We don't want any viruses or bacteria hitchhiking a ride back to the mainland," Dr. Zollner said, unnecessarily.
We stripped, put the lab whites and slippers in a hamper and the paper underwear in a trash can.
I was not totally focused, just sort of doing what everyone else was doing.
We all followed Dr. Z to the shower room — me, Max, Nash, and Foster — and we stood under the showerheads washing our hair with a special shampoo, scrubbing our nails with a brush and disinfectant. We all gargled with some sort of horrid mouthwash, rinsed and spit. I kept soaping up and rinsing off until finally Zollner said, "That's enough. You'll catch pneumonia and die." He laughed.
I dried off with the provided towel, threw it in a hamper, then walked, naked, back to my locker, germ-free and squeaky clean, at least on the outside.
Other than the men I'd entered with, there was no one around. Even the attendant wasn't visible. I could see how a person could conceivably smuggle large items out of the lab and into the locker room. But I don't think that's what happened, so it didn't matter if it were possible or not.
Zollner had disappeared and come back with locker keys, which he distributed.
I opened my locker and began getting dressed. Some very thoughtrul fellow, quite possibly Mr. Stevens, had been kind enough to launder my shorts and in doing so had inadvertently washed the red clay right out of my pocket. Oh, well. Good try, Corey.
I examined my.38 and it looked okay, but you never know when some joker is going to file the firing pin, clog the barrel, or take the powder out of your rounds. I made a mental note to check the piece and the ammo more closely at home.
Max, whose locker was beside mine, said softly, "That was an experience."
I nodded and asked, "Now do you feel better about living downwind from Plum Island?"
"Oh, yeah, I feel fucking terrific."
"I was impressed with the biocontainment," I said. "State-of-the art."
"Yeah. But I'm thinking about a hurricane or a terrorist attack."
"Mr. Stevens will protect Plum Island from a terrorist attack."
"Yeah. How about a hurricane?"
"Same drill as a nuclear attack — bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye."
"Right." He looked at me and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"
"Sure."
"You sort of got spacey back there."
"Tired. My lung is wheezing."
"I feel responsible about dragging you into this."
"I can't imagine why."
He smiled and said, "If you nail Ms. Tightass, you owe me one."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." I slipped into my docksiders and stood. I said to Max, "You must be having an allergic reaction to the soap. Your face is all blotchy."
"What?" He put his hands to his cheeks and made for the closest mirror. He kept looking at himself, leaning closer over the washbasin. "What the hell are you talking about? My skin is fine."
"Must be the light in here."
"Cut the crap, Corey. This isn't a funny subject."
"Right." I went to the door of the locker room where Dr. Z was waiting. I said to him, "Despite my bad manners, I'm very impressed with your operation, and I thank you for your time."
"I enjoyed your company, Mr. Corey. I regret having met you under these sad circumstances."
George Foster joined us and said to Dr. Zollner, "I intend to make a favorable report regarding your biocontainment procedures."
"Thank you."
"But I think that perimeter security could be better, and I'll recommend that a study be conducted."
Zollner nodded.
Foster went on, "Fortunately, it would appear that the Gordons did not steal any dangerous substance, and if they stole anything, it was an experimental vaccine."
Dr. Zollner again nodded.
Foster concluded, "I would recommend a permanent detachment of Marines at Fort Terry."
I was anxious to get out of the orange locker room and into the sunlight, so I moved toward the door and everyone followed.
Out in the big, gleaming lobby, Dr. Z looked for Beth, still not getting it.
Anyway, we all walked to the reception counter where we exchanged our white plastic chain passes for the original blue clip-on ones. I said to Zollner, "Is there a gift shop where we can buy souvenirs and T-shirts?"
Zollner laughed. "No, but I'll suggest it to Washington. In the meantime, you should pray that you haven't picked up a souvenir of another kind."
"Thanks, Doc."
Dr. Zollner looked at his watch and said, "You can catch the 3:45 ferry if you wish, or you can come back to my office if you have anything further to discuss."
