In spite of herself, Marsha laughed. She quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, but I can just see it,” she said. “All this tension and then your name suddenly appearing.”
“It wasn’t funny,” Victor said. “And I’m going to have a serious talk with VJ about this. As ridiculous as it sounds, it must have been him breaking into the Chimera mainframe.”
“Is this serious talk going to be something like the one you had with him when you learned he’d been forging notes from you in order to skip school?” Marsha taunted.
“We’ll see,” Victor said, obviously irritated.
Marsha leaned over and grasped Victor’s arm before he could leave the table. “I’m teasing you,” she said. “Actually I’d be more concerned about your cornering him or pushing him. I’m afraid there is a side to VJ’s personality that we’ve not seen. That’s really why I want him to see Valerie.”
Victor nodded, then detached himself from Marsha’s grasp. He opened the connecting door. “VJ, would you come in here a minute? I’d like to talk with you.”
Marsha could hear VJ complaining, but Victor was insistent. Soon the sound of the movie soundtrack was off. VJ appeared at the door. He looked from Victor to Marsha. His sharp eyes had that glazed look that comes from watching too much television.
“Please sit at the table,” Victor said.
With a bored expression, VJ dutifully sat at the table to Marsha’s immediate left. Victor sat down across from both of them.
Victor got right to the point. “VJ, did you use the computer upstairs tonight?”
“Yeah,” VJ said.
Marsha watched as VJ glared at Victor insolently. She saw Victor hesitate, then avert his eyes, probably to maintain his train of thought. For a moment there was a pause. Then Victor continued: “Did you use the PC to log on to the Chimera mainframe computer?”
“Yes,” VJ said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Why?” Victor asked. His voice had changed from accusatory to confused. Marsha remembered her own confusion when VJ had so quickly confessed to his truancy.
“The extra storage makes some of the computer games more challenging,” VJ said.
Marsha saw Victor roll his eyes. “You mean you are using all that computer power of our giant unit to play Pac-Man and games like that?”
“It’s the same as me doing it at the lab,” VJ said.
“I suppose,” Victor said uncertainly. “Who taught you to use the modem?”
“You did,” VJ said.
“I don’t remember . . .” Victor began, but then he did. “But that was over seven years ago!”
“Maybe,” VJ said. “But the method hasn’t changed.”
“Do you access the Chimera computer every Friday night?” Victor asked.
“Usually,” VJ answered. “I play a few games, then I range around in the files, mostly Personnel and Purchasing, sometimes the research files, but those are harder to crack.”
“But why?” asked Victor.
“I just want to learn as much as I can about the company,” VJ said. “Someday I want to run it like you. You’ve always encouraged me to use the computer. I won’t do it anymore if you don’t want me to.”
“In future, I think it would be better if you don’t,” Victor said.
“Okay,” VJ said simply. “Can I go back to my movie?”
“Sure,” Victor said.
VJ pushed away from the table and disappeared through the door. Instantly, the soundtrack for Sheer Terror was back on.
Marsha looked at Victor. Victor shrugged. Then the doorbell sounded.
“Sorry to bother you folks so late,” Sergeant Cerullo said after Victor had opened the door. “This is Sergeant Dempsey from the Lawrence police.” The second officer stepped from behind Cerullo and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. He was a freckled fellow with bright red hair.
“We have some information for you and we wanted to ask a few questions,” Cerullo said.
Victor invited the men inside. They stepped in and removed their hats.
“Would you like some coffee or anything?” Marsha asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” Cerullo said. “We’ll just say what we come to say and be off. You see, we at the North Andover police station are pretty friendly with the men over in Lawrence, both being neighbors and all. There’s a lot of talk that goes back and forth. Anyway, they have been proceeding with the investigation of that mass murder over there involving the Gephardt family, the one Dr. Frank here discovered. Well, they found some rough drafts of the notes that you people got tied to your cat and around that brick. They were in the Gephardt house. We thought you’d like to know that.”
“I should say,” Victor said with some relief.
Dempsey coughed to clear his throat. “We also have ascertained by ballistics that the guns used to kill the Gephardts match those used in several battles between some rival South American drug gangs. We got that from Boston. Boston is very interested to find out what the connection is up here in Lawrence. They’ve some reason to believe something big is going down up here. What they want to know from you, since you employed Gephardt, is how the man was connected to the drug world. Do you people have any idea whatsoever?”
“Absolutely none,” Victor said. “I suppose you know the man was under investigation for embezzlement?”
“Yeah, we got that,” Dempsey said. “You’re sure there’s nothing else that you can give us? Boston is really eager to learn anything they can about this.”
“We also think the man had been fencing laboratory equipment,” Victor said. “That investigation had just started before he was killed. But for however much I suspected him of these sorts of crimes, it never occurred to me he was involved with drugs.”
“If anything occurs to you, we’d appreciate it if you’d call us immediately. We sure don’t want some drug war breaking out up here.”
The policemen left. Victor closed the door and leaned his back on it and looked at Marsha.
“Well, that solves one problem,” Victor said. “At least now we know where the harassment was coming from, and better still, that it isn’t going to continue.”
