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He headed for the doors. “We’re still on for Thursday, right?”
“It’s a party,” I said, not for the first time. He waved and headed out.
Perfect, exactly what I wanted: a quiet, empty lab to finish my patient notes and tackle the sequencing of Davis’s anthrax attack.
A couple decades ago, this sort of work took weeks or years at federal-level labs. Now, a good university lab could handle it (provided they had the proper biosafety rating to handle anthrax, of course).
Once I had everything recorded I needed to about the patient’s diagnosis and status, I pored over the results of the sequencing. With enough information, you could trace anthrax spores back to their origins a lot of ways. You could even tell what water sources they’d used.
With the published information about anthrax strains, it didn’t take long to narrow the search down to a specific lab, Morlitech, an hour east of Pittsburgh.
But the statistical analysis of the cells and DNA of the spore might not be compelling—or comprehensible—enough for the police. I wanted to hand them the case wrapped with a bow. Because hashtag justice.
I pulled up Morlitech’s website and scrolled through the personnel listed. Really, it could be a janitor who’d taken it—if they had criminally bad security protocols, of course.
Half an hour of digging deep on each researcher on their staff had eliminated the first ten scientists—Harper Tyne had a lot of fans of all genders, you know, but it didn’t look like any of them worked at Morlitech.
Until I found Bethany Winthrop’s Facebook profile. The pictures seemed to match: a woman with deep red hair and a squared off smile. Her profile seemed to be mostly private, only showing off a few vases she’d thrown on a pottery wheel—the anthrax sample had been mixed with white clay dust. A couple of the vases had been posted via her Instagram or PushPin, and I clicked through to the latter.
Her PushPin username was @Hrpr4evr and her bulletin board was filled with pictures: concerts, music videos, covers, quotes, interviews and more. Even Everett had a cameo, with a big red NO sign across his face. The caption called for all true Tynies to boycott Everett’s films.
A Tynie working at an anthrax lab who also had a penchant for making things from clay? Sounded like a match.
I could prove Davis right. The Tynies had it out for him. Murderously so.
I typed up all I found, attached a PDF of my lab results and added a link to Bethany Winthrop’s Instagram before I sent it off to Detective Popovich.
It was not an open and shut case. The cops might roll their eyes and throw all this out. But I’d done one small thing right by Davis.
Ten thousand more to go—but I only had two weeks left here.
I stared at my outbox and the email to the police officer. It was far too little, too late. But I’d do what I could in the time I had before he’d never be forced to look at me again.
The weekend passed slower than Thursday alone at home had, and I nearly ended up calling in Luke just to have someone to talk to. But I’d barely met the guy, and companionship was above his paygrade.
I could always offer him a raise.
At last, Sunday night—during hour five of a James Bond marathon that I was tired of after one film—Ellie texted again.Oh my goodness I just heard what kind of party Jake was having and I had no idea I promise I wouldn’t have sent you if I’d known.
I could imagine all those words tumbling out of her in a single breath—and I believed her.NBD, I replied.
Let me make it up to you. I’m back in town and Tiffany is having a party near your place.
Yeah, the opportunity of spending more time with Godric was not exactly appealing. Ellie was sweet, but the rest of these people were the exact reason I’d taken a hard left off this path a decade ago.I’m good, I said, grateful I didn’t have to try to convince her of that over the phone, or worse, in person. We only had one actor in the family as far as I was concerned.
Please?Ellie responded.It’ll be lowkey, promise. Her friends are super grounded, not at all like some of the people Jake likes to entertain.
That last word was an interesting choice. I’d noticed that Jake didn’t seem to be partying as hard as his guests.
Before I could respond, Ellie sent a series of GIFs, mostly real and cartoon dogs begging.
She couldn’t remember Lt. Barkley, but one of the GIFs was a Cavalier King Charlie puppy with the same coloring as my childhood dog.
Fine. I sent her my new address.
She arrived so quickly, she must have already been on this side of the Schuylkill. I half-expected to be chauffeured around again, but her roommate was nowhere in sight. “Jenna’s already there,” she assured me. “You’ll love them, I promise.”
I wasn’t sure how much Ellie’s promises were worth when she pulled up in front of a decrepit apartment building. Ellie didn’t flinch as she led me down the stairs.
