“Look,” Detective Tony Pedrotti said sympathetically. “Why protect this scumbag? He’s a murderer for god’s sake! You wanna see that video again?” In spite of the fact that he had begun to put on some weight Pedrotti was still a good looking man. He liked expensive suits and had a tendency to adjusting his cuffs every couple of minutes.
Devlin had seen Quinton shoot the young woman at least ten times by then and knew the gruesome images were permanently burned onto her neocortex. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s like I told you before. I would like to be of assistance, but I can’t speak until I have legal counsel, or you put me in touch with the appropriate person at the CDC’s Department of Biosecurity.”
“They ain’t returning our calls” Detective Marty Klatt replied flatly. “So either you’re full of shit, or they don’t give a shit, which means it’s time to start talk’in to me.” Klatt had a thin, almost gaunt face, and enjoyed playing the role of bad cop. His beady eyes were filled with malevolence.
The door to the interrogation room suddenly swung open and Cooper entered. “Hi, guys,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Agent Cooper with the CDC’s Department of Biosecurity. We’re in charge of the Quinton investigation, and since Dr. Devlin is working with us, I’ll take it from here.”
“That’s bullshit!” Klatt objected angrily, as he came to his size fourteen feet. “Show me some ID.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a female voice said, as a neatly dressed African American woman appeared in the doorway. “I checked Agent Cooper’s credentials and he’s correct. His department does have the lead on the Quinton investigation. They’ll keep us informed. In the meantime keep your mouths shut about the case. And that’s from the commissioner.”
“Come on, Lieutenant…. Give me a break,” Pedrotti protested. “This woman knows something. I can smell it!”
The police lieutenant’s face was so rigid it might have been carved from stone. “You’re excused Detective Pedrotti. And that goes for you too Detective Klatt.”
Devlin heard Pedrotti mutter something under his breath as he followed Klatt out into the hallway. Once the police officers were gone the Lieutenant turned to Cooper. “Just for the record Detective Klatt is correct. This is bullshit. Since when did the CDC become qualified to carry out a murder investigation?”
“Since Congress said we could,” Cooper replied smoothly. “Dr. Devlin and I would like to borrow your conference room for a few minutes. We’ll be out of here shortly.”
Judging from the expression on her face the policewoman was anything but pleased. But she stood to one side, and allowed the others to pass, as Devlin followed Cooper down a short hallway. Conference Room B was furnished with four folding tables, all pushed together to form a rectangle, plus some mismatched chairs. A large whiteboard took up most of the wall opposite the only window and a roll around TV stand occupied one corner of the room. “So,” Cooper said neutrally. “Have a seat.”
Devlin circled the table before choosing a plastic chair. It felt cold. “You don’t seem very surprised to see me,” she observed.
“No,” Cooper agreed, as he sat on a corner of the table. “I’m not. You have a talent for being in the right place at the right time.”
“Or the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Yes,” Cooper agreed, as he looked into her green eyes. “You were lucky today. Quinton didn’t shoot you but he certainly could have. And would have if he saw you as a serious threat.”
“A threat to him? Or to the parasite?”
“I don’t think there’s much difference,” the agent answered grimly. “Not anymore.”
“He took mineral samples, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” Cooper replied. “And we found a teenage girl chained to a radiator in his New York apartment. She’s in a hospital now.”
“He had plans to infect her,” Devlin mused out loud. “If one of the stolen samples came up positive.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Cooper agreed.
“So you’re going to check the samples? The ones he took?”
“That seems logical,” Cooper replied unhelpfully, “but what do I know? I’m just an errand boy.”
Devlin eyed him. “Will they perform an autopsy?”
Cooper smiled crookedly. “Do bears shit in the woods? Of course they’ll perform an autopsy. Now, go home, and do whatever it is that parasitologists normally do. But before you leave I suggest that you take a moment to watch some television. All you have to do is press ‘Play.’” And with that the agent got up and left the room.
