by LS Sygnet
"So in other words, after the big push for corporate farming in the seventies and eighties on economic grounds had slowed way down, no pun intended."
"Yeah," Crevan nodded. "If you believe his bio on the company's website, John Clod sees himself as some kind of grand savior of the farming tradition, willing to step in and keep the soil tilled when the farm boys decided to depart for the concrete jungle in search of grander prospects."
I laughed at the intentional mispronunciation of Dupree's name. "Do we know for sure, I mean beyond what our identity challenged Mr. Blake said, that Dupree really hires migrant workers?"
"She ain't been here long enough to know," Briscoe said to Conall. "Yeah, Eriksson. All the great big farms out here hire 'em. It's basically what keeps the farming economy solvent. These folks migrate up and down the west coast lookin' for work year round. The big places depend on the cheap labor for more than gettin' the job done, if you get my meaning."
Briscoe signaled into the sprawling entrance to the farm, not some white crushed rock driveway, an asphalt road very much like the highway we left, and blocked fifty yards inside by a state of the art security check point.
"No such thing as getting the milk for free, eh guys?"
"Or buying, borrowing or stealing the cow," Crevan said. He and Tony pulled out their identification and flashed the guard at the gate.
"Detectives Briscoe and Conall – uh – and Eriksson here to see someone about your migrant workers," Briscoe said.
"From where?" Unfriendly and hardly cooperative, the guard made no move to open the fifteen foot gate with razor wire looped at the top.
"Darkwater Bay, Downey Division."
"You're out of your jurisdiction, boys."
I rolled down the window in the back and poked my head out. "Sir, we're here because I'm trying to identify a man who died in Downey awhile back, and witnesses who knew him by a street name indicated that he may have worked for Mr. Dupree. I'm Dr. Helen Eriksson, and I'd really appreciate any help your human resources department could give us. All I want is to be able to notify this gentleman's next of kin."
"A doctor, eh? This guy wasn't carrying some sort of disease, was he?"
"No sir, he died of natural causes, but because he'd been living on the streets for awhile, we don't know who he was, or where his family might be now. If it were your father or uncle or brother, wouldn't you want to know that he died safe and warm in a hospital bed instead of wondering what his fate was for the rest of your life?"
I could feel Tony's amusement over my pleading lie starting to suck the air out of the confined space in the car.
The guard's unfriendliness abated marginally. He sighed. "Let me call the main office and see if anybody can see you, doctor."
"Geez, Eriksson," Briscoe muttered, "I never knew you was this good with bullshit on the fly."
"Am I wrong that you cops regularly lie and use trickery to advance your investigations?"
"You are correct, madam," Briscoe said.
The gate jerked into a lateral roll as the guard reappeared at the window in his security station. "Follow the road directly to the first building you see. Someone will be waiting for you from security to escort you inside where you can speak to human resources."
"Would that be Tom Denton?" I asked.
Shock flickered in the guard's eyes. "Dr. Denton works in research, ma'am. He doesn't have anything to do with hiring migrant workers."
"Thank you," I said. "It confirms that one of our sources was misinformed."
I craned my neck around and watched him grab the telephone while Tony drove through the gate. "Interesting."
"Why'd you ask him that, Eriksson?"
"It was a legitimate question, but beyond that, we now know that Tom Denton is a doctor. Why would someone probably engaged in research be known to pick up homeless men to work at Dupree Farm regularly enough that people know his name?"
"That's a very good question," Crevan said.
"I'm not so sure Cox didn't stumble onto something bigger than he or any of us have realized," I said.
"Like what? I thought his death was about drugs, not cows."
Crevan made the connection immediately. "Because someone with research credentials hefty enough to work for Jean-Claude Dupree might have some chemistry chops too. Do you think what Jake stumbled onto was about drugs at Dupree Farm?"
"It's too soon to make that leap, Crevan, but I find it interesting enough to warrant a chat with the good doctor while we're out here, maybe even Mr. Dupree himself."
