 
MURDER AT NAUGHTON PHARMS

Rex Evans Wood

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Rex Evans Wood

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading Murder at Naughton Pharms. During the free-trial period, you are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com and try Truitt's Fix, also by this author.
CHAPTER 1 – THURSDAY, 9:10 AM

It was mid morning before Kelly returned to Naughton Pharmaceuticals. He parked in the employee lot, grabbed his cup of coffee and lab coat, and headed for the clinical study entrance, not bothering to lock his aging pickup or even roll up the window. The forecast was for cool, dry weather, a beautiful day in Fargo.

Trevor, one of the night shift phlebotomists, emerged from the building, squinting into the morning sun. Kelly gave him a smile. "Long shift, eh?"

Trevor nodded, his weariness apparent.

Kelly feigned concern. "Is it safe for you to be out in the sun?"

"Sunscreen. It changed everything. I wish I had it back in the Transylvania days."

It was a familiar joke – equating phlebotomists with vampires.

Kelly smiled, waving as they went their separate ways. Running drug tests was often stressful, but never boring. Those who stuck with it invariably developed a sense of humor around the unpleasant jobs involving blood, pee, poop and the quirky behavior of people willing to take any pill, patch, or suppository for a buck.

The admissions area was in mid-morning form, with several prospective subjects in the admissions line, and several more in the holding pen, filling out their paperwork or watching CNN. A health screener called the next person's name, pausing as an overhead speaker added to the din: "Bennie to receiving."

"Hey, Studley," said Barb, as Kelly approached the reception desk. Barb supervised the admissions and reception staff. She was quite a bit older than Kelly, in her mid-thirties, happily married, but joking around with Kelly – often giving him crap – was one of those things that helped make their days a little brighter.

"Morning, Barbie."

She set the appointment schedule clipboard on the counter for Kelly's review. As the clinical department coordinator, Kelly had a number of responsibilities as he worked with screeners, phlebotomists, study monitors, housekeepers and everyone else it took to run the studies. He set down his coffee and pulled on his lab coat while scanning the appointments.

"Potts is looking for you," said Barb.

"What does Mr. Charming want now?" Kelly looked up from the clipboard. "Besides you, of course."

Barb pretended to gag. "I have no idea. Mr. Not-The-Least-Bit-Charming didn't confide in me."

Kelly flipped to a deeper page on the clipboard. "Looks like we'll be okay on 158. I thought a summer weekend with a young group would make it a tough study to fill out."

"It's the pay." Barb handed him the index of the studies.

"$800?"

"Almost double the winter rate."

It was easier, and often cheaper, to do studies with younger subjects in the winter when college kids were willing to hang out and do school work. Summer weekends in North Dakota were too precious to spend indoors getting poked with needles.

A young woman emerged from the hallway to the administration wing. Kelly resisted staring, turning back to the clipboard as the beauty spoke to a fully-amused Barb, who had accurately read Kelly's reaction. "Excuse me." The woman addressed Barb. "I'm from human resources. I'm supposed to meet Kelly?"

"Well," said Barb, as she looked to Kelly with a smile. "I guess it's your lucky day."

"I'm Kelly." He spoke before looking up from the clipboard, striking an uncharacteristic tone, that of the busy, pre-occupied professional. The act sent Barb's eyes rolling.

"Oh, hello." The gal reddened a bit. "I was imagining Kelly as a woman."

"I get that a lot."

"I'm Jessica Gulsvig." She offered a handshake, which he accepted. "I'm your shadow; until noon anyway. Sorry I'm late."

"That's okay. I just got here." He continued the matter-of-fact tone.

He looked back to the clipboard, paged back to the top, and then handed it to Barb. He hadn't heard that he'd have a shadow today, but undoubtedly, there was an e-mail or voicemail waiting. It wasn't that unusual to have a recent hire from another department tag along to see how things worked.

"Okay, well, I usually start out by checking in at the team office, but Mr. Potts is looking for me. He's the associate director of research. Barbara, do we know where Mr. Potts is?"

"Mister Potts is conducting the C-I-C meeting," said Barb, satirizing Kelly's officious tone, elevating it to the stuff of Masterpiece Theatre. "We expect it to be concluded momentarily."

Jessica's gaze swung from Barb to Kelly, her knitted brow making it clear she found the exchange suspect. With Jessica not looking, Barb crossed her eyes and made her best Harpo Marx face.

Kelly, in mid-sip on his coffee, just about spewed, but managed to keep it together as he gestured for Jessica to accompany him. Jessica turned back to Barb, who abandoned the Harpo look just in time. "Nice to meet you," said Jessica.

Barb beamed, becoming again the over-the-top professional. "Welcome to Naughton Pharmaceuticals."

Jessica fell in beside Kelly as they started for the hallway.

"And Kelly," Barb called after them. "I'll want your 5-X report, whenever convenient."

He walked backwards as he replied. "Ah, certainly, Barbara. I'm working on it." He smiled, not quite able to hold the serious façade as he continued walking with Jessica. 5-X was a joke, used in various ways to refer to study subjects trying to hook up, or to any sexual behavior for that matter – 5X stemming from the way it looked written out: "5EX."

It wasn't surprising that Barb had picked up on Kelly's reaction to the beautiful Jessica Gulsvig – anyone who knew Kelly could have seen that coming. Not that he was a cad, he was actually well-respected by the women he worked with, but he got around, and though not first-impression great looking, his stock improved as people got to know him... influenced by his competence, wit, and a charismatic bad-boy vibe. With tousled black hair and a casual style, he was anything but slick. Behind his back, Barb was known to call him "dirty cute." It was pretty much a given that he would go on high alert around someone like Jessica Gulsvig. Not that Kelly was aware of all that. For him, it was a simpler equation – some good-looking gals were interested, most weren't.

At the door to the administration wing, Kelly swiped his ID over the security pad and they went inside. It was immediately quieter, the voices and television noise falling behind as linoleum gave way to carpet.

Windows in the hallway looked past decorative wooden blinds into the various offices. As they passed scientific affairs, development, and marketing, they could occasionally glimpse staffers dressed in business casual, often seated at low-walled cubicles. Jessica's human resources department was farther down, closer to the executive offices and accounting.

"So, what's a C-I-C meeting?" asked Jessica.

"Competitive Intelligence Committee. Right now, they'd be working on ideas for the upcoming P-O-A meeting – Plan of Action. Maybe three, four times a year they fly in sales people from all around the country. Today's C-I-C is getting ready for that. The idea is to give each product something the sales staff can latch on to, some extra hook that gives them an entry point for conversation with doctors."

Kelly and Jessica slipped into the softly-lit conference room where a half-dozen men had gathered around the far end of a long table, all seated except Eddie Potts, who stood in front, facing the group. Behind him, screen-saver rectangles floated on a projection screen.

"Last one, guys. Come on, think." Potts was pacing. "There should be something we can salvage from the study." Spotting Kelly and Jessica, he acknowledged their arrival with a gesture that said, "Hold on, won't be long." They took a seat along the back wall.

Sitting this close to Jessica, Kelly caught a tantalizing whiff of fragrance, perhaps her shampoo. He imagined putting his face in her hair and taking a deep breath.

Potts continued, "What about side effects?"

"Well, the worst..." began one of the attendees.

Potts winced, and held up a hand. "Let's not remind them of that."

The others chuckled.

"How about some of the minor side effects?"

Everyone looked to an attendee consulting his laptop. "Well, there wasn't much in the way of nausea for either one. Really nothing. And acid reflux was pretty low."

"What are the numbers on reflux?" said Potts.

"We're at point-five percent with Taskadol, and..." He called up another page. "Looks like Finairia came in at one-point-eight."

Potts clapped his hands. "That should work. Kleiber, what's that give us? You're the math guy."

"That's about a 70% risk reduction."

"Thank God. That works, doesn't it?"

Nods all around.

"Yes, indeed. Paul, write it up. It's not great, but at least we'll have something for Taskadol."

Jessica leaned close. "70 percent?" she whispered. "How do they get 70 percent out of those low numbers?"

"It's called relative risk. It makes a small statistical difference seem dramatic."

"But is that ethi... ?" Jessica stopped in mid-word as Potts approached them. They stood.

"Kelleeee," boomed Potts, but his eyes were on Jessica. "Who's your cute little sidekick today?" Eddie Potts wore a buttoned-down white shirt and a shiny grey tie. The shirt had become way too tight in recent years.

"Careful, Eddie. Ms. Gulsvig is with Human Resources. She could bust you for that kind of comment."

"Whoa!" said Potts, holding up his hands in mock fear. "Just trying to be nice."

"Mr. Potts, associate director of research, this is Jessica Gulsvig, recently hired in H-R."

"Nice to meet you, Jessica. Don't mind me. I'm just a big, overgrown teddy bear."

"It's... a pleasure," said Jessica, shaking his hand.

Potts turned to Kelly. "Thanks for coming by. I need your opinion. As you know, we've got the P-O-A coming up. Any chance we can get something useable out of that new Probax trial in time? We're suckin' air on Probax."

"The subject interviews start tomorrow, but this was a large group; the dosing was staggered over three days, so the interviewing is on that same schedule. Scientific Affairs could probably generate some running results, but the protocol won't be met. Good luck getting any kind of report out of them."

"Yeah." Potts nodded, staring off into space. "Even the raw interviews might be useable. We could do the old 'preliminary-reports-suggest' trick, giving it that insider early-scoop vibe." He looked at Kelly, cocking his overly-large head to one side. "Are you able to access those raw interviews?"

Kelly smiled. "Nope. The interviews are direct data entry these days, and even the teams running the study can't open those files. You'd have to ask I-T or S-A."

Potts shook his head as if to say, "Oh, I'd never do that."

Of course you wouldn't, thought Kelly. Because you wouldn't dare make such a request, but asking me, an underling in your own department, that's apparently just fine.

"Okay, good," said Potts, suddenly chipper. "I'll just check with Scientific Affairs and see. Maybe they'll be able to say a little something. Nice to meet you, Jessie."

Letting the name mistake slide, Jessica and Kelly left the room and headed back toward the clinical study wing. "I would have corrected him on your name," said Kelly, "but I like to keep conversations with him as short as possible."

"I understand why. And I'm quite okay with him not knowing my name."

"He's a throwback to a darker time."

"Kelly to study Unit 5, please. Kelly to Unit 5." Kelly recognized the pager's voice – Angie, one of the team leaders. He pivoted, changing directions. "Let's take the back hallway. Five is on the back side of the study wing. Have you had the grand tour yet?"

Jessica shook her head. "No. They've kept me busy learning the software and getting started on the HR busy work. This has been my first chance to see the rest of the operation."

The route they took had the added benefit of allowing Kelly to point out the various labs and the pharmacy, all of which were viewable through windows along the hallway. Jessica wanted to ask about the labs, and what their roles were, but held off since Kelly had picked up the pace, responding to the page.

The pharmacy also looked intriguing. Unlike a typical neighborhood pharmacy, this one featured two long tables, one of them currently in use, with employees perched on stools filling and labeling prescription bottles. Another employee loaded trays of the filled bottles onto a cart.

The end of the hall brought them to another security door, which opened onto the clinical study wing. Here the hallway was wider, but the motif of blinded windows continued. At the door to Unit 5, a short line of study subjects waited at a counter where an attendant searched purses and other luggage.

"They can't bring in anything that might interfere with the study," explained Kelly. "Medicated lotions, extra food, cigarettes. Normally, we're not doing check-ins this time of day, but this study involves a sleep aid, so we start dosing this evening, and we need a few fasting hours first."

Entering Unit 5, there was a sense of controlled chaos with people milling about or seated in a lounge area, or eating at two long rows of narrow exam tables. Jessica was struck by the alcohol smell and the noise – the voices, the blaring television, and the squawk of chairs sliding on the linoleum floor.

Kelly pointed out the snack bar. "They're offered something to eat when they check in. Then they'll fast. The tables are also where the subjects sit for blood draws and to have their vitals taken. That's why the tables are so narrow."

Kelly introduced Jessica to Angie Roberts, the team leader on this shift.

"It's Vivian," said Angie, explaining why she paged Kelly. "She cleared screening somehow, but she's got fresh needle tracks."

"Wasn't she disqualified a couple months ago?"

Angie nodded. "You'd think she'd learn."

"I'll talk to her," said Kelly.

Jessica walked with him toward the lounge area. "Working in H-R, you'll likely become familiar with some of our regulars," said Kelly. "I suppose about half are professional test subjects – like Vivian. She won't be able to do this much longer; she's at the top of the age range." He nodded toward a gal in her late forties, with long hair beginning to gray. She had just plopped into a comfortable, overstuffed chair far from the TV, a tote bag between her legs.

Kelly walked a step or two past her, and then stopped, feigning sudden recognition.

"Oh, Vivian. Good to see you again."

"Oh, hello, Kelly," Vivian offered a big smile.

Kelly introduced Jessica. "Vivian is one of our regulars. Comes up from Omaha. Vivian, where's your friend, Maggie?"

"She took a study in San Francisco."

"Where her daughter lives."

"Why, yes," said Vivian, appearing impressed that Kelly remembered.

"So, did you fly here?"

"Yes. Used some of my frequent flyer miles."

"Came in yesterday for screening, I suppose."

"My flight landed at three, and I made it here by four."

"Good flight? Arrive on time?"

"Oh, yes."

Kelly retrieved a chair from a neighboring table, brought it over and sat down. "Viv, the 3 o'clock flight comes in from Denver. Omaha connects in Minneapolis, and those flights start arriving after four. I'm guessing you were just at the WinCo Lab in Colorado."

"Kelly, I wouldn't ..."

"Vivian, I don't want to wash you out, but you have to be honest with us. In April, you were here for three days. We paid you well, but we had to throw out your results because of the other drugs in your blood samples."

Vivian's gaze dropped to her hands.

"Viv, you've been a good subject for us and we're always happy to see you, but management will black-ball you if you don't respect the 28-day rule."

"Sorry," murmured Vivian.

Kelly leaned close, put a hand on her arm. "Tell you what. You can't participate in this one, but we've got another study starting tomorrow. It's just a weekender, and it doesn't pay as well, but at least your trip won't be wasted. It's a lotion study, no blood draws. They just analyze what happens to your skin."

"Thanks, Kelly."

"I shouldn't be doing this. I'm supposed to disqualify you and report it. But hey, I'm a short-timer. What can they do to me? Go up front and tell Barb you want to sign up for 152."

They stood, Vivian thanking him again as she left.

Jessica smiled at him. "That was nice of you."

"Vivian's cool. It's technically against the rules to let her do a study, but it's not likely the other trial would interfere with a lotion study. And ultimately, I think it's good for the company. It sucks to lose a regular subject."

"What was that about being a short-timer?"

"Well, I never intended for this to be a permanent job, though I've been here for four years now. Started out as a phlebotomist."

"Doing blood draws," said Jessica. "I just learned what phlebotomist meant this week." She hunched her shoulders and shivered with revulsion. "I couldn't do that. I hate needles."

"I didn't mind it. I was working weekends and some nights while going to college. Then I got promoted to study monitor and went full-time. I switched to coordinator when the job came open. It doesn't pay any better, but it's a good fit for me. Without more formal medical training, I wasn't likely to get a team leader job. School became part-time, and only some of the time, but I'm finally close to finishing with a criminal justice degree."

"What will you do when you graduate?"

"Well, even before I finish, I'm going to apply with the Fargo Police Department. They don't require a degree."

"A police officer? I wouldn't have guessed."

Kelly chuckled. "No, I don't suppose that's the first impression I create."

"It's not that..."

"Oh, it's alright. Maybe I'm not what they'd be looking for, either. It's not easy getting accepted. If I don't make the cut, there are two-year law enforcement programs I can take, but if I can catch on with Fargo and avoid those additional school loans, that would be great. There'd still be a one-semester skills course, but the rest of the training is in-house."

"Hey, Kelly." Angie approached, a manila folder and sheaf of papers in hand. "Here's one you'll enjoy. Did you see the protocol for this study?"

"Not the details."

"It's a stupid, impossible protocol. They have us taking vitals, dosing, and doing the blood draws, all at the same time."

"Is this a Naughton study or an outside contract?"

"It's ours. Padden wrote it."

Kelly shook his head. "He must have accidentally sent an early draft or something. It sounds unfinished. Want me to check with him?"

"No, that's not your responsibility. I'll talk to Mr. Dipsh...." Angie caught herself, remembering she was in the presence of a new HR employee. She glanced briefly at Jessica. "I'll talk to Mr. Padden." Angie smiled, a bit sheepishly, as she turned to go.

Kelly called after her, smiling. "You have my sympathy."

Jamie Padden, director of Scientific Affairs was a pain in the ass, an opinion widely shared. Kelly turned his attention back to Jessica. "Okay, let me show you the rest of the unit."

"If you're busy, we could do this later."

"No, this isn't bad. There's always little things that pop up. Most of my work takes place in the setup – getting everything coordinated. When the trial is underway, I maybe put out some fires and pitch in if somebody needs help, but mostly I'm looking ahead to the next study, figuring out the staffing, the schedules, and making sure the various departments and teams know what to expect." He gestured toward a hallway beyond the rows of narrow tables. "Next up, the bathrooms." He smiled. "You don't want to miss that."

Jessica actually found the bathrooms quite interesting as Kelly explained that once the study was underway, the bathrooms would be locked, with a staff member outside who would accompany the subjects into the bathroom and document events. Vomiting was always of interest and carefully recorded, and for many of the studies, the subjects were given receptacles for poop or pee, which were then labeled and sent to the processing lab.

A janitor emerged from a storage closet, spray bottle in hand. "Hey, Bennie. Meet Jessica, new in H-R."

"Hi," said Bennie, quietly.

"Nice to meet you," she replied.

Kelly put an arm across Bennie's shoulders. "Here's the real hero of Naughton Pharmaceuticals, Bennie Sandhoffer. It's not always easy being a custodian in this place."

A hint of a smile crossed Bennie's face. He was quite a bit shorter than Kelly, but wider at the waist and hips, and his dark hair hung limply on his forehead. He wore khaki slacks and a blue work shirt, sleeves rolled up.

"Bennie handles all five study units."

"And the administration wing," added Bennie. "But I'm not the only guy."

"Bennie, I'm giving Jessica the grand tour. Anything she ought to know?"

Bennie shrugged. "No food allowed in the barracks?"

"Good rule. And the barracks are the next stop." Kelly looked sternly at Jessica. "You don't have any food, do you?"

She held up her hands, smiling. "Nope, I'm clean."

"Thanks, Bennie," said Kelly as they took their leave.

"There are twenty-five beds in each..."

Kelly was interrupted by a woman emerging from the gal's barracks. "Hey! There's a guy crashed out in here!"

Kelly gave Jessica a "here we go again" smile, an acknowledgment of yet another interruption. The women's barracks had no door – just a wall that shielded the barracks from prying eyes. As they went inside, Jessica realized barracks was indeed the right word. Two rows of bunk beds lined the walls. The only other furniture was a desk by the entrance. There was nothing to offer individual privacy.

A couple of the early check-ins and a housekeeper were gathered near a back bunk. The housekeeper pointed to the bottom bed where Kelly found an older guy asleep beneath a blanket, facing the back wall.

"Wrong barracks, dude," said Kelly. He reached down and gave the guy a brisk shake, but stepped back, startled by the unnaturally stiff form. Regaining his composure, he eased the man over to reveal a bluish-gray face with duct-taped mouth. Lying there dead was Ronald Kupmeier, COO of Naughton Pharmaceuticals.

CHAPTER 2 – THURSDAY 10:33 AM

Kelly dialed 911 on his cell as he ushered everyone out of the barracks.

"We just had a meeting about this," said Jessica.

"About killing the COO?"

"Oh, gag. You're awful. No. We met about crisis management."

As Kelly spoke to the 911 dispatcher, Jessica picked up the phone on the hallway desk by the bathroom and reported the death to her HR supervisor.

Between questions from the 911 dispatcher, Kelly put his hand over the phone and got the attention of Angie, the team leader, telling her to call Barb at the front desk and have her hold off on sending in more test subjects. By the time he finally hung up with 911, the rest of the unit's staff and a number of the test subjects had gathered near.

"Everyone," he announced, "please stay out of the barracks. It has nothing to do with this study, but one of our employees has passed away. I suspect we'll move the study to another unit, but please remain out here for the time being."

"The police will undoubtedly want to talk to each of you," added Jessica.

At the mention of the police, one test subject ran out. Two others made prompt, but more dignified exits.

Kelly looked at Jessica in dismay.

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Sorry."

"C-M Team to the boardroom," came an overhead page. "All members of the C-M Team report to the boardroom."

"Gotta go," said Jessica. As she backed away, she pointed into the barracks. "He was the crisis management team leader." She grimaced, then headed off to the meeting.

Kelly picked up the desk phone and dialed Potts' extension, but Potts came rushing into the unit just as the phone began ringing. With him was Bryce Dilman, the chief financial officer.

Kelly hung up. "I was just calling."

"About time," steamed Potts. "Why are we hearing about this from the H-R director?"

Dilman gestured for Potts to keep his voice down.

"I was on the phone with 911," explained Kelly.

"Great. The place will be crawling with cops." Potts' volume was unabated, and three more subjects, having overheard, headed for the door.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie," said Dilman. "Keep it down."

"Shit," said Potts, more quietly, realizing he scared off the subjects.

"So, what happened?" asked Dilman, a no-nonsense former marine, who unlike Potts, still looked in fighting shape.

Kelly gestured for them to follow into the barracks. "His mouth is duct-taped." Kelly stopped several feet from the body. "Better keep back; don't touch anything."

Both men seemed quite happy to go no closer.

"How?" asked Dilman.

"I don't know. But he's dead. And he's been dead for a while."

Having seen enough, they returned to the bathroom hallway.

"Christ," said Potts. "Who'd kill Ron?"

Probably any number of people, thought Kelly.

"Kelly," said Dilman. "You did the right thing of course ... calling 911 ... but calling us first would have given us some time for damage control. If they make this whole wing a crime scene, we're going to have real problems."

"They probably won't," said Kelly. "But they'll want to canvas everybody, asking if they saw anything and establish everybody's identity."

Dilman gave Kelly a questioning look.

"He's a criminal justice major," explained Potts.

Kelly felt no need to mention that it was more a matter of watching reality cop shows.

"Crime scene or not," said Dilman, "cops asking questions will scare people off. I better get over to Unit 1 to prevent a stampede."

Unit 1 was home to a large study that was 45 days into a 52-day trial. Since it represented a significant investment, Kelly could understand Dilman's concern. "Let me talk to them," said Kelly. "Upper management coming in is more likely to freak them out. They know me. I think I have a good chance at reassuring them."

Dilman didn't have time to think it over – they could now hear an approaching siren. "Okay, it's all yours. I'll run flack with the police while you convince the subjects in 146 that there's no danger. Make sure they know it wasn't our testing that killed him, and that it's not some random killer on the loose."

I hope that's true, thought Kelly.

In Unit 1, Kelly kept things low-key. Instead of calling a big meeting, he explained the situation to small groups, starting with the staff. He then wandered through the unit talking to handfuls of people at a time. He avoided the word "murder," saying only that an employee had died and the cause of death was unknown, which was technically true. He also told them to expect being canvassed by the police, adding that there was no reason the police would check for outstanding warrants, unless a person were to draw attention to themselves by leaving. He had just finished up when a patrol officer came looking for him.

They went to the hallway, where Kelly explained the circumstances of the body's discovery, and no, he hadn't seen or heard anything unusual, and had no idea why Kupmeier might have been in the building the night before. The officer instructed him to remain available, that detectives would want to talk to him.

Kelly put much of his regular work on hold as he dealt with the fallout from the murder. He started with visits to the other units, repeating the reassurances. During those rounds, he was intercepted by Barb, the receptionist, in the hallway.

"Why would Mr. Kupmeier be in the barracks?"

Kelly shrugged. "I have no idea. He's rarely back here."

"Heart attack?"

Kelly slowly shook his head, a bit surprised Barb didn't know. "I'm afraid not. It looks like murder."

Barb gasped and put a hand over her mouth. She stared at Kelly, ascertaining his truthfulness, a caution born of their joking history. "How? Who?"

"Don't know."

"Good God." Barb stared off toward Unit 5 as she regained her composure. She took a deep breath. "Shutting down that study has some of the subjects unhappy."

"I suppose. They're all packed up for the weekend, go through screening, and then get sent home."

"They're wondering if we can move them into another study."

"We can probably place a few. Let's put them on the waiting list and make sure the other studies are at the maximum."

Barb nodded, gave Kelly's forearm a squeeze, and then turned away, her eyes misting.

"How's 146?" said Dilman, approaching Kelly from behind.

"No defections, so far."

146 was the study in unit 1. Dilman exhaled in a stress-relieving sigh. "Good. Keep an eye on it." He headed off to the administration wing.

It was almost noon when a page summoned Kelly back to Unit 5, the scene of the murder. He was greeted by a Sergeant Haugen, who guided him to a chair in the lounge area. Two other officers, also in plain clothes, were also conducting interviews, one at a table in the testing area, the other at the desk by the bathrooms.

Haugen looked more like an accountant or a school teacher than an investigator, but he projected confidence and had an impressive professional demeanor.

"I understand you were here last night?"

"I came in for a couple hours to cover for one of the study monitors."

Haugen took notes, but also watched Kelly closely, a scrutiny Kelly, as a prospective cop, found interesting.

"What time did you arrive?"

"A little after eleven. Left sometime after 1am."

"Didn't see the victim?"

"No."

"Did you happen to come in here, to this unit?"

"No."

"See anyone else go in?"

"No."

"Anybody have any reason to be in there last night?"

"Not that I know of. We haven't used Unit 5 for several days."

"Who would have had access to the unit last night?"

"Anybody on any study team. The phlebotomists. Upper management. Custodial, housekeeping, maintenance. Could be that the pharmacy staff has clearance, but I don't recall any of them having occasion to access the study units. I'm not sure about them. But only study team members and phlebotomists would typically be around at night, except maybe one custodian."

"And access is by swiping ID cards."

"Right."

"Are those swipes registered on a computer?"

"I suppose it's possible, but kinda doubt it. I think I would have heard about that. They didn't spring for security cameras, so I doubt they went high-end on the key-card system."

Haugen nodded, but Kelly got the feeling the sergeant already knew about the security system – had asked anyway.

"How about keys?"

