“Oh, fuck you,” Kate said, but she laughed as she held out her glass. “Anyway, I put together what I thought was a terrific proposal, even though he’d never asked for one. All the bells and whistles. I sent it to him. Never heard a word. A few months went by and I moved on. Then, out of the blue he called me. Said he was in San Francisco. Would I like to have dinner? It was nothing like I expected. I never got the account. I got him. We married three months later.”
Kate looked off into the distance.
“In the beginning, I don’t think it was love, on either of our parts. We just liked each other tremendously, from the start. I guess you could call it ‘like at first sight’. He was ready to settle down and so was I. Sometimes it happens that way. I was in the right place at the right time, I suppose. And in case you’re wondering, no, it didn’t hurt that he was filthy rich and handsome.” She looked back at Scarne. “I did love you, Jake. But it wasn’t the right time for me. The closer I got to the altar with you the more I knew it. You were too intense. I was the center of your universe and I knew it. I couldn’t take the pressure.”
“This isn’t about me, Kate,” Scarne said. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
She looked a bit startled.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Anyway, I grew to love Bryan, and I know he loved me. And trusted me. A wife knows. He would tell me things about the business. Sensitive things. Ask my advice. That’s why I’m sure they killed him.”
“Who?”
“Lenzer and the people working with him.”
Scarne tried to keep his face impassive. Kate thought the man who replaced her husband had him murdered. It was such an obvious, and unlikely, conclusion he was disappointed. Hollywood stuff. There were surely easier ways to arrange a corporate coup. Suddenly feeling depressed, he reached across to pick up the pack of cigarettes. As he lit up, he could tell from her expression that she knew he didn’t believe her.
“Why would Lenzer do that, Kate?”
“Because Bryan wanted to merge Lenzer’s laboratory into one of BVM’s larger divisions. It was part of a consolidation Bryan thought would create efficiencies of scale. He also wanted more oversight on the technologies involved. Some of the projects that Lenzer was working on involved genetic engineering, and there are legal ramifications.”
“You’re talking about ‘Frankenfood’.”
“Yes. Using genetically modified organisms to produce new strains of wheat, rice and other foodstuffs. Strains that are hardier and offer more nutrition per bushel or peck, whatever they call them.”
“What about animals?”
“Those, too. That’s more controversial, of course. People are nervous about eating genetically engineered salmon or other kinds of fish. Barnyard animals would be an even tougher sell.”
Scarne was still on the fence about genetically engineered food. The traditional manipulation of crops that had seemingly resulted in most tomatoes in the country tasting like cardboard was no great advance in his estimation. He avoided eating them except for a few weeks in the summer when he made a pilgrimage to small New Jersey farms to buy a basket of the still-delicious local variety. What a “Frankenmato” would taste like was depressing to contemplate.
“There seems to be more of these things all the time.”
“And there haven’t been any problems,” Kate said. “Yet. But no one can be sure there won’t be. Bryan wasn’t against the research. In fact, he went against others in the agricultural community who saw genetically altered crops as potentially threatening their businesses. He argued that as the largest producer of soybeans and other crops BVM had the most to lose, but that was not a reason to stop progress. Why not make a strain of wheat that was more nutritious, for example, it will save the lives of a million kids. But he didn’t want any mistakes to prompt lawsuits that would stop research dead in its tracks.”
“You seem to know a lot about this.”
“You mean, for a woman?”
“Don’t be an ass, Kate. You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Sorry. I’m teasing. Bryan was a great teacher and he gave me the run of all the facilities. I thought all of this stuff was fascinating. As you might imagine, there isn’t much to do in Boone City if you’re not a crop, so I spent a lot of time picking the brains of the scientists and researchers at BVM. I also did a lot of entertaining. Most of them were cooped up in their labs so much they enjoyed talking with someone not wearing a white coat. The only ones who were really reticent to talk, other than in generalities, were those who worked in Lenzer’s Black Hole.”
