About seven months ago, I wrote a story for the WWYP XII contest. It was my first ever foray into Creative Minds, and the first time I'd written fiction since high school (and even in high school, it was always for assignments). Anyway, I've been working on a couple things since then and have grown a thousand times better at the craft of writing. I also decided to take my mess of a WWYP story and turn it into a serviceable novella-length work.
This new story is quite different from the original idea. First of all, the style, grammar, syntax, convention, etc. have been corrected and/or improved. Second, the plot is much more developed and the characters more fleshed out. A number of major details and characters have been changed or added or removed. In other words, it's really a different story.
Here is a portion of what I've written so far, the first two sections or 'chapters'. This is not the complete story. At the moment, I'm not sure whether I'll post the complete story when it's finished/edited/finalized, but we'll see. Without further ado, here is a taste:
The Best Around
The bartender looked at Charles Spencer.
“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” Spencer said.
He moved to the woman sitting next to Spencer, Lisa Adler.
“Just a ginger ale for me,” she said. “I’m on-call.”
Finally, the barkeep’s gaze moved to the man beside Adler, Samuel Hudson.
Hudson said, without skipping a beat, “Johnnie Walker Black, neat, with a casual sprinkle of spring water.”
The bartender brought the threesome their respective drinks. It was a slow evening at the bar, typical for a Monday night. The usual crowd had gathered eagerly at QB’s, the sports bar across the street, to watch the NFL game, leaving the Panhandler comfortably empty.
Spencer took a swig from his frosty bottle. “What’s it been, Sam, six months since I last saw you?”
Hudson nodded and took a sip of scotch. “Somewhere in that neighborhood.”
“We live twenty minutes from each other. How’s that work?”
“What can I say? I like to make myself sparse.”
“Same old story,” Adler said, enjoying the fizz of her soft drink.
Spencer firmly placed his bottle on the polished wood counter. “We ought to hang out more often.”
“Hang out…” said Hudson, pensive. “I don’t believe I’ve done that since college.”
Adler looked at him. “That was five years ago.”
“Has it been that long?” Hudson’s deadpan demeanor betrayed no trace of sarcasm.
“So,” she said to him, “what’re you up to these days?”
“You could say I’m between jobs at the moment.”
She chuckled. “Of course.”
Hudson turned to Spencer. “What about you, Special Agent Spencer? How’s FDLE treating you?”
“Just closed a big racketeering case last week. Some casino bigwig. Thought he could bribe DBPR officials and run unlicensed cardhouses without us catching on.”
“Sounds like heavy stuff.”
“The way I see it, that’s why I got into the game. Oh, I deal with all kinds of shit,” Spencer said, animated. “Like this new case that just came in. Cartan State bio professor got sent to the hospital last Thursday and died over the weekend. On the same night he was hospitalized, somebody broke into his office. The university asked us to step in to rule out foul play. Maybe you heard about it?”
“Bio professor,” Adler said. “I rounded on him Saturday morning. What was his name…?”
Hudson brought his glass to his lips. “James Worthing. CSU professor of marine biology for twenty-five years. Saw it on the news this afternoon.”
“That was it!”
“Chuck,” said Hudson, “did I hear you correctly? Foul play?”
“Well,” Spencer replied, “there’s no evidence of it. By itself, there’s nothing unusual about the time between his hospitalization and the B & E. I’d figure it was just somebody taking advantage of the situation, if not for the note. The note is what threw us.”
At that moment, a shrill beep emanated from Adler’s pocket. She pulled out a pager, examined it, and collected her purse. “Looks like I’m needed back at the hospital. It was good seeing you guys. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Fourth Street Deli?” Spencer said.
“Sounds good.” Adler got up from the barstool and made her way to the door, leaving Spencer and Hudson by themselves.
“Where were we?” Spencer asked.
“You mentioned something about a note left at the crime scene.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He smirked. “Unfortunately, I can’t reveal what it said. That, my friend, is privileged information.”
“Come on. Who am I going to tell?”
Spencer shrugged. “Rules are rules. These lips are sealed by Florida state law.”
“If you say so.” Hudson knocked back the rest of his liquor. He signaled the bartender for another.
A few moments passed in silence until a light bulb went off, figuratively speaking, over Spencer’s head. He snapped his fingers. “Hey! You said you’re unemployed at the moment, right?”
“I like to think of it as being between jobs.”
“And weren’t you pre-law at one point?”
“Among other things.”
“I formally start working the Worthing case tomorrow. You ought to shadow me for the day.”
Hudson raised an eyebrow. “Shadow you? I… I don’t know. Detective work never really struck my fancy.”
“Come on. What do you have to lose? Think of it as exploring your options.”
“I was going to spend tomorrow looking for a job.”
“Perfect. You’ll be doing just that.”
“No, I’ll be exploring a career path. That’s not the same as looking for a gig to pay next month’s rent. Why are you so bent on this idea, anyway?”
“No reason. God knows you’ve helped me over the years. Figured I’d repay the favor.”
Hudson grimaced. “I’ll pass.”
“Your call.”
Hudson looked away and sloshed the offer around in his head again. It had been a while since he had held down a job for any substantial period of time. He had never found anything that truly engaged the extent of his mental faculties. His last job had involved creating ads for the Classifieds section of a local newspaper. Before that, a chemistry tutor for high school students, and before that, he had worked as an assistant for a successful venture capitalist. The assistant job had actually paid well and showed quite a bit of promise. Hudson had had a feeling there was something peculiar about his manager, but he could not tell exactly what. The manager had seemed like a decent enough fellow, and Hudson did not think he was malevolent; just that he had some secret that society might not approve of. He had assumed it was something legal, like a penchant for S&M, or a clown fetish. Hudson found out for certain when he came in to work one morning and heard that his manager had been arrested for soliciting sex from a 14-year old girl (on school premises, no less, where he was promptly arrested, and the girl returned safe and sound to her parents). Hudson had been disappointed at first, seeing as how his job no longer existed, but then patted himself on the back because he had correctly guessed that his manager’s peculiarity had, indeed, been a sexual thing. I should be a psychic, he had thought to himself at the time.
“On second thought,” Hudson said, “my usual job search routine involves shooting out resumes to a couple dozen places and spending the rest of the day watching inane YouTube videos of cats.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow at the station, then.”
Spencer grinned. “Great!”
“Won’t there be clearance issues? Surely, I can’t just waltz in there.”
“Correctamundo.” Spencer grabbed his cell phone from its belt holder. “That’s why I’ll call my boss right now.” He speed dialed a number and waited a few seconds for his supervisor, Derek Anderson, to answer. “Hello, Boss? Yeah. Not yet. First thing in the morning. By the way, what’s our policy on visitors? No, a friend of mine. Just for the day. Yeah, he’s thinking of becoming and agent and wants to… Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. No, I didn’t know that. Well, I think that’s just… Even if…? Yeah. Okay. Sure.” He flipped the phone closed.
“Well?”
“Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.”
“That’s too bad,” Hudson said, virtually in a monotone. “I was just getting excited, too.”
“Then again…” Spencer had a gulp of beer. “Really, it’s just a minor technicality. I mean, I am taking lead on this case.” Another metaphorical light bulb lit up above his head. “It’s only for one day, right? We can, uh, sneak you in through the back stairwell. I just have to let you in from inside.”
Hudson choked on his drink. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting sneaking me into a law enforcement agency? You could lose your job. I could be arrested.”
“Naw, are you kiddin’ me? Worst case scenario, I vouch for you and they kick you out with leniency. I get a slap on the wrist. Maybe they’ll make me write ‘I will not sneak visitors into the building’ a hundred times on a chalkboard. But I’m a rising star, as the Commish put it. They won’t get rid of me for a little thing like that.”
“…You’re sure?”
“Positive. Just keep a low profile. Make sure the Boss doesn’t see you and we’ll be golden.”
“If you say so.” Hudson finished his drink and got up to leave. “Alright, I have to get going. Uh, you’ve got this” – He held up his empty glass – “right?”
Spencer chortled and waved him along. “See you tomorrow, Sam.” After Hudson left, Spencer put a twenty on the counter, went out to his car, and drove home.
The next day, Spencer and Hudson rendezvoused outside the station as planned. It was a large brick and concrete building surrounded by hedges, reminiscent of a tall-walled Victorian castle from some angles. Spencer let Hudson into the edifice, and they walked up to the second floor where Spencer’s department was located. Fooled by the building’s exterior, Hudson was blown away by the ultramodern interior. Stepping out of the stairwell, he met a glossy tiled-floor, work spaces divided by walls of glass, and desks topped with state-of-the-art computers.
“That’s the Boss’s office,” Spencer said, pointing at a room in which the view through the windows was obstructed by closed shutters. A plaque on the door said ‘Derek Anderson.’ “And, shit, there’s the Boss.” He nodded in the direction of a man fast approaching from the hall that connected the different second floor departments. “Hide in that alcove, quick.”
Derek Anderson was a stocky man with a closely maintained crew cut and a chevron mustache. He looked to be in his early or mid fifties, based on the gray in his hair. He stepped in and hurried past the workspaces. “Morning, Spencer.”
“Morning, Boss.”
“You get started with that university business yet?”
“Just about to.”
“Get cracking,” he said, and disappeared into his office.
Spencer waited to make sure the coast was clear. “You can come out now.” He directed Hudson to a grey, steel desk. “This is my home away from home. And this” – He opened a canary folder atop a stack of papers – “is the Worthing file. James Worthing. Scientist. Teacher. Beloved husband and father. Dead at 61 of kidney failure.”
