Cited to Death

by Meg Perry

  “Huh.” Karen looked at the two articles. “This is stem cell research. Looks like your Welsh guys were unsuccessful with this procedure, and the next guys were successful. There are four years between these two; I’d bet that the second one finally figured out how to do the procedure.”

  “That’s kind of what I thought, but I wanted to make sure…a librarian friend of mine asked me to look these up, then he was found dead on Monday.”

  “What? Oh my God! Do you think there’s some connection?”

  “No. He had a seizure disorder, and apparently was alone at work on Friday evening and had a seizure and died. The library was closed on the weekend, so no one came in to find him until Monday.”

  Karen frowned. “He was a librarian? Where?”

  “Cedars. Dan Christensen. Did you know him?”

  “The name is familiar. Was he active in any of the associations?”

  “I really don’t know. We went through library school together, but I hadn’t seen him since then.”

  “Why’d he ask you to do this?”

  “I have no idea. I thought it might have been because I was the only UC librarian he knew.”

  Karen read the titles again. “Actually, this is pretty big stuff. I think what both groups were trying to do is create human egg cells out of stem cells. This would be hugely significant if it was possible.”

  “So this second group has figured out how to do it. Good for them.”

  “Yeah. Okay...” Karen turned to her computer and started clicking on things. “I’ll do the easy one first…okay, here it is, right in Biological Record.”

  “Yeah, I could see the abstract, but I couldn’t log in for the full text.”

  “No problem.” Karen printed the article and handed it to me. “Now…boy, Welsh is an odd language. Can you find someone to translate the article for you?”

  “I think so. If Google Translate can’t handle it, I’ve got friends at Oxford that can either do it or know someone who can.”

  “Ooooh, friends at Oxford.” Karen smirked. “Okay, we don’t seem to have it. I’ll have to put in an ILL request.”

  I shrugged. “That’s fine. There’s obviously no rush.”

  Karen looked at her screen. “It’s only held by three libraries in the world. Lucky for you, one of them is Oxford.”

  “Excellent. If you have trouble getting them to send it, let me know and I’ll rattle some cages.”

  “Ha ha.” Karen did some more typing and clicking, then sat back. “Ta-da! Your ILL request is on its way. You know this will take a while.”

  “Yes, I know. Will they send it electronically?”

  “Probably. Either way, it will come right to you.”

  “Okey dokey.” I stood up. “Ms. Lewis, you rock. A thousand thank yous.”

  “Heh.” Karen stood up as well. “You owe me one. And don’t be a stranger! We need a little more humanity around this place.”

  After I left the biomedical library, I had a meeting to attend. I was on a curriculum development committee for the library school, which was quartered in the building next to the research library. I sat through the meeting, but my mind wasn't fully on it. I was anxious to take a look at the article burning a hole in my bag.

  When I got back to my office, my monitor screen was blank. That was weird; it wasn't set up to go into power saver mode like that. I jiggled the mouse, expecting my desktop layout to reappear. It didn't. I looked at the power indicator; the light on the start button was off. I turned the computer back on and waited. Instead of the usual booting up sequence, I saw the thing feared by computer users everywhere: The dreaded blue screen of death. My hard drive had crashed. Shit.

  I called IT and left my information on their automated system. The recorded voice assured me that someone would be in touch to address my problem in a timely manner. I hung up and considered my options. I only had about 15 minutes until I was due on the reference desk, so it didn't make much sense to commandeer someone else's computer, or get my laptop fired up in that amount of time. I stashed my laptop in my filing cabinet, locked it up behind me, hit the coffee shop for a little pick me up, then headed for reference.

  At 1:30, Clinton walked up to the desk.

  “Hi, Clinton.”

  “The word for the day is spruik.” He bowed and walked away.

  Liz looked it up. “To make or give a speech, especially extensively.”

  I laughed. “Well, we don’t have to worry about that from Clinton.”

  I checked my email one more time before I left the reference computer at 3:00 and saw an email from Karen Lewis.

  Hi Jamie,

  Just wanted to let you know I got an acknowledgement of your request. The article should arrive next week. Much more quickly than I expected.

  FYI, I just had a visit from one of the authors of the article I printed for you. The first author, as I remember – a Dr. Oliver. He was interested in whoever it was that wanted his article. Apparently he has an alert set up to ping him every time the article is downloaded. Can you imagine? I think he believed that one of our docs was going to use his procedure, the way he acted at first, but when he found out it was someone else he relaxed and became quite charming. I gave him your name, but he truly didn’t seem interested once I told him it wasn’t a medical person.

  Cheers,

  Karen

  Shit. I wish she hadn’t mentioned my name. But it didn’t occur to me to tell her not to because it didn’t occur to me that anyone connected to the articles would find out. So the guy had set it up to receive an alert every time someone accessed his article. I didn’t even know that was possible. Either he was really paranoid about having his work copied, or he had a huge ego and the alert was just a way to stroke it.

