The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (34 page)

“Who?”

“N – nobody,” he stammered. “A friend. None of your business.”

“Tell your friend to meet us at the lab,” Sky suggested. “It won’t take long to check the spreadsheet, see if it’s been altered. Then you can be on your way.”

“Bad idea. Not gonna happen.” Zach jumped up from the table and accidently brushed a plate to the floor. Chicken bones scattered at his feet. “I told those detectives everything I know.” He ignored the mess on the floor and grabbed a jean jacket from the back of the chair. “This is police harassment. I want you to leave.”

Sky stood. “Call me if you remember anything strange or unusual,” she instructed. “Anything, even if it seems unimportant. You still have my number?” She handed him her card.

Zach put the jean jacket on and slipped Sky’s card in the front pocket. His voice took a conciliatory tone as he followed her to the door.

“Those other detectives didn’t ask questions about Porter. Why are you so interested in him? I hope you don’t think he had anything to do with Nicolette’s murder. He hardly knew her, for god’s sake.” Zach didn’t wait for a reply. “Porter is a very cool guy. Really has his shit together.” He exhaled forcefully. “A lousy BA in chemistry and look where he is today.”

Sky paused with her hand on the doorknob and listened to Zach’s odd segue. She turned and looked into his small black eyes. “Stay away from Porter Manville. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Are you kidding?” Zach grunted skeptically. “That guy is
so
money. Porter is totally my role model.”

Sky watched Zach’s face as he spoke, the look said it all. She could hardly believe it, here was another sucker, dazzled by Porter Manville’s facade.

She left the apartment and walked down the short hall towards the stairs while Zach continued his monologue. She heard him lock the apartment door as she descended the worn steps to the first floor.

“Have you checked out Wellbiogen’s profile? Porter must be worth a fortune.” Zach’s speech took a higher pitch, as though it were vital that he transmit this information to Sky. The last thing she heard before the front door slammed behind her was his enthusiastic pronouncement down the stairwell. “Did you know Porter drives a Lamborghini?”

Sky ran to the Jeep and climbed inside. Slumping down in the driver’s seat, she waited outside the Brighton Avenue triple-decker in the dark and ran her hand over Tiffany's warm body.

"What is it about a shiny red sports car that turns adult males into children?" she whispered to the sleeping dog.

A moment later, Zach exited the house and started walking south toward Harvard Avenue.

Sky started the Jeep and followed half a block behind, trying to keep Zach’s mop of curls in her sights.

He turned east on Commonwealth and Sky put her blinker on. She crawled across the intersection and took a slow left while cars swerved past her, angry horns blasting.

Sky lost sight of the mop of curls almost immediately.

She sped up, but trying to drive in Boston traffic and look for Zach at the same time was impossible. Students were out in droves, moving like pack animals through the cool night air, bar to bar, restaurant to restaurant. Sky thought she saw Zach duck into the Brown Sugar Café, but she couldn’t be sure.

Gunning the Jeep in frustration, Sky shot down Commonwealth to Boston University and pulled up to the modern biology building on Cummington. She left Tiffany in the parked car, still asleep.

One by one, Sky worked her way through Nicolette's pink lanyard, slipping each university-issue key into the lock. The heavy glass door gave way on the seventh key and she took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. No light shown beneath Professor Fisk’s office door; she knocked, but no one answered.

Sky returned to the sidewalk and crossed the street to the old biology building. The same key opened this front door and Sky realized it was some kind of master key, no telling how many doors it opened.

She flew up the stairs and down the hall to the blue lab door. She pounded on the heavy metal with her fist until a voice inside said, “Cease and desist. I’m coming.”

The door creaked open and Professor Fisk blinked at Sky through black-framed lenses. He carried a harried look, the nimbus of fine gray hair stood straight out from his bald pate as though electrified.

“Doctor Stone.” He offered a severe stare. “I’ve been instructed not to speak with you.”

He started to close the door but Sky pushed it open with her shoulder.

“This is falsified data from your lab.” She shoved the manila file in his face. “I can talk to you or I can talk to Bea Allen. Your choice.”

“Bea Allen? No, no. That would never do.” The professor adjusted his glasses. “Very well. Come in. Be quick about it. Are you alone?” He gave a furtive glance down the hall.