I'd wanted to go back to the artillery batteries and explore the underground passages, but I thought if I suggested that, I'd have a mutiny on my hands. Also, to be honest, I was not up to another trek around the island.
I said to Dr. Zollner, "We await the boss. We don't make major decisions without her."
Dr. Z nodded and smiled.
It appeared to me that Zollner didn't seem particularly worried about any of this — about people questioning his security or his biocontainment procedures, or even about the possibility that his two star scientists stole something good and valuable, or something bad and deadly. It occurred to me that Zollner was not worried because even if he'd somehow screwed up or if he could be held accountable for someone else's screwup, he was already off the hook — he'd already cut his deal with the government; he was cooperating in a cover-up in exchange for a free pass on this problem. There was also a possibility, however remote, that Dr. Z killed the Gordons or knew who killed them. As far as I was concerned, everyone who was close to the Gordons was a suspect.
Beth came out of the ladies' locker room and joined us at the reception counter. I noticed that she hadn't done a complete paint-by-numbers job, and her cheeks glowed with that freshly scrubbed look.
She exchanged passes, and Dr. Zollner related his offers and our options.
Beth looked at us and said, "I've seen enough, unless you want to do the underground bunkers or something else."
We all shook our heads.
She said to Dr. Zollner, "We reserve the right to revisit the island anytime until this case is closed."
"As far as I'm concerned, you're welcome anytime." He added, "But it's not my decision."
A horn sounded outside, and I looked through the glass doors. A white bus was out front, and a few employees were boarding.
Dr. Z said, "Forgive me if I don't accompany you to the ferry." He shook hands with all of us and bid us fond adieu, with not a hint of good riddance. A real gentleman.
We went out into the sunlight, and I breathed gallons of fresh air before boarding the bus. The driver was another security guy, and I guess he was our escort.
There were only six employees on the bus, and I didn't recognize any of them from our tour.
The bus made the five-minute trip to the dock and stopped.
We all got out and walked to the blue and white ferry, The Plum Runner. We went into the big cabin, the horn sounded, and we cast off.
The five of us remained standing, making small talk. One of the boat's crew, a weather-beaten gent, came around and collected our passes. He said, "So, did you like the island of Dr. Moreau?"
This literary reference took me aback coming from an old salt. We chatted with the guy for a minute and learned his name was Pete. He also told us that he felt pretty bad about the Gordons.
He excused himself and went up the stairs that led to the top deck and the bridge. I followed, and before he opened the door to the bridge, I said, "Got a minute?"
"Sure."
"Did you know the Gordons?"
"Sure did. We rode this boat together for two years on and off."
"I was told they used their own boat to commute."
"Sometimes. Nice new Formula 303. Twin Mercs. Fast as hell."
Time to be blunt. I asked, "Any chance they were running drugs with that thing?"
"Drugs? Hell, no. They couldn't find an island much less a drug ship."
"How do you know?"
"I talked boats with them once in a while. They couldn't navigate worth a damn. They didn't even have a navigation system on board. You know?"
"Right." Now that he mentioned it, I never saw a satellite nav device on board. But if you were a drug runner, you needed a satellite navigation device. I said to Pete, "Maybe they were pulling a fast one on you. Maybe they were the best navigators since Magellan."
"Who?"
"Why do you think they couldn't navigate?"
"I tried to get them into the Power Squadron course. You know? And they weren't interested."
Pete was a little dense. I tried again. "Maybe they were making believe they couldn't navigate. You know, so no one would think they were running drugs."
"Yeah?" He scratched his head. "Maybe. Don't think so. They didn't like the open water. If they were in their boat and they saw the ferry, they'd get on the leeward side and stay with us all the way. They never liked to lose sight of land. Does that sound like a drug runner to you?"
'I guess not. So, Pete, who killed them and why?" He did a theatrical double take, then said, "Damned if I know."