"I suppose somebody would have keys as a backup to the card readers. Likely the maintenance guy. He's new. Don't recall the name. He's probably got keys."

"Any business problems you've heard about? Changes in the works? Rumors?"

"No, I wouldn't likely hear about that, unless it directly affected the study wing. Nothing I'm aware of."

"Anybody angry with management, or the victim in particular?"

"No, just the usual little things... vacation schedule, overtime, part-timers unhappy about low hours in the summer, last minute schedule changes, that kind of junk. Nothing big. Certainly nothing Kupmeier would be involved with."

Haugen thanked Kelly, gave him his card. "Call if anything comes to mind."

After the interview, Kelly retreated to his desk in the study wing office, hoping to get some work done, but first he checked his cell, finding a number of new messages and texts, sparked by breaking news about the murder. The only call he returned was from his mom.

Tanya Kelly had reverted to her maiden name after the divorce, a switch that prompted some neighbor kids to refer to young Adam Kelly by his new last name. Over time it became a fixture, something Kelly came to regard as appropriate. He was happy to abandon Adam, the name he shared with the abusive man who left them. His mom dated from time-to-time, but she was cautious, and only a time or two had edged toward a commitment. She was certainly attractive enough, still in her 50s, just a tad overweight, and with an easy way about her. As office manager for a small auto body shop, she met plenty of guys, but her usual response to overtures was "No thanks, not today." To Kelly, it was pretty clear his mom was comfortable alone, though it seemed she dated more often once Kelly had opted for dorm life his first year at college.

They talked for about ten minutes as he recapped the day's events. After that, he found it tough to think about anything but the murder and the problems arising from it. He managed to clear some e-mails from the in-box, but accomplished little else. Around mid-afternoon, he learned of two defections from 146 that coincided with the police canvas. That left only three subjects above the minimum.

Bennie came in, pushing his dustbin to empty the wastebaskets, a distraction Kelly welcomed. "Hey, Bennie. Heck of a day."

Bennie slowly nodded, with just a glance at Kelly.

"You hear any buzz about it?" asked Kelly.

Bennie shrugged. "Not really. Nobody seems to have any idea why someone would kill Mr. Kupmeier." He emptied a basket then turned to Kelly. He seemed about to say something, but hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Maybe somebody killed Mr. Kupmeier to keep him quiet."

"Like Kupmeier saw a murder or something?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he knew about something illegal going on."

"You know something I don't?"

"No. Just thinking." Bennie shrugged. "How about ol' Doc Naughton? He'd be pissed at Kupmeier."

Kelly nodded. "I hadn't thought of him. Booted from his own company. Sure. But he seems a little old to be sneaking around knocking people off."

An overhead page interrupted their conversation. It announced an immediate all-staff meeting in the auditorium. Normally, Kelly would dread an all-staff meeting, but not today. He and Bennie joined a growing throng in the auditorium at the far end of the administration wing.

Three large screens showed pictures from San Francisco, Atlanta and Houston, where staff in those offices were gathering. Kelly spotted Jessica, standing along the side wall near the front of the room next to her boss, Diane Lundeman, the human resources director.

The lights soon came down a notch, leaving only the podium fully lit. CEO Raymond Lorch shared kind words about Ronald Kupmeier and expressed his sorrow. Diane Lundeman followed, explaining that her door was open, and counseling services were being arranged. Next came Barry Heckathorn, vice president of communications and public relations, who reminded everyone that all questions from the media should be referred to his office. He also had some general comments about ways to talk to outsiders about the death. He reported on an earlier meeting with the sales managers where they discussed how the sales staff should talk to clients about the murder, and he promised similar meetings for the staff members in clinical research, and for the employees in the call center, who had the task of recruiting former test subjects for new studies.

"You can expect plenty of questions," he continued. "This situation will get considerable news coverage." He consulted his watch. "In fact, I'm meeting the media shortly."

After the meeting, Kelly encountered Jessica at the auditorium exit.

"How'd it go back there in the study wing?" she asked.

They stepped to the side, letting others pass as Kelly recapped his hectic day, including the interview with Sergeant Haugen.

"It was pretty crazy up in the administration wing, too," she said. "Mr. Kupmeier's office is being treated as a crime scene. And Barry had to take over for Kupmeier as leader of the crisis management team."

"Hell of a way to start your new job."

Jessica nodded. "Less than two weeks in. I could use a drink."

"And I could use something to eat," said Kelly, happy to seize the opportunity to spend time with Jessica. "Roger's Pub? I'll drive." To his delight, Jessica agreed, and a short time later they met outside.

"There's Barry," said Kelly. Heckathorn was being interviewed beside a TV van with an extended microwave mast. Three other news vehicles were parked nearby, and two roving camera crews recorded the scene as the day-shift employees departed.

"Any news from the police?" Kelly asked as they walked toward his truck.

"Not really," said Jessica. "Barry offered to let them address the meeting, but I guess they weren't interested." She suddenly brightened. "Oh... there is one thing. Just before the meeting they asked about a Michael Bartz."

"Mickey," said Kelly, remembering. "Worked in the call center. Got fired a while back after getting arrested for his relationship with his 17-year-old girlfriend. Class A misdemeanor."

"Was he angry about getting fired?"

"Sure was. Felt it was double punishment... losing his job on top of jail time. In a way, I can sympathize. They were legal in Minnesota where he lived, but she lived on this side of the river. The age of consent is higher in North Dakota. If he'd been more likeable, I might have felt bad for him."

"Well, he's apparently a person of interest."

"That's two people I should have thought of. I didn't mention either one to the police. Last I heard, Mickey moved out to the oil patch. Found a job that pays way more than the call center."

"Who's the other person?"

"Doctor Naughton. Bennie thought of him. Had some other theories, too."

"Why Naughton?"

"Kupmeier had a hand in the purge when the great doctor was pushed out. But Naughton's got to be at least in his mid-seventies, and he went away quietly enough. I can't imagine he'd actually be involved, but you could certainly argue that he had a motive."

Kelly pointed out his aging truck and they climbed in. Kelly had a theory about women and old pickup trucks – that he could tell a lot about a gal by how she reacted to riding in one. He believed some gals, like those who went for BMW-types, would recoil at the thought. At least that's the way he liked to imagine it. It gave him a smile that Jessica seemed right at home as she buckled up.

Despite the hectic day, the idea of asking Jessica out had been on Kelly's mind. Ultimately, he had decided against it, at least on the short-term, figuring a request for a date might not be welcome. It was a thought based in part on something simple – her black-rimmed, business-like glasses. Not that he didn't like them; the glasses looked cool and added a certain charm, but he suspected the fashion choice also held a message: Jessica Gulsvig expected to be taken seriously, and her good looks were not to be a distraction. And while there was no rule about employees dating, he also imagined a person trained in H-R might be reluctant to agree to a date, but as fortune would have it, the opportunity to be with her had presented itself, and he found it pretty exciting.

Jessica removed a leather barrette and shook out her hair. "So, Dr. Naughton... he's still in town?"

"Has his own one-man lab. I hear he's still tinkering."

Kelly steered a path through the news vehicles as they left the parking lot. "So, how'd it go on the crisis team?" Jessica took a deep breath and exhaled through her teeth. "Kinda stressed. It seemed hard on the people who knew Kupmeier well. I got the feeling they didn't like him all that much, but it's still pretty shocking when someone you work with shows up dead. First order of business was a news release saying all the right things... 'sorrowful regrets over the loss of a dear employee,' but making it clear the death had nothing to do with the studies; 'studies are known for their safety'... yada yada. Barry had the job of whipping that up after we brainstormed what to include. Then he sent around a draft, we all commented, and I suppose we had the final version out by 11:30 or so. I didn't like that he called the murder an 'unattended death,' which makes it sound like an accident or suicide."

"And then I suppose the phones started ringing."

"That happened way before the release was ready. Hard to keep it quiet with all the study subjects armed with cell phones. After the press release, there was internal communications... making sure the staff knew how to handle things. You heard some of that in the meeting. Tonight we're monitoring the media in case there's anything we need to respond to. Barry's assistant Emily is taking the prime-time shift; then Barry will help her monitor all the late newscasts, and I get the early morning shift... checking the newspaper websites. Fortunately, there are no early TV newscasts on Saturday."

They pulled up to Roger's Pub, a shack of a place on two floors – bar/restaurant on top with a game room on the garden level. Inside, it was decked out in a lot of dark wood. Mugs hung along the rafters and peanut shells routinely accumulated on the floor. The Friday after-work crowd was decent sized, but not crazy like some of the more trendy establishments. They took a booth, which, typical of the place, featured a tabletop decorated with carvings of names, initials, a few hearts, and class of this or that year.

"So, if Kelly's your last name, what's your first name?"

"Even my mom doesn't use my first name."

Jessica gave him the eye, a playful expression that protested the non-answer.

"Adam. Adam Langford Kelly."

"Adam's a nice name. Why don't you use it?"

"It was my Dad's name. He left us when I was six."

Jessica nodded sympathetically as the waitress arrived. They decided to split an order of nachos, with water for Kelly, a beer for Jessica.

"Not drinking today?"

"I don't drink," said Kelly. "I used to. Not a lot, but enough to know I'm at my worst if I drink, and one good screw-up could wash out my chance at working in law enforcement."

"Maybe I shouldn't have ordered a beer?"

"No, that's fine. It's not like liquor's a problem; I just decided to stay away from it. And dad was a drunk. That plays into it."

Their drinks came, along with the complementary peanuts.

"So, what other theories did Bennie have?"

"Well, one was that Kupmeier could have been killed to keep him quiet."

"About?"

"Who knows? Probably nothing. It's just Bennie's imagination that there could be some kind of cover-up or something."

"I have heard stories about pharmaceutical companies – like hiding information about harmful drugs. Maybe Kupmeier learned about something shady and was about to blow the whistle."

"Except Kupmeier would be on the other end of that deal; he'd be one getting ratted out. I never got the feeling that ethics were high on his list.

Jessica shook her head. "I worried about that when I took the job, but H-R is what I went to school for. I was waiting tables before this. I was really hoping it would be a nice company."

"It's not a bad place to work. They treat employees okay."

"But the ethics aren't great?"

"Oh, I don't know how bad it is. You hear about some big pharma companies being involved with kickbacks, illegal drug promotions, bribery... and some of them rank high when it comes to criminal behavior by corporations. But I don't think it's that bad at Naughton."

"That business with the statistics in the Competitive Intelligence Committee seemed pretty dishonest to me."

"Well, it's technically accurate. They're not actually lying."

"Seemed pretty phony."

"That's the funny thing with stats like that. They can be true, but still create a false impression. A 70% improvement of almost nothing is still almost nothing."

"So people start taking drugs expecting some big advantage, when there isn't one."

"I suppose so. In some cases, anyway."

"Ugh. I wonder if they need any waitresses here."

Kelly laughed. "Oh, you might like working at Naughton just fine. After all, they'll find somebody to do the job; might as well be you."

"But I won't be happy working for a company I can't respect."

"Once you get some experience, you'll have a nice resume item, some references, and if you decide you don't like Naughton, you can move on, stay in the H-R field."

"Pinch my nose in the meantime."

"I guess. Look at it this way; you're not likely to hear about any of the dicey stuff working in H-R."

"That doesn't help! Just how much 'dicey stuff' is there?" Her expression of dismay almost had Kelly laughing again.

"You really want to know?"

"I suppose." Her lack of enthusiasm was apparent. She signaled the waitress for another beer.

"Here's one thing... some of the marketing isn't that different from selling pizza. For pizza, they come up with a new topping, a new crust, a new side dish – something to advertise. A customer might not give a rip about the new thing, but they're still more likely to order a pizza. With drugs, it's giving the sales rep something new to talk about. The actual comparative benefit, or whatever the hook is, might be insignificant, maybe even misleading, like you saw, and it likely won't play into a doctor's decision, but it allows the reps to create a positive vibe for the product and gives them a chance to schmooze, make a favorable impression, and maybe even do the doctor a favor."

"Like gifts and trips?"

"That used to be common. There are rules against some of that now, but there are ways around it. The doctors who move the most drugs are paid to consult, appear on a panel, present at a conference – that sort of thing."

"What else?"

"One thing that surprised me is how much of the research is done on new drugs – almost none."

Jessica expression contorted humorously as she found the thought absurd.

Kelly chuckled. "The companies claim they need high profits to fund research on new life-saving drugs, but a lot of the time they're doing comparisons with a competitor, or they're looking for other conditions a drug can be used for. Finding new customers is more profitable than investing in a new product."

"But I see new drugs being advertized all the time. Seems they come up with something almost weekly."

"Sometimes it's an old drug with a new name. A popular drug marketed for depression, for example, they bring it back with a new color, a new name and market it for pre-menstrual symptoms, and the patients have no idea they're taking an anti-depression drug."

"Gag. That's messed up."

"Bringing a truly new drug to market is really expensive, and it can take 10 years. And 90% of new drugs fail in trials. Naughton got its start by working up a new drug, but I don't think they're doing that any more. That's typical. It's universities and probably some start-up companies that plow the new ground. A lot of it's on the taxpayers' nickel. The big boys mostly buy up the patents, maybe hire the key researcher."

"Seriously. Give me a job application. Where's the manager?"

Kelly raised his glass. "Here's to commercialized medicine."

The nachos arrived, along with Jessica's second beer, just as the 5:30 newscast started on the TV above the bar. In a smallish media market like Fargo, the murder was big news, topping the broadcast. They couldn't follow the audio above the din of conversation, but the video showed the reporter live in front of the building followed by footage of police cars, an ambulance pulling away, and employees leaving. A police spokesperson made an appearance, soon followed by Heckathorn, no doubt sharing the company line from the press release.

"It is pretty scary," said Jessica, for the first time seeming rattled by events.

"Yeah, I hope they figure it out soon. It's hard to imagine who'd kill him, or why."

CHAPTER 3 – FRIDAY 6:00 PM

Kelly had ignored his phone at the restaurant, but he finally checked messages after parking in the gravel lot behind the old house that held his attic apartment. His two buddies from college, Kermit and Steve had left a typically insensitive voicemail. "Dude, we hear you're knocking off people," said Kermit. "Yeah, way to go," said Steve in the background.

He also had another message from his mom, wondering how things were going. She still lived in the house where Kelly grew up. Last year he had stayed there to help out while she recuperated from back surgery.

Still sitting in his pickup, he called her back, updating their earlier conversation, relating the events of the afternoon – test subjects dropping out, the police presence, and the afternoon staff meeting. They talked a good twenty minutes.

When Kelly climbed from his truck, the sun was low in the sky, a pleasant summer evening. Ted Haarsager, the retired editorial page editor of the Fargo Daily, approached from the house. Ted lived on the second floor. Though nearly fifty years apart in age, he and Kelly had become friends, occasionally playing chess or relaxing on the fire escape outside Ted's apartment – the landing just large enough for a couple chairs. Both of them liked the music of the 40s and even jammed some, with Kelly on sax and Ted on piano or accordion.

"Kelly, I heard. A murder at your work." Ted, still a news hound, wanted to hear all the details. Kelly again recounted his day as they chatted across the corner of the pickup bed.

"Did you know him well?"

"Hardly at all. I doubt he'd know my name. He was one of the big shots. Second in command."

They chatted for a couple more minutes. Ted would have talked longer, but he had a date to play bridge. With a promise to get together soon, he excused himself and began the five block walk to the senior center on Main Avenue.

Kelly picked up his mail and climbed the two flights to his third floor attic apartment. Not everyone would appreciate the place, mostly because of the climb and the tiny bathroom, but Kelly liked it. It was close to downtown and he could see Island Park from the window in the narrow kitchen. The sloped ceilings created rooms of odd and interesting shapes, and you could hear the rain upon the roof and the wind in the leaves of the towering elm that sheltered the fire escape landing off his living room. The landing was a favorite spot, a place Kelly like to read, leaning back in the old metal patio chair, his feet upon the railing.

The basement of the old house had some storage spaces and one apartment that never seemed to keep a tenant long. The main floor was occupied by Kelly's landlord, Jerry Bidell, a friendly, but tightly-wound divorcee in his fifties. Jerry always seemed to have some pressing concern, real or imagined, involving his ex, his kids, a contractor, the city, or his bank. He owned a couple of other properties – another divided-up house that had recently suffered a fire, and a duplex close to Minnesota State University in Moorhead with a constantly changing cast of students. As nearly as Kelly could figure, the rents were Jerry's primary source of income.

Usually, Kelly worked out before eating. Tonight, he let the nachos settle before starting his thirty push-ups, sixty sit-ups, and thirty-minute run. Push-ups, sit-ups and running were part of the test he'd face in two weeks when the Fargo Police Department held a preliminary round of examinations for would-be applicants. There was also a written test and an interview to evaluate communication skills. Kelly couldn't do much to prepare for those, but he could make sure he didn't blow it by being out of shape.

The exercise had the added benefit of giving him a chance to think, and there was plenty on his mind. Previously, anticipation of the exams and the extensive application process had dominated his thoughts, but Kupmeier's death had pushed those concerns into the background. And there was also Jessica. Their nacho date was like no first date he'd ever had – unusually comfortable for two people who'd only just met. She was cute, friendly, smart, and unpretentious. He very much looked forward to seeing her again.

It was still light out as Kelly left for his run, but gathering clouds and a fresh, cool breeze suggested rain on the way. One of Kelly's regular routes involved the bike path where the old Milwaukee Road rail line used to be. He chose that route tonight for the simple reason that Dr. Naughton had come up in the conversation. His warehouse lab was adjacent to the path. Kelly seemed to recall that the building had once been the Milwaukee Road's depot or freight house.

Everyone in town knew of the semi-famous doctor. Naughton had been prominent as a successful, though eccentric, local businessman who had spurned buy-out offers and instead took the company public, earning himself millions, at least on paper. But the company ran into trouble when one of its drugs, the now infamous Amflexidyne, was pulled from the market after a number of deaths. That episode, along with concerns about some apparently hush-hush work Dr. Naughton did on the side, eventually led to his ouster by shareholders. Despite persistent talk about changing the company's name, that hadn't yet happened.

Kelly took a break in his run as he came upon Naughton's building. With the sky darkening, he could see light in a second floor window. He wondered what Doc Naughton did these days, whether he would invent a new drug and rise again.

The garage door opened, triggered by an approaching SUV. It crossed the parking lot and eased into the garage. Curious, Kelly left the path to get closer, making his way through the tall, late summer growth of grass, weeds and wild sunflowers that bordered the property. With the moon hidden by clouds, it was just dark enough that he wouldn't easily be seen by someone looking out from the lighted garage.

The driver climbed from the car. He was tall and wide shouldered. The upstairs light went off. A moment later, Doc Naughton himself appeared in the garage. He looked to be in good shape, moving well, younger than his years. The driver held the door as Naughton climbed into the passenger seat.

Kelly retook the bike path to avoid being lit up by the SUV's backup lights. He was jogging again by the time the car pulled away.

Seeing Naughton's driver rekindled the idea that Naughton could be involved with Kupmeier's death. A bruiser like that could easily handle the task, but Kelly found the idea more amusing than realistic.

By the time Kelly arrived back at his apartment a light rain had begun to fall. He turned off the air conditioner and opened a few windows to the refreshing, moist breeze.

His cell rang... work ringtone. It was Rhonda Johnson, the study team leader on the four- to-midnight shift in Unit 2.

"Kelly, two of the subjects got into it. Randy dislocated a finger breaking it up. We called the cops and they hauled one of the guys away. I'm starting to worry that we're reaching a tolerance limit. The subjects are getting pretty edgy. I tried calling Potts, but it went right to voicemail. I was about to end the study, but thought I'd check with you, get a second opinion."

"What are the subjects reporting?"

"I haven't had a chance to total up the latest responses, but the previous report did show some irritability kicking in, and our anecdotal observations back that up."

"When's the next dose scheduled?"

"We wake 'em up at two."

"That gives us some time. But no matter what, I don't suppose you'd release anybody tonight."

"No. Might not be safe for them to drive."

"Did Randy stick around?"

"Yes and no. He's here, but Judy's working on his hand. It wasn't pretty; broke the skin. He might want to leave after she puts his finger in a splint. Dave came over from Unit 3 to help, but he can't stay, and he's not up to speed on this protocol, but he's better than nobody. We're keeping up on the vitals and the blood draws, but the study design doesn't include irritability in the reporting classifications. I guess Scientific Affairs didn't want to know that – big surprise. I went ahead and added it, but we'll have to go back through and code all the responses before we can generate a revised report."

"I'll come in and do that. We should be able to get a better handle on it before the dosing at two."

"In the meantime, I'll call the team members on the next shift; see if somebody can come in early."

Kelly took a quick shower then drove to work. He was a bit surprised at how normal the place looked – the police cars were all gone, though there was a lone security company car near the clinical study entrance. Kelly also noticed a light in the administration wing where Barry Heckathorn's office would be, a theory confirmed when he spotted Heckathorn's Escalade in its reserved parking spot. Nothing like a murder to keep the VP of communications working late.

Kelly's plan was to get the data updated in a way that allowed him to generate a proper report documenting the problem. It would provide a basis for a decision on whether to continue the study or to kill it. Since the report would be based on the subjects' comments, the decision wouldn't be completely objective, but at least he wouldn't be killing the study based on anecdotal information only to find out later that there wasn't a significant problem. Normally, it was Potts' call, but in his absence, it fell to the team leaders, occasionally with Kelly's help.

A security guard posted just inside the clinical study entrance checked Kelly's ID and logged his arrival. That was new. Kelly also noticed that Unit 5, the crime scene, was still sealed.

Kelly visited briefly with Rhonda in Unit 2 before heading to the office. He could access the database from his desk, giving him some peace and quiet. Had Scientific Affairs included the irritability side effect in the software, the report would have been a simple matter. As it was, he had to assign each pertinent response to the new category and give it a value. Fortunately, it wasn't a huge study. When he finished, Kelly returned to Unit 2 and shared the results with Rhonda.

"That's what I thought," said Rhonda. "At least one of the drugs is starting to drive them batty."

"End it?" asked Kelly.

"Yep."

They decided to continue to collect data – vitals, blood draws and comments – until 2am, but foregoing the scheduled dosage. They would then suspend the vitals and the blood draws, letting the phlebotomists call it a night, but continue to gather comments on any side effects. After breakfast, all the subjects would likely be excused, unless there were indications that extended monitoring was needed.

It was after midnight when Kelly returned to his office to write up a report and e-mail a copy to Potts. When finished, he killed the lights, pausing for a while in the darkness to look out upon the rain swirling beneath the parking lot lights. He was about to leave, but noticed Heckathorn's car, still parked by the main entrance. He decided to wander over to the administration wing, lend Heckathorn some moral support and find out the latest. If anybody had inside dope on the murder, it would be Heckathorn, the main contact with the police department.

Kelly didn't bother turning on the hallway lights; the glow of the exit signs and the transient light from outside was enough to light his way, and he rather preferred the softer light. He also expected light from Heckathorn's office, but as he neared that part of the hallway, no office light was apparent. He figured Heckathorn must have left, on his way to the car, or maybe he turned off his lights to relax or take a nap. Perhaps he had a couch.

Heckathorn's office wasn't right on the hallway. Instead it was off the administration support commons, a large room where low cubicles framed the desks of various administrative support staff. Kelly made his way past the desks, deciding he'd leave Heckathorn alone if he was crashed out. Peering through the blinds, he concluded that to be the case, with the shadowed figure of Heckathorn reclined in his office chair. Kelly was about to leave when the room was suddenly lit by the headlights of an arriving patrol car. The patrolman got out and headed toward the main entrance with some urgency.

"Barry," called Kelly. He went to the door, knocked, then swung it open and turned on the lights.

Heckathorn was not asleep. He was duct-taped to his chair, his head bent back, eyes staring lifelessly.

CHAPTER 4 – SATURDAY 12:48 AM

Kelly was held in lobby of the administration wing while officers secured the crime scene. Kelly had finally reached Potts, who'd been attending a play, and would soon arrive. Now Kelly wanted to call Jessica, but didn't have her number. The officer on station in the lobby was keeping a close eye on Kelly, but allowed him to consult the receptionist's staff directory.

"Jessica, sorry to wake you. It's Kelly."

"What time is it?"

"Almost two. I'm at work. There's been another murder. It's Barry."

"Barry's the murderer?"

"No, no... Barry's dead."

"Oh, shit. Kelly, if this is some kind of sick joke ..."

"No. No joke."

Kelly told her of arriving at Heckathorn's office just as the police pulled up. "Sergeant Haugen had apparently been trying to reach Barry, return a call, and when he didn't get through, sent a patrol car. I heard Haugen say he became concerned because Barry had promised to be here."

As they talked, there was a steady flow of personnel – investigators, crime scene technicians, the medical examiner.

"Kelly, this is so awful."

"I called Potts. He's alerting Dilman and Lorch."

"I suppose I should call the rest of the crisis management team." Her voice cracked with emotion. "There are only three of us left. Poor Emily..."

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have called."

"No, it's okay," said Jessica, resisting sobs.

After saying goodbye and hanging up, Kelly felt like kicking himself. He hadn't considered how traumatic the news would be. A second murder amplified everything. Kupmeier's death was no longer an isolated incident. It was now part of something larger, more frightening.

Sgt. Haugen returned to the lobby, approaching Kelly in the company of another officer. "Kelly, this is detective Russ Amundson."

Amundson reminded Kelly of the Minnesota Viking's logo – Nordic, angular face with a droopy blond mustache. Haugen sat by Kelly on the other side of a corner end table. He had a notepad, but also placed a small digital audio recorder on the table. Amundson remained standing.

"You were called in tonight?"

Kelly confirmed that Rhonda called him and that he came in to work up some statistics.

"You were with her the whole time?"

"No. We spoke when I arrived, but I did the work at my desk."

"Anyone in there with you?"

"No."

"Talk to anyone?"

"Just Rhonda, when I was done."

"And what time was that?"

"11:30, 11:40. Something like that."

"And that's when you went to the administration wing?" asked Haugen.

"I stopped back at my desk first, wrote up an action report. Sent it to my supervisor."

"Why'd you come to this part of the building?"

"Barry's light was on when I arrived around 9:40. Later, I saw his car was still here. I thought he might have some news about the investigation."

"So what happened?"

"I came up here, found all the lights off, so I thought maybe I missed him, but I looked through the blinds, saw him in the chair and thought he was sleeping. About that time, the squad car pulled in, and I figured I better wake him, so I went in."

