Читать книгу Dead Water Creek - Alex Brett - Страница 13

I was ten minutes late for my meeting with Elaine. The café was up the main boulevard in a little strip mall. I pushed open the door and was hit by the yeasty aroma of warm croissants and steaming bowls of café au lait, the essence of Vancouver. Elaine was sitting at a corner table facing the door, absorbed in what looked like a reprint from some lofty biology journal. I moved forward a step and let the door swing shut behind me.

Her hair had changed since I’d last seen her. It had always been long and thick, held back in a simple braid. Now it was cut short in a fashionable straight-edged bob that fell like a curtain across her profile. I had expected an upgrade in clothing with her new position in the academic rat race, but she was dressed no differently from the way she had dressed on the field trips of our youth: a hand-knit Icelandic sweater, button-down cotton shirt, jeans, and sensible shoes. In fact, her clothes were almost the same as mine, but I was simulating a visiting post-doctoral fellow. She was now Dr. Okada, Assistant Professor.

I shook my head, halfway between amusement and disgust. Elaine willfully chose the hardest possible route to get from point A to B, as if even a touch of compromise might sully those pure ideals that drove her in her work. Well, I had bad news from the other side; those pure ideals — like the pursuit of truth, objective and free of ego — were as dead in science as they were in government. It’s a career like any other, and if you want the career you better play by the rules.

I felt the door open behind me, forcing me forward, so I crossed to the table and slid into the chair facing her. She looked up from her paper as if being drawn back from another world. A smile spread across her face, and she leaned over, cupped my chin in both her hands, and looked into my eyes. I reached up, closed my eyes, and pressed her hands to my face. I felt a surge of energy flow through them that coursed through my body like a living current.

Ten years ago we both would have been uncomfortable with such strong emotion, but somewhere along the line we seemed to have come to terms with a relationship that ebbed and flowed with the power of the tide. One moment I could be overwhelmed with love for her, and the next totally enraged by her pig-headed, simplistic view of the world. We had actually talked at one time of having an affair, just to see if all this emotion was really about sex. In the end we’d decided not to. It would probably have ended in a death by shotgun at close range, the only question being who would be at which end of the gun.

The waiter approached the table uncertainly. I gently placed Elaine’s hands back on the table and turned to him. I loved Elaine, but I needed coffee and food. When he had disappeared, I turned back to examine her closely. She had fine lines around her eyes and tension in the muscles around her mouth. She looked tired and depressed, not what I expected from a woman entering the second year of her dream job.

“What’s up?”

“End of field season exhaustion.” She smiled slightly. “Remember that?”

I did, only too well. Which is one of the reasons I left. But Elaine had lived through field seasons before.

“There’s something else.”

She frowned. “I left before Cindy got back last night. When I got in this morning the fish weren’t there, and Cindy had left me an e-mail to say that her moth-er’s in the hospital and she’s gone home to New Zealand … indefinitely.” Then she looked up and glared at me as if I were in some way responsible. “What the hell does that mean, indefinitely! It’s two weeks before the end of the sockeye run, for Christ’s sake!”

Like all new professors, Elaine was on a short-term contract, and job competition was brutal. If you didn’t cut it, and cut it fast, you were out. For someone in her position, losing a graduate student — and a source of publications for the lab — could mean no contract renewal and no prospects of another job. Still, I didn’t want to get dragged into her hysteria.

I shrugged. “Maybe she’ll be back by the end of the week.”

Her voice was fierce. “When we were students, we would have let our mothers die alone rather than lose a field season.”

I looked down at the table, giving her time to absorb her own words, then said quietly, “Unfortunately, I didn’t have that choice to make.” She cringed. Good. “And where the hell did all that devotion get you? Your first real job at the age of thirty-four.”

She didn’t bother to reply; just skewered me with her eyes and picked up her coffee. Fortunately the waiter arrived with my order, giving us both a break. I’d only been with her for five minutes and she’d already ticked me off. It was an old argument that always came down to the same thing: Elaine’s limited and simplistic view of life. It went like this: if you were brilliant (which she was), worked hard (which she did), and relentlessly pushed back the frontiers of knowledge (which she also did), then you would rise to the top. That meant you would get tenure, become a full professor, and be a respected and sought-after member of the research establishment. The notion that her progress might be hindered by some of life’s little isms — in this case to do with sex and race — was heresy against the party line that defines science as objective, impartial, and bias-free. While Elaine might be silly enough to still believe that crap, I was no longer so naive.

I took a sip of coffee and debated launching into a tirade on science and corruption, then caught myself. I needed Elaine’s cooperation — both her insider information and her astute assessment of people — to get to the bottom of this case as quickly as possible. And Elaine is as stubborn as they come. If I got her in a snit it could take days to effect a thaw. I decided I’d better be helpful.

“Can someone else run the experiments?”

“I’m tied up in classes and committee meetings for the next three days. There’s Dinah, my technician, but I’m not sure how much she knows.”

“I could help out for a day or so.” She gave me a curt nod, still annoyed. “Come on, Elaine, I haven’t lost my touch.”

That got a slight smile. Not exactly a vote of confidence, I thought wryly, but there was at least a shade of relief on her face.

“I appreciate that.” She saw my skeptical look and warmed a bit. “No, I do, really. It just seems like the worst possible timing. I’m so damn close to writing up.”

I figured this was a good time to work my way over to my own agenda. “I gather you’re not still working on toads.”

She shook her head. “Salmon. The ultimate in olfaction.”

I kept my voice low and conversational. I didn’t want to tip her off to anything until I was ready. “That’s a big change.”

Her eyes lit up. “Not really. I’m still doing basically the same thing, trying to understand how the olfactory system works, but because it’s salmon, and the olfactory system plays a role in their homing migration… well, let’s just say funding isn’t a problem.”

She picked up her coffee and sipped it, looking almost smug.

“So,” I said, “you must know Madden Riesler.”

I was watching her reaction, but carefully so she wouldn’t notice. At the sound of the name she literally beamed. She opened her mouth to say something then caught me observing. Damn. She pulled back like a startled snake. I tried to divert.

“I hear he’s brilliant.”

Now she was observing me and her defences were up. She continued warily. “He’s why I’m here.”

Before I could catch myself I blurted out, “But you’re not involved in the Network.”

At that she sat bolt upright, all her senses attuned. I could almost see her swaying back and forth, trying to determine the nature of the threat. She knew something was up, she just didn’t know what.

She spoke carefully. “I met Madden at my last post-doc in California. He was doing a sabbatical there. I liked him, he liked my work. When this position came up he recommended me, and that’s what got me the interview. End of story.”