by Melissa Yi
We need a Trump in Canada ASAP [3 pages]
What would the White Canadian Flag look like?
This one included some pretty crude art. One of them had an inverted triangle within a triangle that reminded me of the Deathly Hallows symbol in Harry Potter, but it turned out to signify the KKK.
Another flag included a noose, referring to lynching black people. I backpedalled out of that thread.
Stop scum like this getting into our country
Do you have an ex girlfriend or relative married to a nonWhite? [5 pages]
Meet up Regina
Toronto Police investigates Alt-Right as Hate Criminals??????
Make Canada Great Again [2 pages]
Some of them would've made me laugh, if I hadn't still been thinking about the noose:
Justin Trudeau: a Muslim? [4 pages]
Gay Canadian Zombies
I could practically hear Tucker chortling over the gay zombie apocalypse. Speaking of Tucker, I hadn't told him about the cyanide for Lawrence, so I texted him quickly.
Although this was amusing, in a sick kind of way, I already knew there were plenty of racists in Canada. I needed to zero in on the local ones. I searched for Ottawa and ended up with more hits complaining about the government; our Prime Minister's pro-Syrian refugee stance sure made him unpopular 'round these parts. I switched to Google and came up with White salutations from Ottawa!
I copied that link and pasted it in a Notes file. Maybe Ryan could help me figure out who the posters were, based on their IP or something.
Then I had another thought. I searched for +Zisa and found a thread titled Immigrants and disease.
Trojan Rebel: We can't have them come here, spreading their disease. You know where Zisa came from? Uganda. You want those monkeys spreading their contagion? We've got to stop them.
AngryWhiteMale: Yah i know man their discusting hahahaa lmk what i cn do to help hahaha
EQ326: fucking gross. we see it all the time hear.
Odin Revision: I agree. When our governments let in monkey people, they lost their bid for a fair vote.
I copied and pasted that, too. I sent the entire file to Ryan, titled HELP.
Then I called him. He said he could talk for a minute, so I whispered to him about the cyanide connection between Lawrence and Dahiyyah before I confessed, "I went on 14-88. I'm sorry."
"I saw what you sent." He sounded disappointed, but not surprised. "I know. I suck. I just had this thought. What if there's a white nationalist connection to Zisa?"
"How could there be?"
"I don't know. I'm not paranoid. I don't think they invented a virus and planted it in the Zisa Forest for scientists to discover in 1947." Those scientists had trapped a rhesus macaque monkey in a cage and placed it on a tree platform, using it as bait in their study of yellow fever, but when rhesus #766 ran a fever of 39.7 degrees Celsius, they drew its blood and injected it into mouse brains. After the mice fell ill, they harvested their brains and discovered Zisa. "But maybe 14-88's using Zisa politically. The fact that Zisa was first isolated in Uganda doesn't mean that it originated there, but at least one person, Trojan Rebel, blames Uganda." I hesitated. "And Trojan Rebel can spell."
"Most of them can. I've seen it on a few threads. You'll have more senior members encouraging the younger ones to read, to go to school."
"It's more than that. Trojan Rebel is an educated—I'm going to guess man, although it could be a woman, and he's inciting people to hate, especially around Zisa and Uganda. Can you help me track him down?"
I could hear Ryan's frown. "Trojan Rebel could be anyone around the world, Hope. You're grasping at straws."
"I am. I could be completely wrong. But most people like leaders. They like being told what to do." I'm the opposite. I only realized it after I started residency. I don't take criticism well, not even from Ryan. "I'd like to know if that person is based in Ottawa. And then if you can tell me who it is."
"Even if it's Dr. Hay, it doesn't prove anything."
"If it's Dr. Hay, I'll give your intel to the police and let them deal with it. It would give me an excuse to avoid her, though." I pinched my nose and closed my eyes.
"Why don't you avoid her right now?"
"I'll try. It'll be easier if she's arrested for a hate crime." He sighed. "I'll see what I can do. But Hope, be careful."
"Always."
Ryan half-snorted, half-laughed before he hung up.
Chapter 43
FRIDAY
By 5:20 p.m., I barely had the strength to push open the lab door. What a week.
