Beneath the Cracks (21 page)

I stepped out of the car and introduced
myself.

"Ma'am, Ms. Carter from HR is waiting to
speak with you in the lobby."

We weren't even rating the courtesy of a sit
down in her office.  I pulled the least gruesome of our John
Doe photos out of my bag.  "Thank you."

The photo was barely glimpsed before the
woman launched into her standard party line reassurances that
Dupree Farm only hires legal migrant workers, that proper paperwork
is maintained on everyone in their employ.

"Ms. Carter, that wasn't what I asked," I
flashed the photo under her nose.  "Please look at this and
tell me if you recognize this man.  He's got family out there
somewhere who deserves to know that he's passed on."

She shook her head.  "I've never seen
him before in my life.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a
lot of –"

"I'd like to speak to Dr. Denton," I
said.

"Why?"

"Official police business," I said. 
"This is an open investigation, Ms. Carter.  I'd hate to see
you accused of obstructing it."

She called my bluff.  "Then I'd like to
see your warrant, Detective Eriksson.  I didn't think
so.  Good day, detectives."

I watched her disappear behind secured doors
and turned to Crevan and Tony.  "Did you get the impression
that they've been expecting us?"

"She sure had the company's pat answer
ready," Crevan said.  "Now what?  A dead end again?"

"Not on your life."  I pulled out my
cell phone and started dialing.  "I've had enough jurisdiction
warrant bullshit thrown in my face for one morning."

"Orion."

"Hi, it's me."

"Hey…where are you?  I thought you and
the guys were heading out to Dupree Farm this morning."

"We're here, but getting stonewalled. 
I want to talk to this Dr. Tom Denton, but I'm being told that
number one, this is outside my jurisdiction, and number two, I have
no warrant so no right to talk to him."

Johnny snorted softly.  "Since when do
we need a warrant to have a conversation?  As for this
jurisdictional nonsense, let me get Chris on the line.  He can
rattle OSI's saber if need be.  We'll get you face to face
with Denton.  Since when is he a doctor?  I thought he
was recruiting homeless guys."

"That's what we thought too, until the guard
at the security gate let it slip that he's a doctor who works
here.  I presume research science in a discipline relevant to
bovine something or other."

"Hold on while I put a call in to Chris's
office."

I watched the guards outside the lobby
watching us.  The receptionist filed one claw at her desk with
obvious apathy.  Not a sound could be heard coming from the
depths of the large office building. 

"I know it's a rural setting, but this is
too quiet," I murmured.  "Creepy quiet."

Suddenly, I had no doubt that Jake Cox was
onto something out here.  I just couldn't seem to fit the
pieces together.

Chapter 18

I stopped wondering at the strings Johnny
was able to pull with a simple phone call after he got Mark Seleeby
off my case (at least for the time being).  It came as no
surprise when Mephistopheles hung up her telephone and beckoned
with one blood-red talon.

"Dr. Eriksson?  Detectives?"

I sped to her desk, expecting more flak,
some corporate bullshit about board meetings and scheduling
appointments if we wanted to talk to Dr. Denton.  Instead, she
said, "Mr. Dupree will see you right away.  Take the elevator
to the fifth floor.  His assistant will take you to his office
right away.  Dupree Farm apologizes for the
misunderstanding."

Briscoe snorted.  "These creepy fuckers
act more like zombies than human beings if you ask me."

I didn't disagree.

Moments later, we were escorted into
Dupree's office.

"Pardon our mistake this morning, Dr.
Eriksson," a very young looking man said.  He rose from behind
a monstrous desk and extended one hand.  "Won't you please sit
down?"

I could hear Tony mocking his accent in my
head.  I glanced at him with a quick, stern warning. 
Behave
.

His lips quivered at the corners but he kept
his mouth shut and his inflection in check.

"I am told you are hoping to speak with my
lead research scientist, Dr. Thomas Denton,
oui
?"

"Oui," I replied.  "Je comprends que
Dr. Denton pourrait savoir l'identité d'un homme qui est
malheureusement mort."