“I’m glad they came by to let us know we can stop worrying,” Marsha added. “Maybe we should send that security man home.”
“I’ll cancel in the morning,” Victor said. “I’m sure we’ll be paying for it one way or another.”
Victor sat bolt upright with such suddenness that he inadvertently pulled all the covers from Marsha. The sudden movement awakened her. It was pitch dark outside.
“What’s the matter?” Marsha asked, alarmed.
“I’m not sure,” Victor said. “I think it was the front doorbell.”
They both listened for a moment. All Marsha heard was the wind under the eaves and the rat-a-tat of rain against the windows.
Marsha leaned over and turned the bedside clock so that she could see the face. “It’s five-fifteen in the morning,” she said. She fell back against the pillow and pulled the covers back over her. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
But just then the doorbell rang. “It was the bell!” Victor said, leaping out of bed. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming.” He hastily pulled on his robe, but had the wrong arm in the wrong hole. Marsha turned on the light.
“Who on earth could it be?” Marsha asked. “The police again?”
Victor got the robe on properly and tied the belt. “We’ll soon find out,” he said, opening the door to the hall. He walked quickly to the head of the stairs and started down.
After a moment of indecision, Marsha put her feet out on the cold floor and donned her robe and put on her slippers as well. By the time she got downstairs, a man and woman were standing in the front hall facing Victor. Small pools of water had formed at their feet, and their faces were streaked with moisture. The woman was holding a spray can. The man was holding the woman.
“Marsha!” Victor called, not taking his eyes from the new arrivals. “I think
you’d better call the police.”
Marsha came up behind Victor, clutching her robe around her. She glanced at the people. The man was wearing an oilcloth hooded cape, although the hood had been pushed back, exposing his head. All in all, he looked dressed in a ski parka that had long since soaked through.
“This is Mr. Peter Norwell,” Victor said. “He’s from Able Protection.”
“Evening, ma’am,” Peter said.
“And this is Sharon Carver,” Victor said, motioning toward the woman. “An ex-Chimera employee with a sexual-harassment suit lodged against us.”
“She was set to paint your garage door,” Peter elaborated. “I let her do one short burst so we’d have something on her besides trespassing.”
Feeling somewhat embarrassed for the bedraggled woman, Marsha hurried to the nearest phone and called the North Andover police. The operator said they’d send a car right over.
Meanwhile, the whole group went into the kitchen where Marsha made tea for everyone. Before they’d had more than a few sips, the doorbell sounded again. Victor went to the door. It was Widdicomb and O’Connor.
“You folks are certainly keeping us busy,” Sergeant Widdicomb said with a smile. They stepped through the door and took off their wet coats.
Peter Norwell brought Sharon Carver from the kitchen.
“So this is the young lady?” Widdicomb said. He took out a pair of handcuffs.
“You don’t have to handcuff me, for Christ’s sake!” Sharon snapped.
“Sorry, miss,” Widdicomb said. “Standard procedure.”
Within a few moments, all was ready. The police then left with their prisoner.
“You are welcome to finish your tea,” Marsha said to Peter, who was standing in the foyer.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I already finished. Good night.” The security man let himself out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Victor threw the deadbolt and turned into the room.
Marsha looked at him. She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. “If I read this in a book, I wouldn’t believe it,” she said.
“It’s a good thing we kept that security,” Victor said. Then, extending his hand, he said, “Come on. We can still get a few more hours of sleep.”
But that was not as easy as Victor had thought. An hour later, he was still awake, listening to the howling storm outside. The rain beat against the windows in sudden gusts; he jumped with every buffet. He couldn’t get the results of David’s DNA fingerprinting out of his mind nor of the cephaloclor being in the blood samples.
“Marsha,” he whispered, wondering if she were awake as well. But she didn’t answer. He whispered again, but still she didn’t answer. Victor slid out of bed, put his robe back on, and went down the hall to the upstairs study.
Sitting down at the desk, he booted up the PC. He logged onto the main Chimera computer with the modem, rediscovering how easy it was. Absently, he wondered if he had ever transferred copies of the Hobbs and Murray files onto the PC’s hard disk. To check, he called up the directory of the hard disk and searched. There were no Hobbs or Murray files. In fact, he was surprised to find so few files on the disk at all, other than the operating programs. But then, just before he was about to turn the machine off, he noticed that most of the storage space of the hard disk was used up.
Victor scratched his head. It didn’t make sense, knowing the fantastic storage capacity of one hard disk. He tried to pry an explanation of this apparent discrepancy out of the machine, but the machine wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, in irritation, he turned the blasted thing off.
He debated going back to bed, but, glancing at the clock, he realized that he might just as well stay up. It was already after seven. Instead of going back to the bedroom, he headed downstairs to make himself some coffee and breakfast.
As he padded down the stairs, he realized that when he’d had his talk with VJ about using the computer, he’d forgotten to quiz the boy about the deletion of the Hobbs and Murray files. He’d have to remember to do that. Nosing around in files was one thing, deleting them was quite another.
