She didn’t make a habit of sleepovers. Especially not with co-workers. Fischer had eyed the travel mug and raised his eyebrows. “I can take a hint.”
“I didn’t mean you . . . right now—”
“I was teasing, Cassandra.” He smiled. Water droplets clung to the front of his hair where he had run wet fingers through to tame the rumples. “I do have to get going though. I’ve called Sheriff Hart and he’ll be over within the hour. I’ll see you later?”
She’d stepped toward him. “I . . . uh, appreciate your help last night. Really . . . A lot.” Three college degrees and that was the best she could do? She told herself to stop talking.
Her consciousness snapped into the present time on her patio when she realized Meg was giving her the big eyes. “Hey! Cassandra, do you have more beer?”
Meg rose and took her elbow, leading Cassandra around to the side door. “I think Connor and Marcus could use some!”
Cassandra whispered when they got inside the kitchen. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I don’t have time to list it all, but I think getting your house broken into TWICE qualifies as valid reason to act like an airhead. For a couple days. After that, you’ll need better excuses.”
When the women came back outside, the guys were talking about the lineman who’d been carted off the football field. Fischer reported, “I stopped at the hospital to see him. He’d thrown up quite a bit and was very weak. Thompson told me he’d won a hamburger eating contest Thursday night. Ate six burgers with the works.” Meg and Cassandra exchanged disgusted grimaces. “I asked the doctor to test his blood for that enzyme from the research lab. That much meat, maybe it’s related.”
Six burgers was a lot by any standards. Cassandra frowned, “I thought you’d ordered a hold on serving the beef?”
“I asked around, and it was a fraternity fundraising contest. They’d purchased the ingredients beforehand so they served the beef from Hopkins’ farm.”
Connor remarked, “If six burgers put Thompson—that huge lineman—in the hospital, what amount did it take for Austin Price to get as sick as he did . . . assuming they both overdid the beef and the enzyme. Did Price throw up before he fell down the stairs?”
Marcus shrugged. “I read the police report, and no one mentioned vomiting. They found blood on the glove so they assume he injected himself. The coroner said he had a seizure before he fell down the stairs outside. Was that from the injection?”
Meg summarized, “So exactly how much enzyme did Thompson have compared to Austin? What about the kids in the clinic? Were they vomiting too?” She grabbed a handful of pretzels and popped a few in her mouth. “Doesn’t make sense that Austin gets a lower amount of the enzyme, but he’s the one who’s dead.”
Connor hadn’t been present for most of the investigation, but his mind made the connections quickly. “Did Price’s fraternity serve the beef, too?”
Another side of Marcus unfolded before her eyes. Tonight, he matched Connor’s analytical succinctness. “All the food services used it per our contract. It’s served on campus and in all the Greek houses, too. That’s how we got such a good price.” At work, he was confident, easygoing, but all business. Last night, he’d been powerful, protective, yet gentle.
Meg wondered, “Did we ever find out about those syringes that Lance found in the lab? The ones in the cooler that none of the grad assistants knew about. Am I the only person who thinks that’s weird?”
Cassandra shrugged. “I haven’t heard results yet. Honestly, that lab seemed pretty messy to me. Those assistants could easily have forgotten to put away a cooler of syringes. Maybe no one wants to own up to leaving them out. Don’t want to get in trouble.”
After more college football talk, the conversation circled around again to the lab.
“So, who exactly is in charge of the Edgerton lab? The grad assistants run their experiments, but who’s the director?” asked Connor.
Marcus and Cassandra frowned at each other. She answered, “Well, each assistant has a PhD committee who helps them design and oversee the experiments. For Luke Peterson, his chair is Dr. Schneider from the AlphaBioGlobal center. I don’t know which Faculty Chairpersons are on the other two GAs’ committees. Why?”
Connor shifted in his chair and crossed his leg over his other knee. “Seems like the Committee Chair oughta know the most about the tests, right? He should know if eating too much meat could make the students sick?” He took a drink from his beer. “Have any of the rats gotten sick?”
Cassandra replied, “I can’t remember exactly what he said, but Luke mentioned that there are side effects to the enzyme. Some aggression and biting. I don’t know how many rats get them.”
Connor said, “Maybe Dr. Schneider can help you understand what’s going on with the students. Do you guys need to abandon this food service thing, or is it all just a big coincidence?”
Cassandra cringed, “Nielson and the board don’t want anything to happen to that food contract. Or the research lab. They’ve made that very clear. If Morton loses the NIH grant, some Peeping Tom outside my kitchen will be minor compared to the trouble they will cause. Also, Luke and those other grad assistants are finishing their research and writing their dissertations. If the lab closes, their degrees will be in limbo.”
Meg folded her arms across her chest. “Which brings us back to the nitrogen tank valve. Two accidents in one week in the same lab? The cops should be talking to Dr. Schneider. Before anyone else gets hurt.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cassandra’s phone’s home screen flashed a message from Andy. “Hi Cassandra. Are you still awake? I want to show you something.”
After the O’Briens and Fischer had left, she’d been reassured to see the county sheriff car roll past her house while she retrieved the mail at the end of the driveway. The rest of the afternoon had been thankfully uneventful. She’d tacked up a towel over the small kitchen window, too.
