Lou Beamis looked blearily across his desk at M. J. He hadn't slept much last night-domestic homicide at 2:00 A.M.-and his normally smooth black face was sprouting the bristly beginnings of a new beard.
"It's gone beyond a simple trio of OD's, Lou," M. J. said. "We're talking corporate theft. An untested drug, out on the streets. And maybe more deaths on the way."
Shradick shuffled in, looking just as shaggy as Beamis. He carried with him the definite odor of McDonald's-a sausage and biscuit, which he eagerly unwrapped as he sat down at his desk.
"Hey, Vince," said Beamis. "Hear the latest? You'll be just thrilled."
Shradick took a bite of his breakfast. "What's new?"
"Novak's got a tox ID on two of our overdoses."
"So what is it?" asked Shradick, obviously more interested in his sausage.
"Something called Zestron-L."
"Never heard of it."
"Of course you haven't. It's something new they're cooking up at Cygnus. Shouldn't be on the street at all."
"Somehow," said M. J., "it got out of Cygnus. Which means they've had a theft."
Shradick shrugged. "We're Homicide."
"This is homicide. Three dead people, Vince. Now, you don't really want any more bodies, do you? Or are you that desperate for overtime?"
Shradick looked balefully at Beamis. "Are we chasing this?"
Beamis leaned back and groaned. "If only it was nice and neat, you know? A bullet hole, a stab wound."
"That's neat?"
"At least it's cut and dried. Homicide with a capital H. But this is spinning our wheels. Folks who OD, it's a risk they take, sticking a needle in their veins. I don't really care where they get the stuff."
"Would you care if it was strychnine they were shooting up?"
"That's different."
"No, it isn't. In large doses, Zestron-L is every bit as deadly. How do you know we haven't got some right-wing fanatic out there, some nut trying to clear the junkies off the streets? And by the way, he's doing a good job."
Beamis sighed. "I hate that about you, Novak."
"What?"
"Your unassailable logic. It isn't feminine." He hauled himself out of his chair. "Okay. Lemme arrange for us to duck out a couple of hours. We'll head over to Cygnus."
"Man, oh, man," grumbled Shradick, after Beamis had left the room. "I shoulda stayed home in bed."
The smell of Shradick's sandwich was making M. J.'s stomach turn. She shifted in her chair and glanced down at Beamis's desk. A reed-thin black woman and two lads smiled at her from a framed photo. Lou's family? She forgot sometimes that cops had families and homes and mortgage payments. Next to that was a photo of Beamis in Marine uniform-Vietnam. Then a third photo, Beamis and another man, grinning like two hucksters on the steps of the Albion PD.
"Was this Lou's partner?" asked M. J. "The one who got hit in South Lexington?"
Shradick nodded. "Sitting in a marked car, can you believe it? Some guy drives by and just starts shooting. From what I hear, he and Lou, they were like this." He pressed two fingers together. "We lost two down there, the same corner. Bad luck spot. Got a lot of bad luck spots in this town. Bolton and Swarthmore, that's another one. That's where my partner went down. Drug bust went sour, and he got boxed in a blind alley." He put the sandwich down, as though he'd suddenly lost his appetite. "And we lost one down on Dorchester, just last month. One of our gals, five-year vet. Perp got hold of her gun, turned it on her…" He shook his head mournfully and began to gather up all the sandwich wrappings.
That must be how every cop sees this town, M. J. realized. An Albion policeman looks at a map of the city and he sees more than just street names and addresses. He sees the corner where a partner got shot, the alley where a drug deal went bad, the street where an ambulance crew knelt in the rain trying to save a child. For a cop, a city map is a grid of bad memories.
Beamis came back into the room. "Okay, Vince," he said. "Things are quiet for the moment. Might as well do it now."
M. J. rose. "I'll meet you there."
Shradick fished his pocket pager out of the drawer and clipped it to his belt. "We going to Cygnus?" he asked.
"No choice," said Beamis. "Seeing as Novak here isn't gonna let it drop."
"I'm just asking you to do your job, Lou," she said.
"Job, hell. I'm doing you a favor."
"You're doing the city a favor."
"Albion?" Beamis laughed and pulled on his jacket. "The junkies are killing themselves off. Far as I'm concerned, the biggest favor I could do Albion is to look the other way."
"It's a secured area," said Adam. "Only our cleared personnel are allowed in this wing." He punched a keypad by the door, and the words pass code accepted flashed onto the screen. Adam swung the door open and motioned for his visitors to enter.
