Double Blind (31 page)

“You wouldn’t need to be if the guy you saw is the one that ran over me.” She moved around to the left side of the bed, one hand on the side rail and looked down at him. She considered telling him of her visit to Burt’s lab and her rescue by whoever pounded the metal door into submission, but decided to keep that to herself for now. “Let’s suppose there is someone else. Why do you feel the need to go and find him?”

“Because I’m the only one that can. But to do that, I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t you let Wade handle it?”

“You still don’t understand do you? Burt has me right where he wants me. If he and Wade find whoever it is before I do, that person will disappear. I’ll go down for this and that’ll be the end of it. Burt wins.”

“You really believe that?” Sam asked.

“Burt’ll do what’s necessary. He wants me out of the way and getting me convicted will do the trick. I have to find the real killer before he does. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“I’ve thought about what you told me. About Burt trying to steal your land and water. And the pieces just don’t fit. The murders, the burning of Burt’s stables, the whoever or whatever is roaming around up there. I can’t put all that together.”

“Maybe they don’t fit. Maybe whoever the killer is has nothing to do with Burt. Maybe Burt saw this as an opportunity to put me away for good. Get my land. The one thing I know for sure is that Burt’s like a rattlesnake. If he sees an opportunity, he’ll strike.”

Sam had to admit that her current assessment of Burt Eagan was exactly that. A snake and an opportunist. “What if I try to find this person? Bring him in.”

“No offense, Sam,” Billy said. “But, you don’t know these mountains. You might get yourself lost. Or worse.”

“What does that mean?”

“If Burt thinks that you’re on my side or that you might interfere with his scam, he’ll make you disappear too.”

“Kill a cop? I don’t think so.”

Billy reached out and grabbed her arm, a grimace erupting on his face as he moved his injured shoulder. His grip held firm. “Any idea how many people get lost in these mountains? Sometimes they find their way back, sometimes not. Sometimes their bodies are found later, sometimes not. If you end up in the bottom of a mine, the logical conclusion would be that you got lost and died from exposure or starvation or whatever.”

Sam stared at him, letting the words soak in.

“So,” Billy continued. “The only way out of this is for me to get up there and find this person.” He rattled his cuffs against the bed rail.

“That isn’t going to happen,” Sam said. “I’ll help you, but I won’t break the law to do it.”

“Then you’d better go.”

“Don’t be angry with me. I’ll do what I can,” Sam said.

“And I’ll do what I must,” Billy said. He grabbed the bed rail and gave it a shake. “This thing’s pretty flimsy. I’d bet it would fall apart with a little help.”

“Don’t say another word,” Sam said. “If you’re planning an escape or any crime whatsoever and I have knowledge of it, I’m obligated to tell Wade. Whether I agree or not.”

Billy smiled, his eyes flashing mischievously. “I ain’t going anywhere. Why would I? I’ve got clean sheets and good food.”

Edgar Locke had spent the morning reviewing an article for Scientific American. The irony that over the years he had written many papers for the prestigious magazine but was now relegated to vetting the works of others did not escape his notice. After lunch, he settled in his leather chair, feet up on the matching ottoman, a plaid blanket draped over his legs, a paperback mystery in his hand, and promptly dozed off. He slept until Martha shook him awake, telling him Dr. Paul Krieger was on the phone.

He shuffled to his desk and picked up the receiver. “Paul, so good of you to return my call.”

“How are you, Edgar?” Paul asked.

“The same. And you?”

“Working too hard. Thinking about cutting back though.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. I don’t think you know how to slow down.”

Paul laughed. “That’s what my wife keeps telling me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to find Morgan Russell. I understand he left there. Any idea where he might be?”

“No.” The silence that followed hung heavily between them.

“Paul? Is something wrong?”

Edgar heard Paul’s heavy sigh. “We had some problems with Morgan.”

Apprehension rose in Edgar’s gut. “What problems?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Morgan is as sharp as they come. A very gifted young man. But, he lacked patience. Cut corners. Took too many liberties with our protocols.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Paul. What did he do?”

