“Will chemotherapy be like it was before?” Jennifer asked.
“No. It will involve at least three powerful and unpleasant medications.”
“If that’s what it takes,” Mickey said grasping his wife’s hands.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Denise Richard, Henri’s assistant, struggled with her heavy leather briefcase as she pulled it and her umbrella out of her car.
Will this Quebec rain ever stop? She thought.
She rushed through the parking lot avoiding the puddles, then entered the ivy-covered molecular biology building and took the elevator to Henri Charles’s office. She tapped on his door and entered.
“Denise, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
She hung her raincoat on the peg by the door and stood the umbrella in the corner. “Two months to be exact, sir. That’s when you sent me on this fruitless journey.”
“Fruitless?”
“I don’t know what you expected, Henri. The BCG inventory showed only five vials missing and I can account for those by accidental breakage.”
“I still can’t think of a reason why someone would kill Emile for this organism. It makes no sense.”
“Maybe it was a mistake. Many criminals just aren’t that smart.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“We had unwanted bacterial growth and had to discard several lots.”
“Any sign of viral contamination?”
“Nothing in any of the research studies on site. Elsewhere, who knows? We’ve received no reports of anything that would suggest a problem with the BCG lots we shipped.”
“We supply BCG for research labs and some are in clinical trials. That’s why we emphasize quality control.” Henri paused for a moment in thought. “I’m a compulsive personality, I admit it, but I don’t think we can just let this go.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We have the DNA profiles on our BCG strains, don’t we?”
“Yes, sir. We sample the original material and every group of modified organisms.”
“We can’t do DNA analysis on everything we have, but let’s sample each lot and compare it to its original DNA profile.”
“That will make my last project simple by comparison, and it will be ten times as costly.”
“I know, Denise but we can’t afford mistakes.”
“This feels like the good-ole days, Matt,” Shelly Kahn said as they drove to Lisa’s apartment.
“The bad-ole days, you mean. Did your CSI people find anything?”
“The term CSI evokes TV images of a large modern lab occupying an entire floor. Our guys use little more than a closet, but they get the job done.”
After they stepped between the diagonal yellow crime scene tape on Lisa’s door, Matt stood in the center of the room letting his eyes wander, trying to absorb the aura of murder like a psychic.
Shelly looked around the room. “The crime scene technicians said the place was clean, no prints, no obvious sources for DNA. He picked the lock, got in, killed her, and left without anyone hearing a thing. It looks professional.”
“I agree. The theft and the tossing of the apartment were his attempts to hide his true purpose, to kill Lisa Gomez.”
“Why?” asked Shelly.
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Matt saw a large purse-tote bag hanging on the doorknob. “He left her purse.”
“Her wallet’s gone and who knows what else.”
“May I?”
“Sure.”
Matt walked to the kitchen table and dumped the entire contents that included makeup, cell phone, address book, a large ring of keys with a grey rabbit’s foot, and an assortment of miscellany including a pack of condoms from the dark ages.
“Well, that doesn’t help,” he said.
“You said your girlfriend worked with Lisa?”
“Terri does research at UC and San Francisco General. Lisa worked at PAT and they collaborated on a clinical trial of a promising anti-cancer vaccine. Terri liked Lisa. She’s pissed.”
“I’ll need to talk with her and every one of Lisa’s associates. Do you know anything about her personal history? Was she seeing anyone?”
“You’ll have to ask Terri, but I don’t think so. She was trying to set Lisa up with someone.”
“Are you your girlfriend’s surrogate, or is she going to stick her nose into this?”
“Terri is smart, resourceful and determined. You’ll see that when you meet her. If she puts her mind to this, I don’t plan to stand in her way.”
“Matt, we don’t know what’s going on here. They’ve killed once and won’t hesitate to do so again. Terri better leave this to the professionals.”
Later that afternoon, the desk sergeant knocked on Shelly’s door. “They’re here, detective.”
Shelly had been dreading this moment—talking with Lisa Gomez’s parents. She lifted a corner of the Venetian blinds covering her window into the corridor and saw them. The mother was a thin middle age African-American woman in a long black dress. Lisa’s father was a few inches taller with bronze skin and dark thick hair.
Shelly opened her door and approached them. “I’m detective Kahn. I’m so sorry for your loss. Please come into my office.”
The man extended his hand. “I’m Luis Gomez and this is my wife, Christina.”
Shelly nodded, and then sat them in her office.
“How could this happen to my Lisa,” Christina asked with tears running down her cheeks. “She was a good girl. She never got in trouble. She never hurt no one.”
“Who did this?” Luis asked.
“We don’t know, but we’re working on it.”
“This ain’t like the police ‘working on it’ in Harlem,” he said.
“No,” said Shelly, “murder is serious to the Berkeley Police. I need to ask you a few questions. Some will sound odd, so forgive me.”
Luis nodded.
“Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt your daughter?”