Sky stepped into the anteroom and understood at once why the professor was so freaked out. The place was a disaster.

Cabinet doors gaped open and drawers were pulled out, their contents strewn on the floor in a maelstrom of papers, vials, tools, ancient floppies, computer manuals, and lab coats.

“Who did this?” she asked.

“I just got here myself.” The professor's voice was tinged with panic. “I really don’t know how to proceed.”

“Call the police.” Sky pulled out her cell and scrolled to Boston PD when the professor grabbed her hand.

“No police,” he insisted. “There can be no further irregularities associated with this lab. Porter and I are in a delicate stage of negotiation, there is a great deal at stake –”

“Irregularities?” Sky interrupted. “That’s how you refer to Nicolette’s murder?”

“I’m under no obligation to answer any of your questions. Detectives O’Toole and Axelrod came to my office this morning. They informed me that you are no longer on this case.”

“A temporary situation,” Sky lied. “I’m working independently.”

“You won’t mind if I call your police chief to verify.” The professor reached into a pocket.

“And you won’t mind if I take your phony data to the Boston Globe. You’ll get famous real fast.”

Professor Fisk’s eyes bulged with fear. Beneath the herringbone jacket, his shoulders sagged and he collapsed into the nearest chair. “You win,” he said. “Now, what’s this talk of phony data? I’m quite sure you’re mistaken.”

“Nicolette changed the numbers.” Sky stood next to him and flipped the folder open on the round table. “Just enough to make the experiment look successful.”

As he inspected the pages, the professor’s expression morphed from skepticism to disgust. “How appalling,” he murmured. His nose wrinkled, as though the corrupted data carried a stench.

“Check the spreadsheet.” Sky pointed to the lab computer. “See if Nicolette changed Zach’s numbers there, too.”

Professor Fisk stood up and shuffled across the trash-strewn floor clutching the page of transcribed numbers. He nudged a tattered lab coat out of his way with a foot and Sky spotted the pink nose of the rubber rat peeking from beneath a sleeve.

She edged closer to the rat, because she decided she had to have it.

The professor’s hand moved across a mousepad likeness of Albert Einstein and the computer screen came awake. “Our master file,” he explained. “Rather large."

As he scrolled through a seemingly endless stream of digits, Sky covertly retrieved the rat from the floor and slipped it into the pocket of her trench coat.

“Ah. Here it is.” The professor checked the computer numbers against those in his hand and frowned. "These values must be rectified immediately.”

“Why would Nicolette do this?” Sky said.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it had something to do with Wellbiogen,” she suggested.

“Highly unlikely. I never discuss Wellbiogen’s role with my research fellows.”

“But Manville came to the lab meetings.”

“Only occasionally. And we never spoke business." Professor Fisk tapped the top of the computer monitor with an index finger for emphasis. "Those lab meetings were data-driven.” He tossed the pages on the computer table. “My students are scientists, Doctor Stone. They play no role in the business end of things.”

Sky scanned the round table for the burgundy book. "Where's the lab log?"

"It’s in my office. I took it there this morning to check details for a paper I’m writing.” The professor put a tentative hand on Sky’s arm. “Do you suppose that’s what this mess is all about? Someone looking for the log?”

“I don't know.” Sky held the copies up. "But I think someone pressured Nicolette to change these numbers."

Professor Fisk gave her a blank look. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this." He closed the spreadsheet and turned to Sky with crossed arms. "I'm afraid you’ll have to spell it out.”

“Maybe Porter Manville put Nicolette up to it.”

"Porter and Nicolette? What an absurd suggestion." The corners of the professor’s mouth turned up in a prim smile. "I’m beginning to understand why you are no longer on this case."

Sky ignored the slight. "Maybe they got together somewhere, away from the university." She slipped the pages into the zebra-print backpack. "Nicolette was beautiful. You remarked on it yourself. Why wouldn't Manville be attracted to her?"

"I've got nothing more to say. This conversation is over." The professor pointed to the lab door. "Please leave." He stooped over and retrieved a broken beaker and a frayed lab coat and carried both to a large waste barrel in the corner.

Sky lifted the backpack over her shoulder and walked to the antechamber as the professor continued to work at the mess on the floor.