“This stays between us. In this day and age, as you well know, I could get sued for revealing anything negative about a former employee. But, Morgan stepped over the line. More than once in his brief six months with us. The final straw came when he began a maverick project. Using retroviruses for gene introduction into mice.”

“Retroviruses?”

“I’m afraid so. We have a couple of very strictly controlled protocols underway using them. In cell cultures only. Absolutely no animal studies were allowed. Morgan presented a preliminary protocol for treating mice with induced panhypopituitarism using gene fragments introduced via a retroviral vector. It was actually quite an intriguing study. Well designed. But, in the end it was rejected. Our relationship with the FDA might have been negatively impacted had we pursued it. Anyway, Morgan went ahead and injected several mice and began following them. Without authorization or supervision. No double blinded protocol. When I discovered what he had done, I had to terminate the experiment. And Morgan.”

“What about the mice?” Edgar asked.

“Curiously, it appeared they were doing beautifully, without signs of pituitary insufficiency. Of course, they had to be sacrificed and the data destroyed. We would never have been able to explain the situation to the FDA investigators had they gotten wind of it.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“You should be glad you’re out of this. Anything in the gene arena is scrutinized to the hilt. Especially since that young man with liver disease died during gene therapy.”

“I’ve followed that story in the paper. Sad. Where did Morgan go after he left?” Edgar asked.

“I’m not sure. I heard he got a job with a private lab somewhere out west. I never received any inquiries about him, so I’m not sure if that’s the case. Why are you looking for him?”

“I was just thinking about him the other day. Wanted to find out what he was up to.” He felt guilty not telling his friend what he suspected, but he could think of no way to explain it. Of course, he wasn’t sure what the truth was himself.

After thanking Paul for his time, he hung up and sat quietly digesting their talk. As the pieces began to fit together, his apprehension grew.

*

Sam was sitting in the porch swing, talking with Alyss and Shelby, enjoying the soft, flower-scented breeze, when Edgar Locke called. He asked if she would mind coming to see him.

Ten minutes later, Martha ushered her into the den, where Edgar sat in his reading chair. Martha brought them each a cup of hot tea and then left them alone.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, reading the concern that etched the active side of his face.

“Where to start?” he said more to himself than to her. He told her of his conversation with Dr. Paul Krieger.

When he paused, Sam smiled. “I understood part of that. Not all, I’m afraid.”

He smiled and nodded, paternally. “I didn’t expect you would.”

“What bothers you about this?”

“The bones we found. One explanation for them could be that some type of genetic alteration caused the changes we saw.” He shook his head, a tired look sliding over him. “After talking with Paul Krieger, I’m fearful that Morgan may have returned here and reopened Burt’s lab. May have proceeded with the research that Johns Hopkins wouldn’t allow. The skeletons could easily be from just such work.”

“Wouldn’t he have contacted you?”

“Not if what I suspect is the case. Without governmental approval, this type of research would be highly illegal. He would want to hide it, which means I’m the last person he would tell.”

“But, Burt and Hollis would have to know.”

“Yes, they would,” Edgar said. “They paid me a visit this morning. First time in a year and a half.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

Edgar sipped his tea. “They wanted to know about the rabbit bones. What I thought about them. I told them I had no idea. But, two things bothered me. One, is they asked me if I had heard from Morgan. I thought that was strange.”

“And the second thing?”

“Burt said he had the original journals, which of course we know is a lie, and he asked if I had any copies. He knows there weren’t any. He was fishing. Wondering if I knew where they were.”

“Which means he doesn’t have a clue who stole them,” Sam said.

“That’s right,” Edgar said. “Burt’s smart. Keeps his cards close to his vest. Always in control.” He leaned forward slightly. “Yet today, I saw a bit of concern in his eyes. Maybe even a twinge of fear.”

Sam cocked her head. “Good. Scared people make mistakes.”

Edgar smiled. “He’s afraid I know what he’s up to.”

“Do you?”

“No...but...” His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I’m not going to like this am I?” Sam said.

