by Melissa Yi
"I have no idea."
"They're not even careful about it. They spill things. They mess up my papers and mix them up with theirs. I've started doing all my reading either online or keeping my papers in my bag because I don't want their nonsense. Once I found an ad for Brazilian waxing in the middle of a paper I'd printed on flaviviruses. Does that make any sense?"
I shook my head. It seemed like the sort of frat boy thing Mitch might do, to be honest.
"I'm a good girl," she said. The light overhead sizzled and darkened for a second, as if in agreement, before it lit her face again. She was young, but the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than Joan's. "I followed the rules. I got my degree. I do everything they tell me to. I don't have time to date the men my parents find for me. Where has that gotten me?"
"I don't know," I said, edging toward the paper towel dispenser. I knew I should stick around, but all I could think of was that I could hardly carry my own grief and fury around, let alone hers.
"They dump everything on me. Dr. Hay, Dr. Weaver, Dr. Acayo. The entire lab. On my shoulders! As if that weren't enough, last week, Summer asked if I wanted to help in Dr. Zinser's lab."
That made me pause in front of the door. "She did? Why?"
Her hands fisted, she jutted out her chin. "Ms. Graham was sick for a few days, and they couldn't keep track of everything. But instead of hiring a temporary secretary, their first thought was to dump it on me!"
It took me a second to realize that she was talking about Susan. "That's rough," I said, taking a step toward the door.
"I don't think she was that sick, anyway," said Dahiyyah. "Ms. Graham didn't show up at work on Friday, but I saw her car in the parking lot that night, and on Sunday, too."
"On Sunday?" No secretary works on a Sunday. It's a strictly Monday to Friday gig. The fact that Susan was sick made it even less likely that she would hang out without getting paid. "Are you sure?"
"I think so. She drives an old, white car, and she likes to park in the back, where people won't hit her."
No offence, but "old, white car" wasn't exactly going to make Dahiyyah a star trial witness, even though that's something I would say. "What kind of car was it?"
She shrugged.
"Did you see the license plate?"
Dahiyyah shrugged again. She chewed on her lip. "What does it matter, anyway? You don't believe me. Nobody believes me."
"I believe that you're overworked and underpaid and under a lot of stress," I said carefully. I try to avoid lying.
"That means that you don't believe me."
She was smart. And savage, in her own way. Psychiatrists often said that depression was anger turned inward. I'd never understood that, since I spent a lot of time murmuring comfortingly to patients who seemed about as tough as the tissues they shredded in their hands, but Dahiyyah? She took it personally that I didn't champion her without question.
"Look," I said, in my most soothing voice, "I want to chat, but I've got to finish up in the lab. We can talk more later."
Dahiyyah glared at me. "Right. You'll never speak to me again."
"No, I will. You seemed uncomfortable talking in front of Dr. Hay,
but we can chat after hours. As long as I don't get in trouble with Tom. Maybe even after I finish up tonight, okay?"
I yanked my sleeve over my hand to cover my palm from germs as I grabbed the door handle, but I made the mistake of looking back.
Dahiyyah looked like she wanted to strangle me, tie a bag around my head, and drop me by the side of the road.
Chapter 33
I withdrew into Tom's office section until my heart recovered its normal rate. I was still taking deeeeeep breaths when Susan gave me an odd look from behind her computer, although her fingers kept clicking away on the keyboard.
I pretended to straighten my boots on the welcome mat. If I'd thought ahead, I would've escaped the lab with my mealy tomato sandwich, but it was still sitting in my backpack near my computer. Lesson #1 from lab safety videos: never eat or drink in a lab. Sounds like common sense, but I always used to sneak my water into the ER so that I didn't get dehydrated between patients, even with the risk of C. diff and other bacteria.
My stomach growled. I glanced at the door to the lab, but I didn't want to run into the Scoobies, and especially not Dahiyyah.
Once again, I had trouble dealing with other human beings.
Susan started printing a document. The printer hummed before it spat out pages. She stood up and glanced at me from underneath her bangs.