Devlin watched the door close and stared at the remote. Cooper was playing a game with her, she could feel it, and wondered if she should ignore his invitation. But curiosity got the better of her and she pressed “Play.”
As the monitor came to life Devlin found herself looking down into a room nearly identical to the one she’d been in earlier. The camera was mounted on the ceiling, which made it difficult to see faces, but she recognized Palmer as the person seated across from a rumpled policeman. “So,” the detective said. “At least some of your story checks out. You do hunt meteorites for a living, and you were one of Benjamin Quinton’s business associates, but there’s the rest of your resume to consider.
“Information continues to flow in, but we have positive hits from the State Department, the FBI, and five western states. All of whom have had dealings with you at one time or another. And there’s the prison sentence you served in Columbia. You spent fourteen months in the slammer for trafficking in antiquities before the local consulate managed to break you loose.”
“That was bullshit,” Palmer responded dismissively. “They weren’t antiquities. They were chunks of a meteorite. And I paid good money for them. Besides, what does that have to do with this?”
“You’re a scumbag,” the cop responded. “The kind of scumbag who would get liquored up, lose control of his sports car, and run it under a tractor-trailer rig. The report says the accident took your wife’s head clean off! Damn…. I'll bet that was real messy.”
Palmer came up out of his chair at that point but the policeman was ready. The big 9mm seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Come on,” the detective growled menacingly. “Show me what you got!”
Devlin watched as Palmer was forced to sit down. She saw the look of anguish on his face as he glanced up before looking down again. So there had been a wife. Plus a fatal car accident. Neither of which had been shared with her.
But why was Cooper going out of his way to make the information available to her? To drive a wedge into her relationship with Palmer? Yes, clearly. And why would the agent do that? Not that it mattered because the truth was the truth either way. A mistake had been made. A serious mistake; and one the scientist planned to rectify. Devlin pointed the remote at the screen, thumbed the “Stop” button, and the screen snapped to black.
***
Devlin had arrived in their tiny hotel room, and was already in the process of packing, when Palmer unlocked the door. “There you are,” he said, as the door swung closed behind him. “They told me you had left the police station but I was worried…. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Devlin responded as she closed the suitcase.
Palmer looked at the bag and back to her. “Oh, yeah? Then why are you packing?”
“Because I have a plane to catch,” Devlin replied evenly. “I don’t know what kind of message they delivered to you, but Cooper told me to butt out, and in no uncertain terms. Besides I have bills to pay, an estate to settle, and a cat that the next door neighbor is probably tired of by now.”
“Okay,” Palmer agreed reluctantly. “But why leave tonight? I’ll take you to dinner, we’ll compare notes on what happened, and leave in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Devlin said, as she went to retrieve her coat from the tiny closet. “But no thanks.”
Palmer knew he was in trouble by that point, but didn’t know why, and felt a rising sense of frustration. “You’r
e upset with me. I can see that. And I’m sorry. But why?”
“I thought you were like one of those rocks you like so much,” Devlin answered, as she pulled the coat on. “Crusty on the outside, but beautiful on the inside, where it really counts. But I was wrong. When were you planning to tell me about the prison sentence? Or the fact that you were married? Or how your wife died? Your camera is on the top shelf of the closet.”
Each sentence struck Palmer like a slap across the face. Sorrow filled his eyes and Devlin regretted her words. But the damage was done. His voice was little more than a whisper. “What did they tell you?”
She didn’t want to cause him further pain, but the subject was out in the open now, and she couldn’t see how to back away from it. “I saw the portion of the interview where the police officer talked about your wife and how she died.”
“What you saw was a lie,” Palmer responded grimly.
Devlin felt her chin start to tremble. “Then your wife is alive?”
