The Adamas Blueprint

by Boyd Morrison

  Maybe the message was a joke, Kevin thought. He shook his head and dismissed the idea. No one he knew would have done something this bizarre. Not when Ward’s house went up in flames hours before. The only other possibility was that Ward actually sent the message. If that was true, why write a message to Kevin? Why didn’t Ward just call the police?

  He looked at the last sentence, which made it seem as if Ward had been interrupted. Or maybe he’d been drunk and didn’t realize he hadn’t finished. He’d heard about smokers getting drunk and falling asleep with a lit cigarette. Maybe that’s how the fire started. He cringed at the thought and studied the beginning of the cut off sentence.

  What was DA483H3? It looked familiar, as if Kevin had seen it before, but he couldn’t place it. A license plate number? Or maybe the model number of one of the lab’s equipment? It could be anything. Without the rest of the sentence, Kevin might never know.

  The phone rang. Kevin let it ring. He turned on the laser printer and selected the print option. The page fed in as the answering machine clicked on and played the announcement.

  “This is the home of Kevin Hamilton. If you are calling from a touchtone phone and would like to hang up, please press one now. If you are selling something or asking for money, please press one now. Otherwise, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” The beep sounded, and he heard Erica’s voice.

  “Kevin, it’s me. Give me a call when you get back…”

  Kevin ran into the bedroom and snatched up the phone. “Erica. I’m here.” He stopped the recorder as he spoke. “I’m sorry you missed the party last night.”

  “Me too, but I had a, uh, personal matter that came up.” Her voice was cautious.

  “What happened?”

  “Money problems. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Me neither.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Are you all right?” Kevin asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t sound fine. She sounded as if she had been up all night, and Kevin knew that she wasn’t supposed to go on her ER rotation until this afternoon. He wasn’t going to press the issue.

  “Do you want to get lunch?” he said.

  “Maybe. I was going to try to get some more sleep before I leave for the hospital, but that may not happen. I was just calling because…Have you seen the news today?”

  “You mean about Dr. Ward?”

  “So it’s the same Ward you’ve told me about?”

  “The one who fired me, yes.” Kevin went over to the printer and picked up the printout. “Funny you should ask. I just got an email from him.”

  “What do you mean?” Erica said. “Today?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. It was sent yesterday afternoon.”

  Kevin read the message to her.

  “That’s weird,” Erica said. “Are you going to call the police?”

  “The police? I hadn’t gotten that far.”

  “I heard something about arson on the radio.”

  “They said they aren’t ruling out arson, but they always say that.”

  “Do you know who Stein or Clay are?”

  “I had a high school math teacher named Joshua Clay, but I don’t think that’s him.”

  “Do you know what any of it means?” Erica asked. “What about that code?”

  “It looks familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. We never used a code in the lab. But I do know what NV117 means. It was an experiment we were doing for the Department of Energy on superconductivity using a new kind of chemical structure.”

  “Superconductivity? Would somebody killed him for it?”

  “I can’t imagine why. The experiment was a total failure. In fact, it was the one that got me fired. As far as I know, he stopped all work on it after the accident. Even if it wasn’t a failure like the message said, it wouldn’t have been groundbreaking. Certainly nothing worth killing for. We’re probably getting worked up over nothing. Some people in the department said he was a drinker. He was probably wasted when he wrote it.” He told her his theory about the cigarette.

  “That’s certainly possible. I’ve seen three alcoholics in the ER who’ve burnt themselves with cigarettes. Still, the police should probably know about the message.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just trying to avoid it because I also know it’s going to be a hassle. They might want me to go down to the station.”

  “What about lunch?” Erica said.

  “I’ll call you back when I know. In the meantime, try to take a nap. You sound beat.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kevin hung up, thumbed through the white pages, and dialed the number for police headquarters. There wasn’t really any reason to call 911.

  He was put on hold three times as staff at the police station shuffled his call around to various departments. Each time someone new answered, he had to explain the situation all over again. As he waited for someone in Homicide to pick up, Kevin thought that at least his day couldn’t get any stranger.

  * * *

  Lobec and Bern listened as a female voice on the line said, “Homicide. Detective Chambers speaking.”

  “Detective Chambers,” Kevin Hamilton said, “I hope I’ve finally got the right person. I have a message from Dr. Michael Ward-you know, the guy who died in the house fire last night?”

  “What is your name, sir?” The voice was curt.

  There was a pause. “Uh, my name’s Kevin Hamilton, one of Dr. Ward’s students. He sent me e-mail telling me that the same men who had killed Stein were after him. It seemed suspicious, so I thought I’d better let you know.”

  “I don’t know who this Ward guy is, but Stein is Guy Robley’s case.”

  There was another pause, this time longer. “You mean, there really is someone named Stein?”

  “Herbert Stein was found Saturday morning in a vacant lot near the Astrodome. Shot twice and loaded into a dumpster. Look, Detective Robley isn’t here right now, but he should be back in about twenty minutes. Can he call you back then?”

  “Wow. Okay. I’ll stay here.” He gave her the number. “Please have him call me as soon as he gets in.”

