In that case, I have a few questions.
Chauncy folded his napkin into a neat square, taking his sweet time, then laid it down beside a plate of half-eaten stewed tomatoes. Sorry, but Im running late as it is. Well have to have our chat some other time. He stood, shrugged into his jacket.
I am afraid that wont be possible, Dr. Chauncy.
Chauncy turned and raked him with arrogant eyes. If this is about the killings, naturally I know nothing. If this is about the experimental field, then you are out of your jurisdiction, Officer, you and your, ah,sidekick. He cast a pointed glace at Corrie. Now, if youll excuse me?
When Pendergast spoke again, his voice was even milder. I determine whether or not questioning a person is relevant.
Chauncy reached into his suit coat, pulled out a wallet, took out a business card. He handed it to Pendergast. You know the rules. I decline to be interviewed except in the presence of my attorney.
Pendergast smiled. Of course. And your attorneys name?
Chauncy hesitated.
Until you give me the name and number of your attorney, Dr. Chauncy, I must deal with you directly. As you said, the rules.
Look, Mr. Pendergast Ridder began.
Chauncy snatched the card out of Pendergasts hand and scribbled something on the back. He thrust it back. For your information, Agent Pendergast, I am engaged in a confidential business of great importance to the Agricultural Extension at KSU, to Kansas, and indeed to the hungry people of the world. I will not be sucked into a local investigation of a couple of sordid murders. He turned. Gentlemen, I thank you for lunch. He managed a brief pause before the word lunch that made it sound like an insult instead of a compliment.
But even before Chauncy had finished speaking, Pendergast had removed a cell phone from his suit and was dialing a number. This unexpected action caused everyone to pause. Even Chauncy hesitated.
Mr. Blutter? said Pendergast as he glanced at Chauncys card. This is Special Agent Pendergast of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Chauncy frowned sharply.
I am here in Medicine Creek with a client of yours, Dr. Stanton Chauncy. I would like to ask him a few questions about the killings that have occurred here. There are two ways we could proceed. One is voluntarily, right now; and the other is later, through a subpoena, issued by a judge for cause, in a public proceeding. Dr. Chauncy seeks your advice.
He held the phone out toward Chauncy. The man grabbed it. Blutter?
There was a long silence and then Chauncy exploded into the telephone. Blutter, this is pure harassment. Its going to drag KSU through the mud. I cant have any negative publicity. Were at a delicate moment here
There was another, longer silence. Chauncys face darkened. Blutter, damn it, Im not going to talk to this cop
Another pause. Then Christ! He hung up and almost threw the phone back at Pendergast. All right, he muttered. You have ten minutes.
Thank you, but Ill take as long as I need. My very capablesidekick will take notes. Miss Swanson?
What? Yeah, sure. Corrie was alarmed; shed left her notebook in the car. But almost as if by magic a notebook and pen appeared in Pendergasts hand. She took them and flipped the pages, trying to look as if this was something she did every day.
Ridder spoke again. Hazen? Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?
Hazen looked back at Ridder, his face an unreadable mask. And what would you have me do?
Stop this farce. This FBI agent is going to ruin everything.
Hazens reply was quiet. You know very well I cant do that. He turned to Pendergast and said nothing, his face neutral. But Corrie knew Hazen well enough to read the look in his eyes.
Pendergast spoke cheerfully to Chauncy. Tell me, Dr. Chauncy, when did Medicine Creek first come up as a suggested host for the experimental field?
A computer analysis produced the name last year. In April. Chauncy spoke in a curt monotone.
When did you first visit the town?
June.
Did you make contact with anyone here at that time?
No. It was just a preliminary trip.
Then what, exactly, did you do?
I fail to see
Pendergast held up the phone and said cheerfully, Just hit redial.
Chauncy made a huge effort to control himself. I had lunch at Maisies Diner.
And?
And what? It was the most revolting lunch it has been my misfortune to consume.
And after?