"You know you thought about it, Pete. Who and why? What did you first think? What did people say?"
He hemmed and hawed, then replied, "Well, I guess I thought they stole something from the lab. You know? Like something to wipe out the world. And they were going to sell it to foreigners or something. You know? And the deal went bad, and they got knocked off."
"And you don't think that anymore?"
'"Well, I heard something different."
"Like what?"
"Like what they stole was a vaccine worth millions." He looked at me. "Is that right?"
"That's it."
"They wanted to get rich quick and instead they got dead quick."
"The wages of sin is death."
"Yup." Pete excused himself and went into the wheelhouse.
It was interesting, I thought, that Pete, and probably everyone else, including yours truly, had the same initial reaction to the Gordons' deaths. Then, on second thought, I came up with drug running. Now we're doing vaccine. But sometimes your first reaction, your gut reaction, is the right one. In any event, what all three theories had in common was money.
I stood on the top deck and watched the green shore of Plum Island recede into the distance. The sun was still high in the west, and it felt good on my skin. I was enjoying the ride, the smell of the sea, even the movement of the boat. I had the disturbing thought that I was going native. Next I'd be shucking clams, whatever that means.
Beth Penrose came up on deck and watched the ship's wake awhile, then turned and leaned back against the rail, her face into the sun.
I said to her, "You predicted what Zollner was going to say."
She nodded. "It makes sense, and it fits the facts, and it resolves the problem we had with believing the Gordons were capable of stealing deadly organisms, and also the problem we had believing they were running drugs." She added, "The Gordons stole something good. Something profitable. Money. Money is the motivator. Saint-seducing gold, as Shakespeare said."
"I think I've had enough Shakespeare for this year." I mulled a moment and said, "I don't know why I never thought of that… I…mean, we were so hung up on plague and stuff, we never thought of the antidotes — vaccines, antibiotics, and antivirals, and all of that. That is what the scientists are studying on Plum, and that is what the Gordons stole. Gee whiz, I'm getting dumb."
She smiled, then said, "Well, to tell you the truth, I started thinking about vaccines and all of that last night — then when Stevens mentioned foot-and-mouth vaccine, I knew where that was going."
"Right. Now everyone can rest easy. No panic, no hysteria, no national emergency. Jeez, I thought we'd all be dead by Halloween."
We looked at each other, and Beth said, "It's all a lie, of course."
"Yeah. But it's a really good lie. This lie takes the heat off Plum Island and off the Feds in general. Meanwhile, the FBI and CIA can work the case quietly without us and without media attention. You, Max, and I just got dealt out of the Plum Island part of this case."
"Right. Though we still have a double homicide to solve. On our own."
"That's right," I said to Beth, "and I think I'm going to miss Ted Nash."
She smiled, then looked at me with a serious expression and said, "I wouldn't cross a man like that."
"Screw him."
"So, you're a tough guy."
"Hey, I took ten slugs and finished my coffee before I walked to the hospital."
"It was three, you spent a month in the hospital, and you're still not completely recovered."
You've been talking to Max. How sweet."
She didn't respond. She rarely took the bait, I noticed. I'd have to remember that.
She asked me, "What did you think of Stevens?"
"The right man for the right job."
She asked, "Does he lie?"
"Of course." How about Zollner?"
"I liked him."
'Does he lie?"
Not naturally, the way Stevens does. He's been prompted though. Rehearsed."
She nodded, then asked, "Is he running scared?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Nothing to be frightened about. It's all under control. Stevens and Zollner have made their deals with the government."
She nodded in understanding. "That was my impression. The cover-up was conceived, written, and directed late last night, early this morning. The lights burned all night in Washington and on Plum Island. This morning, we saw the play."
"You got it." I added, "I told you not to trust those two jokers."
She nodded again, then said, "I've never been in a situation where I couldn't trust the people I was working with."
"I have. It's a real challenge — watch your mouth, cover your ass, grow eyes in the back of your head, smell for rats, and listen for what's not said."