  When I got back to my office, IT hadn’t arrived yet, and my desktop PC was still dead. The top of my desk was clear after yesterday’s cleaning binge, so I pushed the PC to the far side and got my laptop set up. My third goal for the day was to finish work on a budget presentation that I was scheduled to give on Friday. I’d worked on it at home while I was recovering, so it was nearly complete. It just needed a few finishing touches. I kept all my works-in-progress in Dropbox so that I could access them from anywhere. The death of my PC was annoying but not a disaster because there was very little saved on its hard drive. All of my important files were in various clouds.

  I finished up the PowerPoint slides I wanted to use and was in the process of transferring them to Prezi when there was a knock on the door. I looked up and saw a stranger. Silver hair, patrician features, expensive tailored suit, very expensive shoes. He smiled and held out his hand. "Dr. Brodie? I'm Tristan Oliver, of Fertility Research. Your medical librarian gave me your name."

  Holy shit. I glanced at the clock over Oliver's shoulder on the opposite wall. I'd only been in Karen's office five hours earlier. This guy worked fast. I tried to keep my facial expression neutral.

  Oliver’s handshake was firm, dry, and brisk. “I understand from Ms. Lewis that you have an interest in an article that I coauthored.”

  Right to the point. “Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”

  Oliver smiled. He had a politician’s smile – not quite natural. “Not at all. Initially I was concerned that another medical group was hoping to co-opt our research. We have patents in place to prevent that, of course. Ms. Lewis assured me that you had no such intent. But I remained curious. What interest could a – I believe she said your subject was history, correct? What interest could a history librarian have in our research?”

  Don’t mention Dan. I tried to think fast. “Another librarian mentioned it to me in passing at a conference several months ago.” The state library association met back in November; that would work as a ruse. “I thought it sounded interesting and wrote down the information, but it got lost in the shuffle and I just found my note yesterday. Karen was kind enough to print out the article for me.”

  Oliver seemed satisfied. He smiled again, a bit more warml
y this time. “Do you have a particular interest in fertility medicine? For personal reasons, perhaps?”

  Heh. Good one. “No, sir. I just wanted to expand my horizons. It keeps my brain sharp to learn about something outside my field.”

  Oliver chuckled. He was charming when he wasn’t in interrogation mode. “Very good, young man. Expand away. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. My email address is listed on the paper.”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”

  “It’s been a long time since anyone addressed me as sir. You must have been raised in a military household.”

  “Yes, sir. Marines.”

  “Excellent.” Oliver looked nostalgic. “I was a Navy man myself. Better food and no crawling through the mud. Was your father a Korean War vet, by any chance?”

  “No, sir. Vietnam.”

  “Ah.” Oliver looked less nostalgic. “I was out of the service by then. Well, Dr. Brodie, I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you for your interest in my work, and please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

  Oliver strode away and out of the building.

  I watched him go and let out a long breath; I’d been half holding it without realizing. Why would Oliver come in person for a five-minute conversation? Did he just want to make doubly sure that no one was going to steal his research? Or was there more to it?

  It was 5:00. I taught a class on Wednesdays that started at 5:30, so I needed to get going. I had retrieved my computer bag and was re-locking my file cabinet when IT Andy showed up. Andy Mitchell was the guy who usually came to work on our computers. We called him IT Andy to distinguish him from another Andy that worked at the circulation desk. He looked surprised to see me. “Hey, Dr. B. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

  “I was just leaving. I’m glad to see you.”

  Andy grinned. “I bet. What happened?”

  “I was out of the office for a couple of hours, and when I came back, the computer had shut itself down. I turned it back on and got a blue screen.”

  “Huh. Let me take a look.” He sat down at my desk and started clicking "Weird. It looks like your hard drive just gave up the ghost, but I'm not sure why. How old was it?"

  I tried to remember. "I don't know. It's been a couple of years, I guess, since it was replaced? Doesn't it tell you in there somewhere?"

  "It will...as soon as I can get it restored, I'll be able to tell. Probably the easiest thing will just be to bring you a new hard drive, but I might be able to get this one back in working order. It will save most of your files if I can."

  "Okay. Whatever it takes. You think you can get it done by morning?"

  “Oh yeah. No problem. It’ll be up and running when you get in tomorrow.”

  “Fantastic. Thanks, Andy.”

  He waved, already deep into IT guy mode. I left.

  The class I was teaching this quarter, Historical Research Methods, was held in the education and information science building, right next door to the research library. This was our next-to-last class for the term. It was a 3 ½ hour class. I usually began with 30 to 45 minutes of lecture, then the students would have an in-class research activity to complete based on the lecture. Then we’d spend the last 45 minutes or so talking about what they’d found. Tonight’s topic was California history, and the resources available for researching it. The students were on task, and we finished class about 20 minutes early. I answered a few questions about the final project that was due in two weeks, then headed home.