Ten to one, she wanted to ask me about Joan's babies. I pre-empted her. "Thanks so much for helping me get my parking pass."
She walked to the printer at the corner of her desk. She was wearing an animal print tunic, black pants, and black ankle boots today. "You're welcome."
I cleared my throat, stuck my hands in my pockets, and glanced out that broad window pane. Smoke wafted from a nearby chimney, like in a Christmas postcard, except the outdoor scene was blocky brick buildings and cars shoved into parking lots. That gave me a reasonable segue. "I'm trying to figure out the best place to park. Where do you park?"
She pulled the papers off the printer and flipped through them, checking the page numbers. "In the north lot, back corner. I don't want anyone to hit me."
"Oh. Do you have a really nice car? I saw a black Mercedes this morning." My hands clenched in my pockets. So far, she hadn't contradicted Ducky's story.
"No, it's an old Camry, but it gets the job done. I don't need some idiot running into it, especially when it's icy out."
"Yeah, it was kind of snowy on Sunday. Must've been hard to come in. But at least there are lots of parking spaces on the weekend, eh?" My cheeks heated up. I don't do casual chat, which is kind of a liability for a pretend detective.
Susan stared at me without speaking for a long moment. Then she said, "I have to get back to work now, Dr. Sze. Was there anything you needed?"
"No, that was it. Thanks for the parking tip!" I beat it back into the lab, where Samir waved at me from his bench. Otherwise, the lab was unnaturally quiet. It was lunch time.
"Hi," I murmured, calculating where I should best inhale my sandwich. Not the office, because Susan already thought I was insane. Not the lab, because with my luck, I'd end up eating hydrofluoric acid, which is one of the scariest acids in the world. After Tucker had showed me the clip from Breaking Bad where they try to dissolve a corpse with HF, Tori had introduced me to Periodic Videos, where they dunked chicken drumsticks in HF, hydrochloric acid, and sulfuric acid—not what you want to think about before eating.
I couldn't even eat in the bathroom, like at a bad middle school dance, because Dahiyyah might pounce on me.
I decided to risk running down to the cafeteria. If I bumped into the Scoobies, good. I had some questions for them now.
Samir waved instead of joining me. I guess you don't win the Banting and Best Fellowship by taking a lunch break. I met Dr. Wen on the stairs, but the Scoobies had vanished. In fact, I managed to finish my sandwich, my water, a tangerine, and complete two more modules before they sauntered back into the lab. They must've taken a walk, because Summer was shaking out her hair after removing her hat, a cute little white cloche dotted with snow.
I cut around Dr. Wen to fake-smile at the three of them before I zoomed in on Mitch. "Did Harold catch Susan on video on Sunday?"
"Hello to you, too." Mitch unlooped the green scarf from around his neck and grinned at Chris, who removed his gloves and nodded back at me without speaking.
"Oh, sorry. Hi. How are you doing? Did you have a good lunch?"
Mitch unzipped his jacket. "No, I like women who get right to the point. Why would Susan be here on a Sunday?"
Dr. Wen glanced up from his work, listening.
I said, "I don't know. But Ducky thought she saw her car. An old, white car. Susan says she has a Camry. Does that sound right?"
Mitch frowned. "I have no idea."
Chris s
aid, "Yes, she drives a white Toyota Camry. I waved to her in the parking lot once."
I turned to Chris. "Does she always park in the same spot?"
"Same corner of the north parking lot."
I crossed my arms and tapped my right foot. "Is there any way of verifying that? Maybe Harold could check the records of which cars were in the lot on Sunday. You scan your card to make the gate go up when you drive out, right? So we'd know what time she left. It would pop up on his monitor."
"I can't talk to him right now." Mitch compressed his lips, ripped his jacket off and slung it over his arm, nearly hitting me in the process. "Harold and the rest of the guards are under the gun because Lawrence died, even though it was off of university property. The police are interviewing them. Anyway, what am I supposed to say to him, 'I want you to go through all the records of everyone who drove into the parking lot on Sunday, including Susan Graham?'"
"That'd be nice."