“A little young by contemporary standards, I suppose, but it doesn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary.”
Spencer flipped to a picture of a drawer in Worthing’s office. Chipped fragments of a padlock lay scattered on the floor. “The thief broke open this drawer, but it’s how it was done that makes it so interesting. The first responders, some university cops, found it like this. One of their guys IDed it as being consistent with liquid nitrogen damage.”
“Are you saying somebody froze the lock with liquid nitrogen and shattered it like glass?”
“Bingo.”
“They definitely get points for creativity.”
Spencer flipped to the next page. It was a picture of the floor of Worthing’s office. A Post-It note was visible in the center of the photograph. A message on it was written with sloppy handwriting. “Good night, Jim boy,” Spencer said, reading aloud the contents of the note. “This was left at the scene. But the thing is, the burglary took place Thursday night, a full two and a half days before Worthing died. Almost like the burglar knew it was going to happen.”
“Or a reference to something else altogether?”
“Maybe. Whatever it is, we need something concrete, which is why we’ll head to the university right now and interview some of those folks. My partners are already on site. I’ll introduce you to ‘em when we get there.”
Spencer made his way to the rear stairwell, Hudson in tow. Unfortunately, Hudson lagged behind ever so slightly. A moment after Spencer walked into the stairwell, and a moment before Hudson could, a voice called out.
“Hey!” It was Derek Anderson, and he strode briskly to Hudson. Spencer, just out of sight on the other side of the stairwell door, froze. He listened to the scene unfold.
“Oh,” Hudson said. He extended a friendly hand to Anderson. “Hello! You must be Derek Anderson.”
Anderson looked at him askance. “Yes. And you are…?”
“I’m Samuel Hudson. The efficiency consultant that was called in.”
“Efficiency consultant? I didn’t hear about any efficiency consultant.”
“Well, that’s kind of the point, sir. We prefer to come in unannounced and observe the workplace in its most natural state. That way, we can formulate the best methods to optimize workflow.”
“I see,” Anderson said, nodding skeptically. “On whose authority?”
“Internal Affairs.”
“Of course,” Anderson muttered. “So you’re with IA?”
“Not exactly, sir. I’m a private contractor. I don’t work for FDLE.”
“How’s it look?”
“What?”
“Our department. How’s it look?”
Hudson stroked his chin. “Not bad. Not bad. Your floor space is set up adequately. Trash cans placed in unobstructive locations. One thing that could be improved, though. I see a lot of your staff working on computers, but you’re not using ergonomic chairs. It’s common knowledge in the, uh, efficiency industry. Productivity skyrockets when employees don’t feel like their backs and wrists are being tortured all day. Something to think about.”
“I’ll do that,” Anderson said, looking at him quizzically. “I’ve got work to get back to. You take care, Mr. Hudson.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Anderson scurried back to his office, allowing Hudson to enter the stairwell and join his friend.
“The hell was that?” Spencer asked him, wide-eyed.
“What? I’ve been watching a lot of spy shows. I kind of picked it up along the way.”
Spencer was not sure whether to be awed, upset, or both. “Huh. Interesting.” The hiccup with Derek Anderson taken care of, the pair continued on their way, via Spencer’s car, to Cartan State University.
CSU, a medium sized public research university with roughly ten thousand undergraduates and three thousand graduate students, housed schools of virtually every discipline. The verdant campus covered approximately 1.8 square miles of land, with dormitories, lecture halls, and research labs interspersed among one another. The school’s marine biology program was spread among the various biology departments; namely, the Anatomy and Cell Biology, Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, and Physiology departments. Dr. James Worthing had studied homeostatic mechanisms in fish cells. Thus, his lab was found in the Anatomy and Cell Biology building. The ACB building loomed tall, an impersonal brick-laid beast. Inside, Hudson and Spencer spied a cream-colored ceramic-tiled floor perpendicular to sterile white walls. They made their way, past weighty wooden doors, to the building’s third floor. All of the ACB building’s marine biology labs were found on the third floor, including the Worthing lab. The Worthing lab comprised three rooms: the actual laboratory, Worthing’s office, and a staff room for the other lab members to use when not in the lab.
“Big place,” Spencer said, examining the labyrinthine halls.
“Yep. So, who’s on the list of people to interview?”
“My partners got here early to figure out just that. Where are they…? Ah! There they are.”
The duo heard two sets of footsteps in lockstep echoing through the halls. Hudson looked up and saw a man and a woman, both wearing dark slacks and blazers, marching towards him.
The woman waved. “Hey, Spence!” She had dark hair and tan skin. She was slim, about five foot six, and had an intense gaze. She had a strong, but decidedly feminine, jaw line.
The man acknowledged their presence with a nod of his head. “Spencer.” He had black hair and narrow eyes. Of Asian descent, Hudson inferred, probably Korean. He was not particularly tall, but he had a formidable, sturdy frame. “Who’s your friend?”
“Morning,” Spencer said. “Sam, meet my partners. Greg Shin and Sophia Riley. Shin, Riley, this is my college buddy, Sam Hudson. He’ll be tagging along for the day.”
Hudson shook their hands, and lingered a little on Riley’s. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“What do you got for me?” Spencer asked.
Riley crossed her arms. “People we definitely want to look at are the ones that worked in Worthing’s lab. Mark Lynes, Lydia Fischer, Carl Zhang, and Leon Corman. And it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Carol Smith, the department secretary. Her office was right down the hall from Worthing’s.”
“And then,” Shin said, “there’s Worthing’s other associates. Dr. Sanjeet Patel, Dr. Yang Chan, Kyle Roberts, Dr. Frederick Jones, Dr. Simon McCarthy–”
“Wait,” Hudson said. “Did you say there’s a Dr. Jones?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me he has a whip and a fedora.”
“Not even close. The man’s an old bookworm.”
“Damn. If my name were Dr. Jones, I’d take full advantage of it.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Shin, maybe you’d like to continue?”
“Uh, sure,” Shin stammered. “There’s Dr. Frederick Jones, Dr. Simon McCarthy, and Victoria Culhane.”
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Spencer said. “Let’s get started. You two talk to the colleagues. I’ll cover the lab members.”
To interview the four lab members, Spencer chose to use the Worthing Lab staff room. The staff room was small: four desks clustered close together, separated by thick wood dividers. A mini-fridge and a sink with a countertop took up a quarter of the room’s limited space. Large windows adorned the wall opposite the door, providing a generous source of natural illumination. Spencer brought in the first interviewee, Carl Zhang.
“I’m Agent Spencer, and this is Mr. Hudson.”
Zhang fidgeted with his hands. “Good morning,” he said with an accent, albeit one that was hardly noticeable. He must have grown up in America but spent most of his time around other Cantonese speaking immigrants, Hudson thought. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by telling us about yourself and what you do here.”
“Oh, me? Um, I’m working on my Master’s. An M.S. in Cell Biology. I’ve only been here a couple months. Right now, I just work with the other lab members and learn whatever they’re doing. I run a lot of gels and do a lot of Western blots.”
“And what can you tell us about James Worthing?”
“Ah, I don’t think I can tell you much you don’t already know. He was respected in his field. He’s been working at the university for, like, twenty years, I think?”
“Twenty-five,” Hudson said.
Spencer glared at Hudson. “Go on, Mr. Zhang.”
“Um, let’s see. He’s married and has two grown kids, I think? I don’t know. I’ve only seen the pictures on his desk. Oh, um, he was diagnosed with cancer, like, six months ago, I think. I don’t know the details.”
Spencer cocked his brow. “Cancer?”
“Um, yeah. Like I said, I don’t know the details. I just overheard part of a conversation between the others.”
“About the other lab members. Is there anything you can tell us about them? Anything unusual, arguments, things like that?”
Zhang tilted his head. “Hm… unusual? No. Lydia’s always nice, but we don’t really talk. I’m not very close to the others. I’m kinda the new guy. Lydia and Leon are real buddy buddy. They talk a lot. Mark’s kind of a loner. Mark and Dr. Worthing would get into some nasty arguments.”
“Nasty arguments?”
“Yes. I guess it’s not unusual, though, because they argued regularly, maybe once or twice a month?”
“You said this was… Mark?” Spencer said. He took notes in a pocket-sized notebook.
“Oh, yeah. Mark. Mark Lynes, the post-doc. He’s like the second-in-command around here. Always barking orders at us.”
“So Mark and Worthing would argue. About what?”
“Hm… I don’t know. Mark would step into Dr. Worthing’s office. I could hear them through the door, but I don’t know what they fought about.”
“Do you have any idea what was stolen from the drawer in his office?”
Zhang shook his head. “No. I have no idea.”
“Alright, Mr. Zhang. Thank you for your time.”
Zhang left the room. Spencer escorted Lydia Fischer in and asked her to sit down. “Miss Fischer–”
“Please, call me Lydia.” Lydia Fischer, a full-bosomed natural blonde, stood about five feet, five inches tall. She wore thin-rimmed mahogany glasses, gleaming golden earrings, and sandals. She had on a lab coat that hung to just above her ankles.
“This,” Spencer said, “is Mr. Sam Hudson.”
She extended a dainty hand to Hudson. “A pleasure.”
Instead of shaking her hand, Hudson raised it and kissed the back of her palm. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Fischer laughed.
Spencer cleared his throat. “Lydia, how well did you know James Worthing?”
“I’ve been in his lab for almost two years. You see, I’m in the PhD program. Same with Leon. He came in right after me. As for Dr. Worthing, I’ve gotten to know him well enough. What, exactly, do you want to know?”
“We talked to Carl Zhang a few minutes ago. He mentioned something about cancer?”
