Fischer pointed at the yellow papers. “You wrote here that you found an odd appointment and some Bitcoin deposits. Those are clues the police can use to figure out if there were other factors involved in his death. What if he’s part of a group involved in some trouble, and he’s not the only person being targeted?”
Cassandra had one last suspicion. “Lance, do you know anything about Austin’s phone that you haven’t told us? Like where it is now?”
Lance shook his head no. Then a bit later added, “He liked privacy. He got texts or calls occasionally at weird times from numbers not in his contact list. Not that I was snooping, but sometimes I’d see his phone message notifications or come into our room and see him FaceTiming with someone. He’d hang up right away.”
Lance held out one empty hand as though it cradled a phone aimed at his face like setting up a selfie. His other hand moved close to his face and signed a little. Cassandra imagined how the signed phone conversation worked; she had seen Meg use her phone to talk to deaf people a few times. Lance shrugged, “I just assumed he’d met a girl.”
Cassandra picked up her office phone. “So one of Austin’s last acts was to text Lance. What else did he do before he died? It’s time to call campus security. You’re turning that laptop over to the sheriff.” She indicated Marcus and herself, “We will meet later and decide what disciplinary action the college will take regarding the student code of conduct.”
Lance sat back down in the chair and hung his head. “I understand,” he said.
Even as Cassandra made the call, she wondered if he was more involved than he’d admitted. Noting his deflated body language, she kept those suspicions to herself. If Lance didn’t have Austin’s phone, where was it? Her thoughts were interrupted by a clipped voice, “This is Summers.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I thought the Biology lab students and faculty might cooperate more with the investigation if they see you’re involved.” Andy’s manner was professional, but including her in the loop so frequently was unexpected.
Goosebumps covered Cassandra’s bare legs making her regret wearing a skirt as she half-jogged with Andy down the path to the Edgerton Center. She needed to re-think her whole wardrobe. “I appreciate the chance to learn more about the lab and the grant.” Her breath made a mini cloud in the air around her face.
He sensed she struggled to keep up with his longer strides and slowed to match her pace. His easy grin revealed charming dimples in his flushed cheeks. “I want your input. I haven’t forgotten what you told me about Price’s photo, and the finger spelled letter ‘L’ you saw him making. We’re keeping it in mind, but first we have a whole lot of solid steps we’re following to determine what happened to him.”
He was much more willing to work with her than men had been at her former jobs. She couldn’t help wondering if he had ulterior motives, especially when he kept bringing her snacks or drinks. She missed her big brother and wanted to make friends, but not lead him on. “I’d feel horrible if I ignored something that later turned out to be important.”
He wore a navy windbreaker over his long-sleeved security uniform, but didn’t seem cold at all. “The sheriff’s office sent the laptop to Lincoln to have the State Patrol people analyze it.”
Cassandra’s fists were buried in the pockets of her lightweight puffy jacket and she wished she’d worn gloves. “I hope they find useful information.” Preferably before Nielson returned from China.
Andy said, “We checked more on ABG and they’re owned by an overseas pharmaceutical conglomerate. Basically, Carson’s site collects blood and plasma donations for medical testing and treatment. So far, I don’t see evidence of a crime related to Austin Price. Unless you count the allegations that he cheated at the blood drive and won extra pizza for his friends. Doesn’t appear to be connected to his death, and doesn’t help us determine whether his fall was an accident.”
They hadn’t gone far when they spotted the street preacher lady handing out booklets and talking at the backs of students who hurried to class. She wore her usual outfit: long black dress, matching tights and dusty, worn Birkenstocks.
Turning towards them, a smile of recognition beamed across her face. She held a weathered Bible in one hand and waved at Cassandra with the other. “Good Tuesday Morning!” she exclaimed brightly as they approached her wheeled metal cart. Inside it were small boxes of pamphlets and a couple of plastic garbage bags.
“Hello,” they both replied, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on Summers. Cassandra eyed him closely. Judging from his expression—part exasperation, part amusement—they’d previously met.