"He was maybe twelve feet from the window," said detective Amundson, sounding skeptical. "You peeked in but couldn't see the duct tape?"

"There was hardly any light. Especially in his office. Just a little from the parking lot."

"Did you touch anything?" asked Haugen.

"No. Well, the light switch. The door."

"Didn't check his pulse?"

"No, I stayed clear. I went to make sure the officer got in."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No."

"Anything unusual?"

"Just that he was here late, but under the circumstances, I wasn't surprised."

"You knew him pretty well?" asked Haugen.

"Not really."

"Quite a coincidence that you were present when both bodies were found," said Amundson.

"I suppose. Though I do work here, so it's not that unlikely."

"What I'd like to do," said Haugen, "is have you go back to your office with Detective Amundson and one of our technicians, and let them look at your computer. They can verify the activity, like saving the file you created and sending the message you mentioned. Would that be okay?"

Kelly shrugged. "Sure, but before we go, there is someone else we thought of who might have a grudge. Randall Naughton, the company founder."

"We're aware of him." Haugen didn't seem impressed.

"Yeah, I suppose he's unlikely. Just a long shot that came up in conversation. I did see him with a muscle-bound guy tonight, though."

"Here?"

"Oh, no. Sorry. At his lab. I happened to run by there."

"You just happened to run past his lab?" asked Amundson.

"It's a route I take from time-to-time. I run most nights."

"What time was that?" said Haugen.

"Would have been a little after sunset. Maybe 8:20 or so."

"What were they doing?"

"The guy drove in, picked up Naughton, and they left."

Haugen jotted the info on his notepad. "Anything about their behavior strike you as unusual?"

"Not that I noticed."

"Okay. Call if you think of anything else."

After verification of the computer information, Kelly was allowed to leave.

Kelly slept for a few hours, but returned to work early on Saturday. Though he wasn't scheduled, he anticipated a number of problems. He was also curious about developments in the investigation. A police officer parked at the lot driveway checked Kelly's credentials before allowing him to pull in. A second patrol car, plus three unmarked SUVs and a crime scene investigation truck were situated near the building's main entrance. Kelly also spotted two vehicles from the company's private security firm. Those guards now had a table by the door. Kelly had to show ID and sign in.

The front offices wouldn't be staffed, but weekends were prime time in clinical research. Barb was again at the reception desk, it being her turn on the weekend rotation. "We lost five more from 146," she reported. "Word about Barry spread fast. And Dilman called, wondering if you'd be in today. I got the feeling he wants to talk to you."

"Mind calling him back, letting him know I'm here?"

"Sure." Barb picked up the phone.

Kelly went to Unit 1, which was running study 146. Another private security guard stood by the counter outside the unit. Kelly showed his employee badge and the guard didn't give him any trouble as he swiped the key pad and went inside.

Blood draws were underway at the testing tables, the phlebotomists working with practiced efficiency, every two minutes or so rolling their chairs and equipment to the next test subject. Those who already had their blood drawn were in line for breakfast or already eating.

Peggy, the team leader on duty, greeted Kelly. "We're below protocol," she reported.

"I heard."

"And we might lose a couple more after they get their free breakfast. Do you think we'll cancel the study?"

Kelly shrugged. "Hard to say."

Kelly made a general announcement, trying once again to reassure everyone that there wasn't any danger. "The police are on top of this, and there aren't many days left in the study, so we hope you'll all hang in there with us." He spent another ten minutes fielding questions, most of which he couldn't answer.

Arriving at his desk, Kelly looked up the details on the study. He double-checked to confirm that the minimum number of test subjects was fifty. There was also a completion date stipulation that didn't leave enough time for a supplemental trial. The client was Deephaven Pharmaceuticals, and the author of the protocol was a Dr. Thomas Whitcomb at the University of Minnesota, Rochester campus. Kelly suspected Whitcomb had a grant from Deephaven and had farmed out the study. Either Deephaven didn't do its own studies, or didn't have an opening in its schedule, or maybe they wanted a third-party lab – there were any number of possible reasons, but none of that mattered to Kelly. What mattered was contacting Whitcomb to see if they could get a variance on the protocol. It wasn't uncommon to seek clarifications or modifications before a study got underway, but requesting a change late in the game was unusual.

A quick Internet search turned up Whitcomb's contact information. Kelly composed an e-mail that got right to the point – stating that the study had fallen out of protocol due to a loss of subjects. He cited the number of subjects remaining, the number of days left in the trial, and he looked up the reports from the study monitors to document when the subjects left the study. His only reference to the murders came when he attributed the losses to the "unsettling and tragic circumstances of which you are undoubtedly aware."

Deephaven, along with any other clients, would have been alerted to the situation, but the alert might not have included Whitcomb specifically. Still, the second murder would be statewide news, so Kelly felt confident Whitcomb would know about it, or if he didn't, he'd find out quickly enough.

Kelly read over the e-mail and felt it came out well. He hit save, planning to get Potts' okay, maybe even Dilman's, before sending it off. As study coordinator, it wasn't unheard of for him to contact a client, but typically it would be up to Potts or someone in Scientific Affairs. Even so, Kelly figured they'd appreciate having his draft to work from, and maybe even give him the okay to send it out as-is.

His cell rang. The 9 to 5 instrumental ringtone was assigned to his Mom, a Dolly Parton fan. "Hey, Mom."

"Kelly, I heard. Another murder?"

"Yes. I would have called, but I came in early today; didn't want to wake you."

"A vice president?"

"Yes. Barry Heckathorn. I don't think you've met him." Kelly didn't want to get into the whole story of finding him... not right now anyway.

"Are you sure you're safe there?"

The question gave Kelly pause. He hadn't really thought about that, but here he was, alone in his office. "Yeah, I'm safe, Mom. There's other people here, and they've got guards at the doors. And the cops are still around."

They talked a few minutes longer, and she invited him to the house for lunch. He said he'd try. As he hung up, his desk phone rang. Dilman. He asked Kelly to join him and Potts in his office. When Kelly arrived, he found Dilman dressed weekend casual: polo shirt and slacks, but Potts was in his standard uniform, a too-tight white shirt. Today his tie was red with white stripes. Dilman invited Kelly to sit in one of two armchairs facing his desk. Potts leaned back against the credenza that ran beneath the windows.

Kelly recounted for them the scene the night before, explaining how he happened to find Barry Heckathorn dead in his office chair. Dilman shared that the police were going through the company's records, looking for problem employees or problem test subjects – anybody with a gripe. Kelly mentioned the idea of Naughton having motive. The thought seemed to startle Dilman.

"Naughton? Are you serious?"

Kelly shrugged. "It's just that he might be harboring a grudge, but I don't honestly think he's likely."

"Not at his age, no. Though he could be crazy enough." Dilman rose and gazed out a window. "Well, until the cops make an arrest, we'll keep the security company on the entrances 24-7." After a moment of silence, he turned from the window. "Our rep from George March is meeting today with the board of directors and top management. We're going to have our hands full dealing with this."

George March, LLP, was the company's accounting firm. It also offered consulting services. It had started in Fargo, but had grown, now with offices in a dozen states. It offered a wide array of business consulting services, but Kelly wondered what they could offer in crisis like this.

Dilman paced to the front of the desk and sat against the edge. "Kelly, there's an issue you can help with, but it involves information that must be kept confidential. Can we trust you to keep that confidence?"

Kelly hesitated, not wanting to make any open-ended commitment.

Dilman recognized Kelly's reluctance. "It's insider information about a business situation that cannot be made public just yet. It's the kind of information that only upper management would typically know about, and anybody trading on such information would be in violation of the law. I'm willing to tell you, but you need to understand why it's sensitive information."

"Okay," said Kelly, slowly, warily. "I understand."

"Here's the deal," said Dilman. "The company's being sold. And we're spinning off the research division as an independent facility." Dilman let that sink in. "The buyer only wants the patents and the existing product line... the brand names. It's a huge deal, Kelly. Eddie and I are going with the new lab. The working name is Red River Analytics. We're keeping this entire complex, and without all the other departments, we can expand... run more units. It's a gold mine, Kelly. There's no other independent research labs in the region, and the subject pool here is ideal – less trouble than most parts of the country. Until now, the company has only been dabbling with outside contracts, but there's big money in the independent market."

"Big money," echoed a nodding Eddie Potts, his arms crossed.

"And we see a place for you. There's going to be a lot of opportunity with this new company, and your work has not gone unnoticed. You've already moved up fast. You're a smart, savvy employee and you know how it all works back there. You'd have a bright future with Red River Analytics. I can see you being an important player in research management."

"A promotion?"

"Without a doubt. And who knows where it could lead. The business plan isn't set in stone, but the hope is to grow the company quickly. And what we're really going to shoot for is to establish satellite operations in other parts of the country, maybe even going public – an IPO. And you could be getting in on the ground floor."

"Big money," said Potts again.

"But we're getting ahead of ourselves," said Dilman. "The current situation could derail everything."

"Really fuck things up," added Potts.

"To put it more tastefully," said Dilman, with a glance of annoyance at Potts, "we're not fully capitalized yet. And the deal calls for the current independent projects to be part of the spinoff. They're supposed to be assets, not liabilities, and as you know, that includes 146."

"Which just dropped below protocol," said Kelly.

"Exactly. The loss of those test subjects puts us in a bad spot. If we end up taking a huge loss right off the bat, it could scare off our investors, or they'd want vastly different terms that could put us so in a deep hole that..." Dilman shrugged. "Well, we probably couldn't do the deal."

"We might be able to get a variance," said Kelly. "I've composed an e-mail to the author of the protocol, Dr. Thomas Whitcomb at ..."

"No. No way. We can't risk it. If he insists on a do-over, we're screwed."

"What else can we do?"

"I've got that figured out. It's nothing you have to deal with, but we do need you to keep the study going – with as many subjects as possible. And don't add anything to the discrepancy reports.

I know you sometimes elaborate on the reports from the study monitors, but you aren't really required to do so, right?"

"No, I guess not."

"Great." Dilman folded his hands in his lap. "Kelly, it's important that you realize everything that's at stake here. It's more than the opportunity afforded by this new company. It's also about saving the jobs of everybody you work with." Dilman pointed off in the direction of the clinical study wing. "Every person in the call center, every phlebotomist, every study monitor, every nurse, data entry, housekeeping, maintenance – all of 'em. If the sale doesn't include the spinoff, the place just closes. We'd have a dead, empty building here. There'd be a whole lot of people out of work."

Dilman eased away from the desk, signaling the meeting was about to end. Kelly took the cue and rose from his chair.

"Kelly, I know you've got your hands full, dealing with a lot right now, and I want you to know we appreciate it. We're not supposed to be making any salary moves with the sale pending, but in your case, we're making an exception. How does a 20% raise sound?"

Kelly fought to suppress a smile. "Pretty sweet."

"I know you've been thinking about a law enforcement career, but with this raise I bet you'd already be making more than a rookie cop. This is a good field to be in, and you're a natural at it. I hope you realize how good a career you could have. At least think about it, okay?"

"Sure," was all Kelly could manage to say.

Dilman escorted him to the door. "And Kelly, remember this is all top secret."

The news of the sale and its consequences were almost as staggering as the murders. As Kelly made his way back to his office, he struggled to digest it all – the implications of the sale and the possibility of an exciting new company, one that wouldn't be involved with drug sales, competitive intelligence committees and drug marketing. He had his heart set on becoming a cop, but maybe Dilman was right. Maybe a career with the new company wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Despite the enticing scenario, Kelly felt uneasy. It didn't take a lot of imagination to figure Dilman's solution to the problem could be less than honest. Why else keep it to himself? And as much as he appreciated Dilman's assessment of his value to the company, the praise and promises might be bullshit.

On the other hand, the issue of all the jobs and the loss to the community – Dilman was right in figuring that argument would carry weight, though Kelly doubted Dilman or Potts gave a rat's ass about people being out of work.

A raise, promises of things to come, and jobs for a hundred or more people. But if Kelly's suspicions were right, it came with the expectation that he'd ignore any irregularities, turn a blind eye.

Arriving back at the study wing, he encountered a contingent of three police officers in the company of Diane Lundeman, head of H-R.

"They're doing more extensive searches," said Diane. "Company policy, as per the employee handbook, allows us to search employee desks and lockers. So, given the circumstances, we're allowing the police to do so."

"Okay by me," said Kelly.

The officers looked through the desks in the study wing office, including Kelly's. Bennie the custodian appeared at Kelly's side as they watched the officers move on to one of the study units.

"They even searched my supply closet," said Bennie.

"This will freak out more of the subjects," said Kelly.

"If the subjects haven't left by now, I don't think a little searching will matter," said Bennie.

Kelly went to the office and collapsed into his chair. He had the feeling he wouldn't get much work done. The morning had given him a lot to think about.

He wondered about Dilman's scheme. If Dilman planned to lie about the shortfall in the number of subjects, that would be no small piece of work. Any discreps filed by the shift leaders would need to be dealt with ... either by stopping them at the source or having someone in I-T make them vanish. Or maybe someone in Scientific Affairs would falsify the report to the client, with someone making up the data for the missing subjects.

A rap on the door window. It was Sergeant Haugen with Amundson in tow. Kelly let them in.

"Is this a good place to visit?" asked Haugen.

"Sure," said Kelly. He gestured to chairs at nearby desks.

"We'd like to go over things again," said Haugen. He sat beside the neighboring desk and pulled a pad of paper from his valise. Amundson leaned back against a desk across from Haugen.

"Let's start with the first murder," said Haugen. "You were here two nights ago, the night Ronald Kupmeier was killed, right?"

"Yes." Kelly recapped the story of coming in on Thursday to help in Unit 1.

"When you got here, did you see anything unusual?"

"No."

"No strange cars around?"

"Not that I noticed."

"How about Kupmeier's Cadillac? Did you notice it in the lot?"

"He drives a Lexus. But no, I didn't see it."

Haugen paged back to older notes on his pad of paper. "That's right. A Lexus. How did you know he drove a Lexus?"

"I'm a car guy. I bet I could tell you who owns every ride in the exec lot. Some nice cars up there. It's Barry who drove a caddy, an Escalade."

"And you say you left around 1am. Didn't hang around at all, went straight home?"

"Yes."

"No stops for gas? Talk to anybody? See anybody?"

"No. Went home and crashed. I slept in some, and came in later than usual on Friday."

"And you had an appointment to show a new employee around? Jessica Gulsvig?"

"Yes."

"And I understand your tour was interrupted a time or two? Some issues popped up that you had to deal with?"

"Yes."

"If not for that, you might have been the first to find the deceased?"

Kelly thought for a second. "I suppose so. But we might not have seen him. He was in the back of the barracks. Maybe we could have seen him from the front of the room. I'm not sure."

"Instead, one of the test subjects found him. And that's when you called 911?"

"Yes."

"How did you know he was dead?"

"He was stiff. I could just tell. Looked awful."

"Didn't check for a pulse?"

"No."

"Did you recognize the pills he choked on?"

"Pills? I didn't know about that."

"Right. And we'd rather not make that public just yet, so it's best if you keep that to yourself."

"Sure."

"He was tied with... was it rope?" Haugen searched back through his notes. "Zip ties?"

"I don't know. He was under a blanket." Kelly suddenly realized Haugen was asking questions designed to trip up the murderer. He face flushed as he realized they considered him a suspect.

"And then you just happened to come in last night, too."

"Unexpectedly. I didn't plan to."

Amundson drew up a chair, sat backwards in it, leaned in close as he stared at Kelly. "We have developed a possible theory of the case."

"Yeah?"

"The circumstances surrounding these murders suggest a certain criminal profile. The murderer could be the type of guy who has a need to be important, like being the guy who finds the bodies. Someone who wants to be the hero, suggests possible suspects. The kind of guy who might fantasize about becoming a police officer."

"Oh, come on," Kelly protested.

"A guy who goes to school for six years, but doesn't get a degree. A guy with no father figure in his life. Lived with his mom until recently."

"I had nothing against either of the guys who got killed. And I was living with Mom because she had back surgery, needed some help."

Amundson continued, "Last night, when we looked at your computer, that seemed to verify your story, but there are two or three gaps in the time stamps when you could have easily gotten away for a while, done the deed and hid the evidence."

"Well, I didn't. I went up to Barry's office just once, right as the first patrol car arrived."

"The patrolman says all the lights were off," said Haugen. "You were wandering around in the dark?"

"Well, yeah, in a way. I didn't mess with the lights. The exit signs and the lights from outside, that was plenty of light." Though true, Kelly's explanation brought a smirk from Amundson. Haugen was more stone-faced. Kelly continued: "It was raining. I like watching the rain, and you can see out better at night with the lights off."

"Sure," said Amundson.

Haugen put away his notepad, exchanging it for a clipboard. "We'd like permission to search your apartment and your truck." He passed the clipboard to Kelly. It held a Consent to Search form. "We have a couple people at your building. Your landlord will let them in."

Kelly shook his head, but signed the form and handed it back.

Amundson made a call on his cell. "He signed. Go ahead." He hung up.

Haugen stowed the clipboard and stood. "If you can think of any way to better account for your time the night of the murders, that would be helpful. Is your truck locked?"

"No."

Amundson and Haugen turned to leave, but Haugen hesitated, turning back to Kelly. "Look, don't worry about this. From what I gather you have a good reputation, and I have a hunch you've been honest with us, but you realize we have to check you out, right?"

Kelly nodded.

After Haugen left, Kelly stewed for a moment. It seemed Amundson was playing bad cop, Haugen good cop. Haugen seemed sincere, but then Amundson did, too.

Kelly decided he better call Ted, alert him to the apartment search.

"I was just upstairs looking for you," said Ted. "I heard there's a second victim."

"Barry Heckathorn. Same M-O as Ron Kupmeier's murder. Somebody has it in for our management."

"I hope you're safe there."

"I do, too. But it's actually the cops giving me trouble at the moment. They asked permission to check my apartment. I told them okay, and Jerry's letting them in. I found the body last night, so they're checking me out in case I've suddenly become a homicidal maniac."

"Yes, officer," said Ted, as though speaking to an imaginary policeman. "Kelly was a loner, seemed like a nice guy, but kept to himself. I never would have thought."

"Yeah, very funny. Anyway, I think they're doing the search right away, and I didn't want you to wonder what was going on. And if there's any way you can keep an eye on the proceedings, I'd be interested to hear how it goes."

"I hear a parade on the stairs now. I know most of the veteran detectives. I'll go up and nose around. They won't let me in, but I'll see what I can see."

"Thanks. I should be home this afternoon sometime."

As he hung up, there was another knock on the door's glass window. Jessica. He let her in.

"I heard you were here," she said. "On a Saturday?"

"Morbid curiosity. And I thought I might be able to help calm the troops."

"You okay?" She looked at him with concern, picking up on the anxiety he felt in the wake of the visit from Haugen and Amundson.

"A little stressed," Kelly admitted. He sat at his desk. Jessica took the same chair as Haugen, plopping down with a sigh. She seemed tired, but under the circumstances, Kelly got the impression she was holding up relatively well. "Sorry about calling last night."

"That's okay. I'm glad you did."

"How's it going up front?"

"The police have been going through the employee files and incident reports, and the Crisis Management Team is being re-launched. Diane's going to head it up and we're going to recruit someone from marketing. Right now we're waiting for a consultant from George March who's going to help the committee get reorganized. She should be here pretty soon. Other reps from the consultant are meeting with the board. That's going on now, but not here. They're meeting at the George March offices."

"I don't blame them. This place is hazardous for managers. The police have anything new to say?"

"Not really. What have you heard?"

"Sergeant Haugen and another detective were just here. They had me sign a consent to search my apartment and my truck."

Jessica's eyes widened in surprise. "You? Why?"

"I was here when both bodies were found; I don't have an alibi, and they think it's possible that I could be some kind of attention-seeking, homicidal nut job."

"Well, that's crazy. I was with you when Mr. Kupmeier was found. I saw the look on your face. There's no way."

"Thanks." Kelly's appreciation for her words ran a lot deeper than 'thanks' could convey. Finding himself on the wrong side of Amundson and Haugen had him feeling pretty low. "I suppose it makes sense that they'd have to check me out, but it still sucks."

"No wonder you're stressed."

Kelly sighed. "If they're looking at me, they must be hurting for good leads."

"How about that former employee they were looking for?"

"Mickey Bartz? They didn't mention him. But that reminds me... I took a run last night, went by Naughton's lab on Second Avenue; saw Naughton with a scary dude who looked capable of some dirty work."

"Did you tell the police?"

"Yes. Though maybe I shouldn't have. Passing them tips is apparently part of the criminal profile I fit."

"That makes no sense."

"You wouldn't think so. Anyway, I told them about Naughton last night, or I guess I should say this morning. Naughton was already on their radar, but if they're taking him seriously as a suspect, they're not letting on. I get the feeling Haugen wasn't that interested, but he did take a few notes."

"Well, with Bartz and Naughton, at least they do have some suspects."

"Probably a few hundred," said Kelly. "Every wacko who's been a test subject here."

"Now, now," scolded Jessica in good humor. "As a human relations professional working toward her PHR certification, I can tell you that's no way to refer to people with emotional challenges."

"How about wing-nuts? "

Jessica shook her head in disgust. "The only wing-nut I know is the study coordinator."

Kelly managed a smile, Jessica's visit improving his mood. "Yep, maybe he's even number one on the suspect list."

Jessica wrinkled her nose. "You really think so?"

Kelly shrugged. "I have no idea, but if I'm number one, the investigation must not be going well."

"I hope they solve the case soon. It'll be really weird at work until they do. Don't you think they should cancel the studies?"

"That could happen, but I don't think so. I met with Dilman, and if anything, he's all about keeping things going. He's concerned about the financial loss." Kelly wanted to tell her about the pending sale of the company, but held off, recalling Dilman's admonishment about the sensitivity of the information.

"I wonder if the company has insurance to cover that type of loss."

"Hard to imagine a policy covering 'shut down due to murders.'" Kelly's cell rang. 9 to 5 ringtone. "It's Mom."

"Then you better take it," Jessica admonished.

Kelly smiled, appreciating her humor. "Hey, Ma."

"The police wanted to search the house."

"Your house?"

"Of course. What other house would it be? I told 'em no. I didn't want them digging around the place."

"Sorry about that. I should have called you. I let them check my apartment and truck. It didn't occur to me that they might want to check the house."

"Why are they investigating you?"

"It's just because I was here both nights. That makes me someone they have to check out."

"They also had a few questions about when I've seen you, talked to you."

"Crap. It's just routine, mom. They don't have any good suspects yet, so they're digging everywhere."

"They were nice enough about it, but I still told them no. Have you decided if you're coming for lunch yet?"

"Yes, I can come. I may as well leave. I don't think I'll get much done here. I'll be there in a bit."

"Lunch with Mom," he told Jessica as he ended the call.

"They searched her house, too?"

"They wanted to, but she said no."

"Good for her."

"I could use some company tonight," he said. "Care for another Roger's date?"

"I could use some company, too," she said. "But how about spaghetti at my place? I told my roommate I'd cook."

"Super." Kelly agreed to join them at six. He then headed out as Jessica returned to the administration wing for her meeting.

As he approached his pickup, a gal with press credentials hanging around her neck hastened over to him. He recognized her from the local TV newscasts, but didn't know the name.

"Excuse me. This is your truck?"

Behind her, a television photographer grabbed a camera from the Eyewitness News 5 van and headed toward them.

"Yeah." Kelly climbed in.

"Why were the police looking through it?"

"Just routine. They've been searching pretty much everything."

She spotted his ID lanyard. "A. L. Kelly?"

Shit, thought Kelly, regretting that he hadn't taken off his ID. He closed the door.

She persisted. "Can we get an interview?"

He started the truck and backed out, the cameraman recording as he drove away.

CHAPTER 5 – SATURDAY 11:32 AM

Lunch was a tuna melt, one of Kelly's favorites. As he sat with his mom at her kitchen table, he unloaded his feelings about being considered a suspect and having the news crew confront him in the parking lot.

"You've done nothing wrong," said his mom. "There's really no reason for them to suspect you. It will all blow over."

"But what if it lingers? Can you imagine me applying to become a policeman as a murder suspect? There's no way they'd consider me."

She put her hand on his forearm. "Well, I suppose there's not much you can do about that. Just hope for the best. You'll do fine. You're a good kid. You're smart; you're thoughtful. Whatever happens, you can weather this."

"Another option did come up today, but you can't tell anybody, okay?"

"Okay, I think."

"It's insider information, the kind of thing that shady stock traders would like to get their hands on."

"Well, that's me – always on the phone with my broker, workin' those shady deals."

"Yeah, right. Anyway, it looks like the company's going to be sold. And as part of the deal, the local facility would become a new independent research firm."

"Are they selling because of the murders?"

"No. The sale must have been in the works long before that. In fact, the murders could complicate things, maybe even put a fork in the deal, or the sale could happen without the spinoff. In that case, the place would close, and a whole bunch of us could be out of work."

"You could lose your job?"

"Yes, but on the other hand, if the spinoff does happen, they want me to stay on; said a promotion would be likely. In fact, they gave me a twenty percent raise yesterday, and hinted that there could be big money down the line, especially if they take the company public."

"A twenty percent raise!"

"Yeah. Pretty sweet. I'll already be making as much as a rookie cop."

"You might stay with them?"

"It's tempting. I'm pretty good at the job; I enjoy it. And there is a lot of money in it. Everybody up in management drives a sweet ride, must be making loads of money."

"It won't be the same company."

"No, but independent research is a ripe field. And I'd be getting away from the stuff I don't like... the drug marketing and all that."

"Well, isn't that a switch. All these years planning to be a policeman, and now this."

Kelly could see his mom rather liked the idea. She hadn't been that keen on his law enforcement ambitions, but had ultimately been supportive.

"No switch ... not yet anyway. I just never considered anything else before. I'm really not sure what to make of it. The money – that is tempting. But I'm still planning to take the Fargo entrance exams. Maybe I'll let fate decide. If I pass the tests, get through the application process, and they actually offer me a job, then I go that route. If not, maybe I go with the new company instead of law enforcement school."

"Unless they close the place and you're out of work."

"Right. When the dust settles, I might not have a choice."

He thanked his mom for lunch, gave her a hug, and left for his apartment, feeling better about things. When he climbed from his truck, he saw Jerry the landlord take a furtive glance from a window, trying not to be noticed.