Diarrhea, of course.
Before she could stop herself, Corrie burst out laughing. Ridder and Hazen looked at each other, not knowing how to respond. Chauncys face broke into a mirthless smile; he seemed to be recovering his equilibrium, if not his arrogance. Then he continued. I inspected a field owned by Buswell Agricon, the agricultural combine, who are our partners in this venture.
Where?
Down by the creek.
Where exactly by the creek?
Township five, Range one, the northwest quadrant of Section nine.
What was involved in the inspection of these fields? How did you proceed?
On foot. I took samples of earth, corn, other samples.
Such as?
Water. Botanicals. Insects. Scientific samples. Things you wouldnt understand, Mr. Pendergast.
What day, exactly, was this?
Id have to check my diary.
Pendergast folded his arms, waiting.
Scowling, Dr. Chauncy fished into his pocket, pulled out a diary, flipped the pages. June eleven.
And did you see anything unusual? Out of the ordinary?
As Ive said, I saw nothing.
Tell me, whatexactly is this experimental field going to experiment with?
Chauncy drew himself up. Im sorry, Mr. Pendergast, but these scientific concepts are rather too complex for a non-scientist to comprehend. Its pointless to answer questions along that line.
Pendergast smiled in a self-deprecating way. Well, then, perhaps you could simplify it in a way that any idiot could understand.
I suppose I could try. Were trying to develop a strain of corn for gasohol productionyou know what that is?
Pendergast nodded.
We need a strain that has high starch content and that produces a natural pesticide which eliminates the need for external pesticides. Theres the idiot explanation, Mr. Pendergast. I trust you followed it. He gave a quick smile.
Pendergast leaned forward slightly, his face assuming a blank expression. He reminded Corrie of a cat about to pounce. Dr. Chauncy, how do you plan to prevent cross-pollination? If your genetic strain escaped into this sea of corn around us, there would be no way of putting the genie back into the bottle, so to speak.
Chauncy looked disconcerted. Well create a buffer zone. Well plough a hundred-foot strip around the field and plant alfalfa.
And yet, Addison and Markham, in a paper published in the April 2002 issue of theJournal of Biomechanics, stated that cross-pollination by genetically modified corn had been shown to extend several miles beyond the target field. Surely you recall that paper, Dr. Chauncy? Addison and Markham, April
Im familiar with the paper! Chauncy said.
And then you must also know of the work of Engels, Traumerai, and Green, which demonstrated that the 3PJ-Strain 5 genetically modified plant produced a pollen toxic to monarch butterflies. Are you by chance working with the 3PJ strain?
Yes, but monarch mortality only occurs in concentrations greater than sixty pollen grains per square millimeter
Which is present within at least three hundred yards downwind of the field, according to a University of Chicago study published in theProceedings of the Third Annual
I know the bloody paper! You dont have to cite it to me!
Well, then, Dr. Chauncy. I ask again: how are you going to prevent cross-pollination, and how are you going to protect the local butterfly population?
Thats what this whole experiment is all about, Pendergast! Th
ose are thevery problems were trying to solve
So Medicine Creek will be, in effect, a guinea pig location to test possible solutions to these problems?
For a moment, Chauncy spluttered, unable to reply. He looked apoplectic. Corrie could see he had lost it completely. Why should I have to justify my important work to aaa fuckingcop !
There was a silence as Chauncy breathed heavily, the sweat pouring off his brow and creeping through the underarms of his suit jacket.
Pendergast turned to Corrie. I think were done here. Did you get it all down, Miss Swanson?
Everything, sir, right down to the fucking cop. She slapped the notebook shut with a satisfying crack and jammed the pen into one of her leather pockets, then gave the group at the table a broad smile. Pendergast nodded, turned to go.
Pendergast, Ridder said. His voice was low and very, very cold. Despite herself, Corrie shivered when she saw the look on his face.
Pendergast stopped. Yes?
