by Bill Myers
He had stepped out and was headed toward the main door when, not eighteen inches from his head, he heard the distinctive click of a revolver’s hammer being cocked. He froze. Had he been more alert, he might have seen the shadow that had approached from behind.
“Good evening, Mr. Coleman.”
He didn’t have to turn to know it was Steiner holding the gun. The voice quivered, trying to control its fear and rage. For the first time in months, Coleman felt a trace of anger. Didn’t this twit know how easily he could remove the gun from his hands, how he could break his fingers, or just as easily break his neck? The thought startled Coleman almost as much as Steiner’s presence.
“I don’t know what happened or what’s going on,” the voice was saying, “but I think it’s time the two of us had a good long talk.”
Coleman nodded, his anger turning to empathy over the man’s fear and confusion. “You’re right, there’s a lot we need to talk about.”
He could sense Steiner wavering a moment, unsure what to do. He took the opportunity to slowly turn and face him. Steiner was blinking hard, as the gun, which trembled slightly in his hands, remained leveled in Coleman’s face.
Coleman kept his gaze fixed on the man’s eyes and spoke quietly and calmly. “It would be better for both of us if you took a couple steps backward and loosened your grip on the gun a little.”
Steiner dug in, bracing himself, refusing to budge.
“That way it won’t accidentally go off in your hand. But if I tried to jump you, you’d still have time to shoot.”
Steiner remained unmoving.
Coleman understood. The man was so frightened and full of emotion that he could barely hear what was being said, let alone act on it.
“Do you want me to go with you somewhere?” Coleman asked. “Is that what you have in mind?”
For a second Steiner appeared lost. Then, summoning up all of his concentration, he answered. “Yes, that is exactly what I want.”
Coleman continued looking into him. The man was completely out of his element, functioning on raw fear and hate. That’s all that drove him, pushing him to do things he normally wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do. But that mixture was a dangerous combination, and Coleman had to try to keep him calm. “Where would you like to go?”
“Outside.” Steiner shoved the gun closer to his face. Coleman nodded, then turned and moved through the deserted lobby. Steiner followed directly behind and to the right, never letting the gun drift more than a few inches from the back of Coleman’s head.
They passed the mailboxes on the wall and arrived at the glass door. Coleman started to push it open when Steiner suddenly ordered, “Stop.”
Coleman obeyed.
Steiner motioned across the street, over to two men who sat inside a gray Audi, drinking coffee. He swore. “They’ve been following me ever since I left Genodyne.” He grabbed Coleman by the jacket and pulled him back out of sight before they were spotted. “Looks like we’re staying here for a while,” he said. “Let’s go pay that lady friend of yours a call.”
The words sounded tough, but Coleman knew the man was terrified. He turned. “Listen, I don’t think —”
Steiner shoved him forward and took several steps back. “Move!”
Now, even if he wanted to, Coleman could not disarm him. He was too far away. The man was a fast learner.
Reluctantly, Coleman obeyed.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Connie, this is Dr. O’Brien.”
“Dr. O’Brien?” The voice grew clearer.
“I’m sorry to be calling so late.”
“No, it’s okay, I, uh …” There was a pause. O’Brien could imagine her turning on her light, trying to force the grogginess from her mind. “I really haven’t been able to sleep that much anyway.”
“I understand. Wolff was a good man. He’s going to be missed by all of us.” It was O’Brien’s turn to pause. He picked at the rubber molding around what had once been Wolff’s desk. He stared at the empty corkboard, the vacant shelves. After the incident in the parking lot, he’d known that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep, so he had gone back. Now he was in Wolff’s office.
“Listen, uh —” He cleared his throat. “Wolff’s personal belongings, his notes and so forth…”
“Yeah, they’re all here. They couldn’t find any next of kin, so they figured I’m like the closest.”
O’Brien had guessed as much. Although Wolff had pretended to be a free agent, it had been obvious since last year’s company picnic that he and Connie were becoming an item. Company policy scowled at such relationships, but what are you going to do? It was love. Besides, she was all the way over in accounting.
“Did they give you his lab book?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s right over here on the dresser.”
“Connie, I know my timing stinks, but I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t important.”
“Is there something you want from it?”
O’Brien sighed gratefully. She was making it easier for him than he had hoped. “Yes. His last few entries.”
He heard her moving, getting up. “Hang on. Here we go.” Pages were flipping. “That’s weird.”
“What’s that?”
“The last page. He ripped out the last page.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah. Looks like he was in a hurry.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s not in his usual, neat-freak style. It was just torn out any ol’ way. In fact…oh, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Here it is.”
“Here what is? What are you doing, Connie?”
“They found a piece of paper stuffed in his pants pocket.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ve got it right here, and it looks like the piece he ripped out of the notebook. Now, why would he do that?”
O’Brien’s heart began to race. “What’s it say, Connie — what did he write on it?”
“Nothing. It’s completely empty. There’s nothing — well, except up here at the top.”
“What’s it say, Connie?”
