Again she nodded, but it was all show. “What about it?” she asked. “What about us?”
“Zeller used to say to me, ‘You come to a fork in the road, take it,’” Dart answered.
It elicited a smile from her. A soft laugh. Dart coughed.
“I guess that’s where I am,” he said, “at that fork in the road.”
She pursed her lips. “I understand.”
“I’m not saying no.”
“I understand.”
“Abby may try to reconcile with her ex. If she does, and it works … Who knows?”
“And you’re all right with that?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s a unique relationship,” he answered. “We’re very much in the here-and-now.”
“Well, I can’t say that I’m not jealous.”
“Tomorrow is a long way off, where Abby and I are concerned.”
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He let go of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yeah,” answered Joe Dart. “Me too.”
Dart called Bud Gorman at home and caught him before he went to bed.
“I need yet another favor,” Dart said cautiously, testing if he had asked for too much lately. Referring to the speeding tickets, he added, “I’m going to owe you a hell of a lot of fixes.”
“Screw fixing the speeding tickets. I’m getting a Jeep. I hit a piece of metal yesterday-one little piece of shit on the center line. I was only doing about seventy …” Probably in a thirty-five zone, Dart thought. “Thing had such low clearance, it jumped up and punctured my gas tank. Lucky I didn’t flame out. Shopped Jeeps this afternoon. It’s not safe out there.”
“It’s a company called Roxin Incorporated.”
“It’s called Roxin Laboratories, Inc.,” Gorman corrected. “It’s a biotech, genetics firm. I take it you got the e-mail I sent you.”
Genetics? Dart thought. “But how do you know-?”
“Did you get the e-mail or not?” Gorman interrupted.
“I haven’t checked today. It’s swing shift. I’m brain dead.” Genetics, he thought again. Roxin Laboratories, Inc., had purchased medical insurance policies for known sex offenders-protecting themselves in case the test program went badly. And it’s gone badly, Dart thought.
“Brain dead, huh? Well, come alive for a minute, ’cause what I’m talking about is the Proctor Securities client list you asked for. I turned up every check written to the company for the last twenty-four months. Posted the list onto CompuServe for you.”
“But Roxin?” Dart again began but was immediately interrupted.
“Is on the list, Joe. Proctor Securities is on retainer to them. They’re a big client. I placed them in the top ten of my Proctor list.”
“Oh, my God,” Dart blurted out. Zeller would have discovered Roxin while working for Proctor. It fit.
“You want a credit run on Roxin?” Gorman offered. “No problem.”
Dart couldn’t get a word out. His mind cluttered with a dozen thoughts.
“Joe? You there?” Gorman added, “Know anybody who can get me a good deal on a Jeep?”
CHAPTER 30
The space-age facility was surrounded by a nine-foot wrought iron fence enclosing what appeared to be three or four acres of park. The fence carried evenly spaced signs warning against unlawful trespass. In the crotch of an elm tree, Dart spotted one of what he suspected were dozens of hidden security cameras. Roxin Laboratories was a small fortress. Nine miles west of downtown and a few miles south of the town of Avon, nestled away in a thickly wooded hillside and overlooking the Farmington River, the physical plant consisted of a large five-story geodesic dome of steel and mirrored glass, and a similarly constructed multistory laboratory attached like a box to the dome’s south. There were two vehicular entrances-the main one with a manned booth and an automated entrance to the employees’ parking lot alongside the box. Dart showed his ID to the guard and parked in a visitor’s spot close to the main doors.
All security guards wore dark blue uniforms, pressed and starched, with emblems stitched onto the right sleeve and name panels above the right breast pocket. Dart surrendered his weapon and his cellular phone and passed through a cleverly disguised metal detector, met there by a man in his early twenties who owned a severe haircut and piercing green eyes and who introduced himself as Richard. Richard wore a light blue suit and expensive shoes shined to a mirror finish. He instructed Dart on how to use his visitor’s pass in order to log in to the computerized security system.
To Dart, this felt a little bit like entering a prison.
The elevator panel operated only after Richard swiped his credit-card-sized security pass through the reader. He and Dart changed elevator cars on the third level, after passing through another security station and entering the lab building. A series of air locks gained them access to the second set of elevators and offices and labs beyond.
The need for an escort became quickly apparent-hallways and doors lacked identification, except for a cryptic band of bricked colors, reminding Dart of nautical flags. On foot, they crossed a skybridge connecting the elevator bank to the third floor of the lab building, high above what Richard called the “terrarium”-a small enclosed courtyard complete with a running fountain and a living lily pond. Offices looked out onto the courtyard. “The security is somewhat ominous, I know,” Richard apologized, “but recombinant genetics is not to be taken lightly. The security has much less to do with the integrity of our ideas than it does with the preservation of environmental continuity.”
“That’s certainly reassuring,” Dart said.
Richard attempted what passed for a smile. “Yes, well, we wouldn’t want anything getting away from us,” Richard explained.
“No,” Dart agreed, “we wouldn’t.” After another ten yards, Dart said, “Expensive facility,” exploring with a compliment.
“When we started up, biotechs were the darlings of Wall Street. The board wanted to make a statement with the facility-and I think they have.”
“Definitely,” Dart agreed.
“We’ve had enormous success with our arthritis drug-Artharest, is its commercial name,” he announced. “And big things are expected of our prostate drug-an anticancer gene therapy drug.”
They arrived at a door marked with a red flag, two blues and another red. Richard used his ID card to gain them access and showed Dart inside a generous conference room. The table, a series of thick slabs of black granite on a chrome frame, had down its center three flat conferencing microphones that looked more like ashtrays. The chairs were black leather slung between polished steel and braided wire. A large abstract mural of polished pink stone and blue glass occupied most of the far wall. A set of floor-to-ceiling white laminate cabinets occupied the far end of the room, presumably housing audiovisual equipment.
Richard seated him, asked if he could bring him something to drink, and when Dart declined, retreated through a door that made a sound as if locking behind him. Four excruciatingly long minutes later, the door opened and a tall, slightly heavy, middle-aged woman with dull dark hair wearing a conservative gray suit and cream blouse entered, graceful and poised. She carried a large black leather briefcase with her that she parked in the chair next to the one into which she lowered herself. She wore cream tights and black shoes with low heels.
She had never been pretty, though always smart, Dart decided, before she spoke a word. “Welcome to Roxin,” she said, like a tour guide, allowing the heel of her shoe to flap off her foot.
“It’s quite the place,” Dart said. “You don’t see it from the road.”
“No. Only from the river, and only then if you’re looking. It’s remarkable for its privacy.”
“I’m told that your time is extremely valuable, so I’ll get right to it,” he said.
“That’s kind of you, Detective.”