“She was a quiet, studious girl,” Christina said. “No drugs, no drinking, and she dated only once in a while.”
“Her work was her life,” Luis said.
“How often did you talk with her?”
“She called every Sunday—she never failed,” Christina said. “She was a good daughter.”
“Did she talk about work or anybody she met?”
“She said she couldn’t talk much about work,” Luis said. “Everything there was secret. Lisa didn’t like it, but that was part of her job. She talked about Mandy Cohen. She loved her and Dr. Powell too. She wanted to just be like Dr. Powell. She even talked about going to medical school.”
“Don’t misinterpret this next question,” Shelly said. “If someone confronted Lisa, would she back off or would she be assertive.”
Luis looked at Christina. “Lisa was a quiet girl who never looked for trouble, but she was half Cubano.” Luis took a deep breath filling his lungs and expanding his chest with pride. “And Cubanos, we don’t take no shit, especially when we know we’re right.”
“Mrs. Gomez?” Shelly asked.
Christina shook her head, no and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“You tell us how we can help,” Luis said. “When you catch the guy, give me ten minutes alone with him...”
“If you think of anything,” Shelly said, handing them copies of her cards, “call me anytime.”
“Do you have children?” Christina asked.
“Two, a girl eight and a boy ten.”
“Then you know,” Christina said. “They grow up so quick and then they’re gone.”
“I know,” Shelly said, feeling tears fill her eyes.
“You’re not supposed to bury your kids,” Luis said. “They should bury you.”
Terri and Matt had finished dinner and sat in front of the TV watching the News Hour on PBS. Abbie was in her room doing homework.
“What’s Shell
y like?” Terri asked.
“What do you mean?” he said, with a slight smile.
“Take it as a compliment, Matt. I’m human and jealous.”
“That’s one of the many reasons I’m crazy about you,” he said, reaching for her hand, “you don’t play games. Shelly’s in her early thirties, but could pass for ten years younger. Her youthful appearance made her Berkeley’s best undercover agent until she busted a major dope dealer and had her picture all over the papers. She comes from a long line of police officers, but went into nursing until her brother was killed on the job.”
“You know a lot about her, and I can tell that you like her.”
“I do. She’s a great cop, smart, dedicated, and relentless. Does that sound familiar?”
“Relentless? That’s how you think of me?”
“You tell me. And, by the way, she’s married, happily married with two kids.”
Terri smiled then squeezed Matt’s hand. “I’d like to meet her.”
“You will. She’s asked to talk with you about Lisa.”
Matt grasped Terri’s hands, all serious now. “We don’t think that Lisa’s murder was the result of robbery.”
“I thought...”
“It looked that way. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it look like a burglary, but we’re convinced that Lisa’s death was the act of a professional killer.”
“A hit man? That’s unbelievable. Who would want to kill Lisa? Why?”
“That’s our problem. If we knew why, we’d know who.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“You may have your jealousies, but I have my problems too, so forgive me for being a little overprotective.”
“You care,” Terri said pulling him closer.
He pushed her back. “Cooperate with Shelly and the investigation, but don’t go off on your own. He’s killed once. He’ll kill again.”
“I’m not exactly a shrinking violet, as you recall from when we first met.”
“All I ask is that you think about Abbie, and me too, before you do anything stupid.”
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or pop you for that paternalism.”
“I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the week following Lisa Gomez’s death, Terri relished her moments with Matt and Abbie. At work, she had developed a new appreciation for the little things that served as a distraction from her friend’s tragedy.
So young—so vital—so enthusiastic, and now, so dead.
Her eyes welled each time she thought of Lisa.
When Terri’s phone rang at seven in the morning, she extended a spastic arm, grasped for it, and finally brought it to her ear.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “What time is it?”
“Do you need to know the day, month, and year too?” Matt asked.
“I don’t do funny in the morning, at least not until I have my first cup of coffee.”
“Do you do lunch?”
“I do, but not today. I’m meeting with your girlfriend Shelly Kahn this morning, then with Evan Klack at PAT this afternoon.”
“The PAT meeting, that’s science, right? You’re not doing a V.I. Warshawski on me, are you?”
“You want me to lie?”
“I want you to be safe.”
“I’m meeting with Evan to observe the late effects on some BCG treated mice. It may directly relate to our clinical trials. If I learn something about Lisa’s murder, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Me neither. I’ll see you tonight.”
Terri drove to her meeting with the moon roof of her BMW open and the bright sun pouring in. When she arrived at the Berkeley Police headquarters on Martin King Jr. Way, she walked up to the desk sergeant. “Detective Kahn. She’s expecting me.”
“Your name, miss?”
“Teresa Powell.”
He picked up his phone, turned his back to Terri, then said, “Up the stairs, second door on the left.”
As Terri climbed the steps, she noted the cracked paint, torn ceiling tiles, and smelled a combination of Lysol and unwashed bodies.
Terri knocked on the door bearing Shelly’s name, then entered.