Edgar sighed heavily. Fatigue seemed to press down on his shoulders. “We found only skeletons. No living rabbits or mice. And the lab has obviously been shut down for a few months. Why? What happened? Why did they have to close it? Did they destroy all the animals or did some escape or were they turned loose?”

“And if they were?” Sam asked, guessing the answer, but wanting to hear it from him.

Edgar placed his cup on the table beside his chair. It made a soft ping against the saucer. “If Morgan did come back and he did alter these creatures, using a retrovirus, as he did at Hopkins, the changes would be permanent. Passed on generation after generation. It’s complicated, but that’s the concern.”

“A new species?”

“Basically.”

“It’s not nice to fool with Mother Nature,” Sam said.

“Something like that.”

“Any idea how long those bones had been buried?”

“That would require a forensics expert. Off-hand, I’d guess at least a couple of months. It would take that long for them to become skeletonized.”

Sam remembered her forensics classes at LAPD. It usually took several weeks if not months for human remains to be cleaned to the bones by decay and predators and insects. Rabbits and mice should take less time. “But, they could have been there for many months, even years?”

Edgar nodded.

“If this is true, where’s Morgan?”

“I guess that’s the million dollar question.”

Sam noticed one sock had slumped around her ankle. She tugged it back up. “This is going to sound strange, but what does Morgan look like?”

“He’s a fine looking boy. Tall, maybe six-three, and thin. Handsome.”

“Athletic?”

“No,” Edgar smiled. “Morgan was the classic nerd. Bookish. I don’t think he played sports.”

“Hiking? Did he like the mountains?”

“Oh my, no. We often teased him about being an indoor person with so much natural beauty around him. He liked to read or go to movies. Why are you asking these questions?”

“It’s probably nothing, but I spoke with Billy today. He believes someone is hiding out in the mountains. The someone that killed Lloyd and the other men. Maybe the same person that’s been scaring hell out of everybody and saved my bacon last night.”

“I see. And you’re wondering that if Morgan is indeed here and no one has seen him, is he this mystery man?”

Sam nodded.

“I can’t imagine Morgan living in the mountains and he’s definitely not a murderer.”

“Billy, me, Shelby, the Kendalls all saw a big, muscular, hairy man or something like a man. And he wears the same size 14 boots as Billy.”

“That’s definitely not Morgan,” Edgar said.

It was after 5 p.m. when Sam left Edgar Locke to his reading and drove into town. A bank of pewter clouds with swollen black bellies slid over the peaks and dumped a brief, but forceful, shower into the valley, complete with thunder and flickering lightning. By the time Sam pulled to the curb in front of the Gold Creek Police Department, the worst of the storm had moved eastward and the deluge had dwindled to a steady drizzle.

She ran up the walk to the front door and stepped inside. Wet boot prints, clearly visible on the linoleum floor, veered to the left toward Wade’s office. Sam followed them and found Wade hanging up his rain soaked jacket.

“Hello,” she said.

He turned toward her. “Good afternoon.” He took off his hat, slapped it against his leg, spraying water over everything, and hung it on the corner hat rack. “Got caught in the rain.” He flopped into his chair behind the desk. The usual droop of his jowls seemed more pronounced. “Just got back from Burt Eagan’s. Someone broke into his lab. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Stole some journals. When Burt found out, he locked up everything again and then somebody sledge hammered the door again.”

“Any idea who?”

Wade shook his head. “What brings you by?”

“Thought I’d see what’s new.”

Wade motioned for her to sit down. “Got a report on the comparison of the prints. Same boot. Same brand and size as we saw at Varney’s the other night. Except those looked new. Right out of the box. Billy’s showed signs of use. Scars and nicks. Course, he’s been stomping around up in the mountains in them for the past week.”

“So they don’t match?”

“Not completely.”

Just enough to help convict Billy.

Wade tilted his chair back and propped one foot on the corner of the desk. “The hair fibers are different story, though. The ones you found in Lloyd’s hand and Billy’s are a perfect match.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s the prelim. Got it off the FAX a couple of hours ago.”