“It’s just some name with a Roman numeral after it.”
“Some name?”
“Yeah. Hind. Hind III.”
O’Brien stopped breathing. Hind III was another restriction enzyme — another chemical used to cut and identify genes. Whatever Wolff had discovered, he had discovered by running the gel with the Hind III enzyme instead of the EcoRI that they had been using since the GOD gene’s discovery.
He glanced at his watch. 2:18 a.m. It looked like it was time to run a few more gels.
“You’re not telling me anything new,” Katherine growled. She was outraged, and had a right to be. Busting into her apartment and holding a gun on Coleman and herself was not a way to win her cooperation. “I know he’s got a past,” she continued, “I know he’s served time. But people change. Can’t you see that? He’s not the same man who —”
“Men like him don’t change!” Steiner brandished the gun toward Coleman, whom he had ordered to sit on the sofa. Earlier, Eric had stumbled down the hall to check out the commotion and had been immediately sent back to his room with orders not to come out. That had been fifteen minutes ago. Now Katherine and Steiner hovered over Coleman, who remained strangely quiet. She thought it odd that since they had entered her apartment, he had not looked at her. Not once.
“Of course they can change,” she insisted. “Old things can pass away, all things can become new.” It was obvious that Steiner didn’t understand the reference, so she continued. “This man, he’s the kindest, most sensitive person I’ve ever —”
“You don’t know what he’s done!”
“I don’t care what he’s done!” she yelled back. Then, regaining control, she tried again. “Look, I don’t know how he hurt you, or how he may have wronged you. But you have to understand, he’s changed. He’s not the same man. Where’s your sense of mercy, y
our compassion?”
“Mercy?”
“Yeah.”
“Compassion? You want compassion? This man is a murderer!”
Katherine blinked. She showed no other emotion, but inside she felt as if someone had smashed a baseball bat into her gut. She took half a step back and found an armchair to lean against. Her eyes darted from Coleman to Steiner, then back to Coleman. “That’s not true.”
Neither man answered.
She repeated her statement, but this time it was a demand: “That’s not true!”
Coleman stared at his hands.
She waited, forever.
Then, ever so slowly, he began to nod. “Yeah.” His voice was a raspy whisper. “I, uh,” he coughed, then with obvious effort forced out the words, “I killed his daughter.”
Katherine closed her eyes. She eased herself down into the armchair.
“And who else?” Steiner’s voice quivered with rage and triumph. “Tell her who else you’ve killed!”
Coleman continued to look down. He took a deep breath then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, really? Let’s see if I can help. There was that prostitute in Des Moines…”
Coleman kept his head down.
“The convenience store clerk in Council Bluffs.”
Katherine stiffened. “Council Bluffs? You killed somebody in Council Bluffs?”
Steiner answered for him. “Of course, none of these can be proven.”
Coleman stared at the floor, unmoving.
“Then there was the cop.”
“You shot a cop?” Suddenly Katherine’s head felt very, very light, as if it were trying to float off her body. “When? When did you shoot a cop?”
Coleman gave no answer.
Now she was on her feet, unthinkable suspicions rising. “Was he a patrolman? Did you shoot a patrolman?”
At last Coleman looked up. His cheeks were wet with tears. “Yes,” he croaked. “I…think so.”
“What’s your name?” Blood surged through her body. She was floating high above the scene, somewhere else. “Who are you?”
Coleman held her eyes, confronting her glare. “My name is Coleman. Michael Coleman.”
Katherine’s head exploded. She barely heard the rest.
“I murdered Mr. Steiner’s daughter. I may have murdered your husband, too. I…” His eyes faltered. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
He didn’t respond.
She moved toward him. “You don’t remember!”
He shook his head and looked down. That’s when she attacked him. She leaped at him, arms flying, hitting him with everything she had, venting her fury, pounding on his chest, his shoulders, his arms.
“You destroy my life, and you don’t even have the decency to remember?”
Coleman made no move to protect himself as she flailed and swore, calling him every name she could think of, hitting him so hard her hands were bruising.
It was Steiner who finally pulled her off. “Stop it. That’s enough. That’s enough, now. Stop it!”
She managed to land several more blows before her anger spent itself into exhaustion and Steiner was able to drag her off and back to the armchair. She was crying now, gut-wrenching sobs. But even then, over the tears, she could hear Steiner’s gloating words:
“So much for mercy and compassion.”
O’Brien placed the new gel under the UV light so that he could study its bands. He had run it several times, thinking he’d made a mistake. After all, it had been a long time since he’d worked in the lab like this. He’d even cut the gene with enzymes that were different from Wolff’s suggested Hind III.
But the mistake was not at his end. Something else was wrong. The bands were entirely different. And yet, as he studied them, as he compared their lengths and added them together, he found them to be exactly the same gene.
What he had before him was the GOD gene, and yet, somehow, it wasn’t. A cold dread took residence somewhere deep in his chest.
He photographed each gel with the overhead black-and-white Polaroid, then gathered the pictures and headed back to the offices.