Shelly rose from her desk and came around to shake Terri’s hand. “Matt was right. You’re a knockout.”
“He’s not so bad looking himself.”
“Tell me about it. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d like to jump his bones.”
“He likes you, detective. I can tell. It made me jealous.”
“It’s Shelly. Can I call you Terri?”
Terri nodded. “Do you have anything on Lisa’s murder?”
“All we know is that this wasn’t a random burglary. We need motive. Once we have it, we can redirect our investigation. That’s why you’re here.”
“I’ll do anything I can.”
“Tell me everything you know about Lisa, your recent contacts, and especially if anything was bothering her.”
Terri talked about her meetings with Lisa, their working relationship, and Lisa’s misgivings about the PAT/Kendall nexus. “I never detected that she felt threatened by anyone at PAT. She just didn’t like the high security and restraints on her communications with the outside world. Security is part of all research facilities, especially so at companies like PAT and Kendall.”
“Did she have any confrontations with anybody?”
“Just the security people at PAT. Overbearing was the word she used.”
“We’ll look into the security situation at PAT for sure,” said Shelly.
Shelly’s phone rang. She listened then said, “I must take this.”
Terri stood. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“No, it’s okay. He’s just down the hall. Give me a moment.”
Shelly stared at Lisa’s purse, then at Terri.
It belongs in evidence, she thought. Oh, what the hell…
After Shelly left, Terri tracked the path of Shelly’s eyes to Lisa’s purse sitting on the corner table. She looked around the room, stood, and walked over. Terri peered into the purse. Lisa’s rabbit’s foot keychain was in plain view. She hesitated a moment, then reached in, pulled the flash drive out of the rabbit’s foot, and placed it in her pocket.
What am I doing? Am I crazy?
When Shelly returned, they talked for another twenty minutes. Terri felt uncomfortable and had a strong desire to leave. “Are you okay?” asked Shelly. “You look nervous.”
Terri squirmed in her chair, keeping her legs crossed.
“Do you need the lady’s room?”
“As a matter of fact...Will there be anything else?”
“No. You can go. If anything comes to mind, or if you hear anything, let me or Matt know.”
Shelly stood, shook Terri’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”
Terri held Shelly’s hand a moment too long. She looked into Shelly’s eyes. “Matt won’t talk about his partner, Ronnie. Is there anything I should know?”
As Shelly stared at Terri, her eyes softened. “Yes, but it shouldn’t come from me.”
Terri released Shelly’s hand and looked away.
“Matt’s a man, an especially capable and passionate one. I’m sure you know all this.”
Terri smiled.
“My dad and my brothers were cops. I work with cops. Maybe it’s evolutionary that testosterone makes men think they can control the world, and when they discover they can’t, it’s hard to take. For Matt, losing Ronnie was his greatest fear come true. He wasn’t just his partner, he was a friend, a friend with a wife and two beautiful boys. He blames himself for letting Ronnie down, for letting himself down.”
Shelly took Terri’s hands and stared into her eyes. “Matt needs to talk about it. He’s carried the pain and the guilt too long. Shit happens everywhere, more so in police work, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”
When Terri arrived
at PAT, the security guard said, “Good to see you again, Dr. Powell. Are you here for Dr. Klack?”
“Yes, thank you.”
After he placed the visitor card on her dashboard, she drove to Evan’s lab.
When she entered, Evan said, “You’re just in time. I have the camera all set up so we can record everything.”
When they stepped into the vivarium, Terri wrinkled her nose. The smell of mouse and mouse excrement was overwhelming.
“I’m sorry. The ventilation system is on the fritz. It should be up in about an hour.”
They walked through the room. It had hundreds of steel cages on each wall with each bearing the technical information about each animal. When they reached the far right corner, Evan picked up two cages and indicated to Terri that she bring two more. They carried them into an adjacent room with a large white table, a camera, and lights.
“These are mature BCG-treated mice probably in the last six months of their normal life expectancy. About 5 percent of the treated mice are showing the problems Lisa and I noted before.”
Evan arranged the cages from left to right. “The ones to your left show minimal abnormalities, while the ones on the right are near death.”
Terri looked into the first cage with frightened or agitated mice. The mice in the next cage were in full panic with bulging eyes.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” Terri said.
The next cage showed mice mostly asleep, but Terri could tell that they’d lost a significant amount of weight and showed spotty hair growth. The last cage showed mice near death with glassy eyes, uncontrolled jerking of their extremities, and marked wasting.
“This is horrible,” Terri said. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Evan. “Even in a genetically pure group of mice, we might be seeing activity related to aberrant genes. Maybe they picked something up from the environment or their food.”
“Or, maybe from the treatment with BCG,” Terri said.
“I doubt that. If it was the BCG, I’d expect most, if not all, mice to show these problems.”
“What does David Birch say? He has more experience with lab mice then all of us combined.”
A Simple Cure Page 11