Kernel of Doubt: A Neela Durante Mystery

by Hillary Avis

  Neela had missed breakfast in her fever to play detective. And coffee, reminded her drumming headache. She dreaded the cafeteria, but it was nearly noon, and it would be the answer to all her pressing problems. If she hurried, she could catch Demetrius alone, before An-Yi came down to join him.

  He was there at a table against the wall, but he wasn’t alone. Chalk was already there. Neela grabbed a sandwich and a steaming cup of slightly scorched coffee, doctored it with milk and sugar, and sat down at the table.

  “Long time, no see,” Chalk said wryly. Demetrius snorted and kept his eyes on the laminate tabletop.

  “Hey,” said Neela. “I should have congratulated you when you told me you and An-Yi were engaged. I was just surprised. Shocked, actually.”

  Chalk nodded. “Congrats, Ms. Ming is a lovely lady.”

  Demetrius’s expression softened. “Thanks. We’ve kept it on the down-low so long that it’s weird to have anyone know about it.”

  Neela leaned in and lowered her voice. “Listen. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but DALE knows you’re together, too, and they think you both might be involved with Miles’s death.”

  “What?”

  “I know, it’s preposterous. That’s why I’m giving you a head’s up. They think An-Yi is spying for her old company, and you’re helping her.”

  Demetrius’s face slowly turned brick red as he stared at his plate of food. “Of course,” he muttered. “Should have known things were going too good. Now I’m going to go up for murder.”

  “No, no, DALE still believes Miles committed suicide because he stole data and passed it to someone else. You’d be charged with corporate espionage or something.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Demetrius said sarcastically.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to help you not get arrested.”

  Chalk added, “Tell An-Yi if she is in contact with any friends from her old company, she should stop talking to them until this is cleared up. And save all her communications. Deleting them will make her look guilty.”

  “Maybe we should just leave,” Demetrius said. “Go away for a while until they figure out who really did it. We could go visit Annie’s family or something.”

  Neela grabbed his arm. “No, that’ll just make you look guilty! Like how leaving me in the parking lot when we found Miles made you look guilty. Why did you leave, anyway? You never told me.”

  He shook his head. “It was nothing. I just wanted to get your keys to the shop, and I remembered that I’d also promised An-Yi I’d take her to work that day, and I didn’t want to get stuck giving statements and stuff while she was stranded at home.”

  Or maybe he was going home to warn her. Or tell her that Miles had killed himself after he passed them the data.

  “OK. Just don’t make a run for it, please.” Neela shot Chalk a look to see if he was as skeptical of Demetrius as she felt. He sat placidly eating his lunch. She shook her head. Why doesn’t anyone care about this as much as I do?

  She pushed back her chair. “I think I’ll eat this in my office.”

  Demetrius and Chalk nodded without looking at her, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

  Neela rolled her eyes and left. In Miles’s old office—her office, she corrected—she erased the white board and, taking a bite of her sandwich, wrote “MILES” in all-caps at the top of the board. Underneath his name, she wrote a list of all the possible reasons he was dead:

  1. Suicide for personal reasons.

  2. Suicide because of guilt over trait development.

  3. Suicide because of guilt over corporate espionage.

  4. Murder for corporate espionage.

  5. Murder for corporate sabotage.

  6. Murder for professional ambition.

  7. Murder for personal reasons.

  She stared at the list while she finished her lunch, then crossed out the first and last items. If someone wanted to kill Miles for a reason unrelated to Broad Earth, they wouldn’t murder him at work. The man lived alone, presumably in a house without cameras and security officers everywhere, so it’d make more sense to wait for him to leave work. And if Miles wanted to commit suicide, he’d be more likely to do it in the privacy of his home, too. If he shot himself in the test field, it was to draw attention to someone or something here. And he knew he was in danger, or he wouldn’t have sent Neela that flash drive through interoffice mail.

  It had to be murder.