“No, she’s dead,” Palmer admitted soberly. “That much was true. But I wasn’t drunk. A breathalyzer test proved that. But I was at the wheel when the semi blew through the red light. Maybe, had I been paying closer attention, Maria would be alive. That’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. The whole thing was in the papers. You can look it up.”
While it was true that Palmer’s version of the story did cast him in a more positive light a significant problem remained. “Okay,” Devlin conceded. “You weren’t drunk. I’m glad to hear it. For your sake not mine. But here’s the problem in so far as I’m concerned. You should have told me about it and didn’t.”
Palmer opened his mouth to say something at that point but stopped when Devlin raised a hand. “I’m sure you had your reasons. But the man I’m looking for is the kind of person who puts everything on the table even when that hurts. Because honesty generates trust—and trust is the glue that holds relationships together. That’s what I want. A relationship that’s built to last. Goodbye, Alex. I wish you nothing but the best.” And with that she was gone.
***
Seattle, Washington
After a series of weather related flight delays Devlin arrived back in Seattle to find that the city was beginning to get ready for Christmas. Except Devlin was in no mood for celebration. Especially after she arrived home to discover that McCracken’s ancient fridge had broken down.
The result was spoiled food, followed by a cursory examination by a repairman, who delivered an almost immediate thumbs down. The compressor was shot and the green machine wasn’t worth repairing. That led to some on-line research, a trip to Sears, and an unexpected outlay of money. Not disastrous, thanks to her pending inheritance, but annoying nonetheless. And it was against this background that Mark Milano showed up on her doorstep.
The last time the scientist had seen Milano he had been in Costa Rica, at his beer drenched birthday party, where the two of them had slipped outside the tin-roofed research station to spend a private moment together. As the celebration continued inside Devlin told Milano about McCracken’s death, the fact that she was going home to Seattle, and had no plans to return. A decision he reacted to with anger. That sparked a fight, Devlin left the party early, and boarded a plane the next morning. Now, as the bell rang and she opened the door, Milano struck a pose and said “Ta da!”
Once she saw Milano’s tall, lanky frame, Devlin felt her heart jump, as it had many times before. “Mark? Is that you? What a surprise!”
Milano swept Devlin off her feet and carried her inside. Something he’d done more than once. It never failed to make her feel smaller than she was and very feminine. “There!” Milano said, putting her down. “I carried you across the threshold. That means we’re married. Will you wash my shorts?”
Devlin laughed. “I see that your notion of a successful male-female relationship remains intact.”
“Not true,” Milano protested, as she closed the door. “I’m a changed man…. That’s why I dropped by. Let me take you to dinner where I will testify as to your remarkable beauty, ply you with amusing tales of Angiostrongylus costaricensis, and tell you about the new improved version of Mark Milano. Oh, and I’ll pick up the tab too!”
Devlin looked up into Milano’s face. He had black hair, serious brown eyes, and a nose that was only a tiny bit too large for his face. Altogether a handsome if somewhat mercurial man with whom she had once been very much in love. But, having grown tired of both his temper and his inability to make a commitment, Milano had been left behind. So, what was this? An attempt at reconciliation? Or an ex-boyfriend who was lonely and looking for some companionship? There was no way to tell, but odds were that Milano would make her laugh, and that would feel good.
So Devlin accepted the invitation, fed Dog, and went to get her coat. It was the one she had purchased at Macy’s a few days earlier, which served to remind the scientist of New York, Benjamin Quinton, and Alex Palmer. A man not given to flashes of temper, but troubled in other ways, as if to prove that flawed men were her lot in life.
Milano had a rental car. So they took that and headed for what had once been their favorite Chinese restaurant back in the days when they had been classmates, friends, and lovers. On the way Devlin learned that the other scientist would be home through Christmas, was trying to make up his mind about a teaching position in California, and couldn’t believe how cold Seattle was.
