Terminal

“Fooling around!” Dr. Levy repeated contemptuously. “What do you think this place is, your personal playground?” Despite her dark complexion, color rose in her cheeks. “No one does any work around here without submitting a formal proposal to me. I’m in charge of research. You are to work on the colonic glycoprotein project and on that alone. Do I make myself clear? I want to see defractable crystals by next week.”

“Okay,” Sean said. He avoided looking at the woman.

Dr. Levy stayed for another minute, as if to make sure her words had sunk in. Sean felt like a child caught red-handed in a naughty act. He didn’t have a thing to say for himself. His usual talent for witty retort had momentarily abandoned him.

At long last, Dr. Levy stalked out of the lab. Silence returned.

For a few minutes Sean merely stared at the mess in front of him without moving. He still had no idea where the crystal work was. It had to be there someplace, but he didn’t make any move to find it. He simply shook his head. What a ridiculous situation. His sense of frustration came back in a rush. He’d really had it with this place. He never should have come—and never would have had he known the Forbes Center’s terms. He should have left in protest as soon as he’d been informed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from using his hand to sweep the countertop of all the glassware, pipettes, and immunologic reagents and allow them to smash to the floor.

Sean looked at his watch. It was just after two in the afternoon. “The hell with it all,” he thought. Gathering up the immunoglobulin unknowns, he stashed them in the back of the refrigerator along with Helen Cabot’s brain and the sample of her cerebrospinal fluid.

Sean grabbed his jean jacket and headed for the elevators, leaving behind the mess he’d created.

Emerging into the bright, warm Miami sunshine, Sean felt a bit of relief. Tossing his jacket into the back seat of his 4×4, he climbed in behind the wheel. The engine roared to life. He made it a point to burn a little rubber as he exited the parking area and sped south toward the Forbes residence. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the stretch limo pull out after him, bumping its undercarriage on the dip as it struggled to keep Sean in sight, nor did he spot the dark green Mercedes tailing the limo.

Sean sped back to his apartment, slammed the car door with extra force, and kicked the front door of the residence shut. He was in a foul mood.

Going into his apartment, he heard the door across the hall open. It was Gary Engels dressed in his usual jeans without a shirt.

“Hey, man,” Gary said casually, leaning against the door jamb. “You had some company earlier.”

“What kind of company?” Sean asked.

“The Miami police,” Gary said. “Two big burly cops came in here nosing around, asking all sorts of questions about you and your car.”

“When?” Sean asked.

“Just minutes ago,” Gary said. “You could have passed them in the parking lot.”

“Thanks,” Sean said. He went into his apartment and closed the door, irritated anew with another problem. There was only one explanation for the police’s visit: someone had noted his license plate after the funeral home alarm went off.

The last thing Sean wanted now was a hassle with the police. He grabbed a small suitcase and filled it with a dop kit, underwear, a bathing suit, and shoes. In his garment bag he packed a shirt, tie, slacks, and a jacket. In less than three minutes he was headed back down the stairs.

Before stepping out of the building he looked to see if there were any police cars, marked or otherwise. The only vehicle that looked out of place was a limousine. Confident the cops wouldn’t be coming after him in a limo, Sean made a dash for his 4 × 4, then headed back to the Forbes Cancer Center. En route he stopped to use a pay phone.

The idea the police were looking for him bothered Sean immensely. It brought back bad memories of his unruly youth. Parts of his brief life of petty crime had been exhilarating, but his brushes with the judicial system had only been tedious and disheartening. He never wanted to get bogged down in that bureaucratic quagmire again.

The first person Sean thought to call after hearing about the police was his brother Brian. Before Sean spoke to any police, he wanted to speak to the best lawyer he knew. He hoped his brother would be home. He usually was on Saturday afternoon. But instead of Brian he got Brian’s answering machine with its inane message complete with background elevator music. Sometimes Sean wondered how they could have grown up in the same house.

Sean left a message saying that it was important that they talk, but that he couldn’t leave a number. He said he’d call later. Sean would try again once he got to Naples.

Returning to his car, Sean sped back toward the Forbes. He wanted to be sure to be at their appointed meeting place when Janet got off work.

8

March 6

Saturday, 3:20 P.M.