Kelly went around to the common front entrance, but before heading up to his apartment, he knocked on Jerry's door. Kelly heard the chain go on before Jerry peeked out.

Kelly chuckled. "You don't need the chain, Jerry. I haven't gone on a killing spree. The cops are just being thorough. It's routine."

"Oh, well, sure, Kelly. Didn't know it was you at the door. Like to play it safe." Jerry made no move to remove the chain. He was a smallish guy with thinning light-brown hair that always seemed damp, lifeless and overdo for a trim.

"So, how'd it go with the cops?" asked Kelly.

"Oh, fine. They were real pleasant. Didn't say much."

"Were they here long?"

"Close to an hour."

"I hope they didn't make a mess of the place."

"No, they were pretty careful."

Kelly knew Jerry wouldn't have missed a minute of it, watching the search with great interest.

"Okay, thanks." Kelly started to turn away, and Jerry began to close the door, but Kelly turned back to him. "Jerry, you do realize the cops wouldn't let me wander around loose if they had any evidence I was involved in these murders, right?"

"Well, sure," said Jerry, adopting an overly casual demeanor.

Kelly eyed the chain that hung between them. "I called 911 on the first murder, and I found the second victim, so they naturally had to check me out."

"Yeah, yeah. Just routine, like you said."

"Okay. See you later."

Kelly climbed the stairs to find Ted leaning on the banister of the second floor hallway, an amused look on his face. "Ah, the landlord's narrow brush with the serial killer." Ted spoke in a near-whisper, in case Jerry was listening.

Kelly shook his head. "A couple hours ago, that wouldn't have been funny. I was pretty stressed out. Having the cops check you out in a murder investigation – that can ruin your day."

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

Ted knew Kelly drank coffee at any hour of the day, seemingly impervious to the caffeine. Kelly sat at the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen as Ted tended to the single-cup coffee maker.

"I told Detective Fedde that you asked me to observe," said Ted. "He was okay with that, but Jerry and I were restricted to the hallway, watching through the door. There were three officers, and I'm afraid they found your stash of kinky love toys."

Kelly chuckled. "Yeah, and they probably took my explosives and the machine guns. You better hope they didn't find that photo album of you and that zebra."

"A zebra?" Ted laughed as he put a cup of hot water in the microwave for tea.

"I suppose it was stressful for Jerry to have the police searching one of his properties."

"Oh, it made his day," said Ted. "He thrives on worry, as you well know. And it gave him the chance to tell me all about one of his renters, a single mom who took several thousand dollars from the store she worked at. She did it by entering phony product returns and keeping the cash. The till would balance at the end of the day, helping cover the crime, but of course the inventory would be off."

"The inventory at Naughton is off by two executives."

"Ooo, you are sick." Ted brought the tea and coffee into the living room. "Something to be said for humor in dark times. Helps us cope."

They sat in matching overstuffed chairs at the corner of the coffee table. Ted's furniture was more elegant than expected in so modest an apartment. Kelly often wondered if the cancer that took Ted's wife had also taken a fair chunk of his money, possibly explaining why someone with Ted's professional history would be renting from Jerry Bidell.

"So they searched your truck, too?" Ted sipped his tea.

"Yes. And as I left work today, a TV reporter tried to corner me. She saw the cops going through the truck."

"Oh," said Ted with a note of concern. "You've been outed."

Kelly shrugged. "I told her it was just routine."

Ted set his mug on the table. "Kelly, you could find yourself the lead story on tonight's news. Did they get your comments on camera?"

"No. I was pulling away by the time they started shooting."

"So, they have video of you."

"Not much."

"It doesn't take much. A few seconds of a suspect, or at least his truck, in the biggest murder story of the decade – that's important footage."

"But I'm not really suspect!" protested Kelly. "It's just routine."

"Technically, you are a suspect. You haven't been eliminated, right?"

"You haven't been eliminated either, neither has that reporter."

"Yes, but the police aren't searching our premises."

Kelly sighed. "You really think they'll make a big to-do about it?"

"Most likely. With slow motion and freeze frames, those few seconds can stretch out rather nicely. Does the reporter have your name?"

Kelly winced. "Yeah. She saw my employee badge."

"Well, unless she's a complete buffoon, she, or one of her cronies, will be showing up shortly. Maybe even at your mother's house."

"I wonder if calling Sergeant Haugen would do any good. I think he believes me; maybe he can set them straight."

"Maybe." Ted didn't sound convinced.

"Shit. This just keeps getting worse."

Ted looked at his watch. "It's not yet two, but they'll be under pressure to have something for the 5pm newscast. And once they break the story, the rest of the media will follow." Ted popped out his chair and went to the window overlooking the street. He parted the curtain. "Ah. Just as I feared."

Kelly joined him. A photographer was setting up a camera tripod beside a news van. "Looks like the same photographer," said Kelly. "But I don't see the reporter."

"She's probably ringing your bell. Or maybe Jerry's giving her a full report about your questionable nature."

"I better talk to her, try to explain."

"That might be good, but let me make some suggestions."

After quickly formulating a game plan that drew upon Ted's experience in the news business, Ted went out to make contact. The idea was to keep Kelly out of sight, not giving the photographer an opportunity to get more video. Ted found the reporter and invited her in, making sure she left her wireless microphone behind, making sure the photographer couldn't record their audio. Ted brought her to his apartment and introduced Kelly. "This is Paula Keen, Eyewitness News 5."

"We've met. Briefly."

Paula was older than most of the young, underpaid TV types in the Fargo media market. Her voice was a little harsh and her face lined, but not with age ... a smoker, Kelly concluded. He invited her to sit on the love seat across from the matching two chairs at the coffee table.

"I'm supposed to refer all media inquires to management at Naughton," said Kelly, "but I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

Ted added, "And I've suggested that the conversation be off the record."

"No, we're on the record," said Paula.

"Well, can you at least promise confidentiality?" said Ted.

Kelly added: "I don't want it getting back to management that I talked to you."

Paula mulled it over a moment. "I think I've got a pretty good story as it is. An employee has his truck and apartment searched. And we have video of both." She let that sink in. "But I'd be delighted to get your side of the story. On camera."

Kelly was disappointed that she knew of the apartment search. Maybe Jerry told her.

"The problem," said Ted, "is that you'd be identifying an innocent person. I don't suppose you're old enough to remember Richard Jewell."

"I'm afraid I'm plenty old enough. He was a policeman wrongly suspected of planting a pipe bomb at the Olympics."

"Then you know the hazard of identifying the wrong person as a suspect."

"True, but if I stick with factual information, my news director will green-light the story. We have video of the police searching the truck, and you've confirmed my guess that the police searched the apartment."

"They did those searches with my permission," said Kelly. "They had no grounds for a warrant; nothing to suggest I'm involved in any way. I'm just a cooperating citizen, doing what I can to help them eliminate any possibility of my involvement."

"So, why'd they single you out?"

"I was the one who called 911 when Ron Kupmeier was found, and I also found Barry Heckathorn."

Paula flipped open a reporter notepad and began writing, and Kelly realized he had just given her more to go on.

"Even so," said Ted. "It's entirely possible that Kelly is just one of any number of employees being checked out."

Paula looked up from her notes. "Oh, yeah? Who else?"

Kelly and Ted exchanged a glance. "Well, I don't know," said Kelly. "That would be a question for the police."

"Fair enough. But it's important that your perspective be part of the story. Let's get your comments on camera. It would be better if people could hear from you directly."

Ted was shaking his head 'no,' but Kelly didn't need any coaching on that point. "No way. I've already said too much. Can't you just keep my name out of it?"

Paula thought for a moment. "Make you a deal. How 'bout you give me your number. You can be one of my inside, anonymous sources going forward. Maybe that would sell my news director on the idea of preserving your anonymity."

Kelly hesitated, looking to Ted, whose shrug suggested it was doable.

"In fact," Paula continued, "Barring any new developments, like you getting arrested or the competition using your name, I promise to keep your name out of it and I'll be discrete with the video – nothing that identifies the truck or apartment as yours."

Kelly straightened. "Okay. That would be great. You got a deal." He offered his hand and Paula shook it. He gave her his number.

"So, what can you give me for today's story? It would sure help if I had something to replace you with."

"Like what?"

"What kind of questions are you getting from the police? What angles are they working? That sort of thing."

"Well, let's see." Kelly thought for a moment. "There is a disgruntled former employee the police are trying to find."

Paula began writing. "And?"

"Well, I don't want to identify him. He's probably a long shot. I'll just say the police are looking for him in the oil patch."

"A person of interest."

"Yeah, that would be fair."

"He works in the oil field?"

"Last we heard, yes."

"Anything else?"

"You could say the police are going through company records, looking for employees and test subjects who might have a reason to be angry."

Paula asked a few follow-up questions, but none that Kelly felt he could answer. She closed her notebook and they all stood. "One other thing. When you finally decide to talk, I want the exclusive." She handed Kelly her card.

"Fair enough." He and Ted walked her to the door. "And maybe you could ask Sgt. Haugen about me. I believe he's pretty convinced I didn't do it. Maybe he'll say so."

"He already did." She flashed a wide smile and headed down the hall.

Kelly and Ted looked at each other as Ted closed the door.

"She already knew," said Kelly.

"Yes, she did."

"She played us?"

"I think so. She never intended to use your name." Ted smiled in admiration. "She's good."

Kelly's cell rang. He read the caller ID. "It's Jessica."

"Who's Jessica?"

"Tell you later. Thanks for the help, and the coffee. Want to join me for the news at five?"

"Sure."

Kelly waved a farewell as he took the call and headed upstairs to his apartment.

"Hey, Jessica."

"Emily says a reporter asked about you, saying you're being investigated by the police; might be a suspect. I told Emily there was no way you were involved."

"Thanks. Yeah, that reporter saw the police going through my truck. I just talked to her."

"How'd that go?"

"Pretty good. Ted, my neighbor, he used to work at the paper. He gave me some good advice on how to handle it. I've got my fingers crossed. The news at five should be interesting. How's it going at work?"

"Still pretty crazy. The police have set up shop in the small conference room, going through the files and doing more interviews."

"I bet there's a break in the case soon."

"I hope so."

"Can I bring anything to dinner tonight?"

"No, but thanks for the offer. I'll see you at six."

Ted brought his own glass of wine to Kelly's apartment to watch the news. He settled into Kelly's well-worn overstuffed chair. The living room also included an old rocker Kelly got from one of his college buddies. The chairs were drawn up to an old knee-high circular folding table on which Kelly had painted a chessboard on the worn vinyl.

In contrast to the rest of Kelly's modest furnishings, his TV was only a year old, and being on the top floor he was able to get good reception, happy to do without cable or dish, though once he finished with school loans he planned to sign up so he could get the Twins and Vikings games.

The murders again topped the newscast. A flashy graphic over the shoulder of anchorman Dane Sanders read "Naughton Murders." In the background was a stylized picture of the building. "Killer Unknown" dissolved onto the image, angling across the graphic in dramatic red lettering.

"Sanders is the weekday guy," said Ted. "Must have brought him in for the big story. I bet they're glad it's not football season when they'd be preempted."

Kelly hushed him.

"Good evening everyone. Several developments to report tonight on the twin murders at Naughton Pharmaceuticals. But none of those developments includes a solid suspect, and the killer, or killers, remain at large. Paula Keen has been heading up our Eyewitness News team coverage."

The screen changed, splitting the image to show both the anchorman and Paula.

"She joins us now from the Eyewitness newsroom. Paula, it's a scary situation."

"That it is, Dane. Employees at Naughton Pharmaceuticals have been asked not to speak with the media, but a few spoke to me on condition of anonymity, and they confirm that there is a good deal of anxiety – anxiety that will only ease when an arrest is made.

Video of departing employees appeared.

"Today police dug deeper, conducting more detailed searches in the building. And they also searched the vehicle and residence of a key person in the case."

Video showed a fairly tight shot of a detective looking into the bed of Kelly's truck.

"She said she wouldn't use that!" said Kelly.

"She said she'd be discrete. Can't really tell what the vehicle is."

"Pretty clear it's a blue pickup," said Kelly, disgusted.

"The person in question was the caller to 911 after the body of Ronald Kupmeier was found, and he also found the second victim, Barry Heckathorn."

The video switched to Kelly's apartment house, showing the door, door knocker, window, railing and steps -- all close-ups that didn't make the location readily identifiable.

"The police were very clear, however, that there's no indication, no evidence at all, that the employee had anything to do with the murders, and he's not being called a suspect. They say the searches are routine, done with the full cooperation of the employee."

The video returned to exteriors of the Naughton building.

"Meanwhile, police are combing records of employees and test subjects, looking for anyone who might have a grudge, and Eyewitness News has learned that the police are chasing down one such lead, a former employee last known to be working somewhere in the western North Dakota oil fields."

Back to the anchor-reporter two shot.

"Paula, is it fair to call that person a suspect?"

"Not at all, Dane. The lead investigator on the case, Sergeant Charles Haugen, says it's just a matter of leaving no stone unturned in a case where leads have been tough to come by."

"Thanks, Paula. And now with our First on 5 Weather here's meteorologist...."

Kelly turned off the television. "Could have been worse. I guess she honored the deal."

"So, do you think the police are as baffled as it seems?"

Kelly shrugged. "Sure seems like it."

"What's your guess as to motive?"

"One theory, and this comes from the janitor at work, is that they were killed to keep them quiet."

"About what?"

"I have no idea. And if it gets a person killed, I don't want to know."

"My money's on 'deranged test subject.' Maybe somebody who blames the company for causing the voices in his head."

"That's as good a guess as any."

"Let's see... other common motives would be revenge, money. Probably not love," said Ted.

"Yeah, I think we can rule out love. But there is one thing that has me wondering." Kelly squinted at Ted. "Off the record?"

Ted smiled. "Sure, off the record."

"I'm not supposed to tell anybody about this."

"Mum's the word."

"There's some talk of selling the company. And they'd spin-off the research division as a new independent company."

"You think the murders have something to do with that?"

"Well, no, or at least I have no reason to think so, except the timing. There is some idea that the murders could affect the deal, but I don't see where anyone benefits... especially since it's so speculative, but what do I know?"

"Well, I'm sticking with deranged murderer. After all, who'd do this kind of thing if they weren't deranged?" Ted stood, made his way toward the door. "I'm making homemade chicken noodle soup tonight. Care to join me?"

"Thanks, but I'm going to Jessica's for spaghetti."

"The gal who called earlier?"

"Yes. She works in H-R at Naughton, was with me when we found Ron Kupmeier."

"That sounds romantic."

"Don't knock it. It's my favorite way to pick up a gal. It's never failed."

Ted chuckled. "I wouldn't make a habit of that. See you later."

Since Kelly had some time before his dinner date, he decided to swap his pickup for his hobby car, a 1977 Delta 88 Royale coupe that he kept in his mom's large double garage. With the news footage making it clear a blue pickup had been searched, other reporters could be watching for it, either in the company parking lot or maybe even at his apartment if they discovered where he lived.

Kelly had just pulled into his mom's driveway when she came out through the door to the attached garage. She carried a potted hosta and a trowel.

"You're still planting? It's August."

"Edna Mae gave this one. I don't have one quite like it. Now I've got to find a place for it!"

Much of the front yard was dominated by Tanya Kelly's flowerbed. Kelly sat on a boulder that anchored one end of the garden as his mom began to excavate a spot at the base of a lighthouse yard ornament.

"I saw the news," she said.

"Me, too."

"You found both bodies?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No."

"Guess I didn't want to freak you out."

"I don't freak out." She eased the pot over to tip out the hosta. "At least the story confirmed that the police aren't calling you a suspect."

"They're probably still wondering, but I think they believe me. The reporter came by the apartment earlier and I explained things. She agreed to keep my name out of it."

Tanya Kelly tapped down the soil around the hosta. "I ate already, but if you're hungry, there's some cold chicken and some potato salad."

"No, I've got a dinner date with Jessica."

"Well, now who is Jessica?" Tanya Kelly looked at her son with a blend of exasperation and amusement.

"I didn't tell you about her, either?"

"No."

"She's new at work. Jessica Gulsvig."

"Related to the Gulsvigs at our church?"

"I don't know. There's Gulsvigs at church?"

"Well, if you ever went..."

"I think she grew up on a farm. I'm not sure."

"You're supposed to find out those things. A mother wants to know. Is she pretty?"

"Oh, yeah."

"A hot date then."

Kelly shrugged.

"Are you excited to see her, or not?"

Kelly couldn't help a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty excited to see her."

His mom beamed. "Well, you bring her by sometime."

Kelly swapped his truck for the Delta 88. The Oldsmobile wasn't one of the more prized vintage cars, but it had been his grandfather's, which made it special. It didn't look like much in its current condition – the paint dull and faded with primer covering patches of body putty – but it ran okay. A lot of work remained, but he hoped it would one day be a stunner, sporting a top-notch paint job ... metallic brown or maybe emerald green. He imagined it that way as he drove to Jessica's place about a mile south of I-94.

As he arrived at the rented, bi-level twin home, it was still bright daylight, a typically beautiful summer evening in North Dakota. At the top of the driveway, a pinwheel fan in a large pot of marigolds spun slowly in a light breeze. The door to the unit was set back to the side of the attached garage. Kelly rang the bell.

"It's a boy!" exclaimed the man who answered. He was tall, thin, and well-tanned. He leaned toward Kelly as though sharing a confidence. "She didn't tell me her friend Kelly was a boy. Come on in! I'm Clifford."

Jessica appeared at the top of a short flight of stairs leading to the main floor. "Hi, Kelly. I see you met Cliffy." She was wiping her hands on a towel. "Spaghetti in about ten minutes. The TV's on. 6pm news about to start." She headed back to the kitchen.

Clifford waved Kelly into the living room. "I was in Minneapolis; just got back, but I read about the murders and Jessica's been texting. How awful. Jessica says you were there."

"Yep." Kelly settled on the sofa. Clifford sat on the arm of a matching, but cat-scratched chair.

"Did you know those two?" asked Clifford.

"Not really."

As the news started, Jessica came from the kitchen to watch. It was Channel 5 again, but a different reporter, live from City Hall. A police news conference had just ended, and the reporter worked from notes, relating new details: the cause of death was suffocation, and both victims had pills in their mouths – over-the-counter meds, not drugs from Naughton Pharmaceuticals. The reporter then led into a clip with Lt. Warren Powers, identified as supervisor for the investigation. He stated that the victims had been gagged with duct tape and shocked repeatedly with a stun gun. As the clip continued, the reporter could be heard asking about suspects.

"We have no clear suspects at this time, but we are following a number of leads. We also welcome any information from the public on the victims or on any suspicious activity around Naughton Pharmaceuticals on Thursday or Friday night."

The reporter wrapped up the segment by saying the police had no reason to believe anybody participating in the drug trials was involved or in any danger.

"Sweet," said Kelly. "They didn't repeat any of the stuff about me."

"You?" said Clifford.

"At five they had video of the police checking out my pickup in the parking lot. They searched everybody's desks today, too. I guess the news conference gave them something new to go with."

"Dish up!" Jessica announced. "You're first, Kelly. We'll eat out on the deck. Lemonade and silverware are already out there."

The elevated deck gave them a good view. The neighboring twin homes were identical except for color and some variation on deck design. The yards and fences, however, differed widely -- a barren yard here, an elaborately planted garden there, an elevated pool, a swing set, snowmobiles on a trailer and everywhere were sheds of various shape and size. Smoke rose from a neighbor's grill and children in another yard played at some made-up game involving a soccer ball and brooms.

"So, how do you two know each other?" asked Kelly.

"Little Country Theatre," said Clifford, referring to the theatre program at North Dakota State.

"He was Mr. Marmalade," said Jessica, as though Kelly should be impressed.

Kelly nodded appreciatively, as though he had a clue who Mr. Marmalade was. "And who were you?" he asked Jessica.

"Oh, I steered clear of the footlights," said Jessica. "I worked on the running crew."

"You'd be good on stage," said Clifford. He looked at Kelly. "Don't you think she'd be good?"

"If looks had anything to do with it, sure. She's probably the best looking gal on the whole block."

Clifford snorted, appreciating Kelly's understatement.

Jessica smiled. "Thank you, but I'd get too nervous and forget all my lines. I like it behind the scenes."

"So," said Clifford, addressing Kelly. "What do you do at Naughton Pharms?"

Kelly, smiled, not having heard the company called that before. "I guess you could say I help shepherd all the migrant 'pharm-workers.' I coordinate the research studies, where we pay people to take drugs and be tested."

"Ooo, a big shot."

"Not at all. It's just busy work. Sounds more important than it is."

"He's highly thought of," countered Jessica.

"You like that work?"

Kelly shrugged. "I like what I do, but the industry as a whole ... I have mixed feelings about that."

"These murders..." Clifford leaned over his plate, wielding his fork for emphasis. "It could be some psycho. Did you know psychos are way more common among business executives?" He leaned back, nodding in affirmation of his own observation.

"There is some speculation about the killings being related to a business-related cover-up."

Clifford's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped as he looked from Kelly to Jessica and back. "Uh-huh. That could explain it! And those psychos are absolutely selfish. They'd kill and not have any pangs about it." He sliced the air with his fork for emphasis. His brow suddenly knotted and he looked off into the distance, deep in thought. "I think Mr. Marmalade was probably a psycho."

"Yuh think?" Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Well, okay, maybe it's obvious, but I hadn't thought of it that way. Hmmm. Maybe that would have juiced up my performance."

"Oh, you were plenty juiced," said Jessica. "You rocked. The play would have tanked without you."

"Aw, thanks, girlfriend." He looked at Jessica with genuine affection. "Look, you two, I have to go to work, but thanks for the spaghetti; and Kelly, it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," said Kelly, genuinely having enjoyed Clifford's company.

Clifford rose to leave, plate and fork in hand. He looked at Jessica, but pointed his fork at Kelly. "Nice boy. You can keep him." He turned his attention to Kelly. "And you... you better be nice to my Jessie." He wagged the fork like a scolding teacher. "Or you might have to face Mr. Marmalade."

Kelly laughed. "Wouldn't want that!"

"Bye, Cliffy," said Jessica.

Clifford gave her a smooch on the forehead and went inside.

"Where does Cliff work?"

"Tonight he's at the Humane Society. Evening shift. He'll be back around eleven. He spends time with the animals, cleans cages, answers phones. He also works at Doobies ... usually Thursday through Saturday. He runs tech for the bands and he also pull shifts behind the bar, even waits tables sometimes. He's still in school, though. Sociology and art history."

"I need to go back and finish my degree one of these days." Kelly helped himself to another piece of garlic toast.

"So, do you think the psycho cover-up theory might be right?"

"I really have no idea."

"It's creepy to imagine it might be someone we know."

Kelly nodded. "To me, nobody at work seems likely. I hope the cops can figure it out soon."

"Speaking of the police, isn't your testing day coming up?"

"Yep, two weeks from today. I'm pretty excited about it, though Potts and Dilman are trying to talk me into staying on."

"Really?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, but there could be some changes coming, and they say I could have a bright future there."

"Are you considering it?"

"Well, I haven't totally ruled it out. Becoming a policeman has been my dream, but I imagine I'd make a whole lot more money by staying. I kind of get the feeling though, that they're trying to buy me off."

"How so?"

"They're under some pressure on one of the studies. The murders threaten to blow it up. Dilman says not to worry about it, he'll take care of it, but he's asked me not to file any discrep reports."

"What's a discrep report?"

"A discrepancy report – any problems with the protocol, anything unusual. Stuff like that."

"And you're normally supposed to do that?"

"Well, as coordinator, it's not officially my responsibility... it's the job of the study team leader ... but I occasionally add something, or even write it for them."

"Why would he ask you not to?"

"That's the question, alright. I've wondered what he's up to. I doubt it's anything we'd be particularly proud of. Whatever it is, they apparently have some concern that I could blow their plans."

"And they think they can buy you?"

"That's maybe a little strong. I think they hope to keep me on the sidelines; that I'd be content to not know what they're doing. Or maybe they're sounding me out or trying to soften me up to see how far I'd go to help."

A gust of wind threatened the stack of napkins, but Jessica caught them. Kelly helped her clear the table and bring everything inside.

"So," said Jessica, as she began rinsing off the dishes. "I did a little research the other day after our conversation about drug companies. There was an article about the problems caused by prescription drugs. They told the story of a woman who was on a blood pressure drug. Well, she developed incontinence, so they put her on a drug for that. And after a time, she began to have symptoms of dementia, so she went on still another drug. Turns out, all her symptoms were drug side effects – except for the initial blood pressure problem."

"A good doctor or pharmacist should catch that."

"They often don't, at least that's what the article said. Too many drugs and side effects to keep track of. In one case, a drug was pulled off the market, and that resulted in a measurable improvement in the country's overall death rate!"

Kelly shook his head as he loaded rinsed plates into the dishwasher. "In a way, I can see how that could happen. We've had studies where we dropped people if they had an adverse reaction. The idea was that they wouldn't be helpful in determining a drug's benefit, but I always wondered about that. If you don't account for the vulnerable people, you're really not getting a representative result. I think that's especially true for senior citizens. The drugs are rarely tested on that age group."

"And if a drug kills people, even one percent can be a lot of bodies." Jessica turned off the faucet. "Keeping something like that quiet ... that could be a motive."

"Like Ron or Barry were about to blow the whistle on someone?"

"Maybe."

"Ron doesn't strike me as the whistleblower type, quite the opposite. Maybe not Barry, either. But I suppose it's possible."

"Have there been problems with a Naughton drug?"

Kelly shrugged. "Not that I know of, at least not since Amflexidyne, and that was years ago."

After the dishes were squared away they sat together on the couch. "So, tell me about yourself," said Kelly. "Not trying to be pushy," he added. "It's really my mom. When I told her I was having dinner with you, she was full of questions I couldn't answer, so I thought I better ask or she'll be disappointed."