The Scoobies gaped at me. Chris exhaled through his nose with what might have been irritation or laughter. Hard to tell with that guy.
I attempted to recover my dignity. "Look. I'm trying to honour Lawrence and their babies' memory by figuring out what happened to him. Ducky told me that Susan was here on Sunday, or at least her car seemed to be in the parking lot. That's weird, right? That's how I solve a lot of cases. I look for what's weird."
Summer and Mitch exchanged a glance. Chris might have bit back a smile.
I shook my head. What had these guys ever done for me, besides introduce me to Harold and take me out to a bar? "Fine. I'll do it myself."
"No!" Mitch shot forward so fast, his scarf slipped off his coat, but he managed to catch it with his right hand before it hit the floor. "I mean, you're not friends with Harold. I am. Let me do it, okay? But you've got to give me some time. The police come first. They're reviewing the security videos. I can't bust in and say, 'Hope wants to know if our secretary was here on Sunday because that was weird!'"
Summer laughed. Chris's mouth definitely twitched. Even Dr. Wen raised his eyebrows.
"Sure you can," I muttered, although I saw his point. My preference is to confront people, but most of the population prefers things like "subtlety" and "manners."
"You'll do it as soon as you can, though? And you'll tell me about it when you're done?" When you're running a code, this is called "closing the communication loop." You don't yell, "Give me an amp of Epi!" You say, "Heather, give me an amp of Epi, and tell me when you're done."
"Yeah, of course," said Mitch, theoretically closing the loop. Still, the way he checked Summer and Chris's reactions, I wouldn't bet on him communicating with me.
I clenched my teeth, but decided to give him 48 hours. If he claimed he still couldn't get a hold of Harold by then, I'd head downstairs myself.
Chapter 34
A fume hood is a ventilation device designed to contain hazardous fumes, vapours, and dust.
Oh, is that why it's called a "fume hood?" Right on. That's pretty cool for something that looks like a stainless steel cabinet topped by deep, open shelving with a glass front.
Air flows into the hood and out of the laboratory exhaust system.
I barely made it through the description of the exhaust system, or the two different types of fume hoods at OHSC, constant air volume vs. variable air volume.
A clear sliding window, called a sash, protects the worker from splashes, fire, or minor explosions that could occur inside the hood.
My phone pinged.
Thank God. Even the thought of minor explosions barely kept me awake.
Chris had sent me a message. Subject: FYI
That could mean anything. But since Chris hardly talked, I assumed it wasn't something routine like DMSO, which I now knew was Dimethylsulfoxide. DMSO isn't that toxic in and of itself, but it dissolves a lot of substances, including nitrile gloves, so even if you think you're safe, bang! You aren't.
I clicked on the link in Chris's e-mail. While it slowly loaded on my phone, I realized that the more lab safety modules I completed, the more I wanted to flee the premises and hole up somewhere with no toxic chemicals, no kidnappers, and no one giving birth or dying, but where could I find that? It was like the time I attended Grand Rounds on Australian marine animals, and every single slide ran along the lines of, "And this is the blue-lined octopus. Its venom paralyzes your diaphragm, so your heart keeps beating, but you die of respiratory failure. It may be the most dangerous creature in the history of the world, except for the next slide … "
Chris's link brought me to a notice on the Ottawa police website.
HOMICIDE INVESTIGATION IN ALTA VISTA FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
(Ottawa) The Ottawa Police Department Major Crime Unit is investigating a homicide in the Alta Vista area.
On Sunday, December 9th, Ottawa Police attended Paradise Park, at the corner of Lindsay Lane and Bullock Avenue, after receiving a 911 call at 9:47 p.m. Officers located a male on scene with life-threatening injuries. He was transported to hospital. Lawrence ACAYO, 29, of Ottawa, succumbed to his injuries at the hospital.
The Ottawa Police Department Major Crime Unit is seeking the public's assistance in identifying two persons of interest.
The persons of interest are described as follows:
#1: Caucasian male, heavy build, 5'10"-6'0"(178 cm -183 cm), wearing a black jacket, black jeans, black shoes, black gloves, and black balaclava.
