Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

Vincent had obviously been fatigued beyond endurance. His face was drawn, his eyes were swollen, his speech garbled. And when he sang, he had mangled the lyrics beyond all recognition, other than that moment of clarity when he asked her to play Funny Valentine one more time for him.

Vincent always said he couldn’t carry a tune. She could never get him to sing. Only a deteriorated mental state would have driven him to record a song on a video intended for ESPN and the world to see.

Huck nudged her knee, bringing her back to the present. She reached over and scratched behind his ear. He wagged his tail and licked her leg. He was hungry.

Outside, an ice cream vendor’s truck played a Scott Joplin tune, and children shouted after it. Diane forced herself to stand up and follow Huck to his empty bowl. Life went on.

Tomorrow she’d call Vincent’s father and plan a memorial Mass. Then she’d phone the Coast Guard in Galveston and arrange to take the video in to them. Perhaps their trained eyes will see more than the few letters she was able to make out on the stern of the fleeing yacht.

The helmsman approached without running lights, throttled back to a purr and ghosted into the harbor where he quickly maneuvered in beside the Enterprise . Even in the well-lit marina, the massive yacht hid his craft from the building. Satisfied, the helmsman cut the engine.

Then he waited and watched.

Diane and David slid onto the picnic benches at the restaurant. Cajun music emanated from overhead speakers, enlivening the dim surroundings.

After a moment, Diane tossed her menu aside. “There are too many selections. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

David ordered ribs, fries and Shiner Bocks for both of them.

Diane regarded the man across the table. Whatever David’s reasons, she appreciated his becoming her self-appointed guardian. She managed half a smile. “Thanks. My decision-making processes have shut down.”

David nodded in understanding.

It was 9 p.m. On the way from BRI to the restaurant, Diane and David had stopped at Diane’s house to feed Huck and drop off her car. If David hadn’t dragged Diane away, she’d still be at BRI acknowledging condolences from around the world. This was her first meal since breakfast.

Beginning early that morning, a procession of BRI staffers had come by Diane’s office to offer their sympathy and support. Spotting the videocam on her desk, they all spoke in hushed tones as if visiting a shrine. But no one mentioned the video.

Eventually Diane realized the camcorder was the 800-pound gorilla causing awkwardness in communications. She placed the camera in her desk drawer and locked it.

Maxine and Diane’s father-in-law had spread the word about Woodwind’s beaching. And by late morning the emails and phone calls began coming in from cousins, friends and colleagues around the globe.

Vincent’s sailing club had called to offer condolences. Then Gabriel Carrera phoned from Paris asking if there was anything he could do for her. His father Carlos Carrera also called; he was doing business in New York. Olimpia Garza phoned from Bogotá offering her sympathy, sounding deeply saddened.

Ignoring the frosted mug in front of her, Diane took a swig from the beer bottle.

David raised an amused eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a bottle drinker; behind that Yankee façade beats the heart of a good ol’ gal.”

“I’m actually an Iron City girl—weaned straight from the milk bottle to the beer bottle. Vincent’s Mother, God rest her soul, hated that about me.”

David smiled, held up his Shiner Bock in a toast and took a long swallow. Then he said in a careful tone: “Were you able to make the videocam work?”

Diane took another gulp of beer, then nodded solemnly. “Yes… But I couldn’t bring myself to watch it.”

David reached over and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry about all this.”

Diane avoided eye contact with him while considering her response. At that moment the food arrived, saving her fragile composure from crumbling in the face of David’s sympathy.

Her cell phone rang. She swallowed a bite of French fry, then answered. Hearing Wilbur’s voice on the other end, she remembered she was on administrative call.

Wilbur had been BRI’s evening security guard for years. He frequently thought of reasons to phone when Diane was on call. Often she found it endearing, but sometimes—like right then—she was annoyed.

Wilbur’s calls always went something like: “Your office lights are still on, Doc. Are you coming back this evening.” Or else: “There’s some lights burned out down in the harbor. Should I have someone change them tonight, or wait until morning?”

But tonight, after Wilbur’s initial greeting, she knew this call was different. His words raced incoherently in a timbre verging on hysteria.

“Slow down, Wilbur. I can’t understand you.”

Diane heard him panting, then: “Someone broke into BRI. The police are on their way. Doesn’t seem to be a whole lotta damage. Musta been the… What the… Oh shit! S’cuse my French, Doc, but one of the chimpanzees just went hot-footin’ past here… What was I saying? Oh, yeah: Musta been the animal rights activists, like before.”

The police arrived just behind Diane and David. David asked them to turn off their flashing lights for fear of frightening the chimps and driving them toward the bluff.

Diane headed to the locker room to change into her jogging clothes. When she returned, Wilbur gave his report of the incident to her, David, Maxine and officers Sabbatini and Conway.

The guard had been at the gatehouse most of the evening. The perpetrators must have come and gone by boat. They left the cages at the primate house open; all five chimpanzees were on the loose. Wilbur had driven his golf cart through the jogging trails and heard chimps screaming up in the trees; evidence that at least some of them were still on the property.

Wilbur had called Raymond Bellfort and Maxine. Bellfort was the first to arrive. He was inside surveying damage.

Throughout Wilbur’s monologue, Maxine wrung her hands and shifted from foot to foot. “You have to get moving before the animals freak out and jump into the bay.”

Just then Raymond showed up with three air rifles and a container of tranquilizer darts in a canvas shoulder bag.

He handed rifles to David and Wilbur and the darts to Diane. “Ah… not much damage inside. Some broken glass and so forth in the labs. You all head out with Wilbur. I’ll take the other cart.” He turned on his heel and left.

The policemen had brought their own air rifle and darts. They also brought a spotlight and bananas. “We’ll use the bananas to lure the chimps out of the trees if need be before darting them,” Sabbatini said. “We don’t like to tranquilize animals then have them fall to the ground.”

Wilbur gave the officers a trail map and David checked their darts and medication.

“We just want to tranquilize them, not paralyze them,” he said. He approved of the dosage, needle size and gelatin collars used to hold the dart in place until the injection was complete. Handing the darts back to one of the officers, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve ever used these at night, but with the small explosive charge that injects the drug, there will be a visible flash.”

The officers said they knew about the explosive.

“Another thing before you head into the woods,” David said. “Don’t underestimate the chimpanzees. They weigh close to a hundred pounds, stand about four feet tall and have large teeth. They can be very aggressive, especially in groups.”