Fischer nodded. “Brain tumor. Five and a half months ago, his doctor picked it up during a routine MRI. He was referred to a neurosurgeon who said it was inoperable. Then, they found that it’d metastasized. He saw an oncologist who said that, if he didn’t start chemo, he’d be dead in one or two years, three tops.”
“Bummer,” Hudson said.
Spencer ignored him. “How did Worthing react?”
Fischer looked at the floor and smiled fondly. “Dr. Worthing was always a vivacious man. He refused the chemo. He couldn’t stand the thought of being weak and in pain, unable to do the things he’d always done. He wanted to go out on his terms.”
Hudson narrowed his eyes. “But it wasn’t the cancer that killed him, right? It was kidney failure. Had the cancer metastasized to his kidneys?”
Fischer shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask the doctor that treated him.”
“We’ll do that,” Spencer said. “Did Worthing have enemies? Anybody that would stand to profit from his death?”
“No, he was always so nice to everyone. I’m sure he died of natural causes. I can’t imagine anybody would want to hurt him. Besides, the poor man was already dying.”
“I see.” He scribbled a few sentences on his notepad. “What about any of the other lab members? Apparently, Mark Lynes had arguments with him?”
“It’s true. Mark and Dr. Worthing got into spats over experiment design and things like that. Leon worked more closely with Mark than I did, so he’d probably know more about it.”
“Leon Corman. You and him are friends?”
She giggled. “Yes, we’re good friends. We usually go to the gym after work. We’re also both TAs for Dr. Worthing’s Fish Biology class.”
“What about Carl Zhang?”
“Carl’s a good kid. Lately, I’ve been showing him how to stain fish cells to visualize the organelles under the microscope. He’s very reserved, very shy, but a quick learner.”
“And the drawer. Do you know what was stolen?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t have a clue.”
“Okay,” said Spencer. “That should do for now. We’ll let you know if we need to follow up on anything. Can you tell Leon Corman to come in?”
“Sure,” Fischer replied, and left the room.
When he was sure she had gone, Hudson piped up. “Quite a looker, don’t you think? She had a sexy scientist look going on, which is kind of like sexy librarian, but with a lab coat.”
“Keep it in your pants.”
“Says the guy who had a new girlfriend every two weeks in college.”
Amused, Spencer said, “I’ve changed, Sam. You’d know that if you kept in touch more often.”
Hudson pursed his lips. “Doubtful. People don’t change.”
Leon Corman knocked on the door and walked in. Corman was tall and lanky. His hair had been trimmed short enough that his hairstyle matched the curvature of his head. He was in his mid- or late-twenties, at most, but premature balding had pushed his hairline back several inches. A goofy grin on his face, he sat down in front of Hudson and Spencer. “Morning. Leon Corman, at your service.”
“Good morning, Mr. Corman,” Spencer started.
“Just Leon. Mr. Corman is my father,” he said, cackling. “I know, I know. I’m losing my hair, but I’m not that old.”
“Tell me about Dr. Worthing. We’ve already heard about his cancer from Lydia and Carl.”
Corman took a deep breath. “Where to start, where to start? The man absolutely loved the ocean. That’s why he got into this line of work. He always talked about the time he went scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, or the time he swam right next to a whale shark. I know he drove down to the marina every few weeks to head out on the open waters in his sailboat.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Hm…” Corman rested his head on his fist and thought for a few seconds. “He was old-fashioned. He tried to avoid computers whenever he could. And iPods? Let’s not even go there. I don’t think he knew what an MP3 was, let alone an MP3 player.”
“We’ve heard that Mark Lynes and Worthing argued frequently.”
“Ah. Yeah. We’ve been working on a paper for the past few months. The work we’re doing… We’re measuring changes in the transcription of immune-related genes in rainbow trout macrophages when certain peptides are added to the growth medium. The numbers we’ve been getting reveal some sort of relationship, but it’s not statistically conclusive. Dr. Worthing thought that, for the sake of completeness, to really make sure the paper would be accepted for publication, we should design an additional experiment to confirm our results. Mark disagreed and kept pushing Dr. Worthing to publish what we already had.”
Spencer hastily wrote this down in his notebook. “And the other lab members? Lydia tells us you’re friends.”
“You could say that,” Corman replied. He locked his index and middle fingers together and smiled triumphantly. “We’re kind of an item.”
Hudson smirked, gave him a thumbs up, and said, slyly, “That’s not what she said.”
Corman shrugged. “She likes to keep it on the down low.”
Spencer soberly continued the interview. “And Carl Zhang?”
“Carl’s good at lab work. I can’t say much more than that because I don’t know him all that well.”
“Okay, Leon. One more question. I’m sure you’ve heard that the drawer padlock was frozen with liquid nitrogen.”
“Man, when I heard that, all I could think was how impressive that is. I mean, that’s dedication. If you’re going to commit a robbery, that’s the way to do it.” His awed expression quickly turned defensive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not saying I support it. I’m just saying, it’s cool.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Hudson said. “It’s the same perverse pleasure I get when I hear about those real-life Ocean’s Eleven style bank heists. The ones where they disguise themselves and disable the cameras and rappel down through the ceiling vents and get away with millions of dollars? I’d never do it myself, but you can’t help rooting for those guys.”
Spencer stared daggers at his friend. “Thanks for that commentary, Sam. Getting back to the matter at hand,” he said, turning to Corman, “how does someone get their hands on liquid nitrogen around here?”
Corman looked at him in disbelief. “Around here? Are you saying somebody who works here did this?”
“Whoever broke in was after something very specific. They knew Worthing. They used liquid nitrogen, which, I’m assuming, is available here?”
“Yeah,” Corman said. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way. You need a FacID to get liquid nitrogen from the store room.”
“A FacID?”
“Sorry. FacID is short for Facilities ID. We have a UniID, a University ID, and a FacID. Everybody at the university, teachers, students, staff, faculty, have a UniID. But only those of us who work in the science complex have a FacID, so we can access the store room and get reagents, materials, dry ice…”
Spencer completed the list. “…And liquid nitrogen.”
“Yeah. You need to scan your ID at the store room computer station. The computer keeps track of who’s withdrawn how much of what.”
“Good to know. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“No,” Spencer said, “that’ll be all.”
Hudson raised his hand. “Wait. Name your top four favorite TV shows.”
Corman scratched his head. “Let’s see…”
“Quick. Without thinking.”
“Uh, Family Guy, the UK Office, Cops, and anything on the History Channel.”
Spencer glowered at Hudson as he ushered Corman out of the room. “Let Mark Lynes know he can come in.” When Corman was out of earshot, Spencer said, “Sam, maybe I didn’t explain this well enough. You’re shadowing. Shadows don’t talk. They listen.”
“If you say so.” He raised a finger. “Though, technically, they can’t listen, either. They’re shadows.”
“Anyway, at least Corman gave us something we can use. If the store room computer keeps track of who’s been there and what they’ve taken, then all we have to do is take a look at the logs.”
Mark Lynes barreled into the room. His broad shoulders and meaty forearms had no trouble shoving the door open and slamming it shut. The man’s unwavering eyes, combined with his sharp facial features, gave him a hawkish appearance. He dropped firmly into his seat.
Spencer acknowledged his arrival. “Mr. Lynes.”
“Dr. Lynes.” He surveyed the two men sitting before him. “You don’t look like a detective,” he said to Hudson. “Who are you?”
“This is my associate, Sam Hudson. Dr. Lynes, we just need to ask you a few simple questions. It’ll take five minutes, and then you can get back to whatever it is you were doing.”
“I don’t see how I’ll be any help.”
“I’ll get right to the point. We’ve heard you had arguments with James Worthing.”
“Dr. Worthing was a smart man. Certainly knew his stuff. But he wanted to postpone the submission of this paper we were authorin’.”
“Why was the paper so important to you?”
“For starters, I was goin’ to be first author. Would’ve been another paper to list on my CV.”
Spencer gave him a blank stare.
Lynes sighed. “The more papers I publish, and the quicker I can publish them, the sooner I can finish up this post-doc fellowship and find a job where I’ll be paid commensurate to my education and experience.”
“What you’re saying is that Worthing hindered your progress, and with him out of the way, it works out well for you.”
“Are you tryin’ to pin this on me?” Lynes’s face flushed red. “I did not break into his office, and I most certainly didn’t harm the man. Do you have any idea how much of a hassle it’s goin’ to be findin’ another adviser to work under?”
Spencer twirled his pen. “I’m just saying, it seems like there was bad blood between you and Worthing.”
“Listen, officer Spencer…”
“Agent Spencer.”
Lynes slammed his fist on a desk. “I spent five years gettin’ a PhD on a 20,000 dollar annual stipend. Now, I’m a post-doc earnin’ as much as a god damn lab tech. ‘Til I finish my post-doc and find a job where I’ll be paid a legitimate salary, I’ve somehow got to put food on the table for a wife and two kids. Do you think I have time for this nonsense?”
“You’re desperate. I get that. It also gives you motive.”
“This is bullshit. If you keep this up, I’m callin’ my lawyer before answerin’ any more questions.”
“Do you know what Worthing kept in the drawer?”
Lynes furrowed his brow and thought. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen him put tapes in there. Audio cassettes. I never asked him about it.”
“Excellent,” Spencer said, scrawling it down on his notepad. “Let’s move on. What can you tell us about the other lab members?”
Lynes folded his arms. “You askin’ if I think they did it?”
“I just want to know what they’re like, what you think of them, what your interactions with them are like.”
