I raised the handkerchief back up over my face, then followed Bell around the side of the building.
Even before I cleared the corner, I heard the mad scientist shouting, “You have destroyed this beautiful place. You have committed this crime against nature, and now you suggest I abandon my research like garbage.”
Bell stood on a large brick patio lit by a single bulb above the back door. “I suggest you not die in a fire.”
Dr. Sebastian Polignac, aka the mad scientist, saw me and pointed. “I don’t care how many storm troopers you bring, I won’t be forced out.”
I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a storm trooper. “I’m with KJAY in Bakersfield. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“What?” His accent got even thicker. “You vultures. You evil scavengers of pain and humiliation, descending like carrion crows to feed on the dead flesh of humanity.”
“I think there’s been a mistake. I’m a shooter, not a reporter.” I made Bell laugh, but Polignac didn’t get my inside joke. “Sorry. I’m here about Jessica Egan.”
His accent became unintelligible. I think he said something like “Is there no blank you won’t blank for your own blank? The poor blank’s blank is blank blank and you pick over it like blank blank.”
This was a complete waste of time. The man could confess and I probably wouldn’t know. I had nothing to lose, so why not follow his wife’s advice to Farris.
“You’re absolutely right. Don’t talk to the media. Don’t answer questions. It’s the worst thing you could do.”
He looked as if he was about to yell something, but then paused. “Why?”
“You’ll say things that you’ll regret later. Do not talk to anyone from the media.”
He stepped toward me. “I’m perfectly capable of deciding what I’ll say and to whom I’ll say it.”
“I’m sure you are, but the bottom line is, even though I don’t have a camera, and only want to talk to you off the record, you still shouldn’t agree.”
His spine straightened. He adjusted the lab coat. “As it happens, I have much to say about how our rights are being trampled.” He gestured to the structure in the distance. “I have work to do, but you’re welcome to come with me. I would be very happy to tell you all about the obscene injustices committed here.” He turned to Bell. “You’re not invited.”
Instead of taking the driveway from the front of the house, he walked straight through the field of charred earth and tree stumps toward the other structure.
Bell joined me. “What just happened?”
“Whatever you tell him to do, he’ll want to do the opposite.”
“Who says?”
“His wife.”
“Oh.” She nodded and drew out the syllable. “Good luck, then. I’ll be in the car, out of the smoke.”
I took the driveway so Polignac got there quite a bit before me. The structure was a modular classroom like the ones schools use when they outgrow their facilities. A large directional antenna rose from the roof. The creek was nearby, and someone had strung netting from one bank to the other. There were also buckets and other containers on the shore.
A motor home was parked to the side of the building. I glanced back toward the house. Before the trees were cleared, it would have been impossible to see the house from here, and vice versa.
Several Hotshots walked back and forth, looking for flare-ups in the controlled burn, but I didn’t see Polignac.
I walked up the wooden wheelchair ramp to the modular classroom. The door was ajar, so I entered.
Bright fluorescent lights lit several lab tables and metal stools. White cabinets and a black counter lined two of the walls.
“Hello?” I called.
Polignac’s voice came from a room in the back. “In here, please.”
I crossed the lab and entered a small room with two computers and a printer. The computer monitors were big, old-fashioned cathode monsters. The dated technology went well with the fake-wood paneling and metal folding chairs in this room. I kept going and reached the back.
The mad scientist was working at a table near several refrigerators with glass doors. Inside were rows of rectangular flasks lying flat on stainless-steel racks.
“Excuse me if I continue working.” His legs and the lower half of the lab coat were both black from walking through the charred field. “These tissue cultures are extremely important.”
I glanced around the rest of the room. The walls were covered with bulletin boards. A large machine with a white body sat on a second table. It looked like an advanced microscope and was hooked up to a new computer.
“What exactly is your field of study?” I said.
“Comparative regenerative biology.” His head turned. The smile on his face indicated I had hit on one of his favorite topics. “I’m studying tissue and organ regeneration in the Terrill salamander and its potential use in humans.”
“Wait, what?”
He opened one of the refrigerators and carefully transferred one of the flasks to a Styrofoam cooler on the table. “Salamanders possess the ability to regenerate limbs after injury. The Terrill salamander does it twice as fast as other species.”
“Are you actually trying to transfer that ability to human beings?”
“I’m isolating the genes responsible for the proteins, and the triggers.” He continued transferring the flasks. “My partner at UCLA is growing transformed human cell lines containing the salamander regeneration genes. One day we may be able to cure any number of diseases.”
For a moment I was just awed by the possibilities. Then I realized what the natural by-product of his research would be. “Wait a minute. Are you killing salamanders?”
“It is an inevitable side effect of the process, yes.” The small cooler was full, so he closed the Styrofoam lid. “We’re also amputating limbs and watching the speed at which they regenerate. We must determine if the salamanders down at Lake Elizabeth are regenerating at the same pace. There might be an environmental factor.”
He picked up the cooler and carefully carried it out of the room.
I followed. “But Jessica Egan never would have approved of that. She was a vegan and in PETA.”