Shradick and Beamis went in first, then M. J. As she passed Adam, he reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. The unexpected intimacy of that contact and the whiff of his after-shave made her stomach dance a jig of excitement. He had seemed all business when he'd greeted them, so sober in his gray suit. Now, seeing that look in his eye, she knew the spell was still alive between them.
"I'm glad you came," he murmured. "How did you manage?"
"Wheelock's covering for me. I took the day off. Told him I had to buy a new car."
"Why not the truth?"
"He'd prefer I dropped this case. So would they." She nodded toward Beamis and Shradick, who were peering curiously at a blinking computer screen. "I think I'm being conscientious. They think I'm a pain in the neck."
They all moved to a door marked Area 8.
"This is where Zestron-L's being developed," said Adam, leading them inside.
M. J.'s first impression was that she'd stepped through a time portal into a future world of black and white and chrome. Even the man who hurried to greet them did not violate that color scheme. His coat was a pristine white, his hair jet black. "Dr. Herbert Esterhaus, project supervisor," he said, reaching out to shake their hands. "I'm in charge of Zestron-L development."
"And this is the area you manage?" asked Beamis, glancing about the lab where half a dozen workers manned the various stations.
"Yes. The project's confined to this section-the room you see here and the adjoining three rooms. The only access is through that door you entered, plus an emergency exit, through the animal lab. And that's wired to an alarm."
"Only authorized personnel are allowed in?"
"That's right. Just our staff. I really don't see how any Zestron could have gotten out."
"Obviously it walked out," said Beamis. "In someone's pocket."
Dr. Esterhaus glanced at Adam. There was a lot said in that glance, M. J. thought. An unspoken question. Only now did she realize how skittery Esterhaus seemed, his bony fingers rubbing together, his rodent eyes noting Beamis's and Shradick's every move.
"How well do you people screen your personnel?" asked Shradick.
"When we hire someone," said Adam, "we're interested in scientific credentials. And talent. We don't do polygraphs or credit checks. We like to assume our people are honest."
"Maybe you assumed wrong," said Beamis.
"Everyone in this project is a long-term employee," said Adam. "Isn't that right, Herb?"
Esterhaus nodded. "I've been here six years. Most of the people,"-he gestured to the workers in white coats-"have been with Cygnus even longer."
"Any exceptions?" asked Shradick.
Esterhaus paused and glanced at Adam. Again, that nervous look, that silent question.
"There was my stepdaughter, Maeve," Adam finished for him.
Beamis and Shradick exchanged looks. "She worked in this department?" asked Beamis.
"Just cleanup," said Esterhaus quickly. "I mean, Maeve wasn't really qualified to do anything else. But she did an acceptable job."
"Why did she leave?"
"We had some… disagreements," said Esterhaus.
"What disagreements?" pressed Beamis.
"She… started coming in late. And she didn't always dress appropriately. I mean, I didn't mind the green hair and all, but all the dangly jewelry, it's not really safe around this equipment."
M. J. looked around at the two-tone room and tried to imagine what a splash of color Maeve Quantrell would have made. All these white-coated scientists must have thought her some wild and exotic creature, to be tolerated only because she was the boss's daughter.
"So what?" said Beamis. "You fired her?"
"Yes," said Esterhaus, looking very unhappy. "I discussed it with Mr. Quantrell and he agreed that I should do whatever was necessary."
"Why was she coming in late?" asked M. J.
They all looked at her in puzzlement. "What?" asked Esterhaus.
"That bothers me. The why. She was doing her job, and then she wasn't. When did it start?"
"Six months ago," said Esterhaus.
"So six months ago, she starts coming in late, or not at all. What changed?" She looked at Adam.
He shook his head. "She was living on her own. I don't know what was going on with her."
"Strung out?" asked Beamis.
"Not that I was aware of," said Esterhaus.
"She was angry, that's what it was," said a voice. It was one of the researchers, a woman sitting at a nearby computer terminal. "I was here the day you two had that fight, remember, Herb? Maeve was like a cat spitting water. Said she wasn't going to take your… nonsense any longer, and then she stomped out." The woman shook her head. "No control, that girl. Very impulsive."
"Thank you, Rose, for the information," Esterhaus said tightly. He motioned them towards the next room. "I'll show you the rest of the lab."