"Ah," said Jessica, smiling. "Your mom. I wouldn't want to disappoint her. Let's see. Where to start?" Jessica hugged a couch pillow and looked at the ceiling. "Well, I grew up on a farm near Argusville. I have two brothers, one older, one younger. I went to Northern Cass High School, so I'm a Jaguar. I played volleyball, but we weren't very good. However, this year's team won the Class B State title – that was cool. I played flute in high school. In college, a friend got me started on bagpipes. I'm still only fair, but I play in the Shamrock and Thistle group, mostly a social thing, but it's fun. We do parades once in a while. I go to yoga class. I volunteer at the community theatre. I'm thinking about becoming a Big Sister. I tried Habitat for Humanity, but I'm a little dangerous with tools, mostly to myself, so I gave that up. I occasionally still help on the farm, mostly driving truck during harvest. I like watercolors, and I collect hand-blown glass art." Jessica gestured to nearby shelves that held several impressive glass gourds, vases and bowls. "Mostly they're done by a friend of mine, but I've started to watch for pieces from other artists, too, but there aren't many glass blowers around." She paused, looking toward the ceiling. "What else? Hmmm. Oh, I like to read non-fiction, mostly biography, and I also like mysteries if they're not too creepy. How's that?"

"Very good. Mom will be pleased."

"And you?"

"Grew up in North Fargo. Played baseball in high school, sax in the band for a while, but didn't like the band teacher, so got away from it. Then in college I met a gal who played jazz piano and that got me interested again. I mostly tinker with older big band music, stuff from the 30s, 40s. I also played chess in high school. Took fourth in state as a junior. I liked shop. I tinker with cars. In fact, I drove my old Delta 88 over here. It's still a mess, but I hope I can get it looking pretty good some day."

A cat jumped onto Kelly's lap. "Oh, hello there."

The orange tabby briefly considered settling down, but instead scampered to Jessica.

"This is Pester," she said. "He usually hides out when someone first comes over." She scratched the purring cat's neck and head. "He's kind of neurotic, sometimes skittish, but he still craves attention. And I suppose I should feed him." She got up, headed for the kitchen, Pester on her heels.

"And I suppose I should get going," said Kelly.

Jessica fed Pester, then met Kelly by the stairs leading down to the front door. He took her hand. "Thanks for the spaghetti. It was very good."

"Well, thanks for coming. Glad you could join us."

"I haven't known you as long as Clifford, but do I get to kiss you goodbye, too?"

She stepped closer. "I suppose you should."

CHAPTER 6 – Sunday Morning

Sunday began hot and muggy, despite building clouds that portended rain. Kelly drove back to his mom's to work on the Delta 88. She wasn't home when he got there, but she showed up late morning, after church. She changed into an old blouse and blue jeans before joining him in the garage, where she sat on a stool by the workbench, nursing a cup of coffee.

Kelly finished installing a fuse. "Okay, here's the test, Mom." He turned on the headlights.

"They're both on," she called.

"Here's the brights," he replied.

"Yep. All good."

The turn signals were also working, as were the brake lights. Kelly had finally found the worn headlight wire that was blowing fuses.

"I remember when Dad bought that car."

"His first new car ever," said Kelly with a smile. He knew the story well.

"He saved up, but still had to borrow two thousand dollars. I was 14. We were pretty excited. That was a fancy car back then. Mom wanted the four-door, but Dad had his heart set on the two-door, and he was right. It does have nicer lines, and us kids didn't mind." Kelly closed the hood.

"Does it still start funny?" she asked.

"Yes. The wire I fixed wouldn't have anything to with the starting. You still need to push forward on the shifter while you turn the key."

"That's awkward."

Kelly chuckled. "Yeah, but I can live with it. Plenty of other things more urgent." Kelly stood back, regarding the car, trying to decide what to work on next.

"When will you put those sharp new wheels on?"

Kelly had scored a perfect set of rims at an auction for a fraction of their value. "I'll wait to put them on until it's painted. And to go with them, I'll get some nice, new whitewalls. It's going to look pretty sharp."

Kelly grabbed a bucket from beneath the workbench and brought it to the sink.

"They talked about you on the news last night."

"Yeah, at five. I saw that."

"No, at ten. All the stations."

Kelly looked up, surprised. He and Jessica hadn't turned on the late news, or the lights for that matter. "What'd they say?"

"They told about the police searching your truck and apartment."

"Did they use my name?"

"I don't think so, but I was switching back and forth. The paper mentioned you, too, but not by name."

"Yeah, I saw the paper story. Did the TV stations have video?"

"Only one showed your truck. Another had a shot of your apartment building. The third just had video at your company – shots of the building and the cop cars and stuff."

Kelly grabbed some wet-dry sandpaper from a drawer. "I thought the police news conference made me old news."

"They all started with that. The part about you was near the end."

Kelly sat on a low stool by the front fender and started sanding a fresh patch of body putty. The continued coverage about him was worrying, but he hoped that would be the last of it.

"Oh," said his mom, suddenly remembering. "Your date last night. How did it go?"

"Good. We had spaghetti; I met her roommate. We had a nice time."

"And?"

Kelly recounted Jessica's mini-bio, dutifully ticking off what elements he could remember, delivering on his mom's appeal for details. "How's that?"

"Much better," said his mom with a smile. "I'd like to see her glassware collection, but I could pass on hearing the bagpipes. Did she play them for you?"

"Nope; no bagpipes. Today she's at the farm. If the rain holds off, they might combine wheat, in which case she'll be driving grain truck for that. If not, she and her mom are going to can tomatoes."

"Speaking of tomatoes, I was thinking of BLTs for lunch. Hungry?"

"Yes. A BLT sounds fab."

After lunch, Kelly went to his apartment and got his exercise routine out of the way. He ran despite a thundershower that thoroughly soaked him. He found it somehow satisfying to be out in the rain, pounding through the puddles.

He took the path along the old rail bed, again pausing at Doctor Naughton's building. It seemed as subdued as the rest of the town on this rainy Sunday. He left the path, walking around the building, trying to get a sense of the place. The garage was a ground-level add-on, necessary because the main floor was at a height designed for loading and unloading railcars and trucks. The roof of the place extended over a front porch on the street side.

He wondered what secrets might lie within. He was tempted to climb the steps to the porch and peek in the window, try to see past the blinds, but instead he resumed his run.

When he got home and checked his phone, he found a voicemail from Barb. "Kelly, lucky you. Mr. Pee wants to see you first thing on Monday."

Typical of Potts, thought Kelly, to have Barb call rather than do it himself. Ordering an underling to do something, even if it was less efficient, had appeal for some people.

Later that afternoon, Kelly put his saxophone in the back seat of Ted's Subaru, joining him for the drive to the monthly big-band jam at the Teamsters Club.

"I have some good news," said Ted. "I don't think the Daily will pursue your story line any further. I had lunch today with Tony Rau, the news editor, and explained things. He seemed satisfied, but like Paula, he'd still be interested in an interview. As the guy who found both bodies, you're a good story."

"Not interested."

"That's what I told him. And he realizes the company has the employees on a gag order."

"Well, thanks for setting him straight. Maybe you can be my agent... visit the TV and radio stations next."

Ted laughed. "I don't think I'd have any standing with them."

The Teamsters Club was just off West Main Avenue, a mixed-use part of town, an area where an apartment building might share a block with a sign company, a restaurant supply firm, or a fleet of lawn care fertilizer trucks.

The "big-band" jam, despite its name, was rarely big. Typically, there'd be five to eight people on the riser and a few others rotating in. Ted sometimes played his accordion, sometimes piano, but he'd also spend time in the audience, occasionally taking to the dance floor along with another couple or two. It was mostly an audience of friends, relatives, a few music fans, and of course a smattering of Teamster regulars there for the one-dollar sloppy Joe special as much as the music.

Kelly was a staple in the group, managing to chime in with his sax on most numbers, but today he was also a bit of a celebrity thanks to his employment at Naughton. Before today, where he worked hadn't been widely known among the other musicians, but word had spread, and the murders became a hot topic during the breaks. Reluctant to elaborate, Kelly didn't let on that he was there when the bodies were found, nor did he share anything about his conversations with the police. For all anyone knew, he was just another employee who didn't know a lot, and Ted was thoughtful enough not to out him.

The Sunday jams ran three hours, 5 to 8, no pay, and they were winding down the last hour, playing "Stealin' Apples," when Kelly spotted Jessica. She took a seat at the bar and Kelly gave her a smile and wave as the clarinetist took a solo. He got Ted's attention and managed to convey the idea that the sharp blond with the black-framed glasses was the gal he'd been talking about. As Kelly resumed playing, he saw Ted, always the gallant gentleman, introduce himself and escort Jessica to the table they'd been sharing with a couple women Ted knew from the senior center.

As the band rolled into a snappy rendition of "Paper Doll," Ted pulled a surprised, but beaming Jessica onto the dance floor, where she gamely held her own, managing to keep up with Ted's energetic lead. For the last song, Kelly stepped down and Ted took a turn at the piano for "Sentimental Journey."

"What a nice surprise," said Kelly over the music.

"Too wet to combine," said Jessica. "Otherwise we'd probably be at it 'til midnight. So instead, we did some canning."

"I can't dance like Ted, but if you're up for it, I think I can handle this one."

They joined a handful of other couples attracted by the slower tune.

"You two looked pretty good out here," said Kelly.

"Oh, I'm just glad I avoided stepping on Ted's toes. He's really good."

A tap on Kelly's shoulder interrupted them. Detective Amundson.

"Cutting in, Detective?"

"Join me outside for a minute."

"Sure."

Kelly and Jessica shared a glance of concern as he escorted her back to the table. He wasn't sure what to expect from Amundson, but given the tone of their last encounter, Kelly wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Amundson allowed Kelly to go ahead. A second detective, waiting by the entrance, opened the door for them.

It was still light out, a warm and humid evening, almost steamy – the streets and sidewalks still wet from the earlier rain. They stepped away from the door, ensuring a little privacy as customers came and went.

"Been trying to reach you," said Amundson.

"Sorry. Pretty loud in there." Kelly pulled out his phone to check for missed calls.

"That's all right. Don't worry about it." Amundson introduced his companion as Detective Fedde. Kelly remembered the name. He was the detective Ted had spoken to during the apartment search. Fedde had a shaved head and wore a windbreaker over a T-shirt, which hid his shoulder holster, but not the badge on his belt.

"We should have asked you to keep us posted on your whereabouts," said Amundson.

"Well, now you know."

"Right. Been here long?"

"Since five."

"We won't keep you. We're just trying to stay on top of all the moving parts in this investigation, keep everybody's timeline straight. Can you give us a rundown on where you've been since we last spoke?"

Kelly considered refusing, but decided not to let Amundson's pestering get the better of him. There was also the matter of his cooperation – or lack of it – affecting his application to join the department.

Fedde took notes as Kelly briefly recounted his various stops. "And in the evening yesterday, I had dinner at a co-worker's house; stayed there 'til roughly midnight. Then I went home, and today I got up around eight or so. Went to my mom's around nine. Stayed there for a few hours." Came home early this afternoon, went for a run. Then Ted and I came over here just before five."

"Okay, good," said Amundson. "How well do you know Dr. Jamie Padden?"

"I know him. He's director of Scientific Affairs. He designs studies, writes up the reports." Kelly's heart rate picked as he imagined the possibility of Padden as the murderer.

"How'd you get along with him?"

"He's a prick. Unpleasant for no good reason. Thinks his shit doesn't stink. Tell me he's involved."

Amundson studied Kelly's face for a moment. "Oh, he's involved all right. He's dead."

Ted's friends from the senior center had left by the time Kelly returned to the table in the Teamsters bar.

"What's wrong?" asked Jessica.

Ted put a hand on Kelly's shoulder. "We started to wonder if they hauled you off."

Kelly, visibly shaken, ordered a cup of coffee from a passing barmaid before he responded. "Another guy from work is dead. Jamie Padden."

Stunned, Ted and Jessica listened intently as Kelly shared the details. "Detective Amundson says Padden was found by his wife late this afternoon at their lake cabin. He'd gone out there by himself on Saturday. She went out today, thought he was on the lake fishing, but then found him in the fishing shack ... same as the others."

Jessica's phone chirped. A text. "Work," she said, her voice breaking. "Emergency meeting of the crisis management team."

She stood to go. Kelly rose with her. They embraced, a long hug that helped ease some of the tension. "Call," said Kelly, "... if you want to. Any time tonight. I'll answer."

She nodded. They kissed, and she headed for the door.

Kelly sank back into his chair, feeling spent.

"My god, Kelly. Who could be doing this?" asked Ted.

Kelly slowly shook his head. "I wish I knew."

The presence of the police and Kelly's obvious distress wasn't lost on the remaining musicians. Even some of the customers realized something had happened. As Kelly packed up his sax, he responded to questions with only a brief explanation: "Another guy is dead."

The ride home began quietly, Ted understanding that Kelly didn't feel like talking. After a few blocks, Kelly checked his phone. Besides a couple voicemails that Haugen and Amundson had left when they were trying to find him, there was a text from his mom. "Cops looking 4 U."

"Mom knows the cops were looking for me. I better call her when I get home." Kelly sighed. "All this probably has her even less enchanted with me going into law enforcement."

"She's not keen on it?"

"Not really. Crappy hours, hard on relationships, stress, high risk of injury, compromised social life. She made darn sure I was aware of the drawbacks."

"Well, I think you'd make a fine officer."

"Thanks."

"But your mom's right. It's not a life to choose casually."

A light rain began again. Ted put the wipers on intermittent. "Any particular reason you want to be a cop?"

Kelly stared out the side window. There was something comforting about a rainy night, driving along familiar streets.

"I ... I met a cop when I was really young. Maybe six. My father wasn't living with us. Maybe Mom had called the cops about him, or maybe it was later; maybe she dated the cop or something. I don't really remember, but he was at our house. He said if any grownup ever hurt me I should call him. He gave me his card. I kept that card in my toy safe; had it for a long time."

Ted let the comment rest in silence.

Back at their building, they were barely out of the car when Jerry the landlord called out from the back steps. "The police were here looking for you."

"They found me."

"I told 'em you were likely at the Teamsters. I hope that's okay."

"Yep. Thanks, Jerry."

"Seemed important," said Jerry, as they walked past, heading for the front door. It was clear Jerry was curious, angling for more information.

"It was. Another guy's dead." Kelly left it at that as he and Ted reached the corner of the building, passing from Jerry's sight.

"Coffee?" offered Ted.

"Thanks. Not tonight."

Ted put an arm across Kelly's back, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and they said goodnight.

Back at his apartment, Kelly put his sax away and went out on the fire escape. He toweled off the old, but comfortable springy metal chair and sat with his feet up on the railing. After taking a moment to himself, he called his mom and told her about Jamie Padden.

"Oh, Kelly. Just quit that job. It's not safe. You can live here, finish school."

"No, I like my apartment and I like the job. The murderer must have an issue with management; I doubt that includes me."

"Any chance the police are getting close to solving the case?"

"Doesn't feel like it. Detective Amundson tracked me down tonight to see if I had an alibi."

"They still think it could be you?"

"Well, Amundson apparently does. He maybe believes me, but isn't sure. I can understand that. It's true that I don't have an alibi for any of the murders. Padden was likely killed early this morning, and you didn't get home from church until eleven or so. There was plenty of time for me to drive out to Padden's cabin and back, even though I have no idea where it is."

After ending the call, Kelly lingered on the fire escape, soothed by the rain-fresh air, the mist and even the occasional drop of water that rolled from the leaves above.

Despite the proximity to downtown and to nearby apartments, houses and businesses, the fire escape perch felt secluded, and tonight it was particularly peaceful. Thanks to the rain, there were no lawn mowers, no kids playing, no motorcycles... only the occasional car hissing past on the wet pavement.

It suddenly occurred to Kelly that he ought to call Paula Keen, the reporter. He suspected she already knew about Padden's murder, but he wanted to stay on her good side by making an effort to honor their deal.

"I was just about to call you," she answered.

"I assume you heard about Dr. Padden. I just found out a little while ago."

They compared notes. The only thing Keen could add was the location of the cabin. "It's on Turtle Lake. We have a crew on the way. Anything you can tell me about Padden that might be helpful?"

"I don't think so. He was also in management, but that's the only thing I'm aware of that he has in common with Heckathorn and Kupmeier."

"I did hear one other thing you'll find interesting. My insider at the police department heard some detectives grumbling that they should have searched your truck sooner – the night you found Barry Heckathorn. They delay gave you time to dump incriminating evidence."

"They hadn't dreamed up their theory about me yet. That took some imagination ... probably mixed with desperation."

"What theory?"

"Off the record?"

"Nope."

"Then I better not get into it. I'll just say they're still unsure about me, probably because they're having trouble coming up with good suspects."

After hanging up, Kelly had time to make a sandwich before camping out in front of the TV to watch the late news. He changed channels often to sample the coverage at all three stations. None of them had video back yet the lakeside crime scene. Turtle Lake was about an hour out of town and they'd apparently gotten word too late. Instead, they all had a map showing the location. One of the stations did a live shot outside the Naughton building, another went live from police headquarters, and the third used file video of the Naughton building. All three had a sound bite from Lt. Warren Powers, the supervising officer. Despite the light rain, Powers had held an impromptu news conference outside the police station. They also had bites from Bryce Dilman. The CFO read from a prepared script and took no questions.

Shortly after the stations moved on to other news, Jessica called.

"Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nope. I'll hit the hay pretty soon, but whether I can sleep or not, well, we'll see. How'd your meeting go?"

"Okay. We're still here, watching all three stations on the big screens in the auditorium." Jessica was speaking softly, and Kelly could hear the TV audio in the background.

"I've been watching, too," said Kelly. "I see Dilman has taken over as company spokesperson."

"For now. I think he'd like to appoint someone else, but Emily is still pretty young, and Diane really isn't all that media savvy. Connie Deacon, the consultant with George March could do it, but we all felt it was a little strange to have an outside voice. So, until they hire a new vice president of communications and PR, it's probably Dilman."

"So, who's there tonight?"

"Emily, Diane, Mr. Dilman and Connie. She's going to be working with the team until things settle down."

"Oh, look at Channel 5," said Kelly.

The Naughton Murders graphic was back, the newscaster announcing that they now had video from the scene. He pitched to a reporter live shot.

"That's right, Dane. We're in lakes country, not far from the crime scene."

The video came up, with "exclusive" superimposed. Several emergency and law enforcement vehicles lined a rural road, some with lights flashing.

"Investigators are hard at work tonight, searching for clues in this third mysterious murder of an executive at Naughton Pharmaceuticals."

The video switched to distant shots of a well-illuminated crime scene – a fishing shed near the shoreline.

"The body of Dr. Jamie Padden was found by his wife in this fishing shack. A sheriff's deputy on the scene says the manner of death was similar, if not identical, to the earlier victims."

The video had switched to emergency personnel carrying a stretcher out of the darkness and loading the covered body into an ambulance.

"Connie thinks the national media might jump on the story now," said Jessica.

"Probably so."

"Oops. Gotta run. Resuming our meeting. See you tomorrow."

Kelly set the phone aside and leaned back in his old rocking chair. As the newscast moved on to the weather, he hit the power switch on the remote, and sat quietly for a moment.

A third murder; this one away from the office.

"I bet every executive has their doors locked and guns loaded," murmured Kelly. He didn't own a gun, but he had a baseball bat somewhere. Maybe in the basement storage unit.

Despite imagining the possibility of a murderous intruder, Kelly didn't feel threatened. Nonetheless, he got up and locked the doors.

CHAPTER 7 – MONDAY MORNING

When Kelly arrived at work on Monday, he was surprised the media presence consisted of just one satellite truck. The truck was active, however, with a camera gal, a sound engineer, and a grip who handled a reflector to even-out the light on the reporter, who was poised to go live. Emily Tucker, the public relations assistant, stood near the truck, notepad in hand. Kelly stopped to talk to her.

"Not as bad as I expected," he said. "I thought there'd be more media."

"A local station did go live earlier," she said. "But they packed up a few minutes ago. I think the hotter media spot today is Turtle Lake."

Kelly nodded. "Makes sense. How come you're out here in the parking lot?"

Emily gestured toward the reporter. "She requested some background on the company. I'm just waiting 'til she's done."

Kelly wondered how Emily was handling it all. Not only had her boss been killed, but it had to be a hell of a stressful PR situation.

Emily looked at him. "More media requests have come in to talk to you. I could ask Mr. Dilman. He might say okay."

"Heck, no. I have no interest in fanning that fire."

When Kelly went through security, a young guard took him aside. "Mr. Potts wants to see you in his office."

"Ah, right." Kelly had forgotten the voicemail from Barb. He continued to the reception desk, the guard tagging along behind. Barb set the appointment clipboard on the counter for Kelly's review. No teasing today. Instead, there was only a grim expression from Barb and a subdued nod from Kelly -- their silent acknowledgment of the latest murder.

"All-staff meeting today," said Barb. "Ten o'clock."

Kelly wasn't surprised. It promised to be a somber event. He gave the clipboard a quick glance. As expected, the signups were lagging a bit.

"Let's go," said the rent-a-cop.

Kelly gave the guard a steely look, and then turned back to Barb. "Eddie is apparently anxious to see me."

Barb nodded sympathetically.

The guard led the way, which Kelly found demeaning. As they arrived at Potts' office, Kelly continued down the hallway as the guard was about to knock at Potts' door.

"Hey." The guard trotted after him, grabbing his elbow.

Kelly slapped the guard's hand away and followed up with a sharp thrust to the chest that set the guard back on his heels. "You wait here," said Kelly. "I'll be back in a minute." The guard waited.

Kelly went to the administrative support commons, the large room that led to Heckathorn's office and Human Resources. Yellow tape still indicated that the VP's office was sealed. Jessica's glorified cubicle was on the perimeter, adjacent to Diane Lundeman's office. In the middle of the room were smaller, low-walled cubicles surrounding an island of printer/copiers and the recycling bins. Now brightly lit and occupied by several employees, the room presented quite a different scene from Saturday morning when Kelly had found Heckathorn.

He peered into Jessica's space. "Hi, there."

"Oh, good morning," she said. She got up and gave him a hug. "How you doing?"

"Okay. You?"

She shrugged, grimaced a bit. "I guess I'm alright. I managed to sleep okay."

"I get to meet with Mr. Wonderful ... Potts. He had Barb call yesterday afternoon to set it up, so I don't think it's about Padden's murder, but he had one of the security guys waiting to give me an escort. So, it promises to be interesting."

"Well, when meeting with the boss, one of the important rules is to be enthusiastic and positive."

"That's probably not going to happen."

"And try to establish a rapport; build a connection over some interest the boss may have."

"I should have brought some Little Debbie cakes."

Jessica covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

"I could quote Ronald Regan. He's got a shrine to Reagan in his office."

Jessica's eyes widened. "I saw that."

"My favorite part is the movie poster for Cattle Queen of Montana, with Ronald Reagan as Barbara Stanwyck's 'dangerous friend.'"

"Do you really detest him?"

"Eddie? Oh, he is what he is. There are worse bosses. He sometimes creates more problems than he solves, but he stays out of my hair for the most part. I'll let you know how it goes."

With that, Kelly gave her hand a farewell squeeze and returned to the anxious guard, who waited to knock this time until he was sure Kelly was ready to go in. Kelly entered to find Potts at his desk.

"Hi, Ed. What's with the chaperone?" Kelly nodded toward the guard.

"I wanted to make sure you came right away, before you got busy in the study units." He waved the guard away. "Wait outside."

Kelly took the chair in front of Potts' desk.

"Terrible what's going on here, just terrible," said Potts. "Ron, Barry, now Jamie. Frightening stuff."

Kelly nodded, actually agreeing with Potts for a change, but feeling no need to add words of his own.

"Well, Kelly, this is tough, but I'll get right to the point. We've been getting calls from all the media outlets in town, and now even the national media, wanting to know who found the bodies and why his vehicle and apartment were searched."

"I hope you're not telling them."

"Of course not. But it's still a shitty deal, 'cause the staff realizes who the police were searching, and even worse, the current test subjects know. They're already skittish."

"So what are you saying?"

"Here's the deal. You'll have to take some time off. A leave of absence."

Kelly didn't see that coming. "A leave?" His first thought was the loss of pay, but that quickly shifted to the issue of getting new studies set up. He didn't like handing it off and then dealing with someone else's mess when he came back. "How about I just explain it to everybody? They know me. They'll understand. The police are just being careful."

"Nope. No good. We've already decided."

"We? Who's we?"

Potts seemed flustered. "Well, me. I decided."

"You really think my presence makes the staff and the subjects that uneasy?"

"Of course! It's human nature. We need this precaution to quell any fears – unreasonable as they might be. No matter what we say, there will still be people uncomfortable with you in the building."

"I don't buy that. We should try explaining it to them."

"Look, it's probably just for a few days. Once we get a new set of studies started, with a new group of test subjects – people who don't know about the searches – then we might be okay."

Kelly studied Potts for a moment. He didn't seem any more ridiculous than usual, poised in front of the Ronald Reagan memorabilia adorning the wall -- a framed mass-produced "signed" campaign photo, a commemorative plate, a framed collection of bumper stickers, a portrait in a gilded frame \-- it was a collection that continued on the opposite wall where the movie career was immortalized.

Something about the leave of absence didn't ring true, especially Potts' claim that it was his decision. Kelly was pretty sure Potts wouldn't have done it on his own.

"This also protects, you, Kelly. You don't have to worry about being cornered by the media in the parking lot, maybe even getting your picture in the paper."

"Was this the consultant's idea?"

"No. I haven't been in the consultant meetings."

That did ring true.

Kelly decided the leave idea likely came from Dilman, which raised an interesting thought. Maybe getting Kelly out of the way for a few days cleared the way for 146, the study Dilman was worried, to be completed without the risk of Kelly finding out what Dilman was up to. If that was true, Kelly was flattered; it meant Dilman didn't see him as corruptible.

"Sorry we can't make it a paid leave," said Potts, as he toyed with an acrylic paperweight containing a remnant of the Berlin Wall. "That would run afoul of the terms we're working under for the deal to sell the company, but you'll quickly make it up with the raise we gave you."

Seeing Potts surrounded by images of Reagan, Kelly suddenly realized Potts was going for the Reagan hairdo. It wasn't working. Eddie's hairline was better suited for a George H. W. cut. Kelly couldn't help a bemused smile. "Okay. I'll take a break. Let me know when you want me back."

"Okay, good." Potts seemed a little puzzled, not quite sure how to interpret Kelly's expression.

Kelly was now convinced that Potts was more messenger than manager when it came to the leave. Potts might not even know the true reason. He was no actor. Consequently, if the real purpose was to prevent Kelly from discovering fraud on Dilman's part, keeping Potts in the dark would be the smart move. Potts would be more convincing if he didn't know. Clever.

Kelly stood. "I'll put a vacation reply on my phone and e-mail, then head out."

