Still Life With Crows (26 page)

The sea horizon lay against the sky, blue against perfect blue, and it seemed to beckon the ship southward, ever southward.

She closed the book, put it down again. Not bad, but it lacked the punch of the original. Or maybe it was just that something else was on her mind. Such as what she’d just seen in church.

Her mother was not the church-going type, and Corrie had only been inside a few times. Even so, she realized that nobody in town, no matter how many times they’d set foot within Calvary Lutheran, had ever,
ever
seen anything like it. The whole town was falling apart. That Pastor Wilbur, who always passed her with his eyes averted and lips compressed in disapproval, had blown it big-time. What a self-righteous ass. She couldn’t help but smile afresh at the images that reeled through her head: crazy old Whit shrieking hell and damnation, Estrem up there waving his hoe, everyone fleeing out the back and falling down the stairs, the plant workers fighting and knocking over pews. So many times in her fantasies she had imagined earthquakes leveling the town, bombs dropping, huge fires consuming everything, riots in the streets, the high school being swallowed by a bottomless pit. And now, in a way, it had come to pass. She was still smiling at the images, but the smile had grown fixed on her face. The reality wasn’t quite so funny.

She glanced over at Pendergast and almost jumped. He was sitting there, at full attention, regarding her with his pale cat’s eyes.

“To the Castle Club, if you please,” he said quietly.

Corrie quickly composed herself. “Why?”

“I understand that Sheriff Hazen and Art Ridder will be lunching with Dr. Chauncy. As you know, Chauncy will make his announcement tomorrow as to which town will get the experimental field. No doubt citizens Hazen and Ridder are making a final pitch for Medicine Creek. Since Chauncy’s leaving the area tomorrow, there are certain questions I’d like to put to him first.”

“You don’t think
he’s
involved?”

“As I’ve said, I am keeping my deductive faculties as quiescent as possible, and I’d advise you to do the same.”

“You really think they’ll be there? I mean, after what happened in church just now?”

“Chauncy was not in church. He may know nothing of what transpired. Regardless, the sheriff and Mr. Ridder will want to make a great show of normalcy. To reassure him, if need be.”

“Okay,” Corrie said, throwing the Gremlin in reverse. “You’re the boss.”

Although it galled her to do so, Corrie kept the car within the speed limit as Medicine Creek hove into view above the corn. In another moment they were pulling into the big parking lot of the bowling alley. It was almost empty, she noticed; but then, this was Medicine Creek, and emptiness was the norm.

Pendergast motioned her to precede him, and they entered the alley and made their way past the lanes to the glassed-in front of the Castle Club. Within, Chauncy, Ridder, and Hazen were seated at Ridder’s usual table. The rest of the place was deserted. All three stared as they entered.

Hazen rose and quickly moved forward, intercepting them in the middle of the dining room.

“Pendergast, what is it now?” he said in a low voice. “We’re in the middle of an important business meeting.”

“Sheriff, I’m very sorry to interrupt your luncheon,” the agent replied mildly. “I have a few questions for Dr. Chauncy.”

“Now is not the time.”

“Once again, I’m very sorry.” Pendergast brushed past the sheriff, Corrie following.

As they approached the table, Corrie noticed that Art Ridder, too, had risen, an angry smile frozen on his smooth, plump face.

“Ah, Special Agent Pendergast,” he said in a voice that almost managed to sound amiable. “Good to see you. If it’s about the, ah, case, we’ll be with you shortly. We were just finishing here with Dr. Chauncy.”

“But it is Dr. Chauncy I’ve come to see.” Pendergast held out his hand. “My name is Pendergast.”

Chauncy, failing to rise, took the hand and gave it a shake. “I remember you now, the fellow that refused to relinquish a room to me.” He smiled as if making a pleasantry, but irritation lurked in his eyes.

“Dr. Chauncy, I understand you will be leaving us tomorrow?”

“Today, actually,” said Chauncy. “The announcement will be made at KSU.”

“In that case, I have a few questions.”

Chauncy folded his napkin into a neat square, taking his sweet time, then laid it down beside a plate of half-eaten stewed tomatoes. “Sorry, but I’m running late as it is. We’ll have to have our chat some other time.” He stood, shrugged into his jacket.