One of the things that made the Hong Kong restaurant different from most Chinese eateries was the décor. Rather than red walls, ceramic dragons, and murals of misty mountains, the brothers who ran “the Kong,” as the establishment was known in the Wallingford district, had gone for a more modern look embellished with dozens of movie posters and stills. Included were shots from Ferry to Hong Kong, starring Orson Welles, Love is a Many-Splendored Thing with William Holden, and Macao, starring both Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell. There were also posters honoring Jackie Chan, and Bruce Lee, who was buried in Seattle.
But when Sara Devlin and Mark Milano were shown to their table it was a poster for the James Bond movie You Only Live Twice that decorated the wall beside them. “This restaurant certainly brings back some memories,” Milano said nostalgically.
“That’s true,” Devlin agreed. “We celebrated a lot of birthdays, tax refunds, and a least one grant here.”
“And other things too,” Milano said mischievously.
There was a pause in the conversation as the waitress arrived and both ordered the dishes they always ordered at the Kong: Moo Goo Gaipan.
Once that was out of the way Milano brought the conversation back to the subject of the job opportunity at UCLA. There were lots of pros and cons and the next half hour was spent discussing them. Although the basic question was pretty clear. Which option was better? To continue the work in Costa Rica? Which was important, but barely paid a living wage, or to take what Milano had learned in the field and pass it along to fresh-faced undergrads? The job would pay better and still make a contribution. Especially if the connection to UCLA led to funding for his research.
The whole thing seemed like a no-brainer insofar as Devlin was concerned. Not only because of the opportunity to make some money, but because some of the very parasites Milano was studying were a threat to his health.
“So,” Milano said finally. “Enough about me…. What have you been up to? Anything exciting?”
A montage of images flickered through the parasitologist’s mind. McCracken’s dead body. Wally Brisco’s crop circle. The trailer park in Shelton. Palmer’s face when he smiled. Quinton barreling down the steps at her. All followed by a lonely flight home. “No,” Devlin lied. “Nothing at all.”
The Moo Goo Gaipan arrived then. And that made it easy to change the subject. Time flew as Milano told a hilarious story about the disastrous fishing trip he and the rest of the team had taken a couple of weeks earlier. But Devlin was feeling sick to her stomach by then—and a bit dizzy. Milano’s voice became a distant
drone as Devlin’s vision began to blur and she wondered if she was going to throw up.
Then she saw Quinton’s head explode all over again and felt something akin to ice water trickle into her bloodstream. Had the attempt to prevent herself from inhaling airborne spores been sufficient? Or had she been infected by an alien parasite that was already in the process of making a place for itself deep inside her body? The thought terrified her. And at least some of her emotions must have been visible. “Sara?” Milano inquired. “Are you okay?”
Devlin swallowed the food that threatened to find its way up from her stomach and forced a smile. “Yes, sorry about that…. My period started yesterday. I’ll be right back.”
Milano nodded understandingly and stood as Devlin left the table.
Devlin felt lightheaded, as if intoxicated, as she made her way back to the women's restroom and opened the door. Then, as the recently eaten food began to boil up out of her stomach, she hurried into the first enclosure and barely had time to position herself over the toilet before throwing up. She heaved, and then heaved again, spewing everything she had into the commode. Then it was time to rest with hands on knees as she sought to catch her breath. Gradually, within a minute or so, Devlin began to feel better. A couple of minutes later she felt fine again.
It took a few minutes to wipe down the toilet seat and rinse her mouth out before returning to the table where Milano was waiting. “So,” he said, “are you okay?”
“Yes,” Devlin replied as she sat down. “It's really weird but I feel fine now.”
“Good. You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“Alright,” Milano said. “So let’s talk about us. When we parted company down in Costa Rica you said some things that made me angry. Which was stupid—since everything you said was true. I do tend to fly off the handle. I was slow to make a commitment—and I should give up Hawaiian shirts. And, if it means that I could spend the rest of my life with you, then I’m ready to work on the first two. The shirts are non-negotiable however. I've got to draw the line someplace.”
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