FIRE AND ICE (34 page)

Jack waited until he reached his desk to tell Alec about his trip to Minneapolis and his conversation with Dr. Halpern.

“He’s written a bunch of books and gotten awards, but he’s a pretty unassuming guy,” Jack said. “I can’t imagine how he could stand being cooped up with three other men in Alaska all that time. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t go postal.”

“It’s the quiet ones who do. I understand Marcus Lemming is the—excuse the pun—polar opposite. Evidently he doesn’t mind telling you how great he is.”

Jack and Alec went through the files of information that had been gathered on the case. Closing the last one, Jack pushed his chair back and stretched his legs. “According to the reports, Halpern and Lemming weren’t at Inook when Harrington was killed. They claim they never heard of William Harrington. Eric was by himself, and they didn’t know what he was doing. Lemming’s due back in town tonight. I think I’ll pay him a visit,” Jack said.

***

JACK STOPPED HIS CAR
in front of Marcus Lemming’s home, a tiny 1960s tract house. The one-story, square structure looked naked sitting on the lot. There wasn’t a tree or a shrub or a blade of grass anywhere near it. Weeds that had been scalped to ground level substituted for a lawn.

A scientist who spent most of his time in the Arctic probably didn’t have time to care for a house, Jack thought, but he wondered how the neighbors with their manicured lawns and well-trimmed shrubs felt about him.

Alec had been right about Marcus Lemming: he was nothing like Kirk Halpern. A brawny man with a square jaw and a distrustful scowl opened the door. When Jack showed his ID and asked for a few minutes, Lemming stepped aside to let him in.

The interior of his home was almost as sparse as the exterior. The small living room had bare hardwood floors. A futon sat against one wall, and a desk and chair faced the window that overlooked the street. Another wall was covered entirely by bookcases, the shelves stuffed so full of volumes they bowed under the weight.

“What is it you want to know?” Lemming asked. “I’ve already told the other agents everything I can about Eric.”

“How would you describe your relationship with him?” Jack asked.

“We got along well enough. We were great friends at the beginning, but it became obvious to all of us that Eric was jealous of me. I had already published several books and was asked to join the boards at two major institutes. Eric’s résumé was—I hate to speak ill of the dead—but I’m afraid his résumé was rather pathetic. He actually went to a state school. He became very possessive of his own work, not wanting to share with the rest of us. He’d go off by himself at night and work on his notes and his videos. He seemed almost paranoid, as though he were afraid of someone stealing his ideas. I can assure you, Eric Carter didn’t have anything that I would want or need to steal.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in Lemming’s voice as he
continued to deride Carter’s credentials. “I have no idea why he snapped like that. I think maybe the pressure got to him.”

“So you didn’t see the data he had compiled or the videos?”

“I saw a few of them. But like I said, toward the end he kept them to himself.”

“Do you know what happened to his records?”

“The rest of us e-mailed our data home, and we boxed up our hard copies and shipped them. I couldn’t tell you what Eric did.”

“We found his notebooks and some disks, but it appears that the most recent ones are missing. Do you know anything about them?”

“Not a clue.”

The more questions Jack asked, the more impatient Lemming became. When William Harrington’s name was mentioned, a look of concern crossed his face. “I heard what happened,” he said. “A polar bear …” He shook his head. “Horrible way to die. I can’t imagine what he would have been doing out in the middle of nowhere like that.”

After several questions were answered, Lemming hadn’t told Jack anything he hadn’t already read in the files. However, Jack began to notice a theme running through every statement Lemming made: Eric Carter was acting alone.

Why was he so insistent on this point? Why was it so important for him to distance himself? Those were questions Jack would keep to himself … for now.

Minutes later, back in his car and driving away from the scientist’s home, Jack looked over his shoulder. Lemming was standing in the window.

J
ACK HAD LOOKED GOOD, REALLY GOOD … AND TIRED, SO
phie thought. But really, really good. She had spent the afternoon on an assignment and had pushed Jack MacAlister out of her mind, but now he was creeping back in again.

She wondered what would have happened if she had thrown herself at him in the lobby of the FBI building. Would alarms go off?

Crazy thoughts. And it was all the big jerk’s fault. She missed kissing him.

Feeling melancholy, she told herself to stop thinking about him. She had more important things to concentrate on. Like turkeys.

Jack hadn’t even bothered to call her since they had returned from Alaska. Why not?

She was hurrying back to the newspaper. A deadline was looming. She increased her pace until she was almost running. Not good in stiletto heels.

By the time she reached her office building, she was primed for a fight. She hoped she found Gary in her cubicle again. She’d have
a reason to punch him. Let him sue. What did she care? She didn’t have any money, so she wouldn’t lose anything.

Mr. Bitterman spotted her making her way to her desk.

“Blond—” he shouted, but stopped himself before adding, “girl.”

Sophie was pleased. Mr. Bitterman was trainable after all.

“Put your stuff away, Sophie, and come in here. I’ve got another assignment for you.”

If the assignment was a follow-up on the turkey people, she thought she might just buy one—a frozen one—and clobber him over the head with it.

Okay, I’ve got to stop thinking like this. This job is turning me into a violent person,
she thought.

Gary was huddled at his desk and didn’t look up when she walked past. The day was getting better by the minute.

Pad in hand, Sophie went into Mr. Bitterman’s office and shut the door.