They’d better catch the video creep/Zorro guy soon. What could Andy want to show her at 9 o’clock at night? She responded, “Yep. I’m awake. Watching The Office reruns. Come to the side door.” She flipped on the overhead light to brighten the gloomy living room where she had closed all the curtains.
Minutes later, Andy was inside and she was offering him a drink. He pointed a thumb towards the driveway. “I’m good, thanks. I’ve got my water bottle in the car . . . The Office, huh? I figured you for a Gilmore Girls fan.”
She thought of her SpongeBob fixation. “You’d be surprised what I like to watch. I needed some laughs tonight. Can’t handle anything serious.”
Andy grimaced. It must be serious or he wouldn’t be here. “Sorry to come by so late. I wanted to update you, but I didn’t know if you’d go into work tomorrow.”
Cassandra leaned against the kitchen counter sipping hot chamomile tea, hoping it would relax her. She warmed her hands around the mug. “Tomorrow might be my second Sunday in a row at work. I should go in for a few hours to get some stuff done before Dr. Nielson comes back on Tuesday.”
Placing an official looking medical document on the countertop, he explained, “Thompson, the football player, had elevated levels of the enzyme in his blood. Monday we’re sending everything to a forensic lab in Omaha. Including the samples from the students at the health clinic. Who are slowly getting better, by the way.”
Setting her cup on the counter, Cassandra nodded slightly. “So . . . Price and Thompson tested for elevated levels of SODs. We stopped serving the beef in case that is causing a few students to get sick. What a relief they’re getting better. Slight progress, right?”
Andy laid down another paper and pointed at two sections with chemical symbols and long medical biology terminology. “This is where it gets interesting. The Omaha lab tech told me that those syringes from the cooler that Lance Erickson showed us are not the same as the lab refrigerator’s supplies. We tested syringes from all three studies,
and none are an exact match for those.”
Raising her phone to snap pictures of both documents, she paused a millisecond to meet Andy’s eyes. “Are photos necessary?” He asked.
“Maybe I’ll study it later.” She held up a finger. “Be right back.” She riffled through the messenger bag in her bedroom for the file folder where she’d collected the papers from Lance, her notes, and autopsy information.
When she returned, Andy was flipping through his small notebook. “Tate and another deputy checked the video phone history from the device in Lance and Austin’s fraternity room. I haven’t seen the records myself, but Tate told me the calls are predictable. Messages from both of their parents, other deaf students. They’re following up with the unlisted contact directory.”
Andy slowly paged through the file she had handed him. “I thought Dr. Schneider told us last week that he didn’t know Austin Price? Why did he write a recommendation letter for someone he didn’t know?”
She and Meg had already covered this topic. Cassandra’s eyebrows lifted a little and she nodded. “True. I’ve written letters for kids I didn’t know very well before. It happens. Usually those letters are mostly generic.”
“This letter isn’t generic. It’s glowing. Schneider says, ‘In the six months he has worked in a lab I supervise, he has been a valuable asset for our research team. Austin Price is a hard-working student whom I highly recommend for this internship.’ Why did he say he doesn’t know him?”
Cassandra put her hands out in the classic “I don’t know” shrug. “Obviously, he knew Price better than he implied.”
Andy was quiet for a minute, processing the information. “I’ll talk to Tate tomorrow. We can follow up with Dr. Schneider about our questions.”
A thrill of anticipation zipped through her body. Maybe they’d get some answers finally.
She pressed him, “Meg, Fischer, and I were talking earlier today and we think someone should ask Dr. Schneider more questions about the lab, too. Did they have all the safety certifications? Did the students have the proper training? What can we do to prevent future accidents? Considering your lab results, maybe he knows why there’s extra syringes lying around? Could Austin have been doing something on his own?”
At first, Andy nodded in agreement with her analysis, but when she fired off questions he and the deputy should be asking, his expression chilled. “Look. I appreciate your help. We already have questions about how the lab is run.”
He stacked the pages back in her file folder and closed it. When he handed it to her, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “If I promise to just watch and not say one word, can I please go with you tomorrow to see Dr. Schneider? Someone representing the college should be there to make sure our interests are served and to know the extent of his role in all of this. He’s the chairman of the board.”
Andy raised his voice. “I’m the campus security director. I’m the college representative working with the sheriff’s department.” When she opened her mouth to talk again, he held up a hand. “You worry about your job, and let us do security. I don’t tell you how to discipline students, do I?”
She squinched her eyes a little and her face reddened. He had a good point. So did she. She braced her hands on her hips and waited him out. Neither of them relented for a full 60 seconds.
He broke first, wiping his hand down his face. “You. Are. Impossible. You can come with us to ABG tomorrow. We could use an administrator’s face to communicate the seriousness of this mess. But leave the questions to us, agreed?”
She tried not to gloat at winning the argument. She couldn’t control the spark in her eyes knowing she’d be able to make sure all her questions were answered. “Agreed.”
His stern face softened and a stab of guilt hit her heart when she recognized the longing in his eyes. She’d used his personal feelings to get what she wanted.