The tour continued, into the animal lab with its cages of barking dogs. The emergency exit was at the rear, and on the door was the sign: Alarm will sound if opened.
"So you see," said Esterhaus, "there's no way someone can just walk in and steal anything."
"But somehow the drug got out," asked Beamis.
"There's one other possibility," said Esterhaus. "There could have been simultaneous development. Another lab somewhere, working on the same thing. For someone to steal our drug, they'd have to break into Cygnus, through a secured door. They'd have to know our access codes."
"Which all your employees know," said Beamis.
"Well, yes."
"One question," said Shradick, who'd been jotting things in his notebook. "Have you changed the access code lately?"
"Not in the last year."
"So anyone employed here during the last year-say, Maeve, for instance-would know the code," said Beamis.
Esterhaus shook his head. "She wouldn't do it! She was difficult, yes, and maybe a little out of control. But she wasn't a thief. For heaven's sake, it's her father's company!"
"It was only an example," said Beamis calmly.
Again, Esterhaus glanced at Adam. Suddenly M. J. understood the looks that had flown between the two. They were both trying to cover for Maeve.
"Come on," said Adam, smoothly redirecting their attention. "We'll show you where the drug's stored."
Esterhaus led them into a side room. One wall was taken up by a refrigeration unit. "It's not really necessary to store it in here," he said, opening the refrigerator door. "The crystals are stable at room temperature. But we keep it in here as a precaution." He pulled out a tray; glass vials tinkled together like crystal. Gingerly he removed a vial and handed it to M. J. "That's it," he said. "Zestron-L."
She raised the vial and studied it in wonder. Rose pink crystals sparkled like tiny gemstones in the light. She turned the vial on its side and watched the contents tumble about, glittering. "It's beautiful," she murmured.
"That's just the crystalline form, of course, for storage," said Esterhaus. "What you're looking at is almost pure. It's injected in solution form. Dissolve it in an alcohol and water solvent, plus some heat. A little goes a long way."
"How far does it go?"
"One of those crystals, just one, is enough to make, say, fifty therapeutic doses."
"Fifty?" said Beamis.
"That's right. One crystal diluted in fifty cc's of solvent will make fifty doses."
Shradick was busy studying the catch on the refrigerator door. "This thing isn't locked," he said.
"No. Nothing here's locked. I told you, we trust our employees."
"What about inventory control?" said Beamis. "You keep track of all those vials?"
"They're numbered, see? So we'd know if any vials were missing."
"But is there some way the drug could still get out? Without you knowing?"
Esterhaus paused. "I suppose, if someone were smart about it…"
"Yeah?" prompted Beamis.
"One could take a crystal or two. From each vial. And we might not notice the difference."
There was a pause as they all considered the implications. In that silence, the sudden beep of a pocket pager seemed all the more startling. Both cops automatically glanced down at their belts.
"It's mine." Beamis sighed, reaching down to silence the tone. He glanced at the readout. "Headquarters. Excuse me." He headed to a nearby phone.
"Well," said Shradick. "I'm not sure there's much more we can do here. I mean, if two different labs can come up with the same stuff."
"The odds are against simultaneous development," said Adam. "Zestron-L isn't something you just cook up in your basement. It took us years to get this far, and it's still not ready for the market."
"But Dr. Esterhaus says another lab could do it."
"Cygnus is the only lab around here with the facilities."
"You'd be surprised," said Shradick, "what the mob can finance." He closed his notebook. "Lemme be honest. We're not gonna have much luck here."
"You could polygraph the staff," said M. J. "That would be a start."
"It would also be an insult," said Esterhaus. "To every single one of them."
"I don't see that you have a choice," said M. J.
Adam shook his head. "I hate to do it."
"It'd probably be inconclusive, anyway," said Shradick. "They'll all be nervous, upset. Chances are, you won't be able to pinpoint a leak, not this late in the game."
"What about South Lexington?" said M. J. "Check out the receiving end, Vince. Find out who's distributing it on the outside. Question the victims' families and friends. They might know the source."
"Yeah. We could do that." He turned as Beamis came back.
"Let's go, Vince," said Beamis. "We're done here."
"Aren't you going to question anyone?" asked M. J.
"Later." Beamis shook hands with Adam and Esterhaus, then he and Shradick headed for the exit.
"Something's going on," muttered M. J., watching them leave. "Excuse me."
She followed the two cops outside, into the parking lot. "Hey! Lou!" she called.