Reaching the kitchen, Victor realized the other thing that was bothering him: namely, the issue about VJ’s safety, particularly at Chimera. Philip was fine for watching VJ, but obviously his help could only go so far. Victor decided that he’d call Able Protection, since they’d obviously done such a good job watching the house. He’d get an experienced companion for the boy. It would probably be expensive, but peace of mind was worth the price. Until he got to the bottom of the Hobbs and Murray deaths, he’d feel infinitely better knowing VJ was safe.
Getting out the coffee, Victor was struck by another realization. In the back of his mind the similarities between David’s and Janice’s cancers had been bothering him, especially in light of the results of DNA fingerprinting of David’s tumor. Victor resolved to look into it as best he could.
10
Saturday Morning
IT was still windy and rainy when Victor went out to the garage and got in his car. He’d breakfasted, showered, shaved, and dressed, and still no one else had stirred. After leaving a note explaining that he would be at the lab most of the day, Victor had left.
But he didn’t drive straight to the lab. Instead he headed west and got on Interstate 93 and drove south to Boston. In Boston he got off Storrow Drive at the Charles Street and Government Center exit. From there it was easy to drive onto the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and park in the multistory parking garage. Ten minutes later he was in the pathology department.
Since it was early Saturday morning none of the staff pathologists were available. Victor had to be content with a second-year resident named Angela Cirone.
Victor explained his wish to get a tumor sample from a patient that had passed away four years previously.
“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Angela said. “We don’t keep—”
Victor politely interrupted her to tell her of the special nature of the tumor and its rarity.
“That might make things different,” she said.
The hardest part was finding Janice Fay’s hospital record, since Victor did not know Janice’s birthday. Birthdates were the major method of cross-referencing hospital records. But persistence paid off, and Angela was able to find both the hospital record number as well as the pathology record. She was also able to tell Victor that a gross specimen existed.
“But I can’t give you any,” Angela said after all the effort they’d expended to find it. “One of the staff members is up doing frozens this morning. When he gets through, we can see if he’ll give authorization.”
But Victor explained about his son David’s death of the same rare cancer and his interest in examining Janice’s cancerous cells. When he tried to, he could be charming in a winning way. Within the space of a few minutes, he’d persuaded the young resident to help.
“How much do you need?” she asked finally.
“A tiny slice,” Victor said.
“I guess it can’t hurt,” Angela said.
Fifteen minutes later, Victor was on his way down the elevator with another small jar within a paper bag. He knew he could have waited for the staff man, but this way he could get to work more quickly. Climbing into his car, he left the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and headed north for Lawrence.
Arriving at Chimera, Victor called Able Protection. But he got a recording—it was Saturday, after all—and had to be content to leave his name and number. With that done, he searched for Robert, finding him already deeply involved with the project that Victor had started the night before, the separation of the section of David’s tumor DNA that differed from his normal DNA.
“You are going to hate me,” Victor said, “but I have another sample.” He took out the sample he had just gotten at Mass. General. “I want this DNA fingerprinted as well.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Robert said. “I like doing this stuff. You’ll just have to realize that I’m letting my regular
work slide.”
“I understand,” Victor said. “For the moment this project takes priority.”
Taking the rat specimens that he’d prepared the night before, Victor made slides and stained them. While he was waiting for them to dry, a call came through from Able Protection. It was the same deep-voiced man whom Victor had dealt with earlier.
“First, I’d like to commend Mr. Norwell,” Victor said. “He did a great job last night.”
“We appreciate the compliment,” the man said.
“Second,” Victor said, “I need additional temporary security. But it’s going to require a very special person. I want someone with my son, VJ, from 6 A.M. until 6 P.M. And when I say I want someone with him, I mean constantly.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” the man said. “When do you want it to start?”
“As soon as you can send someone,” Victor answered. “This morning, if possible. My son is at home.”
“No problem. I have just the person. His name is Pedro Gonzales and I’ll send him on his way.”
Victor hung up and called Marsha at home.
“How did you sneak out without waking me this morning?” she asked.
“I never got to sleep last night after all the excitement,” Victor said. “Is VJ there?”
“He and Philip are still sleeping,” Marsha said.
“I’ve just made arrangements to have a security man stay with VJ all day. His name is Pedro Gonzales. He’ll be over shortly.”
“Why?” Marsha questioned, obviously surprised.
“Just to be one hundred percent sure he is safe,” Victor said.
“You’re not telling me something,” Marsha warned. “I want to know what it is.”
“It’s just to be sure he’s safe,” Victor repeated. “We’ll talk more about it later when I come home. I promise.”
Victor hung up the phone. He wasn’t about to confide in Marsha, at least not about his latest suspicions: that the Hobbs and Murray kids might have been deliberately killed. And that VJ could be killed the same way if anyone introduced cephaloclor to his system. With these thoughts in mind, he returned to the slides of the rat brains that he had drying and began to examine them in one of the light microscopes. As he expected, they appeared very similar to the slides of the children’s brains. Now there was no doubt in his mind that the children had indeed died from the cephaloclor in their blood. It was how they got the cephaloclor that was the question.