“I am afraid that won’t be possible, Dr. Chauncy.”

Chauncy turned and raked him with arrogant eyes. “If this is about the killings, naturally I know nothing. If this is about the experimental field, then you are out of your jurisdiction, Officer, you and your, ah,
sidekick.
” He cast a pointed glace at Corrie. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

When Pendergast spoke again, his voice was even milder. “I determine whether or not questioning a person is relevant.”

Chauncy reached into his suit coat, pulled out a wallet, took out a business card. He handed it to Pendergast. “You know the rules. I decline to be interviewed except in the presence of my attorney.”

Pendergast smiled. “Of course. And your attorney’s name?”

Chauncy hesitated.

“Until you give me the name and number of your attorney, Dr. Chauncy, I must deal with you directly. As you said, the rules.”

“Look, Mr. Pendergast—” Ridder began.

Chauncy snatched the card out of Pendergast’s hand and scribbled something on the back. He thrust it back. “For your information, Agent Pendergast, I am engaged in a confidential business of great importance to the Agricultural Extension at KSU, to Kansas, and indeed to the hungry people of the world. I will not be sucked into a local investigation of a couple of sordid murders.” He turned. “Gentlemen, I thank you for lunch.” He managed a brief pause before the word “lunch” that made it sound like an insult instead of a compliment.

But even before Chauncy had finished speaking, Pendergast had removed a cell phone from his suit and was dialing a number. This unexpected action caused everyone to pause. Even Chauncy hesitated.

“Mr. Blutter?” said Pendergast as he glanced at Chauncy’s card. “This is Special Agent Pendergast of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Chauncy frowned sharply.

“I am here in Medicine Creek with a client of yours, Dr. Stanton Chauncy. I would like to ask him a few questions about the killings that have occurred here. There are two ways we could proceed. One is voluntarily, right now; and the other is later, through a subpoena, issued by a judge for cause, in a public proceeding. Dr. Chauncy seeks your advice.”

He held the phone out toward Chauncy. The man grabbed it. “Blutter?”

There was a long silence and then Chauncy exploded into the telephone. “Blutter, this is pure harassment. It’s going to drag KSU through the mud. I can’t have any negative publicity. We’re at a delicate moment here—”

There was another, longer silence. Chauncy’s face darkened. “Blutter, damn it, I’m not going to talk to this cop—”

Another pause. Then “Christ!” He hung up and almost threw the phone back at Pendergast. “All right,” he muttered. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you, but I’ll take as long as I need. My very capable
sidekick
will take notes. Miss Swanson?”

“What? Yeah, sure.” Corrie was alarmed; she’d left her notebook in the car. But almost as if by magic a notebook and pen appeared in Pendergast’s hand. She took them and flipped the pages, trying to look as if this was something she did every day.

Ridder spoke again. “Hazen? Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?”

Hazen looked back at Ridder, his face an unreadable mask. “And what would you have me do?”

“Stop this farce. This FBI agent is going to ruin everything.”

Hazen’s reply was quiet. “You know very well I can’t do that.” He turned to Pendergast and said nothing, his face neutral. But Corrie knew Hazen well enough to read the look in his eyes.

Pendergast spoke cheerfully to Chauncy. “Tell me, Dr. Chauncy, when did Medicine Creek first come up as a suggested host for the experimental field?”

“A computer analysis produced the name last year. In April.” Chauncy spoke in a curt monotone.

“When did you first visit the town?”

“June.”

“Did you make contact with anyone here at that time?”

“No. It was just a preliminary trip.”

“Then what, exactly, did you do?”

“I fail to see—”

Pendergast held up the phone and said cheerfully, “Just hit redial.”

Chauncy made a huge effort to control himself. “I had lunch at Maisie’s Diner.”

“And?”

“And what? It was the most revolting lunch it has been my misfortune to consume.”

“And after?”

“Diarrhea, of course.”

Before she could stop herself, Corrie burst out laughing. Ridder and Hazen looked at each other, not knowing how to respond. Chauncy’s face broke into a mirthless smile; he seemed to be recovering his equilibrium, if not his arrogance. Then he continued. “I inspected a field owned by Buswell Agricon, the agricultural combine, who are our partners in this venture.”

“Where?”

“Down by the creek.”

“Where exactly by the creek?”

