“Now your hands.”
The creases in my fingers were sticky with blood. When Karen was done, I trooped off to the shower. The hot water helped, at least with how my body felt. I threw on someone’s terrycloth robe and sank into the couch in the living room. Karen sat next to me. I recounted what had happened at LifeScience. We drew closer and closer until my head was on her shoulder.
Karen’s voice was somber. “This is not how I thought it would turn out. Frederick McKinnon. Of all people.”
I straightened. “The worst part was having to admit to Dugan that was he right. And that he wasn’t the murderer himself. But McKinnon knows the molecule, and he was in a position to know about the tomato. He couldn’t bear to fail again. If MC124 flopped, McKinnon was finished.”
“He had a lot to lose. And I can see how he’d want to reclaim control of the company from Dugan. But I still can’t believe he would hurt Sheila.”
“I keep trying to imagine a scenario in which it could be someone else. Doug. Marion. Carl. Or Dugan, in league with McKinnon. Dugan was not the man whose side I wanted to end up on. He and Pratt were not the ones at all.”
“Sheila thought she was in heaven when she went to work for Frederick,” Karen mused. “Yes, he was single-minded, but he really did inspire people. He cared about the work. He was a true scientist.”
“I have to admit, I admired him, too,” I said. “I hate the idea of seeing him brought down, leaving Dugan in charge.”
“It’s the old story all over. A good idea ruined by money.”
We were silent. The rain tapped on the roof.
“So where was Marion during all this?”
“Good question.” I went to the phone. Marion’s voicemail answered. I left a message saying that I was all right, thank you very much, and I hoped she was, too. I called Wes and got his voicemail as well. I wondered if he and Marion were unavailable for the same reason.
“So what do we do now?” Karen wondered.
“It’s probably safe for you to go back to your apartment.”
She gave a sly smile. “I kind of like our secret hideout.”
I returned to the couch. Karen pretended to sway unsteadily, then toppled over into my lap. I stroked her eyebrows. Karen let them grow, which I found sexy after Jenny’s plucked commas. I tried to put the comparison out of my mind.
“Case closed,” she murmured.
I looked down at her for a sign as to which case she meant. Her eyes remained serenely shut. I decided to take her words literally. “It’s closed unless we come up with an improved set of facts before tomorrow. That’s when Dugan will take his evidence to the police.”
Karen’s eyes opened. “Results can be tweaked, but don’t make the mistake of trying to force them to the conclusion you want. Accept what the results tell you.”
“I’d like to have one more look at Sheila’s apartment,” I said. “Maybe I can talk Abe Harros into it this afternoon.”
“Good idea.” Karen sat up slowly, stretched her arms, and yawned. Her hand came to rest on my knee. She searched my eyes. Her mouth resolved into a bittersweet smile. “Accept the results,” she repeated, more to herself than to me.
I went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Having the receiver in my hand reminded me I hadn’t called Jenny today. She’d want to know what happened, to know I was safe. My finger hesitated over the keypad. I punched in Abe’s number. He, of course, wanted to hear the whole story on the phone. I made a deaclass="underline" he could hear it inside Sheila’s apartment. He told me to be there in half an hour.
In the living room, Karen was holding the large brown leather bag I’d seen Sheila carrying in the parking lot. Karen hefted it with one hand, mutely asking what to do with it.
“Hold on to it a little longer. The police can have it, if they want it. I don’t want to give it to Dugan. Right now I’m going to meet Abe.”
“I’d come, but I think it’s better if I stay here and clean up this place.”
“I’ll be back soon. I’ll help you move back to your apartment.”
I opened the door. The rain was coming down steadily now. The Scout started right up — it usually did, once it overcame its initial obstinacy about dampness.
Abe was waiting for me by the back gate to the complex. The lounges around the pool looked wet and forlorn. Raindrops pattered in the blue water.
He said nothing as he led the way to the apartment. We sat at Sheila’s dining table. It was still stacked with books and journals.
Abe demanded to know all. I told him, leaving out no details. The further into it I went, the more his features tightened into objection. He didn’t believe McKinnon was the one. I said I didn’t want to believe it either, but everything pointed toward him.
“I’m a doctor, Bill,” Abe declared. “I’ve worked in Africa and the Balkans. I’ve seen killers and I’ve seen healers. Dr. McKinnon is ambitious, like most of us, but he’s not a killer.”
He was a couple of years younger than me, but his somber eyes had soaked up plenty of illness and death. They were the same almond shape and rich brown color of Sheila’s eyes, but showed less openness, more authority. The kind of authority a doctor expected to command. I stared into them for a long moment before saying, “You thought I was.”
“I thought you were covering up for your girlfriend. I thought you were sneaky. I thought you were in the way.”
“Your father saw what he wanted to see, and you followed suit. You wanted someone to blame — fast. But you never put your theories to the test.”
“We tested what Pratt got out of your kitchen. It was clean.”
“You could have let me know. We could have worked together on this. Face it, you were late on the scene, Abe. You resented that there were people who knew more about your sister’s life here than you did.”
“Proximity is not knowledge.”
I paused. He wasn’t going to budge. “Did you ever wonder why Sheila moved so far away?”
Abe froze, then drew up as if he was going to hit me. I held my ground. His eyes fixed on the gash on my cheek. Then his shoulders collapsed and his hands covered his face for several seconds. I felt like a cad. But when he spoke, his voice had softened.
“I thought we had plenty of time.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry, Abe. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shook his head, then looked away. “No. I can handle it. I’ve read the diary. What you said about my father was also true. We were unfair to you.”
I let that sit for a minute. “To be honest, I’m hoping this thing isn’t settled yet, either. That’s why I wanted to meet you here. I want to look for the pages Sheila tore out of her diary. With your permission.”
He regarded me, perhaps recalling his accusation that I had taken them. Or maybe he was considering how it would feel to search his sister’s apartment. I assumed he’d already gone through her effects and found the obvious things. We’d be searching the nooks and crannies.
He stood. “Let’s look.”
We started with her shelves, reasoning that she might have folded the pages and inserted them into a book. Abe kept expressing delight at the volumes he found. Novels, poetry, history of science. He was getting to know his sister anew.
As we worked, I said, “If you don’t think McKinnon did it, then who did?”
Abe paused. “Last night, I would have said Neil Dugan. But the fact is, Dugan didn’t know the science. If he engineered the murder, he succeeded through sheer luck.”
“He wouldn’t do it in such an elaborate way anyhow. If he wanted to kill Sheila, he’d just have killed her.”
Abe let out a bitter laugh. “True. Whoever planned this thought they had everything figured. It has the intricacy of science.”