  And it had to be connected to Broad Earth somehow.

  She made another list, this time of people with motives to kill Miles:

  1. Cassie—Jilted lover. Foiled revenge. Promotion.

  2. Demetrius and An-Yi—Corporate espionage (money, loyalty).

  3. Unknown person with unknown motive.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk. Cassie certainly had the most reasons to kill Miles. Not only did he break up with her, the oldest motive in the history, but he knew she was angling to ruin Neela’s reputation and—bless him—stood in the way. Cassie also might have anticipated that, without Miles heading R&D, Art would ask Neela to switch departments, freeing up the QA directorship for her. But Cassie was also the most upset by Miles’s death, so maybe she really cared for him.

  Not that caring for someone prevents you from killing them.

  Demetrius and An-Yi were trickier to assess. An-Yi knew exactly which traits R&D was working on because the data came across her desk every day. And Demetrius certainly had access to the greenhouses and test fields. Maybe after Neela dropped him off that night, he rode Sally back to Broad Earth, parked behind the greenhouses, and met with Miles to pick up the flash drive with the trait files on it. Miles could have included the emails from Cassie to warn the recipient that the new lines were flawed.

  But why would Miles steal the data to begin with, unless he was being blackmailed? And what dirt did An-Yi and Demetrius have on him? Miles didn’t seem to have many vices. And if he gave the data to Demetrius in the test field, why did he make a copy for Neela? It just didn’t make sense.

  But maybe...

  Maybe An-Yi and Demetrius weren’t stealing data. Maybe they were trying to hide it. An-Yi was the one who did the data analysis that showed 375 didn’t have a toxin and ensured it would be approved by the FDA. And Demetrius would have been able to add a gene to the corn lines in the greenhouse, since he pollinated the corn by hand with a paintbrush. If he used pollen that already contained the protein for the toxin, the new lines would have it—he wouldn’t even need a gene gun or a laboratory.

  Maybe instead of killing Miles for giving them the trait files, they killed him for figuring out that 375 and 13X were poisonous! If An-Yi was still loyal to her previous employer, maybe she was trying to ruin Broad Earth rather than steal their secrets. Neela added “sabotage” to their list of possible motives.

  When she looked at the third suspect—unknown—she shivered. It could be anyone, for any reason. It could be someone who seemed safe.

  “It could be me.”

  The voice behind her made her jump. She spun around to see who had entered without knocking and breathed a sigh of relief. Chalk.

  “I’m not kidding,” he said. “You need to think bigger.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t really see how you’re bigger than, say, an international corporate conspiracy.” She pointed to An-Yi and Demetrius.

  “Add my name.”

  “But you didn’t do it!” she protested.

  He walked over to the board and wrote it himself. “That’s not the point. The point is I could have done it, and if you’re not going to consider everyone, then you’re going to miss something.”

  Neela crossed her arms and made a face at him. “What’s your motive, then?”

  “Maybe I didn’t like the guy.”

  “Did you know that Miles almost called security on my first day at Broad Earth? He thought I was a field tech, not authorized to be on the fourth floor. He didn’t even ask
me who I was or why I was in the supply room. He just assumed that I belonged somewhere else, because of how I look. I have a PhD, and he assumed I was a migrant farm worker.” Neela paused to draw a breath, eyes glittering.

  “Nothing wrong with being a farm worker,” said Chalk.

  “I know that. My father is a farmer.” Neela bit each word off. “You have no idea what it’s like to have someone assume you live in a shack behind a corn field.”

  “Don’t look now, but you do live in a shack behind a corn field.”

  She glared at him. “The point is that I didn’t like him either. Didn’t murder him, though.”

  “Cute. Stop trying to prove I didn’t kill him and start trying to prove I did.” His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He looked at it and snorted. “Accounting broke the ERP system again. Gotta go.”

  “I’m not even going to ask what that is.”

  “Good call,” Chalk said on his way out the door.