As Kelly left, he tapped the bobblehead on the shelf by the door. The smiling little Reagan nodded with enthusiasm.

The security guard fell in behind as Kelly walked back to the clinical study wing. Having a guard for an escort didn't help Kelly's image. He could see it in the faces of the people he passed. Angie was in the office when they arrived. Usually chatty, she only offered a timid "Hi, Kelly." Apparently sensing something was up, she quickly left the room.

Kelly changed his outgoing voice message and composed an e-mail to the people who would need to know about his absence. He explained the company line about his departure as tactfully as he could. He also copied Jessica. He activated the e-mail auto-reply and was about to log off, but reconsidered. Instead, he opened the drafts folder and found his e-mail to Dr. Thomas Whitcomb – the note disclosing the protocol discrepancy. He stared at it for a long moment, and then clicked send.

On the way out of the building, Kelly, with guard in tow, passed the reception desk. Barb, having read his e-mail about the leave, gave him a look of sympathy and silently-mouthed "What the fuck?" Once Kelly was out the door, the guard stayed behind.

As Kelly climbed into the Delta 88, he saw a radio station SUV cruising the parking lot. He wondered if they were on the lookout for a blue pickup. He was about to start the car when his phone rang. The caller ID read Naughton Pharmaceuticals. It turned out to be Jessica. She had just read his e-mail.

"They laid you off over the news stories?"

Kelly recounted his meeting with Potts. "I think there's more to the story. I think Dilman saw an excuse to get me out of the way and took it – one less complication for whatever he's up to."

Jessica agreed to meet up with him later. When he arrived at his apartment, he spotted a TV news van parked in the street, positioned where the occupants could watch both the front door and the driveway. He continued past, glad he had swapped vehicles. He parked out of sight on the other side of the block, and then cut through the parking lot of the neighboring funeral home to reach the fire escape unseen. He climbed to Ted's apartment, knocking on the door's large glass window. "Anybody home?"

"Come in, come in," Ted called from the kitchen. "Just finishing breakfast."

Kelly let himself in. It wasn't unusual for him to show up on the fire escape.

"Grab yourself some coffee. How about a couple eggs and toast?"

"No thanks." Kelly poured some coffee.

Ted retrieved two eggs from the fridge and cracked them into a pan. Kelly sat at the dining table nestled in the corner of the kitchen where windows overlooked both the funeral home and the park beyond. "There's a news van camped out on the avenue. One of the TV stations. That's why I came up the fire escape."

"A wise move. Over easy, right?"

"Really, I'm okay," said Kelly.

Ted put some bread in the toaster. "What brings you home at this time of day?"

Kelly related the story of his suspension.

"Getting suspended might be for the best," said Ted, as he turned the eggs. "It's apparently a dangerous place. Maybe avoiding it will help you live longer."

Kelly chuckled. "I guess that's the bright side."

Ted slid the eggs from the pan, buttered the toast, and delivered the breakfast. "By the way, I talked to Tony again, the news editor at the Daily. He says the business reporter heard rumors that Doctor Naughton might be angling to get his company back."

Kelly stopped salting the eggs in mid-shake. "Really?"

"Seems some friends of his have been buying up Naughton stock. Maybe he's the buyer you heard talk of."

"I don't think so," said Kelly as he chopped up the eggs with his fork. "The way I heard it, it's one of the big pharma companies, mainly for the patents."

"I bet Naughton wouldn't like that! His company and its patents could be gone forever if that happened."

Kelly sipped his coffee, deep in thought.

"What?"

"Bennie, the janitor, the same guy who raised the idea of Kupmeier being killed because he knew something, he also brought up the idea of Naughton being involved."

"You think he knows something that implicates Naughton? Something to do with the sale of the business?"

"Maybe. There's also revenge. Naughton does seem to have ample motive."

"The janitor... what would he know?"

"Probably nothing, but I'm starting to think I better find out."

Kelly quickly finished eating, thanked Ted for the breakfast, and returned to his car. He called the Naughton switchboard and had Bennie paged. He knew Bennie's extension by heart, but Bennie was rarely at the janitorial desk, and Kelly didn't want to leave a message. After a half-minute, Bennie came on the line.

"Bennie. This is Kelly. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me by the service entrance? I can be there in ten."

"Sure, Kelly. Sorry to hear they gave you the boot. Raw deal."

"Thanks. See you in a bit."

The idea of Naughton being involved had gone from preposterous to plausible, but the motive was still hazy. Could the killings help Naughton get the company back? Was he trying to drive down the stock price? Maybe the killings could disrupt the other sale? And the method ... was choking on pills just a smokescreen to make the killer seem crazy? One thing for sure, Naughton's assistant certainly looked capable of pulling it off.

Kelly found Bennie waiting outside by the dumpsters. "Thanks for meeting me. When we were talking the other day, you wondered about Kupmeier being killed for knowing something. You then mentioned Naughton being involved. It didn't mean much to me then, but I've heard some stuff that makes me think you know something."

"What did you hear?"

"There's a rumor that Naughton wants to get the company back."

"Huh. Well, I don't know about that. When I said that stuff, I was just thinkin' out loud."

"Really? If you have some idea how Naughton could connect to the murders, maybe something about taking over the company, the police would want to know."

"I don't know anything, and I don't want to get involved with the cops. No offense, I know you want to be one, but I got my reasons to keep my distance from cops."

"You in some kind of trouble, Bennie?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." Bennie lapsed into thought. Kelly waited, anticipating that Bennie had more to say. "You know, maybe we can try to find out what Naughton is up to. I have my own reasons for wanting to know, and if Naughton is involved with the murders, all the better. Maybe we can make a connection."

Kelly was startled by the idea that Bennie had an interest in Naughton's activities. "Bennie, what the hell are you up to?"

"Can't tell you."

"Something Kupmeier and Barry and Padden found out about?"

Bennie shrugged. "Maybe."

"Were they were using it as leverage, trying to stop Naughton's takeover?"

Bennie stared at the ground. He shifted from one foot to the other. "If you went to the police with a story like that, you'd have to tell them where you heard it. And if they talked to me, I'd tell them the truth ... I never said any such thing. They'd think you're crazy. Besides, I didn't know about Naughton wanting the company back until you just told me."

Kelly had long realized Bennie wasn't as dim as first impression suggested. He was actually quite bright, but this was new territory. "So, what are you suggesting?"

"If we could find out what Naughton is up to, you could tell the police based on your own knowledge, leaving me out of it."

"What's your angle, Bennie?"

"Kelly, this is one of those deals where it's better for you not to know. Better if no one else knows, too. Can I trust you to be quiet about this?"

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to not say!"

"Anything. Don't say anything. See, I could lose my job over this. If you knew, you could lose yours, too. It's better if you can say you didn't know. Better for others to not know, too – like your friend, Jessica. Honest, I'll tell you everything when the time is right – for sure if we find out about Doc. Naughton. And maybe that secret would be the break the cops need."

Kelly looked askance. The suggestion of finding a break in the case felt like an attempt to manipulate him, but he remained intrigued. "How do you figure you and I are going to find that out?"

"I've got a lead, but I need some help tracking it down. How about we meet later and talk it over?"

"Okay. But I'm still going to tell the police about Naughton tying to take the company back."

"That's fine. I don't care about that. Just don't get me involved."

Bennie gave Kelly his cell number, and Kelly promised to call around five when Bennie got off work. Kelly fired up the 88 and put a little distance between himself and the company before pulling over, planning to call Sergeant Haugen, but he paused, phone in hand, reconsidering.

Calling Haugen just to tell him about a rumored re-acquisition attempt by Naughton seemed pretty thin. Even if the rumor proved true, Kelly had nothing to connected it to the murders. Maybe Bennie knew something, but telling Haugen could make Kelly look foolish, since Bennie would likely play dumb.

What the hell did Bennie have up his sleeve? Could it really get them fired? Or was that bullshit? Why would Bennie care what Naughton was up to? And how the heck did he think they could find out? Kelly sighed, placed the call to Haugen, deciding the re-acquisition rumor was worth reporting.

Haugen answered his office land line and listened respectfully. Kelly added the idea that the victims might have known something about Naughton, giving them leverage that could keep him on the sidelines, eliminating a competing bid for the company.

"So, you think Naughton might be trying to get his company back because a reporter is hearing rumors of stock purchases by Naughton's friends, and the victims maybe had something on Naughton, but you don't know what." Haugen's tone was skeptical.

"I admit it's speculation, but maybe they found out that Naughton's current research isn't on the up-and-up, or maybe he infringed on some patents or something, or maybe it's just something personal that would cause a scandal. I don't know, but it would add another motive besides revenge."

"So why didn't you tell me about this proposed sale?"

The question caught Kelly by surprise. "I don't know. I guess it didn't come up."

"I asked you about any company business, any changes."

"You did?"

"Yes. On Friday morning."

"Friday. That explains it. I didn't find out about the sale 'til Mr. Dilman told me on Saturday."

A moment of silence told Kelly that Haugen was taking notes.

"You think the sale could be significant?" Kelly asked.

"We're looking at it."

"So, you already heard about it? I suppose failing to mention it was another reason you wondered about me."

"Not really. No reason to think you knew about it. Kind of surprising Dilman would tell you."

"Normally, I suppose he wouldn't."

"Why this time?"

Kelly regretted the turn in the conversation. "He was just concerned about a study that could affect the sale, wanted me to help keep it going."

Haugen explored the issue further, with Kelly explaining the study's importance. The questioning had Kelly briefly wondering if Dilman could be behind the murders, but the murders appeared to work against Dilman's interests.

"Okay," Haugen said at last. "Thanks for the call."

Kelly doubted whether Haugen's appreciation was sincere. The thin Naughton angle now felt stupid, and the whole story of Dilman's concern about the study seemed like a waste of Haugen's time. Kelly tossed the phone onto the dashboard, embarrassed, feeling like a nuisance. He stewed for minute, half inclined to call Bennie, cancel the meeting, and wash his hands of the mess.

Maybe it was time to leave town, sign up for a law enforcement program somewhere. Kelly didn't want to take out another student loan, but he felt his chances with the Fargo PD were fading – it was already a long shot given the competition, and getting embroiled in a triple murder investigation wasn't going to help. Maybe he could keep working at Naughton, or the hoped-for spinoff, but that didn't seem all that desirable just now -- murders and getting laid-off had a way of cooling one's desire for a job.

Wanting to hear a friendly voice, he retrieved his phone and gave Jessica a call.

"Care to have lunch?" he asked. "Bunch of new stuff to tell you."

"I'm swamped. It's crazy here, but if you don't mind keeping it quick, we could share my sandwich at the picnic table."

A few minutes later, Kelly joined her at the lone outdoor table on the grass between the Naughton parking lot and the sound barrier along the freeway. The satellite truck had left, but the extra security was still in place.

It was a hot August day, but a slight breeze and the dappled shade from a young ash tree kept them comfortable. Kelly sat beside Jessica, straddling the bench so he could face her. They shared her turkey sandwich as he told her about the rumor of Doctor Naughton wanting to get the company back and Haugen's cool reaction to that as a possible motive for murder. "And I'm meeting with Bennie tonight. He's got some angle he wants to talk about."

"An angle on the murders?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so."

Kelly chose not to be more specific, appreciating Bennie's implied message that Jessica, being in the HR department, could be in an awkward ethical spot if she knew Bennie was up to something that could cost him his job.

"Well, maybe Bennie can solve the case," she said, smiling. "Sure be nice if someone did. What a scandal if the murderer turned out to be Naughton, one of the city's favorite sons!"

"A long shot, I think, but Naughton's an odd-ball. Who knows?"

Jessica finished her half of the sandwich and tucked the plastic container in a bag. "Kelly, I just want you to know, I... I don't get close to guys quickly... like you and I did. That's never happened to me before."

"Sure, I understand. It's not every day a gal meets a murder suspect. Pretty irresistible."

"Oh, stop!" She gave him a push on the shoulder. "You're awful."

He smiled. She sighed. She rested her head against her hand, her elbow on the table. "I just felt comfortable with you. I feel I can trust you. I see how other people react to you – people who know you. Like Eddie Potts. He treats you as an equal, but he doesn't do that with the other employees. With them, he's always right, and if he's wrong, it's someone else's fault."

Kelly chuckled. "You've gotten a good read on him in a short time."

"Well, it's not just me. I've talked with others about him."

"He and I had our moments when I first got promoted to study monitor. When he was unreasonable, I could usually put him in an awkward spot by asking the right questions. He soon realized I couldn't be intimidated. We got along after that. He might be the kind of guy who has to be promoted to management because he's too much of a liability in the trenches."

"What was he before?"

"He was a study monitor, even a team leader. He studied to be a physician's assistant, but never finished. I guess that was still good enough for the leader position. I think he also ended up with an MBA, or maybe that's just talk. Might not have finished that, either."

Jessica gathered up the bag. "Well, I suppose I better get back to work."

"I think I'll go home and take a nap."

Kelly walked her to the door. With other workers coming and going, they parted with a squeeze of hands instead of a kiss.

Arriving home, Kelly saw no sign of lurking reporters, so he parked in his usual spot. Despite the hot weather, the apartment was bearable, since he had left the window air conditioner on. Without it, even the shade of the big elm couldn't stop the apartment from roasting. Kelly flopped on the bed, but wondered if he'd sleep with so much on his mind. On top of everything else, now he had the mysterious behavior of Bennie. Kelly trusted Bennie, had been confident of Bennie's character, but this wrinkle created some doubt. He was looking forward to eventually finding out – as Bennie had promised.

He soon dozed off amid fantasy thoughts of a dramatic arrest at Naughton's lab – thoughts that became a dream of a train on the abandoned railbed, with federal agents in an old-fashioned boxcar, armed with Tommy guns, and Naughton as the conductor, taking tickets.

His phone buzzed, waking him from a deep sleep. A couple hours had passed. Caller ID indicated Paula Keen, the reporter. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and took the call.

"Kelly, you're making it hard to keep your name out of it."

"I am? How so?"

"I hear you've been suspended."

"Crap. I'm not suspended. Just taking a leave of absence."

"Big distinction."

"It is. I haven't done anything wrong."

"So why the leave?"

"Because of the news coverage; thank you very much. Everybody at work knows the police searched my truck and my apartment. Even the clinical subjects know, and management thinks I make them nervous, could scare some off."

"Do you make them nervous?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I think I could have explained it to everyone, but the people in charge claim it's better if I stay away."

"Well, sorry about that, but I did what I said I would – kept your name out of it."

Kelly sighed.

"Maybe you should give us an interview. Tell us what it was like finding the bodies, what it's like having to take a leave of absence because of it. You said you wanted to explain to people."

"That's all I'd need. Management would shit their collective pants."

"Can I quote you on that?"

Kelly laughed. "Sure, that would be great. But seriously, we're not on the record here, are we?"

"Of course we're on the record – not that you've said anything I can use."

"You won't report the leave of absence?"

"I don't think so. Feels like a stretch. 'Guy who found two of the bodies takes a leave of absence because bosses think others might think he's a suspect.' Yuck. That doesn't sound like a story to me."

"Thanks. Do you think any other stations or the paper might make something out of it?"

"You never know these days, but they probably won't even find out about your leave. That would take a little hustle, a little work, and for some of them, their expertise doesn't extend much beyond lip gloss application."

Kelly smiled. "That's cold. Do I sense a little bitterness?"

"Just dismay. The profession isn't what it used to be."

"I noticed your station was the only one with video from the scene last night."

"That live shot was from an overpass just inside microwave range. They stopped on the way back, set up on that high spot and beamed back the footage. Made it look like the reporter was at Turtle Lake, but he was actually miles away. And speaking of the Padden murder, do you have anything new for me?"

"Nope. I only know what's in the news."

"Okay, but call, please, if you find out anything. I gotta run."

"Wait. Anything you can tell me?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Anything. I bet I'm not your only source."

"Well, the cops seem to be in hyper-drive. Organizationally, they've got a lieutenant assigned as supervisor for the case. Sergeant Haugen is lead investigator. He has the entire criminal investigation unit at his disposal, and a friend in the department tells me he's enlisted most of the detectives. Without a clear suspect, they have to do a lot of digging. And they're apparently talking with the FBI."

"The FBI? They don't usually mess with murders."

"They'll help with crime analysis – crunching the raw information, like phone data."

"Information from cell phone towers, I suppose. Tower dumps, they're called. We learned about that in school. That requires a court order, but that wouldn't be a problem."

"The police department's intelligence unit probably isn't set up to handle that much information. There'd be a lot of calls, especially with the Naughton building so close to the freeway – a lot of active phones passing by."

"If a common number shows up near all three crime scenes, that would be a hot lead."

After hanging up, Kelly did his sit-ups and push-ups. He then consulted the thermometer on the fire escape. It read 90. The day was also humid -- not unusual for a summer month in North Dakota. Kelly considered blowing off his usual run, but decided not to. He'd take the path along the river to Lindenwood Park. It was a busier trail, attracting bikers, dog walkers, and other runners, but of all his usual routes, it had the most shade. He donned a frayed Twins cap, grabbed his phone, and went outside. He had barely started running when he heard a shout.

"Hey! Kelly!" He turned to find Detective Amundson trotting up behind him.

"Glad I caught you. Where you headed?" Amundson's friendly demeanor seemed less than genuine.

"I run most days."

"Heard you got suspended."

"Leave of absence," said Kelly, not caring to tell the whole story.

"We checked out your tip, talked to Dr. Naughton this morning."

"And?"

"Waste of time. He has no interest in re-acquiring the company, doesn't own any stock, and hasn't been using that nice lab he has in that old depot."

"There's still the revenge angle."

"He denies any conflict with Kupmeier, though he clearly wasn't too fond of him, and he says he barely knew the other two guys."

"Did you meet his sidekick?"

"Richard Ivers. Naughton took the guy in, gave him a job after he aged out of foster care. Seems the doctor has a soft spot. Anyway, Ivers wasn't in when we were there, routine shopping, according to Naughton."

"Sorry to send you on a wild goose chase."

"I bet you are."

"Any luck tracking down Mickey Bartz?"

"Yes. Living in a crew camp outside Watford City, driving a delivery truck. His alibi checked out."

"And I still don't have one."

"That's right. You were on the scene for two of the murders, and had plenty of time to reach the third."

"Okay, I get that you have to check me out, but Sergeant Haugen seems to believe me. Why don't you?"

"I don't trust belief. I trust facts. And one obvious fact is that you're not doing us any favors when you make things up about people like Doctor Naughton. That's the sort of thing a killer might do – trying to appear all helpful."

"I didn't make anything up, and here are two facts for you. I had nothing to do with any of the murders; and you have no facts to suggest otherwise. All you have is your amateur profiling."

Kelly turned, jogging away.

"Maybe so," Amundson called after him. "But I might be right, and I'll be watching you."

Kelly knew Amundson was just doing his job, but it still pissed him off. He was used to being trusted. He expected to be trusted. He took pride in being trusted. That there was any doubt was maybe understandable, but it was also unsettling, and even worse, it maybe ruined his odds of being hired by the department.

Kelly's route meandered along the river, but he soon stopped, finding shady spot to sit with his back against a tree by the riverbank. He closed his eyes, letting the slight breeze soothe him. Only a few birds chirped in the heat of the day.

Three murders, the leave, his hope of landing a spot with the Fargo PD getting smoked. It had been a stressful few days.

He decided that a big part of his stress came from the frustration of having no control. There seemed to be nothing he could do about the bizarre chain of events. A few days ago, everything had been clear; he had a plan; his life was on track. Now, about the only thing he could do was meet with Bennie and hear his ideas about investigating Naughton. The thought was a bit humorous, a bit troubling, yet oddly soothing. At least it was something. Better than sitting on his hands with no job to go to, and he was curious about Bennie's motive.

Kelly resumed his run, eventually returning to his apartment where he opted for the fire escape again, in case any reporters still lurked out front. He found Ted on the fire escape, enjoying the warm day in the shade of the elm as he read the newspaper. Ted looked over his reading glasses as Kelly came up the stairs. "Awfully hot for a run." Ted folded his paper and set it on the small table between the chairs. "Get yourself a glass of water, and then come tell me what the janitor had to say."

"The janitor is just the start," said Kelly. He accepted Ted's invitation, going to the kitchen where he downed a glass of water, refilled it, and returned to the landing where he plopped onto the other chair. He pulled off his cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"The meeting with Bennie was interesting. He's up to something, and he's not willing to say what, but it could apparently get him fired."

"Murder, perhaps."

Kelly chuckled. "That would get you fired, alright. No, it's something else, and for some reason he wants to know what Naughton is up to. And he doesn't want anything to do with the police. Says he has his reasons. I'm going to meet with him again after he gets off work. Meanwhile, I had another run-in with Amundson."

"Detective, right?"

"Yes. Same guy who came to the club last night. He was outside the apartment when I left for my run. He's the one who thinks I fit some kind of sociopathic criminal profile."

"Really?" Ted seemed genuinely amused. He tossed his glasses atop the newspaper.

"Yeah, it's crazy. We had this in school. Profiling is possible, but it's not an exact science. And they don't have any trained profiler here. It's just armchair profiling. When we talked about this in class, I think the nearest profiler was in Chicago, with the FBI."

"I wouldn't fret too much about it. They aren't apt to spend much time looking at you without some evidence."

"I get the feeling Sergeant Haugen believes me."

"Then he'll probably call off Amundson. He won't want him wasting time with you."

"But there's a lieutenant supervising the case."

"Certainly, but that's usually a support role. The supervisor is there to make sure Haugen has the resources he needs, and also to deal with the media, politicians, attorneys, the families of the victims – that sort of thing. That allows the lead investigator to focus on investigating."

"That's good. I feel okay about Haugen."

"So, this janitor ... why would he be curious about Naughton?"

"I'm not sure, but I wonder ... do you think it's possible that he could be selling information to the media?"

Ted scoffed. "Absolutely not. The local media has no money for that sort of thing, and besides, paying for news is frowned upon."

"But it's not just local. This murder story is going national. I've heard those tabloids will pay for a story. Paparazzi and all that."

"Only if someone famous is involved. I don't think this story qualifies, at least not yet. But ..." Ted looked off into space, deep in thought. "Maybe ..."

"What?"

"Maybe he's a spy."

"A spy? Are you serious?"

"Industrial espionage. Janitors are perfect. They can pass along unshredded garbage from sensitive offices, place bugs, sneak peeks at e-mails, find password lists, and maybe even install Trojan software to spy on key computers."

"Bennie a spy." Kelly slowly shook his head. "Hard to imagine."

"But it fits. It explains the fear of getting fired. It also explains his interest in Dr. Naughton's work. Someone who could profit from knowing what the doctor was up to might pay quite well."

"Haugen doesn't think Naughton is really trying to get the company back, but if he's wrong, maybe the company trying to acquire the business would want to spy on Naughton."

"True. It could also be someone wanting product development secrets, or insider information for stock trading."

"Bennie. That crazy bastard. Who'd have thought?"

"Question now is, what bearing might the spying have on the murders?"

"You think it's related?"

"Not directly. Corporate espionage isn't something that would benefit by having the police nosing about, but it does explain why your friend wants nothing to do with them."

"Maybe he came upon some evidence, or a motive."

"That does sees more likely. He could be in a bad spot, reluctant to come forward because of the spying."

"Which could explain why he wants my help. He said if we found out what Doc Naughton was up to, I could tell the police and keep him out of it." Kelly paused, reflecting on his encounter with Amundson. "If we did find something, I want to be damn sure it was significant before I brought it to the police. Amundson regarded my Naughton tip as another indication I'm a murdering, attention-seeking nut-job."

"Except for the murdering, sounds like they've got you pegged."

Kelly smiled. "Maybe I'll add the murdering."

Kelly promised to keep Ted posted. He headed up to his apartment and called Bennie's cell. They agreed, at Bennie's suggestion, to meet behind the used book store across the bike path from Naughton's digs in the old Milwaukee Road depot.

Kelly arrived at 5:30 to find Bennie's van parked in the shade of a scrub oak that had taken seed along a broken-down fence at the back of the book store lot. Kelly eased the Delta 88 close to the fence where it wouldn't easily be observed from Naughton's building. He joined Bennie in front of the van. The oak tree and the trashed fence helped hide them.

"Looks pretty quiet," said Kelly of the Naughton building.

"They don't spend a lot of time here," said Bennie.

Knowing that seemed consistent with spying, something Kelly decided not to bring up. He figured the less he knew, the better off he'd be in case he was ever questioned. Besides, disclosing his suspicion might put an end to Bennie's cooperation. And the idea of reporting Bennie to the company wasn't a serious consideration. When it came to the high moral ground, the company had no edge on Bennie. So Kelly played it cool, content to wait and let it play out.

"You know, the cops have checked out the place," said Kelly. "Didn't find anything. Though maybe they wouldn't know what to look for."

"I don't think the interesting work happens here," said Bennie. "I think Naughton has another place. I followed them once."

"Where'd they go?"

Bennie shook his head. "They pulled into a truck stop south of town. I kept going, afraid they might have spotted me. My van's kind of obvious, and I already followed them all the way through town and down the freeway. I never did see where they ended up."

Kelly smiled. The spy theory had to be right. Somebody must have good reason to pay for the information.

"That's why I could use your help," Bennie continued. "With a different vehicle, we can maybe see where they go."

"Well, if it helps convince the police that I'm not the murderer, I'm all for it."

"They still suspect you?" Bennie turned around, looking toward the street in front of the bookstore.

"Yes and no. They've asked a lot of questions, but I don't think they're considering me too seriously."

"Maybe they're watching you?" Bennie scanned the area. "Any chance they followed you here?"

"I don't really know. Amundson said he'd be keeping an eye on me. Do we care?"

Bennie kept examining the parked cars, the traffic. Then he looked at Kelly's Delta 88. "Maybe they put one of those GPS tracking devices on your car."

"I hope not. Actually, no they couldn't. They'd need a warrant for that. And that would take some evidence. I did sign papers allowing them to search my apartment and my truck, but even if that extended to GPS tracking, the car wasn't included; they didn't even know about the car. At least I don't think they did. Pretty slim chance they'd be tracking me."

A light-duty truck pulled into the parking area of Naughton's building. It looked like a used rental, a yellow box truck with a van-style cab. The garage door opened and the truck pulled inside. Naughton's assistant had apparently been driving; he came to the back of the truck, glanced around, but didn't see Kelly and Bennie hidden behind the fence and the branches of the oak tree.