Ridders eyes glittered like mica. Youve disturbed our lunch and agitated our guest. Isnt there something you ought to say to him before you leave?
I dont believe so. Pendergast seemed to consider a moment. Unless, perhaps, it is a quotation from Einstein: The only thing more dangerous than ignorance is arrogance. I would suggest to Dr. Chauncy that in combination, the two qualities are even more alarming.
Corrie followed Pendergast out through the darkened bowling alley and into the strong sun. As they climbed into the car she couldnt hold herself back any longer and laughed.
Pendergast looked at her. Amused?
Why not? You really ripped Chauncy a new one.
That is the second time Ive heard that curious expression. What does it mean?
It means, well, you made him look like the fool he is.
If only it were so. Chauncy and his ilk are anything but fools and are, as such, decidedly more dangerous.
Thirty
It was nine oclock when Corrie got back to Wyndham Parke Estates, the mobile home community just behind the bowling alley where she shared a double-wide with her mother. After leaving Pendergast she had driven to her secret reading place on the powerline road to kill time, but as soon as the sun had set she got spooked and decided to head on home.
She carefully opened the shabby front door and closed it behind her with a silence born of years of practice. By now, her mother should be out like a light. It was a Sunday, her mothers day off, and she would have started hitting the bottle as soon as she was up. Still, silence was always the wisest policy.
She crept into the kitchen. The trailer had no AC and was stiflingly hot. She eased open a cupboard, took out a box of Capn Crunch and a bowl, and carefully filled it. She poured in milk from the refrigerator and began to eat. God, she was famished. A second bowl disappeared before she felt sated.
She carefully washed the bowl, dried it, put it away, put away the cereal and the milk, and erased any sign of her presence. If her mother was really out cold, she might even be able to play an hour or two of the latestResident Evil on her Nintendo before going to bed. She took off her shoes and began to sneak down the hall.
Corrie?
She froze. What was her mother doing awake? The raspy voice that issued from the bedroom boded ill.
Corrie, I know its you.
Yes, Mom? She tried to make her voice as casual as possible.
There was a silence. God, it was hot in the trailer. She wondered how her mother could stand being in here all day, baking, sweating, drinking. It made her sad.
I think you have something to tell me, young lady, came the muffled voice.
Like what? Corrie tried to sound cheerful.
Like your new job.
Corries heart fell. What about it?
Oh, I dont know, its just that Im your mother, and I think that gives me a right to knowwhats going on in your life.
Corrie cleared her throat. Can we talk about it in the morning?
We can talk about it right now. Youve got some explaining to do.
Corrie wondered where to start. No matter how she put it, it was going to sound strange.
Im working for the FBI agent whos investigating the killings.
So I heard.
So you already know about it.
There was a snort. How much is he paying you?
Thats not your business, Mom.
Really? Not my business? You think you can just live here for free, eat here for free, come and go as you please? Is that what you think?
Most kids live with their parents for free.
Not when they have a good paying job. Theycontribute.
Corrie sighed. Ill leave some money on the kitchen table. How much did it cost to buy Capn Crunch? She couldnt even remember the last time her mother had gone shopping or cooked dinner, except to bring home snacks from the bowling alley where she was a cocktail waitress during the week. Snacks and those miniature bottles of vodka. Thats where the money went, all those vodka minis.
Im still waiting for an answer to my question, young lady. Whats he paying you? It cant be much.
Isaid, its none of your business.
You dont have any skills, what can you possibly be worth? You cant type, you dont know how to write a business letterI cant imagine why hed hire you, frankly.
Corrie replied hotly, Hethinks Im worth it. And for your information hes paying me seven fifty a week. Even as she said it, she knew she was making a big mistake.
There was a short silence.
Did you say sevenhundred and fifty dollarsa week?
Thats right.
And just what are youdoing to earn that money?
Nothing. God, why did she let her mother goad her into the admission?
Nothing?Nothing?
