“Because they have their vets on their payroll.”
I heard a weak, “Right.”
“Lorna and Alex probably asked to be kept in the loop for all the horses that have their chips. You and Dr. Evans send them updated medical records for completeness, something like that?”
Another weak, “Right.” I was getting too much enjoyment sensing Dr. Schofield’s embarrassment and guilt.
“What’s the packaging of the chips when you receive them?” I asked him. “Do they look different from the ones you might buy direct from the manufacturer?”
“Well, yeah, the ones I get are in a Charger Street lab wrapper. I figured they repackaged it for their inventory control.”
“What would they be testing?” I asked, wanting to hear Dr. Schofield’s theory before suggesting my own.
“It could be anything, I guess. Maybe they’re just putting a different ceramic sealant around the chip, testing a new formula. That could be disastrous, of course, because then if the tissue didn’t form correctly around it, there’d be problems. Foreign matter in the animal’s body.” I heard a long, low groan that might have been another “geez.”
Dr. Schofield’s voice rose and fell unevenly, not the relaxed tones I’d heard for most of my in-person interview with him.
Rose herself rose from and fell into the chair at intervals as she refilled my coffee and broke a biscotti into small enough pieces for me to nibble while I talked. She mimicked this behavior with her fingers to her mouth, but I shook my head no. I didn’t need to add a choking hazard to my already overtaxed system.
“What about bute?” I asked Dr. Schofield, determined to tie up everything in the case together. “Could they be slipping bute into the chip to enhance the horses’ performance? If they’ve strengthened the anti-inflammatory nature, for example, so the horse would be much more limber?”
“Bute. Is that why you were asking about bute this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s C19H20N2O2 of course. I suppose they could be just adding that, but then they really would be getting short-term results. If they want to enhance a horse’s performance, they’d have to be sure it was administered right before a competition. Unless they’re adding a larger amount of bute than would usually be used. And they’d have to know that that particular horse was going to compete within a short time. And they’d be taking a chance on random testing. Of course, Lorna is so tied into the equestrian scene, she can follow the horses very closely, and maybe even has some of the medical people on her payroll.”
“Maybe,” I said, with a clearing of my throat that was meant to be another reminder that Dr. Schofield’s own name was on Lorna’s payroll.
“Yes, well, but still I don’t see the point of it. My guess is that they’re using horses to test a brand new drug and/or a new drug delivery system.”
“Some experimental variation of bute, then?”
“I suppose. Why are you so bent on bute as opposed to a new drug?”
“It’s hard to explain, but it has come up as another element of the scam. The alleged scam.” A fine time for me to begin expressing myself as a careful police consultant.
“I can give it some thought, certainly. See if I can think how you’d change the composition of bute enough to result in a drug worth testing.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
“Uh, Gloria, I just want to say … as bad as you think we’ve been to allow ourselves to be manipulated with the chip costs and so on, we … I think I can safely speak for Dr. Evans … we would never, never willingly participate in the kind of fraud you seem to have uncovered. For one thing, we would never do anything that could potentially harm an animal.”
To say nothing of the human murders that may have resulted also.
“I believe you,” I told him.
Rose had been patient through the call, satisfying herself with cleaning up the crumbs from the coffee table, stoking the fire, and gesturing meaningfully that I should sip my coffee, for instance, or take a bite of cookie. Now she burst forth with her questions.
“Are you going to tell Matt your theory?”
“Not until … he’s well.”
“Of course. Are they going to arrest the woman at the lab? Women these days, really.”
“I’ll have to call George Berger and see how he wants to proceed, based on what I have. I’m ninety-nine percent sure Alex Simpson is involved also. So they’ll have to call the Houston PD.”
“Do you think the drug companies are involved?”
“I doubt it, but that’s something to investigate. Big sponsors like that don’t usually take such chances in my experience. From what I’ve seen the biggest dollar amounts in Lorna’s program are federal agencies of one kind or another.”
“You mean it’s easier to fool the government.”
“Afraid so.”
“I’ll bet there’s a lot of money at stake.”
“Ultimately there might be a lot of money for pharmaceutical companies any time a successful drug is developed. But there’s a lot of initial cost also, for the research. The Charger Street scientists don’t work for the drug companies, however, and they would not be profiting financially in general.”
“So you say.”
“I know this sounds strange but scientists would rather have a unit named after them.” Or a molecule, I thought. “Like Newton, Roentgen, Fermi, Volta.”
“Volts is someone’s name? Like a six-volt battery, that’s someone’s name?”
I nodded. “The volt is named after an Italian scientist, Alessandro Volta.”
Rose shook her head. “The things you know.”
“What’s most important for a scientist like Lorna Frederick or Alex Simpson, who are on the cutting edge, is to keep their research going. Of course, they also want Nobel Prizes and recognition. They want to have breakthroughs and meet milestones before the people in Japan or Germany, but not for the money. More for the fact of doing it, getting into the science books of the future. They don’t want yachts or mansions so much as the glory that comes with transforming the world.”
“Better living through science,” Rose said. “As long as it’s my science.”
“You’ve got it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After Rose left, I went back through the reports. Often, I could hear Lorna’s voice as I read the narrative in the research summaries she’d submitted to her sponsors.
