Deadly Star

by CJ Petterson

  She let his opinion of her work slide. “The mapping of the human genome has been in the paper for years. I’m working on genomics — the DNA of plants and microbes. Grains, rice, that sort of thing.”

  “That’s even crazier. Who’d a thunk that slicing and dicing a bunch of grass and weeds could get you killed? Sounds kind of paranoid to me.”

  A deep sigh escaped her lips. “Does sound paranoid, doesn’t it? But this really is important. There’s a lot of different companies working to develop uses for genome sequencing, including making plants resistant to disease so we can cut the use of pesticides. Of course, that would be way in the future. People are extremely leery of genetically engineered food.”

  “If a company is racing to develop a new product before someone else does, they can get pretty cutthroat. Even hire industrial spies. You might be on to something.”

  She shook her head. “The project was set up as a multinational venture just for that reason. To make the research findings available to everyone. The idea was to level the playing field, and then there’d be no reason for profit-incentive spies.”

  “Wouldn’t keep someone from trying to get a step ahead, would it? There’s money in being the first to reach the markets and where there’s money, there’s incentive.”

  Scientists were too focused on their work, she thought, too anal, but in her heart she knew there were some who might do anything to get ahead. Not for the money but for the prestige of being first. “I’d already sent my written report to the convention center. That was the reason for this quick weekend trip. Give my presentation, stop by an astronomers’ conference, then get in some R&R.”

  “Okay, why are you so sure that Dan didn’t have his fingers into something?”

  “If he’d been doing drug flights or smuggling or doing whatever pays beaucoup bucks, why would he still owe a ton of money to people?”

  “You just made my case. Drug flights pay big bucks. Maybe he needed cash to pay off the plane. That’d be a pretty good excuse for slipping over to the dark side. Or maybe his old pickup and loan were part of a cover story so no one would think he was into that stuff.”

  “You can’t believe that. Dan is as straight as they come.”

  His heavy shoulders lifted slightly then sagged again. “All right, then. Back to you. You domestic CIA by any chance?”

  “Are you serious? My idea of a grand adventure is trading my microscope for a telescope every once in a while so I can poke around the night skies with Ray. Until all this happened, my biggest excitement was a few days ago when I thought I spotted a new comet. I saw a bright spot and then I didn’t. Probably a blip in my contacts, but I was going to compare notes with other armchair astronomers in Vegas. So much for that idea.”

  “Let’s get back to your secret research.”

  “Get the cotton out of your ears, Evan. I told you, it wasn’t secret. I wasn’t plowing any new ground in the research. All I did was verify other people’s work.” Her jaw dropped as the idea exploded in her brain. “Of course! What if there was a discrepancy, one that could flush someone’s work and reputation down the toilet? That would be enough to make some scientist go crazy, don’t you think? Their lives are all about reputation. I need to get out of here. I have to find what I missed, and I have two years’ worth of data to check.”

  “It’s going to take two years?”

  Mirabel wondered if his brain had run out of gas. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Evan. It took me two years to create the database. I’ll be able to find what I’m looking for in a couple of days.” I hope, she thought.

  “Or a couple of weeks, or maybe a couple of months. You said it yourself,” Evan said. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

  Her stomach gave a lurch. He’s right. I don’t. “Yes, I do. Kind of. It’s one of those ‘I’ll know it when I see it’ things. I owe Dan. He didn’t think the crash was an accident, and I promised him I’d figure out what happened.”

  “You don’t need to be getting in the middle of an official investigation here, Mirabel. I’ve already talked with the Federal Aviation Administration. They’ll be on-scene in a day or so, and because someone died in the crash, the National Transportation Safety Board is sending out a team, too. They’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Talk about me taking a long time. That will definitely take months!” And I’m not waiting, she thought. A throb pulsed in her throat, and she felt a dull pain in the top of her head. “Is Ray here?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s out in the hall. He filed the report when you went missing, and he stayed right with us till we found you. That guy is something else.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” she murmured, and her cheeks warmed. Her astronomy hobby was a new diversion, and she’d discovered only recently that Ray Briggs shared her interest. Since then he’d become a close friend.

  “You two got a little something going?” he asked.

  “Be still, Snidely, and wipe that smirk off your face. Ray’s almost young enough to be my son.”

  “May-December age gaps don’t seem to stop women nowadays. I’ve seen stories in the supermarket rags where they call ’em cougars.”

  “You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you? Just can’t let it go.” Mirabel took a sip of her medicinal Gatorade and changed the subject. “Dan was such a sweet spirit.”

  Thompson’s meaty hand thumped her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. We’ll find him and bring him home. Did he have any family I need to notify?”

  She hesitated. “I didn’t realize it until you asked, but I don’t know,” she said, wondered why, then mentally chastised her lapse. How awful. I never bothered to ask. “We didn’t talk much about his personal life. Sully will know. Dan was like a father to him. You have to talk to Sully.”

  “I’ll do that. By the way, your dentist friend is going to tell you I wanted to give up the search. That was never the case. I promise you.”