Security was waiting for us outside the first building. "They're armed. Doesn't that strike you as a bit excessive for a dairy farm? How many ways are there to feed and milk cows?"
"Easy, Eriksson," Briscoe said. "Let's just talk to these people and see what's what before we start wonderin' why they got this place locked up tighter 'n Fort Knox."
I stepped out of the car and introduced myself.
"Ma'am, Ms. Carter from HR is waiting to speak with you in the lobby."
We weren't even rating the courtesy of a sit down in her office. I pulled the least gruesome of our John Doe photos out of my bag. "Thank you."
The photo was barely glimpsed before the woman launched into her standard party line reassurances that Dupree Farm only hires legal migrant workers, that proper paperwork is maintained on everyone in their employ.
"Ms. Carter, that wasn't what I asked," I flashed the photo under her nose. "Please look at this and tell me if you recognize this man. He's got family out there somewhere who deserves to know that he's passed on."
She shook her head. "I've never seen him before in my life. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of –"
"I'd like to speak to Dr. Denton," I said.
"Why?"
"Official police business," I said. "This is an open investigation, Ms. Carter. I'd hate to see you accused of obstructing it."
She called my bluff. "Then I'd like to see your warrant, Detective Eriksson. I didn't think so. Good day, detectives."
I watched her disappear behind secured doors and turned to Crevan and Tony. "Did you get the impression that they've been expecting us?"
"She sure had the company's pat answer ready," Crevan said. "Now what? A dead end again?"
"Not on your life." I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing. "I've had enough jurisdiction warrant bullshit thrown in my face for one morning."
"Orion."
"Hi, it's me."
"Hey…where are you? I thought you and the guys were heading out to Dupree Farm this morning."
"We're here, but getting stonewalled. I want to talk to this Dr. Tom Denton, but I'm being told that number one, this is outside my jurisdiction, and number two, I have no warrant so no right to talk to him."
Johnny snorted softly. "Since when do we need a warrant to have a conversation? As for this jurisdictional nonsense, let me get Chris on the line. He can rattle OSI's saber if need be. We'll get you face to face with Denton. Since when is he a doctor? I thought he was recruiting homeless guys."
"That's what we thought too, until the guard at the security gate let it slip that he's a doctor who works here. I presume research science in a discipline relevant to bovine something or other."
"Hold on while I put a call in to Chris's office."
I watched the guards outside the lobby watching us. The receptionist filed one claw at her desk with obvious apathy. Not a sound could be heard coming from the depths of the large office building.
"I know it's a rural setting, but this is too quiet," I murmured. "Creepy quiet."
Suddenly, I had no doubt that Jake Cox was onto something out here. I just couldn't seem to fit the pieces together.
Chapter 18
I stopped wondering at the strings Johnny was able to pull with a simple phone call after he got Mark Seleeby off my case (at least for the time being). It came as no surprise when Mephistopheles hung up her telephone and beckoned with one blood-red talon.
"Dr. Eriksson? Detectives?"
I sped to her desk, expecting more flak, some corporate bullshit about board meetings and scheduling appointments if we wanted to talk to Dr. Denton. Instead, she said, "Mr. Dupree will see you right away. Take the elevator to the fifth floor. His assistant will take you to his office right away. Dupree Farm apologizes for the misunderstanding."
Briscoe snorted. "These creepy fuckers act more like zombies than human beings if you ask me."
I didn't disagree.
Moments later, we were escorted into Dupree's office.
"Pardon our mistake this morning, Dr. Eriksson," a very young looking man said. He rose from behind a monstrous desk and extended one hand. "Won't you please sit down?"
I could hear Tony mocking his accent in my head. I glanced at him with a quick, stern warning. Behave.
His lips quivered at the corners but he kept his mouth shut and his inflection in check.
"I am told you are hoping to speak with my lead research scientist, Dr. Thomas Denton, oui?"