He stopped and turned around. At some point he’d flattened his hair. That combined with the ebbing of his accent and reasoned tone had transformed the mad scientist into the dapper man in the tuxedo. “You knew Jessica?”
I nodded. “She grew up here. We knew each other before she moved to Los Angeles.”
“Oh, my dear. You should have said something.” His voice sounded gentle and sympathetic. “It is a terrible thing to lose a friend. I’m so sorry.”
His accent was actually pleasing when almost dormant. I decided attention from a brilliant older man might turn a lot of young women’s heads. It would certainly be more pleasant than Farris’s creepy come-on.
“You have my condolences.” He turned, still holding the cooler, then continued toward the front of the building.
“We weren’t exactly friends.” I followed him. “But I know Jessica never would have approved of killing animals.”
We passed back into the lab. He stopped at the outside door and turned around. “You knew Jessica when she was still young and idealistic. If only we could all stay that way.”
“Are you saying Jessica compromised her beliefs, because I’m not buying it.”
“She remained very vocally opposed to Green Seed’s support of my research until the day she attained the ability to actually stop it.” He backed up and used his weight to push the lever down and open the door.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I held the door open for him, then shut it behind us. I raised my handkerchief and followed him down the ramp.
He waited for me at the bottom. “My wife, Ceasonne, used to be executive director of Green Seed. It is because I alerted her to the potential destruction of this species, and its potential scientific value, that they moved to block the plans for develo
pment here thirteen years ago.”
He began walking and I joined him.
He stepped carefully and kept the cooler level. “After we raised the funds to purchase the land, Jessica learned the unfortunate side effects of my research. She lobbied Ceasonne and the board to deny me access to the property.”
“Wait a minute. Green Seed raised the funds to buy the land from the McClellans because of your research, and then Jessica turns around and asks your own wife to deny you access? You must have been irate.”
“No.” He smiled fondly. “She never had a chance of succeeding, so it was very easy to look kindly on, what was for her, a moral stand. And knowing Jessica, you had to admire how strong she was in her beliefs.” We reached the side of the building and continued toward the RV.
“But she took over when your wife left,” I said. “Couldn’t she have stopped you then?”
“When Jessica became executive director, she dropped her objections.”
I was losing patience. “But why?”
“Because it’s easy to stand outside and complain and criticize, but once Jessica had the power, she also had the responsibility. She didn’t approve of exploiting animals, but at the same time, she wanted to cure disease.”
We stopped at the RV. I reached up and opened the side door for him. He climbed the steps and disappeared inside. I followed and shut the door behind me.
The small interior looked like a hoarder’s secret cave. All sorts of equipment and materials from the lab were haphazardly piled inside.
Polignac set the cooler down on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator. He checked the temperature on a digital thermometer, then began transferring the flasks from the cooler. “Part of getting older is understanding that a certain amount of compromise is necessary in life. Sadly, Jessica had to grow up.”
I’d never thought of growing up as a sad thing. The years I’d spent being reckless and irresponsible embarrassed me now. Growing up seemed like a moral obligation. “Are you equating Jessica’s commitment to animal rights with some kind of youthful folly?”
He finished the transfer and shut the door. “No. I’m equating her commitment to animal rights at the expense of everything else with youthful folly. But as silly as it was, there was something wonderful in her passion, and it made me a little sad to see it diminish.”
He glanced over his shoulder. A stack of boxes blocked the aisle behind him. “Excuse me.” He climbed over the boxes, then disappeared into the bedroom.
“Farris told me that you usually sleep out here,” I yelled. “Why, when there’s so much room inside the house?”
“There are also students inside the house.” He climbed back over carrying a second cooler. He knocked a roll of toilet paper off the kitchen counter while trying to pass. “I prefer it out here where I’m not disturbed by their music, or television, or impulsive desire to bake cookies at one in the morning.”
We exited the RV. Just as Polignac was shutting the door, we both heard the sound of a helicopter approaching. We looked up into the gray sky and saw the Chinook pass carrying a basket of water.
He came down the steps and joined me.
“Why was Jessica visiting here so much?”
He shook his head. “She didn’t visit. I saw her at the Green Seed offices in Venice on occasion. During the school year I still teach a class once a week at UCLA so I must split my time.”
“Does your wife split her time?”
“Sadly no.” He glanced at the helicopter as it passed from view. “Her work keeps her in Los Angeles.”
The door to the lab opened and Farris walked out. “There you are. I’ve got the rest of the—” He saw me and froze. “Don’t talk to her. She’s a reporter doing a sleazy story. She thinks you and Jessica were sleeping together.”
The mad scientist reasserted himself. “I’ll talk to whomever I choose.”
He then turned to me and spoke in a flirty voice. “I appreciate the compliment, but, alas, I was not sleeping with Jessica.”
Farris abandoned any attempt to control Polignac and switched to me. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call Green Seed. This is private property and they can have the police force you out.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going.” I started toward the driveway.
“But I don’t want you to go.” Dr. Polignac took several steps after me. “I haven’t even told you how our rights have been trampled.”