CHAPTER 12 - AGREEMENT
“Black Hole?”
“That’s what everyone calls it. A place where all sorts of information goes in, but very little comes out. Lenzer is very secretive about his lab. Claims that a lot of his research is unproven, theoretical, but potentially very valuable, so he doesn’t want BVM’s competitors stealing it.”
“That’s not so unusual, is it?”
“No. Corporate theft is endemic among high-tech companies. And, of course, Bryan was also worried about that, and the danger of the Chinese or other foreign governments hacking into BVM’s computers. But he was uncomfortable with Lenzer’s assurances that his research was secure. He also suspected that Lenzer was keeping things from him. He was worried about some of Lenzer’s people. Many of them came over with Roland from Europe. He’s an East German, by the way. Bryan wanted all of BVM’s research under one roof, so to speak, with uniform protocols and, perhaps, even some Government oversight. He used to say that one man’s altered strain is another man’s terrorist weapon.”
Scarne poured them both coffee. Kate still preferred her sugar in lumps, and she went through the same routine he remembered. After adding cream, she dropped two lumps in her cup, then dipped a third in the coffee and bit off some before also dropping it in. He took his black.
“What was Lenzer’s reaction?”
“At first he balked. Threw a fit. Bryan told him his position was secure at BVM. Offered him a big raise and another title. Lenzer still threatened to resign. But after a few days he apparently calmed down. Said he’d thought it over and understood Bryan’s position. Asked for a little time to smooth things over with his staff, reassure them and the like. Wondered if Bryan could wait to announce the consolidation at the annual corporate retreat.”
“The one in Hawaii.”
“Yes. Where Bryan was murdered. Now Lenzer has BVM. The people Bryan was counting on to handle the reorganization were phased out and Lenzer’s people run the show. Research was consolidated, but now Lenzer controls everything. The Black Hole is still the Black Hole, only now the research from other divisions goes in even more efficiently, and still nothing comes out. It was so neatly done.”
Scarne was far from convinced. Kate had told him nothing that couldn’t be explained by happenstance and bad luck.
“This is very thin, Kate. Corporate politics can be brutal, but they rarely lead to murder.” As he said it, Scarne knew that some of his recent cases put the lie to that statement. But those had involved massive fraud and mobsters, not soybeans. “What would be Lenzer’s motive? Pride? In my experience, money trumps pride. Even if he had resigned, I’m sure he could have landed an even bigger position somewhere. And taken a load of money from BVM with him in a non-compete agreement. And what about Bryan’s death? Surely with his expertise, Lenzer could have figured out something less dramatic. It makes no sense.”
Kate ground out her cigarette, her third.
“But don’t you see? Lenzer was buying time. That’s why he asked Bryan to announce the consolidation at the annual retreat. He had to arrange the murder fairly quickly. The skydiving event was probably a godsend to him and his people. They set up Campbell. Held his family hostage and then killed them anyway. It was perfect, I tell you, perfect.”
“Kate,” Scarne said gently, “where would Lenzer and ‘his people’ find such assassins. You can’t just Google them or go on Craigslist.”
“That’s what I’m paying you to find out,” she said angrily. “Are you going to help me out, or not. Or did you come here to see if you could get lucky after all these years. The vulnerable widow will spread her legs for her old boyfriend, the dashing private eye. I’ll fuck you if you want, if that will get you to help me.”
She was crying now, on the verge of hysteria. The change had been dramatic, and quick. The alcohol was partly to blame, Scarne assumed, but he also detected a rock-solid belief in what she said about Lenzer. He reached across and grabbed both her wrists.
“Stop it! You’re acting like a goddamn fool! You know I’ll help you. But if I start something, I’ll follow it to the end, no matter where it leads. If I find out that you’re wrong, you will have to accept it. Agreed?”
Her eyes bore into Scarne’s. A wave of desire almost overwhelmed him. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her. Take her into his arms and possess the voluptuous body that had once been his. He took a deep breath, let go of her wrists and sat back.
