Poison Most Vial (5 page)

“Right. Victor Ng. From China. Still learning English, but jokes most of the time. Victor is half clown. The other half is all business, though. He kind of turns it on and off, like he has a switch. Victor liked to take charge at times when Rama was out. That was strange. No one liked that at all.”

Ms. Diaz nodded, made some notes to herself. So did Ruby. “Go on,” the lawyer said.

“All right, let's see. Grace Fleming. She's from Boston or somewhere around there. Friendly but very, I don't know, fragile.
Stressed
is the word people use. But it's more than that, I think. She's the daughter of some big shot, not sure who. I personally think that—well, not my business really.”

“Tell me.”

A moment passed before he answered. “Drugs. It's a hunch, that's all. I have seen her with those little prescription bottles, and I don't know. I just got this feeling about it.”

Ruby, taking notes, wrote exclamation points in the margins where the descriptions rang true to her. She saw instantly that her father's description of these people matched some of her own vague impressions of them. If only she'd paid more attention, she'd have known them all so much better and, being a kid, maybe learned stuff about them that her dad never could.

She leaned forward to catch every word.

“Lydia, the one who usually made the tea. Lydia Tretiak is her name—”

“Yes, let's hear about Lydia.”

“Grad student, like I said. Russian or Ukrainian or something: I mean, really Russian, from over there. Intense, almost desperate, for some reason. I don't think she has much money. I mean, I don't know anything about her situation. I just know that look.”

Mr. Rose also described Wade Charles, from Colorado, the other grad student regular. Easygoing wise guy Wade, who reminded Ruby and her dad so much of characters from back home in Arkansas. Wade was good to have around, a cool breeze in this hothouse of work-crazy egos. Maybe a little too cool. He was out drinking at all hours, and Mr. Rose mentioned that he'd seen Wade at Biddy's (
pathetic
, thought Ruby) and even once coming out of the Orbit Room (
insane
).

Mr. Rose knew very little about Miriam, the publicity
person. She was new and hadn't met Rama before that night.

Ruby wrote down every word that she could catch, working until her hand froze with a cramp. She now had a list of suspects.

“That's it? No one else came into the lab?” Ms. Diaz said.

“Those were the regulars, and the ones who were there when we found Rama that night,” Mr. Rose said. “Bigwigs came in, too, once in a while. City officials. Dr. Childress, the university president. That kind of thing. Rama was always working on these big cases. But no one like that came in that night.”

The lawyer shot a look over at Ruby. “Are you taking notes on this case, too, young lady?”

“Huh?” Ruby said, as if startled from a nap. “Drawing.” She turned her book to reveal an intricately detailed horse, drawn the previous day.

Ms. Diaz gave her a brief, knowing look—almost like a wink—before turning back to her own pad.

“OK, Mr. Rose,” she said abruptly, pushing her chair back and coming out from behind her desk. “This is a start. Here, take my card.” She handed him a Post-it with a number on it. “We'll speak in a few days.”

Ruby's dad, standing now, made for his wallet.

The lawyer put a hand on his arm. “Not yet. No talk about money until we get further along. I'll have an expert
pull the coroner's report, and we'll begin reviewing witnesses' statements as soon as possible because”—Bernie Diaz turned to Ruby in midsentence and held out her hand—“if your father didn't do this, we need to come up with some theory of what happened, so talking to suspects is particularly important.”

Ruby took the lawyer's hand and bowed abruptly, wondering why it felt like the woman was asking her to do something. Interview suspects? No way on earth a kid could possibly get access to the very people who—Oh.

Take that back.

“Another day at the Regular Ranch, where the wild animals roam,” Rex said, arriving in class. “Now, what's this secret plan you're talking about?”

“You'll see, you'll see,” Ruby said, glancing around the familiar room. Regular Honors was where DeWitt teachers dumped any student who wasn't identified as High Honors or otherwise didn't fit in with the little gods. Ruby was moved in the middle of seventh grade (“student highly distractible,” for drawing in class) and met Rex (“anger issues,” for sitting on an older boy who had started a fight).

“All you have to do is get a hall pass and follow me to the library when I leave after this period,” Ruby told Rex. “Let's hope this lesson goes fast.”

Their teacher, Mrs. Patterson, arrived a minute later,
and without a word slashed out on the blackboard, in huge letters,
What is a criminal?

Mrs. Patterson turned, opened her book, and tapped her knuckles on the desk. “All right, now, all eyes here, the day has started. I trust that everyone's done the reading.” She scanned blank faces. “Miss Rose?” So much for fast.

Rex whispered, “Incoming.”

“Yes, Mr. Rexford?” Mrs. Patterson said. Ruby took a breath. “You have something you'd like to tell the class?”

“Uh—no, ma'am. Nope, sorry, I'm good.”

“Then maybe you would like to begin the reading. Please open to page—Excuse me. Yes, Simon?”

Simon Buscombe, briefcase boy, who usually spent class time drawing intricate mazes, had his hand up. “A disturber of the peace,” he said in his deep, formal-sounding voice.

“Come again?” said Mrs. Patterson.

“Who is a criminal. Outsiders, castoffs, disturbers of the peace. Those who don't fit into the accepted power structure.”

“Sounds like Regular Honors,” Rex said.

Mrs. Patterson gave him a look. “There happen to be some very gifted children in this—Why, yes, Danielle?”

“Simon's confused, as usual,” said Danielle Mays, who objected strongly to almost everything (which was why she was here). “How about the person who poisoned Mr. Rama?”

Ruby flinched. She knew it would come to this.

“He killed someone,” Danielle continued. “Doesn't matter to me if he's an outcast or whatever Simon's little theory is. He did it—period. He's guilty. He's a criminal.”