She opened the door and was about to step over the threshold when a thought occurred to her. She called out, "Professor, will the data from the March fifteenth lab meeting, the real data, affect your drug deal with Wellbiogen?”

"No,” he answered. “I’m tossing that group."

"You're not including them in the data base?"

"No need.” Professor Fisk walked toward her. “Succeeding groups have performed as expected." He lapsed into lecture mode. "Sprague Dawleys display a reliable response to floetazine, the literature on that point is rather voluminous. Those Sprague Dawleys?" He tapped Sky's backpack. "Aberrant. Atypical. Our interest lies primarily with the Wistar strain.”

"The anxious rats," Sky said.

"Correct. Zach's particular batch of Sprague Dawleys were outliers. Freaks, if you will.” The professor frowned. “Or perhaps there was some kind of mistake made when the drug was added to their home cage water. Difficult to say, really." He shrugged. "In any case, there was no need to manufacture data. We've more than enough to show robust treatment effect.”

"Your relationship with Wellbiogen was never in jeopardy?"

"With respect to the data? Certainly not. This, however …" he gestured to indicate the trashed lab. "I would appreciate your discretion, Doctor Stone. No one must know what's happened here."

"It's your lab." Sky stepped into the hall and turned to face him. "Did Nicolette know you were dropping that group of rats from the database?"

"One of a thousand decisions." Professor Fisk blinked at Sky with dry eyes. "I don't recall mentioning it to Nicolette. That's the sort of thing that comes up in the writing process."

"Do you hunt, Professor?"

"Hunt? Certainly not."

"Have you ever talked hunting with Porter Manville?"

"You try my patience. Be gone."

The blue door slammed shut in her face.

Sky stood in the empty university hallway and considered the inch of pink tail peeking from her trench coat pocket.

A kleptomaniac with an anxiety disorder. Who wouldn't want her on their team?

Sky poked around the old biology building until she found a woman’s restroom. It was almost ten o'clock, Teddy would be looking for her at Genuine John's. Time to fix her face.

She dug out the gold tube of lipstick that she'd worn to the Four Seasons. A quick slide over top and bottom, and she mashed her lips together. A few dabs of Dior powder on each cheek, a sweep of the bristle brush through her loose hair, and she was done.

Sky looked at her reflection with disappointment.

The effect wasn't the same without eye shadow or mascara. Or the Balenciaga gown. She looked thin and pale, almost childlike. The mottled restroom mirror was cracked at eye level and Sky had to appreciate the imagery. Her life felt fractured.

No baby. No husband. No home. No job.

But Tiffany waited in the car. Teddy waited in the Allston tavern. And Porter Manville? Well, he simply waited. The homicide team, on the other hand, was bearing down on an innocent man with uncommon speed.

Enough with the self-pity, Ellery was in danger, he needed her help.

Sky gave the belt of her trench coat a determined yank and found her way to the street.

Cummington was badly lit and looming shadows played tricks on her eyes. A body seemed to lurk behind every doorway.

Sky ran across the street and unlocked the driver's door, tossing the backpack next to the red tote.

Tiffany opened her eyes at the commotion and yawned. The dog probably needed to pee but Sky got in and locked the doors because she saw a figure skulking on the sidewalk near the psychology department entrance.

Two hours ago, the detail officer Jake had insisted on had bid Sky a curt goodbye outside of Carmine's. The relief Sky had felt watching the officer walk away was foolish, she realized in hindsight. Whoever fired those shots at Bullough's Pond was still out there. Maybe he was watching her now.

"Someone wants me dead, Tiffany." Sky reached over and rubbed the velvet ears.

The Shih Tzu gave a commiserative bleat as Sky hung a left onto Commonwealth and steered the Jeep toward Allston through the starless night.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Show me some ID.”

The Latino bouncer sat on a high stool next to the battered saloon doors of Genuine John’s and adjusted a wife beater over substantial pecs. After scrutinizing Sky’s driver’s license, he gave her a nod. “Thirty dollar cover."

Sky shoved three tens at him but she was distracted by the scream of a guitar. Reverb pierced the tavern wall like a wounded night creature and she recognized the song, an old blues standard,
The Sky is Crying
.