She glanced at me and asked, "Were you feeling okay back there?"
"I'm feeling fine."
"You should get some rest."
I ignored this and said to her, "Nash has a teeny weenie."
"Thank you for sharing that with me."
"Well, I wanted you to know because I saw that you were interested in him, and I didn't want you wasting your time with a guy who has a third pinky between his legs."
"That's very thoughtful of you. Why don't you mind your own business?"
"Okay."
The sea got a little choppier in the middle of the Gut, and I steadied myself against the rail. I looked at Beth, who had her eyes closed now, and with her head tilted back was catching a few UVs. I may have mentioned that she had one of those cupid-like faces, innocent and sensuous at the same time. Early thirties, as I said, and once married, as she said. I wondered if her ex was a cop or if he hated her being a cop, or what the problem was. People her age had some baggage; people my age have whole warehousesful of steamer trunks.
Her eyes still closed, Beth asked me, "What would you do if you were handed a disability retirement?"
"I don't know." I considered, then replied, "Max would hire me."
"I don't think you're supposed to do police work if you get a three-quarter. Do you?"
"I guess not. I don't know what I'd do. Manhattan is expensive. That's where I live, I think I'd have to move. Maybe out here."
"What would you do out here?"
"Grow wine."
"Grapes. You grow grapes and make wine."
"Right."
She opened her blue-green eyes and looked at me. Our eyes met, searched, penetrated, and all that. Then she closed her eyes again.
Neither of us spoke for a minute, then she opened her eyes and inquired, "Why don't we believe the Gordons stole a miracle vaccine in order to make a fortune?"
"Because that still leaves too many questions unanswered. First, what's with the power boat? You don't need a one-hundred-thousand-dollar boat to make a one-time score of golden vaccine. Right?"
"Maybe they knew they were going to steal the vaccine, so they knew they could afford the boat eventually, and they had some fun. When did they buy the boat?"
"April last year," I replied. "Right before the boating season. Ten thou down, and they're financing the rest."
"Okay, why else don't we believe the Plum Island version of events?"
"Well, why would the customers of this vaccine have to murder two people? Especially if the person or persons on the Gordons' deck couldn't be sure of what the Gordons were delivering in the ice chest."
She said, "As for the murders, we both know people are killed for small reasons. As for the goods in the chest… what if the Gordons had accomplices on Plum who loaded the vaccine on their boat? The person on Plum calls the person or persons who are waiting for the Gordons and says the goods are on the way. Think accomplice on Plum Island. Think Mr. Stevens. Or Dr. Zollner. Or Dr. Chen. Or Kenneth Gibbs. Or anyone on the island."
"Okay… we'll put that in the clue bag."
"What else?" she asked.
Well, I'm no geopolitical expert, but Ebola is pretty rare, and the chances of the World Health Organization or the affected African governments ordering this stuff in quantity seem a little remote. People are dying in Africa of all sorts of preventable diseases, like malaria and tuberculosis, and no one is buying two hundred million doses of anything for them."
"Right… but we don't understand the ins and outs of the trade in legitimate therapeutic drugs, whether they're stolen, black market, copied, or otherwise."
"Okay, but you agree that the Gordons stealing this vaccine sounds implausible?"
She replied, "No. It's plausible. I just feel it's a lie."
"Right. It's a plausible lie."
"A terrific lie."
"A terrific lie," I agreed. "It changes the case."
"It sure does. What else?"
"Well," I said, "there's the chart book. Not much there, but I'd like to know what 44106818 means."
"Okay. And how about the archaeology on Plum?" she asked.
"Right. That was a complete surprise to me and raises all sorts of questions," I said.
"Why did Paul Stevens give us that?"
"Because it's public knowledge, and we'd hear about it soon enough."
"Right. What's the meaning of the archaeological stuff?"
"I have no idea." I added, "But it has nothing to do with the science of archaeology. It was a cover for something, a reason to go to remote parts of the island."