“How do you know it was a he, Danielle? You know something the police don't?”

Ruby turned. Sharon Hughes (“character issues,” for hacking into the school computer), the laces girl, was doing her nails in the back of the class. “Have you solved the crime already? Go ahead, tell us who did it, then. A criminal is the person who looks most guilty, that's who it is.”

“Yeah, you should talk, Sharon.”

Sharon glared at Danielle.

“Those two about to go criminal on each other,” Rex said.

“Theodore, no more comments from the peanut gallery,” the teacher said. “Raise your hand if—Yes, Kevin?”

So it went, for longer than Ruby could stand, until Mrs. Patterson finally put her hands up. “OK, OK. That's enough. I think everyone gets the idea. It's not always so simple as people assume. Why don't we take a break, a short study period. Let's everyone calm down.”

Ruby took the cue and approached Mrs. Patterson for permission to leave class (the one good thing about having a father involved in a murder investigation was that you always had a ready excuse for a hall pass). The teacher seemed
too happy to hand out the pass, maybe because she felt embarrassed, too.

Minutes later Rex joined Ruby in the science library, a short walk through an enclosed passageway from the Regular class. “How about that Sharon? I never seen that before.”

Ruby put a hand up. “Stop. Forget your true love Sharon for one second. Look who's here. Just what I thought, too. I knew they must be meeting somewhere, and that's their table. All hidden back there.”

“My true love always been myself. Who's here?”

“Shh. Way back there by the copying machines. That first table. Those are the grad students who worked in the lab—stop staring, will you?”

“Grad students? Looks like some metal band. Tattoos all over that one girl's neck. Now, why do people want to go do that? That's worse than those maroon wigs they got at the House of Wig.”

“Wigs. House of Wigs, plural. They're henna, not maroon. And if that's a band, it's the Suspects. Someone over there knows something. I'm going over.”

“Nah, you're right, House of Wigs plural's got those maroon— Hey, you're going now?”

“You just hang back and cover me if something happens, OK?”

“You be careful, now. They gonna be as suspicious as they look.”

At first it seemed like the opposite. Victor stood up and smiled wide as Ruby approached the table.

“Ruby. Oh, hello!” Victor actually gave her a hug, the way some older adults did to say hello. “We are so very sorry about your father; we don't think he did this at all,” he said, and blushed and half bowed to her.

“I, uh, thanks, Victor,” Ruby said. All of the others were there: Wade, Grace, Lydia.

Ruby learned in no time that these four, Rama's chosen grad students, had been meeting regularly at this back table in the forensics section, trying to figure out how and where to carry on their work. And she could tell by the looks on their faces that they were talking about the case.

“How are you holding up?” Grace Fleming, her voice more fragile than ever. “We are devastated. The lab work is probably over. None of us can leave town because of the case. We think it must have been one of the other university people who were in and . . . ” Grace stopped and the group exchanged looks. Nobody spoke for a moment. Silent signals were flying between them, Ruby sensed.

Wade opened a book and began reading. Not like him
at all. Lydia squinted out the window as if the secrets of the universe were inscribed in tiny print out there. Grace turned to Victor, who nodded slightly.

“Ruby,” Victor said finally. No longer a friend, now the lab leader. “Listen. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask any of us. But we're really not supposed to discuss this case, because the investigation is ongoing. We shouldn't be meeting at all, to be honest.”

Ruby took a step back. “But . . . ” She was confused. She had so much to ask them. They were witnesses as well as suspects. How come they got to discuss the case, but she and her dad were excluded?

“It's really for your own sake more than anything,” Victor was saying.

“But so, I can call you?” Ruby asked. “Can I have your number then, or e-mail? I mean, my dad, you all know him.” She lowered her voice. “You've got to help us.”

“Well, ah, we've been coming in here, so . . . ” said Victor. “And I've been keeping my phone off.” He glanced back at the others. “We're really not supposed to be in touch with anyone about this.”

Keeping his phone off? Not Victor. He was asking her to leave, that's what was happening. Unbelievable. Ganging up like this. What had she expected? One of these four was likely guilty, maybe all four.

Turning to go, Ruby heard one of them whisper, “Maybe ask about the red vials?”

“Ruby.” Victor again.

“What?”

“Um, could you—well. Could you ask your dad about the red vials? You know, the ones from the Toxin Archive?”

Ruby got home from school just as her father was about to go out. She had no idea what he was doing with his days; the papers now called him a “person of interest” in the case, which seemed to mean that Mr. Rose was the prime suspect but hadn't been arrested. Yet.

“Dad.”

“Ruby.”

“One question for you.”

“Uh, OK. I was heading out to Biddy's. Can it wait?”

“Biddy's? Really? Now?”

“Uh, yes, really. I need a break, Ruby. To laugh a little. I'm not a flight risk—I'm too slow on my feet, especially when trying not to spill a beer. And the Biddy's gang don't care whether I'm a suspect or not.”

“Why, because they've all been in jail, too?”

His eyes widened, and then he laughed like his old self. “Exactly, that's why they look up to me. Now, what's your question?”

“Tell me about the red vials.”

“That's a question, is it? You sound like a lawyer. Back in Spring Valley, you used to ask me why crickets made that sound, whether the chickens slept lying down or sitting up. Which vials exactly?”

“You know, those ones they kept in that archive cabinet, the little red ones—”

“Yeah yeah, of course, that's where the murderer got the poison, it looks like; and the police are very interested in those.”

“Right, but I'm asking about the ones they found in your locker. Two of 'em.”

Mr. Rose sat down at the small table where they ate and looked at his daughter. “Ruby, how do you know about that?”