Cassandra wanted to keep walking past, but the preacher lady offered them a small booklet. Her smile was almost smug. “How are you both on this fine fall morning? Was your search yesterday fruitful?”
Summers’ dimples disappeared, and he tilted his head warily. “What search yesterday? Why do you ask?”
She didn’t seem like the same zealot who usually exhorted the students to Repent! Forgive others! Love one another. The hairs on the back of Cassandra’s neck lifted at the street preacher’s cryptic tone. “I’m out here most every day. I see many things. People don’t pay attention to me, but I notice things.”
Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Andy, and they stopped walking. “What makes you think we searched for something?” Andy asked the preacher.
Her eyes darkened. “We’re all searching, young man. These students are searching for meaning and truth in their lives. They’re trying to find the path that God has laid out for them. They don’t know the answers yet, because they do not listen to the voice in their hearts. The world is so noisy. It can be hard to hear. You are searching for answers, too.” Her wrinkled, crooked index finger gently pressed Andy’s jacket near his heart. “Listen, and you will find them.” She picked up a small stack of books and walked towards a group of students leaving the dining hall.
Andy called after her. “Listen where? Did you see something?”
She turned back to him, her smile again beaming. “God bless you. He loves all His children.”
They walked a few steps. Once they were out of earshot, Andy said, “I’ve talked to her often since she set up here. I can’t figure her out. It’s tempting to dismiss her as mentally disturbed, but sometimes I think she’s as sane as I am.”
Cassandra shook off the willies. “After my first encounter with her, I’ve managed to avoid a repeat.”
Andy smirked. “Oh yes . . . your fifteen minutes of fame.”
She wondered if that cursed photo with the preacher lady would ever be forgotten. “Totally not my fault!”
During the first week in September, Cassandra had seen the street preacher several days in a row from her window and had passed her a few times crossing campus. Like the students who stared at the ground and scuttled past her, Cassandra also tried to avoid her attention the first few days. Once she realized the woman was going to stay for awhile, she became curious about her lifestyle and mission. One day as Cassandra walked past after lunch, she slowed a bit when she neared the woman. Cassandra made eye contact. That was the only encouragement needed. Immediately the preacher lady stepped forward. “Repent, sinner! The end is near!”
Cassandra had given her friendly, non-threatening smile and said, “Hello, Ma’am. I’ve seen you here for a few days. Is this your first time at Morton College?”
“We are ALL sinners! Repent for the end is near!”
She guessed the woman was homeless, and this was how she passed her days. Was she paid for her time from a non-profit group, or was she strictly a One-Woman Show? “Do you have a place to sleep nearby? Do you have enough to eat?”
Her deeply lined, tan face and gaunt frame looked weak, although she worked outside all day, every day. “The Lord provides for me. I shall not want.”
Cassandra had reached into her bag and pulled out a banana she’d been saving. She offered it to the woman. “For a
snack later?”
Her kind smile revealed teeth that had seen few dental visits during her lifetime; they were grayish colored and crooked, with one or two spaces where teeth had once been. “Thank you, child.”
She tucked the fruit into her pocket and reached into her cart. She pressed a plain blue booklet with a little golden cross engraved on the front into Cassandra’s outstretched hand. “Take this!”
Her soft, warm palms enveloped Cassandra’s. “The end is near!”
Cassandra had walked away holding the book, but didn’t tell her she wasn’t a Christian. Her family practiced Jodo Shinshu Buddhism common among Japanese families who emigrated to Hawai’i and the West coast. The Buddha’s teachings weren’t so far from Jesus’ example of compassion and wisdom.
The next day, a laughing student worker had showed Cassandra the morning newspaper’s article with an accompanying photo of Cassandra and the street minister exchanging gifts. Cassandra was accepting the booklet and the woman had wide eyes and that big grin on her face as she handed over the tract.
