Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

Some names weren’t familiar to her. But Vincent’s comments about the people she did know were startling: Pete is over-friendly. Is he a refugee from Hematec or a spy for them? Or for someone else? Saw Colton Fey loitering around the primate house yet again. And the real shocker: Saw David Crowley leaving our lab. He had no reason to be there. Then later: Crowley is watching me.

But even with Vincent’s myriad suspicions—including the suggestion that Harry Lee’s death was tied to his technology—there wasn’t a hint that his own life might be in jeopardy. Of course, if one considered the basic tenet of scientific research: “Similar things happen under similar circumstances,” a proposition that Harry Lee and Vincent’s deaths were similar, in that they were both connected to their technologies, would not hold up. Vincent’s research had been sold before he disappeared.

For now, Diane pledged to let Vincent take the lead. She’d continue studying his notebooks and investigating his facts and comments. But he had left large gaps; it was going to be a bear of a completion test.

In keeping with all that, she found herself creeping along in the fog tonight because of Vincent’s reminiscences about his grandfather. Throughout his notes, vignettes penned in loving prose, spoke of the man’s influence in Vincent’s life.

Invariably, venomous indictments of unethical business practices in biotechnology followed those sections. It seemed that Vincent mined his childhood memories to fuel his anger regarding the premature sale of Peruvase .

Diane never got to know Vincent’s granddad. He died from Parkinson’s disease shortly after she met him. Even so, how could she have forgotten how much he had meant to Vincent? His death had been the force behind the early development of Peruvase.

Tonight she vowed she’d track down the drug and check on its development. Maybe she could suggest a joint venture with the new owners to move things along, possibly reinvesting some of the money she and Vincent received from the sale. She was about to take the first step in that direction.

She pulled up to the guard booth and greeted Wilbur warmly, offering her mea culpas for forgetting her office keys. After some chit chat about the weather, she pulled through the gates, grinning, master keys in hand. She had little less than an hour until Wilbur would make rounds at shift change. Plenty of time.

Her lights played off small puffs of fog as she curved around toward the main building. But nearing the bay, she was faced with ever diminishing visibility. Her headlights became useless. She switched them off and inched along aided by her fog beams and shrubbery lighting that peered out dimly from either side of the drive. Through her open window she could hear the cacophony of tree frogs permeating the thick night air.

Finally, the lighted Greek Revival columns emerged through the mist. Tonight, in that gothic atmosphere, the building reminded her of a mausoleum. She parked the car in front and headed up the steps. She never locked her car doors at BRI, but tonight her thumb quickly sought the lock button on her key ring. Behind her, the horn beeped and the lights flashed. The frog chorus went silent.

Nothing stirred. A distant foghorn sounded. Diane shuddered.

Creeped out, but curious, she stepped around the side of the building, near Raymond Bellfort’s private entrance, to look at the bay. A wall of fog had risen from the water. It loomed before her, a chilling presence whose hoary fingers inched their way towards her. She turned and ran for the front door.

Diane stood inside Maxine’s office feeling like she did when she mistakenly walked into a restaurant men’s room at age sixteen: She didn’t belong there; she had violated some ancient code of civilization just stepping through the doorway.

But tonight she wouldn’t retreat.

She walked over and studied Maxine’s desk. Everything on top was perfectly parallel or perpendicular to everything else. A crystal monkey weighted down a stack of papers, their edges in exact alignment. A framed picture of a generic cat and dog stood next to the lamp.

Diane wondered why she hadn’t known that Maxine was an animal lover. Then she realized she didn’t know much at all about BRI’s business manager. She shrugged and headed for the closet—on one occasion, she had seen Maxine emerge from there, file cabinet keys in hand. She flipped on the light switch outside the door and entered.

Inside, she was faced with shelves and shelves of boxes, color-coded, labeled and alphabetized in categories and subcategories. Hoping for the obvious, she checked the walls to the right and left of the door for a key hanger. No such luck.

Resigning herself to the task, she began with the yellow box section nearest the door, running her hand along the shelving and reading the “K” labels all the way to the purple section at the back wall, using a small ladder to reach the upper shelves. No keys.

She turned to the other side and worked her way back to the door. She was standing on the ladder when he saw the key ring hanging on an old bent nail near the top of the doorframe.

Diane let out a growl of frustration, snatched the keys off the nail and headed for the file cabinets.

She opened the “Inactive Personnel” files, flipped through to the L’s, and there it was: Harry Lee PhD. She scanned the file hurriedly. It had the usual stuff. His educational background: University of Michigan, UCLA. He had worked for a small biotech company in Palo Alto before signing on with BRI.

Diane looked at her watch; it was almost 10:40. She flipped quickly through the pages until finally she found what she was looking for: Next of kin.

Jerry Wentzel had mentioned that Harry’s parents had been killed in an auto accident. His next of kin was listed as Hu Lee along with an address and phone number in Hong Kong—the same uncle as the one quoted in the newspaper article. Diane scribbled down the information, replaced the file and locked the drawer. Time to get out of there.

Then, a label marked “Active Personnel A thru L” caught her eye. She hesitated a moment. Would she be invading his privacy? She fought off her conscience, found the corresponding key on the ring and opened the file drawer. She quickly walked her fingers back to the C’s where she found the folder labeled “David Crowley DVM, PhD.”

According to the file, David was divorced and had come to BRI from a veterinary clinic. Before that he was a researcher at Texas A&M in the poultry science department. Diane chuckled. She didn’t know why, but that particular specialty always amused her.

As with Maxine, Diane wondered why she didn’t know much about David. Had she assumed their lives could not possibly have the gravitas of her own and therefore neglected to show an interest in them? Or, were they hiding things from her?

Replacing David’s file, Diane spotted a tab labeled “Leonard Everly.” She didn’t know anyone at BRI by that name, yet it seemed familiar. Snickering, she dismissed the idea that Maxine could have misfiled it. She pulled the folder and opened it just as she heard a noise outside. She glanced at her watch. It was 10:48. Was Wilbur early?

Diane replaced the folder, locked the file, returned the keys to their nail, switched off the closet light and quietly closed the door. All in less than fifteen seconds.

The fog bank had moved ashore. Diane found it waiting outside. She jumped in her car, hit the door lock, checked the backseat for intruders, then sat there feeling silly about her fright. The only creatures ever spotted on BRI grounds at night were possums, deer, raccoons and once, a bobcat. Never werewolves or vampires—not even in dense fog.