“Wasn’t it his heart?”
“It looks that way. The doctor hasn’t signed the death certificate yet, though. In cases of sudden death, it’s good procedure to rule out other possibilities.”
“That’s what they told me when they said there would be an autopsy. Isn’t that enough?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is that all you want to know from me?” Daniel started on the other thumb.
“Not quite. I suppose I’m looking for some idea of the kind of man your father was.”
“Oh, a great man. Just ask him,” Daniel shot back and then caught himself. “Oh, God, how could I say that?”
“You didn’t get along too well, is that it?”
“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights or something?” He stood up, clenching his bitten thumbs.
“No, you’re not a suspect. At the moment nobody is. We’re not even sure there’s anything to suspect anybody of. People do die suddenly.”
“And now you want to see how sorry I am.”
“And now I want to learn anything I can that will help me find out who might have deprived you of a father.”
Daniel sat down slowly. In the depths of the chair, he seemed smaller again. “I didn’t kill him. But if someone else did, he didn’t deprive me of a father. That happened a long time ago.”
Lundquist leaned forward. “Do you want to tell me about it, son?” he asked.
“There’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t something that happened. It was what didn’t happen. I didn’t turn out to be the literary genius my father expected any son of his to be, that’s all. He never knew me at all. I learned to keep out of his way and let him think what he wanted to think.”
“And your mother?”
“That’s really ancient history.”
“Is she living?”
“Oh, she’s alive, all right. She went back home, where she grew up. Took my sister with her. But I had to stay here.”
“Why was that?”
“I think she was afraid I’d turn out like him. She didn’t discuss it. She just left.”
“How old were you?”
“When she left? Fifteen. Just finishing my first year of high school.”
“Were you like your father at that age?”
“Dad would never talk much about his teens. Neither would she—she knew him then, though. I know what he thought of me at that age. I wasn’t a real guy, because I didn’t have lots of girls hanging around all the time. I wasn’t a real brain, because I didn’t read all the books he did. And he knew I’d never swim to Catalina Island. Can you believe it? He even did that.”
“Do you still hear from your mother?”
“When she thinks of it.”
“Now?”
“We talked on the phone. I told her I’d be all right. She didn’t offer to come.”
Lundquist heard the unshed tears. He changed the subject.
“Will you stay on here?”
“Where would I go?” Daniel’s surprise appeared genuine. “You mean the house? I guess so. I mean, I think it’s paid for. I don’t really know. I haven’t even started looking for papers and things. Dad’s lawyer called. I’m supposed to talk with him on Monday. I’ll stay in town, if that’s what you’re worried about. In spite of what my father thought, I’m learning a lot here. And I have a job. I can support myself.”
“You’re free to go anywhere,” Lundquist assured him. “If you have any reason to leave town, though, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave word, in case we need to reach you.” He paused. “There is one other thing you might be able to tell me.”
Daniel waited.
“I take it your parents were divorced.”
A nod.
“What kind of social life did your father have?”
“You mean women?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“He wasn’t gay, if that’s what you’re after.” Daniel bristled.
“Simmer down, son. It’s been what—six or seven years since your mother left? And you said something earlier that made me think your father was interested in lots of girls when he was younger.”
“He didn’t change.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in the young man’s voice. “That’s why my mother got out.” He looked Lundquist in the eye. “Are you just fishing, or do you know something?”
“No, I don’t know anything. But people do talk, don’t they?”
“And some bigmouth told you my father stole my girl.” His voice was dead now and he stared at the floor.
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s true. And then he dumped her for the next good-looking woman who came along. I don’t know how many he’s had since then. If you think I killed him for that, I can’t stop you. But I didn’t.” Slumped in the big chair, he didn’t move.
“Did he have any enemies that you know of?”
“I think he collected them. But I never heard of anyone who hated him that much.”
“Do you know if he left a will?”
“No. I guess the lawyer will tell me on Monday.”
Lundquist took the names and addresses of his mother, sister, and lawyer, thanked him, and left. The kid was hurting, no question about that. Rejected by both parents—and the business about the girl—no wonder. Grief? Maybe. But for what? Guilt? Possibly. Daniel had plenty of reason to hate his father, and they had eaten together that night. He could write up those facts into a pretty damning set of circumstances, but how could he write up his gut feeling about this boy? One hunch deserves another, he decided, and reported back to the station determined not to write anything.
On his desk was a photocopy of the Courier story about Professor Werner and his experiments. Good. It would have to wait, though. He was due in court in half an hour to testify on a burglary case so old that he’d need at least that long to knock the cobwebs off his memory. He slid the story into the Petris file. With luck, he might be able to see the professor before he left the laboratory. Come to think of it, that probably wouldn’t be too hard. Some of those publish-or-perish guys worked all hours.
He did put in a quick call to the prosecutor, telling him the preliminary investigation was inconclusive, but he’d keep him posted if anything turned up.
“Maybe when we get the results of those tests …”
“Sure, Fred, you let me know. I’ll tell Nakamura we’re working on it.”
All of us, Lundquist thought.