"Your French is quite good, Dr.
Eriksson.  Yet I cannot imagine that Dr. Denton would know the
identities of any of the migrants we hire to work in the
fields.  Surely you have been misinformed, oui?"

Liar.  My French pronunciation is fine,
but my grammar is only as good as the English to French app on my
iPhone.

"I'm not sure I was misinformed,
monsieur.  A number of men from Downey have identified Dr.
Denton by name and physical description as the man who hired them
to work here.  What would be most helpful is if I could speak
to Dr. Denton myself.  As I told Ms. Carter from your human
resources department, all we wish to know is the name of a man who
passed away recently.  I'd like to be able to contact his next
of kin.  There is no criminal investigation involved in this
matter.  We merely want a name."

He held his hands out, palms up in
supplication.  "Bien sur, detective.  But I can promise
you that the time Thomas is in the lab would prohibit his ability
to recruit workers.  The man spends every waking moment
working."

"I'd like that conversation all the
same."

Dupree nodded and made a call. 
"Oui.  Tout suite."  He replaced the receiver. 
"Security will escort you to the research facility where Dr. Denton
will meet you right away.  I do apologize for the
inconvenience, detective.  I hope this has not impeded you in
your important work."

Briscoe muttered under his breath all the
way to the elevator when our escort disappeared behind the mirrored
doors.  "Sorry he impeded us my ass," he grumbled. 
"These people been stonewallin' us since we pulled up to their
prison-wire gate."

"I don't get it," Crevan said.  "Why
all this secrecy and hesitation from a dairy farm?  Do you
have any theories, Helen?"

"I have no idea.  But how old was
Dupree when he moved south and started helping companies buy
Midwest farms, ten?  The guy looks like thirty might be a
stretch."

"Probably one of them Botox boys," Briscoe
derided.  "Either that or the guy is competing with that
comedian chick for the most plastic surgeries.  That's a dye
job if I ever seen one.  The guy's gotta be pushin' fifty
minimum."

If something illegal was taking place at
Dupree's farm, it certainly explained the conspiracy of silence
from everyone, guards to HR even to Mephistopheles at the reception
desk.  I anticipated about thirty seconds with Denton before
we'd be summarily dismissed. 

Denton darted out from inside even more
secured doors than Carter used in the main Dupree building. 
His small stature fit with the nervousness he exuded, but I got the
distinct impression that it was normal behavior for him.  He
pushed the perfectly round Ben Franklin-esque eyeglasses up the
narrow bridge once, and again when they immediately slid low to the
slightly bulbous tip of his nose before tugging the sleeves of his
lab coat.

"Dr. Eriksson I presume," he said to
Crevan.

"I'm Eriksson."

A flicker of recognition flashed behind thin
lenses.  "Oh yes.  The one with that nasty business with
the chief of police or some such in Darkwater Bay.  I'm a very
busy man, doctor.  I assure you I do not have time to hire men
for the fields."  Denton turned on his heel.

I grabbed one of his shoulders firmly enough
to let him know we weren't through talking.  "What sort of
research keeps you so busy that you can't spare five minutes for
the police, Dr. Denton?"

He shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm
afraid it's very complex.  You wouldn't understand it anyway,"
a hand brushed through the thinning fringe of hair flopped over his
forehead. 

"Really?  Because you know I'm a doctor
as well."

"Psychology barely qualifies, Dr.
Eriksson.  It could never compare to hard science." He rolled
back and forth on the balls of his feet. The guy couldn't seem to
find a moment to be still.

"My undergraduate degree is in
neuroscience.  Give me a try."

"Telomeres," he said with another swipe at
the spectacles and a sleeve tug.  "Beyond that, I'm afraid my
work is quite proprietary.  It's not something I can divulge
to just anyone."

"Nervous little thing, aintcha, or do you
just gotta pee?"

"Tony," Crevan shook his head at his
partner.

"I'm working through a critical phase of a
clinical trial, Dr. Eriksson.  I do not hire migrant
workers.  Now if you'll excuse me please, I need to get back
to my research."

