Cutting Edge Page 6

  Duke had to let go. It was hard. He didn’t know if it would be any harder if Sean was his son instead of his brother. But Duke, fifteen years older, had always been protective of Sean. And after their parents died, Duke had raised him while their older brother Kane continued to fight other people’s wars. Duke hadn’t always done a great job—he pushed Sean hard and was often critical—but he was proud of his younger brother.

  Duke said, “I already called the admissions director, he’s expecting you.”

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “Someone you know?”

  “An old friend.”

  “Why am I not surprised you know just the right person to get me inside?”

  “He might suspect I have another reason wanting you here, but I told him there was a glitch with your diploma from MIT and you need a social science requirement you’d missed as an undergrad. It happens that Professor Cole’s class fits the bill. He didn’t asked questions. By the time he gets your files from MIT, you’ll be out of here.”

  Sean shook his head with a half grin. “And you think I break the rules.”

  “I’m bending them.” He added, “The only thing, you might want to tone down your background.”

  “In what?”

  “Having two bachelor of science degrees and graduating from MIT might be a tip-off that you aren’t a liberal-arts major.”

  “Got it.” He glanced toward the building, but Duke saw his mind working.

  “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “Nothing. Trust me, I can blend in, no problem.”

  “One of them could be a killer. Don’t get cocky.”

  He grinned and winked. “No cockier than the average Rogan.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  While Quin continued to work her magic at the crime scene, and the M.E. moved the body to the morgue, Nora drove with her partner Pete Antonovich to the town house of Melanie Duncan, Jonah Payne’s head research assistant.

  “You were right,” Pete said as he parallel-parked down the street from Duncan’s residence. “The water pump was sabotaged, and whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing. Either an inside job or a smart guy with an engineering background. Popped the locks like a burglar, and inside the substation the water was shut off at the source. No computer knowledge necessary, just knowing which screws to turn, so to speak.”

  “And I’m guessing no fingerprints or tools left around to identify the culprit,” she said.

  “The sheriff’s forensic unit is printing and documenting the scene, but I don’t think they’ll find anything. The arsonists also blocked the camera.”

  “How?”

  “Simple. Put on a mask and tape a piece of cardboard to the camera lens.”

  “You’d think,” Nora said, “that in the twenty-first century we’d find a better way of surveilling remote locations.”

  “There is,” Pete said as he knocked on Duncan’s door. “But city government is behind the curve.”

  Melanie Duncan came to the door in a robe, her wet, dark red hair dripping down her back. Other than the simple black-framed glasses over bright blue eyes, Duncan was completely antithetical to Nora’s image of what a female researcher should look like. She was tall, voluptuous, and attractive.

  “It says no solicitors,” Duncan snapped when she opened the door.

  Nora showed her badge. “Special Agent Nora English. My partner, Pete Antonovich, FBI. Melanie Duncan, correct?”

  She frowned, a typical expression when confronted by government agents.

  “What do you want?”

  “May we come in?”

  “What do you want?” she repeated, not opening the door any wider.

  “There was a fire at Butcher-Payne,” Nora said. She watched Duncan carefully. First reactions were the most difficult to fake, except for the most accomplished pathological liars.

  “A fire?” She sounded skeptical, her brows drawing together. “Why are you here? The—” She glanced at Pete, then back at Nora. “The FBI?”

  “Ms. Duncan—”

  “Dr. Duncan,” she replied automatically. She stepped away from the door, and Nora and Pete entered. “I need to call Dr. Payne,” Duncan said. “I don’t see why you didn’t call him, or why the FBI is involved with a fire. Our lab isn’t a government facility. We have a grant, but—”

  “Dr. Duncan, why don’t you have a seat?”

  She remained standing, door open. Nora pushed it closed. “Jonah Payne died in the fire.”

  She blinked. “Died.” Her voice was flat. “A fire at Butcher-Payne? No, that’s not possible—he’s in Tahoe.”