“You do that, Sam.”
10
Standing ajar, the laboratory door was covered with cartoons. Frank and Ernest predominated, in white lab coats and frazzled hair. Lundquist knocked without reading them—a test of willpower.
“She’s here, Daddy,” a girl’s voice called, and the door flew open.
“Oh, I was expecting someone else,” said a slender blond girl of about sixteen in T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. “Did you want my father?”
“I’m looking for Professor Werner.”
“That’s me.” Somewhat stooped, casually shaven, Werner wore no white coat. His work pants and bulging pockets suggested an electrician, missing only the tool belt. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
The girl draped herself around a chair and assumed a look of boredom. She wouldn’t miss a word.
“Detective Lieutenant Lundquist, Oliver Police. I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.”
“Come in. Jennifer, get your things together.”
She unwrapped herself from the chair in slow motion and began searching the scratched desks, tables, and chairs that gave the laboratory the appearance of a garage sale. Electronic gadgets covered many tables and wires dangled from others on shelves.
Werner led Lundquist past a screened cubicle and a little jungle of plastic and glass tubing to a dingy corner with two chairs, one a sturdy kitchen castoff, the other a secretarial model with wheels.
“Sit down, please, and tell me what’s up.”
&n
bsp; “That’s just it. I’m not sure anything is. I’ve heard something about the research you’re doing and need to understand it a little better. It may tie in to an investigation.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I hear it has something to do with Japanese fish.”
“You must have the wrong man. I use frogs.”
“Didn’t the newspaper article last year mention puffer fish?”
“Oh, that. Probably. But it’s pretty remote.”
“Suppose you tell me what you do.”
“Well, there are some local circuits in the nervous system that get very little attention. The little we know about them is pretty interesting, but they’re hard to study. That’s where the puffer fish would come in.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s one of the sources of a substance that blocks the transmission of nerve impulses. The stuff is called tetrodotoxin—TTX for short. It gives me a crack at the signals I want to record.”
“How can it help you, if it blocks the impulses?”
“That’s just it. The microcircuits I’m looking for activate other cells by graded electrical signals, not by impulses. So you see, blocking the impulses of the long cells unclutters things and leaves me with just what I want.”
“I’ll take your word for it. You feed the TTX to the frog?”
“No, I use it on the olfactory bulb. The microcircuits have been studied in the eye with TTX. Mudpuppy retina, usually. I’m following up on that work in another sensory system. The principle ought to be the same. I compare the electrical responses to odor with and without the TTX. We know quite a lot about the frog’s sense of smell and it’s fairly easy to get well-controlled stimuli. Here, have a whiff.”
He reached up, unhooked a bottle from the tangle of tubing, and removed the stopper.
Lundquist didn’t need to sniff. The powerful odor of rotting flesh reached him quickly.
“Daddy!”
“Sorry, Jennifer. That was putrescine. Here’s amyl acetate.”
A sharp, penetrating chemical smell was a clear contrast.
“If I could afford it, I’d have a tank of compressed air here, but I make do with an electric aquarium pump. Hang on while I turn on the exhaust to get rid of the stink. A charcoal filter in the tubing does it for the frog.”
Breathing comfortably again, Lundquist decided it was time to cut the lecture short.
“I gather the TTX is poisonous.”
“Sure is. Blocking those nerve impulses may be good for my experimental purposes, but it’s no way to go on living.”
“Do you prepare it yourself from the puffer fish?”
“No, it’s commercially available now.”
“Where do you get it?”
“Swann’s Biological Supply, in Chicago.”
“Can you show me what it looks like?”
“Sure.” Crossing the room, Werner reached for a wire key ring hanging from a nail on a wooden cabinet. Dangling from the ring was a Hills Brothers coffee can. “An old student got tired of my losing my keys,” he said over his shoulder. Unlocking the cabinet, he took out a slip of paper and bent to a padlock on a small refrigerator.
High heels clicked on the smooth lab floor.
“Jennifer, are you ready?”
Startled, Lundquist recognized Evelyn Wade in an off-the-shoulder job and fragile-looking sandals that showed her slender feet and ankles to best advantage. When he stood to greet her, he saw Sam behind her in an ordinary suit, looking rumpled by comparison.
“I’ll be right there, Mrs. Wade. I just have to find my history book. It was right here a minute ago.” Jennifer put her book bag down and disappeared into a back room.
“Hurry, please. We’re running late as it is. I don’t like to leave the children alone, but I had to pick Mr. Wade up at work tonight. His Mercedes is in the shop. Carl, how are you?” The big police lieutenant was invisible to her.
“Surviving.” Werner smiled warmly at her, a small bottle in his hand.
“You driven men. Just like Sam. He was working until seven tonight, and he’ll hardly have time to bathe and change for the Bryans’ dinner. Frank Bryan has decided to endorse Sam for the nomination, you know. It’s just a matter of timing.”
Sam nodded quietly at Lundquist. “Fred.”
“Sam.”
“Making any progress?”
“Too soon to tell. Professor Werner is helping me on some background.”