  She erased “unknown” and added Chalk’s name to the list. But what would Chalk’s motive be? Art had hinted at something unsavory about Chalk’s past. Was he a criminal in his former life—maybe a hacker or something? He was definitely the one with the technical expertise to monitor Miles’s account and see that he was downloading the trait files. He was also the one who could have used Neela’s account to approve 13X for production, and he had eyes everywhere with his secret footage from the security cameras. Maybe he saw Miles copying the files, accosted him to take the drive, and then killed him when Miles didn’t have it.

  And he made a copy of the external drive when I found it and brought it to him, she remembered. If he was trying to steal those files, she had walked right into his office and given them to him. Ugh, what an idiot! She should have listened to Art when he said to be careful of Chalk.

  His motive for killing Miles certainly wasn’t personal, though. Nothing about Chalk was personal. So it’d have to be about getting paid, somehow, by someone. She wrote “criminal motive—financial gain?” after Chalk’s name.

  “What are you up to?”

  Neela jumped and nearly dropped the dry erase marker. It was Art. She slid behind the desk so Art wouldn’t turn and see her list on the white board.

  Art chuckled. “Don’t have a heart attack. What is keeping you holed up here in the lab? I’ve been looking for you.”

  Neela sighed. “Just working. I guess I lost track of time.” She wondered if she should tell him now, spill her suspicions in his lap. “Art, I—”

  “Don’t say another word,” he said. “This conversation has to happen on the record. We’re going to my office.”

  He motioned her toward the door.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain in a moment. St. Louis has been breathing down my neck all morning.”

  In his office, Neela sat with her heart in her throat, waiting while Art placed a call and put the phone on speaker.

  “Arthur, is she there?” It was Lisa Campbell.

  “Yes, Dr. Durante is present,” said Art.

  “What’s going on, Art?” asked Neela.

  Before he could answer, Lisa cut in. “Ms. Durante, this conversation is being recorded. We have received a complaint from one of our employees that you are harassing people about Dr. Hutto’s death and making wild accusations. Can you confirm or deny this?”

  “I don’t think my accusations were wild,” Neela said.

  “Can you confirm or deny that you were approaching people and accusing them of murder?”

  “I don’t know unless you tell me who made the complaint,” Neela said stubbornly.

  “Neela,” Art said.

  Neela sat stonily. So much for Cassie saying everything was good between them.

  Lisa Campbell broke the silence. “Ms. Durante? Can you please answer the question?”

  Neela said, “It’s true, I approached Dr. Tremblay to ask her about the night that Miles—Dr. Hutto—died. I thought she might have some information.”

  She looked at Art to measure his disappointment. He was staring away from her, out the window, as if none of it were happening.

  “Are you aware that threatening another employee and falsely accusing them is a serious offense? You’ve opened yourself and the company up to being sued for a hostile work environment.”

  “You have to understand why I did it! I was trying to protect the company, not hurt it,” protested Neela.

  “You should have come to me,” said Art. “I could have helped you. But not now that HR is involved.” He shook his head sadly and twisted his mustache.

  “Cassie knows more than she says, Art. She has the most reasons to want Miles dead.”

  Lisa Campbell’s irritation was palpable, even through the telephone line. “Ms. Durante, that’s enough. Miles Hutto committed suicide. Your actions are a liability to this company, and I am forced to suspend you without pay, pending an investigation. If Broad Earth finds that you have not violated the employee code of conduct, then HR will hold a hearing to determine your reinstatement, if any.” She hung up.

  Neela looked to Art, pleading with her eyes for him to relent.

  “You know I need this job,” she said. “My family depends on me for support, and there’s no way I can get another research job with an HR investigation pending. Is there any way?”

  Art pressed his lips together flat and shook his head. “It’s out of my hands at this point,” he said. “You crossed a line, Neela. I have to escort you out of the building.”

  Neela nodded. “I just wanted to keep you out of it,” she said. “Plausible deniability in case something went wrong. Which it did.”