Cassandra’s cheeks flushed warm. The student showed her other photos from social media apps. “You’re all over Instagram and Twitter, too! Someone copied the photo from the newspaper and added a caption underneath that said, ‘Best meme wins.’”
People had spent the previous 24 hours creating memes that fit the photo. The most popular so far were: “What year student are you here?” and “Helping the less fortunate: VP Sato seeks administration advice from the homeless.”
Back with Andy in the present, Cassandra vowed, “I’ve learned my lesson. I’m careful of what my actions look like to others. Although the idea of being watched all day makes my skin crawl.”
When they reached the Edgerton Science Center, the yellow tape and barricades signifying a tragic scene were gone. The tree near the outdoor stairs was covered in orange and green leaves, caught between seasons. A noise rustled in the bushes as they began the climb to the fourth floor, and a brown squirrel erupted out of the bush and scurried up the oak tree’s trunk.
Andy noted her quietness. “Are you ok? You don’t have to come inside if you’d rather not.”
This was her job. She couldn’t skip the hard parts. “No, I need to do it. I just can’t stop remembering how he looked.”
To her relief, he didn’t ridicule her. “Funny how sometimes we’re so curious to see something, but once you have, it’s impossible to turn back the clock. I saw a lot of sad things when I went on a mission trip to Haiti a few years ago.”
She said, “So much of life is messy or ugly. Makes me appreciate the beauty of the everyday things even more.”
Chapter Eighteen
Leaning over the three-foot-high wall and decorative metal railing that enclosed the 8 by 8-foot platform at the top of the Edgerton center outdoor stairs, Cassandra peeked down to the smaller landing where she’d seen Austin’s body four days earlier. Chicken skin crept up her arm at the memory.
Her phone buzzed and she read Meg’s text: “Meet us for lunch @ 12:30 The Home Team.”
Andy Summers held the door open for Cassandra, and they found Deputy Tate leaning near the hallway door to the lab, head down thumbing through his phone. Oakley sunglasses sat atop wavy blond hair, his radio mic was clipped to a shoulder strap, and his full utility belt included a handgun and baton.
Andy nodded when the deputy looked up. They must’ve worked together often because they treated each other like equal partners with no hint of rivalry. “Is it locked?”
Tate straightened up to his full, broad shouldered height which was several inches more than Andy and probably 20 pounds more muscle underneath his dark brown uniform shirt. “No, I’m just catching up on some reading.”
Deputy would be a good starting job for a small town, baby-faced farm boy. Cassandra asked, “Are you setting up your weekend fantasy football lineup?”
“Reading case law for a Torts class I’m taking for my Legal Studies degree.”
Her eyebrows raised up high at the unexpected answer. From his satisfied smirk, she knew she wasn’t the first person to make that assumption, although she should’ve known better than to judge a book by its cover. Still, a master’s degree in Legal Studies was pretty impressive.
Tate opened the hallway door and they all filed into the cramped front office space behind a girl rapidly typing on a computer keyboard. A music speaker sitting atop industrial metal shelving blared a synthetic pop dance tune that Cassandra didn’t recognize. The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of the uniforms, and she jumped out of her seat, saying, “I’ll get our grad assistant,” over her shoulder.
Outdated machines and extra pieces of equipment were wedged under the desks and countertops in an unsightly hodgepodge. Next to the work area a large garbage can nearly overflowed with takeout pizza containers, candy wrappers and Styrofoam cups. The cleaning crew couldn’t have hit this place more than once a week. Even with cleaning and disinfecting, the air held a stench of cedar wood chips mixed with lemon floor cleaner and a primal rodent smell that likely never disappeared.
Shortly the student returned to the lab entry trailed by a thin, 20-something young man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. The Morton ID badge clipped to his white lab coat’s pocket said Luke Peterson. He shook Summers’ hand. “Hello Luke, I’m Andy Summers from campus security, and this is Deputy Tate of the Sheriff’s office. We’re investigating Austin Price’s death, and we’d like to ask you some questions.”