A single nanotube can be ten to one hundred times stronger than steel. We’ve demonstrated that these tiny tubes can be opened, and filled with a variety of materials, including biological molecules, she’d written.
It was almost a clue, I thought—filling nanotubes with biological molecules—and I should have seen it sooner. But who would think that science as full of marvels as nanotechnology could be the vehicle for an elaborate fraud?
It bothered me deeply that a woman scientist would betray her profession. That she might also be a murderer left me unable to sleep.
I was so sorry Matt had to miss all the excitement, and hoped at least he was sleeping soundly and on the road to the relapse-free life Dr. Rosen predicted. I thought of the drugs he’d been given. He’d had a bad reaction to some of them, but ultimately it would be drugs and therapy that would help restore his health.
Did I care how the particular drug that saved him came to be developed? Through pure, honest research, or a scam that skirted long lead times and regulations? Through upstanding scientists, or men and women who cheated and even killed to further their work?
Thinking of Matt in the hospital, the long road of treatments ahead of him, our future together—I couldn’t give the quick answer I might have given even a few months ago.
When the phone rang at one in the morning, I was awake and roaming the house. While my mind was picturing the structure of phenylbutazone and figuring how one might alter it, I’d changed the sheets, straightened pillows, hand-vacuumed crumbs here and there, and made
a batch of brownies—more for the comforting aroma, I told myself.
“You sound chipper,” Berger said. “I’m not.”
“What’s keeping you up?”
“Your theory, for one.”
“Is that good news or bad?”
“It’s very good, Gloria, especially with what else came up. I just had a chance to look at the report from the crime-scene people on the Jake Powers murder. He had a little something in his hand.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, a small piece of a mailing label from a horse magazine. We traced it back, because part of the subscription number was intact, and when they gave us the roll of possibles, you know, ending in that partial string, there was this name on the list … ta da …”
“Lorna Frederick.”
“Yeah, and now that we have motive … another ta da, thanks to you and your chip story … we’re good to go.”
“And Simpson?”
“We’ll give HPD what we have, and I think they’ll be moving on him, too.”
“So I can go to sleep now?”
“All the citizens of Revere, Massachusetts, and Houston, Texas, can sleep tonight. I’m going home. Say good night, Gloria.”
“Good night, George.”
When was the last time I’d thought of Burns and Allen? I wondered. Berger always brought out the 1950s in me. I smiled at the memory.
Until I remembered another citizen of Revere who might not be able to sleep safely.
Mary Catherine Galigani. MC, whose emails about bute had started my involvement in this case in the first place. I hadn’t given MC a thought since I’d watched the horse-show video with her. It was as if I’d told her to be careful, and then dropped all attention to her. I should have tried to have surveillance ordered, at least. Did Lorna know where she lived? I wondered. I quickly realized she did. MC had filled out an application to work for her.
I picked up the phone and punched in Berger’s cell phone number in case he’d already left the station.
Why hadn’t Rose reminded me? I asked myself, as if to rationalize my neglect of her daughter.
“Hi, Gloria,” Berger said, sounding pleased as most people with caller ID did, feeling ahead of the game.
I skipped opening remarks. “George, I’m worried about Mary Catherine Galigani. As long as Lorna is free, there’s a chance she might go after MC. Remember the email I told you about …”
“Right, right. Well, it’s going to be a while before we can take Lorna in. I’m planning to organize the material in the morning. That’s, uh, about six hours from now.”
I laughed, a nervous chuckle that gave away my panicked state. “In other words, can’t you get some sleep? I’m sorry, George, but isn’t there a way you can put a car at either Lorna’s or MC’s place? Or both.”
Berger sighed. “You know, nothing’s changed as far as Lorna Frederick’s concerned. It’s not as if she was at your place when you figured this out.”
“Well, she knows I’ve been talking to her vet. And …”
“And she knows you’re smart.”
“Thanks. And she knows you’re smart, George, and that you move quickly.”
“Okay, okay. Is this what you do to Matt?”
I laughed, a little more relaxed this time. “Sort of. Thanks, George.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MC moved the curtains on her bedroom window and looked down on Tuttle Street. Just a check to see if the rain had stopped. Not looking for strange cars, no uneasiness. Not.
She considered a walk to the market near the circle. She’d heard that the rotary now had a formal name—the Albert J. Brown Circle. If she were a good daughter, MC thought, she’d give her mother a thrill and ask her who Albert J. Brown was, how he’d come to have a circle named after him.
MC was forcing herself to do normal things though she felt like she’d fallen under a stampede of wild horses. She’d been up early and gone for a run, lucky enough to miss both rain showers. Someday soon she’d set up an appointment with the Admissions Office at UMass to review her transcript and see about working toward a teaching credential. She could still keep her finger in research as a consultant. During the good five minutes that came about once an hour—progress, she thought—she envisioned using her contacts to develop a chemistry program as great as Daniel Endicott’s environmental science program.
Aunt G had introduced MC to Daniel—to talk about MC’s presentation to the Science Club, she’d said. Not too obvious: Daniel was single, MC’s age, and loved science. Well, no way was she going to get involved again, no matter how cute he was.