  “All right.” Two clicks could be heard. Bern began to speak, but Lobec lifted his hand as another number was dialed. The LCD panel in front of him displayed the number of the girl named Erica Jensen, who they had already identified with their caller ID unit. The line was busy, and Hamilton hung up the phone. He tried twice more and then seemed to give up.

  Finally, Lobec lowered his hand, and Bern spoke.

  “We can’t let him talk to the cops.”

  “You are correct. It’s unfortunate that we did not know of Hamilton’s involvement in NV117 previously.” Lobec pulled out his SIG Sauer P230, a compact weapon easily concealed and modified to accommodate a silencer. He chambered a round and replaced it in his shoulder holster. “It would have been so much easier.”

  “We going now?” Bern checked his badge and identification and grimaced again when he saw his alias.

  “No, that would be unrealistic. The police would never arrive so quickly. Even so, we don’t have much time. We will wait ten minutes. If anyone calls in that time, we will need to surprise him. Otherwise, we can introduce ourselves to him in the usual fashion.”

  CHAPTER 7

  After shaving and changing into more presentable clothes, Kevin tried calling Erica again. Busy. He laid the receiver in the cradle, put his slippers back on, and walked back to the living room, plopping himself on the couch. Headline News was into the next half hour, but he switched it to the local channel to see if he could find out anything about this Stein. Damn, he wished he got the paper.

  Kevin was still confused by the events of the last two hours, and he played them over in his mind to see if any of it made sense, to try to put it together into some rational explanation. No. First, he needed to start with the facts. One, his professor and the professor’s wife were dead, supposedly from a house fire. Two, he recei
ved e-mail from Dr. Ward claiming-wait, change that-from Dr. Ward’s e-mail address claiming that someone was trying to kill him, and that same someone had already killed a man named Herbert Stein. Not only that, but they wanted to kill him for an experiment that was a failure, and one of these people was named Clay. Three, Herbert Stein, a person he had never heard of until today, was murdered.

  Which left him with what? He looked at the printout again. He wished he could believe that this was all an elaborate hoax, that somebody owed him for a joke he had pulled at one time, but he was too much of a realist to believe it. Even the nerds in his chemistry department wouldn’t stoop to something like this.

  That left a high probability that the message really was from Dr. Ward. Three dead people. Maybe all of them murdered. He was glad he had called the police.

  A sharp knock on the door startled him, and Kevin accidentally tore the printout in half. He stuffed the pieces of paper into his pocket as he rose and walked over to the front door.

  Normally, during the day he would just open the door, although at night he always checked who it was first. Today was not normal. He looked through the foggy peephole and could make out two men in suits. He recognized neither of them.

  “Who is it?” he said loudly.

  “Detectives Barnett and Kaplan,” a well-spoken voice said. “Guy Robley radioed us and asked us to stop by since we were in the neighborhood. He said he couldn’t get to the phone right now to call you. If you’ll crack the door, you can see our identification.”

  At the mention of Detective Robley’s name, Kevin calmed. Even so, he kept the chain on and gave the IDs presented a thorough inspection. They seemed all right to him, not that he’d know what fake badges looked like. Satisfied, he removed the chain and asked the officers to come in.

  “Man, am I glad you’re here.” The officer named Barnett looked to be in his late thirties and was neatly dressed in a gray suit and paisley tie. He looked more like a businessman than a cop. His matching gray eyes examined Kevin thoroughly, but he gave Kevin a friendly smile. The other officer, Kaplan, was younger and more rumpled in his navy suit. Both were shorter than Kevin by about four inches. “You guys must be hot. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Barnett glanced at Kaplan and then shook his head. “No, thank you. We just had a late breakfast, and I think we drank a pot of coffee between us.” As they sat down in the living room, his smile changed to a concerned frown. “We are working on the Stein case with Guy. He said you called with some information concerning Mr. Stein.”

  “Actually, I was calling about a professor, Dr. Michael Ward.”

  “The professor from STU who died in the fire last night?” Barnett said.

  “Yes, I go to STU. I worked with him for year and a half until last May.”

  Barnett concerned expression deepened. “This must be difficult for you. I’m sorry. Please, go on.”

  “I wasn’t very close to Dr. Ward. I just worked for him.” Kevin told them everything that had happened to him since he woke up. During the story, Barnett asked a few questions for clarification, but Kaplan just scribbled on a notepad and said nothing. When Kevin got to the part about the message from Ward, Barnett stopped him.

  “Do you know what the message means? This could be very important in our investigation into Mr. Stein’s death.”

  “No, I don’t. Maybe if Dr. Ward had been able to finish it, I would have understood. The last sentence was cut off, as if he’d stopped typing abruptly.”

  “Could I see this e-mail message?” said Barnett.

  “Sure,” Kevin said, “I can even give you a copy.” He went to the Mac and typed the commands to print them a fresh copy instead of giving them the torn one in his pocket. “Do you really think it’s from Dr. Ward?”

  “As you said yourself, this could have been typed by anyone and merely sent from his account. But I don’t think we can rule out the possibility.”

  Kevin gave them the note. Both officers read it intently.