  Even though it was dark, there were a lot of people around – night classes all let out at the same time. I’d never felt unsafe walking on campus after dark. Being 6’2” and 185 pounds had its advantages: not the most attractive target for a mugger. But tonight, I had a weird feeling that someone was following me. I looked back a couple of times and even stopped once to re-tie my shoes so that I could get a good look behind me, but I never did see anyone suspicious. I decided that I was letting the events of the day color my imagination. Why would anyone be following me?

  When I got home, I found a note from Kevin. “At the movies.” They’d be home before long. I changed into sweats and sat down on the sofa with Oliver’s article and a medical dictionary I’d checked out of the library earlier today. An hour later, my eyes were crossing with exhaustion, and I’d managed to read through about a page and a half. This area of research might be a big deal, but it was dry reading for a non-medical person. I was starting to catch on to the terminology a bit, but I was too tired to continue.

  Kevin and Abby came in as I was getting my computer bag ready for the following day. I said hello and chatted for a few minutes, then collapsed into bed. I’d tell Kevin about my visit from Dr. Oliver in the morning.

  Thursday May 31

  But I didn’t get a chance to tell Kevin anything. When I got up at 5:30, he was already dressed and out the door, on the way to a crime scene.

  The day dawned hot, hazy and humid, with an air quality alert. That was especially bad news on this day. People with asthma were supposed to stay indoors on days like this. Instead, I’d be heading towards the Valley, and the worst of the smog, to stand outside for at least 30 minutes. I usually went for a run on Thursdays, but because of the alert, I went to the pool instead.

  I’d had asthma as a kid, but it got worse when I moved to LA. The air in LA was a lot better than it used to be, but still not as good as in Oceanside, north of San Diego, where I’d grown up. Or Berkeley, where I’d gone to college. Or Oxford, England, where I’d gotten my doctorate. I had to use a preventive inhaler every day and carry a rescue inhaler with me wherever I went. I was sensitive to just about everything. Dust, smog, pollen, and cats were all no-nos. But the worst was perfume and cologne. Some brands just made me cough, but some made me start wheezing even before I could get my inhaler out of my pocket. Everyone knew not to wear scent around me. I even had a sign posted on my office door banning those wearing perfume, cologne, and other scents from entering.

  As I left the house, I patted my pocket to make sure my inhaler was there.

  When I got to the office, I had a voice mail waiting for me from Dr. Loomis. “Jamie – please come see me.” Oh shit. What did I do? I hustled upstairs and knocked at her door, and she beckoned me in. “Please come in and look at this.”

  Dr. Loomis’s email was open, and it was full of messages from me. Most of them seemed to be offering Dr. Loomis the opportunity to invest in metals. I was appalled. “Holy sh-um – crap! How many of those are there?”

  “At least 100. George and Lesley in Technical Services inform me that the same phenomenon has occurred in their email. I expect there will be others. Can I assume that you know nothing about this?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am, you can assume that. I have no idea what’s going on. My computer crashed yesterday, but I thought IT fixed it.”

  “Have you turned on your computer yet this morning?”

  “No, I came straight here.”

  “Perhaps you should go check your own email. I have called IT to come look at mine; I’ll send them to you when they are finished here.”

  “Okay. Thank you. I’m really sorry about this.” I headed back downstairs. What was going on? First my computer crashed yesterday, and now this. It flashed through my mind to wonder if it had anything to do with Dan’s articles and the visit from Dr. Oliver. But I dismissed that immediately. That was eccentric-patron conspiracy theory land, and I wasn’t going there. It had to be coincidence. No one from outside UCLA should be able to hack into the system deeply enough to affect only my computer, and no one from inside UCLA was involved in the Dan thing.

  As I walked into the office, my phone was ringing. It was Karen Lewis. “Hey, Karen.”

  “Hey back. Do you have a problem with your email?”

  “Oh, shit, you’ve gotten carpet bombed too?”

  “Oh yeah. Big time. Do you really think I should invest in a nickel mi
ne?”

  I snorted. “It looks like everyone in my internal address book has been getting spammed by me all night. Dr. Loomis called me in first thing about it. IT’s on the way.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to see what was going on.”

  We said goodbye. I logged on to my computer and opened email, then files. Everything looked okay. My own email seemed to be unaffected. However, I had messages from people all over the university telling me they were being spammed from my account. I did a group email to all of my contacts, explaining and apologizing. I didn’t know what else to do.

  In the meantime, I had to get some work done. I finalized my budget presentation and started working on collection development requests. I had switched my reference shift to the morning to accommodate the funeral, and the desk was busy. I ate the lunch I’d packed at my desk, still working.