Stintson was a vital-looking older gentleman, who sat ramrod straight in his chair as he poured us coffee at his kitchen table. He had about him a kind of energy and a can-do attitude that, frankly, I found wearying. It was a certainty he'd been up at sunrise thinking intricate thoughts. Still, he was not at all averse to speaking with us as long as the conversation didn't flag. When I asked him to pose for a photo, he became exasperated at what he considered to be a waste of time.
"We wanted to find out about the ERO," said Schell, beginning the interview. I took out my pad and pen and began scribbling.
"Yes," he said. "I understand."
"Have you worked there long?"
"Well, Mr. Schell, I don't spend much time there anymore. I still have a membership, so to speak, but…my interest has cooled over the years."
"Why's that?"
Stintson winced. "I found I was working at cross-purposes with the leaders of the organization. You see, many of us who worked there hoped that our research would eventually lead to cures for inherited maladies. But as time went by I began to realize that the intended mission, of those who were supporting it that is, was to disenfranchise, to persecute, to play God instead of help people. I still believe the research could lead somewhere positive, but not now, not in this climate."
"Doesn't it all just fit into Darwinian theory?" asked Schell. "Survival of the fittest?"
"Yes," said Stintson. "But who or what is the fittest? It's Nature's purview to make that selection. There are so many factors, both seen and unseen, that go into that selection; it's not humanity's job. Some of my colleagues there bring an almost religious zeal to it, definitely a subjective zeal. They never consider the fact that what might seem to them to be aberrant may, in the larger scheme of things, be the next rung on the evolutionary ladder-a solution of survival for our species."
Schell nodded, and I could tell he was truly contemplating the doctor's comments and how they fit with his worldview of marks and cons, predators and prey.
I could see Stintson was getting a little restless, so I put my hand on Schell's arm to draw his attention. "The photo," I said.
"Oh, yes," he said and held up the photograph from Parks's place. "Does this look familiar to you, doctor?" asked Schell, laying the picture on the table so that the professor could study it.
He took a look at it and smiled. "Probably one of the informal gatherings at ERO," he said. "That's me, looking somewhat younger, right there," he said, pointing. I looked and it was true-a more youthful Stintson, darker hair, fewer wrinkles, stared up at us from the static tableau.
"How about this gentleman?" asked Schell, pointing.
"That, I believe, is Mr. Parks. He was a contributor to the cause. A wealthy man, who, if I'm not mistaken, recently met with a grisly end."
"You don't say," said Schell.
I saw a look of suspicion flash across Stintson's face, but Schell obviously noted it also and pushed on. "And did you know this fellow, Greaves, here?" he asked.
Stintson bent forward to get a better look. "I know him, but his name isn't Greaves."
"What?" asked Schell. "I was told he was a Doctor Greaves."
"Why exactly are you asking these questions?" asked Stintson, suddenly cold. "I don't think I'll be answering any more."
"We're simply curious," said Schell.
"A chimpanzee is curious, a cat is curious," said Stintson. "What are you after?" He pushed back from the table and began to stand up, no doubt to show us the door.
"Have you heard the name Charlotte Barnes?" asked Schell.
Stintson stopped midway in his ascent and returned to his seat. "The girl who was found murdered," he said. All of his good humor had vanished.
"Yes," said Schell. "We're investigating her death, and I think this fellow either knows something or was involved in some way. Now you don't have to help us, but an innocent man, or a man innocent of this particular crime, is going to take the rap for it and that girl's murder will have gone unavenged."
"You're not with the Times, I take it. Are you police?" he asked. "Federal agents?" He looked at me as if the thought of me working for the government would be a bizarre revelation indeed.
"We're working for Barnes, and I can assure you we're the furthest thing from police as one can get," said Schell.
"Can you prove it?" asked Stintson. "Say I call Barnes?"
"Barnes won't admit that we're working for him. He's promised me that. We've told him we're spiritual mediums. He thinks we're communicating with the dead to find out who killed his daughter. Actually we're con men, but I swear we aren't taking any money from him."
"That sounds fairly preposterous," said Stintson.
"Do you have a deck of cards?" asked Schell.
Stintson went to a drawer in the kitchen and brought forth a deck of cards. Schell had them out of the pack and was putting them through their paces in a flash. Stintson smiled as he watched the incredible display. When Schell was finished with the cards he set them down, waved his left hand in the air, and a monarch butterfly appeared above the table. "Lean over here and shake hands with me," he said to the doctor. Stintson warily did as he was asked. They gripped hands briefly and then the old man pulled away.
"As I said," said Schell, "we're not cops." He pointed with his left index finger at his right wrist, where Stintson's watch now resided.
The doctor's eyes focused, he looked down at his wrist, and broke out laughing. "Okay," he said. "I'm convinced you're not federal agents. That's what I was worried about."
"Why would you worry about that?" I asked.
"The man you pointed to isn't named Greaves. His real name is Fenton Agarias, and one thing I know about him is he has mysterious connections to some very powerful people, some wealthy, some in the government."
"Is there anything else you can tell us about him?" said Schell.
"He's mad," said Stintson.
BLOOD
You mean like frothing at the mouth?" asked Schell. "When I met him, he didn't seem any worse than a crank." "No, no," said Stintson. "I'm talking about the work he was doing at the ERO. Agarias was sold-lock, stock, and barrel-on the whole concept of thinning the unsavory elements from the country's breeding stock. A true zealot. We tried to force him out of the organization, because his practices were so blatantly immoral. He was doing some experiment that involved the interbreeding of fraternal twins. He'd found these test subjects somewhere in Pennsylvania-second-generation twins, born of an incestuous union between twins. We believed that he either paid or coerced this particular pair to mate. I never found out for sure, but it was rumored that this union resulted in yet another pair of twins-also fraternal, brother and sister, whom he'd adopted. I had a hard time believing it, for even though there is always a certain percentage of a chance that twins will result from a pregnancy, the chances that it would occur in this same family seemed infinitesimal."
"So you and some of the others questioned him?" asked Schell.
"We went above his head, to our boss, Davenport, and told him we wanted Agarias out. They either wouldn't or couldn't relieve him of his position, but soon after he got a grant, private money, and a lot of it, to build a facility elsewhere, all on his own, and continue his research."
"When was this?" I asked.
Stintson thought for a moment. "About…1918 perhaps, maybe even earlier. I've seen him since then, but he doesn't speak to me. He's been at the ERO on occasion, for instance the gathering in that photo. He still has an office there, and I heard that he also opened a private medical practice, catering to wealthy families here on the North Shore, although I doubt he needs the money. I don't know anything more about his present circumstances."
"Can you tell us anything more about the research he was doing?" asked Schell.