“Hmph. I don’t waste my time fraternizing and socializing. Like I said, I’ve got a family to support. I help the other lab monkeys when they need help, teach them new techniques, etcetera, but that’s the extent of it.”
“Thanks for your time, Dr. Lynes.”
Lynes stood up and left the room with a not-so-humble bow. Spencer and Hudson followed suit. Spencer called out to Lynes, “Do you want me to lock the door, since we’re done here?”
Lynes turned around and walked backward. “No need. We keep the staff room unlocked during the day.” He about-faced and continued on his way.
Hudson held up a finger. “One more thing! What’s your favorite TV show?”
Without turning around, Lynes replied, “None. No time for it.”
“Jesus, Sam,” Spencer said. “Seriously?”
“Just curious.”
The duo made its way through the intricately convoluted halls in search of Spencer’s partners. They passed by Worthing’s office, and Spencer offered his friend the opportunity to observe the crime scene for himself. They brushed past the yellow police tape and took in the sights of the burglarized office. Its centerpiece, a heavy steel desk, served as a home to myriad photographs: a Worthing family portrait, a lively photograph of a younger Worthing out on the sea, a daughter’s college yearbook pose. A bookshelf, pressed up against the far wall, was lined with scholarly textbooks and scientific journals. Paintings of cerulean seascapes and marine organisms richly decorated the ecru walls. In particular, a vivid piece of art with a long-tentacled jellyfish as its subject caught Hudson’s eye. Refocusing on the desk, Hudson also saw a shuffle of documents scattered across the floor, and drawers unceremoniously hanging open. Finally, his gaze fixated on the very thing that had brought them to this place. One particular desk drawer was entirely empty. Beneath it, on the floor tiles, the splintered remnants of a silver padlock gleamed in the rays of sunlight that streamed in through the window. Nearby, next to a trash can, he noticed an orange sharps box full to the brim with syringes.
“Needles,” Hudson said.
Spencer looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“That sharps box on the floor.” Hudson pointed to it. “What’s with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“He probably had a condition he took shots for.”
“Diabetes?” Spencer said.
“That would be my guess.”
Without warning, an unfamiliar voice boomed, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The twosome spun around to find an irate man standing in the doorway. Clad in a white coat, he towered over them. Approximately six foot two, Hudson guessed. The silvered head of hair suggested he must have been about sixty, probably around the same age Worthing had been. The stranger’s piercing eyeballs scrutinized them, unsure whether to assign them as friend or foe. He crossed his arms and constricted his brow into a V shape. He frowned, which accentuated the wrinkles on his forehead and the lines of his jowls. Hudson could tell the man was in poor shape, despite the loose-fitting white coat and slacks, though he was not overweight.
“James was a good friend of mine,” the hoary-haired man continued, “and I don’t appreciate you poking about his office. I have half a mind to report you to the authorities.”
Spencer flashed his badge. “We are the authorities. FDLE.”
The man lightened up. “Ah, is that so? I just sat down with a couple of your friends. Agents Riley and Shin, I believe.”
“I’m Agent Spencer, and this is Sam Hudson.”
“Dr. Simon McCarthy,” the man said. He and Spencer shook hands. McCarthy placed his hands on his hips. “It’s a shame. It’s a damn shame. James was a good man, and a great friend. Twenty-five years, we worked here. I still remember how we started as assistant professors,” he said with a faraway look. “Like it was yesterday.”
Hudson looked obliquely at the floor, deep in thought. “McCarthy… Simon McCarthy… That name sounds familiar.” He snapped his fingers. “You study the evolution of marine invertebrates, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I remember now. I saw your name in the newspaper after you analyzed that fossil of a transitional organism from the Paleozoic.”
McCarthy beamed. “That’s right! It was a big moment for my lab. That is, scientifically, it was business as usual. But the fact that we made it into the papers… Well, any time we catch the public eye, I count it as a win.”
There was a twinkle in Hudson’s eye. “I may not be a scientist myself, but I support, one-hundred percent, the integration of science into the public sphere. I think it’s great when discoveries like yours” – He gestured towards McCarthy – “make it into the mainstream news.”
“It delights me to hear that. If only the public at large were more scientifically aware…”
Hudson nodded enthusiastically. “Scientific literacy should really take a higher priority in this country. It’s about time.”
“Indeed!” He saw Spencer’s dubious visage, cleared his throat with a loud ahem, and sighed. “I asked the others, but since you’re here, I may as well ask you, too. Do you suspect any foul play in Jim’s death?”
“Unfortunately,” Spencer said, “we can’t disclose that at the moment.”
“What about the break-in? Do you have any leads?”
Spencer grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sorry. We can’t discuss the investigation since it’s currently on-going.”
“Ah. I understand. Well, I hope you find the son of a bitch that did this.” McCarthy glanced inquisitively around the room. “I suppose I’ll leave you two alone. Good luck getting to the bottom of this.”
Once McCarthy departed, Spencer and Hudson linked up with Shin and Riley, who had also completed their interviews. They talked as they walked, briskly, around the snaking halls toward the exit closest to the parking lot.
“Let’s hear it,” Spencer said. “What did you guys find?”
Shin stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Carol Smith, the department secretary. Said that Worthing was known to be a hard grader. Apparently, his office hours were full of appointments with students.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “I swear, if we need to talk to every undergraduate in his classes…”
“Let’s hope,” said Spencer, “we find a lead before we get to that point. What else?”
“Vicky Culhane, the mailroom supervisor,” Riley said, “made a lot of trips back and forth between the labs to deliver packages and whatnot. She said she sometimes heard Worthing talking to himself in his office, but she couldn’t be certain because the door would be closed.”
“Talking to himself?” Spencer asked. “Couldn’t he just have been on the phone?”
“That’s what I said, but Vicky said she could’ve sworn it sounded more like talking to himself than a phone call.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”
Shin took over. “The other marine bio scientists, Chan, Patel, Jones, and McCarthy all said the same thing. That Worthing was a good researcher, that they’d known him for years, that they don’t believe there’s any reason to think he was poisoned.”
“As a matter of fact,” Spencer said, “we met McCarthy a few minutes ago.”
“Finally,” said Riley, “there was Kyle Roberts, the IT guy. He did a lot of work on Worthing’s lab website. Worthing wasn’t very computer literate.”
“Nobody knew what was in the drawer? Nobody had a reason to off the guy?”
“Not that we could tell. The man had brain cancer. Who’d want to kill him?”
Hudson, who had been listening patiently, asked, “Did you ask them if they like to watch TV?”
Shin and Riley, perplexed, glanced at each other, and then at Spencer.
“Don’t mind him,” Spencer said. “Although, you’ve got me curious. Why the interest in everybody’s television habits?”
“It’s nothing, probably.”
“Come on, Sam. Out with it.”
Hudson sparked alive. “It’s just a hunch about the note you found in Worthing’s office. Good night, Jim boy.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “You showed him the case files?”
Spencer shrugged it off. “What’s the worst that could happen? Just, uh, don’t tell the Boss about it.”
She covered her mouth and chuckled. “Go on, Hudson. What were you saying about the note?”
“That message,” Hudson said, “is a reference to The Waltons.”
“The Waltons?” Shin asked. “The ‘60s show?”
“Precisely. On the show, the eldest sibling is nicknamed ‘John-Boy’, although the note could also be referencing ‘Jim-Bob,’ one of the other siblings, or both. Regardless, at the end of each episode, there’s a short segment where all the family members say their goodbyes for the night. ‘Goodnight, John-Boy.’ ‘Goodnight, Mama.’ ‘Goodnight, Jim-Bob.’ ‘Goodnight, Elizabeth.’”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “Are you suggesting that whoever did it was a fan of The Waltons?”
“Maybe. But then, I suppose they wouldn’t be dumb enough to reveal it to the people investigating the case.”
“You know what I think?” Shin said, in a monotone. “There’s no foul play. Worthing had something that someone else wanted. It could be anybody. Maybe one of his students. Maybe one of his coworkers. They saw his hospitalization as an opportunity and grabbed it. Worthing’s death is entirely unrelated. Totally incidental.”
“I wouldn’t count it out so soon,” said Riley. “The toxicology report hasn’t come back yet, right?”
“Not that I know of,” Spencer said. “We’ll head to the hospital to talk to his doctor right now. I called Lisa before coming in today and asked her to put some pressure on her friends in the path lab. With a little luck, it should be done by the time we get there.”
“What about your guys?” Shin asked, referring to the lab members Spencer had interviewed. “Did you get a read on them?”
“More or less,” Spencer said. “Mark Lynes could use anger management. Possible person of interest. Carl Zhang, the new guy. Shy, nervous, jittery. Keep an eye on him. Lydia Fischer and Leon Corman–”
“Aha!” said Hudson. “I’ve got it. Lydia had an affair with Worthing. She didn’t want Leon to find out, so she broke in and stole the evidence. Oh! Or Leon found out about it and he broke into Worthing’s office to steal something and teach him a lesson. Maybe even poisoned him as revenge.”
Spencer exhaled audibly. “I think that’s enough of your crackpot soap opera theories.”
“That hurts, Chuck. That hurts.”
“Riley,” Spencer said.
Riley, who had been smiling, snapped to attention.
“Before you leave,” Spencer continued, “get the store room records. And Shin, come to think of it, maybe we should talk to some of his students. You take care of that. I’ll go to the hospital for a chat with his doctor, and then it’s off to his house for a visit with the missus.”
Hudson tapped Spencer on the shoulder and whispered something into his ear.
Spencer brooded over the words for a minute. “Then again, it might be better if you” – He jutted a thumb at Riley – “talked to the students, and Shin handled the store room records.”
