehan had pulled off her hat and gloves and the static from the wool was making some of her hairs stand up and wave around again. She started to remove her coat and said, “In fact, the person he seems to have had a closer, sexual relationship with is Dr. Cobos.”
She arched a withering eyebrow. “Really? Well, as I say, there is no accounting for taste.”
I smiled. “You don’t approve?”
She shook her head. “It is hardly for me to approve or disapprove. They are probably ideal for each other. They can celebrate their great nation together.” I drew breath, but she interrupted me. “They have produced world class painters and musicians, but never a world class scientist or a world class philosopher. That tells you something about their culture, I suppose.”
I forced myself to hold the smile. “Are you able to enlighten us any more on their relationship, Dr. Meigh?”
“I’m afraid not. It was generally accepted among the staff that Jose and Agnes were, so to speak, an item. People spoke of ‘Jose and Agnes’ as a unit. People used to ask, ‘What does she see in him?’ So you see, they were perceived as a couple. What actually went on with them in private…” She shrugged.
“Sure.” I nodded a couple of times and pursed my lips at the floor. As she was about to leave, I said, “What can you tell me about Am Nielsen?”
She stopped dead. “Am Nielsen? Nothing. Who is he?”
“One of Dr. Robles’ students.”
She shook her head again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know him, and I really must get back to my family; we have a luncheon and then we are busy packing.” A little warmth trickled back into her face. “We always spend Christmas in Maine. If you would like tea or coffee, just ring the bell and somebody will come.” She hesitated, and the frost returned to her eyes. “You can let yourselves out when you are finished. I trust you not to remove any of the notes.”
“That’s very kind of you, Dr. Meigh.”
She gave a smile that matched her eyes and left, closing the door behind her. Dehan opened the boxes and looked inside. “We have been quarantined, in case we infect her family with vulgarity and commonness.”
I rang the bell, took off my coat and dragged one of the boxes to the end of the table. There I pulled everything out and sat to examine it. It was mainly spiral bound notebooks, though there were a few documents consisting of typewritten sheets of A4, stapled together, and the odd slip of paper with handwritten scrawls on it.
The door opened and a young woman in a blue uniform with a white apron stepped in and smiled at us. I smiled back.
“Would you bring us a pot of coffee, please? Oh, and a plate of cheese and ham sandwiches. Thank you.”
“Of course, sir.” She bobbed and left.
Dehan was reading and didn’t look up, but she smiled and said, “You don’t know if you don’t ask, right?”
“That what I thought.”
Dr. Meigh had been right. The bulk of what was in the notebooks was incomprehensible. Even where words were used, they didn’t seem to make any kind of ordinary sense: Consequently energy density denotes volume necessary to store X energy (Wh/Liter)…
Or: …power density as power/area shd b correlated to area available on the electrodes leading to W/cm².
I sighed and looked over at Dehan. She seemed to be engrossed. I read aloud: “Internal resistance and V0 are derived from slop and y-intercept respectively. Did you know that?”
She didn’t look at me. “Really? Mo must have a lot of internal resistance then. I don’t know how much we are going to learn from this, sensei. We may as well be reading ancient Greek.”
“I think we are.”
There was a knock at the door and the maid came in with a large tray. She placed it on the table and unloaded it. On an impulse I said, “Did you make the sandwiches yourself?”
“I did, sir. I wasn’t sure if you’d like mustard and pickle, so I brought them along separately.”
I smiled. “That’s very thoughtful. Agnes said you make the best sandwiches.”
She looked startled, but her face lit up. “She did? That’s so kind of her. That was a long time ago. Back in the early fall! We hardly ever make sandwiches, ordinarily.”
“Well, she still remembers them.”
“That’s so kind of her. Thank you, sir.”
She gave a little curtsey, backed out of the room and closed the door. I sat staring at the space where she had stood. I heard Dehan’s voice.
“You’re a sly old fox, Stone.”
“Sandwiches.” I turned to look at her. “As she said, not a thing Dr. Meigh would normally eat, especially with doctor guests. It might have been afternoon tea, or, in early fall, a picnic. What do you think?”
“I think you should focus on the research and stop chatting up the staff.”
I logged the fact under ‘curious’ and went back to reading the illegible and trying to understand the incomprehensible. The enterprise was a predictable failure, until I came to two notebooks which had ‘Analysis’ written on the front cover.
It took an hour, but I worked my way steadily through half a plate of sandwiches, half a pot of coffee and a detailed discussion comparing various different types of battery. It concluded that lithium ion (LI-ION or LIBs) were the ones with the highest potential for future development and, in a second notebook, detailed all the weaknesses of the LIB and where they needed to be improved. Then, quite suddenly, the discussion stopped.
I tossed the two notebooks in front of Dehan. “They’re worth reading. You come across anything on how the LIB can be improved?”
“Probably, but if I did it was incomprehensible to me.”
; “Nothing in plain English?”
“No, but I found a few emails in plain Spanish.”
“Really?”
She made a face. “Nothing much, to some guy called Paco Robles. Maybe his brother. Mostly he’s complaining about the States, people aren’t friendly, food is crap, yadda yadda, but here he says there is this girl who hangs around with him all the time. ‘She’s a pain in the ass, but she and her friend who is called like the duck, Donald, adore me, they go everywhere with me, but most Saturday nights I go out alone to a club in Chelsea, at 250 West 26th Street, after my colleague, ‘la colega’, it’s like, ‘the chick’, is in bed. Then I have a great time picking up chicks.’” She looked up at me. “Explains why his sheets are clean. He’s been busy messing up somebody else’s.”
“This stuff must have been gathered up in a hurry.”
“Yeah. Anyway, we came looking for industrial espionage evidence and found more crime of passion evidence.”
I gave a smile that was rueful. “Looks like I’m going to have to take you dancing, Detective Dehan. It will be almost like old times.”
“I can’t wait.” She didn’t sound like she meant it.
At twelve thirty, we heard the party leave the house. From snatches of their conversation, I gathered they were going to La Piccola Liguria for a family luncheon.
I stood and went to the window. Across the lawn I could see the driveway. There was a couple with two kids of about ten and twelve getting into the Jaguar. Beyond them, I could see a white Audi reversing out of a garage. There was a man with his back to me. He seemed to be in his late forties, with short, black hair and a dapper suit. The Audi stopped and Meigh got out. They kissed and she handed him the keys. He said something to her, they both laughed and she ran into the house while he got behind the wheel. A moment later, she came out again, wearing a scarf. She got in next to him and they drove away, to the Piccola Liguria. A family. A happy family approaching Christmas.
After that, we worked on for another three hours and at the end of it we had found nothing of interest, other than his email to his brother. Dehan photographed it on her cell, on the grounds that it was not research and was therefore not covered by the confidentiality agreement, and I stood to get my coat. I also pressed the bell to call the maid.