Regarding Room 250, what I knew for sure about Room 250 is that neither Paul Stevens nor his diploma was in there. There were probably twenty rabid dogs in Room 250 waiting to eat my cajones. Regarding Room 225, I wasn't sure… Nothing on this island was quite what it seemed, and no one was entirely truthful.
I said to the secretary, "My aunt was named June."
She looked up from her desk and stared at me.
I continued, "It's a pretty name. Reminds me of late spring and early summer, for some reason. Summer solstice, you know?"
June kept staring at me and her eyes narrowed. Scary.
I said to June, "Call Dr. Zollner on the intercom and tell him he has ten seconds to receive us, or we'll get an arrest warrant for obstruction of justice. Nine seconds."
She hit the intercom and said, "Dr. Zollner, please come here. Now."
"Five seconds."
The door to the right opened, and a big, beefy, bearded man in a white shirt and blue tie appeared. He said, "Yes? What is the problem?"
June pointed directly to me and said, "Him."
Beefy looked at me. "Yes?"
I stood. Everyone else stood. I recognized Dr. Zollner from the chain-of-command photos in the lobby, and I said, "We have come across the sea and have traveled many miles, Doctor, and overcome many obstacles to find you, and you repay us by jerking us off."
"Excuse me?"
June butted in, "Shall I call security, Doctor?"
"No, no." He looked at his guests and said, "Well, come in, come in."
We went in, went in.
Dr. Zollner's corner office was big, but the furniture, walls, and carpet were the same as all the others. There was an impressive array of framed things hanging on the wall behind his desk. On the other walls were crappy abstracts, real junk like you see in the best museums.
Still standing, we all introduced ourselves, using our titles and job descriptions this time. It appeared to me — and this had to be a guess again — that Zollner had already met Nash and Foster.
We all pressed the flesh, and Zollner smiled brightly. He said, "So, welcome. I trust Mr. Stevens and Ms. Alba have been helpful?"
He had a slight accent, German probably, if the name was any indication. As I said, he was big — fat, actually — and he had white hair and a white Van Dyke beard and thick glasses. In fact, he looked like Burl Ives, if you want the truth.
Dr. Zollner invited us to sit — "Sit, sit" — and we sat, sat. He began by saying, "I am still in shock over this tragedy. I couldn't sleep last night."
Beth inquired, "Who called you last night with the news, Doctor?"
"Mr. Stevens. He said he'd been called by the police." Zollner continued, "The Gordons were brilliant scientists and very well respected among their colleagues." He added, "I hope you solve this case very quickly."
Beth replied, "So do we."
Zollner continued, "Also, let me apologize for keeping you waiting. I have been on the phone all morning."
Nash said, "I assume, Doctor, you've been advised not to give interviews."
Zollner nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course. No, I didn't give any information, but I read the prepared statement. The one that came from Washington."
Foster requested, "Can you read it to us?"
"Yes, of course, of course." He rummaged around his desk, found a sheet of paper, adjusted his specs, and read, " 'The Secretary of Agriculture regrets the tragic deaths of Drs. Thomas and Judith Gordon, employees of the Department of Agriculture. We will not engage in speculation regarding the circumstances of these deaths. Questions regarding the investigation of the deaths should be directed to the local police, who can better answer those questions.'"
Dr. Zollner finished reading what amounted to nothing.
Max said to Zollner, "Please fax that to the Southold police so we can read it to the press after substituting the FBI for the local police."
Mr. Foster said, "The FBI is not involved in this case, Chief."
"Right. I forgot. Neither is the CIA." He looked at Beth. "How about the county police? You guys involved?"
Beth replied, "Involved and in charge." She said to Dr. Zollner, "Can you describe to us the duties of the Gordons?"
"Yes… They were involved mostly with… genetic research. Genetic alteration of viruses to make them unable to cause disease, but able to stimulate the body's immune system."
"A vaccine?" Beth asked.
"Yes, a new type of vaccine. Much safer than using a weakened virus."
"And in their work, they had access to all types of virus and bacteria?"
"Yes, of course. Mostly virus."
Beth went on, shifting to the more traditional homicide investigation questions regarding friends, enemies, debts, threats, relationships with co-workers, recalled conversations with the deceased, how the deceased appeared to act in the last week or so, and on and on. Good homicide stuff, but probably not totally relevant. Yet, it all had to be asked, and it would be asked again and again of almost everyone the Gordons knew, then asked again of those already interviewed to see if there were any inconsistencies in their statements. What we needed in this case, if you assumed the theft of deadly bugs, was a big break, the "Advance to Go" card, something to bypass the procedural crap before the world ended.
I looked at the abstracts on the walls and realized that these weren't paintings, but color photographs… I had a feeling these were diseases — bacteria and stuff, infecting blood and cells and all that, photographed with a microscope. Weird. But actually, they weren't all that bad.
Zollner noticed my gaze and interrupted his reply to some question, saying, "Even disease-causing organisms can be beautiful."
Absolutely," I agreed. "I have a suit with that pattern. The green and red squiggly ones there."
"Yes? That's a filovirus — Ebola, actually. Dyed, of course. Those little things could kill you in forty-eight hours. No cure."
"And they're here in this building?"
"Perhaps."
"Cops don't like that word, Doctor. Yes or no?"
"Yes. But safely stored — frozen and under lock and key." He added, "And we only play with simian Ebola here. Monkey Ebola, not human Ebola."
"And you've done an inventory of your bugs?"
"Yes. But to be honest, there is no way we could account for every specimen. And then you have the problem of someone propagating certain organisms in an unauthorized place. Yes, yes, I know what you're getting at. You believe the Gordons took some very exotic and deadly organisms, and perhaps sold them to… well, let's say a foreign power. But I assure you, they would not do that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's too terrible to contemplate."
"That's very reassuring," I said. "Hey, we can go home now."
Dr. Zollner looked at me, not used to my humor, I suppose. He really did look like Burl Ives, and I was going to ask him for a photo and autograph.
Finally, Dr. Zollner leaned across his desk toward me and said in his slight accent, "Detective Corey, if you had the key to the gates of hell, would you open them? If you did, you should be a very fast runner."
I contemplated this a moment, then replied, "If opening the gates of hell is so unthinkable, then why do you need a lock and key?"
He nodded and replied, "I suppose to protect us from madmen." He added, "Of course, the Gordons were not mad."
No one replied. We'd all been through this before, verbally and mentally, a dozen times since last night.
Finally, Dr. Zollner said, "I have another theory which I will share with you and which I believe will prove true within this day. Here is my theory — my belief. The Gordons, who were wonderful people, but somewhat carefree and terrible with money, stole one of the new vaccines they were working on. I believe they were further advanced on the research of a vaccine than they led us to believe. Unfortunately, this sometimes happens in science. They may have made separate notes and even separate sequencing gels — these are transparent plates where genetically engineered mutations, which are inserted into a disease-causing virus, show up as… something resembling a bar code," he explained.