  Nora raised her brow and glanced at Pete. Pete said, “I spoke with Jim Butcher this morning. He didn’t tell us Dr. Payne was supposed to be in Lake Tahoe.”

  “Jim? Jim’s in L.A.” She rubbed her forehead and walked over to the adjoining kitchen, where she poured herself a cup of coffee. Her hands shook, Nora noted, and she was clearly dazed. Possibly a very good actress, though Nora didn’t think Dr. Duncan was acting.

  “Dr. Payne’s body was found in his office. The fire started at approximately one-thirty this morning.”

  “Jonah is in Lake Tahoe,” she repeated emphatically. “He went up there Saturday afternoon. He’s driving back right now.” She picked up her cell phone, which was charging on a small secretary desk in the makeshift dining area.

  “Dr.—” Pete began, but Nora put her hand on his arm and shook her head once.

  It was clear after a few seconds that voice mail had picked up. With a catch in her throat, Duncan said into the phone, “Jonah, it’s Mel. Can you call me, please? It’s important.” She slowly closed her phone. “He’s coming back this morning. We have a ten a.m. staff meeting.”

  “Why did he go to Tahoe?” Nora asked.

  “He goes the last weekend of every month,” she said.

  “Every month?”

  “As long as I’ve been working for him. He has a cabin. It helps him think. He works seven days a week …” Her voice trailed off. “Are you certain? I mean, if there was a fire, maybe it’s not Jonah.” Her voice cracked.

  “Duke Rogan, security consultant, identified the body, which was discovered in Dr. Payne’s office.”

  The scientist sat heavily in a chair. Her bottom lip quivered and she bit it. Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t spill over.

  Nora glanced at her watch. It was just after eight in the morning. Gently, she asked, “When did you last talk to Dr. Payne?”

  “Friday when I left work. It was after seven. Told him to enjoy his weekend …” Her voice cracked again, and she looked at the wall beyond Nora.

  “Do you have the address for his cabin?”

  Duncan slowly rose and went to her desk. She flipped through a notebook, scribbled on a piece of paper, and handed it to Nora, then sat back down as if on autopilot.

  “And he always goes to the same place?” Nora glanced at the address, then put the paper in the back of her notepad.

  “It’s his second home. Why would he go anywhere else?”

  A regular schedule. Criminals loved habits. They were easy to monitor, giving stalkers and others valuable information about their prey.

  She quickly sent an email to the Lake Tahoe satellite office asking them to check out the address as a possible crime scene, giving them basic info on the case.

  “Do you know if he arrived in Tahoe?” Nora asked.

  She shook her head. “W-what happened?”

  There was no use sugarcoating the truth. “The fire was arson.”

  “Arson? You mean on purpose?” Suddenly her eyes flashed, anger layered over grief. “Is it the same people who burned down Langlier? And the lab at Sac State?”

  “On the surface, it appears to be a similar M.O.,” Nora admitted, “but we’re still in the early stages of our investigation. We have the best people gathering evidence—”

  “That didn’t do you any good with the other fires!” She jumped up and paced. “
Langlier was nearly two years ago. What are you people doing? How could this happen? How could Jonah be dead?”

  Nora would forgive her outburst—this time. She herself was intensely frustrated with the slow pace of the biotech arson investigation. That Nora believed someone affiliated with Professor Leif Cole’s group was involved meant nothing. Until she could tie him to the crimes, she couldn’t compel him to turn over anything, or even force him to talk to her.

  But she would continue to push him. Homicide gave her a fraction more weight behind her. And if Cole was true to the anarchist’s creed, then he would be repulsed that someone died. Maybe—finally—he would talk to her.

  A small consolation to Jonah Payne.

  “What about security?” Dr. Duncan continued. “Duke was there? What happened to his fabulous, foolproof security system? Someone get in? The bastard. Jonah felt safe.”