This time, I let him go.  Denton sped
away almost as rapidly as he'd spoken. He pressed his thumb to a
print reader before resting his chin on another device that likely
positioned him for a retinal scan. 
Tight security for a
dairy farm.

"Well?  Dead end?" Crevan asked.

"Not on your life," I murmured.  A
different picture – at least psychologically – began to gel of Dr.
Denton in my mind.  "Gentlemen, I need to get back to Downey,
and if you've got a phone I can use there, I need to start making
some phone calls."

"Why?  What did he tell you that could
possibly be of value to our investigation?"

I didn't answer.  Instead, I marched
out of the research building and waited for them in the car. 
My mind raced with possibilities.  By the time Tony and Crevan
joined me, I had tasks in mind to keep them busy while I contacted
someone I knew on the east coast.

"Could you two dig up all the information
you can find on Thomas Denton for me?  I'd like a photograph
too, the one from DMV will do nicely."

"Helen, what're you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

"He said so little to us.  What's got
you so revved up?" Crevan asked.

I rested my arms on the back of the front
seat, chin propped on my hands.  "He mentioned something about
his research."

"Tele-somethin'," Briscoe said. 
"Sounds like electronics not how to milk a better cow."

"Telomeres, Tony.  It has to do with
how long cells live.  In cancer research, scientists have
learned that those mutated cells never die because the telomere
chains never stop replicating.  Telomerase is an enzyme that
allows the DNA strands to repeat, or replicate indefinitely."

"What the hell would that have to do with
milk cows?"

"Its applications could be endless," I
said.

"No pun again, right Eriksson?"

I grinned.  "Definitely no pun. 
Scientists are interested in telomeres because in the case of
cancer cells, if they learn to shut off this mechanism caused by
the enzyme telomerase, tumors would stop growing.  They
wouldn't spread elsewhere to healthy cells."

"Shit.  You're talkin' about a cure for
cancer?  Again, I do not fathom how this relates to cows."

"I don't think it does. Tony, you noticed he
couldn't stop moving.  We call that psychomotor
agitation.  It could mean nothing more than too much caffeine
or sleep deprivation –"

"Or," Briscoe interjected, "maybe he's
cookin' up somethin' in there that makes him so hyper."

I shook my head. "His skin is clear. His
pupils are normal. No, I'd call his behavior hypomanic at best,
full blown mania at worst. There's no way of knowing that at this
point. He'd have to be evaluated further."

"Do you think he's a danger to himself or
others?" Crevan asked. He had his cell out, ready to dial.

I chuckled. "No, he's still functional at
this point, and there are no indicators that he's doing harm to
himself. But as for his research, I doubt he's got the patience to
unlock the secret of telomeres. Even if Denton were capable of
perfecting the research, which I seriously doubt he's good enough
to do what
teams
of dedicated scientists have been unable to
do, he could feasibly extend the life expectancy of Dupree's cattle
indefinitely.  Imagine never having to replace your stock, or
at the very least, the money you'd save by extending the life of
cattle by ten or fifteen years."

"So…"

"Crevan, I seriously doubt that a man like
Dupree is interested in the application of the technology to his
cows.  Look at him.  It's like Tony said.  He's the
poster child for plastic surgery."

"You think he hired some mad scientist so he
can…what, live forever?"

"I want to find out if Denton's research has
found its way onto the FDA's radar.  If he's working at a
farm, where it is conceivable that his research would have an
impact on the food supply…"

"Then the government oughtta be keepin' tabs
on what he's doin'," Tony nodded.

"But if it's not on their radar, it could
explain why everyone out there is so secretive," I said. 
"Make no mistake, they're hiding something."

"What about these homeless guys, and
Detective Cox?   How does any of this get us closer to
finding out how and why they died?"

"That's why I need the photo of Denton."

"Nancy is hittin' the streets again?"
Briscoe asked.

"No, but the two of you are," I said. 
"Jason Blake said that Denton posted a notice that he'd be hiring
again on Friday.  That gives us roughly two days to determine
if the Thomas Denton working as a research scientist at Dupree Farm
is the same person identified at Tom Denton recruiting workers from
the Sixth Avenue Shelter for Dupree Farm."