“Thanks. I’m afraid I’m in for a long evening. I appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
Jennifer emerged and they left.
There were worse things than being divorced, Fred reflected. Sam didn’t give the impression of an unhappy man, though. He looked at Evelyn the way most men look at women they haven’t married yet. She didn’t appeal to Fred. He’d like at least to be in charge of himself, he thought, if not of the whole family.
The door opened again and a curly head poked around it.
“Hi, Mr. Werner. Oh, I’m sorry. You’re busy.”
“It’s all right, Andrew, but Jennifer just left on a babysitting job.”
“I was really hoping to see you.” He came in. “Ever since Jennifer brought me to the lab last night, I’ve been wondering if I could help you out sometime and learn more about what you’re doing. You wouldn’t have to pay me.”
Werner’s slow smile broke through. “I like the price. Sure, Andrew, I’d be glad to have you. When can you start?”
“Any time. Now, if you want.”
“Fine. You could start by unpacking that box. I think everything in it belongs in that cabinet. You’ll see how it’s organized. Oh, and put this combination on the top shelf.” He handed him the combination and the keys. “Hang the keys on that nail when you’re done, would you?”
He showed Lundquist the small brown bottle, clearly labeled TTX—POISON.
“Here’s the tetrodotoxin. It comes as a powder. I dissolve it only as I need it.”
“How much would it take to kill a man?”
“About what you could put on a pinhead, maybe a little more.”
Lundquist watched the boy stocking the supply cabinet.
“How many people have access to this laboratory?”
“We’re pretty open. I’ve had very little pilferage—mostly the ballpoint pen variety. The M.D.s have more drug problems, and if you’re looking for local sources of poison, I think you’d do better at Oliver Hardware or the Garden Center. That’s why I lock the TTX, though. I’d hate to have someone come looking for a high and wind up dead.”
“Is the laboratory door locked when no one is working here?”
“I lock up when I go home at night. Not when I’m in and out.”
“Who might come in?”
“Any of my departmental colleagues. Jennifer shows up after school or in the evening, sometimes with a friend, like Andrew here. Students, of course. And anybody looking for one of us.” He returned the TTX to the safe. “Don’t you think it’s about time you told me what you’re after?”
“You’ve been very patient, Dr. Werner. If you could just answer one more question first.”
“What is it?”
“To your knowledge, has anyone on this list ever visited the laboratory?” He handed him the orchestra personnel list prepared by Yoichi Nakamura.
Werner perched on the edge of a table and studied the list.
“I don’t know a lot of these folks. Some may be students. The Wades you just saw here—Jennifer babysits for them on a fairly regular basis. Harold Williams brought the air pump in person and helped me fix it up. That’s all I can recognize, but now I know why you’re here. It’s about George Petris, isn’t it? Jennifer was spouting some nonsense about poison.”
“Afraid so. Only it’s a little more specific than that, if there’s anything to it at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s a possibility that it was the puffer fish poison. We have to che
ck. This is a list of people who were with Petris the night he died.”
Werner sat with his head bowed.
“It’s possible,” he said finally. “I don’t keep close tabs on the TTX. I’d never miss the little it would take to kill a man. Anyone could have taken some. George was a difficult man, but I’ll have a hard time forgiving myself if my carelessness led to his death.”
“Let’s not borrow trouble. So far we have no medical confirmation.”
Werner couldn’t look at him.
“That still won’t mean it didn’t happen. I’ll change the lock tomorrow and keep the lab locked from now on when I so much as go across the hall.” His shoulders stooped even more.
“I think that’s wise. And if you think of anyone else who had access to the poison, I’d appreciate a call.”
“I suppose Daniel did.” The words came slowly, unwillingly.
“His son?”
“Yes, a couple of times recently he’s stopped by with Jennifer after an egg roll. She eats those things like candy.”
A strange sound came from behind the cabinet door.
“You all right, Andrew?” Werner asked.
“Uh, sure, I’m fine.” Slow in coming, the reply was oddly muffled.
“One last question,” Lundquist said. “Do you know a young woman named Lisa Wallston, or her family?”
“Never heard of them.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
On the way home, he mulled it over. The lab had been wide open. Any disgruntled student or faculty member—he didn’t doubt that there had been both—would have had easy access to the TTX. Williams and Wade were hardly a surprise. In a town the size of Oliver the greater surprise would have been if no one from an orchestra of fifty or sixty people had been among Werner’s acquaintances. Williams had, after all, told him about Werner. Sam must have read the article, too, though without the particular interest it would have had for an aquarium expert.
Then there was Daniel. He’d have to keep an open mind about Daniel. And about Werner. Most forthcoming with information that he must have known was leading to questions about the poison. Jennifer he could surely dismiss. What possible reason could she have to do in an English professor? On the other hand, if the stories he’d been hearing about Petris were true, and Daniel had confirmed them at least in part, then even Jennifer could have been entangled in his life. She had dated his son, if you could call egg rolls dates. And Werner might not be so unworldly as all that. He, too, could be concerned about his daughter, once she became even remotely involved with the Petris men. She seemed young for Daniel.
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