  Nora resisted the urge to defend Duke Rogan. She had no idea if his system had failed or was hacked or simply never turned on, but she’d seen the pain in his face after he’d recognized Jonah Payne. He blamed himself, and there was no doubt in her mind that right now Duke was working on finding out exactly how the security failed.

  Nora doubted it had been Duke’s fault if there was a security failure. She’d worked with him too often to believe he wouldn’t have triple-checked any system he put his name on.

  But Nora needed to figure out how the arsonists got into the lab to start the fire. Plus, where they’d released the animals—if there’d been any on the premises. Every anarchist or radical environmental group Nora had investigated avoided killing people or animals. At the heart of the movement were politics, and they knew that murder would turn public sentiment against them. Any deaths were unintentional, which made the Butcher-Payne arson doubly interesting, based on the M.E.’s assertion that Payne had been incapacitated prior to the fire.

  Nora avoided Duncan’s rhetorical question about security and asked, “How long have you worked for Dr. Payne?”

  “I’ve been there for five years, since they opened the new lab. I have a Ph.D. from USC in biochemistry and master’s degrees in both human biology and wildlife biology.”

  Nora made notes as Duncan spoke. “How many people work at Butcher-Payne?”

  “All of Butcher-Payne? We have two divisions. Jim’s group is all about media and fund-raising. They have ten, twelve people on staff. The lab has six full-time people, plus a vet who comes in twice a week.”

  It seemed from her tone that Dr. Duncan didn’t like Jim Butcher very much, or at least didn’t like the public focus of his division. “How was Dr. Payne’s relationship with his partner?”

  “They were best friends,” Duncan said flatly.

  “But you don’t like him?” she pushed.

  “He’s a spinner. He doesn’t care about what we’re trying to do. He has a degree in human biology, but his master’s was in business. All he cares about is bringing in the money. And that’s important, I know it is, but it feels icky.”

  Icky? “How so?”

  She shrugged. “Jim isn’t a bad guy, but he’s not Jonah. He’d bring in money that required us to work on specific projects, and so we had to put aside our primary work because the special projects funded our operations. And Jonah did it. He wasn’t always happy, but he did whatever Jim wanted.”

  “What was your primary focus?”

  She took a deep breath. “Jonah was on the verge of curing the bird flu—not by inoculating humans, but by genetically engineering birds predisposed to be carriers. By manipulating their genes, we inhibit their ability to contract the virus, which in turn prevents them from passing on the virus to other birds or humans. Influenza kills approximately half a million people worldwide every year. If we can’t find a way to stop the eventual pandemic from avian flu, that number will grow exponentially. Six months and we would have been ready for broad testing and trials. We’ve already started our internal tests. Now it’s all gone. It’ll take years to re-create. And without Jonah … I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes closed.

  Something Duncan said tickled the back of Nora’s brain, but before she could formulate her question, Pete asked, “Have Butcher-Payne or Dr. Payne received any threatening letters? Visits?”

  “What day don’t we get them? Ask Jim, he’ll have them. No one even knew or cared what we did in the lab until last year when Cole’s idiot group protested outside the building.”

  “Professor Leif Cole?” Nora asked.

  Duncan scowled. “Yes. They should have all been arrested. They blocked traffic and harassed our employees, not to mention putting up disgusting pictures of dead and bloody animals they claimed were from animal testing. That’s not how we operate. But just because we are using gene therapy on birds, they attack us!”

  Nora said, “This group has indicated through their graffiti and subsequent letters sent to the media that they’re anti-biotechnology, not an animal-rights group like ALF.”

  Duncan waved her hand and sniffed. “They’re all the same nuts.”

  Perhaps, but the arsonists were specifically targeting biotechnology companies or, in the case of Sac State, bioresearch. Not all of the targets used animals in their research. Nora knew ALF wouldn’t have gone after the Sac State lab because it didn’t engage in animal testing. The lab was solely involved in agriculture bioengineering, genetically manipulating plants to grow in areas with limited water.