Shin’s stone face slackened a bit. “You think I can’t talk to students?”
“No offense, but you’re icy and robotic.”
“Like Mr. Freeze,” Hudson said.
“Why would I take offense to that?” Shin said. “Mr. Freeze is badass.”
“Of course,” Hudson added, “you’re Asian, so you’d probably be called Mistah Fureeze.”
“Hudson, for future reference, that is offensive.”
“Noted.”
This new story is quite different from the original idea. First of all, the style, grammar, syntax, convention, etc. have been corrected and/or improved. Second, the plot is much more developed and the characters more fleshed out. A number of major details and characters have been changed or added or removed. In other words, it's really a different story.
Here is a portion of what I've written so far, the first two sections or 'chapters'. This is not the complete story. At the moment, I'm not sure whether I'll post the complete story when it's finished/edited/finalized, but we'll see. Without further ado, here is a taste:
The Best Around
The bartender looked at Charles Spencer.
“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” Spencer said.
He moved to the woman sitting next to Spencer, Lisa Adler.
“Just a ginger ale for me,” she said. “I’m on-call.”
Finally, the barkeep’s gaze moved to the man beside Adler, Samuel Hudson.
Hudson said, without skipping a beat, “Johnnie Walker Black, neat, with a casual sprinkle of spring water.”
The bartender brought the threesome their respective drinks. It was a slow evening at the bar, typical for a Monday night. The usual crowd had gathered eagerly at QB’s, the sports bar across the street, to watch the NFL game, leaving the Panhandler comfortably empty.
Spencer took a swig from his frosty bottle. “What’s it been, Sam, six months since I last saw you?”
Hudson nodded and took a sip of scotch. “Somewhere in that neighborhood.”
“We live twenty minutes from each other. How’s that work?”
“What can I say? I like to make myself sparse.”
“Same old story,” Adler said, enjoying the fizz of her soft drink.
Spencer firmly placed his bottle on the polished wood counter. “We ought to hang out more often.”
“Hang out…” said Hudson, pensive. “I don’t believe I’ve done that since college.”
Adler looked at him. “That was five years ago.”
“Has it been that long?” Hudson’s deadpan demeanor betrayed no trace of sarcasm.
“So,” she said to him, “what’re you up to these days?”
“You could say I’m between jobs at the moment.”
She chuckled. “Of course.”
Hudson turned to Spencer. “What about you, Special Agent Spencer? How’s FDLE treating you?”
“Just closed a big racketeering case last week. Some casino bigwig. Thought he could bribe DBPR officials and run unlicensed cardhouses without us catching on.”
“Sounds like heavy stuff.”
“The way I see it, that’s why I got into the game. Oh, I deal with all kinds of shit,” Spencer said, animated. “Like this new case that just came in. Cartan State bio professor got sent to the hospital last Thursday and died over the weekend. On the same night he was hospitalized, somebody broke into his office. The university asked us to step in to rule out foul play. Maybe you heard about it?”
“Bio professor,” Adler said. “I rounded on him Saturday morning. What was his name…?”
Hudson brought his glass to his lips. “James Worthing. CSU professor of marine biology for twenty-five years. Saw it on the news this afternoon.”
“That was it!”
“Chuck,” said Hudson, “did I hear you correctly? Foul play?”
“Well,” Spencer replied, “there’s no evidence of it. By itself, there’s nothing unusual about the time between his hospitalization and the B & E. I’d figure it was just somebody taking advantage of the situation, if not for the note. The note is what threw us.”
At that moment, a shrill beep emanated from Adler’s pocket. She pulled out a pager, examined it, and collected her purse. “Looks like I’m needed back at the hospital. It was good seeing you guys. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Fourth Street Deli?” Spencer said.
“Sounds good.” Adler got up from the barstool and made her way to the door, leaving Spencer and Hudson by themselves.
“Where were we?” Spencer asked.
“You mentioned something about a note left at the crime scene.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He smirked. “Unfortunately, I can’t reveal what it said. That, my friend, is privileged information.”
“Come on. Who am I going to tell?”
Spencer shrugged. “Rules are rules. These lips are sealed by Florida state law.”
“If you say so.” Hudson knocked back the rest of his liquor. He signaled the bartender for another.
A few moments passed in silence until a light bulb went off, figuratively speaking, over Spencer’s head. He snapped his fingers. “Hey! You said you’re unemployed at the moment, right?”
“I like to think of it as being between jobs.”
“And weren’t you pre-law at one point?”
“Among other things.”
“I formally start working the Worthing case tomorrow. You ought to shadow me for the day.”
Hudson raised an eyebrow. “Shadow you? I… I don’t know. Detective work never really struck my fancy.”
“Come on. What do you have to lose? Think of it as exploring your options.”
“I was going to spend tomorrow looking for a job.”
“Perfect. You’ll be doing just that.”
“No, I’ll be exploring a career path. That’s not the same as looking for a gig to pay next month’s rent. Why are you so bent on this idea, anyway?”
“No reason. God knows you’ve helped me over the years. Figured I’d repay the favor.”
Hudson grimaced. “I’ll pass.”
“Your call.”
Hudson looked away and sloshed the offer around in his head again. It had been a while since he had held down a job for any substantial period of time. He had never found anything that truly engaged the extent of his mental faculties. His last job had involved creating ads for the Classifieds section of a local newspaper. Before that, a chemistry tutor for high school students, and before that, he had worked as an assistant for a successful venture capitalist. The assistant job had actually paid well and showed quite a bit of promise. Hudson had had a feeling there was something peculiar about his manager, but he could not tell exactly what. The manager had seemed like a decent enough fellow, and Hudson did not think he was malevolent; just that he had some secret that society might not approve of. He had assumed it was something legal, like a penchant for S&M, or a clown fetish. Hudson found out for certain when he came in to work one morning and heard that his manager had been arrested for soliciting sex from a 14-year old girl (on school premises, no less, where he was promptly arrested, and the girl returned safe and sound to her parents). Hudson had been disappointed at first, seeing as how his job no longer existed, but then patted himself on the back because he had correctly guessed that his manager’s peculiarity had, indeed, been a sexual thing. I should be a psychic, he had thought to himself at the time.
“On second thought,” Hudson said, “my usual job search routine involves shooting out resumes to a couple dozen places and spending the rest of the day watching inane YouTube videos of cats.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow at the station, then.”
Spencer grinned. “Great!”
“Won’t there be clearance issues? Surely, I can’t just waltz in there.”
“Correctamundo.” Spencer grabbed his cell phone from its belt holder. “That’s why I’ll call my boss right now.” He speed dialed a number and waited a few seconds for his supervisor, Derek Anderson, to answer. “Hello, Boss? Yeah. Not yet. First thing in the morning. By the way, what’s our policy on visitors? No, a friend of mine. Just for the day. Yeah, he’s thinking of becoming and agent and wants to… Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. No, I didn’t know that. Well, I think that’s just… Even if…? Yeah. Okay. Sure.” He flipped the phone closed.
“Well?”
“Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.”
“That’s too bad,” Hudson said, virtually in a monotone. “I was just getting excited, too.”
“Then again…” Spencer had a gulp of beer. “Really, it’s just a minor technicality. I mean, I am taking lead on this case.” Another metaphorical light bulb lit up above his head. “It’s only for one day, right? We can, uh, sneak you in through the back stairwell. I just have to let you in from inside.”
Hudson choked on his drink. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting sneaking me into a law enforcement agency? You could lose your job. I could be arrested.”
“Naw, are you kiddin’ me? Worst case scenario, I vouch for you and they kick you out with leniency. I get a slap on the wrist. Maybe they’ll make me write ‘I will not sneak visitors into the building’ a hundred times on a chalkboard. But I’m a rising star, as the Commish put it. They won’t get rid of me for a little thing like that.”
“…You’re sure?”
“Positive. Just keep a low profile. Make sure the Boss doesn’t see you and we’ll be golden.”
“If you say so.” Hudson finished his drink and got up to leave. “Alright, I have to get going. Uh, you’ve got this” – He held up his empty glass – “right?”
Spencer chortled and waved him along. “See you tomorrow, Sam.” After Hudson left, Spencer put a twenty on the counter, went out to his car, and drove home.
* * *
“That’s the Boss’s office,” Spencer said, pointing at a room in which the view through the windows was obstructed by closed shutters. A plaque on the door said ‘Derek Anderson.’ “And, shit, there’s the Boss.” He nodded in the direction of a man fast approaching from the hall that connected the different second floor departments. “Hide in that alcove, quick.”
Derek Anderson was a stocky man with a closely maintained crew cut and a chevron mustache. He looked to be in his early or mid fifties, based on the gray in his hair. He stepped in and hurried past the workspaces. “Morning, Spencer.”
“Morning, Boss.”
“You get started with that university business yet?”
“Just about to.”
“Get cracking,” he said, and disappeared into his office.
Spencer waited to make sure the coast was clear. “You can come out now.” He directed Hudson to a grey, steel desk. “This is my home away from home. And this” – He opened a canary folder atop a stack of papers – “is the Worthing file. James Worthing. Scientist. Teacher. Beloved husband and father. Dead at 61 of kidney failure.”
“A little young by contemporary standards, I suppose, but it doesn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary.”
Spencer flipped to a picture of a drawer in Worthing’s office. Chipped fragments of a padlock lay scattered on the floor. “The thief broke open this drawer, but it’s how it was done that makes it so interesting. The first responders, some university cops, found it like this. One of their guys IDed it as being consistent with liquid nitrogen damage.”
“Are you saying somebody froze the lock with liquid nitrogen and shattered it like glass?”