I'd stayed up until 01:00 the night before, researching mighty whiteys and cyanide. I'd devoted today to skimming everyone's articles, but I was so tired, I'd decided on Samir to get it over with.
A bunch of faces glanced up as I dragged myself into the room. Tom, Dr. Wen, Samir, Summer, Mitch and Susan were huddled at the front of the lab, between Tom's door and Summer's lab bench.
My face burned. Were they talking about me? I opened my mouth, but Summer put up her hand, looking paler than I'd ever seen her. "They think Ducky did it," she said.
"Dahiyyah did what?" I tried to sound calm. In control.
"Killed Lawrence Acayo. They found traces of cyanide in her flasks and condenser, and in the almond cookie crumbs on Lawrence's lab bench. She'd even printed out a research article on the best way to extract cyanide from fruit pits."
Fruit pits. Something pinged in my brain, but disbelief overrode it. "You think Ducky—I mean, Dahiyyah—poisoned Lawrence Acayo?"
Summer bobbed her head up and down, looking miserable. "That's circumstantial evidence. Didn't other people eat those almond cookies? Stephen Weaver told me they were good. He's fine, right?" Summer turned away from me, back to the people in the circle.
Even from a few feet away, I could see her hands shaking. "I can't believe we were working next to a killer all that time. I'm glad she's gone."
"It's traumatic for everyone." Samir patted Summer's shoulder, and she gave him a little smile.
"Hang on. What about the 'persons of interest' the police were looking for?" I said.
Summer clicked her tongue. "They can look for them. But I know that if I'd poisoned someone, even by accident, I might kill myself."
Mitch nodded. "I don't know if I could live with myself, if I killed someone."
Mitch. I clenched my teeth. I had to make a conscious effort to relax my jaw and fists. I'd deal with him soon enough.
I avoided looking at him so that my rage wouldn't tip him off early. "You think Dahiyyah beat him up and tied a bag on his head? She didn't seem like she could tie a bow on a birthday present, let alone overpower a guy who was what, six feet tall?" It was hard to estimate Lawrence's height on the ground, but he'd seemed like a long, rangy guy.
Tom interrupted, his eyes keen. "Who said he was beaten up? All I've heard is the cyanide found in his system, in Ducky's, and her implements."
I turned away. I couldn't let them know that Joan was giving me a direct line into everything she carved out of the police, but it was too late. "Just something I heard. I don't know what's going on." The police had set up a Crime Stoppers line about Lawrence, but if they concentrated on Dahiyyah as the perpetrator, I bet they'd locked and loaded on the wrong person.
"It could be worse," said Tom. "There was the Ph.D. who shot Dr. William Klug at UCLA."
Mitch nodded. "That man killed his wife, too. And what about Annie Le, the Ph.D. candidate at Yale? You know they found her bloody clothes stashed above a ceiling tile—"
Summer covered her ears. While the guys apologized and changed the subject, I took a deep breath and brandished my ID card at the hallway door, beeping my way out.
I didn't need CNN Syndrome. I needed Dr. Hay's lab.
Where the cyanide had been administered. Where I'd find the answers.
No one patrolled the corridor between the labs. The police tape had been taken down. When I knocked on the door, no one answered.
Did anyone lurk inside?
"Knock, knock motherfucker," I whispered to the glass. I wasn't scared anymore. I was angry.
Movement inside the lab caught my eye. A long shape unfolded itself into standing position.
My entire body jerked in response, but I didn't scream. Once the shape began to move, it resolved itself into a medium-built man, maybe five foot ten. Not as thin as Lawrence, and much more alive.
My fingers flexed. I planted my feet.
My mouth opened, ready to unleash a tirade at one Dr. Stephen Weaver.
The man took his time swiping his card before he pushed the door open and gazed down at me with a benign, slightly blank expression, his deep-set eyes nearly hidden behind shoulder-length, wavy, brown locks, so he looked more like Jesus than ever, if Jesus wore a lab coat, brown corduroys, and running shoes.
"Chris?" I said, confused.
"Stephen asked me to keep an eye on his experiment."
