Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

The phone rang once, twice. A male voice answered: "Quantrell residence. Thomas speaking."

"This is Dr. Novak."

"Ah, yes, Dr. Novak. I hope the new automobile is working out."

"It's fine. Is Mr. Quantrell in?"

"I'm afraid he just left for the evening. The mayor's benefit, you know. Shall I give him a message?"

And what message could she leave? she thought. That I know the truth? It's your company, your drug, that's killing people ?

"Dr. Novak?" asked Thomas when she said nothing.

She folded Dietz's note and stuffed it in her purse. "No message, Thomas. Thanks," she said. "I'll catch him at the benefit."

Then she hung up and walked out of the office.

It took M. J. an hour and a half to drive home, change her clothes, and fight her way back through midtown traffic. By that time, a major jam had built up along Dorchester Avenue, leading to the Four Seasons Hotel. All the red lights gave her time to shake her hair loose, dab on lipstick, brush on mascara while looking in the visor mirror. Even with a ton of face powder the bruises were still obvious, but at least she'd found a silk scarf to wrap around her neck and conceal the stitches. It actually looked rather dashing, that slash of red and purple silk trailing across the black dress. Too bad the whole effect required high heels; before the night was over, her feet would be killing her.

The ballroom of the Four Seasons was packed. There were probably enough furs and jewels in the room to fund the city budget for a year. A buffet table held platters of shrimp and smoked salmon, pastries and caviar, all of it served on real china, of course. A balalaika troupe was playing Russian music-a tribute to Albion's equally depressed sister city on the Volga. M. J. handed her invitation to the official at the door and headed into the thick of things.

She was reminded at once of why she hated going to affairs like this, especially on her own. Bring an escort and you were an instant social circle; go alone and you're invisible. Sipping at the requisite glass of white wine, she wandered through the crowd and searched for a familiar face-any familiar face. Mostly she saw a lot of tuxedoes, a lot of mink, a lot of orthodontically perfect teeth bared in perfect smiles.

She heard her name called. Turning, she saw her ex-husband. "And I thought you weren't going to vote for us," he said as he approached.

"I didn't say I would. I just can't pass up a free invite."

"Hey, I want to get a photo taken. You and the mayor together." He glanced around and spotted Sampson off in a corner, surrounded by admirers. "There he is. Come on."

"I don't do photo ops."

"Just this time."

"I told you, I'm not here to endorse him. I'm here to partake of a few free drinks and-" She stopped, her gaze suddenly focusing across the room, on a man's fair hair. Adam Quantrell didn't see her; he was facing sideways, engaged in conversation with another man. Next to Adam stood Isabel, her equally blond hair done up in an elaborate weave of faux pearls. The perfect couple , she thought. A stunning pair in tuxedo and evening dress. The sort of couple you saw epitomized in Cosmo ads.

Adam must have sensed he was being watched. He glanced her way and froze when he saw her. To M. J.'s surprise, he abruptly broke off his conversation and began to move toward her, across the room. She caught a glimpse of Isabel's frown, of faces turning to look at Adam as his broad shoulders pushed past. And then all she could seem to focus on was him .

He was smiling at her, the relaxed greeting of an old friend. The bruise on his cheek was almost lost in the laugh lines around his eyes. "M. J.," he said, "I didn't know you were coming." He reached out to her, and her hand felt lost in the warmth of his grip.

"I didn't know I was coming," she said.

The sound of a throat being cleared caught her attention. She glanced sideways at Ed. "I guess I should introduce you two," she said. "Ed, this is Adam Quantrell. Adam, this is Ed Novak. Our acting DA."

"Novak?" said Adam as the two men automatically shook hands.

"I'm her ex-husband," said Ed, grinning. "We're still very close."

"Speak for yourself," said M. J.

"So you're both campaigning for Sampson?" asked Adam.

"Ed is," said M. J. "I'm not."

Ed laughed. "And I'm going to change her mind."

"I came for the free meal," said M. J. She took a sip of wine, then she looked directly at Adam, a cool, hard gaze that no one could mistake as flirtatious. "And to see you."

"Well," said Ed. "She always did favor the direct approach."

"I'd like to say I'm flattered," said Adam, frowning as he studied her face. "But I get the feeling this isn't a social chat we're about to have."

"It's not," said M. J. "It's about Nicos Biagi."

"I see." Suddenly he seemed stiff and guarded-as well he should be. "Then perhaps we should talk in private. If you'll excuse us, Mr. Novak." He placed a hand on M. J.'s shoulder.

"Adam!" called Isabel, moving swiftly toward them. "I want you to meet someone. Oh, hello, Dr. Novak! Have you recovered from last night?"

M. J. nodded. "A few sore muscles, that's all."

"You're amazingly resilient. I would have been terrified, having my life threatened that way."

"Oh, I was terrified all right," admitted M. J.

"And then to have your car stolen. How fortunate it was only a Subaru-"

"Will you excuse us?" said Adam, continuing to guide M. J. toward the exit. "I'll join you later, Isabel."

"How much later?"

"Just later." With a firm hand, he hustled M. J. out to the lobby, where it was every bit as crowded. "Let's go outside," he suggested. "At least we can get out of this madhouse."

They found a spot near the hotel fountain, its trickling waters aglow in a rainbow of colored lights. The sounds of the gathering spilled out even here, in the darkness. From the ballroom came the faint strumming of balalaikas.

He turned to face her, his hair glittering in the reflected lights of the fountain. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Are you angry at me for some reason?"

"Zestron-L," she said, looking at him intently. "You have heard of it, haven't you?"

She could see at once that he had. She caught a glimpse of shock in his eyes, and then his expression smoothed into unreadability. So he knew. All this time he knew which drug might be killing these people.

"Let me refresh your memory, in case you've forgotten," she went on. "Zestron-L is a long-acting narcotic, new generation, of the class levo-N-cyclobutyl-"

"I know what the hell it is."

"Then you also know Cygnus holds the patent."

"Yes."

"Did you also know your drug was out on the streets?"

"It's not possible. We're still in the research stage- primate trials. It hasn't gone to human trials yet."

"I'm afraid human trials have already started. The lab is South Lexington. And the results aren't too encouraging. Bad side effects. Mainly, death."

"But it hasn't been released yet!"

"Nicos Biagi got his hands on it."

"How do you know?"

"The hospital couldn't ID it, so they sent the blood sample to a university lab. A lucky break, too. They were able to identify it."

"There are two other victims-"

"Yes, and a funny thing happened to their blood samples. Jane Doe's got lost in transit. And as for Xenia Vargas, I won't trust any results I get back on hers. In fact, I half expect that her blood sample will get lost as well."

"Don't you think you sound just the slightest bit paranoid?"

"Paranoid? No, I'm afraid I've never had much of an imagination. It's one of my faults."

He moved closer to her, so threateningly close she had to fight the impulse to retreat a step. "Whatever your faults, Dr. Novak, a lack of imagination isn't one of them."