#2: Caucasian male, 5'6"-5'8"(168 cm -173 cm), thin build, wearing a brown winter jacket with some white on the sleeves and collar, dark pants with white stripes on the sides, dark shoes, black gloves, and black balaclava
Anybody with information pertaining to this investigation is requested to call Ottawa Police Department's Major Crime Unit at 613-555-1222, ext. 8477. Anonymous tips are submitted by calling Crime Stoppers toll-free at 1-855-222-8477 (TIPS), or through the Ottawa Police app.
My mouth dropped open. I said, aloud, "The police found something! Two suspects!"
Dr. Wen sighed and continued working as best he could. I cut around him, heading for Chris's bench. Mitch was already there, muttering, "You should've told me."
It was hard to make out Chris's low, indistinct murmur. "I did tell you. Same as everyone else."
"Yeah, but you should've told me first."
"Why?" said Summer, arriving ahead of me. Her voice was higher and clearer than the guys'.
Mitch didn't answer.
I was still scrolling through my phone. The Ottawa police website was the nicest one I'd ever seen. I could share the article through Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Reddit, Google Plus, and Blogger. I could subscribe to their updates or print out the story.
Maybe I didn't have to do anything. The police would solve it all, and I could sit on my butt and trust them.
Mind. Blown.
I could act like a civilian.
That was what my parents wanted. Leave it to the experts. Play it safe.
But I thought of Joan, fighting so hard, giving birth on the floor of her bathroom, and I knew that wasn't an option. Whatever I could do, no matter how pathetic my offering, it was the least I could do for this brave woman and her surviving baby.
"Did any of you see these two suspects?" I asked the Scoobies. "We need to talk to Harold. If he kept a copy of his security recordings, we could figure out who they're talking about. We could even try and get camera stills and post them. Mitch, what's his number?"
Mitch shook his head. "I told you, he's busy. He said he'll call me."
Summer turned to me, her shiny, black hair falling off her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do."
I smiled at her. If anyone could motivate him, she could. Mitch didn't look thrilled about it, but who cared. In the meantime, this was the best lead we had so far. "Mitch and Chris, you were here on Sunday. Did you see these guys?"
Chris shook his head. I had to wonder if he ever looked at people, period. Mitch shrugged.
Summer said, "I wasn't here, but they sound like
guys you'd run into any day of the week. I mean, they're two white guys, one heavy and one thin. I must've seen dozens of them today already. Mostly, they described their clothes. And the only weird thing about that is them wearing balaclavas. It's not that cold out."
I owned a balaclava stuffed into my parents' closet, but Summer was right. I only whipped out my full head mask when it was minus 30 or so. Otherwise, it wasn't worth messing up your hair.
On the other hand, if you were going to suffocate someone, anonymity was more important than a good hair day. So this could have been a premeditated murder.
I held up my phone. "There are few things here. They've officially called it homicide. So we can take suicide off the table."
Mitch said, "I never thought it was."
"It was a possibility, although not likely. The other thing is, I wonder how they came up with the suspects. Did they find a witness to these guys kidnapping Lawrence or dumping his body? And if so, who's their witness? It had to be someone close enough to tell that they were white, even behind their masks."
We all looked at each other. "Mitch?" I said.
He made a face. "I didn't see any guys in balaclavas."
"They probably weren't wearing them inside the building. Do remember two white guys of this size, maybe hanging around the lab?"
"No one hangs around the lab. You can't even get in without swiping your card, and there are cameras at both entrances. It's too conspicuous. The guards would notice," said Mitch.
"I guess the guards did notice. Or the police, when they went through the videos. Or there's someone more observant working here." I eyeballed the Scoobies. Chris met my gaze without blinking. Summer blushed, but didn't drop her eyes. Mitch's upper lip curled slightly. I watched him until he shook his head and said, "I've got to get back to work."
No problem. I wanted to talk to the most observant person anyway. The one who worked with Lawrence and might have been scared enough to talk to the police.
