Читать книгу Morgan O'Brien Mysteries 2-Book Bundle - Alex Brett - Страница 13

I was surprised to see that Riesler’s lab was almost empty. When I went to university research technicians rated only slightly higher than laboratory rats, and most of the techs had little choice but to work through lunch. Now, with unionization, things had obviously changed.

As Riesler held the door open for me he asked, “Did you have a chance to talk with Graham at all?”

I shook my head.

“Now that is unfortunate. You must try to catch up with him later.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t say this to my other students, but Graham is by far the most brilliant and productive researcher I’ve ever had in my lab, and with no fish biology background whatsoever. Of course, he went to a great school — Johns Hopkins — but in terms of fish, and fish genetics, he knew absolutely nothing. But then,” he leaned over, as if to whisper in my ear, “sometimes that helps. You approach problems differently, see things in entirely new ways.” He straightened. “And Graham’s publishing record is excellent. I don’t know how he does it really.”

That was curious. I didn’t remember seeing Connell’s name in the list of Madden’s co-authors. Maybe he worked on another species. “Does he work on salmon?”

Riesler looked surprised. “So you’re familiar with our work?”

“I’m interested in the Network. That’s why I’m here.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

He banged his forehead with the heel of his hand in an exaggerated, comical gesture. “Not you too? Why is everyone so interested in that damn Network? Is it the money? Because money isn’t everything, you know. Has Elaine mentioned the Asia project? It’s not necessarily cutting-edge research, I grant you, but in terms of the potential benefit to starving people, well, what’s more important after all.” I started to say something, but he put his hand up to stop me. “We’ll talk salmon if you insist, but not until you hear my Asia pitch. I could really use someone with your skills on that project. Just keep an open mind, that’s all I ask.”

He took my elbow and propelled me toward a steel door at the side of the lab. I had no choice but to move along with him. He pulled it open and we stepped into the hot, fetid air of the rainforest. The light was an eerie blue, filtered through the water of aquariums; rows of them, running floor to ceiling on shelves. Each one housed a single fish. They looked like goldfish but were bigger, the size of dinner plates. As the door clanged shut behind us they turned, in unison, to stare. It reminded me of a TV showroom with all the sets tuned to The Nature of Things.

“Impressive, isn’t it.” Madden was beaming, the lord of the manor. He moved slowly down the row, and I followed. As we moved, the fish, like synchronized swimmers, pivoted slowly, keeping track of our progress. Their aquariums were bare: no pebbles, no plants, just stark glass boxes with an air stone bubbling in the corner. There was barely enough space in each aquarium for the occupant to move.

“Very,” I said, trying to sound truthful. In fact, I found the room unspeakably sad, but Madden continued proudly.

“A few years back I was approached by an overseas aid consortium to do some work on aquaculture, on these guys. Tilapia. They’ve been farmed over there for generations, but the approach has been hit and miss, no real understanding of why some grow faster than others, some are more resistant to disease, that sort of thing. It wasn’t too challenging at first, I’ll grant you that, but one thing led to another, and now we’re on the verge of doing some very fine work. Within a year we’ll be seeing dramatic improvements in growth, yield, survival, and that means increased production. Just to put this in perspective, a lot of these fish farms are momand-pop operations in countries that are desperately poor. A very small increase in productivity can make a huge difference to the lives these people lead.”

He looked at me and his voice became soft and apologetic. “I hate to disappoint you, Ms. O’Brien… may I call you Morgan? But most of my time these days is focused here. What goes on out there,” he nodded to the lab beyond the door, “they don’t need me. Between my lab manager and Graham it runs itself.”

When we were back outside standing in the lab Riesler put his hand on my arm. “So, what do you think?” His enthusiasm was almost catching, but not quite. He caught my expression and sighed. “I can see it’s salmon.” I nodded. “Oh well.” He gave a good-natured shrug. “I gave it my best shot. But if that’s what you really want the person to talk to is JJ. He runs the day-to-day operation.”

When I spoke I kept my voice neutral. “But you must choose the researchers. Manage the allocations.”

With a look of satisfaction he shook his head. “Not anymore.” I was surprised, and he registered it. His voice took on an edge of impatience. “Look, I manage the science. That means I keep a close watch on the directions and outcomes, and I do all the PR nonsense that the government demands of me, but I don’t have time to track every penny and allocate every component for a project of this size. I’d never get anything else done. No. How the science gets done is up to JJ, and when he’s home,” he pointed to an office in the back corner of the lab, “he’s usually hiding in there.”

He turned and started to cross the lab to JJ’s office, passing between several large tanks shimmering with salmon. In one, I caught the telltale crimson of sockeye. In another, huge fish shimmered an iridescent silver-blue. They were so spectacular I was momentarily trans-fixed. I felt Riesler come up beside me.