"Oui," I replied. "Je comprends que Dr. Denton pourrait savoir l'identité d'un homme qui est malheureusement mort."
"Your French is quite good, Dr. Eriksson. Yet I cannot imagine that Dr. Denton would know the identities of any of the migrants we hire to work in the fields. Surely you have been misinformed, oui?"
Liar. My French pronunciation is fine, but my grammar is only as good as the English to French app on my iPhone.
"I'm not sure I was misinformed, monsieur. A number of men from Downey have identified Dr. Denton by name and physical description as the man who hired them to work here. What would be most helpful is if I could speak to Dr. Denton myself. As I told Ms. Carter from your human resources department, all we wish to know is the name of a man who passed away recently. I'd like to be able to contact his next of kin. There is no criminal investigation involved in this matter. We merely want a name."
He held his hands out, palms up in supplication. "Bien sur, detective. But I can promise you that the time Thomas is in the lab would prohibit his ability to recruit workers. The man spends every waking moment working."
"I'd like that conversation all the same."
Dupree nodded and made a call. "Oui. Tout suite." He replaced the receiver. "Security will escort you to the research facility where Dr. Denton will meet you right away. I do apologize for the inconvenience, detective. I hope this has not impeded you in your important work."
Briscoe muttered under his breath all the way to the elevator when our escort disappeared behind the mirrored doors. "Sorry he impeded us my ass," he grumbled. "These people been stonewallin' us since we pulled up to their prison-wire gate."
"I don't get it," Crevan said. "Why all this secrecy and hesitation from a dairy farm? Do you have any theories, Helen?"
"I have no idea. But how old was Dupree when he moved south and started helping companies buy Midwest farms, ten? The guy looks like thirty might be a stretch."
"Probably one of them Botox boys," Briscoe derided. "Either that or the guy is competing with that comedian chick for the most plastic surgeries. That's a dye job if I ever seen one. The guy's gotta be pushin' fifty minimum."
If something illegal was taking place at Dupree's farm, it certainly explained the conspiracy of silence from everyone, guards to HR even to Mephistopheles at the reception desk. I anticipated about thirty seconds with Denton before we'd be summarily dismissed.
Denton darted out from inside even more secured doors than Carter used in the main Dupree building. His small stature fit with the nervousness he exuded, but I got the distinct impression that it was normal behavior for him. He pushed the perfectly round Ben Franklin-esque eyeglasses up the narrow bridge once, and again when they immediately slid low to the slightly bulbous tip of his nose before tugging the sleeves of his lab coat.
"Dr. Eriksson I presume," he said to Crevan.
"I'm Eriksson."
A flicker of recognition flashed behind thin lenses. "Oh yes. The one with that nasty business with the chief of police or some such in Darkwater Bay. I'm a very busy man, doctor. I assure you I do not have time to hire men for the fields." Denton turned on his heel.
I grabbed one of his shoulders firmly enough to let him know we weren't through talking. "What sort of research keeps you so busy that you can't spare five minutes for the police, Dr. Denton?"
He shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm afraid it's very complex. You wouldn't understand it anyway," a hand brushed through the thinning fringe of hair flopped over his forehead.
"Really? Because you know I'm a doctor as well."
"Psychology barely qualifies, Dr. Eriksson. It could never compare to hard science." He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. The guy couldn't seem to find a moment to be still.
"My undergraduate degree is in neuroscience. Give me a try."
"Telomeres," he said with another swipe at the spectacles and a sleeve tug. "Beyond that, I'm afraid my work is quite proprietary. It's not something I can divulge to just anyone."
"Nervous little thing, aintcha, or do you just gotta pee?"
"Tony," Crevan shook his head at his partner.
"I'm working through a critical phase of a clinical trial, Dr. Eriksson. I do not hire migrant workers. Now if you'll excuse me please, I need to get back to my research."
This time, I let him go. Denton sped away almost as rapidly as he'd spoken. He pressed his thumb to a print reader before resting his chin on another device that likely positioned him for a retinal scan. Tight security for a dairy farm.
