“Any attempt at sabotage is going to be a competitor. This drug is, as you can imagine, a major prize for any pharmaceutical company. A colossal sales opportunity.” There was more than a hint of pride in his smile. “We have reason to believe another company has been developing a product along the same lines.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But everything’s under control. It’s being taken care of on our end. We just have to make sure there are no issues in Sri Lanka.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Duncan said. “Is there something I can do?”
“That’s what I came to see you about. I’ll need to get out there, to see what can be done. I can’t afford to wait until next week. I’ll have to go sooner.”
“I see. You want me to take care of something here while you’re gone.”
“I’d like you to go along.”
“Go along?”
“To Sri Lanka,” Bent said. “Tomorrow.”
“Whoa. Wait,” Duncan said. He had only officially begun that week. He had the films to code, a paper to write in a hurry. Was Bent suggesting he drop all that? “You want me to fly to Sri Lanka tomorrow?”
“You know Sri Lanka well. So do I, obviously, but my Sinhala is terrible. Not close to your level. You’ll be a big asset.”
“But why go there? We could call, surely.”
“This is not the kind of thing we can call about. We’ll need to meet with a group of researchers there. Also technicians who don’t speak English.”
“There’s always Skype,” Duncan said. When Bent frowned, he realized he might be taking this too lightly.
“The internet connection is never reliable enough to Skype with people overseas, we find,” Bent said. “And also, this matter is a bit . . . delicate.”
“How is that? What will I need to do?” What was he supposed to be? An ambassador of some kind?
“We can talk more about the details later,” Bent said. “The most important thing now is to make sure we make the flight.”
“And this is tomorrow?”
“We’re already booked. The flight leaves in the morning, 8:08,” Bent said. “I’ve informed Janie’s school that she’ll have to miss her last few days of class.” He rose to his feet. “Geri will make sure your laptop is set up with any files you need. You’ll be getting an iPhone—also company issue. We’d like you to only communicate on that while we’re away, for security. Leave your regular phone at home. All you need to do is go home, pack a bag, and get your passport. Get a good night’s rest, and be at the airport by five. Security lines will be long.” A faint grin appeared on his face. “Tell Grace you’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’m guessing she won’t mind your being away for work.”
“You didn’t ask if I minded,” Duncan said, trying to make his tone light. He hadn’t expected to have to fly across the world at a moment’s notice. There should have been some advance warning, surely. “What if I’d had some prior obligation, something I had to do on the weekend?”
“But you don’t, I’m guessing, yeah?” There was an edge to Bent’s voice. Duncan found it annoying. “It’s the nature of the job, you could say,” Bent added. Duncan thought he saw a shadow cross his face, but then he chuckled, a little dryly. “That’s why our compensation packages are so good. Cinasat expects full commitment to the job.”
There it was, Duncan thought. The catch he and Grace had wondered about when they found out how much the job paid. For everything there was a sacrifice. But any hardships were not only for the money, he reminded himself. It was for the drug. A drug that could change lives. Not just the lives of people he didn’t know. His mother’s and Grace’s. His own. And really, what was the hardship here? An all-expenses-paid trip to Sri Lanka. It had been three years since he had been back there with Grace. They had talked about visiting later in the summer, but with Duncan’s job starting and Grace’s grant, they hadn’t had time to make definite plans.
“Grace will wish she could have gone along,” Duncan said. “But she’s in the middle of writing a grant.”
Bent shrugged at that, nodding. He picked up the small framed photo Duncan had placed on his desk. It was one Duncan had taken in the Catskills, on the only weekend Grace had been willing to take away from her lab the previous fall. In it, Grace was laughing, her eyes crinkled, her hair strikingly black against a backdrop of fiery oak leaves. “Has she been . . . How is she dealing with the weekend?”
