Ask Not For Whom The Panther Prowls

by Astor James Monroe

  “On the way back from my honeymoon.” I introduced him to Laura and Danny. He joked with Laura, “You have to watch this one, keep him busy and out of the lab so I have a chance to publish first.” They laughed. He then turned to me and said, “One thing, though, Will, would you tell the TOEFL-tutoring team at GSU how well they are doing?”

  “How well they are doing?”

  “Yes, our students have been using your service and it's made a huge difference for them. It's been well worth the money.”

  “Money, I suppose they charge, how much?” If it was enough I could always have the more literate of my students supplement their stipends with a few hours work.

  “Depends, can be as much as $10,000 a student. If they need a lot of help that is.”

  “Wow. I had no idea it was so profitable.” Something told me the university didn't either.

  “It really works too. One of my students, Xa Shen, could barely read English, but after two months, he scored well enough for MIT.”

  I was speechless. It sounded too good to be true.

  “There's my bag! Say 'hi' to Dr. Lee for me.”

  2

  I first noticed the Bengali contingent when we were transferring in Miami. International travel to the US goes through customs at the first airport where you land. There was some number, more than I could quickly count, of excited young women in matching brightly colored saris, chatting away over in the foreign passport line. I didn't think much of it at the time as Danny was asking where there was a bathroom and I wanted to make sure that we reentered the good ol' USA successfully.

  It wasn't until we met again at the baggage claim at Hartsfield Jackson airport in Atlanta that they impinged more seriously on my consciousness. I chatted to one, who looked barely 16 and knew some variety of English, while we were waiting for the bags to arrive from the bowels of the airport.

  “So is this a girl scouts or youth group outing?”

  “No, we have jobs, in the US.”

  “Oh, where?”

  “Atlanta, maids. So exciting.”

  A rather muscular man came over and interrupted us. He very brusquely told the woman “Don't talk to anyone.” and then warned me, “This is none of your business. Nosy people who ask questions tend to lose their noses.”

  “I was just being sociable, welcoming them to Atlanta.”

  “Don't.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  “I mean it. Stay away from this.”

  After picking up our bags I told Laura about out conversation. “Sounds like you've run into one of the human trafficking rings.”

  “Trafficking rings?”

  She pulled up a photo on her cell. “Did the man look like this?”

  “Yes, that's him.”

  “Can't prove it yet, but those poor girls don't have a clue what they're in for.”

  “Damn. They seemed nice enough. They seemed just like a bunch of excited freshmen eager for their first classes.”

  “INS is on it.”

  “Good.” I had other problems to pursue, and the Feds could look after that one.

  3

  The next day I caught up with my student Tom and found out how the class was going. The physics teaching was fine. Unfortunately the rest wasn't. “We're down to 48 students now, and not another dropout.”

  “Damn. Did he survive?”

  “She collapsed about halfway through the class. Might make it, at least she was alive when the EMT's left. Our friend Steve helped with the CPR.”

  “I'm glad someone was there.”

  “Yeah, he said it was much nicer with a pretty girl than the CPR dummy.”

  “Let's not go there, shall we. Who was it?”

  “Tamika Harris.”

  “Which one was she?”

  “She was the young black woman who always sat up in the front, the middle of the row.”

  “Damn, one of the better student's wasn't she?”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “Dunno, probably Grady.”

  “When was this?”

  “A week ago, just after you left.”

  “Has anybody tried to contact her or her parents?”

  Not surprisingly, no one from GSU had tried to find them. I opened up 'gosolar', the web-based grade tool we used, and found her record. There was a picture, her student e-mail address and little else. I sent her an email, in the hope that maybe someone was reading them.

  A few minutes later, my office phone rang. It was her parents.

  Grady hospital, being only a few blocks away from campus, was an easy walk. I found Tamika and her family in her hospital room.

  I was greeted enthusiastically, “Dr. Sharpe, we're so glad you could visit. Tamika was enjoying your class.”

  “All part of the GSU service.” It wasn't, but this made for a nice story. “How is she doing?”

  Her father answered, “As well as can be expected.” He paused, awkwardly, then continued, “Dr. Sharpe, we've heard that you're not just a physics professor, are you?”

  My reputation preceded me. “No, I have 'other interests'.”

  “One of those is a private investigator, isn't it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to know who did this to my baby.”

  “I'm working on it. It would help if I could ask your 'baby' a few questions.”

  “Sure.”

  “Tamika, do you feel up to answering my questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I collapsed in class. Then woke up here.”

  “No, I should be more specific. What can you remember from the day it happened. Was there anything unusual?”

  “Oh, there was that scratch.”

  “Scratch?”

  “Someone scratched me as I was coming into Classroom South. It was a big crowd, so I don't remember who.”

  “Can I see?”

  She pointed to her arm, and there, still faintly visible was a mark. “Do you think that had anything to do with it?”

  “Well, maybe. You didn't, by any chance know Jane Phillips or Sam Green?”

  “Sam, wasn't he the one who collapsed in class too?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was another tutor in the ESL program, I think Jane was too.”