She said, "Or, it may be meaningless."
"It may be. And then we have the red clay that I saw in the Gordons' running shoes and which I saw on Plum. The route from the main lab, into the parking lot, onto the bus, then to the dock has no place where you could pick up soft red clay in your treads."
She nodded, then said, "I assume you took some of the clay when you went to tinkle?"
I smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did. But when I got dressed in the locker room, someone had been kind enough to launder my shorts."
She cracked, "I wish they'd done the same for me."
We both smiled.
She said, "I'll request soil samples. They can decontaminate them if they get hung up on the 'Never Leave' policy." She added, "You tend to take the direct approach, I see, such as filching the financial printouts, then stealing government soil, and who knows what else you've done. You should learn to follow protocols and procedures, Detective Corey. Especially since this is not your jurisdiction or your case. You're going to get into trouble, and I'm not going to stick my neck out for you."
"Sure you are. And by the way, I'm usually pretty good with the rules of evidence, suspects' rights, command structure, and all that crap when it's just regular homicides. This could have been — could still be — the plague-to-end-all-plagues. So I took a few shortcuts. Time is of the essence, the doctrine of hot pursuit, and all that. If I save the planet, I'm a hero."
"You'll play by the rules, and you'll follow procedures. Do not do anything to compromise an indictment or conviction in this case."
"Hey, we don't even have half a suspect and you're already in court."
"That's how I work a case."
I said, "I think I've done as much as I can here. I'm resigning my position as town homicide consultant."
"Stop sulking." She hesitated, then said, "I'd like you to stay. I may actually be able to learn something from you."
Clearly we liked each other, despite some run-ins and misunderstandings, some differences of opinion, dissimilar temperaments, differences of age and background, and probably blood type, and tastes in music, and God knew what else. Actually, if I thought about it, we had not one thing in common except the job, and we couldn't even agree on that. And yet, I was in love. Well, okay, lust. But significant lust. I was deeply committed to this lust.
We looked at each other again, and again we smiled. This was silly. I mean, really dopey. I felt like an idiot. She was so exquisitely beautiful… I liked her voice, her smile, her coppery hair in the sunlight, her movements, her hands… and she smelled soapy again, from the shower. I love that smell. I associate soap with sex. That's a long story.
Finally, she asked, "What useless land?"
Huh…? Oh, right. The Gordons." I explained about the check-book entry and my conversation with Margaret Wiley. I concluded "I'm not a country boy, but I don't think people without bucks spend twenty-five Gs just to have their own trees to hug."
"It's odd," she agreed. "But land is an emotional thing." She added, "My father was one of the last farmers in western Suffolk County, surrounded by subdivisions of split-levels. He loved his land, but the countryside had changed — the woods and streams and the other farms were gone, so he sold. But he was not the same man afterward, even with a million dollars in the bank."
She stayed silent a moment, then said, "I suppose we should go speak to Margaret Wiley, take a look at that land, even though I don't think it's significant to this case."
"I think the fact that the Gordons never told me they owned a piece of land is significant. Same with the archaeological digs. Things that don't make sense need explaining."
"Thank you, Detective Corey."
I replied, "I don't mean to lecture, but I give a class at John Jay, and sometimes a line or two slips out like that."
She regarded me a moment, then said, "I never know if you're pulling my leg or not."
Actually, I wanted to pull her leg — both legs, but I let that thought go and said, "I really do teach at John Jay." This is John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan, one of the best such schools in the country, and I suppose she had a credibility problem with John Corey as professor.
She asked, "What do you teach?"
"Well, certainly not rules of evidence, suspects' rights, or any of that."
"Certainly not."
"I teach practical homicide investigation. Scene of the crime, and that kind of thing. Friday nights. It's the ultimate murder mystery evening. You're welcome to sit in if I ever get back into it. Maybe January."
"I might do that."
"Come early. The class is always overflowing. I'm very entertaining."
"I m sure or it."