“Beautiful, aren’t they,” he said, leaning over.

“What are these?”

“Sockeye, but these ones are ocean phase, also know as sea run. Sockeye only turn red on their spawning migration. In fact, these fish are for Elaine. They came in yesterday. If you see her, tell her she can pick them up when she’s ready. There’s a tank open in the housing room.”

I filed that information away in my growing boy-is-Elaine-ever-in-deep-shit file. Riesler started to move off again, but I wasn’t quite ready to end the conversation.

“I’ll be talking to Jonathan Edwards as well. I understand he’s moved to Natural Resources.”

Riesler stopped and turned casually toward me. He seemed perfectly relaxed, and I could see no sign of tension or discomfort in his demeanour. “Yes. It was a most unfortunate occurrence. I suppose Elaine has told you a bit about that. But by all means talk to him. He’s a clever fellow.”

“What do you think of his new technique for determining salmon stocks by analyzing the scales?”

“I can see you’re well informed.” Then he spoke carefully, the objective scientist. “I think it shows promise, but he needs to substantiate his claims. JJ would actually be a better person to ask. As I told you, my life’s in there.” He motioned to the tilapia door. “At this point, JJ’s more up to date on the salmon work, but,” he lowered his voice, “JJ and Edwards don’t get along, so tread carefully.”

“Ah huh?” I waited, silent, but with a look of expectation on my face. It took a moment, but the disclosure side won out.

He sighed. “Suzie, that’s JJ’s wife… ex-wife, that is, at least, I think they’re divorced now. She’s a lecturer here. Anyway, she and Jonathan had a…” He searched for a word. I could have helped him out with several, some more savoury than others, but he found what he was looking for. “… tryst, I guess you’d say, at a conference a few years back. It was brief, or so I understand, but JJ never forgave him. He blames Jonathan for the breakup of his marriage. I would hope it doesn’t cloud his scientific judgment, but just so you know. He can’t necessarily give you a fully objective view of Jonathan’s work.”

The front wall of JJ’s office was a window from the waist up, and I saw someone stand and move from the desk to a filing cabinet. Riesler followed my eyes and his face lit up. He seemed relieved to change the subject.

“Oh good. JJ’s in.” Then he turned back to me quickly. “I hope this conversation remains confidential. I’m not sure who in the department knows,” then he touched my arm lightly, “but I’m sure I can depend on you to be discreet.”

Madden then moved off to JJ’s office. I gave myself a minute to think, admiring the fluid movement of the fish. They swam as if they were part of the water itself, liquid rather than bone and muscle. Madden Riesler was not what I had expected, so what didn’t fit?

When I was ready, I followed him into JJ’s office.

Madden was standing beside JJ, who was seated at his desk holding a DNA radiograph up to the fluorescent lights. Madden was speaking.

“I would have expected the dark band to… ah, here she is.” He performed a brief introduction then looked at his watch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me for the next fifteen, twenty minutes. I’ve got a call to make, but that should give you just enough time to talk.” He gave JJ a solid clap on the back and smiled at me. “This gentleman is the answer to all your questions.”

As Madden left the office JJ half stood and motioned to the wooden chair on the other side of his desk. Even with a lab coat covering his shorts and golf shirt I could see the broad shoulders and muscled thighs of a man who worked hard to keep his body buff, although the aesthetic was somewhat diminished by a ludicrous Prince Valiant haircut and large, beakish nose.

When he was reseated in his own chair he pushed it back on two legs and jammed his hands into his lab coat pockets.

“So what can I do for you?” His voice was unpleasant, high-pitched and slightly nasal, and the smile on his lips was forced. He was obviously going for a casual-yet-helpful demeanour, and it might have worked if not for his eyes. They were narrow and closely set, an abnormally pale grey-green, and they seemed to have a life of their own. While JJ’s body language and tone of voice declared his willingness to help, his gaze skittered around the room as if being controlled by another mind. It was disconcerting, and I began to wonder if it was some sort of nervous tick or neurological disorder. I thought it best to pretend I didn’t notice and forge ahead.

“What can you tell me about the Network?” “What’s your interest? Genetics? Population studies? Habitat renewal?”

“Finances, actually.”

The skittering stopped and he fell forward in his chair with a thump. “The finances? Why?”

I shrugged. “I’m interested in applying for funds. I need to know how it works.”

Pause. “And you’ve spoken with Madden?”

“Oh yes. He’s enthusiastic, but I need more details. He said I should look over a typical project budget that involves field and lab work to get some idea of the scope of these projects. Of how the funding and allocations work.”