Beamis turned to her with a look of weariness. "What, Novak?"
"Why the abrupt exit?"
"Because I've got my ass to protect, okay? I also got a chief who's raising a stink about my wasting departmental time on this case."
"That was a call from your chief?"
"Yeah. He wanted to know why I'm out saving the world's junkies when we got murderers cruising the suburbs. And you know what? I couldn't think of a single good answer." Beamis yanked open his car door. "Let's go, Vince."
"Wait. Who told the chief about it?"
"I didn't ask," he snapped.
"But someone must have told him."
Beamis got into the car and slammed the door. "All I know is, I got orders from above. And we're out of here." He looked at Shradick and barked, "Drive."
The car took off, leaving M. J. standing alone in the parking lot.
I got orders . Whose orders? she wondered. Who had called the chief and told him to pull Beamis and Shradick away? The mayor's office? Ed?
Suddenly she turned and gazed up at the letters CYGNUS mounted on the building. It was a possibility she didn't want to consider, but it was staring her in the face.
If anyone had a reason to halt the investigation, it was him. The man whose company would suffer. The man whose name would be dragged through the mud. The man she'd seen dining and shmoozing at the mayor's benefit.
Where on earth did you park your brains, Novak?
She turned from the building and headed to her car. She'd almost failed to see the suspect for the man. But what a man. Blame the hormones. Blame eleven months of self-imposed celibacy. Whatever the reason, she'd gone temporarily wacko over Adam Quantrell.
She wouldn't repeat the mistake.
It was hard for M. J. to give up the Mercedes, but she had her principles to uphold. She didn't want to owe Adam Quantrell a thing, not a single damn thing. Every time she got into that Mercedes, she was reminded of him, of how he'd smiled at her from the passenger seat, of how his scent had mingled so harmoniously with the scent of leather seats. The car had to go, and with it, the memories.
She turned in the Mercedes at Regis Rentals and paid the bill herself. Then she walked around the corner to Lester's Used Cars.
She drove out in a Ford-five years old, with a few rust spots on the fender. It smelled a little stale, and there was a rip in the back seat, but the engine ran fine and the price was right.
And she didn't feel guilty driving it.
From there, she headed straight to City Hall.
She tried getting in to see Mayor Sampson, but there was no chance they'd let her in-not after that scene in his office a day earlier. So she went instead to the DA's office. She found her ex-husband at his desk. He kept his workspace neat, every paper in its place, every pen and paper clip relegated to the proper slot. Ed himself looked immaculate as always, not a crease in his hundred-percent-cotton shirt. She wondered how she'd stood being married to the man for two years.
He looked up in surprise as she came in. "M. J.! Is this a social visit?"
"Who whispered in the police chiefs ear?" she asked.
"Ah. Not a social visit."
"Was it Sampson?"
"What are you referring to?"
"You know what." She leaned across his desk. "Lieutenant Beamis was told to lay off Cygnus. Who gave the order? Sampson? You?"
He sat back and smiled innocently. "Wasn't me. Cross my heart."
"Sampson?"
"No comment. But you know the pressure he's under. The police start digging around, it turns into a media event. We don't need that kind of publicity, not now."
"Did Quantrell have anything to do with it?"
"What?"
"Did he ask Sampson to call off the cops?"
Ed looked perplexed. "Why would he? Look, I don't know why you're getting worked up about this. Or are you back with the old underdog crusade?"
"I was never on any crusade."
"Sure you were. Hell, you think it was easy for me, living with you? Putting up with that attitude of yours? I don't recall taking a vow of poverty when I married you. But I'd buy a BMW or… or join a racquetball club, and you'd wince."
She looked at him in mock horror. "I didn't."
"You did. And here you are, still at it. M. J., no one gives a damn about junkies. We have tourists getting mugged out there! Nice tourists, from nice places like Duluth. Those are the people we should be protecting. Not the trash out on South Lexington."
"Oh, Ed." She shook her head and laughed. "Ed, I have to say that, until this very minute, I never realized."
"What didn't you realize?"
"What a kind and sensitive jerk you are."
"There's that attitude problem again."
"Not an attitude, Ed. A principle." She turned for the door. "Maybe you'd recognize it. If you had one of your own."
Seconds after his ex-wife left the room, Ed Novak picked up the telephone and dialed the mayor's office. "She was just here," he said. "And I don't think she's too happy."
"You don't think she'll go to the newspapers, do you?" asked Sampson.