"He's not here?"
Chris glanced over his shoulder. "The police wanted to talk to him."
I took a deep breath. This was a risk. I didn't fully trust Chris. On the other hand, he had access to the Hay lab as well as the knowledge I needed. "I came to ask you a favour."
It took him a long time, but in the end, he said yes. He'd see what he could do.
Chapter 44
That done, I considered it safest to retire to Tom's lab, where, with any luck, they'd stopped discussing the murder of Annie Le.
They had.
Unfortunately, they'd reformed their circle to include a new visitor. "Unnerving," said Dr. Hay, who'd donned a pair of high heels, so she was now two inches taller than Summer. Dr. Hay wore an immaculate white lab coat over a crisp navy pantsuit, and commanded every eye as her hands swept the air. "To think that I trusted such an individual for over two years of my life—to think that I, too, could have died … "
I eyed Tom and Summer, who were facing the door and standing on either side of Dr. Hay. Surely they could extrapolate her point. If Ducky had, indeed, concocted some cyanide, why would she attack a new post-grad student, instead of the woman who'd oppressed her for the past two years?
I worked my way into the circle, into a gap between Samir and Dr. Wen. I needed to distract Dr. Hay so she didn't stumble upon Chris in her lab. "This week has been insane," I agreed.
"Bone-chilling," she said, her pale, blue eyes barely registering me. She pivoted to her right to raise one well-groomed eyebrow at Tom, whom I thought was married, but Dr. Hay's intensity hinted that she wouldn't be adverse to a little R&R on the side.
Tom nodded. "It is frightening. I try to remember that crime has been decreasing in Canada, with homicide at its lowest level since 1966."
"Right, Stats Can released a report on that." Mitch grabbed his phone. My face would betray me if I looked at the guy directly, so I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
Tom's pocket buzzed. He reached for his own phone and said, "Sorry, I have to take this." He shut his office door behind him. I suppressed a smile. He'd told me that researchers often fell somewhere on the autism spectrum, and here was the proof.
Dr. Hay tossed her head. Her silver hair caught the light. I'd never paid attention to grey or white hair before, but hers was lovely. She had more time to tend to it because Dahiyyah had done all the grunt work. More importantly, her hair and the rest of her aimed for the hallway door while everyone else ambled back to their research stations.
I hung back long enough to note that her pass unlocked the door. Which meant she had access to Tom's lab. Why? And did he have access to hers?
I didn't have time to pursue that, though, as I chased her out the door. "Dr. Hay, I'm about to choose a research project for the month. I wonder if you could advise me on my decision? I know you're very busy, and this is a traumatic time, but while Dr. Zinser is tied up … "
She glanced back over her shoulder, at Tom's still-closed door. I was basically feeding her an excuse to stick around for a few more minutes. She checked her phone and allowed, "I have fourteen minutes before my next appointment."
"Wow! That's awesome." I steered her back into the lab, around Dr. Wen, and sat her down at my computer. "See, Tom sent me links to everyone's research. I was thinking of Dr. Al-Sani—"
Her lip curled.
"He won the Banting and Best Fellowship," I said, pretending not to notice.
"It would have been better suited to other students. We've made stellar advances on Rift Valley disease this year, using the MP-12 strain." She gave a shrug and a tinkly laugh. "One never knows what the committee will do, or what kind of quotas they might try to fulfill."
Her voice was loud enough that Samir could hear her from the next lab bench down. His shoulders stiffened.
Dr. Hay followed my gaze. The corners of her mouth drifted upward.
I crossed my fingers in silent apology to Samir as I said, "I was impressed by his paper on neural crest lineage as a determinant of disease heterogeneity—"
"You're so new to the system, my dear, you have no idea how politically correct universities have become. It's not only a matter of the quality of science anymore. It's who you know and what kind of affirmative action has become fashionable this year."
She used such big words, it was possible that Samir might not understand her implications that he hadn't won the Banting and Best Fellowship based on merit, but on the colour of his skin.
The heightened colour in his neck said otherwise.