  “Just promise me you’ll find whoever did this. They need to burn in hell.”

  “Now, Mirabel.”

  “Don’t you ‘now Mirabel’ me. I’m not in a forgiving mood.”

  “Isn’t there something in the Good Book about ‘vengeance is mine’?”

  “Well, while you’re in the Good Book, Reverend, see if you can find the verse about ‘an eye for an eye.’”

  He tucked his chin toward the second button of his shirt and examined the brim of his hat. “I think it’s time for me to go. You take good care.” The sheriff wobbled his hat in Mirabel’s direction as he pushed through the pale green-and-blue awning-striped curtain.

  Ray Briggs stepped in a minute later, his dark eyebrows pinching a crease between his eyes, his shirt marked with uneven streaks of dried sweat. Bloodshot eyes told her how tired he must be, but he was clean shaven, and his hair was dripping into his collar. He bent over the bed and wrapped her in an awkward hug. “My God, Mirabel. Are you okay?”

  She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed a touch until she felt his arms and smelled his shampoo. With her headache racing toward migraine status, she closed her eyes and gave way to tears. “Oh, Ray — ” Her vocal cords tightened and choked off her voice.

  “I know. I know.” He caressed her hand. “I am so sorry. I know Dan was a dear friend of yours. You must be devastated.”

  “I can’t even think straight. Why is your hair wet?” she asked as she wiped a smear of water off her cheek.

  “Took advantage of the doctor’s locker room and showered … a perk of being the on-call orthodontist at the hospital. Couldn’t find any scrubs though, so I’m back in these” — he pulled on the front of his shirt and sniffed — “stinky things.”

  Mirabel felt tension build in the back of her neck. She rubbed at the pounding in her temples. A sour taste found its way into the back of her throat. The electrol
yte drink wasn’t sitting too well in the pit of her stomach.

  “You’re in pain,” he murmured and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch as light as a feather.

  “A headache is all.” In a careless, familiar action, he moved his hand down to massage her neck and shoulder. “That feels wonderful. Give you half hour to quit,” she said as tension ebbed. His familiarity discomfited her, but only a bit because it wasn’t unusual. She felt he often tended to be a little too touchy-feely.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll buzz for the nurse in a bit. Ray, there’s a chance the plane crash wasn’t an accident.” She hadn’t intended to say anything to him, but the words raced out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  His eyes opened wide. “You think someone sabotaged the plane?”

  “All I know is Dan said too many things went wrong. I didn’t ask what he meant, but I’ve been trying to get my head around what happened, and he was right. Too many things did go wrong all at once.”

  Ray squeezed her hand then stroked her arm idly until she moved it to reach for her cup.

  “I think it might have something to do with my research. What if Dan is dead because someone was trying to kill me?”

  “Now that boggles my mind. You can’t think that. Who could possibly want you dead? You’re the nicest, smartest — ”

  “Compliments like that and a buck fifty will get you a cup of coffee at Mario’s Café,” she said, more lightly than she felt.

  “I don’t know what to say, except what can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. If I’m in somebody’s crosshairs, you don’t need to be anywhere near me. I lost one friend because he was doing me a favor; I don’t want to lose another.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. What do you need me to do? Name it.”

  “You need to get away and stay away.”

  “You’ve earned the right to be petulant, but not stubborn. What do you need, I asked.”

  “Don’t you use that doctor-patient voice on me, Ray Briggs. Won’t work.”

  “Look, everybody thinks you’re dead. Obviously, you must have died in the plane crash, right?”

  “Duh, Ray. The search was big news in this town, and there was a reporter in the ER lobby when they brought me in. That I’m alive is not exactly a secret.”

  “Maybe not, but Kyle brought you in too late for the six o’clock news. And since Madame Curié you’re not, there probably won’t be a news flash streaming across the bottom of anybody’s TV screen. Unless people are listening to police scanners, the fact that you’re alive isn’t likely to hit the airwaves until at least the ten o’clock newscast tonight.”

  “So?” she asked, dragging the word into a long syllable.

  Ray smiled. “So, I repeat myself. What do you need?”

  “Persistent gnat, aren’t you?” She pinched her lips together. He seemed so determined to help that she decided it was useless to protest. “Okay, maybe one thing. Can you get something out of my lab?”

  His eyes brightened, and his head bobbed. “No problem.”

  “My keys.” She pointed to the chair where a hospital bag held her clothing. “In my pants pocket. What I need is my project book. It’s a bright red, three-ring binder that should be buried under a stack of invoices on the bottom shelf of that gray storage cabinet behind my desk. If you could get that binder out of the lab — ”

  “Consider it done.” He shoved his slender fingers into one of her pants pockets. He fished out a steel metal ring about the diameter of a fifty-cent piece, held it up, and jangled five or six keys of various sizes.

  She nodded. “The one with white paint on the end.”

  “Must be some important stuff in that binder,” he said, wriggling the lab key off the ring.

  “If the crash wasn’t an accident, I think the reason could be somewhere in my notes.”