"Richard Ivers." Kelly kept his voice low, even though the truck was a good 40 yards away. Ivers disappeared into the garage, returning with a wooden crate that he effortlessly loaded into the truck.

Kelly scrambled to the passenger side of the Delta 88 and opened the door, which squeaked loudly. Bennie shushed him, but there was little chance the noise was loud enough or unusual enough to attract attention. Kelly retrieved small binoculars from the glove box, ran back, and steadied them on top of the fence.

"The crate's labeled 'live animals.' There are ventilation holes around the top."

"What kind of animal?" asked Bennie.

"I can't tell. I'm not even sure the crate's occupied."

Dr. Naughton came into view, valise in hand. Ivers closed the van's rear door and the two men climbed in the cab, Ivers driving.

"Here we go," said Kelly as the truck's backup lights came on. "Let's see if they head south again." He and Bennie ran to the Delta 88. Kelly buckled up and handed Bennie the binoculars. He wasted no time speeding out from behind the bookstore.

"You said they took the freeway?"

"Yes. They took Main out to I-29."

"If they're watching for a tail, this car would be pretty obvious. We'll take First Avenue and get ahead of them."

"Follow from in front?"

"Right. If they're taking the same way as before, it should work."

At University, Kelly turned left, heading south. "There!" Bennie pointed out the truck, almost two blocks ahead, almost to Main Avenue. Kelly turned on to First Avenue and hit the gas. A few older, run-down houses quickly gave way to an industrial district.

A cement truck pulled into their path. Kelly zipped around it, using the turning lane to pass. Bennie grabbed his seatbelt and buckled up. A traffic light ahead turned yellow, but Kelly didn't slow. Bennie braced himself with hands on the dash as they bounded over a rail line. Kelly turned left as the light went red, the tires squealing on the hot pavement. They passed under the Burlington Northern tracks and caught a green light as they turned onto Main.

"There they are!" called Bennie. "About four blocks back." He trained the binoculars on the traffic behind. "And if any cops had been following you, I think we lost 'em."

Kelly kept up his speed, wanting to get far enough ahead that a red light wouldn't bring the two vehicles together. Two minutes later, they took the ramp onto the freeway.

Bennie, watching the truck, soon confirmed that it had followed them. "Yep. They're coming this way."

"How far to the truck stop?"

"Highway 46. 15 miles or so."

Fortunately, Richard the bruiser wasn't a lead foot. Kelly was able to increase the lead without going so fast as to risk getting pulled over. Bennie, watching with the binoculars, reported on their steady progress.

The 88's air conditioning didn't work, so they ran with the windows open. The wind snatched up an old receipt, twirling it past the windshield before sucking it out the window.

"Let's turn off our cells," called out Bennie over the noise.

"Why?"

"Just in case." Bennie dug for his phone. "The cops can track where you go. If something happened, it might be best if there wasn't a record of us going out this way."

"First of all, we're not out to cause any trouble. At least I hope not, right?"

"Well, no."

"And second of all, the cops need a warrant to track our phones."

"But they can check tower records, can't they? Without a warrant?"

"They still need a good reason."

"What if we decide to snoop around and someone sees us?"

"I doubt they'd go to a judge looking for tower records over a trespassing incident."

"Well, I'm still leaving mine off."

Kelly pondered a moment. On the chance that Bennie's secrets could get them into trouble, he turned off his phone, too.

It wasn't long before the city gave way to flat, open farmland. The only trees were along river traces, old shelter belts, and the occasional farmstead. In places, you could see to the horizon, a vista that some newcomers, accustomed to forests, hills or mountains, could find disconcerting. The traffic had also thinned, only a handful of cars in sight, which was not uncommon in this sparsely populated state.

The truck stop was the only building at the exit for Highway 46. It was on the right, but Kelly turned left onto the two-lane blacktop, which was empty in both directions. The air above the asphalt shimmered in the heat. As soon as he crossed over the freeway, he pulled to the side, still high on the overpass, giving them a good vantage point.

They climbed out to watch for the truck. A few grasshoppers flitted along the shoulder of the road, and several dragonflies bobbed about on the breeze. Besides the sound of a pickup passing on the freeway below, all they heard were the buzz of insects and the ticking of the hot car.

"There it is," said Bennie, almost in a whisper as he watched through the binoculars.

"Did they drive that truck when you followed them before?"

"No, they were in some big SUV. Black. What do we do if they come this way instead of heading toward the truck stop?"

"They might not even take this exit. Could be that they pulled off last time because they saw you following, or maybe they just needed gas. If they do come this way, we'll just sit tight. They'll figure we're locals."

"They are taking the exit," said Bennie.

They got back in the car. Kelly adjusted the rear view mirror to watch. The truck pulled into view at the top of the ramp and turned right, heading the other way.

Kelly waited several seconds before making a U-turn and driving slowly back across the overpass to follow.

"There they are," said Bennie.

The truck had continued west down Highway 46. To keep their distance, Kelly pulled into the truck stop and circled a couple parked semis before pulling back onto the highway.

"We'll take it easy," said Kelly. "This road's about as flat and straight as they come. We should be able hang back a half-mile or so."

Bennie kept the binoculars trained on the truck. It wasn't long before he announced a turn to the left, the truck heading south on an unpaved road. Kelly allowed the truck to disappear around a bend before he followed. The terrain here was less flat and more wooded – the road running along the edge of a meandering ravine.

After two miles, the dust kicked up by the truck ended at a farm lane that branched to the right. Kelly drove on by, but they caught a glimpse of the truck as it negotiated a small wooden bridge over a stream.

The gravel road took them up a slight rise. Kelly turned off, onto an over-grown lane. "Might have been a farmstead once." No trace of buildings remained, but off to the left were some beehive stacks. Kelly kept to the right, parking where a hedge of old lilacs hid the 88 from the road. They got out and hiked through the tall, dry August grass and into a grove of trees, soon finding themselves above the stream, where they had a good view of the property beyond.

The main feature of the property was a two-story ranch house with an open porch on two sides. Adjacent to the house was a newer two-stall garage. Beyond the house was an old barn with a stone foundation. The open basement door faced the house, its rusted door hanging askew on a runner. The doors on the upper floor, at the end of the barn, were also open, one hanging crooked, detached from a hinge. The barn's roof had fallen in on one side where the gray walls had buckled. Brush grew thick about the building, and a sapling had emerged through the barn's broken timbers. The stone-block silo seemed sound, but it lacked a roof.

The truck had pulled up to yet another building, a long wooden structure with a roof of old asphalt shingles. The building was cut into the far hillside. Naughton stood by the twin doors of the building as Ivers carried in the crate. Naughton followed, closing the doors.

"Is that some kind of barn?" asked Bennie.

"Probably. Maybe machine storage, or a turkey barn. I don't know. Jessica might know. She's from a farm. It's cut into the hill for some reason."

"Maybe they grew mushrooms in there."

"Maybe," said Kelly, though he doubted it.

Kelly decided the discovery of the place outweighed his concerns about Amundson's opinion of him. He pulled out his cell and turned it on.

"What are you doing?" asked Bennie.

"We should call the cops."

"I thought we were going to find out what they're up to first."

Kelly looked at Bennie as his phone booted up. "What if they're killing people?"

Bennie looked back toward the building. "I suppose you're right."

"I know it's a long shot, but if there's any chance..."

"I don't think it's such a long shot," said Bennie, with a conviction Kelly found surprising.

Kelly looked at his phone. "Can't call the cops; there's no cell service out here."

A moment later, Naughton and his companion re-emerged from the building and walked to the house.

"Seen enough?" asked Kelly.

Bennie seemed reluctant to leave, but he slowly nodded.

As they headed back to town, Kelly wondered whether Bennie was a janitor recruited to be a spy, or a spy planted as a janitor. He also wondered how much more Bennie knew.

CHAPTER 8 – MONDAY EVENING

As Bennie drove away in his van, Kelly lingered, sitting in his car behind the book store. He called Haugen. There was no answer at his desk or cell. Kelly left a brief message about discovering Naughton's country place and seeing the live animal crate.

Kelly then called Ted, finding him home.

"I've got a pretty interesting outing with Bennie to tell you about."

"If you come now, sneak in the back way. There's a news crew outside -- from one of those true-crime shows."

"Great."

"They're eager to talk with you. At the moment, I think they're interviewing Jerry."

"That should be good. If he gets on TV, he'll talk about that forever."

Ted chuckled. "They've gone door-to-door, looking for people to interview."

"Guess I'll stay away for a while. Care to go for a burger?"

"Sure. Meet you at Ralph's? Give me thirty minutes."

Kelly next called Jessica. She agreed to join them. Ralph's Corner, a bar on the Minnesota side of the river in Moorhead, wasn't the original Ralph's, which was torn down some years before. Instead, a new incarnation of the old classic had opened. The new building came with higher overhead. Several businesses had already failed there, but the new Ralph's appeared to have a chance. Even though the prices for beer and food ran higher than the old dive, the place had immediately found appreciative fans, including Ted, who had shared with Kelly a number of stories of the old place during their visits to the new.

They settled at a table, Jessica and Kelly on the built-in bench along the wall, Ted in a chair across from them. A poster-sized print of the old "Ralph's Corner" sign hung on the wall nearby.

"They did a good job on the layout in here," said Ted. "It's an homage to the original. Cleaner and brighter than the old place, but the layout is just about spot-on."

After placing their food orders, Kelly recounted his adventure with Bennie and described the farmstead.

"Way to go, Mr. Holmes," said Jessica. "Maybe you and Watson just broke the case open."

Kelly laughed. "I doubt it, but I hope the police will at least check it out."

"It would be interesting to learn what they're doing with live animals," said Ted.

"Animals would explain the farm location," said Kelly. "Animals in-town might be noisy, and likely a zoning violation."

"Any guess what kind of animals?" asked Jessica.

"Not really. The crates were maybe two feet tall, but they could be subdivided. Rats, chickens, rabbits. Maybe even monkeys."

Their cheeseburgers arrived, along with refills of Kelly's coffee, Ted's wine and Jessica's beer.

"Tell us about the cable crew that's looking for me," said Kelly, between bites.

Jessica perked up, hearing about it for the first time.

"They were gone by the time I left to come over here," said Ted. "I'm guessing they'll be in town for a while. It's that show American Crime." He recounted how a producer had come to his door. "I declined to speak with them, but they hung around for a couple of hours, gathering video of the building and the neighborhood. I assume they got some neighbors to talk."

"That doesn't seem fair," said Jessica. "It's not right that they'd do a story about Kelly."

"They might not be," said Ted. "It's very possible that they're getting the footage and the interviews as a precaution, just in case Kelly did turn out to be part of the story. Shows like this shoot way more footage than they ever use."

"I hope you're right," said Kelly.

"Better call your mom," said Jessica. "They'll probably try to talk to her."

"Crap. You're right." Kelly wiped the burger grease off his hands and dug out his phone. His mom picked up on the second ring.

"They've already come and gone," she reported matter-of-factly. "I didn't go on camera for them, but I made it pretty damn clear they were barking up the wrong tree. I got the feeling they'd already reached the same conclusion, but they said they'd still like to talk to you -- you finding the bodies and everything."

"Okay, thanks. I've got more to tell you, but I'm at Ralph's with Ted and Jessica. See you tomorrow maybe?"

Kelly shared his mom's news with Ted and Jessica. After eating, they lingered over another round of drinks as they imagined various possibilities about the farmstead and the connection to the murders.

"I'm curious what your janitor friend discovered to make him link the victims to Naughton," said Ted. "And I wonder who's paying him to dig up that info?"

"Paying him?" asked Jessica, surprised.

Kelly winced.

"Oops," said Ted. "Did I spill the beans?"

"My fault," Kelly told him. "I should have warned you." He turned to Jessica. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid it would put you in a bad spot."

"Didn't tell me what?"

"It's a theory about Bennie. He seems to know something about Kupmeier and Barry that connects to Doc Naughton. He's also very interested in finding out what Naughton is up to, and Ted figured it might involve corporate spying."

"Bennie? Are you kidding? Bennie? Really?"

"Janitors can make very effective spies," said Ted.

"I didn't want to say anything," said Kelly, "since I figured you'd feel a professional obligation to report him, even though you might not want to."

"I'll be damned," said Jessica. "Bennie a spy. What evidence do you have?"

"Nothing, really."

"Good. Then I've got no conflict ... just some wild imagining by a murder suspect and his neighbor."

Kelly rolled his eyes.

"Besides," she continued, "all the things you've told me about the pharmaceutical business don't leave me too inclined to rat out somebody like Bennie. Who do you suppose he's working for?"

"Another pharmaceutical company seems most likely," said Ted, "maybe even the company that's trying to buy the place. But it could also be a stock trader, investor, or even an investigative reporter."

Their speculations continued for some time, but they eventually called it a night. Ted had walked for the exercise. He said goodnight and headed back across the bridge. Kelly walked Jessica to her car, where they kissed, his hands on her hips, her arms on his shoulders. "Care to stop by for a while?" he asked, smiling. "It's on your way home."

"Sure."

Jessica followed Kelly to his apartment. With no sign of any members of the media, he parked in his usual spot, with Jessica pulling in beside him. They walked slowly from their cars, holding hands, enjoying the warm summer night and the excitement of a new love. Once inside the apartment, they wasted no time, finding their way to the bedroom where he undressed her as they kissed. He lowered her to the bed where he, too, shed his clothes. Kelly's cell rang, but it went unanswered.

Afterwards, they talked quietly, hiding beneath a sheet, expressing their affection, nose-to-nose, smiling and often laughing. Eventually, Kelly responded to the reminder chirp that told him voicemail awaited. He reached for his pants to retrieve his phone.

"Haugen," he reported, upon seeing the caller ID. Jessica listened as he played Haugen's message that thanked Kelly for the tip and asked him to call.

Jessica nibbled at Kelly's ear as he was hitting the call button. "Hey!" He laughed. "I'm trying to call the police here."

She walked her fingers down his stomach, lower and lower, as Haugen came on the line. Kelly grabbed her hand. She giggled.

"So where's this farm?" asked Haugen, without so much as a word of greeting.

Kelly gave Haugen the farm's fire number as Jessica tormented him further, tickling his neck with her nose. As Kelly gave specific directions, she slipped out from under the sheets, gathered her clothes, and tiptoed for the bathroom.

"How did you find out about the place?" asked Haugen.

The question caught Kelly off guard. He'd gotten the tip from Bennie, but had agreed to keep Bennie's name out of it. "I got to wondering because there's been talk around the office that Naughton is often gone, but supposedly still doing research, and you didn't find any signs of activity at his lab in town, so I wondered if maybe he had another place. Then I saw a truck at his building and decided to watch for a while. When they left, I followed them."

"Hmm."

Kelly couldn't tell if Haugen was impressed or suspicious.

"And this animal crate," said Haugen, "you saw it at this farm?"

"They loaded it at the old depot, brought it to the farm."

"And you think this might be connected to the murders."

"I don't know. Probably not. There's just that speculation of the victims being killed to keep them quiet. If it has something to do with Naughton, maybe it involves that farm."

"Okay," said Haugen. "Thanks for the lead, but following people is asking for trouble. I know you have ambitions, but playing private eye is a bad idea, especially under your circumstances."

"Got it."

"It could even foul up our investigation."

"Okay."

"One thing you could do is make sure to establish your whereabouts going forward. Hang with other people; make a phone call; use an ATM or credit card someplace. If there's another murder, I want you to have an alibi so I can tell detective Amundson to stop wasting his time on you."

"Good point. I'll do that. And thanks for believing me."

"I hope that's not a mistake."

"It's not."

As Kelly hung up, Jessica returned from the bathroom, fully dressed, purse in hand.

"Leaving?"

She sat beside him on the bed. "Yep. It's a school night."

"But Haugen says you need to stick around so I'll have an alibi in case somebody else gets knocked off."

"He does, does he?"

Kelly nodded with exaggerated sincerity.

"Sorry, but you're on your own. What else did he say?"

"He thanked me for the tip about the Naughton place, but I don't think he meant it. And he gave me some crap for following them out there."

"You didn't hurt anything. Maybe it will actually amount to something." She gave him a kiss, and then rose to leave.

Kelly pulled on his pants and slipped on a denim shirt to walk her out.

"I like your apartment," said Jessica, looking the place over. "It's got character."

"I'm fond of it," said Kelly. They began the long climb down the stairs. "Jerry, my landlord, keeps saying he could charge a lot more for it, now that urban apartments are all the rage."

The air outside had cooled, but the summer night remained beautiful. Kelly walked gingerly as they crossed the gravel to reach Jessica's car. "I should have put shoes on."

"Not terribly bright, are you?"

"Guess not."

"Need me to drive you back across the lot?"

"Naw, I can tough it out."

She smiled. "Good night."

They kissed a final time and Kelly watched her drive away. He stood a while in the moonlight, feeling oddly good about things, even though in some ways that made no sense whatsoever.

CHAPTER 9 – TUESDAY MORNING

Kelly's ringing phone brought him half awake. He managed to retrieve it without opening his eyes.

"What the fuck, Kelly? I just heard from Dr. Thomas Whitcomb. You'd already sent that damn e-mail, hadn't you? And you just couldn't admit it." It was Bryce Dilman, the CFO.

"What time is it?" said Kelly, his head still nestled in his pillow.

"Nine fucking twenty."

"Mind if I sleep a little longer before I come clean in and out my desk?"

"I damn well should fire your ass. That stunt could have sunk everything, cost over a hundred people their jobs. "

"Could have?"

"Yes. Could have." Dilman paused. "You're just lucky Whitcomb okayed a change in the protocol."

Kelly abruptly sat up. "He did?"

"That doesn't mean I'm not pissed. You had no business contacting him on your own authority."

"Right."

"Here's what I want you to do. I want you to come back to work, but not in research, at least not yet. The board is bringing in a top-notch interim COO, a pro in crisis management. He's requested that someone be assigned to him who knows how this place works – someone from the rank and file. That's the deal. If you want to come back to work, you're this guy's assistant, and you stay out of the clinical study wing, except as needed in your new role."

"I can do that. But won't this guy be reluctant to work with a murder suspect?"

"I know you're no murderer. And that cop, Hoagan ..."

"Haugen"

"Haugen. He doesn't think it's you, either. I'm not worried about it, and the new COO won't know."

"When do you want me?"

"He's flying in from Chicago. We have a plane there waiting to pick him up at noon. He's going to meet with the board and the rest of the management team. You can go with me to meet him at the airport. After that, it's up to him. Maybe he'll need you more today, maybe not."

"Okay."

"And wear something decent, shave."

After hanging up, Kelly considered texting Jessica, but decided to surprise her.

Kelly met Dilman at the office at 1:15. The flight was expected at 1:40. Dilman's anger seemed to have subsided – he was all smiles as they left the building.

"So, are we taking your Mercedes, or my Delta 88?" Kelly pointed out his paint-deprived not-so-classic junker.

Dilman laughed. "Better take mine."

"Probably best," said Kelly. "I imagine your air conditioning works."

It was Kelly's first ride in Dilman's Mercedes-Benz GL450 SUV. "I could get used to this," he said, as they left the Naughton parking lot.

"Maybe someday we can make that possible for you."

Taking the freeways, the drive across town took 20 minutes. The airport sat at the edge of the prairie, out past North Dakota State University and the Fargodome. The main terminal was to the west of the runways, but they drove to the east side, where the smaller planes were tended. They didn't have to wait long for the Gulf Stream jet to arrive.

The interim COO, Philip Petrowski, squeezed through the door of the corporate jet. Pushing seventy, Petrowski was a florid-faced bear of a man. Kelly figured the odds were good that Petrowski had been a football lineman in college.

Petrowski greeted them warmly, but at the same time had a no-nonsense air and a commanding voice. The pilot brought out Petrowski's bag. Kelly took charge of it.

"Goodness," said Petrowski. "I thought it would be cool this far north."

"Not in summer," said Dilman. "Fargo can do hot almost as well as it does cold."

Petrowski shed his suit coat and rode in front with Dilman. They drove through town, giving Petrowski a more intimate look at the city.

"Fargo," said Petrowski, as they passed NDSU on tree-lined University Drive. "I saw the movie and a number of the TV episodes. Nice to finally see the place for real, though I wish I was visiting under happier circumstances."

"It's nothing like the shows," said Dilman.

Except for all the murders, thought Kelly.

Back at Naughton Pharmaceuticals, Dilman and Petrowski joined a meeting of the high brass in the conference room. Having some time to kill, Kelly took the opportunity to look in on Jessica, finding her at her cubicle.

"Surprise!"

"Oh, hello." She looked him over, noting the slacks, shirt and tie. "You're back. I heard something about you saving the big study."

"Yes, I guess I did. I struck a deal with Dilman. You're looking at the assistant to the new COO." Kelly struck a smug pose.

"Oh, really? I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"Thank you," said Kelly, bowing, but also sensing a tepid vibe from Jessica. "Everything okay?

"Yes. I'm fine."

Kelly plopped into the chair beside her desk. "No you're not. What gives?"

"Not here. We can talk later."

"Tonight?"

"I've got yoga class."

"Alright." He paused, giving her a chance to say something, but she only gave a slight nod. "I'll let you get back to work." He left without attempting a stolen kiss or even a touch, sensing that wasn't happening. He had no idea what the cold shoulder was about. Everything last night had been great.

His mood plummeted as he walked slowly, absentmindedly to the administration break room. What the heck had happened?

He poured a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for the meeting with Petrowski to break up, after which he was expected to join a building tour for the new COO. The break room TV was on, but Kelly was unaware of it, thinking instead of Jessica.

"Kelly!" Lenny from Scientific Affairs breezed into the room. "Welcome back." Lenny poured himself some coffee.

"Thanks. Gone a whole day."

Lenny pulled up a chair and leaned in close. "Thanks for bailing me out."

"Bailing you out?"

"Yes. I don't know how you worked it, but it meant I didn't have to." Lenny's arched left eyebrow augmented his conspiratorial tone. "And here you are, back at work. Assistant to the new COO, no less."

"Temporarily, while he's getting oriented."

"It's still a well-deserved reward. Thanks again." Lenny popped up and headed for the door.

"It's no reward. It's just ..." Kelly gave up as Lenny disappeared into the hallway. He shook his head, wondering what plan Dilman and Lenny had hatched for fudging the results on 146.

Kelly got more coffee, his thoughts returning to Jessica, but a commotion in the hallway alerted him to the meeting breaking up. He went out to make himself available and stood beside Potts as the various board members and senior staff departed, some sharing a final word of welcome with the new COO. Finally it was just Dilman, Potts and Petrowski. Kelly joined them for the tour.

Dilman did most of the talking, introducing various members of the staff as he showed off the legal department, sales office, Scientific Affairs, and marketing. Potts took the lead when it came to the labs.

"We don't manufacture here," said Potts as they arrived at shipping and receiving, "which is why the labs and shipping are modest in size."

"That's done in Houston?" asked Petrowski.

"Yes. That's where the domestic manufacturing and distribution occurs."

"I'll have to visit."

"Some of the production is done in India," added Dilman. "But we don't own facilities there, we contract."

Even in the clinical study wing, Kelly didn't contribute much, since Potts had most of the answers for Petrowski's many questions. In the waiting area, Petrowski got to visiting with a prospective test subject who happened to be from Petrowski's home state of Illinois, so Kelly took the opportunity to acknowledge Barb at the reception desk.

"I'm back already."

"I see that."

"How's it been going? You getting by without me?"

Barb sidestepped the question. "You're moving to administration now?"

"No way," said Kelly, sensing disapproval. "I'm just stuck there until our new COO gets oriented."

"I see."

Kelly stared at Barb questioningly. "What's the deal? Tough day or something? Where'd my friend Barb go?"

"I'm just disappointed you came back."

"What?"

"I didn't think you'd cave."

"Cave? What the heck are you talking about? I didn't do any caving."

Barb all but ignored him, clearly unimpressed by his protest.

"Barb, tell me. What is it?"

She looked up, her demeanor softening a bit. "It's pretty clear Dilman didn't save 146 by himself. Everybody knows you had something to do with it." She gestured to his shirt and tie. "And it seems Dilman has shown his appreciation."

A wave of realization swept over him. That's what Lenny meant in the break room – that Kelly helped Dilman cheat on the study, an opinion that must have spread through the building.

"Barb, no. I didn't cave. I didn't fudge things for Dilman. Hell, this morning he had half a mind to fire me." Kelly looked off toward the administration wing, thinking of Jessica. "Gotta run. I'll explain later. Make an excuse for me." He glanced to where Dilman was still huddled with Petrowski and Potts then he gave Barb a big smile. "Urgent 5-X matter to attend to." Barb's expression brightened.

Kelly ran to the security doors, banging into them as his first hasty swipe with his card didn't take. He dashed down the administration wing hallway, dodging other employees as he made his way to the administrative support area and Jessica's cubicle. She was still there, looking forlorn, her eyes reddened.

Kelly landed in the spare chair beside her desk, smiling broadly.

She dried her eyes with an already damp tissue. "What are you so happy about?"

"I found out why you're upset with me. It's because I saved that study. Because I struck a deal with Dilman."

"That makes you happy?"

"Exactly. Because you've got it all wrong. I didn't rig anything for Dilman. I sent a request to the author of the study, seeking a variance for the protocol even though Dilman told me not to. He found out this morning and wanted to string me up – swore a blue streak like I've never heard from him before, I'm sure he'd have fired me, but the variance was granted! And at the same time, he needed somebody who knows the ropes to shepherd the new COO ... temporarily. I'll be back at my old job once he gets oriented."

Jessica's anguish faded, replaced by a sob of relief. She fell into his arms clutching him tightly, her face buried against his shoulder. They held each other as her composure slowly returned.

She finally leaned back, still sniffling. "I am so sorry."

"That's okay. You're not alone. Barb thought I'd sold out, too. And Lenny in Scientific Affairs – hell, he probably started the story."

Jessica blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then took a deep, shuddering breath. Kelly gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Look, I gotta get back. I abandoned the tour with the new COO. I'll call you later." He raced back to the clinical study wing, feeling almost giddy, relieved that it was all a misunderstanding.

The tour had moved on to Unit 1. Potts gave him a questioning look, but his absence had otherwise gone unnoticed.