“Madden suggested that?”

I nodded and smiled. We were getting somewhere. The eyes were on the move again and he’d laced the fingers of one hand so tightly through the fingers of the other that the knuckles were turning white.

There was a pause, then JJ hung his head dramatically over his hands, feigning deep thought. After almost a minute he took an audible breath, shook his head slowly, and dropped his voice half an octave to lend a certain gravity to the next statement.

“I’m sorry, but there are confidentiality issues at stake here. I can’t just pull out files and let you see who has applied for money and how much they got, no matter what Madden says.”

“It’s all on the public record,” I reminded him gently. “Remember? The taxpayers’ dollars at work? Anyway, I don’t need to know who the application came from. I just need to see some numbers.”

“I told you. I can’t just —”

“I’d really hate to bother Madden with something like this.”

He managed to glare at me for a second before his gaze lurched away, then he reluctantly stood up and moved to the bank of filing cabinets the filled the wall to my right. He slid a bottom drawer open, shuffled through the files, and withdrew a folder. He opened it and extracted a single piece of paper. Back at his desk he made a show of poring over the sheet and blacking out all references to the researchers and their home institutions. When he was ready he passed it across to me and pushed his chair back again. I could see a sheen of sweat on his brow.

I took the paper from him and made an equally good show of going over the information, running my finger down the columns of numbers and muttering to myself. Actually, I couldn’t have cared less what was on the paper, but despite this, after a few minutes of seemingly intense concentration, I looked up and smiled. “This is great,” I said. “Exactly what I need.” Then I went back to reading. I could hear the squeak of his chair as he shifted uneasily. When I was finished my performance I pushed the paper back across the desk.

“Excellent. That helps a lot. Now what about procedures? Is there a lot of red tape? Ten signatures needed for every purchase?”

He shook his head. “Just me. I’m it. And I make sure things run smoothly. You can bet on that.”

I looked surprised. “You have signing authority?” He sat up straighter and nodded. “I’m the signing officer for Network funds.”

“But Madden must oversee the expenditures. He must monitor their distribution.”

That statement got under his skin. “Why the hell should he? I’ve got a Ph.D., for Christ’s sake. I don’t need Madden to tell me what to do and he knows it, so he leaves me alone. And why should a top researcher like him be wasting time on administration? If you come to the Network,” he poked himself in the chest with his thumb, “I’m in charge.”

This was getting interesting, and I suddenly wondered how Connell and JJ squared up together. “So what about Graham Connell? Does he have signing authority too?”

At the sound of Connell’s name the chair banged to the floor again and JJ’s face went sour. “Connell? I wouldn’t let that little parasite sign for a test tube.”

“I’ve heard he’s brilliant.”

“Who told you that? Graham? He’s —” Just then someone appeared at the door, and JJ directed his erratic gaze to the new visitor. “What?” He barked.

The man at the door looked like a graduate student, maybe a post-doc. He didn’t seem either surprised or put off by JJ’s manners.

“Sorry. Didn’t see you were with someone.” He motioned to the computer. “Better check out GeneMed. It’s taking a dive.” Then he turned and walked away.

“Oh shit,” said JJ. He whipped around to his computer monitor and rattled the mouse. The screen saver opened up to his internet browser sitting on the Stockwatch site. I could tell that he’d momentarily forgotten I was there. He typed in a symbol and when the graph came up I could see a nice sharp peak heading abruptly downhill. “God damn it,” he said, and banged the table with his hand. “God damn it!”

I cleared my throat. He turned on me and quickly brought himself under control.

“Day trader?” I said.

“Just a hobby,” he answered, but he looked pretty rattled. “Look, I’ve really got things to do.”

Yeah, I thought, like unload some bad stock before it plummets even more. However, since our meeting had been so productive I thought I might as well try one more question.

“There is one last thing.” I said, slowly getting out of the chair. “I heard a rumour a while ago about a guy who was promised Network money and never saw a penny. Is it true?”

JJ’s face froze momentarily. Even his eyes stopped moving, then he quickly recovered. “Who told you that? That’s crap. I’ll tell you what that’s all about. The Network has very high standards. This isn’t some two-bit Canadian project run out of Ottawa. We’re working with the best in the world: Americans, Japanese, Russians. If a researcher who applies isn’t working to that kind of standard they don’t get in and some of them get pissed off. I’d take a good hard look at who started that rumour and why. I bet you’re going to find some second-class jerk who’s whining because he…” then he said with emphasis, “or she, didn’t cut it.”

“So you haven’t received any formal complaints?”

He turned from me back to his computer screen, effectively ending the conversation. “You’d have to ask Madden,” he mumbled. “He’d be in charge of that.”