“Bingo.”
“They definitely get points for creativity.”
Spencer flipped to the next page. It was a picture of the floor of Worthing’s office. A Post-It note was visible in the center of the photograph. A message on it was written with sloppy handwriting. “Good night, Jim boy,” Spencer said, reading aloud the contents of the note. “This was left at the scene. But the thing is, the burglary took place Thursday night, a full two and a half days before Worthing died. Almost like the burglar knew it was going to happen.”
“Or a reference to something else altogether?”
“Maybe. Whatever it is, we need something concrete, which is why we’ll head to the university right now and interview some of those folks. My partners are already on site. I’ll introduce you to ‘em when we get there.”
Spencer made his way to the rear stairwell, Hudson in tow. Unfortunately, Hudson lagged behind ever so slightly. A moment after Spencer walked into the stairwell, and a moment before Hudson could, a voice called out.
“Hey!” It was Derek Anderson, and he strode briskly to Hudson. Spencer, just out of sight on the other side of the stairwell door, froze. He listened to the scene unfold.
“Oh,” Hudson said. He extended a friendly hand to Anderson. “Hello! You must be Derek Anderson.”
Anderson looked at him askance. “Yes. And you are…?”
“I’m Samuel Hudson. The efficiency consultant that was called in.”
“Efficiency consultant? I didn’t hear about any efficiency consultant.”
“Well, that’s kind of the point, sir. We prefer to come in unannounced and observe the workplace in its most natural state. That way, we can formulate the best methods to optimize workflow.”
“I see,” Anderson said, nodding skeptically. “On whose authority?”
“Internal Affairs.”
“Of course,” Anderson muttered. “So you’re with IA?”
“Not exactly, sir. I’m a private contractor. I don’t work for FDLE.”
“How’s it look?”
“What?”
“Our department. How’s it look?”
Hudson stroked his chin. “Not bad. Not bad. Your floor space is set up adequately. Trash cans placed in unobstructive locations. One thing that could be improved, though. I see a lot of your staff working on computers, but you’re not using ergonomic chairs. It’s common knowledge in the, uh, efficiency industry. Productivity skyrockets when employees don’t feel like their backs and wrists are being tortured all day. Something to think about.”
“I’ll do that,” Anderson said, looking at him quizzically. “I’ve got work to get back to. You take care, Mr. Hudson.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Anderson scurried back to his office, allowing Hudson to enter the stairwell and join his friend.
“The hell was that?” Spencer asked him, wide-eyed.
“What? I’ve been watching a lot of spy shows. I kind of picked it up along the way.”
Spencer was not sure whether to be awed, upset, or both. “Huh. Interesting.” The hiccup with Derek Anderson taken care of, the pair continued on their way, via Spencer’s car, to Cartan State University.
CSU, a medium sized public research university with roughly ten thousand undergraduates and three thousand graduate students, housed schools of virtually every discipline. The verdant campus covered approximately 1.8 square miles of land, with dormitories, lecture halls, and research labs interspersed among one another. The school’s marine biology program was spread among the various biology departments; namely, the Anatomy and Cell Biology, Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, and Physiology departments. Dr. James Worthing had studied homeostatic mechanisms in fish cells. Thus, his lab was found in the Anatomy and Cell Biology building. The ACB building loomed tall, an impersonal brick-laid beast. Inside, Hudson and Spencer spied a cream-colored ceramic-tiled floor perpendicular to sterile white walls. They made their way, past weighty wooden doors, to the building’s third floor. All of the ACB building’s marine biology labs were found on the third floor, including the Worthing lab. The Worthing lab comprised three rooms: the actual laboratory, Worthing’s office, and a staff room for the other lab members to use when not in the lab.
“Big place,” Spencer said, examining the labyrinthine halls.
“Yep. So, who’s on the list of people to interview?”
“My partners got here early to figure out just that. Where are they…? Ah! There they are.”
The duo heard two sets of footsteps in lockstep echoing through the halls. Hudson looked up and saw a man and a woman, both wearing dark slacks and blazers, marching towards him.
The woman waved. “Hey, Spence!” She had dark hair and tan skin. She was slim, about five foot six, and had an intense gaze. She had a strong, but decidedly feminine, jaw line.
The man acknowledged their presence with a nod of his head. “Spencer.” He had black hair and narrow eyes. Of Asian descent, Hudson inferred, probably Korean. He was not particularly tall, but he had a formidable, sturdy frame. “Who’s your friend?”
“Morning,” Spencer said. “Sam, meet my partners. Greg Shin and Sophia Riley. Shin, Riley, this is my college buddy, Sam Hudson. He’ll be tagging along for the day.”
Hudson shook their hands, and lingered a little on Riley’s. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“What do you got for me?” Spencer asked.
Riley crossed her arms. “People we definitely want to look at are the ones that worked in Worthing’s lab. Mark Lynes, Lydia Fischer, Carl Zhang, and Leon Corman. And it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Carol Smith, the department secretary. Her office was right down the hall from Worthing’s.”
“And then,” Shin said, “there’s Worthing’s other associates. Dr. Sanjeet Patel, Dr. Yang Chan, Kyle Roberts, Dr. Frederick Jones, Dr. Simon McCarthy–”
“Wait,” Hudson said. “Did you say there’s a Dr. Jones?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me he has a whip and a fedora.”
“Not even close. The man’s an old bookworm.”
“Damn. If my name were Dr. Jones, I’d take full advantage of it.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Shin, maybe you’d like to continue?”
“Uh, sure,” Shin stammered. “There’s Dr. Frederick Jones, Dr. Simon McCarthy, and Victoria Culhane.”
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Spencer said. “Let’s get started. You two talk to the colleagues. I’ll cover the lab members.”
To interview the four lab members, Spencer chose to use the Worthing Lab staff room. The staff room was small: four desks clustered close together, separated by thick wood dividers. A mini-fridge and a sink with a countertop took up a quarter of the room’s limited space. Large windows adorned the wall opposite the door, providing a generous source of natural illumination. Spencer brought in the first interviewee, Carl Zhang.
“I’m Agent Spencer, and this is Mr. Hudson.”
Zhang fidgeted with his hands. “Good morning,” he said with an accent, albeit one that was hardly noticeable. He must have grown up in America but spent most of his time around other Cantonese speaking immigrants, Hudson thought. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by telling us about yourself and what you do here.”
“Oh, me? Um, I’m working on my Master’s. An M.S. in Cell Biology. I’ve only been here a couple months. Right now, I just work with the other lab members and learn whatever they’re doing. I run a lot of gels and do a lot of Western blots.”
“And what can you tell us about James Worthing?”
“Ah, I don’t think I can tell you much you don’t already know. He was respected in his field. He’s been working at the university for, like, twenty years, I think?”
“Twenty-five,” Hudson said.
Spencer glared at Hudson. “Go on, Mr. Zhang.”
“Um, let’s see. He’s married and has two grown kids, I think? I don’t know. I’ve only seen the pictures on his desk. Oh, um, he was diagnosed with cancer, like, six months ago, I think. I don’t know the details.”
Spencer cocked his brow. “Cancer?”
“Um, yeah. Like I said, I don’t know the details. I just overheard part of a conversation between the others.”
“About the other lab members. Is there anything you can tell us about them? Anything unusual, arguments, things like that?”
Zhang tilted his head. “Hm… unusual? No. Lydia’s always nice, but we don’t really talk. I’m not very close to the others. I’m kinda the new guy. Lydia and Leon are real buddy buddy. They talk a lot. Mark’s kind of a loner. Mark and Dr. Worthing would get into some nasty arguments.”
“Nasty arguments?”
“Yes. I guess it’s not unusual, though, because they argued regularly, maybe once or twice a month?”
“You said this was… Mark?” Spencer said. He took notes in a pocket-sized notebook.
“Oh, yeah. Mark. Mark Lynes, the post-doc. He’s like the second-in-command around here. Always barking orders at us.”
“So Mark and Worthing would argue. About what?”
“Hm… I don’t know. Mark would step into Dr. Worthing’s office. I could hear them through the door, but I don’t know what they fought about.”
“Do you have any idea what was stolen from the drawer in his office?”
Zhang shook his head. “No. I have no idea.”
“Alright, Mr. Zhang. Thank you for your time.”
Zhang left the room. Spencer escorted Lydia Fischer in and asked her to sit down. “Miss Fischer–”
“Please, call me Lydia.” Lydia Fischer, a full-bosomed natural blonde, stood about five feet, five inches tall. She wore thin-rimmed mahogany glasses, gleaming golden earrings, and sandals. She had on a lab coat that hung to just above her ankles.
“This,” Spencer said, “is Mr. Sam Hudson.”
She extended a dainty hand to Hudson. “A pleasure.”
Instead of shaking her hand, Hudson raised it and kissed the back of her palm. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Fischer laughed.
Spencer cleared his throat. “Lydia, how well did you know James Worthing?”
“I’ve been in his lab for almost two years. You see, I’m in the PhD program. Same with Leon. He came in right after me. As for Dr. Worthing, I’ve gotten to know him well enough. What, exactly, do you want to know?”
“We talked to Carl Zhang a few minutes ago. He mentioned something about cancer?”
Fischer nodded. “Brain tumor. Five and a half months ago, his doctor picked it up during a routine MRI. He was referred to a neurosurgeon who said it was inoperable. Then, they found that it’d metastasized. He saw an oncologist who said that, if he didn’t start chemo, he’d be dead in one or two years, three tops.”
“Bummer,” Hudson said.
Spencer ignored him. “How did Worthing react?”