  For the first time, Kaplan spoke. His voice was surprisingly high for his size. “What is NV117?”

  “It was an experiment we were conducting right before I stopped working with Dr. Ward. It was research I was conducting for the Department of Energy, fairly harmless stuff.”

  “Why would someone be interested in research in superconductivity?” Kaplan said.

  Kevin gave Kaplan a puzzled look. “I have no idea. How did you…”

  Barnett interrupted. “Do you know what the code means?”

  Kevin shrugged as he completed the commands to print the message. “I keep thinking I’ve seen it before, but nothing comes to mind. Like I said, the message wasn’t finished.”

  Kevin turned back toward Barnett, and for a split second, caught Barnett glaring at Kaplan. The look vanished quickly and smoothly, as if Kevin wasn’t meant to see it.

  “Did you know Herbert Stein?” asked Barnett.

  “Never heard of him before. Who was he?” Kevin plucked the note from the printer and handed it to Barnett. “Some drug dealer?” The drug wave had hit Houston as hard as any city.

  “Well,” Barnett said, “of course, you understand that I can’t reveal everything we know about the case, but I can tell you that he was a respectable attorney with a small practice in the Village. And no, drugs don’t seem to be involved.”

  “A lawyer, huh? Was Dr. Ward a client of his?”

  “I don’t recall that name from his records,” Kaplan said.

  “I don’t either,” Barnett said. “We’ll check that out later. Have you seen a photo of Mr. Stein?”

  “No. I’ve been watching the news off and on, but I haven’t seen the story. I didn’t even know he was a real person until I talked to Detective Chambers.”

  “Mr. Hamilton,” Barnett said, “I wonder if we could ask you to come down to the station and look at a picture of Mr. Stein.”

  “Why?”

  “If he and Dr. Ward had some clandestine meetings-say at the university? — a student such as yourself may have seen him. We also have some photos of other suspects. They may have been intermediaries between Mr. Stein and Dr. Ward, and we’d like you to take a look at them.”

  Kevin nodded. “I thought you might want me to do something like this. Sure. I’ll do it.” He looked down at his slippers. “I have to put my shoes on.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Hamilton,” Barnett said. “Go right ahead. We’ll just wait out here.”

  Kevin ducked into the bedroom. His eyes felt better, so he took his glasses off and put his contact lenses back in. Just then the phone rang. He picked it up and started putting on his tennis shoes.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me,” Erica said.

  “There you are. I tried calling you four or five times.”

  “Somebody called right after you hung up, and I couldn’t get him off the phone.”

  “Never mind that. You are never going to believe what’s going on. There really is a Stein. Herbert Stein. Actually, I should say there was. He was murdered two days ago.” Erica gasped. “Now the cops are here, and they want me to go down to the station with them.”

  “To look at a lineup?”

  “No, just some pictures. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  The sound of a gas motor steadily grew as a man on a lawnmower neared Kevin’s apartment. He raised his voice.

  “You still interested in lunch?”

  There was a pause on the other end. “All right, but no McDonald’s.”

  A click in the phone interrupted Erica’s voice. He could barely make out the tell-tale beeping of the call waiting signal over the din of the lawnmower. “That’s another call. Can you hang on?”

  “Yes.”

  Kevin depressed the switch.

  “Hello?” He was practically yelling over the sound of the lawnmower.

  “Mr. Hamilton, this is Detective Guy Robley of the HPD Homicide Division. Detective Chambers said you called about Herbert Stein.”r />
  “Yes. Barnett and Kaplan are here. They explained about you not being able to get back to me.”

  “Who?”

  Kevin frowned. “Detectives Barnett and Kaplan. They said you asked them to stop by my apartment. I was just about to leave with them to come down to the station.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Hamilton? I didn’t send anyone to your apartment.”

  Kevin looked at the closed bedroom door. “There must be some misunderstanding. Their names are Detectives Barnett and Kaplan.”

  “Look, Mr. Hamilton” Robley said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I don’t know anyone by the name of Barnett or Kaplan.”

  * * *

  Lobec leaned against the wall by the bedroom door. He had moved over there to hear the phone conversation, but the noise of the lawnmower was drowning out Kevin’s voice. No matter. He had heard most of the conversation he had had with his girlfriend, and it didn’t sound as if he had told her anything of importance. Besides, her home was going to be their next stop. So much easier to make their deaths appear as an accident.

  He couldn’t hear Kevin hang up the phone, but his voice called from the bedroom.

  “I just have to go to the bathroom, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  Lobec heard a door shut. After waiting a minute, he peered into the bedroom. Seeing that it was clear, he walked in. The obese man with the lawnmower turned his machine off. Lobec listened at the door of the bathroom. The fan was on. He heard nothing.

  He waited a few seconds. Still nothing.

  He knocked on the door and asked if everything was all right. No response. He drew his pistol and tried the knob. Locked. He hit the flimsy door with his shoulder and rushed into the bathroom.

  It took him only a second to scan the tiny room. Before his eyes reached it, he could feel the heat flowing through an open window, large enough for a man to fit through easily. He looked through. Hamilton’s car was still in the lot, but the student was nowhere to be seen.