“She’s okay.” Duncan remembered the police visit they’d had. “We had a visit from that detective twice. Sunday, Tuesday night. Remember Mortensen? He was asking about whether people had guns. Some concern about illegal hunting. And they seem to think Angie was investigating a story. About a hit-and-run accident . . .”
Bent turned the frame over and straightened its stand. “I heard, from Mortensen,” he said. “Did they tell you what they had found out?”
Duncan shook his head. “No, but he came with another guy who said he was from Internal Affairs. No idea what that was about. They wouldn’t say. They just wanted to find out what Angie was writing about.”
“That’s what they asked me,” Bent said. “Does Grace?”
“Does she what?”
“Know what Angie was writing about? If she was.”
“No, she hadn’t seen Angie for years. Although apparently Angie called her on Saturday, wanting to meet up. Grace thinks just to reconnect.” Every time he thought of Angie, what came to him was the image of her lying among the dead twigs, her tongue hanging out. “Such a sad thing,” Duncan said, and then wondered if he should have stayed off the topic.
“Work is what saves us,” Bent said. He placed the photo back on the desk and dusted off his hands. “We have to put the weekend where it belongs. Behind us.” He was a lot like Grace, Duncan thought, although she would disagree. Work was everything.
The buzzing that had been irritating Duncan all day started up again. It seemed to be coming from under the desk.
“A mystery where these flies are coming from,” Duncan said, swatting futilely at the air by his feet.
“Let Geri know, yeah?” Bent said. “She can have the place cleaned out while you’re gone.” He stepped toward the door. “Okay, off then to pack?” he said, his tone turned businesslike. “Geri will send a car to pick you up.” At the door, he turned. “If anything else needs to be done this evening, I’ll let you know.” He added, “Janie is pleased you’re coming along. She’s taken a shine to you and Grace.”
18
GRACE
Friday
“It’s a good thing they gave you a phone,” Grace said, pushing a cup toward him. “Otherwise I’d have had to spend an hour switching the cell service to get you covered overseas. Text me so I have your new number?”
Duncan gulped his coffee, standing hunched over the counter. His hair, still wet from his shower, was dripping onto his glasses. “Geri actually apologized for getting us business class seats. Because the booking is last minute, she said. Apparently Cinasat normally travels first class.” He grinned at Grace’s expression and swung his arms wide, theatrically. “Luxury, baby! We’ve made it!” He gave her a kiss, reeking of coffee, and made for the door.
It had been a long time since she’d seen him so upbeat. “I forgot to tell you,” Grace said. “Mo’s coming tonight. He was upset about something that happened at the funeral. No time to go into it now. I think he was blowing things out of proportion. But there was something he wanted me to ask you. Something about what the Cinasat lobby looks like.”
Duncan paused on the threshold, looking confused, his wet hair gleaming under the entrance light. It was still dark out, with a bit of moon visible past the black silhouette of the oak in the driveway. The driver of the Cinasat car emerged to take Duncan’s bag. “What? Okay, whatever it is, it can wait, right?”
19
DUNCAN
Friday
By the time Duncan arrived at his gate, it was boarding time. Bent was pacing by the gate, scanning the crow
d impatiently. Janie, wearing a pale-green Star Wars sweatshirt and weighed down by a bulging purple backpack, was hanging on to his arm.
For the first time in Duncan’s life, he was one of the first to board. He stowed his carry-on and sank into his seat, marveling at the size and softness of it, the amazing amount of legroom. There was no way he could watch any of the Cinasat videos on board privately. The thought made him happy. All that week, he had felt too busy. He needed time to relax. That was something he missed about St. Casilda. The pace there had been so much slower.
But he was lucky to have this new job, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He extracted his phone and took a picture of himself in his seat, grinning melodramatically, and texted it to Grace with the message: Check out this seat! Wouldn’t have happened at St. Casilda. Then he saw that an email had come in from Grace. Mo’s question, the subject line said. The body of the email said:
Mo wants to know if you’ve seen this mask in Cinasat lobby. Long story. Will explain later. But he really wants to know. Enjoy business class (maybe even edible food?) and call me from hotel. Remember to call Ma and Appa when you get there.