"Well? Dead end?" Crevan asked.
"Not on your life," I murmured. A different picture – at least psychologically – began to gel of Dr. Denton in my mind. "Gentlemen, I need to get back to Downey, and if you've got a phone I can use there, I need to start making some phone calls."
"Why? What did he tell you that could possibly be of value to our investigation?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I marched out of the research building and waited for them in the car. My mind raced with possibilities. By the time Tony and Crevan joined me, I had tasks in mind to keep them busy while I contacted someone I knew on the east coast.
"Could you two dig up all the information you can find on Thomas Denton for me? I'd like a photograph too, the one from DMV will do nicely."
"Helen, what're you thinking?"
"Hmm?"
"He said so little to us. What's got you so revved up?" Crevan asked.
I rested my arms on the back of the front seat, chin propped on my hands. "He mentioned something about his research."
"Tele-somethin'," Briscoe said. "Sounds like electronics not how to milk a better cow."
"Telomeres, Tony. It has to do with how long cells live. In cancer research, scientists have learned that those mutated cells never die because the telomere chains never stop replicating. Telomerase is an enzyme that allows the DNA strands to repeat, or replicate indefinitely."
"What the hell would that have to do with milk cows?"
"Its applications could be endless," I said.
"No pun again, right Eriksson?"
I grinned. "Definitely no pun. Scientists are interested in telomeres because in the case of cancer cells, if they learn to shut off this mechanism caused by the enzyme telomerase, tumors would stop growing. They wouldn't spread elsewhere to healthy cells."
"Shit. You're talkin' about a cure for cancer? Again, I do not fathom how this relates to cows."
"I don't think it does. Tony, you noticed he couldn't stop moving. We call that psychomotor agitation. It could mean nothing more than too much caffeine or sleep deprivation –"
"Or," Briscoe interjected, "maybe he's cookin' up somethin' in there that makes him so hyper."
I shook my head. "His skin is clear. His pupils are normal. No, I'd call his behavior hypomanic at best, full blown mania at worst. There's no way of knowing that at this point. He'd have to be evaluated further."
"Do you think he's a danger
to himself or others?" Crevan asked. He had his cell out, ready to dial.
I chuckled. "No, he's still functional at this point, and there are no indicators that he's doing harm to himself. But as for his research, I doubt he's got the patience to unlock the secret of telomeres. Even if Denton were capable of perfecting the research, which I seriously doubt he's good enough to do what teams of dedicated scientists have been unable to do, he could feasibly extend the life expectancy of Dupree's cattle indefinitely. Imagine never having to replace your stock, or at the very least, the money you'd save by extending the life of cattle by ten or fifteen years."
"So…"
"Crevan, I seriously doubt that a man like Dupree is interested in the application of the technology to his cows. Look at him. It's like Tony said. He's the poster child for plastic surgery."
"You think he hired some mad scientist so he can…what, live forever?"
"I want to find out if Denton's research has found its way onto the FDA's radar. If he's working at a farm, where it is conceivable that his research would have an impact on the food supply…"
"Then the government oughtta be keepin' tabs on what he's doin'," Tony nodded.
"But if it's not on their radar, it could explain why everyone out there is so secretive," I said. "Make no mistake, they're hiding something."
"What about these homeless guys, and Detective Cox? How does any of this get us closer to finding out how and why they died?"
"That's why I need the photo of Denton."
"Nancy is hittin' the streets again?" Briscoe asked.
"No, but the two of you are," I said. "Jason Blake said that Denton posted a notice that he'd be hiring again on Friday. That gives us roughly two days to determine if the Thomas Denton working as a research scientist at Dupree Farm is the same person identified at Tom Denton recruiting workers from the Sixth Avenue Shelter for Dupree Farm."
"How do we ask around the neighborhood without word gettin' back to Denton and scarin' him off?" Tony asked.