The dread grew stronger as he studied the conflicting patterns, and as he remembered the mice…
He could understand the effects of the experiment breaking down and wearing off. With all of the unknowns they had to deal with, it was possible — in fact, quite common — for some unforeseen element to arise, causing the tests to fail and allowing the mice to revert back to their old behavior. But these mice had not reverted. They had attacked and murdered each other. That was not old behavior. That was totally new. Lab mice wouldn’t attack and destroy each other, not like that.
Not only was it new behavior, but — and this is what terrified him the most — it was exactly the opposite behavior of what the GOD gene produced. Instead of a compassionate community working together, those animals had completely obliterated themselves.
An unspeakable suspicion had now risen to the surface of O’Brien’s mind. He had been trying to push it aside, but now he knew he must pursue it.
He arrived outside Murkoski’s office. The locked door was made of quality oak. Fortunately, the quality of the vertical window running along the side of the door wasn’t nearly as high. Still, it took three attempts with the receptionist’s chair before he managed to break out the glass. Then there was the matter of reaching through the gaping hole and around to the door handle. He succeeded, but not without sustaining a sizable gash in his left forearm from one of the remaining shards of glass.
He decided not to turn on the lights; instead, he used the glow from the large saltwater aquarium against the wall to help him find the computer. He slipped behind the screen, turned it on, and breathed a silent prayer that Murkoski’s arrogance and impatience had led him to forego using a password.
His prayer was answered.
Now came the painstaking process of going through file after file after file. It was the only way. If Murkoski was working a different pattern, he would have it recorded somewhere.
But O’Brien got lucky. The files were listed alphabetically, and he only had to go as far as the “D’s” to find it. It was under “Diable.gne.”
When he brought the file to the screen and studied the patterns, he could only close his eyes and sink into the chair. Now there was no doubt. O’Brien’s worst fears had become reality.
“This is too strange,” Steiner said. He was pacing in front of the sofa where Coleman sat. Katherine remained in the armchair. Several minutes had passed since she had attacked Coleman, but neither had completely recovered.
Steiner continued to think out loud. “Of all the people to put together, why you two? Why team up a convicted killer with his victim’s own wife? It doesn’t make sense. Surely they knew you two would eventually find out.”
“Unless …” Katherine spoke slowly, her voice dull and lifeless. “Unless that’s what they wanted.”
“For you to find out?”
She nodded.
“But why?”
No one had an answer.
“And this Dr. Murkoski.” He turned to Coleman. “You said he was bragging about all of his big-time government connections?”
Coleman nodded. “Wore them like a badge.”
Steiner shook his head. “If this was the federal government, they wouldn’t mess with a state prison like Nebraska. They’d go directly to a federal pen. Someplace like Leavenworth. Fewer people, fewer chances of leaks. I’m not saying officials weren’t involved, but there’s more power being wielded here than the government’s. Two people have been killed, maybe more.”
Coleman looked up. “More people have been killed?”
Steiner glanced to him, then almost seemed to revel in providing the information. “The county coroner and a doctor from the prison were killed. Both to protect you.”
A numbness crawled through Coleman.
“There’s no short-circuiting justice. Som
eone always has to pay. In this case, it was two lives for one.”
The numbness spread into Coleman’s mind. How much more pain was he responsible for? How much more destruction?
“You said there’s more power here than the government’s?” Katherine asked.
Steiner nodded.
“What could be more powerful than the federal government?”
Steiner looked at her. “Greed, of course. There’s money involved here, Mrs. Lyon. Lots of it.”
“But whose? And what type of sadist would throw the two of us together?”
The sudden knock at the front door startled them.
Katherine was the first to speak. “Is that the guys out front?” she whispered.
Neither man answered.
More knocking. Harder.
Steiner motioned her to her feet with the gun. She obeyed. Coleman also started to rise, but Steiner ordered, “You stay put.”
Reluctantly, Coleman obliged and watched as they crossed to the door.
“Find out who it is,” Steiner whispered. “Tell them to go away.”
More knocking.
“All right, all right,” Katherine called. “It’s four in the morning, who is it?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am.” The voice from the other side sounded young. “FBI. We have an urgent matter we need to discuss with you.”
All three exchanged glances. Steiner whispered, “Ask to see their ID.”
Katherine nodded, shoving her face toward the peep hole. “You guys got badges?”
Despite Steiner’s orders, Coleman rose to his feet and cautiously approached. Steiner was getting nervous with the gun again, and Coleman didn’t want him doing anything stupid with Katherine so close.
“What do you see?” Steiner whispered.
“They look real to me,” Katherine answered.
He turned, anxiously searching the room. “Do you have a back door, another exit?”
“Just the bedroom windows.”
Steiner looked down the hall nervously, then pointed the gun at Coleman. “You come with me.”
Coleman shook his head. “We’re on the third story.”
Beads of perspiration appeared on Steiner’s forehead.
Coleman stood quietly, watching. He was beginning to experience the familiar sharpening of his senses, the focusing of vision.