And I was sure Ms. Beth Penrose was finally considering it. It.
The ferry was slowing as it approached the dock. I asked Beth, "Have you spoken to the Murphys yet?"
"No. Max did. They're on my list for today."
"Good. I'll join you."
"I thought you were quitting."
"Tomorrow."
She took her notebook out of her bag and began perusing the pages. She said, "I need from you the computer printouts that you borrowed."
"They're at my place."
"Okay…" She scanned a page and continued, "I'll call fingerprints and forensic. Plus I've asked the DA for a subpoena for the Gordons' phone records for the last two years."
"Right. Also, get a list of licensed pistol holders in Southold Township."
She asked, "Do you think the murder weapon might be a locally registered weapon?"
"Maybe."
"Why do you think that?"
"Hunch. Meanwhile, keep dredging and diving for the bullets."
"We are, but that's a real long shot. Pardon the pun."
"I have a lot of tolerance for bad puns."
"Let me guess why."
"Right. Also, if you round up the hardware on Plum Island, make sure the county does the ballistics tests, not the FBI."
"I know."
She detailed a bunch of other odds and ends that needed doing, and I could see she had a neat and orderly mind. She was, also, intuitive and inquisitive. She only lacked experience, I thought, to make a really good detective. To make a great detective she had to learn to loosen up, to get people to talk freely and too much. She came on a little grim and strong, and most witnesses, not to mention colleagues, would get their defenses up. "Loosen up."
She looked up from her notebook. "Excuse me?"
"Loosen up."
She stayed quiet a moment, then said, "I'm a little anxious about this case."
"Everyone is. Loosen up."
"I'll try." She smiled. "I can do impersonations. I can do you. Want to see?"
"No."
She got all slouchy and wiggley, shoved one hand in her pocket, and scratched her chest with the other, then spoke in a bass voice with a New York City accent, "Hey, like, what the hell's goin' on with this case? Ya know? What's with this bozo, Nash? Huh? The guy don't know a cow pie from a pizza pie. Guy's got the IQ of a box of rocks. Ya know? The guy's — "
"Thank you," I said coolly.
She actually laughed, then said to me, "Loosen up."
"I do not speak with such a pronounced New York City accent."
"Well, it sounds like it out here."
I was a little annoyed, but a little amused, too. I guess.
Neither of us spoke for a few minutes, then I commented, "I'm thinking that this case doesn't have such a high profile anymore, and that's good."
She nodded.
I continued, "Fewer people to deal with — no Feds, no pols, no media, and for you, they won't be assigning more help than you need." I added, "When you solve this, you'll be a hero."
She looked at me a long second, then asked, "You think we'll solve it?"
"Of course."
"And if we don't?"
"No skin off my nose. You, on the other hand, will have a career problem."
"Thanks."
The ferry hit the rubber bumpers, and the crewmen threw down two lines.
Beth, sort of thinking out loud, said, "So… in addition to the possibility of bad bugs and bad drugs, now we have the possibility of good drugs, and don't forget that Max told the media it was a double homicide of two homeowners who came on the scene of an ordinary burglary. And you know what? It could still be that."
I looked at her and said, "Here's another one for you — and for you only. Consider that Tom and Judy Gordon knew something they weren't supposed to know or saw something on Plum Island that they weren't supposed to see. Consider that someone like Mr. Stevens or your friend Mr. Nash whacked them. Consider that."
She stayed silent a long time, then said, "Sounds like a bad movie-of-the-week." She added, "But I'll think about it."
Max called from the lower deck, "All ashore."
Beth moved toward the stairway, then asked me, "What's your cell phone number?"
I gave it to her, and she said, "We'll split up in the parking lot, and I'll call you in about twenty minutes."
We joined Max, Nash, and Foster on the stern deck, and we all walked off together with the six Plum Island employees. There were only three people on the dock for the return to Plum, and I was struck again by how isolated the island was.