He moved a step closer. “I’m worried about your safety. I heard about that video and your break-in last night. I’ve assigned an off-duty deputy to drive by here every few hours. Please call me if you hear any strange noises or need me. I only live five minutes away, and I won’t mind checking it out.”
He didn’t ask why she’d called Fischer to help with the video creep’s break-in instead of him. His eyes showed the hurt without needing to say it aloud. No time for second-guessing her motives. The students’ safety and the college’s reputation were more important than Andy’s feelings right now. “Ok, I will. I appreciate your help.”
“You’re going to get me fired too, aren’t you?” His lips formed a helpless smile while he shook his head. Oh. He knew about her tenuous relationship with the powerful people?
She gave him a big, cheesy grin. “If we both get fired, you can move back to Hawai’i with me.”
Whoops! She instantly regretted her rash words. Instead of the joking, friendly tone she’d aimed for, she may have invited him to move in with her in Hawai’i.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Like most small-town businesses on a Sunday, ABG was closed. Dr. Schneider himself met Cassandra, Andy, and Deputy Tate at the door, unlocked it and let them inside. Although Schneider must have wondered why Tate had requested this meeting, he showed no outer signs of irritation. He warmly shook their hands, offered them coffees from the Keurig in the lobby, and greeted the security guard who passed them in the hallway. “Good morning Jacob, we’ll be meeting in my office.”
Once they were seated around a small conference table in his office, Tate led off the conversation. “We won’t keep you long Dr. Schneider. We just have a few questions you could clear up before we close the investigation into Austin Price’s death and the accident in the Morton lab.”
Schneider smiled slightly, “We’d appreciate that, deputy. This phase of research is nearly completed and we need to move on. I’m not involved in the day to day operation of the lab, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
Tate clarified, “You’re not? I got the impression you helped design and oversee the research study. You have key card access to the lab. The security logs show you frequently go over there.”
He nodded. “To meet with Luke Peterson, my doctoral student. I’m a businessman, not a full-time academic. I have plenty on my plate already, what with my duties here at ABG and on the Morton board. This past week has really taxed my time while I’ve put out fires with the board and donors during President Nielson’s absence.” He paused to stare pointedly at Cassandra.
She kept the passive smile mask on her face and didn’t say a word. No way was she getting kicked out of this meeting.
“You mentioned last week that if Austin Price had mistakenly injected himself with a syringe from the study, he should not have had any side effects, correct?” Tate asked.
“That’s true. Like I told you the SOD enzyme occurs naturally in our bodies.”
“Ok. Can you explain the science behind why some students appeared to experience side effects from eating the enzyme-fed beef?”
Dr. Schneider sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, his index finger tapping his mouth. “I’m glad you asked me that. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I believe Dr. Sato is going overboard with the announcements about stopping the enzyme enhanced beef service for the college cafeterias.” Again he looked in her direction. “However, Nielson and I do understand that you’re trying to protect the students’ welfare. I just don’t believe the concentration is high enough to cause any meaningful side effects. Those students probably caught the stomach flu or overindulged at a party.”
Summers interjected, “We are sending samples to a lab in Omaha tomorrow. They’ll compare the concentrations from the beef samples, sick students, Austin Price, and the football player.”
Schneider frowned, but nodded. Tate opened his windbreaker and slid out a folded paper. Opening it, he placed it on the table in front of Dr. Schneider. “Did you write this recommendation letter for Austin Price to get an internship
at your main clinic in Lincoln next summer?”
Schneider’s eyes narrowed and he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses to read the document. “Yes, I write many recommendations for students. He came to ABG frequently as a donor; he was a recruiter for us and he worked in the lab. He’s been a valuable member of our team. His accident was tragic. Untimely.”
Cassandra asked, “Why did you tell us you didn’t know him? When you stopped by my table at The Home Team you said you didn’t know him, and you questioned whether any deaf students should be working in a lab environment.”
Schneider glared at her. She also felt Summers’ head swing right and give her an eyebrow. So much for that promise to keep quiet.
After a chilly few seconds, Schneider answered, “You might not understand this with your inexperience, but I don’t remember every single student’s name I come across. And yes, I do have reservations about whether the deaf can safely work in the labs. Obviously, it was a problem for Mr. . . . ah . . .” He referred to the recommendation letter and pointed to his name. “um . . . Price.”
Cassandra resisted the big eye roll she wanted to make. He wasn’t convincing anyone. Schneider shifted in his chair. His confident demeanor was slowly melting.
Tate switched tactics. “Do you know of anything in the lab that Austin Price could’ve been selling on the side to make money?”
Schneider sat up and his eyes grew wide. “What?”
“On his laptop we found $600 worth of payments to him. His parents confirmed they didn’t send it. We’re trying to find out what he could have done to earn that much cash. Any ideas?” Cassandra realized that Tate had done a lot more work on the case than the parts she knew about.
“Of course not!” Schneider blustered. “Where are you going with this? I thought you just needed to know a few things about ABG and the Morton lab. Why are you asking me so many questions about the dead student?” His eyes shifted between Tate’s and Summers’ stoic faces. “Do I need a lawyer?”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 22