“Agreed?”
Kate picked up a napkin and dried her tears.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Jake.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“What will you do now?”
He explained his cover as a writer.
“It would be only natural for me to interview you, as Bryan’s widow. So there should be no suspicion that you are behind it, no matter how it works out. If Lenzer or anyone else from the company contacts you, say that at first you were reluctant to participate but then thought it over. A book about Bryan would be a fine legacy. Tell them you hope they will cooperate. Don’t be enthusiastic, or too negative. Portray me as something of a necessary nuisance.” Scarne’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
Scarne regretted the cheap shot. He saw the hurt in her eyes.
“I spoke to Winston Todd,” he continued, “and he’s on board. If contacted, he’ll say that he thinks a book is a fine idea, but he will keep a close eye on what I produce to protect your interests. It’s what any good lawyer would say. Don’t contact me. If I call you, it will be to talk about the book and I probably will be playacting. I’ll nag you to cooperate, that sort of thing. Maybe ask inane questions about Bryan or yourself. Just go along. If I want to see you, I’ll make it sound innocuous. Don’t talk to anyone else. Don’t trust anyone else. Don’t change your routine. If I have to tell you anything important, I’ll do it in person. Understood?”
“You sound as though you believe me.”
“Don’t think that way, Kate. Don’t get your hopes up. I believe you need closure, and I will provide it, no matter what form it takes. I think the only danger to you is legal, if it gets out that you unfairly suspected Lenzer of murder. But if I’m wrong, well, let’s just say it never hurts to be careful.”
“What will you do if I’m right?”
Scarne smiled coldly.
“Leave that up to me, Kate. There are many forms of closure.”
Kate Vallance looked carefully at her former lover, and wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. She felt a sudden chill. Jake was no longer the rather reckless but charming young man she had once been in love with. Now, beneath his casual demeanor and icy assurance, she sensed a ruthlessness that had not been there before. Had it been, she wondered if she would ever have had the courage to treat him so shabbily in the past. But in addition to a slight tremor of fear, she found herself aroused for the first time since Bryan’s death. She cleared her throat and drank some wine.
“What is your next step?”
“I’ll go to Hawaii and see what I can find out from the police. If I can’t prove that your husband’s death wasn’t a different kind of murder, there’s no sense in mucking about at BVM.”
“When will you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’ll get a hotel room near the airport.”
“There’s plenty of room here.”
Their eyes met.
“Thanks. The hotel will be fine.”
He saw the hurt again, or was it sadness.
CHAPTER 13 - BYE-BYE BADGER
Gloucestershire, Southwest England
Ronald Brandman believed he had the most thankless job in the United Kingdom. As Deputy Director of the Department for Environment Food & Rural Affairs, the British Government Agency that tries to balance the country’s need for a safe food supply and a population’s increasing devotion to protecting its wildlife, he never made anyone happy. His own wife, Dora, was hardly speaking to him over the badger cull he’d ordered and was now overseeing.
Brandman was on site in Gloucestershire, trying to make the slaughter run as smoothly and humanely as possible. Personally, he didn’t much care for the short, fat weasel-looking animals that were, he knew, probably a member of the skunk family, although there were some scientists who disputed that. What was not in dispute was the typical British citizen’s affection for the 40-pound mammal with the broad white stripe down its forehead. That stripe, or “badge,” he learned from his research, was the basis for the creature’s name. Many people considered the animal to be “cute.” Brandman wasn’t prepared to argue the point, but certainly when it came to choosing between killing a few thousand badgers, or risking Great Britain’s dairy industry, it was bye-bye badger.
But there is scarcely a wild animal or bird that does not have a British protection society of some sort in its corner. This, Brandman marveled, sometimes lead to interesting conflicts. For example, hedgehog rescue societies will not release hedgehogs into known badger territories, since badgers prey on hedgehogs. Indeed, they are the only known predators of hedgehogs. Brandman, no fan of hedgehogs, either, thought that was one of the badger’s few redeeming characteristics.