Fischer looked at the floor and smiled fondly. “Dr. Worthing was always a vivacious man. He refused the chemo. He couldn’t stand the thought of being weak and in pain, unable to do the things he’d always done. He wanted to go out on his terms.”
Hudson narrowed his eyes. “But it wasn’t the cancer that killed him, right? It was kidney failure. Had the cancer metastasized to his kidneys?”
Fischer shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask the doctor that treated him.”
“We’ll do that,” Spencer said. “Did Worthing have enemies? Anybody that would stand to profit from his death?”
“No, he was always so nice to everyone. I’m sure he died of natural causes. I can’t imagine anybody would want to hurt him. Besides, the poor man was already dying.”
“I see.” He scribbled a few sentences on his notepad. “What about any of the other lab members? Apparently, Mark Lynes had arguments with him?”
“It’s true. Mark and Dr. Worthing got into spats over experiment design and things like that. Leon worked more closely with Mark than I did, so he’d probably know more about it.”
“Leon Corman. You and him are friends?”
She giggled. “Yes, we’re good friends. We usually go to the gym after work. We’re also both TAs for Dr. Worthing’s Fish Biology class.”
“What about Carl Zhang?”
“Carl’s a good kid. Lately, I’ve been showing him how to stain fish cells to visualize the organelles under the microscope. He’s very reserved, very shy, but a quick learner.”
“And the drawer. Do you know what was stolen?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t have a clue.”
“Okay,” said Spencer. “That should do for now. We’ll let you know if we need to follow up on anything. Can you tell Leon Corman to come in?”
“Sure,” Fischer replied, and left the room.
When he was sure she had gone, Hudson piped up. “Quite a looker, don’t you think? She had a sexy scientist look going on, which is kind of like sexy librarian, but with a lab coat.”
“Keep it in your pants.”
“Says the guy who had a new girlfriend every two weeks in college.”
Amused, Spencer said, “I’ve changed, Sam. You’d know that if you kept in touch more often.”
Hudson pursed his lips. “Doubtful. People don’t change.”
Leon Corman knocked on the door and walked in. Corman was tall and lanky. His hair had been trimmed short enough that his hairstyle matched the curvature of his head. He was in his mid- or late-twenties, at most, but premature balding had pushed his hairline back several inches. A goofy grin on his face, he sat down in front of Hudson and Spencer. “Morning. Leon Corman, at your service.”
“Good morning, Mr. Corman,” Spencer started.
“Just Leon. Mr. Corman is my father,” he said, cackling. “I know, I know. I’m losing my hair, but I’m not that old.”
“Tell me about Dr. Worthing. We’ve already heard about his cancer from Lydia and Carl.”
Corman took a deep breath. “Where to start, where to start? The man absolutely loved the ocean. That’s why he got into this line of work. He always talked about the time he went scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, or the time he swam right next to a whale shark. I know he drove down to the marina every few weeks to head out on the open waters in his sailboat.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Hm…” Corman rested his head on his fist and thought for a few seconds. “He was old-fashioned. He tried to avoid computers whenever he could. And iPods? Let’s not even go there. I don’t think he knew what an MP3 was, let alone an MP3 player.”
“We’ve heard that Mark Lynes and Worthing argued frequently.”
“Ah. Yeah. We’ve been working on a paper for the past few months. The work we’re doing… We’re measuring changes in the transcription of immune-related genes in rainbow trout macrophages when certain peptides are added to the growth medium. The numbers we’ve been getting reveal some sort of relationship, but it’s not statistically conclusive. Dr. Worthing thought that, for the sake of completeness, to really make sure the paper would be accepted for publication, we should design an additional experiment to confirm our results. Mark disagreed and kept pushing Dr. Worthing to publish what we already had.”
Spencer hastily wrote this down in his notebook. “And the other lab members? Lydia tells us you’re friends.”
“You could say that,” Corman replied. He locked his index and middle fingers together and smiled triumphantly. “We’re kind of an item.”
Hudson smirked, gave him a thumbs up, and said, slyly, “That’s not what she said.”
Corman shrugged. “She likes to keep it on the down low.”
Spencer soberly continued the interview. “And Carl Zhang?”
“Carl’s good at lab work. I can’t say much more than that because I don’t know him all that well.”
“Okay, Leon. One more question. I’m sure you’ve heard that the drawer padlock was frozen with liquid nitrogen.”
“Man, when I heard that, all I could think was how impressive that is. I mean, that’s dedication. If you’re going to commit a robbery, that’s the way to do it.” His awed expression quickly turned defensive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not saying I support it. I’m just saying, it’s cool.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Hudson said. “It’s the same perverse pleasure I get when I hear about those real-life Ocean’s Eleven style bank heists. The ones where they disguise themselves and disable the cameras and rappel down through the ceiling vents and get away with millions of dollars? I’d never do it myself, but you can’t help rooting for those guys.”
Spencer stared daggers at his friend. “Thanks for that commentary, Sam. Getting back to the matter at hand,” he said, turning to Corman, “how does someone get their hands on liquid nitrogen around here?”
Corman looked at him in disbelief. “Around here? Are you saying somebody who works here did this?”
“Whoever broke in was after something very specific. They knew Worthing. They used liquid nitrogen, which, I’m assuming, is available here?”
“Yeah,” Corman said. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way. You need a FacID to get liquid nitrogen from the store room.”
“A FacID?”
“Sorry. FacID is short for Facilities ID. We have a UniID, a University ID, and a FacID. Everybody at the university, teachers, students, staff, faculty, have a UniID. But only those of us who work in the science complex have a FacID, so we can access the store room and get reagents, materials, dry ice…”
Spencer completed the list. “…And liquid nitrogen.”
“Yeah. You need to scan your ID at the store room computer station. The computer keeps track of who’s withdrawn how much of what.”
“Good to know. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“No,” Spencer said, “that’ll be all.”
Hudson raised his hand. “Wait. Name your top four favorite TV shows.”
Corman scratched his head. “Let’s see…”
“Quick. Without thinking.”
“Uh, Family Guy, the UK Office, Cops, and anything on the History Channel.”
Spencer glowered at Hudson as he ushered Corman out of the room. “Let Mark Lynes know he can come in.” When Corman was out of earshot, Spencer said, “Sam, maybe I didn’t explain this well enough. You’re shadowing. Shadows don’t talk. They listen.”
“If you say so.” He raised a finger. “Though, technically, they can’t listen, either. They’re shadows.”
“Anyway, at least Corman gave us something we can use. If the store room computer keeps track of who’s been there and what they’ve taken, then all we have to do is take a look at the logs.”
Mark Lynes barreled into the room. His broad shoulders and meaty forearms had no trouble shoving the door open and slamming it shut. The man’s unwavering eyes, combined with his sharp facial features, gave him a hawkish appearance. He dropped firmly into his seat.
Spencer acknowledged his arrival. “Mr. Lynes.”
“Dr. Lynes.” He surveyed the two men sitting before him. “You don’t look like a detective,” he said to Hudson. “Who are you?”
“This is my associate, Sam Hudson. Dr. Lynes, we just need to ask you a few simple questions. It’ll take five minutes, and then you can get back to whatever it is you were doing.”
“I don’t see how I’ll be any help.”
“I’ll get right to the point. We’ve heard you had arguments with James Worthing.”
“Dr. Worthing was a smart man. Certainly knew his stuff. But he wanted to postpone the submission of this paper we were authorin’.”
“Why was the paper so important to you?”
“For starters, I was goin’ to be first author. Would’ve been another paper to list on my CV.”
Spencer gave him a blank stare.
Lynes sighed. “The more papers I publish, and the quicker I can publish them, the sooner I can finish up this post-doc fellowship and find a job where I’ll be paid commensurate to my education and experience.”
“What you’re saying is that Worthing hindered your progress, and with him out of the way, it works out well for you.”
“Are you tryin’ to pin this on me?” Lynes’s face flushed red. “I did not break into his office, and I most certainly didn’t harm the man. Do you have any idea how much of a hassle it’s goin’ to be findin’ another adviser to work under?”
Spencer twirled his pen. “I’m just saying, it seems like there was bad blood between you and Worthing.”
“Listen, officer Spencer…”
“Agent Spencer.”
Lynes slammed his fist on a desk. “I spent five years gettin’ a PhD on a 20,000 dollar annual stipend. Now, I’m a post-doc earnin’ as much as a god damn lab tech. ‘Til I finish my post-doc and find a job where I’ll be paid a legitimate salary, I’ve somehow got to put food on the table for a wife and two kids. Do you think I have time for this nonsense?”
“You’re desperate. I get that. It also gives you motive.”
“This is bullshit. If you keep this up, I’m callin’ my lawyer before answerin’ any more questions.”
“Do you know what Worthing kept in the drawer?”
Lynes furrowed his brow and thought. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen him put tapes in there. Audio cassettes. I never asked him about it.”
“Excellent,” Spencer said, scrawling it down on his notepad. “Let’s move on. What can you tell us about the other lab members?”
Lynes folded his arms. “You askin’ if I think they did it?”
“I just want to know what they’re like, what you think of them, what your interactions with them are like.”
“Hmph. I don’t waste my time fraternizing and socializing. Like I said, I’ve got a family to support. I help the other lab monkeys when they need help, teach them new techniques, etcetera, but that’s the extent of it.”
“Thanks for your time, Dr. Lynes.”
Lynes stood up and left the room with a not-so-humble bow. Spencer and Hudson followed suit. Spencer called out to Lynes, “Do you want me to lock the door, since we’re done here?”
Lynes turned around and walked backward. “No need. We keep the staff room unlocked during the day.” He about-faced and continued on his way.