“Don’t worry. I promise to take your word for it.”
Farris insisted on escorting me back to Bell’s car. I paused before getting in. “A word of advice: I’d do what his wife says. The more you tell him to evacuate, the less likely he’ll be to actually do it.”
SIXTEEN
Friday, 6:50 a.m.
We drove back out the dirt road and exited the nature preserve across from the fruit stands. The IO still hadn’t been able to locate Arnaldo Bedolla, so I’d asked Bell to take me to see Jessica’s brother at the fire line. We turned and continued down Highway 55. The burning valley still appeared in Bell’s dirty windshield, but the sun had risen and we’d returned to the twilight that passed as daylight.
A plane flew into the view. It was probably the first of the morning. Red fire retardant streaked in a trail behind it. The mixture of water, dye, and chemicals scattered downward, where it was swallowed by a flaming section of trees.
I looked at Bell. “We are safe, right?”
“We’re fine, but if I say it’s time to go, you don’t ask questions. You run for the car.” She managed to glance away from the view ahead. “Understood?”
“Understood.” I glanced down as we crossed an overpass. Even in the reduced light I could see the creek below was barely flowing. It had looked fine at Bonny Hazel. Had Dr. Polignac and his minions done something to disrupt the flow while researching salamanders?
The wind increased the closer we got to the valley. Sudden gusts blew ash and burning embers like a light rain. My apprehension also increased—and not just because we were getting closer to the fire. How would Egan react when I told him the truth?
I turned to Bell. “Bedolla had a diving partner—a young college-age kid. His family owns a farm or ranch over here. They were trying to evacuate, but they had a lot of horses and cattle and stuff.”
She gestured to the side of the highway that didn’t belong to the nature preserve. “There’s a ranch not far ahead. Other than the group at Bonny Hazel, they’re the last residents on this side of the mountain.”
If Bedolla had compromised the autopsy, Pukey the Kid might have seen something. Pukey even being there—a young, inexperienced diver instead of a trained member of Search and Rescue— could have been something Bedolla orchestrated. “Let’s stop. If it’s not the same family, I’ll interview them about the fire.”
The pine forest began to thin near the foothills and then ended. We approached a turnoff with a large, old iron gate. It was open so we went ahead and turned onto the dirt road.
I tensed. Black smoke blew from over the next hill.
Bell saw it too. “Don’t worry. That’s probably just a controlled burn to remove the dry fuel around the property. They did the same thing up at Bonny Hazel.”
“Does that work? I mean, if the fire comes through here, it won’t really skip over the house just because the land around it has been cleared, will it?”
“Sometimes. I’ve seen perfectly intact structures surrounded by miles of scorched earth.”
We followed the road as it rose over the hill. A farmhouse, barn, and several outbuildings appeared before the red horizon.
As we neared, I saw an engine crew pumping water from a nearby pond and giving cover to a team of Hotshots managing the controlled burn. We parked and got out. The blistering wind slapped my face. I inhaled an ember and had to bend over coughing. When I’d gotten my breath back, I yanked the handkerchief up over my nose and mouth.
Bell left to speak with the superintendent. I heard noise on the other side of the bar
n. I took my camera from the vehicle and walked around the building.
Two men held the reins of a nervous horse. They both wore handkerchiefs, but I recognized one as Pukey the Kid. The other man was older and I guessed he was Pukey’s father. They were leading the horse to one of two open trailers. The horse wore a mask to protect its eyes, but neighed and pulled back each time the wind gusted.
I threw the camera on my shoulder. I cranked up the iris to adjust for the reduced light, then hit record.
Just as the horse took its first step onto the ramp, a shower of sparks pelted us all. The horse reared. The father lost his rein and fell flat on his back. Hooves crashed into the dirt.
“Get her, get her.” An old man came running from the barn.
The kid dug his bootheels into the dirt. His arms strained against the power of a blind, panicked animal six times his weight.
The horse screamed as it reared again. The father rolled away. The horse’s hooves smashed the ground where his head had been moments earlier.
“Hold on.” The old man grabbed the other rein.
The father tried to stand. He was shaky and winded from the fall, but rushed to take the reins from the old man. “I got her, Dad.”
The three of them forced the horse into the trailer and slammed it shut.
I turned off the camera and walked toward them. As I neared, the grandfather took a rag from his back pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “That’s all we need today. You getting yourself killed.” He said it as a rebuke, but the old man was wiping away more than sweat from his eyes.
The father put a hand on his own son’s shoulder. “Good work, Pete. You probably saved my life.”
“Your rope was bad, Dad. That’s all.” The young man showed none of the boasting or jockeying for attention that was present at our first meeting. Probably because building up his own accomplishment would diminish his father.
I felt regret for how snidely I’d judged him at the lake. As awesome a nickname as Pukey the Kid was, I was going to have to retire it. “Hello,” I said loudly.
It took a moment, but Pete recognized me. “Hey. You’re the reporter lady.”
Hot, Shot, and Bothered Page 19