  “Were you a tutor, then?”

  “Oh yes.” She confirmed that we had a common thread between at least a few of the cases.

  “How did that work?”

  “It was fun, we'd Skype someone and help them talk well in English.”

  “That all?”

  “Usually. It wasn't normal Skype or chat. We'd have to enter some funny numbers first.”

  “Really? Do you remember what the numbers were?”

  “There were either four or six of them. Numbers and letters. It was like AF.86.54.FF. Not that it was the same all the time.” It sounded like an IP4 or IP6 internet address, but I'd have to ask a friend to confirm it.

  “Funny thing was once I made a mistake and this man came up. He was really upset.”

  “Could you identify him?”

  “Maybe. He had a funny accent. I could barely understand him.”

  “If you'll wait a second.” I called Laura on my cell. “I'm busy Will, what is it?”

  “Not much, can you send me that picture?”

  “What picture?”

  “The man we saw in the airport, the trafficker?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to see if one of the students recognizes him.”

  “Students?”

  “One of the ones who had an attack. She said she made a mistake while tutoring ESL students and this man came up.”

  “One of your 'hunches', darling?”

  “Of course.”

  “I'll get it forwarded to you. See you tonight. Bye.”

  I told Tamika and her parents that I'd need to show them a picture of someone, after I received it.

  7. Hillbilly Heroin.

 
Meth synthesis is so mundane. Dr. Isabelle Carling was producing it without using pseudoephridine or anything the DEA would consider unusual via a Grignard reaction from Benzyl chloride, acetaldehyde and methylamine. A relatively simple synthesis for a skilled organic chemist like her, it was an excellent way to supplement her income. Since the state legislature forbid the Board of Regents from raising salaries for “lazy good for nothing Godless academic scum”, she had found her own solution to those pressing financial needs. Her contact, a janitor, routinely picked up her high quality product on Friday and put her share of the proceeds in her top desk drawer early Monday morning.

  This symbiotic arrangement proceeded in a mutually advantageous manner until the drug gang that was the distributor had a 'change in management'. The body wasn't found, but the DEA suspected he had been taken deep sea fishing. Or else he was helping to prop up the new 17th street bridge in the manner that a 'watching man' was used in Viking construction. In any case, instead of a polite request for another few grams of clean Methamphetamine, the order came for some more difficult to synthesize and correspondingly more profitable drugs. Derivatives of MCPP or MPPP. Being averse to fishing, or more correctly being the bait while somebody else fished, she dared not disobey.

  2

  Morrison called me as I was on my way to another lecture of 'Poetic Physics'. He was excited with by the news.

  “Will, I think we found your poisoner.”

  “Hey that's great. Who?”

  “Dr. Isabelle Carling, from chemistry. She was running a tidy little drug lab in addition to her research. Helped to pay the bills.”

  “I supposed it's easier than getting funded by NSF.”

  What had happened was simple. One of the bi-products of a botched synthesis for MPPP is MPTP. MPTP kills part of the brain and induces a form of Parkinson's disease. When several participants suddenly came down with the shakes at an 'Exploration of Altered Consciousness' party, it hadn't taken long to trace back the supply to the unfortunate Dr. Carling. It seems, in order to enhance the experience of these new journeys of discovery, she had engaged in a little free-lance dealing on the side.

  Dr. Carling had connections. The 'Explorations of Altered Consciousness' parties had been held in a mansion in Buckhead. There isn't anything like real old fashioned Rockefeller-style 'old money' in Atlanta, but 'new money' talks just as loudly and she'd been bailed out by the time Morrison and I could arrive. It was cash, and not a bail bond so she could be anywhere. She wouldn't have had to talk to us, but she might have. Now we'd just have to track her down ourselves. With luck we'd find her before the drug gang did. Otherwise, she wouldn't be in any shape to answer questions. The gang had already found the janitor. Let's just say GSU had a new vacancy in the maintenance staff and there was already a mess for him to start cleaning.

  3

  I called Arthur that evening and he reined me in.

  “Will, what did the medical examiner say about the students? Was Meth involved?”

  “No.”

  “Let the police handle this one. They're paid to do it, you're not.”

  “But?”

  “Until there's some evidence she was involved, this chemist is a distraction.”

  He was right, damn it. Unless something turned up to connect her with the real poisonings, she wasn't of any interest to us.

  Nonetheless, I still felt I should ask a few questions. Not many, but I started by looking at pub-med. During my office hours, when I was sure I wouldn't be disturbed, I started digging from the machine in my office. Her work was in organic synthesis, which was largely a closed book to me. I'd taken organic chemistry in college, but that was too many years ago. The synthetic targets were interesting, various neural channels. I was surprised she was having difficulty with grants since all of her work was directed towards obvious drug targets.

  Just for the heck of it, I passed the channels through pub-med and found they were not your garden variety target for depression or whatnot. LSD and PCP interacted with the same channels. So it was possible she was working, not just on drug design, but designer drugs. I thought Morrison might want to know. He'd pass it on to the proper people.