Hudson held up a finger. “One more thing! What’s your favorite TV show?”
Without turning around, Lynes replied, “None. No time for it.”
“Jesus, Sam,” Spencer said. “Seriously?”
“Just curious.”
The duo made its way through the intricately convoluted halls in search of Spencer’s partners. They passed by Worthing’s office, and Spencer offered his friend the opportunity to observe the crime scene for himself. They brushed past the yellow police tape and took in the sights of the burglarized office. Its centerpiece, a heavy steel desk, served as a home to myriad photographs: a Worthing family portrait, a lively photograph of a younger Worthing out on the sea, a daughter’s college yearbook pose. A bookshelf, pressed up against the far wall, was lined with scholarly textbooks and scientific journals. Paintings of cerulean seascapes and marine organisms richly decorated the ecru walls. In particular, a vivid piece of art with a long-tentacled jellyfish as its subject caught Hudson’s eye. Refocusing on the desk, Hudson also saw a shuffle of documents scattered across the floor, and drawers unceremoniously hanging open. Finally, his gaze fixated on the very thing that had brought them to this place. One particular desk drawer was entirely empty. Beneath it, on the floor tiles, the splintered remnants of a silver padlock gleamed in the rays of sunlight that streamed in through the window. Nearby, next to a trash can, he noticed an orange sharps box full to the brim with syringes.
“Needles,” Hudson said.
Spencer looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“That sharps box on the floor.” Hudson pointed to it. “What’s with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“He probably had a condition he took shots for.”
“Diabetes?” Spencer said.
“That would be my guess.”
Without warning, an unfamiliar voice boomed, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The twosome spun around to find an irate man standing in the doorway. Clad in a white coat, he towered over them. Approximately six foot two, Hudson guessed. The silvered head of hair suggested he must have been about sixty, probably around the same age Worthing had been. The stranger’s piercing eyeballs scrutinized them, unsure whether to assign them as friend or foe. He crossed his arms and constricted his brow into a V shape. He frowned, which accentuated the wrinkles on his forehead and the lines of his jowls. Hudson could tell the man was in poor shape, despite the loose-fitting white coat and slacks, though he was not overweight.
“James was a good friend of mine,” the hoary-haired man continued, “and I don’t appreciate you poking about his office. I have half a mind to report you to the authorities.”
Spencer flashed his badge. “We are the authorities. FDLE.”
The man lightened up. “Ah, is that so? I just sat down with a couple of your friends. Agents Riley and Shin, I believe.”
“I’m Agent Spencer, and this is Sam Hudson.”
“Dr. Simon McCarthy,” the man said. He and Spencer shook hands. McCarthy placed his hands on his hips. “It’s a shame. It’s a damn shame. James was a good man, and a great friend. Twenty-five years, we worked here. I still remember how we started as assistant professors,” he said with a faraway look. “Like it was yesterday.”
Hudson looked obliquely at the floor, deep in thought. “McCarthy… Simon McCarthy… That name sounds familiar.” He snapped his fingers. “You study the evolution of marine invertebrates, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I remember now. I saw your name in the newspaper after you analyzed that fossil of a transitional organism from the Paleozoic.”
McCarthy beamed. “That’s right! It was a big moment for my lab. That is, scientifically, it was business as usual. But the fact that we made it into the papers… Well, any time we catch the public eye, I count it as a win.”
There was a twinkle in Hudson’s eye. “I may not be a scientist myself, but I support, one-hundred percent, the integration of science into the public sphere. I think it’s great when discoveries like yours” – He gestured towards McCarthy – “make it into the mainstream news.”
“It delights me to hear that. If only the public at large were more scientifically aware…”
Hudson nodded enthusiastically. “Scientific literacy should really take a higher priority in this country. It’s about time.”
“Indeed!” He saw Spencer’s dubious visage, cleared his throat with a loud ahem, and sighed. “I asked the others, but since you’re here, I may as well ask you, too. Do you suspect any foul play in Jim’s death?”
“Unfortunately,” Spencer said, “we can’t disclose that at the moment.”
“What about the break-in? Do you have any leads?”
Spencer grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sorry. We can’t discuss the investigation since it’s currently on-going.”
“Ah. I understand. Well, I hope you find the son of a bitch that did this.” McCarthy glanced inquisitively around the room. “I suppose I’ll leave you two alone. Good luck getting to the bottom of this.”
Once McCarthy departed, Spencer and Hudson linked up with Shin and Riley, who had also completed their interviews. They talked as they walked, briskly, around the snaking halls toward the exit closest to the parking lot.
“Let’s hear it,” Spencer said. “What did you guys find?”
Shin stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Carol Smith, the department secretary. Said that Worthing was known to be a hard grader. Apparently, his office hours were full of appointments with students.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “I swear, if we need to talk to every undergraduate in his classes…”
“Let’s hope,” said Spencer, “we find a lead before we get to that point. What else?”
“Vicky Culhane, the mailroom supervisor,” Riley said, “made a lot of trips back and forth between the labs to deliver packages and whatnot. She said she sometimes heard Worthing talking to himself in his office, but she couldn’t be certain because the door would be closed.”
“Talking to himself?” Spencer asked. “Couldn’t he just have been on the phone?”
“That’s what I said, but Vicky said she could’ve sworn it sounded more like talking to himself than a phone call.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”
Shin took over. “The other marine bio scientists, Chan, Patel, Jones, and McCarthy all said the same thing. That Worthing was a good researcher, that they’d known him for years, that they don’t believe there’s any reason to think he was poisoned.”
“As a matter of fact,” Spencer said, “we met McCarthy a few minutes ago.”
“Finally,” said Riley, “there was Kyle Roberts, the IT guy. He did a lot of work on Worthing’s lab website. Worthing wasn’t very computer literate.”
“Nobody knew what was in the drawer? Nobody had a reason to off the guy?”
“Not that we could tell. The man had brain cancer. Who’d want to kill him?”
Hudson, who had been listening patiently, asked, “Did you ask them if they like to watch TV?”
Shin and Riley, perplexed, glanced at each other, and then at Spencer.
“Don’t mind him,” Spencer said. “Although, you’ve got me curious. Why the interest in everybody’s television habits?”
“It’s nothing, probably.”
“Come on, Sam. Out with it.”
Hudson sparked alive. “It’s just a hunch about the note you found in Worthing’s office. Good night, Jim boy.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “You showed him the case files?”
Spencer shrugged it off. “What’s the worst that could happen? Just, uh, don’t tell the Boss about it.”
She covered her mouth and chuckled. “Go on, Hudson. What were you saying about the note?”
“That message,” Hudson said, “is a reference to The Waltons.”
“The Waltons?” Shin asked. “The ‘60s show?”
“Precisely. On the show, the eldest sibling is nicknamed ‘John-Boy’, although the note could also be referencing ‘Jim-Bob,’ one of the other siblings, or both. Regardless, at the end of each episode, there’s a short segment where all the family members say their goodbyes for the night. ‘Goodnight, John-Boy.’ ‘Goodnight, Mama.’ ‘Goodnight, Jim-Bob.’ ‘Goodnight, Elizabeth.’”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “Are you suggesting that whoever did it was a fan of The Waltons?”
“Maybe. But then, I suppose they wouldn’t be dumb enough to reveal it to the people investigating the case.”
“You know what I think?” Shin said, in a monotone. “There’s no foul play. Worthing had something that someone else wanted. It could be anybody. Maybe one of his students. Maybe one of his coworkers. They saw his hospitalization as an opportunity and grabbed it. Worthing’s death is entirely unrelated. Totally incidental.”
“I wouldn’t count it out so soon,” said Riley. “The toxicology report hasn’t come back yet, right?”
“Not that I know of,” Spencer said. “We’ll head to the hospital to talk to his doctor right now. I called Lisa before coming in today and asked her to put some pressure on her friends in the path lab. With a little luck, it should be done by the time we get there.”
“What about your guys?” Shin asked, referring to the lab members Spencer had interviewed. “Did you get a read on them?”
“More or less,” Spencer said. “Mark Lynes could use anger management. Possible person of interest. Carl Zhang, the new guy. Shy, nervous, jittery. Keep an eye on him. Lydia Fischer and Leon Corman–”
“Aha!” said Hudson. “I’ve got it. Lydia had an affair with Worthing. She didn’t want Leon to find out, so she broke in and stole the evidence. Oh! Or Leon found out about it and he broke into Worthing’s office to steal something and teach him a lesson. Maybe even poisoned him as revenge.”
Spencer exhaled audibly. “I think that’s enough of your crackpot soap opera theories.”
“That hurts, Chuck. That hurts.”
“Riley,” Spencer said.
Riley, who had been smiling, snapped to attention.
“Before you leave,” Spencer continued, “get the store room records. And Shin, come to think of it, maybe we should talk to some of his students. You take care of that. I’ll go to the hospital for a chat with his doctor, and then it’s off to his house for a visit with the missus.”
Hudson tapped Spencer on the shoulder and whispered something into his ear.
Spencer brooded over the words for a minute. “Then again, it might be better if you” – He jutted a thumb at Riley – “talked to the students, and Shin handled the store room records.”
Shin’s stone face slackened a bit. “You think I can’t talk to students?”
“No offense, but you’re icy and robotic.”
“Like Mr. Freeze,” Hudson said.
“Why would I take offense to that?” Shin said. “Mr. Freeze is badass.”
“Of course,” Hudson added, “you’re Asian, so you’d probably be called Mistah Fureeze.”
“Hudson, for future reference, that is offensive.”
“Noted.”