“Did you notice I didn’t call you Blond Girl?”

“Yes, sir, I did, and I appreciate it. Now maybe you could work on not whistling for me.”

“All right,” he said. “Now sit down and tell me what you found out at the FBI. Anything?”

“Sort of,” she hedged. “I have this theory, but it’s way out there. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Try me.”

“I think that Dr. Eric Carter wasn’t just watching the wolves. I think he was doing something to them. One wolf in particular, the alpha male. I can’t prove it, though. The FBI could,” she added. “Their scientists could get blood samples from the animals or examine the pack or—”

“What do you mean, ‘doing something
to
the animals’?”

“I think Carter was altering them in some way.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Did you tell Jack or Alec your theory?”

“No, I didn’t.” Before he could ask why she said, “I don’t mind you laughing at me, but I don’t want them to.”

“Let the FBI investigate this,” he ordered.

She didn’t argue. She had hit a dead end anyway. “Yes, sir. I’ve done as much as I can, and eventually the missing videos will be found, and they’ll answer a lot of the questions.”

“I don’t want you to work on this anymore. Okay, Sophie?”

She nodded. “You said you had an assignment for me?”

The worry left his eyes. “That’s right, I do. Promise me you’ll hear me out before you start arguing.”

“Yes … ?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’d like you to take over ‘Kathy’s Kitchen’ column.”

“Take over?”

“Kathy’s opening a bakery downtown in the spring.”

“And you need someone to fill in until you find a replacement?”

“No, I want you to take the position full-time. We’ll call it ‘Sophie’s Kitchen.’ ”

She started to laugh, but stopped when he didn’t join in.

“You’re not joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sir, I don’t know how to cook. I couldn’t possibly—”

“You’ll get the hang of it. You’ve got five months to learn. If you want, I’ll pay for a cooking class. Don’t sell yourself short. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“But I … but …”

“Good, I’m glad you agree. I sent that story back to you to proof. Need you to do that right away.”

“But I …”

IT WAS A GOOD THING
she had a sense of humor, or she’d go looking for that bus again. First turkeys, then the kitchen. Could her life get any crazier?

Gary had a smirk on his face as he watched her walk by. Such a creep, she thought for the thousandth time. Out of sight, out of mind. Gary was forgotten once she started working. Mr. Bitterman wanted her to proof one of her stories, which was code for “Rewrite it, I hate it.”

She was on the last paragraph when her phone rang. She didn’t take her eyes off the computer screen as she answered. “Hello.”

“Sophie Rose?” The voice was deep and gravelly. This was not a newspaper call. The man had not used her professional name.

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly.

“I have something that you’ll want to see,” he said.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“I can’t give you my name.”

“Then I’m afraid this conversation is over,” she answered.

She was about to hang up when the man said, “Wait. Please. Don’t hang up. I need your help.”

His pleading tone made her pause. “I’m listening.”

“I have the tapes that will show you what Eric Carter was doing in Alaska.”

That caught her attention.

“Where did you get them?” she asked.

“I can’t say. All I can tell you is I had nothing to do with any of it. I didn’t know what he was doing. It wasn’t right, and I should never have gotten involved. I just need to get rid of them.”

“Take them to the FBI,” she said.

“I can’t. They’ll come after me.”

“Bring them here to the newspaper then,” she said.

“No, I can’t.” He sounded frantic now. “I’m not letting anybody else have them. I trust you. I read your article. You either take them off my hands, or I’ll destroy them, and you’ll never know what happened to William Harrington.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Sixty-eighth and Prescott. Meet me there,” he said. He added, “And come alone, or you won’t be getting the tapes.”

“No,” Sophie said. “I’ll choose the place.”

“Okay, where?”

Sophie’s mind raced through various spots, public places with lots of people. “Cosmo’s,” she said. She gave him the address.

“Be there at seven,” he said, and then added, “You better be alone, or the deal’s off.” He hung up.

Sophie’s watch said it was 6:15. If she hurried, she could get to Cosmo’s early. On the way she’d call Jack and have him meet her there.

She didn’t turn off her computer or tell Mr. Bitterman she was leaving. She grabbed her purse and hurried for the exit. On the street, she searched for a taxi. With rush hour in full swing, the odds of finding an empty one were slim to none. She’d have to take the El.

As she was running, she pulled her phone out of her purse to call Jack. The phone rang before she could flip it open. It was her father.

“How about I take you to dinner, Princess?” he asked. “I’m back in town, and I’m not a wanted man today. We can catch up face-to-face.”

“That’d be great, Daddy,” she said, “but I can’t talk now.”

“Where are you?” he asked. “You sound out of breath.”

“I’m cutting through Nelson Park to catch the El,” she said. “I’m meeting someone.”

“It’s getting dark. You have no business walking through a park in the dark. Why won’t you let me buy you a car?”

“Not now, Daddy,” she rushed. “I’ll have to call you back later. I need to get hold of Jack right away. This is really important.”

“Jack? Jack MacAlister?” he asked.

“Dad, I can’t—”

He heard, “No … don’t …” and then a scuffle.

And she was gone.

J
ACK SAT AT THE CONFERENCE ROOM TABLE WITH THREE
other agents and a stack of case files. Pittman walked in carrying three more files and took her place at the head of the table. Alec trailed in a minute later.