Security around the Arsenal Morgue had been beefed up after the riot, but inside it was still business as usual. The bodies came in, the bodies went out, in a relentless tide of death that never stopped, day or night.
We found Myers and Laurent inside the WHO office and went into Laurent's office to talk, closing the door behind us.
Chunk and I sat in the chairs across the desk from Laurent. Myers stood at Laurent's elbow. The two of them looked at us over their face masks with narrow, angry eyes. They disliked us being there, but tolerated us, I think, as some kind of necessary evil.
“I don't suppose you found the hard drives from Dr. Bradley's computers?” Myers said, his English accent haughty and sarcastic.
“Not yet,” I said. “We're still working on that.”
“I see.”
Laurent, a.k.a. Hippo Woman, wheezed as she said, “What about Dr. Bradley's killer? Are you any closer to finding out who is responsible for her death?”
“We're closing in on that, actually. In fact, that's why we came to speak with you?”
“Oh?” Laurent's eyes narrowed further.
“Yeah. We're going to be conducting an interview this afternoon with our top suspect. But before we do that, we need some information.”
Laurent put both hands on the desk, all ten fat little sausage fingers splayed out like she was steadying herself.
“May I ask who your top suspect is?”
“You may ask,” I said, “but I can't tell you right now. It wouldn't be helpful for us to share that information before an arrest is made, and right now that's my most important consideration.”
Laurent said, “What information do you need?”
“I want to know what you and Dr. Myers here think about the last entry in Dr. Bradley's journal. Is there anything in the data she recorded to indicate that she found proof of there being multiple strains of H2N2 in the local bird population?”
Laurent didn't even hesitate. “You've been talking with Dr. Cole.”
“True,” I said.
“The man's theory is fundamentally flawed. His theory is baseless.”
“So,” I said, holding up Bradley's journal, “there's nothing in here to support the multiple strain theory?”
“No,” she said. “Nothing of the kind.”
I opened the journal to the last page. “What about this last line, where she says ‘We are all goners?’ What do you think she was referring to there?”
“I'm sure I do not know. It is troubling, certainly. I can only say that she perhaps was frustrated with her lack of progress. Gifted researchers such as Dr. Bradley can often take failure personally.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I don't think that's very likely, Dr. Laurent,” said Chunk. My man, Chunk, had all the grace of a two-ton bull in a very expensive china shop. “What I think is that you either believe this multiple strain theory, or you are so afraid that it might be true that you sent Dr. Bradley out to confirm it.”
Laurent's expression gave away nothing.
“You're mistaken, Detective.”
“No, I don't think so. I think you're playing games with us, Dr. Laurent, and I got to ask myself: Why? Why don't you want to help us find Dr. Bradley's killer? I think you're hoping to make the discovery first so that you get all the credit. Now, ordinarily I wouldn't have a problem with that kind of thing, except that while you guys are arguing over bragging rights, a lot of innocent people are dying.”
Laurent remained motionless, practically a stone stature, but not Myers.
“How dare you accuse her of that?” Myers said. His voice quivered with suppressed rage. “Every member of this organization has voluntarily put themselves in harm's way to help the people of this city. I for one do not think you are at all-”
Laurent said: “Dr. Myers, please. That will not help the situation. Detectives, I think you have overstayed your welcome here. We have answered your questions and cooperated in every way. Now please, find Dr. Bradley's killer, and if possible, return our property to us. Good day to you both.”
Chunk and I traded a look. Time to go the GZ.