  The only commonality between all four entities was their involvement in biotech research. Langlier, Nexum, and Butcher-Payne used animals; Sac State didn’t. Unless there was another reason the arsonists targeted the college.

  “From my experience,” Pete said, “extreme environmentalists tend to come together over multiple issues. There’s a lot of overlapping.”

  Nora concurred. She turned back to Duncan. “You said Jim Butcher has the threatening letters?”

  “Bobbie—Roberta Powers—would keep the correspondence. She’s Jim’s personal assistant. If it was overtly threatening, we’d have sent it to the sheriff.”

  “Has Dr. Payne fired or let go any staff in the last year?” Pete asked.

  “You can’t possibly think that anyone from Butcher-Payne had anything to do with arson and murder.” It was a statement.

  “You’re a scientist,” Nora said. “You may have a hypothesis, and in your gut know that you are right, but you need to prove or disprove your theory, and that requires extensive research. For us, it requires a lot of investigation. Including asking questions we don’t necessarily think are going to give us the right answers. But if we don’t ask all the questions, our investigation won’t be complete.”

  Duncan relented, but mumbled that it was a waste of time.

  Nora said, “The biohazard team went through the scene and determined it safe enough, but the arson investigator noticed that one or more cages may have been removed.”

  “Cages? Our birds are kept in a secure room.”

  “There were no animals in the main area of the lab?”

  “No.” She looked down, frowning. “South wall? There was a long worktable, several file cabinets, a mini-refrigerator. Empty cages and carriers because we didn’t have any more room in storage, but we don’t keep animals in the main lab unless we need them. They always go back in their room. How can you tell that a cage is missing? You said there was a fire.”

  “The fire investigator is analyzing the entire scene and she knows how fire spreads, how it’s extinguished, and whether something is out of place. It’s not an exact science—”

  “Don’t tell Quin that,” Pete interjected with quiet humor.

  “It’s based on educated guesses,” Nora continued. “In her opinion, something seemed missing. But it could be nothing—it could be a large file box that was moved to storage. It would help, though, for you to walk through the scene and see if something is missing, or something is there that shouldn’t be.”

  “I can do that. Yes, of course, anything.” Duncan sat ba
ck down, her head in her hands. “I know this is going to sound callous, but Jonah would want us to continue. This was everything to him.” She looked up. This time the tears had escaped. “I need to recover any remains. They might be worthless, but if I can get the bodies of the birds, our vet and I can analyze their genes on a cellular level. There should be something—and it could help. All our hard-copy documents are gone—I assume they are—but we have copies of everything in the computer. Not the logs—oh, God, those are going to be impossible to re-create. But at least we don’t have to go back to square one. For Jonah, I need to complete this. Jim will agree.”

  Whether she added that last thought to make it true, or because she believed it, Nora didn’t know.

  “I don’t think there’s anything left,” she said, but she pictured Jonah Payne’s body. Second- and third-degree burns … birds were smaller, they’d disintegrate much faster. But Quin would have said something. In fact, she thought Quin was certain they’d been released—or taken in the missing cage. She pulled out her BlackBerry. “I’ll ask the investigator to specifically pull aside the birds. How many were there? What kind?”

  “Twelve mallard ducks, six male and six female. They were in the room to the left of my office. It’s a double room, with an entry and decontamination area, then the chamber where the birds lived, with a small built-in pool.”

  “How many birds can one of your standard cages hold?”

  She looked at Nora as if it was an odd question. “They’re mallard ducks. We put one in per cage, sometimes two if they’re a mating pair. More than two would be inhumane, but I suppose you could fit four.”

  Nora was fairly certain they weren’t in the lab and in fact had been taken or released.

  She sent Quin a text message:

  Payne’s assistant said there were twelve mallard ducks in a room to the left of Payne’s office. Are there any remains? If so, can you preserve them? And ask Chief Nobel to debrief his crew and ask if they recall which doors off the main lab were open and which were closed when they went in. Thanks, N.

  “When do you want me to go down?”