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Hide it. You can tell me where later. I’ll probably be out of here in the morning.”

  “You want me to pick you up?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask. I’ll call after I talk with the doctor and let you know what time they’re going to cut me loose.”

  He reached for her hand, and she moved it so all he got were her fingers. She didn’t want any misplaced chemistry messing with her head.

  “The binder all you need?”

  “That’s it. Thanks, Ray. You’re a good friend.”

  Ray bussed her on the forehead. “You’re very special to me, Mirabel. Remember that.” When he reached the curtain, he turned around. “By the way, when you were temporarily lost, I started thinking about all the good times we had, and I remembered that starry twinkle you spotted the other night. Did you ever figure out what it was?”

  She shook her head. “No clue. I called the Mount Palomar Observatory and ordered night sky photos. Unfortunately, I asked them to send the photos to the conference center office so I’d have them available for the astronomers’ conference,” she said. “Thought I was being clever. Since they’re ultra busy with conference stuff right now, I‘m sure I won’t be able to get them back for a couple of weeks. I think I’ll just call for another set.”

  “Call me when they get here, and I’ll help look. The more eyes on the photos the better.”

  “Why don’t you call Palomar and get your own?”

  “I don’t want to step on your find. See you in the morning.” His smile flashed teeth that gleamed neon white, a perfect, even row of the best porcelain money could buy, and she automatically smiled back as he stepped past the curtain.

  Mirabel closed her eyes against the glare of the overhead lights as she pressed down against the top of her head. She groped around for the buzzer and pushed long and hard. Then she pulled the thin cotton blanket over her head. “Be careful, Ray,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A hundred yards past an abandoned Texaco gas station where the skid-marked, three-lane asphalt squeezed into a two-lane dirt road, Ray Briggs turned his silver BMW into the drive of an industrial complex. He peered through the windshield at a series of concrete block warehouses fronted by red brick offices that circled the sweeping cul-de-sac, some two-story buildings, others low to the ground. The third building on the right was the one he wanted — a two-story with charcoal gray steel doors and rectangular windows punctuating the flaking white concrete block walls. Mirabel’s lab was behind one of the gray doors.

  Briggs had been here only once before and was vague about which space was hers. He parked and got out of the car when he spotted her name painted in small, white lettering on the middle door — Mirabel Campbell, M.S., Ph.D.

  He stuck the key in the lock and twisted before he realized the door was slightly ajar. He glanced around then tugged it open. The bottom of the door scraped across the metal sill with a teeth-grating screech.

  When he stepped inside, the change from dazzling sunlight to darkened interior blinded him. He felt around on the wall for the lightswitch and flipped it up. The overhead fluorescent shop lights that hung from chains in the tall ceiling flickered and buzzed like angry bees as the bulbs warmed up. Briggs watched Mirabel’s bare-bones research operation emerge out of the darkness, bathed in a cool, bluish light.

  A floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, heavy-gauge wire cage centered by a chained and padlocked gate separated Mirabel’s thousand square feet of rented warehouse space from the stockpiles of products hawked by a manufacturers’ rep. The space smelled of alcohol, chemicals he didn’t recognize, and the moldy dust that roams the gray concrete floors of all warehouses. The rattling whines of motors drew his attention. A years-old refrigerator and an upright freezer recycled from the local Goodwill Store stood like bookends at either end of white-topped lab ta
bles placed against one wall. Two opposing tables separated by three feet created an aisle that led to the desk. No surprises here, he thought. Looks just like Mirabel. Functional.

  “Whoa,” he breathed when the lights brightened and revealed details. The place was trashed. A counter stool lay on its side, its tubular steel legs straddling the aisle. Table tops were swept mostly clean. Translucent plastic tubes and petri dishes lay strewn across the concrete floor. Pages of paper littered the space like giant confetti. Two high-powered microscopes, a centrifuge, and an autoclave clustered like a heap of trash against a wall.

  Briggs took a step back, breathing silently through his open mouth. He grunted and dodged an imaginary attacker when the air conditioning condenser shut down with a shuddering wheeze and rattle. After several minutes of quiet, he zigzagged his way through the debris toward the desk in the corner. Why am I being so quiet? he thought. If someone was here, they’d have heard me come in when I dragged the door open. Something crunched underfoot, and he lifted his shoe to find a piece of glass imbedded in the sole. His eyes followed a trail of glittery shards to the shattered eyepiece of Mirabel’s new astronomy telescope. “And she paid a fortune for that thing,” he murmured.

  He didn’t see the figure that bolted out of the dimness and knocked him to the floor. A knee in the middle of his back held him down. He twisted his head to see and caught a glimpse of the short, ugly barrel of the handgun that hammered him into unconsciousness.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes after a painkiller had eased her muscle aches and dulled her headache, Mirabel dangled her legs over the side of the bed. She was stretching a foot down toward the floor when a hand pushed aside the curtain and a deep voice boomed, “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “Hey there, Jamie. Just the man I need to see. Can I get out of here tonight?”