"Gimme a break with the ‘ongoing investigation’ shtick. I brought donuts. I asked politely. What do you want from me? Try the eclairs, by the way. Still cool from the fridge. The custard filling is unbelievably smooth."
Gunner had polished off the danish in record time. He refilled his coffee and topped mine off, too.
"Okay," he said, after retaking his seat.
"Okay what? Eclair or info?"
"Both," he said, carefully acquiring the eclair while resuming his position behind the desk. "Here’s what we’ve got."
He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin.
"The perp is almost certainly the lab assistant. DNA evidence, footprints his size in the blood, fingerprints on the outside wall where the blood trail starts. We got his prints from INS. The Brits conveniently include a thumb in their passport records.
"But here’s the clincher. When we found the professor’s car nose down in the Prairie River, we also found the lab assistant’s prints on the inside of the trunk — one was even pressed in the good doctor’s blood."
Gunner was clearly pleased with himself over this last statement. When I didn’t look impressed, he continued.
"Plus, the assistant’s disappeared and nobody’s got a clue where he went. He didn’t have any friends… at least nobody we could identify. And there weren’t other profs he was close with.
"We don’t have the murder weapon. But that’s minor.
"I’d like a more concrete theory of motive. The old man might’ve stolen credit for the kid’s work? Maybe there was a woman we haven’t discovered yet? Maybe the kid was doing the professor’s wife — but that’s a picture I’d prefer to keep outta my mind.
"I don’t know. You got any theories?" He took a bite of eclair.
"Have your science guys reviewed the professor’s work activities just before he died?"
"Yeah. Fertilizer research," Gunner said, his mouth still full of eclair.
Gunner’s ‘Fertilizer’ had sprayed me with pastry bits. I wiped my face with a paper napkin.
He sipped some coffee and swallowed. "Sorry about that," he said. "Are you suggesting there’s a murder motive in makin’ artificial cow dung?"
"I don’t know what I’m suggesting."
I paused a moment in thought.
"What about the piece of lab equipment the professor created? What is that like? Does it have any nefarious uses?"
Gunner looked at me baffled. "What the hell are you talkin’ about?"
"Nefarious. If means something the bad guys might use it for." I smiled.
"Hell, I know what ‘nefarious’ means. But there wasn’t any unusual or created equipment in the professor’s lab. The BCA science geeks said it’s all standard stuff. What makes you think there was somethin’ else?"
"Did your guys look at the professor’s reports to the Administrator? Chuck Downing? Or interview him? When I talked to Chuck, he told me that the professor was some kind of genius with inventing lab devices. Chuck has drawings of a recent invention in his files."
"You spoke with Dr. Downing?" Gunner looked at me disapprovingly.
"Yeah. We happened to be in the same place at the same time. Anyway… what about the invention?"
"The science guys said something about a theoretical invention mentioned in the old guy’s reports. But it didn’t seem like something that had ever actually made anything. No one told me that it should’ve been in the lab when we inventoried it.
"Are you thinking this missing invention thingy is more than… what’s the word?"
"Peripheral?" I offered.
"Yeah. Peripheral." Gunner took another bite of the eclair.
"Well, the thing is gone," I persisted. "If your guys didn’t find it in the lab, the assistant must have taken it. Why?"
A pause for Gunner to sip his coffee.
"Lots of possible reasons," he said, leaning back in his chair. "First of all, maybe the professor decided the gizmo didn’t work right after all and shit-canned it himself — possibly weeks ago."
I nodded, conceding the point.
"Second, even if the contraption was still in the lab when the professor was killed, it’s hard to guess all the potential reasons why the assistant might have taken it. To sell it? To melt it down for precious metals? To play mad scientist in his garage? To stockpile his own custom manure supply?
"And if it is actually missing, maybe somebody else took it. We’ll look at it some more, Beck. But I doubt it’s relevant."
Gunner had a point — several, actually.
"You’re probably right. No big deal. It’s just something, you know, anomalous. Why was it there before and now it’s gone?"
"I see what you’re saying," Gunner said. "And I will check into it."
I knew this invention would haunt me until I had discovered why the thing was missing, and what someone might do with it. Maybe Gunner would figure it out.
We each had another bite of pastry and sip of coffee. The coffee wasn’t bad today. Sometimes Gunner’s brew will make your lips pucker.
"Can you tell me anything else about the kid… the assistant?" I asked after a few moments.
"Well, like I told you the other day, his name is Farris Ahmed. He is a dual Saudi and British citizen here on an unlimited student visa. That’s the usual practice with citizens from the U.K. Graduated Cambridge near the top of his class. Started as a grad student at the U of M about three years ago. Twenty-five years old. Arabic descent."
Arabic. Not a surprise. But that feeling in my stomach was becoming more uncomfortable.
"Do you know anything about his education before Cambridge?"
"Lemme see."
I waited patiently as Gunner again wiped his sticky fingers on a napkin, then began digging through a pile of papers. He pulled one sheet from the stack.
"Cambridge records indicate he attended The Riyadh Science Academy. From what I can find out, it’s a prestigious school. Supposedly top flight. I haven’t got any official records from the Academy itself. His father… we are communicatin’ with him regularly… very concerned… confirmed his son’s attendance at the Academy. The father claims the high class prep school is what got him into Cambridge in the first place.
"The father also assures us the boy is no radical. Just a normal kid trying to get the best education possible. According to Dad, the kid’s fondest dream is ‘to improve agricultural production in the barren Saudi soil.’
"Sort of sad, isn’t it?"
"Yeah. Sad."
My stomach was churning, and it wasn’t the donuts.
"So Dad says he’s just a normal kid," Gunner went on. "Life’s ambition? To improve on manure. And yet, here we are. No apparent motive. And little doubt about the boy’s guilt. The Homicidal Horticulturist?"
"And how about international calls around the time of the murder?" I asked. "Did the BCA have any luck with that angle?"
"I don’t know that I would call it an angle, but yeah, there was one international call made from a cell phone off the tower in the area of the Lab around the time of the murder. Not many towers out in the boonies, so it was the only one they needed to check. Even so, the BCA told me I was a pain in the ass because, apparently, they needed to contact each cell phone company separately to get the info. So you do owe me one.
"What’s the significance of the call?"
"Where did it go to?" I asked, ignoring Gunner’s question.
"Somewhere in Germany… best they could do. Now… why do you care?"
"Just a hunch." I stood. "Thanks Gunner. Got to go. Keep the health food."
Before Gunner could chew and swallow his last bite of eclair, I was out the door.