"If she does, we'll just have to stonewall 'em with no comments. Or deny there's a crisis."
"That's the strategy we take. Make her look like a loose cannon. In the meantime, do something about her, will you? She's getting to be a royal pain."
"I'll be honest, Mayor," said Ed with a tired sigh. "She always was."
All afternoon, Adam waited for M. J. to call. A nice supper to hash things out between them-that's what they needed. He was optimistic enough to make dinner reservations for two at Yen King. There he could make it clear that he was on her side, and that he intended to see more of her. But as the day wore on toward five o'clock, there was still no phone call. During the interminable board of directors meeting, he kept glancing at the door, expecting his secretary to come in with a message. At last a call did come in, but it wasn't from M. J. It was from his butler, Thomas.
"Dr. Novak returned the Mercedes," said Thomas. "I've just spoken with Regis Motors."
"Yes, she said she was going to buy a car today."
"The reason I'm calling, Mr. Q., is to tell you she paid for the Mercedes rental. The entire bill."
"But the bill was supposed to be sent to me."
"Precisely. And they explained it to her. But she insisted on paying it herself."
"They should have refused her payment."
"The staff at Regis tell me it was quite impossible to change her mind."
What was going on with that woman? Adam wondered as he hung up. Just last night, she'd seemed pleased about the car. There had been no question that the rental was his gift. Why her sudden insistence on paying the bill?
He reached once again for the phone. It suddenly seemed very important that he hear her voice, understand what was going through her head. He dialed, only to get her answering machine. In frustration he hung up without leaving a message.
At five-thirty, he left Cygnus and drove north. The Bellemeade turnoff was right on his way home; he decided to pass by M. J.'s house, on the off-chance he could catch her.
There was no car in the driveway, no answer to his knock on the door. He got back into his car and decided to wait a few minutes. The minutes stretched to a half hour. This is crazy, he thought. There he was, sitting in his car, waiting for some woman to appear. He hadn't behaved like this since he was a teenager.
Scratch that. I haven't behaved like this, ever. But here I am.
It was unexpected, this attraction he felt for her. The first time they'd met, he'd thought her pleasant enough to look at-all that black hair, those sea-green eyes. But the world was full of attractive women; he'd been married to one. M. J. wasn't particularly stunning. He'd seen her at her very worst, bruised and tattered in a street fight. Still, she had something he'd never seen in a woman before. Strength. A knack for survival. Heart.
That was it. Heart.
Maybe he had finally gotten over Georgina's death. Or maybe he'd just been waiting for a woman like M. J. to come into his life.
If only she'd appear in her damn driveway.
Forty minutes had passed. He was about to give up and go home when he spotted a gray Ford coming around the corner. M. J. was behind the wheel. She pulled into the driveway.
At once he was out of his car and moving toward her. She stepped out, holding a bag with Hop Sing Take-out printed on the side.
"M. J.!" he said. "I tried calling you-"
"I was out all day." Her tone was matter-of-fact and none too warm. She started toward her front door with Adam right behind her.
"I thought we were having dinner," he said.
"Were we? I must have forgotten." She unlocked her front door.
"Why don't we go out for some good Chinese food?"
"I happen to like Hop Sing," she snapped, stepping through the door.
Determined not to be shut out, he followed her inside, into the kitchen. "I don't understand what's happened-"
"I understand perfectly, Adam. If Cygnus were my company, I'd block the investigation, too."
He shook his head. "I didn't block any investigation."
"I mean, think of the PR disaster. The headlines. 'Cygnus manufactures killer drug.'"
"You think I'd go that far to protect Cygnus?"
"Haven't you?" She set the take-out bag on the counter and began to unload the contents. "Look, I'm starving. I'd like to eat this before it gets-oh, damn."
"What?"
"I left the fried rice in the car." She spun around and headed back out the front door.
He was right on her heels, following her across the lawn. "I made a reservation," he said. "Come on, let's go out."
"No, thanks." She reached into the car and retrieved the second take-out bag. "Tonight, I'm a solo act. Dinner. A hot bath. And absolutely no excitement of any kind." She turned away from the car.
Just then a deafening blast shook the house. She felt the sting of flying glass as she was hurled backward by the violent pulse of the explosion. She landed on her back, in the grass. Chunks of wood, flakes of asphalt tile rained down on her.
Then, like a gentle snowfall, a cloud of dust settled slowly from the sky.