“You can come back into the lab, sir,” Luke said politely as he led them down a short hallway decorated with faded research poster results. To the left, a door opened into a dark storage room, then they rounded a corner into the main work area. “Austin was one of my work-study students for the last two semesters.”
Cassandra recognized Peterson as the freaked-out student with the knit hat who the Sheriff had taken in for questioning Friday afternoon at the scene. Her mouth opened into an Oh! at the same time Andy looked back at her and nodded once.
Tate opened a small investigative pad and asked, “How many hours a week did Austin work here?”
Standing to the side, Cassandra absorbed as many details as possible. This room’s sterile cleanliness made the front room even more slovenly by comparison. Shelves lined an entire wall where maybe 150 rat cages were neatly stacked in pods of 9.
Peterson frowned slightly, “Um . . . I already talked to the Sheriff on Friday and answered a bunch of questions for him.” Peterson seemed much more calm than before.
Cassandra noticed Tate look over his pad at Andy. “We know. Those were more personal questions. We investigated the scene Friday and Saturday to collect evidence.”
“I’m the only assistant here today. I can’t really speak for anybody else.” He shifted from one foot to the other.
Tate’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Today we’re here to learn more about the lab itself, but you might need to repeat some things you’ve already told the sheriff. Now, how many hours?”
Peterson stood behind a stainless steel lab table near an open laptop with a stack of papers and folders nearby. He let out a sigh and looked down at his papers. “Probably 10-15 hours, depending on his classes and homework. We try to be flexible, but we have to follow our feeding and treatment protocols strictly to ensure accurate data. Two other grad assistants run experiments in this lab, and we share six students who cover for each other when someone needs time off. Austin and Mikaela, that girl you saw out front, help me. Without Austin, she’s been putting in extra hours until I find someone to fill in for him.”
Andy faced Peterson across the table, but he spoke casually like they were just a couple of guys chatting at the bar. “Can you explain what your research project studies?”
Peterson perked up at the interest in his project. “Sure. It’s funny you ask because in my doctoral dissertation seminar this week, we practiced our ‘30-second elevator speech’ so we can describe to potenti
al employers and outsiders what we do, and our future plans. Let’s see if I can do this now.”
He paused and looked up at the ceiling, then took a dramatic breath and launched into a monotone rehearsed explanation. “Basically, we’re testing an enzyme called Superoxide dismutase that potentially shrinks cancer tumors in laboratory rats. This study is in cooperation with the AlphaBioGlobal Plasma Center and funded by a grant from the National Institute of Health.”
Peterson didn’t know where to put his hands. They started on his hips, then one in a lab coat pocket and finally he crossed his arms awkwardly over his chest. “This phase should be done soon, and we hope to have our conclusions by December. That’ll give me a few months to analyze the data and write the results in my dissertation by May. After graduation, I hope to do cancer research for a pharmaceutical company.”
He ended on a loud exhale and adjusted his wire rimmed glasses. “How was that?”
Cassandra had heard most of the spiel at the plasma center but she still didn’t understand how it was all related. Summers encouraged him. “That sounds promising.”
Peterson had a captive audience. She doubted most people bothered to listen long. “Of course, I won’t be able to make any definitive answers until the study is complete, but the overall results have been positive. The real breakthrough came previously when the team identified SOD’s ability to shrink the brain tumors. Now we’re gathering more evidence to measure how much improvement occurs and the time frame. We record food intake, liquid intake, appetite notes and weight. We also note any negative side effects to determine if what works on animals could someday be used on humans.”
With 150-plus cages, the lab must be a moneymaker. Tate scribbled notes. “Cancer research at Morton?”
“The way this cancer works is that a genetic mutation suppresses the SOD development in children, and they develop tumors. Lab rats are bred with the same genetic mutation. At the end of treatment, the rats are euthanized, brain tissue sections are frozen with liquid nitrogen and examined under a microscope to look for cancer cells.”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 11