In the parking field, Chief Sylvester Maxwell of the Southold PD said to everyone, "I'm satisfied that the most troubling part of this case has been cleared up. I have other duties, so I'm leaving Detective Penrose to work the homicide angle."
Mr. Ted Nash of the Central Intelligence Agency said, "I'm satisfied, too, and since there doesn't seem to be a national security breach or an international aspect to this situation, I'm going to recommend that my agency and I be relieved of this case."
Mr. George Foster of the Federal Bureau of Investigation said, "It appears that government property has been stolen, so the FBI will remain involved with the case. I'm heading back to Washington today to report. The local FBI office will take charge of this case, and someone will be contacting you, Chief." He looked at Beth. "Or you or your superior."
Detective Elizabeth Penrose of the Suffolk County PD replied, "Well, it looks like I'm it. I thank you all for your help."
We were ready to part, but Ted and I had to get in a few last friendly licks. He went first, and said to me, "I truly hope we meet again, Detective Corey."
"Oh, I'm sure we will, Ted. Next time try to impersonate a woman. That should be easier for you than an agriculture guy.'
He stared at me and said, "By the way, I forgot to mention that I know your boss, Detective Lieutenant Wolfe."
'Small world. He's an asshole, too. But put in a good word for me, will you, pal?"
"I'll be sure to report that you send him your regards and that you're looking very fit to return to duty."
Foster interrupted as usual and said, "It's been an interesting and intense twenty-four hours. I think this task force can be proud of its accomplishments, and I have no doubt the local police will bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion."
I said, "In summation, long day, good job, good luck."
Everyone was shaking hands now, even me, though I didn't know if I was out of a job, or if I ever had a job to be out of. Anyway, brief goodbyes were said, and no one got smarmy or promised to write or meet again, and no one kissed and hugged or anything. Within a minute, Max, Beth, Nash, and Foster were in their own cars and were gone, and I was standing alone in the parking field with my finger up my nose. Weird. Last night everyone thought the Apocalypse had arrived, the Pale Horseman had begun his terrible ride. And now, no one gave a rat's ass about two dead vaccine thieves in the morgue. Right?
I began walking to my car. Who was in on the cover-up? Obviously, Ted Nash and his people, and George Foster, since he'd also been on the earlier ferry with Nash and the four guys in suits who'd disappeared in the black Caprice. Probably Paul Stevens was in on it, too, and so was Dr. Zollner.
I was sure that certain agencies of the federal government had put together a cover, and it was good enough for the media, the nation, and the world. But it wasn't good enough for Detectives John Corey and Elizabeth Penrose. No sir, it was not. I wondered if Max was buying it. People generally want to believe good news, and Max was so paranoid about germs that he'd really love to believe Plum Island was spewing antibiotics and vaccine into the air, I should talk to Max later. Maybe.
The other question was this — if they were covering up, what were they covering up? It occurred to me that maybe they didn't know what they were covering up. They needed to change this case from high-profile horror to common thievery, and they had to do it quickly to get the heat off. Now they could start trying to figure out what the hell this was all about. Maybe Nash and Foster were as clueless as I was about why the Gordons were murdered.
Theory Two — they knew why and who murdered the Gordons, and maybe it was Nash and Foster themselves. I really had no idea who these clowns were.
With all this conspiracy stuff in mind, I remembered what Beth said regarding Nash… I wouldn't cross a man like that.
I stopped about twenty yards from my Jeep and looked around.
There were about a hundred Plum Island employee vehicles in the ferry parking field now, but there weren't any people around, so I positioned myself behind a van and held out my keypad. Another feature that I got for my forty thousand bucks was a remote ignition. I pressed the ignition button in a sequence, two longs and one short, and waited for the explosion. There was no explosion. The vehicle started. I let it run for a minute, then walked toward it, and got inside.
I wondered if I was being a little overly cautious. I guess if my vehicle had exploded, the answer is no. Better safe than sorry, I say. Until I knew who the killer or killers were, paranoia was my middle name.