  4

  I called my erstwhile clients, the Phillips. The first thing they said after picking up the phone was “Any progress?”

  “Maybe. Is Jane around? I have a couple of questions to ask her.”

  There was a bit of confused noise, and then she came on the phone. Her father was listening in the background.

  “Jane, a couple questions.”

  “Sure.”

  “First, how did the ESL tutoring work? What did you do.”

  “That was easy. We were given a bunch of numbers to type in for connections. Then we'd see the student and talk to him.”

  “What were the numbers like?”

  “I don't remember completely, well there was one I used a lot more than the others. It went A7.AA.8F.F0, and connected me to someone in China. He was sort of sweet.” I thought I could hear her father's teeth grind in the background, but that may have just been my imagination. Nonetheless, I expected she'd have a discussion about this with her parents soon. “The other thing I have to ask you whether you ever had anything odd happen when you were connected?”

  “Oh, yes. The day before I had my attack. There was some sort of error and this man came up. Strange man. We shut down right away.”

  “Do you think you might recognize him from a photo?”

  “I might, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Was there anything else you can remember?”

  “He had a strong accent. Wasn't Spanish, or Indian.”

  “Mr. Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you mind if I email your daughter a mugshot?”

  Unfortunately, neither Jane nor Tamika recognized the picture. It wasn't anyone connected with the drugs. That would have been too easy.

  8. An Experiment in Basic Gravitational Physics.

  The body slowly swung in the air at the end of its rope. It twisted as it swung. The pendulum it formed swung in small oscillations and followed the equation out of the sophomore physics book. It hung at the junction between the bridge on Courtland street and the walkway to the student center. Initially it was thought that Li Chen had committed suicide because of his difficulties in class. A stellar student at home, with outstanding TOEFL scores, he found that he didn't do as well when he was forced to use English in real life. There was a note, written in almost correct Mandarin, left in his room.

  There were a couple of troubles with this convenient scenario. Li was a relatively happy and popular graduate student in computer science. Linguistic difficulties aside, he was ready with a smile and a cheerful attempt to communicate. I'd met him at a computational astrophysics joint seminar with the CS department and while it was sometimes difficult to understand him, his questions showed considerable scientific maturity. Given a few years study, he'd be ready for bigger things. So suicide seemed unlikely. The presence of traces of duck tape adhesive found by the police on his arms, legs and mouth confirmed that he had assistance in departing this world.

  2

  My cell rang late in the evening. I answered it, “Will Sharpe here, who is calling?”

  A heavily accented voice asked me, “You with Argus?”

  “Yes, what's this about?” I could hear the sound of waves crashing in the background, it was faint and overlaid with the much louder and more regular drumbeat of a boat's diesel engine.

  “Question for you.”

  “I'll try to answer it.”

  “That chemist, Carling. What are the police looking for about her?”

  “Three reasons, one is apparently she was making illegal drugs, for sale. Second, it wasn't just for sale; she was distributing them at parties. The last reason has to do with a series of what look like poisonings.”

  I could hear what sounded like Spanish as my answer was relayed to someone. There was a short discussion and then my
caller was back. “Poisoning?”

  “We think someone may have been poisoning students and the occasional faculty member with a potent neurotoxin.”

  “Neurotoxin?”

  “Is Dr. Carling there?”

  There was more discussion and then Isabelle, “Will,” she began, “they're debating whether to drop me in the ocean or ship me to Columbia.”

  “I'd say Columbia was the better option, wouldn't you? Anything I can do to help?”

  “What's this about a neurotoxin? They're scared by the idea that I was involved.”

  “You know there's been an epidemic of 'heart attacks' on campus?”

  “Yes. That's what I heard at your party.”

  “From what I have found, there's a shellfish toxin that will simulate one. It only takes a tiny dose of the toxin. You haven't been making that, have you?”

  “No, I want my users to live so they buy more of my product.”

  “That's what I would think. So you haven't heard anything about this, have you?”

  “Nothing I've been involved with. At one of my parties, when I was experimenting with pentathol analogs, one of the ESL professors muttered about some scheme. It involved cheating on the tests. That's all I know about it, well all I remember.”

  The phone made noises as though it was roughly taken from her, and the first voice returned to talk to me. “Is she up for a murder charge, for poisoning?”

  “No, it is nothing to do with her. I think you've got a fine drug chemist there, I'd keep her alive if I-.” There was a click. I made notes, including the time and called Morrison with them. Maybe he could get the cell records tracked. I never did find out whether it was the University of Atlantis or somewhere in Columbia that got a new professor.

  3

  Morrison called me back in the morning at a more civilized time than I'd called him. “That was Dr. Carling's phone. It was last tracked off Savannah harbor. Even if she isn't, it's almost definitely swimming with the fishes.”

  “Oh well. There was chance she would be making drugs directly for the company.”

  Morrison had a question for me, “Will, what do you know about the dark net?”

  “Dark matter, a little from my friends in astrophysics, what's a dark net?”