Chapter 11 - Inconvenient death
"I have to see Steven now!" barked Phillip. Nan looked up and smiled. "Good morning Phillip" she said in her usual pleasant personal assistant voice.
He had never paid much attention to Steven's receptionist. He only knew that she was early forties, with honey blond hair that had been lightened by a beautician so that yellow locks fell ten inches longer than shoulder length. She had brown eyes with too much eye shadow on a face too young for its age. She had perfect teeth and broad lips. She was thin with narrow hips that combined to make her breasts look even larger. She was 5'5" and 119 pounds with slim legs that looked too long. She wore skirts that were too tight and blouses that were too low cut. She was left handed and had a scar on her right calf just above the ankle. She was divorced with no children. No, Phillip hadn't paid much attention to Nan and there was no time for it now. "I have to see Steven now!” He repeated without answering Nan's greeting.
"I'll see if he's in.” She said slowly without her smile. "I just got here myself and I haven't seen him.” She said to disarm Phillip's demand with the possibility of disappointment. She picked up the telephone and pressed the intercom button. While she waited, she scanned Phillip with her gorgeous brown eyes. She was not a woman used to being treated discourteously by men. That is why she dressed as she did and why she paid attention to her looks. Men paid attention too.
There was no answer on the intercom. She put down the receiver. "I'll just pop in.” She said in a cute voice trying to regain control of the encounter with Phillip. Phillip started to follow her. "Wait here" she said turning to offer Phillip a profile view of her lingerie model's body with knuckles on hip pose. She opened the door and stepped into the private office of Dr. Steven Rice, director of the Global Nano Defense Initiative project.
Nan heard water running as soon as she stepped through the door and went to the door of Steven's private bathroom. She announced herself but received no response. She found the tap running in the sink and turned it off.
Phillip was left to stand by Nan's desk not smelling Nan's perfume and fighting to bring to mind again, why he had come. When he heard the scream, Phillip rabbited into the room to find Nan shaking uncontrollably and screaming over and over. With each breath, the screams turned more and more into sobs. For the first time this morning, his attention was exclusively on her and not his own problems or the peril of the world. What? He said concerned for the quaking woman.
She pointed. He saw. Time stopped.
The office lights were on. The body lay beside the director's desk behind a plush leather chair. Beyond the body was a wall. The wall was filled with diplomas and honorariums to a significant life. Splattered on the symbols of hard-earned achievements were the blood and brain matter of the architect of world salvation, dead on the eve of that redemption.
Nan moved close to Phillip. She didn't need control now; she needed to be held. He held her. He mumbled something and removed one arm from a sobbing Nan to take out his cell and press a quick dial number. "Security" said the small box. "Dr. Rice's office stat" said Phillip.
Steven had taken a gunshot to the temple. The bullet, unimpressed with a 180 plus IQ target, had passed through the skull and brain of the brilliant man and splattered blood and brain matter on to the wall and the diplomas hung there. A cheap .38 revolver lay on the floor.
Blue-jacketed security people were everywhere. No one was allowed back into Steven's office.
"Someone will have to tell Steven's partner. I guess it won’t be me if I’m not working here." said Phillip to himself.
The only fingerprints on the butt and trigger of the lethal weapon were Dr. Rice's. There were no prints on the cylinder or the single spent cartridge. There was no note. These issues raised suspicions in the security division that this might not have been a suicide.
The gun had no serial number of course and forensic metal stress analysis could not raise one. Personal weapons were allowed on the post. Lock boxes were provided for them. However, there were no weapons registered to Steven.
There was no CID at Detrick. In the past Fort Mead CID would investigate serious crimes. The post police initially took charge of the scene but due to the security level of the victim and the extreme importance of the work he had been doing a special unit in the FBI, briefed as to the nature of the project, stepped into the case. This sort of thing is sometimes allowed when a suspected crime has national security implications.
Regrettably, Doctor Rice’s office was probably the only place in the facility, outside of the secure lab, that wasn't covered by security cameras — the director's insistence for personal reasons. Had Steven died anywhere else in the building it would have been recorded.
Was there anything on the security video from his reception area or the hall outside? Who were his visitors? Who saw him last? There was nothing out of the ordinary. Steven was the last person seen entering the office.
Time of death was about midnight. The monitors were triggered to record movement not sound — poor foresight there. No gunshot was recorded. No one heard anything. No one was seen in the halls after 10 p.m. Everybody was being interrogated. Maybe it was suicide after all. But even that conclusion left questions.