“Township five, Range one, the northwest quadrant of Section nine.”

“What was involved in the inspection of these fields? How did you proceed?”

“On foot. I took samples of earth, corn, other samples.”

“Such as?”

“Water. Botanicals. Insects. Scientific samples. Things you wouldn’t understand, Mr. Pendergast.”

“What day, exactly, was this?”

“I’d have to check my diary.”

Pendergast folded his arms, waiting.

Scowling, Dr. Chauncy fished into his pocket, pulled out a diary, flipped the pages. “June eleven.”

“And did you see anything unusual? Out of the ordinary?”

“As I’ve said, I saw nothing.”

“Tell me, what
exactly
is this ‘experimental field’ going to experiment with?”

Chauncy drew himself up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pendergast, but these scientific concepts are rather too complex for a non-scientist to comprehend. It’s pointless to answer questions along that line.”

Pendergast smiled in a self-deprecating way. “Well, then, perhaps you could simplify it in a way that any idiot could understand.”

“I suppose I could try. We’re trying to develop a strain of corn for gasohol production—you know what that is?”

Pendergast nodded.

“We need a strain that has high starch content and that produces a natural pesticide which eliminates the need for external pesticides. There’s the idiot explanation, Mr. Pendergast. I trust you followed it.” He gave a quick smile.

Pendergast leaned forward slightly, his face assuming a blank expression. He reminded Corrie of a cat about to pounce. “Dr. Chauncy, how do you plan to prevent cross-pollination? If your genetic strain escaped into this sea of corn around us, there would be no way of putting the genie back into the bottle, so to speak.”

Chauncy looked disconcerted. “We’ll create a buffer zone. We’ll plough a hundred-foot strip around the field and plant alfalfa.”

“And yet, Addison and Markham, in a paper published in the April 2002 issue of the
Journal of Biomechanics,
stated that cross-pollination by genetically modified corn had been shown to extend several miles beyond the target field. Surely you recall that paper, Dr. Chauncy? Addison and Markham, April—”

“I’m familiar with the paper!” Chauncy said.

“And then you must also know of the work of Engels, Traumerai, and Green, which demonstrated that the 3PJ-Strain 5 genetically modified plant produced a pollen toxic to monarch butterflies. Are you by chance working with the 3PJ strain?”

“Yes, but monarch mortality only occurs in concentrations greater than sixty pollen grains per square millimeter—”

“Which is present within at least three hundred yards downwind of the field, according to a University of Chicago study published in the
Proceedings of the Third Annual
—”

“I know the bloody paper! You don’t have to cite it to me!”

“Well, then, Dr. Chauncy. I ask again: how are you going to prevent cross-pollination, and how are you going to protect the local butterfly population?”

“That’s what this whole experiment is all about, Pendergast! Those are the
very
problems we’re trying to solve—”

“So Medicine Creek will be, in effect, a guinea pig location to test possible solutions to these problems?”

For a moment, Chauncy spluttered, unable to reply. He looked apoplectic. Corrie could see he had lost it completely. “Why should I have to justify my important work to a—a—a fucking
cop—
!”

There was a silence as Chauncy breathed heavily, the sweat pouring off his brow and creeping through the underarms of his suit jacket.

Pendergast turned to Corrie. “I think we’re done here. Did you get it all down, Miss Swanson?”

“Everything, sir, right down to the ‘fucking cop.’ ” She slapped the notebook shut with a satisfying crack and jammed the pen into one of her leather pockets, then gave the group at the table a broad smile. Pendergast nodded, turned to go.

“Pendergast,” Ridder said. His voice was low and very, very cold. Despite herself, Corrie shivered when she saw the look on his face.

Pendergast stopped. “Yes?”

Ridder’s eyes glittered like mica. “You’ve disturbed our lunch and agitated our guest. Isn’t there something you ought to say to him before you leave?”

“I don’t believe so.” Pendergast seemed to consider a moment. “Unless, perhaps, it is a quotation from Einstein: ‘The only thing more dangerous than ignorance is arrogance.’ I would suggest to Dr. Chauncy that in combination, the two qualities are even more alarming.”

Corrie followed Pendergast out through the darkened bowling alley and into the strong sun. As they climbed into the car she couldn’t hold herself back any longer and laughed.