The attached picture had been taken in the main lobby at Cinasat. The silver Cinasat logo was visible on one wall. Angie’s face was leaning close to that of a heavyset young woman he didn’t recognize. He emailed back that he’d seen the mask, wondering why Mo cared.
Looking back, he saw that Bent and Janie were already asleep. He took off his glasses, pulled his headrest into place, and closed his eyes.
20
GRACE
Friday
Gannon Hall was always deserted in the days after the end of the spring semester. Summer classes had not yet begun, and even the anxious graduate students who slaved all year in the labs were less in evidence. Grace liked the quiet. She looked in at her lab. There was no one there, of course. She checked to make sure her research assistants had done what was required to keep the experiments going over the summer. Trays of newly sterilized vials, loaded with gelatinous media, had been stored in the large refrigerator. On the adjacent shelf, several racks held vials humming with young flies. The sickly-sweet smell of the yeast used to feed the flies was in the air. No dissections needed to be done yet; the flies were still a little too young. They didn’t know they were going to be sacrificed, she thought, and then wondered about these morbid thoughts that sometimes came into her head.
She left the lab and shut herself in her office. She turned on the electric kettle and gazed out the window, waiting impatiently for the water to boil. Only a few students were wandering the street below, their scanty clothing and slackened pace signaling the onset of summer. She couldn’t see many people working in the offices across the street either. That was not going to stop her. She started a bag of black tea steeping and got to work. All afternoon, she read and wrote, stopping only to make more tea and eat her tuna sandwich. She managed to enter the silence where nothing mattered but her work. The hum of the air conditioner, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the occasional clang from the boiler room all faded into the background of her consciousness.
When her cell phone rang, she jumped.
“Hello, is this Dr. McCloud?”
She placed the voice right away. Mortensen again. She felt a wave of anxiety. Was this going to be more about the phone call?
“I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions, Dr. McCloud.”
“About what?” She could feel her heart begin its pounding. She clutched the mug of tea on her desk. It had gone cold.
“Just the whereabouts of your husband.”
“The day Angie died?”
Mortensen said, “Not that day. We are trying to get in touch with him, but we’ve been given to understand that he has left the country.”
“He left this morning. With Bent. Bentley Hyland.”
“Yes, we are also interested in talking to Mr. Hyland.”
“What’s this about? Angie?”
“We don’t know if there is a connection to Ms. Osborne, Dr. McCloud. That is what we are trying to ascertain.”
“Connection with what?”
“We just wanted to find out the whereabouts of your husband last evening, Dr. McCloud.”
“I don’t understand. Late yesterday afternoon, he found out he was going to Sri Lanka with Bent. He came home, and then he was at home until he left this morning.”
“Was this a planned trip?”
“No, I just told you. It was out of the blue. He’ll be meeting with people there, on Cinasat business. It was a crazy rush getting him packed.”
“What time did he come home yesterday, Dr. McCloud?”
Grace paused to take a sip of the cold tea, trying to understand his intentions. “Why are you asking?”
“We are just trying to get some information, Dr. McCloud.”
“What for?”
“There’s been a death,” Mortensen said.
Grace felt her breath stop. “A death! What do you mean?”
“A Cinasat employee. An intern. We are simply asking about the whereabouts of everyone who may have been connected with her.”
“How did she die?”
“That has not yet been fully determined,” Mortensen said, his tone even. Wooden. He sounded the way he had at the reunion, Grace thought, when she had asked him about the cause of Angie’s death.
“Pardon me, Dr. McCloud, but you didn’t answer my question about the time of your husband’s return home yesterday,” Mortensen said. On the phone, he sounded like a robot.
“Probably around six,” Grace said. “But what does the death have to do with him?”
“It’s just routine,” Mortensen said. “We record this information from everyone who may have known the deceased. Were you with your husband all night?”