Im his assistant. I take notes. I drive him around.
What do you know about being an assistant? Who is this man? How old is he? Youdrive himaround? Inyour car? For seven hundred and fifty dollars aweek?
Yes.
Do you have acontract?
Well, no.
No contract? Dont you knowanything? Corrie, why do you think hes paying you seven fifty? Or do you already know whyis that what its come to? No wonder youve been lying to me, hiding from me this little job of yours. I can just imagine what kind ofjob you do for him, young lady.
Corrie held her hands over her ears. If only she could get out, get into her car, get away. Anywhere. She could sleep in the car down by the creek. But she was scared. It was night. The killer was out there, somewhere, in the corn. Mom, its not like that, okay?
Not okay. Not okay. Youre just a high school kid, you arent worth anything, let alone seven fifty. Corrie, Ive been around the block a few times. I know whats what. I know aboutmen, I know what they want, how they think. I know what jerks they can be. Look at your father, look how he ran out on me, on us. Never paying a dime in child support. He was worthless, worse than worthless. And I can tell you right now thatthis man of yours is no FBI agent. What FBI agent would hire a delinquent with a record?Dont you lie to me, Corrie.
Imnot lying to you. If only she could get away, just this night. But tonight the whole town was as quiet as a tomb. Fallout from the riot at the church. Just driving home had really spooked her. Every house had been locked up and shuttered tight. And it was barely nine oclock.
If this is on the up and up, bring him here to me, then. I want to meet him.
Id die before I ever let him see this dump! Corrie shouted, suddenly white-hot with rage. Oryou!
Dont you dare talk to me like that, young lady!
Im going to bed.
Dont you walk away while Im talking to you
Corrie went into her room and slammed the door. She quickly put on some earphones and shoved a CD into her player, hoping that Kryptopsy would drown out the angry voice she could still hear yelling through the wall. The chances were good her mother wouldnt get out of bed. Standing up brought on a headache. Shed eventually get tired of yelling and, if Corrie were
lucky, wouldnt even remember the conversation in the morning. But then again, maybe she would. Shed seemed alarmingly sober.
By the time the mangled thrashing of the last song had ended, all seemed to be quiet. She eased off the earphones and went to the window to breathe the night air. Crickets trilled in the darkness. The smell of night, of the corn just beyond the trailer park, of sticky heat, all flowed into the room. It was very dark outside; the streetlights on their lane had burned out long ago and had never been replaced. She stared out into the darkness for a while, wiping silent tears out of her eyes, and then lay down on her bed, in her clothes, and started the CD again from the beginning.Look at your father, her mom had said.He was worthless. As always, Corrie tried not to think about him. Thinking about her father only hurt more, because despite everything her mother said she only had good memories of him. Why had he left the way he did? Why had he never written her, not once, to explain? Maybe she really was worthless, useless, undeserving of love, as her mother had taken pains to point out many times.
She turned up the volume, trying to drive the train of thought from her mind. One more year. Just one more year. Lying on her bed in a dying town in the middle of nowhere, another year seemed like an eternity. But surely anyone could get through a year. Even her . . .
She woke up in blackness. The crickets had stopped trilling and it was now completely silent. She sat up, plucking off the dead headphones. Something had woken her. What was it? A dream? But she could remember no dream. She waited, listening.
Nothing.
She got up and went to the window. A sliver of a moon drifted from behind some clouds, then disappeared again. Heat lightning danced along the horizon, little flickers of dull yellow. Her heart was racing, her nerves strung tight. Why? Maybe it was the creepy music shed fallen asleep to.
She moved closer to the open window. The night air, laden with the fragrance of the fields, came drifting in, humid and sticky. It was unrelievedly dark. Beyond the black outline of the trailer next door she could see the distant darkness of the cornfields, a single glowing star.
She heard a sound. A snuffle.
Was it her mother? But it seemed to have come fromoutside: out there, in the darkness.
Still Life With Crows Page 20