She couldn’t shake thoughts about what she could have had with Jake. She had fits of guilt when she wished she’d done more to make their relationship work. She could have started riding with him. Maybe if she’d given him support in the wholesome activities he’d embraced, he would have abandoned the other ones.
She felt proud of Jake, that he’d been willing to be sort of a whistle-blower, ready to confront people with their criminal behavior.
But basically she knew Aunt G was right—even though she didn’t press the issue—the chances of people reforming from abusive behavior were very slim. Maybe if she held that thought, eventually she’d be able to move on.
MC was surprised to hear about the microchip scam and Lorna Frederick’s connection to it. According to Mom, who’d called earlier, Aunt G had figured out the whole thing. MC shuddered. To think she’d almost taken a job with that woman. It was enough that she’d known Alex Simpson in Houston—Alex and Lorna were supposedly in it together, hiring that guy to kill Nina, too.
So everything that had been bothering her was over, all the mysteries cleared up. Alex and Lorna had been running a very clever scam that ended in the murder of two people she cared about. And Wayne—even weird Wayne was right about some things. That bute email, for one thing. Not that MC ever would have known what it was about. If Alex had realized that, MC’s life would have been a lot easier in the last few weeks.
RRRRRRRing!
MC jumped, stepped back, and folded her arms, involuntarily. Evidently she wasn’t as relaxed as she thought. Even a phone call jarred her. She imagined it would be a long time before sudden noises would not scare her to death.
“MC? It’s me, Wayne Gallen.”
The connection was bad, but she heard the name. “Wayne? I hope you’re calling from Houston.”
He laughed, a strange sound. Probably he was on a cell phone. “It’s … over, MC. I’m … you’re happy.”
“You’re breaking up, Wayne, but anyway we don’t have anything to talk about.”
MC practically screamed into the phone, as if to make up for the bad connection. I should just hang up, she thought, but Mom raised me better than that.
“I saved … could have … chance with my own … ife,” she heard.
If she understood correctly, Wayne was right in a way. He’d evidently crossed Alex Simpson and taken a chance with his own life in order to save hers. At least in his mind he’d saved hers. Also, she’d wrongly accused him, at least mentally, of murdering Jake.
“Okay, Wayne, maybe I owe you. I’m sorry I was rude to you, and I wish you the best.”
“ … like … meet you … last time, MC.”
“What? Where are you, Wayne?”
“Beach Lodge.”
That was clear. He was still in Revere. MC held the receiver away from her body and sighed loudly. No way was she going to that dump of a Beach Lodge, to meet Wayne or anyone else. “Wayne, it’s not going to happen. We should just end on this note.”
“No no, … worry. I’m all over … phase. I don’t know what got into me. Let’s just meet for a good-bye coffee. I’ll be leaving for home soon.”
MC was glad the line cleared up, but Wayne’s voice still sounded strange. Should she trust him? What made her think he was any more stable just because he said so?
“Wayne—”
“MC, if we had a videophone I could show you
my one-way ticket to Houston. Look, we can go to a coffee shop near your house. You pick it. Really quick, I promise. Heck, you can invite your Aunt G if you want.”
MC pulled at the strings of her sweatshirt hood. I’m going out, anyway, she thought. I could meet him someplace safe, quickly, and I’ll never hear from him again. Otherwise he’ll be bugging me from Texas. Why not get it over with? He certainly sounds a little more together, as opposed to being completely cracked up, asking me to go away with him.
“Okay, Wayne. But I’m going to have Gloria with me, and maybe even Detective Gennaro.” The more the better, MC thought, although she wasn’t sure Matt was out of the hospital. But Wayne would behave himself even if just Aunt G were there.
“Let’s meet at Tomasso’s Coffee Annex on Squire Road. Do you know where that is?”
“You bet, MC. I … there.”
Breaking up again. And that strangeness in Wayne’s voice. Too much twang, MC thought. Or maybe she was losing her tolerance of it.
“It’ll take me about an hour,” she said.
MC could be at Tomasso’s in fifteen minutes, but she didn’t feel like rushing—she’d had her run for the day—and also she wanted to stop at the florist near Oxford Park and have some flowers sent to Aunt G as a long overdue thank-you. It was way past the time when she should start showing adult behavior and not be everyone’s little girl.
MC checked her watch, ambivalent about whether to call Aunt G about meeting Wayne. It was just before ten. She knew Aunt G was more likely to be up at two o’clock in the morning than ten, especially with Matt in the hospital and the crazy hours that must mean.
She picked up the phone, put it down, then picked it up and punched in Aunt G’s number. Aunt G said to be careful, so that’s what she’d be, even though Lorna was presumably wearing stripes by now. She waited through several rings and heard Matt’s recorded voice.
She waited for the beep. “Hi, Aunt G and Matt if you’re home. Wayne Gallen wants to meet me, one last time he promises, so I’m going. If you’re around … hello … are you screening your calls? Guess not. Well, anyway, I’ll be meeting him in about an hour, so, like eleven o’clock, and if you can meet me there it would be great, but if not, no prob, okay?”
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