The badgers, of course, have their own protection societies looking out for their best interests. Many people in Great Britain have a strong emotional tie to the badger. Every English child has read The Wind in the Willows, in which a badger, in dressing gown and slippers, is a beloved character. Brandman also believed that since the little animals are tough, fierce defenders of their burrows and offspring, capable of fending off packs of dogs or much larger animals, many of his countrymen saw in the badger a reflection of Britain in its “Finest Hour.” But he knew that badger-loving predated the Nazis. While hunting badgers is common elsewhere in Europe, badger-baiting was banned in the United Kingdom in 1835. Since 1992 it is illegal to kill, injure or capture a badger.
In truth, for all their occasional fierceness, badgers are fairly innocuous nocturnal animals, rarely interacting with humans unless one of them breaks a leg in a badger burrow. When not eating hedgehogs, badgers subsist mainly on earthworms, insects and grubs; creatures that, as yet, are not on anyone’s protected list (although Brandman was fairly certain some soon would be). But occasionally a badger will attack a lamb or a calf and wind up biting both the target and the ewe or cow protecting the young. The bites often become infected. Rabies was once a problem. The worry now was bovine spongiform encephalopathy, the dreaded Mad Cow Disease, which had popped up in several local dairy herds.
Brandman couldn’t as yet prove definitively that the badgers were responsible for a recent outbreak, but they were the most likely suspects, since several had been seen among the infected cows, some of which had been bitten. But Brandman’s agency was taking no chances. The fact that none of the badgers autopsied so far had shown any signs of the disease was troubling, but he was sure the animal was responsible. For one thing, badgers had been responsible for an earlier outbreak of bovine tuberculosis. For another, the usual culprit in an outbreak of Mad Cow Disease among cows was their feed, which in the past had been adulterated with animal byproducts. In effect, the cows were cannibals, albeit three or four times removed. In addition to their normal diet of concentrated grains, soy and corn, the feed contained pellets made from beef byproducts, p
rimarily ground-up bone and brain matter. Some of those pellets, it was assumed, contained the prions of previously infected animals.
Which was why a small army of rifle-toting marksmen was roaming the woods surrounding the Gloucestershire towns of Cheltenham, Cirencester, Stroud, and Tewkesbury. Predictably, the hunters had engendered another small army of placard-wielding protesters from the Royal Badger Protection Society. The marksmen were tasked with culling the badger population by 5,000. The situation was fraught with danger. Since badgers primarily came out of their burrows after dark, the hunters were equipped with night-vision goggles and infra-red telescopic sights. For their part, the R.B.P.S. protesters sent teams in the woods dressed in bright yellow slickers carrying candles and flashlights to throw off the high-tech equipment.
“It looks like a science-fiction movie,” one reporter commented. “More protesters will probably be shot than badgers.”
Brandman, standing with some assistants outside a wooded area near Cheltenham, flinched at the first shot coming from somewhere in the forest. It would be just his luck to be hit by a stray bullet. A few minutes later, one of the hunters emerged from the tree line holding a dead badger by the tail. For a moment, Brandman felt a twinge of regret as the shooter walked past him. It was actually a handsome-looking animal, with a fine, shiny pelt. The shooter threw the carcass into the back of a pick-up truck, where it landed with a sickening thump. There was another shot. Then a volley. Within a few minutes shots rang out regularly.
“Sounds like bloody D-Day in there,” one of his assistants said.
An hour later, the truck was full of dead badgers. Blood dripped from the rear gate onto the road. There was a flash from a camera. A damn press photographer had somehow managed to get through security. Oh, bloody wonderful, Brandman thought. Wait until Dora sees that photo!
The truck’s driver closed the rear hatch, got in the cab and drove away. He’d deliver his gruesome cargo to the Crown’s vivisectionists prior to incineration. Another pickup pulled into the spot.
THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) Page 8