The little I knew of Samir amounted to three things: 3. Summer made him swoon; 2. He seemed kind; and 1. His work was his life. His pride. His raison d'être.
Was it possible Dahiyyah had slipped into the same trap? Did she finally lash out at this woman, accidentally killing Lawrence in the process?
But Joan had said he was beaten. I couldn't picture Dahiyyah steamrollering him, even if he were unconscious from cyanide.
"I thought awards were based on the quality of research papers," I said, loudly enough that Samir and the rest of the lab could hear.
Dr. Hay chuckled. "Oh, Hope. How naive you are. Now, if you were in my lab, I could teach you something." Her smile revealed her perfectly even, white teeth. "Would you like to help fill in while I'm hiring a new research assistant?"
Chapter 45
I couldn't say yes.
I couldn't go back to the killer cyanide lab.
Still, I needed to block her from Chris's activities as long as possible. "I'm committed to Dr. Tom Zinser's lab," I said slowly.
Her nostrils flared. This was not a woman who took failure gracefully. I have to admit that most labs—heck, most businesses around the globe—use cheap labour. It's a way of cutting costs in a competitive environment. Plus, when she was setting up her lab, she must've suffered decades of discrimination. That could warp anyone. Everyone likes Tom and other Mr. Nice Guys, but they haven't had to battle their way through sexist B.S. every hour.
"However, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I took a look. You said that Dr. Stephen Weaver's research on Rift Valley disease is seminal?"
"It will blow your mind. Ground-breaking rather than derivative." Her powerful voice echoed throughout the room.
Mitch slammed a drawer shut.
Dr. Wen set a glass flask on the lab bench with an audible click.
I hesitated. "Your lab isn't closed off for the investigation anymore?" I knew the answer. I was buying Chris as much time as I could.
"Of course not. The police understand that we have crucial work to do, and that every moment counts. Now, come along. Bring your laptop. Chop chop."
Was that an ethnic slur? Like chop suey? Hard to tell, with her. I slid off my stool and tucked my borrowed netbook under my arm.
Summer cast me a What are you doing? look. I smiled at her, showing my teeth, which have never experienced braces, and only the occ
asional white strip, but are plenty strong. Summer might not know me well enough to understand that I had a plan. Sort of.
I let Dr. Hay beep the door again and followed her out. I belatedly realized this meant I didn't pop up on the security guys' monitoring of our badge whereabouts. They could still view me on the security cameras, but that would require either someone watching in real time, or a lot of boring hours combing through footage afterward.
I raised my badge to beep the door again, and I waved at the camera. Anything to get their attention, like a modern Hansel and Gretel. I trailed Dr. Hay by a half-step, not enough for her to object, but enough to slow her down. "I'm a little worried about the cyanide the police found."
She snorted. "They cleared all of Ducky's equipment away for testing, and the area has been thoroughly cleaned. You won't have anything to worry about." She poked my arm.
Her nail cut into my deltoid hard enough that I glanced at my right arm, half-checking to see if she'd managed to slice through the material of my grey tunic dress.
She smiled at me with those teeth again.
I tried not to shudder. I found her unpleasant and casually racist, but she was at least twice my age. She couldn't beat up Lawrence.
True, he might have been weakened with cyanide first, but I knew I hadn't eaten any of those almond cookies. I could take on a 60-year-old lady. No one was going to hurt me.
And yet, I had the distinct feeling I was walking to my doom. Like one of ten little Indians in the Agatha Christie book.
I lingered in the elevator area and raised my voice, in case Chris could hear me behind that frosted glass. "I heard they found cyanide in Ducky's flasks and condenser." I deliberately used the nickname, falling in with Dr. Hay's language.
"Yes. The foolish girl seemed to have followed the instructions from the article she'd left in her drawer, 'Potential Toxic Levels of Cyanide in Almonds, Apricot Kernels, and Almond Syrup.'" Dr. Hay shook her head. "It was devastatingly simple. She heated up water in one round-bottomed flask and collected the steam into a glass tube that was attached to a second round-bottomed flask holding the apricot pits. The vapours of hydrocyanic acid, released through maceration, were condensed and collected in silver nitrate."