“I went out shopping for a while. I wanted to buy presents for my family and friends, for Duncan to take with him.”
“And how long did your shopping take?”
“I don’t know exactly. I was out from about six thirty to maybe nine thirty,” Grace said. “No, it was ten when I got back. I stopped at the Rite Aid near our house on the way back, and it was just closing when I left.” She wondered if she was explaining too much. Was she just imagining that he sounded suspicious?
“Which stores did you visit?”
“Trader Joe’s. Then the Willowbrook Mall. Lord & Taylor, Macy’s. And then Toys“R”Us and Rite Aid.”
“And your husband was at home meanwhile?”
“Yes. He was packing, getting his files in order. And he insisted on cutting the lawn because he didn’t want it to get overgrown while he was gone.”
“Do you know if he went anywhere?”
“I don’t think so. Otherwise he would have told me. I called him several times while I was out to ask him about things to buy.”
“You called him on the home phone?”
“No, his cell. But as I said, if he had gone out, he would have told me.”
“But there is no way for you to know?”
“Look, this is crazy,” Grace said. “How did this woman die? Surely you aren’t suspecting him in some way?”
“No, Dr. McCloud, not at all. This is just a preliminary investigation, and there is no reason to believe there was foul play. We are only asking because two deaths have occurred recently in connection with your husband and Mr. Hyland, and indirectly, you.”
“Me? I barely know anyone at Cinasat. Except for Bent. I don’t think Duncan knows many people either. We met a few people at a Cinasat party but only in passing. Duncan never mentioned any interns. He’s only ever mentioned Bent, a scientist called Derek Weinberg, some research assistant called Carson, and the secretary, Geri. And the CEO, Hammond Gleeson. He didn’t know Angie at all. He had never met her.”
“This is just standard procedure, Dr. McCloud. As I said, I didn’t mean to worry you. You have been very helpful. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
Af
ter Mortensen hung up, Grace lay back in her chair, feeling spent. What the hell had that been all about? What was going on? Why did he keep contacting her?
She sent Duncan an email asking him to call her, even though she knew he wouldn’t get it for hours, if not a whole day.
21
DUNCAN
In Transit
Duncan watched the clustered lights of London recede into the distance below, relieved they’d made their connecting flight. He was pleased that Bent and Janie were sitting several rows back. More time to relax. Duncan’s seat was near an older woman with graying, carefully set hair. Sri Lankan by the look of her, Duncan thought. She was absorbed in scribbling in what appeared to be a journal. She had barely looked up when Duncan arrived. No conversation would be needed, he thought. This was going to be an easy flight.
He awoke as dinner was being served. The dinner roll smelled as if it had just been baked. The meal was served on deep-pink porcelain, not plastic, and certainly looked better than the ones he was used to eating in economy. Would it taste any better? He wondered what the economy class passengers were being served. It was strange to be cut off this way from the people with whom he identified on the plane. At some point in the trip, he planned to walk down to the economy section on the pretext of getting some exercise. On other trips to Sri Lanka, he had often met interesting people while standing at the back with others who wanted to stretch their legs.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” the woman in the adjacent seat said, gesturing at the meal before him. She was sipping a glass of red wine and prodding her salad with a fork. “Fresher than I expected.” She turned to him with a reluctant smile. Her eyes ran over Duncan’s face and then his clothes. Duncan resisted an impulse to straighten his hair. His khakis and blue polo shirt were both already quite crumpled. The woman was stylishly dressed in navy pants, a patterned blouse made of some slippery fabric, and an off-white cardigan. There were large gold-and-sapphire studs in her ears, and two gold bangles on each slim wrist. The folds on her neck and the slightly crepey texture of her skin made her age evident. Early sixties, Duncan guessed. Her eyes had the keenness of youth. Her graying hair had become a little disheveled, and her lipstick had mostly faded from the center of her lips, revealing a maroon outline.
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