  “You should never keep me out of anything,” said Art. “I could have helped if you came to me with your suspicions.”

  “Next time I think one of your employees is engaged in corporate sabotage, I will,” said Neela.

  “Is that what you think?” asked Art.

  “I know. I’m ninety-five percent certain, which is about as certain as I am of anything,” said Neela. “Someone is altering Broad Earth’s lines to include a gene that makes a particular toxin. I don’t know why, but I know someone is doing it. It’s not an accident. Miles knew it, and that’s why someone killed him.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “No, but—”

  Art sighed. “Neela, I don’t really see where you are taking this. It seems like you have nothing but suspicions, and that’s not good enough! We’re scientists here, and we rely on evidence and reason. Unless you can provide me with evidence, I can’t support you in this.”

  “That’s fair,” said Neela. “Just give me a little more time. Two days, Art.” Fingers crossed. “Two days and we’ll have proof.”

  “We’ll?” asked Art. “You and who else?”

  Neela paused. Maybe it was best if she didn’t mention Chalk, in case they decided to suspend him, too. “You and me,” she said.

  Art took her hand and pressed it between his palms. “Neela. Dear Neela. I hate to see you like this. You have such promise as a researcher, but you let your personal life affect your work. I saw it when you were at Davis, stifled in that little lab with your grant money running out, and all you could think about was your obligation to your family’s farm. You stayed there longer than you should have, long enough that nobody was taking you seriously. And I’m seeing it now. Your marriage dissolving, it has thrown you into a frenzy, all that anger and frustration directed at work instead of staying where it belongs. Believe me, I understand better than anyone how divorce can turn the world upside down.”

  Neela closed her eyes and felt tears begin to leak out, combing her lashes into thick wet clumps. “It’s not that, Art. I just want to do something good, and right. I took this job because I thought it would help the most people, and now I think I may be endangering them instead. I just want to know that the lines we’re sending out are feeding people, not poisoning them.”

  Art pushed the hair out of her face a
nd tucked it behind her ear. “I promise that I would never let that happen,” he said. “I have to walk you out now, I’m sorry.”

  “Can I at least get my things from my office?” Neela asked.

  Art nodded. “That should be fine. I’ll accompany you.”

  When they walked into her office, his eyes went immediately to the white board and its list of suspects. The corner of his mouth quirked. “Nice to see I didn’t rate,” he said. He picked up the eraser and methodically cleaned the board. “Can’t have this up when the investigators come poking around.”

  “Of course not,” Neela said, her cheeks burning. What was she thinking, playing detective like this was a television show and not real life, with real consequences. So stupid.

  He watched her pack up her bag with a sympathetic smile. When she reached for her laptop, he put a hand on it to stop her. “Sorry. Broad Earth property. I’m afraid you can’t take it with you. You’ll get it back intact when you’re reinstated, though. I’m sure the HR investigation will be brief. I’ll have a chat with Cassie to reassure her that you mean her no disrespect—you just got carried away due to your current state of mind. An ugly divorce will drive anyone crazy.”

  “It’s not—” She broke off. She was about to say it’s not ugly, just sad, but realized he was probably talking more about himself than about her. “It’s not easy,” she finished.

  He nodded absentmindedly, and Neela took advantage of his distraction and slipped her phone into her bag before he could remember that it was Broad Earth property, too.

  Art escorted her downstairs to the security booth where she turned in her key card and then walked her to her truck in the parking lot.

  “This is just a formality,” he said, smiling. “The investigation. I said it was unnecessary, but what Lisa wants—”

  “Lisa gets,” Neela finished. “I remember. I understand, Art. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

  “Good,” he said. “Good.”

  NEELA TURNED OFF HER phone as soon as she walked in the front door of her cottage. She didn’t want to talk to anyone unless they were named Vino and arrived in a glass. Where was a dog to soak up your tears when you needed one?