Tactfully, the two murder scenes were not included on the tour, which wound up back at the COO's office. Dilman and Potts were excused, but Petrowski kept Kelly and Mary Dunham around. Mary was the veteran executive secretary in the COO's office. He asked Mary to arrange individual meetings with all the department heads as soon as possible. "Later, we'll get them all together," said Petrowski. "When you talk to them, make it clear that the purpose of these meetings is for them to tell me how I can help them get their job done."

Petrowski sent her on her way and turned his attention to Kelly, directing him to sit across from him at the massive desk, which seemed almost too small for Petrowski. It was devoid of any personal items, Kupmeier's effects having been removed. A computer screen and phone sat on a wing of the desk to the right.

"I'm not sure Mr. Dilman really understood what I was looking for in an assistant. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"And you've worked here four years?"

"Part-time at first. Full-time the last couple years."

"Bryce assures me you know how things work around here." Petrowski stared at Kelly, as if deciding if Dilman's assessment was possibly true. "What I need is someone who can tell me like it is – not the BS that gets printed in the annual report or the same stuff I'll be hearing from the department heads with all their agendas. You think you can really do that?"

"Parts of it, I suppose. I've only worked on the clinical study side, but I kind of understand how it all goes together."

"Alright. Let's start with this -- what's your take on what this company does and how it does it."

Kelly was a bit taken aback, and unsure how to start. "Well, it sells a modest line of patented pharmaceuticals ..."

Petrowski stopped him with a shake of the head. "I can get that from Wikipedia. I want the un-sugarcoated truth, the way you'd tell your buddy over beers in the bar. You can talk to me candidly; I'm interim. Everything you say will leave with me. How do you see it from the trenches? That's what I need. It will help me do the job."

Kelly slowly nodded. "Okay." He straightened up, gathering his thoughts. "I'd say we play pretty much the same game as other pharmaceutical companies. And that means most of the effort goes into finding ways to get more customers. The research almost always involves our existing product line, sometimes after some changes are made, but not always. We look for some edge versus a competitor, or we're trying to identify another condition to use a drug for – that's way cheaper than actually bringing a new drug to market. Last year, they even re-branded one of our drugs with a new name, gave it new color, because a drug associated with menopause won't be accepted by people for something else."

"How often does the company bring a new product to market?"

"A genuinely new product? Maybe once in my four years. I think we bought that patent from somebody. We bought some other patents, too, but nothing's come of them that I'm aware of. There's some talk that at least one of the products would have competed with one of ours and that buying it kept it on the sidelines. I don't really know."

"Maybe it wasn't as good, and they dropped it."

"Maybe. They might have run trials on it – we don't always know what's being tested. And if the drug still needed first-in-man trials, that would have been outsourced, probably overseas."

Mary knocked at the door connecting her office to the COO's. She poked her head in. "Connie Deacon on line one."

"Hang on a bit," said Petrowski to Kelly. He reached for the phone and punched up the call. "Connie, nice to be working with you again."

Petrowski nodded and smiled as he listened to the reply.

"Yes. I met a bit earlier with Mr. Lorch and some of the board members, and they have concerns about this Plan of Action meeting that's coming up on Thursday – sales staff coming in from all over creation. There's talk of postponing it, maybe even moving it to Houston. Some of the board members think it's a little cold to be holding a sales event after these murders, and there's also some worry that the meetings won't be all that productive."

After that intro, Petrowski did a lot of listening, Kelly catching only one side of the conversation. "Yes, it would be expensive ... Really? ... Okay ... Okay ... I can see that ... We can probably hold off on the decision for a bit, but they'll start flying in tomorrow, so we need to decide quickly ... I do like the idea. Never would have thought of that."

Petrowski finally hung up. "That's why I like Connie. Have you met her? Connie Deacon with George March?"

Kelly shook his head.

"I've worked with her before. A real public relations pro."

"Are we moving the POA to Houston?"

"I don't think so. Connie thinks we can spin the meeting to present it as a heartwarming show of support for the Fargo Naughton family. She says it's actually a great opportunity. The theater they're using for the memorial service should be big enough to absorb the addition of our visiting employees, and Connie thinks that having our people participate will help them get past the murders so they can focus on the rest of the agenda."

"Also saves us from moving the meeting, rebooking all the flights, the rooms," said Kelly.

"Well, yes, but I think it's the right thing to do anyway – a show of respect. Unless Mr. Lorch vetoes the idea, I think that's the plan. So," Petrowski continued. "I know a little about this P-O-A meeting, but what's your take?"

Kelly paused. "No BS, right?"

"Exactly. Give it to me straight."

"It's where the sales guys learn to blow smoke up a doctor's ass."

Petrowski's eyebrows rose. "Colorful. How so?"

"Well, for example, Scientific Affairs can design a study intended to generate some nice number, which might or might not really be meaningful. They pass it along to the sales people – and to them it sounds great – and the sales people are more than happy to wow the doctors with it, and the doctors, who ought to know better, often don't."

"On my way up here, I talked on the phone with some of the directors and VPs, and to hear them tell it, the meeting is all about educating the sales force on the latest cutting-edge science."

"Sometimes that's maybe true. I'm being cynical; I admit that, but we do a lot of studies to find, in my opinion, some phantom marketing edge."

"That doesn't really diminish the importance of the meeting, does it?"

"No, not at all. I'm sure it's huge. It gets the troops motivated."

Petrowski smiled. "Okay, thanks. That's helpful. Take the rest of the day off if you like. I'll be busy with these one-on-ones with the department heads. After that, I'll likely have more questions, maybe late morning or early afternoon. I'll have Mary let you know."

Kelly left, and with nothing else pressing, poked his nose into Mary's office to see if the COO's administrative secretary could use any help.

"If you see Dr. Westby, you could have him get in touch." said Mary. "He's not at his desk, and he hasn't responded to e-mail. He's the only one I still need to schedule for a meeting with Mr. Petrowski."

Westby was the pharmacy director. "Will do." Kelly began to leave, but stopped, pivoting around. "Mary, is there be any chance I could score a desk up here somewhere? It would be nice for getting on e-mail and stuff."

"Sure. I'll see what I can do."

Kelly hadn't had a lot of contact with Mary, but knew her to be pleasant, with a quick smile and a good sense of humor. In the wake of the murders, however, she seemed weary, a bit forlorn.

Kelly swung by to see Jessica. She wasn't at her desk, so he wandered toward the pharmacy to see if he could find Westby. After that, he figured he'd just head for home and enjoy some time off, but before he reached the pharmacy, his phone rang. Paula Keen, the TV reporter.

"Hey, Paula."

"Am I catching you at a good time?"

"Sure." Kelly stepped into a side hallway that led to an emergency exit where he'd have a measure of privacy. "What's up?"

"Nothing much on my end. The police held a routine media briefing this morning. They tried to sound optimistic, saying they have a lot of information to evaluate, but they really didn't have much to add."

"By information, I'm guessing they mean phone records and all the records of employees and test subjects. Anything from your inside source?"

"Just that same raw optimism. There seems to be an attitude that it's just a matter of time until something breaks."

"Anything about me?"

"There's apparently one detective that hasn't given up on the idea that you could be the perp, but nobody else is taking the idea very seriously. You're probably lucky he's not in charge of the investigation."

"That would be detective Amundson," said Kelly.

"Are you hearing anything from inside the company, or are you completely out of touch now?"

"Actually, I'm inside again. They called this morning, asked me to work with the new interim COO – he's a crisis specialist."

"Really? What can you tell me about him?"

"You better get the specifics from our PR folks. They'll probably tell you; it's not like it's a big secret, but it shouldn't come from me."

"Fair enough, but if they stonewall me, I'll twist your arm."

"Here's something I haven't told you. There's probably not a news story in it, but it's interesting. Doc Naughton has a place out in the country – southwest of town."

"And that's interesting why?"

"I guess I didn't tell you about this. One theory of the case, and it's just wild speculation, is that Naughton could have a motive for the murders – a grudge for getting kicked out of the company, or maybe the victims knew something that he wanted to keep secret."

"Whose theory is that?"

"A janitor at work."

"A janitor."

"Uh, yeah."

"Call out the SWAT team."

"Okay, it's a stretch, but Naughton does have a guy working for him that looks fully capable of murder."

"Naughton might be eccentric, maybe even completely off his nut, but murder? He's one of the most renowned people in Fargo."

"Yeah, I know. The cops feel the same way, but they still visited his place in town on Sunday. Nothing came of it. I'm hoping they'll check out the country place, too."

"Check it for what?"

"Well, just anything that he'd have motive to hide, I guess. Something Kupmeier and the others might have found out about."

"There's a rumor of that?"

"Not really. I'm grasping at straws, though I did see him with a live animal crate."

"You think that might be significant." Her tone remained that of unimpressed reporter, the comment more statement than question.

"I have no idea. I'm not even sure what kind of animals it held, or it could have been empty."

"Sounds pretty thin. I'll check, though, to see if I can get any idea what the cops think about it."

"Let me know."

"I will."

After hanging up, Kelly knocked at the window of the pharmacy door, waving to one of the techs, who had to let him in since his ID wasn't coded for pharmacy access.

"Looking for Dr. Westby."

"Storage room," said the tech, hooking a thumb toward the back of the pharmacy.

Kelly had never gone to the pharmacy storage room before. The door had a keypad lock, but it stood ajar. Kelly had a brief flash of anxiety as he imagined finding another dead manager – Westby bound in duct tape amid a maze of storage room shelves. As it turned out, the storage room had locked cabinets, not shelves.

Westby looked up from the three-ring binder he was consulting. A look of horror came upon his face. "SECURITY!" He flung the binder to the floor and leaped to his feet, pushing the desk chair into the aisle to block Kelly's approach. He ran, disappearing behind one of the many rows of high cabinets. "SECURITY!" He shouted again.

Kelly called out. "Dr. Westby ... Earl ... it's okay."

"SECURITY!" came another shout from somewhere back among the cabinets.

Two pharmacy techs came rushing in, and Kelly shrugged helplessly in response to their questioning looks. A security guard was right on their heels, pepper spray at the ready. "He kind of freaked out," explained Kelly. "I just wanted to tell him ..."

Westby peeked around the corner of the cabinets at the back of the room. Kelly called out to him. "I came to tell you that Mary Dunham is looking for you." Kelly backed away innocently, and offered a conciliatory wave. "That's all. Call her." The guard and the techs didn't seem to know what to make of the situation. Kelly looked at them sheepishly. "Sorry." He gingerly made his exit, passing a number of pharmacy employees who had wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. Kelly half expected more fireworks, but to his relief, none came. Once in the hallway, he wasted no time getting back to the administration wing.

His phone rang. Paula Keen again.

"The cops are going to check out Naughton's country place."

"Cool." Kelly ducked into a small meeting room where he could hear better.

"They have an appointment to meet him tonight at eight. Voluntary thing; not a warranted search."

"I know how that goes."

"Naughton's not happy about it. He's complained loudly, and he has the ear of people in high places. Haugen's taking some heat over the whole thing."

"That will probably cement my spot on his shit list."

"Your tip also dragged the Richland County Sheriff's Department into it. The farm's in their jurisdiction."

"Are you going out there?"

"No, that could blow my source in the department. Besides, he didn't know where the farm is and probably wouldn't tell me if he did. And I rather doubt there'd be a story in it. He called the search a big waste of time. Still, I don't think the police have much choice; they're needing to chase down just about any lead."

"They're stumped, aren't they?"

"I get that feeling, but I suspect they're right about eventually getting a break. Something's bound to happen. There's got to be a connection or a witness – something."

"I hope so. And maybe it'll involved old man Naughton."

"I'd be surprised."

"Oh! You wouldn't believe what just happened. I went to deliver a message to Earl Westby, one of our department heads, and he crapped his pants when he saw me, thought he was about to get murdered."

"Really?" Keen was clearly amused.

"I was mortified. He started yelling for security. It was bad."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing, really. A security guard showed up, but he could see nothing was happening. I apologized and left, and so far, that seems to be the end of it."

"The guy thought you were the murderer."

"I'm afraid so. He probably heard about my suspension, but didn't know I'd been called back in. Then I show up in a back room I've never been to before. In his mind it's like Hannibal Lecter just walked in."

Keen laughed. "Now that's a great story."

"Shit. You can't write that. Please."

"No, I'm not going to write it. But it is a great story. Maybe someday, when this all blows over, it might be doable. Right now, a humor story would be the height of poor taste."

After ending the call, Kelly sat in one of the conference room's faux leather chairs, leaning back, a foot on a neighboring chair, wondering if others in the building shared Westby's apprehension about him. He hadn't sensed it from anyone else, but he hadn't surprised any other department heads in storage rooms, either. Crazy.

Kelly called Bennie's cell, told him about the police going to Naughton's country place.

"I wish I could go in with them," said Bennie.

"Yes. I'm curious, too, but I don't think Naughton has anything to hide – otherwise he'd have refused to let the police in, and I'd be very surprised if they had grounds for a search warrant."

"Do you think the police will tell you what they find out?"

"I don't know. I think there's some animosity toward me for suggesting Naughton as a suspect. We might have a better chance learning something from Paula Keen. She's a reporter with Channel five. She's got a source in the department who might tell her about it."

"Hey, maybe we should go out there tonight. Watch from that grove on the hill."

Kelly thought about it for a second. He felt a little cautious after getting warned by Haugen to keep his nose out of it, but he figured he didn't have much to lose. "Sure. Might be interesting. I've got nothing else going on."

He agreed to pick Bennie up at seven outside his apartment. Bennie gave him the address, which was walking distance from Naughton Pharmaceuticals.

Kelly abandoned the meeting room and checked again at Jessica's cubicle. Her welcoming and somewhat apologetic smile was heartwarming, a nice change from the cold shoulder that morning. He told her the Westby story, which had her laughing.

"Don't look so forlorn," she told him. "Dr. Westby's no worse for it."

"I'm not worried about Westby."

"Don't worry for yourself, either. It will all get straightened out. I bet the police break the case soon."

"I hope so. Tonight they're searching Naughton's country place. Bennie and I are going out to watch. Care to come with us?"

"You sure me going along is a good idea?" She lowered her voice. "I'm not supposed to know about Bennie being interested in Naughton, right?"

"Good point."

"Besides, I really do have yoga class tonight. Call me later, though. Tell me what happens."

As Kelly left the administrative commons, Petrowski emerged from his office with the vice president for marketing, their meeting apparently just concluded. The hulking Petrowski towered over the smaller man, who headed off down the hall.

Petrowski corralled Kelly, steering him into the office. "I hear you had an interesting meeting with Dr. Westby, the pharmacy director."

"Word travels fast. Yes, I did. Sorry about that. Mary asked me to ..."

"Yes, I know. How is it that nobody told me you were a suspect in the case? Nice of them to pick you as my special assistant." Petrowski's demeanor made it clear he took the news in good humor.

"I'm not a suspect; not really." Kelly took a deep breath, bracing himself before telling the story yet again. "They checked me out because I was here when two of the victims were found. The media ran with that. Consequently, Mr. Dilman, or maybe Mr. Potts ... they wanted me out of the clinical study wing in case I made any test subjects nervous. I guess they didn't expect my presence elsewhere in the building to be a problem, but apparently that it was for Dr. Westby."

"I like interim assignments. Always something different. But this one ..." Petrowski shook his head.

CHAPTER 10 – TUESDAY EVENING

The sun hung low in the sky as Kelly and Bennie neared the farm. Turning onto the gravel road, the Delta 88 kicked up a swirl of dust, forcing them to roll up the windows. At the farm's driveway, they passed an occupied Richland County Sheriff's Department car parked at the head of the lane.

"Looks like the sheriff is first to arrive," said Bennie.

Kelly continued on, driving up the hill to park again by the old hedge of lilacs in the abandoned farmstead. He and Bennie traipsed through the brush and trees, armed with a flashlight, a second set of binoculars, and bug spray for the mosquitoes that would certainly get worse as the sun went down.

"Fine evening for this," said Kelly.

They had arrived early, wanting to settle in before the action started. They moved closer this time, easing part way down the hill toward the stream, sitting in the grass at the edge of a stand of sumac. The sun had become deep orange as it eased closer to the vast prairie.

"I kind of feel bad about this," admitted Kelly. "The cops aren't very happy about having to check this out."

"I suppose it's my fault then," said Bennie. "I put the idea in your head."

"Okay, good. It's your fault."

They both laughed.

"So, what do you think the odds are that Naughton or his buddy is the killer?"

Bennie shrugged. "Doesn't matter. He deserves to be hassled. Did you know that prescription drugs are the sixth leading killer? Worse than illegal drugs."

"You just making shit up?"

"Nope. Read it in one of those journals lying around work. And a big reason is that we sell drugs like we sell French fries. Fancy ads and stuff. And it drives up the costs for everybody. And old Doc Naughton, he got rich. I don't feel any pity him gettin' picked on."

Kelly found Bennie's strident opinion a bit surprising. "The cops, though. I feel bad they're out here when they might have better things to do."

"We don't know that yet. Even if it's nothing to do with the murders, there might be something else Naughton's up to."

"You know something, don't you?"

"Whatdya mean?"

"You said yesterday that you wanted to know what Naughton's up to. You have some idea about that?"

Bennie sat quietly for a moment, staring at the farm. "Not really."

"You know, it's okay with me if the info helps you make buck."

Bennie looked questioningly at Kelly, which made Kelly wonder if he was completely off the mark, or had gone too far.

"I don't want you thinking I'm up to no good," said Bennie. "My reason for avoiding the police is about something else."

Kelly kept quiet, correctly sensing that Bennie might continue.

"It's just that I had some trouble a while back. It's not that I did anything wrong, but I still got in trouble for it."

"I know how that can be," said Kelly. "Happened to me in college once. My buddy smarted off in a bar one night, and a guy came after him. I'm the one who ended up in the fight. Got arrested."

"Yeah, kinda like that," said Bennie. "But for me it was my wife."

Just then a trio of cars came into view, crossing the bridge to enter the farmyard. Naughton's SUV led the way, followed by an unmarked Suburban and a Richland County Sheriff vehicle. The patrol car they'd seen at the head of the lane was not among them.

They watched through their binoculars as a team of Fargo police officers climbed from the Suburban – Haugen, Amundson, Fedde and one officer Kelly had seen before, but didn't know the name. Only one person emerged from the sheriff's car.

"I'm betting that's the sheriff himself," said Kelly. "That must have been a deputy we saw parked on the road."

Most of the group went into the farmhouse, while Fedde and the fourth officer nosed around the grounds amid the lengthening shadows.

"Those two are taking advantage of the light while they still have some," said Kelly, setting the binoculars aside. He sprayed his arms with mosquito repellant, and then passed the can to Bennie. As the light waned and the breeze began to drop, the pests were beginning to emerge.

"So, you were married?"

Bennie answered as he sprayed himself. "Yeah. Technically, I still am, unless she got a divorce with me being gone. Problem was, she wrote a lot of bad checks and stuff. So, that's why I'm in trouble. They figure I'm just as responsible." He handed back the can.

Bennie's legal problems still didn't explain the interest in Naughton, but at least it explained his reluctance regarding the police. "A good lawyer could probably work something out for you, especially if you didn't write the checks."

"Well, maybe that's what I should have done, but I didn't." Bennie plucked a stem of prairie grass and started chewing on the stalk. "It got a little more complicated because I ran, took off for North Dakota 'cause of all the jobs. I used my brother's ID and Social Security number. If that came out, they'd fire me for sure, and with that on my record, getting another job would be tough, even if I managed to stay out of jail."

"That is more complicated."

Haugen and Amundson emerged from the house, followed by the sheriff, Naughton and Ivers. They next checked the garage.

"You won't rat me out, will you?" asked Bennie.

"Naw, Bennie. I can keep your secret."

The officers glanced inside the old decrepit barn. Finally, they finished up by spending a couple minutes in the building built into the hillside. After that, they gathered in the middle of the farmyard, triggering motion sensor floodlights on the house now that the sun had set. The Fargo team exchanged what looked like amicable comments with Dr. Naughton before climbing into their SUV and driving off. The sheriff lingered, visiting with Naughton for a time, Ivers standing near. The conversation ended with a handshake.

"Whole lot of nothing," said Kelly.

Naughton and Ivers went to the house as the sheriff climbed in his vehicle and drove back across the bridge.

"If there's anything to the idea that the murders occurred because the victims knew what Naughton was up to, it must not be obvious," said Kelly.

Bennie tossed the remnant of grass stalk he'd been chewing. "Well, I still think there's something."

They started to leave, but Naughton and Ivers emerged from the house, Naughton carrying an electric light styled to look like an old-fashioned kerosene lantern. They entered the long building by the hillside. The light showed in the first few windows for a moment, but then the building fell dark again.

"Well, let's get going before we need to use the flashlight," said Kelly. "No reason to advertise we're here."

On the way back to town, they listened to the Twins game and talked about baseball, avoiding further discussion of Bennie's legal woes. Kelly did, however, try to elicit comments about Bennie's favorite team as a way to figure out where he came from. Bennie claimed allegiance to the Twins, but his lack of familiarity with former players suggested the allegiance was fresh. When asked about any other teams he liked or had followed, Bennie would only say "none in particular."

After dropping Bennie off, Kelly called Jessica. Home from yoga class, she invited him over. Her place wasn't far from Bennie's, and she was waiting out front when he arrived.

"How about a walk?" she suggested.

Kelly agreed. They walked hand-in-hand beneath the street lights as he related the details of the trip to Naughton's country place. Kelly didn't mention the disclosures about Bennie's past, considering them not only confidential, but also a human resources conflict for Jessica, given Bennie's disclosure about using his brother's identity.

"One odd thing. There was a sheriff's car at the entrance when we got there. I didn't think much of it at the time, but I wonder if the deputy was posted just in case Naughton or his pal arrived early to hide evidence or something."

"You suppose he might have seen something?"

"No. Naughton arrived same time as the other officers. But it's still interesting. If my theory is right, it suggests that the cops took the idea of Naughton as a possible suspect seriously."

"As well they should."

"Maybe, but Paula Keen, the reporter from Channel 5, said the cops were getting some heat for pestering Naughton, so I don't think my tips have been all that welcome."

"If I were a cop, the heat would make me less likely to cut Naughton any slack."

Kelly smiled, liking Jessica's moxie. "Maybe that's the way Haugen's thinking, too. I hope so."

Arriving back at the house, Jessica made Kelly a cup of coffee and they settled on the couch to watch the 10pm news. A local house fire led the show, but the second story was the police department's daily briefing about the murders.

"No new leads to report in the investigation, but police have confirmed that they visited with the founder and former president and CEO of Naughton Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Randall Naughton."

The image cut from the news anchor to a headshot of Lt. Warren Powers speaking in front of a cluster of microphones. "We did have occasion to visit properties associated with Dr. Naughton. He was very cooperative, one of many people we've talked to as we gather information."

The picture switched to exteriors of Naughton's place in town. "One of those properties," said the news anchor, "is the former Milwaukee Railroad building that is Randall Naughton's home and laboratory."

The picture cut again to Powers, who was now smiling. "You have to realize that we get some pretty imaginative tips in a case like this. But visiting with Dr. Naughton was routine."

"You searched his property?"

Kelly recognized the off-camera voice as Paula Keen's.

"He allowed us to look around, but there was no search warrant, and certainly no grounds for us to seek a warrant. Dr. Naughton is not a suspect in this case."

"So why search? What were you looking for?"

"Well, that gets back to the imaginative tips we sometimes get. Dr. Naughton was kind enough to let us put a rumor to rest. Nothing more than that. It deserves no elaboration."

The anchor wrapped up the report with an announcement of the upcoming memorial service.

Jessica turned off the TV. "Doesn't sound like they're taking him seriously as a suspect."

"Nope. If anything, he's miffed about the 'imaginative tips' as he calls them."

"Maybe. But if Naughton can't be ruled out, he could still be a suspect."

Kelly appreciated her attempt to be supportive. "I guess Naughton and I have that in common. We can't be ruled out, so we remain suspects."

"Yes, but you're the much cuter suspect."

"Thank you."

Jessica leaned in, gave him a kiss. "I haven't seen Mickey Bartz, though. Maybe he's even cuter."

Kelly smiled. "Cute isn't a word people use when describing Mickey. Besides, he's been ruled out. He has an alibi."

"Oh! Maybe it's a 'Strangers on a Train' scenario."

"The Hitchcock film."

"Yes. Mickey met some crazy guy and they swapped murders."

Kelly chuckled at Jessica's wide-eyed expression of mock revelation. "That might explain Kupmeier and maybe Heckathorn somehow, but I can't imagine why Mickey would have a grudge against Padden."

"Smokescreen," said Jessica, nodding. "Padden's murder was a deception designed to obscure the motive. Or maybe Bartz had a bad moment with Padden at the company Christmas party."

"Fought over the last piece of lefse."

Jessica's eyebrows rose. "Exactly!"

"Grounds for murder, alright. I think you should call the police with that right away."

"I should."

Kelly poked her in the side. She grabbed his hand, laughing. He pulled her to him, and they snuggled on the couch, sharing a kiss. "I'm glad you're not still disappointed in me."

"I'm glad, too. And I'm really sorry I thought you might have helped Dilman cheat."

"I don't blame you. That's the way it looked. And you've only known me for a few days."

"I still feel bad about it."

"Hey, I've got just the cure for that."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Cliffy coming home any time soon?"

Jessica smiled and shook her head. "Not 'til the bar closes."

"Good." Kelly reached to the lamp and turned it off.

CHAPTER 11 – WEDNESDAY

Wednesday morning Kelly checked in with Mary, Petrowski's administrative secretary.

"Mr. Petrowski wants to meet with you in an hour or so. I'll call you at your desk when he's ready." She rose, indicating he should follow.

"I have a desk?"

She led him to the administration support commons, the large room with the warren of cubicles. The place buzzed with routine activity. Most of the cubicles were occupied; phones rang and printers churned. Heckathorn's old office, still taped off as a crime scene was in one corner, the HR director's office in the other, and Jessica's larger cubicle was one of a handful along the walls.

Kelly's new "desk" was a table with a folding chair in the middle of the room. He was next to an old fax machine. Across a low cubicle partition was an area devoted to the two large printer/copier machines that served most of the front offices. The area also had cabinets for paper, toner and other supplies, plus recycling bins.

Kelly's table held a phone and a computer, and below was a smallish cabinet on wheels with two drawers – a normal drawer on top and a file drawer below.

"This is the intern desk," said Mary. "You can use it because we don't have an intern just now. We did, but then ..." She glanced at Heckathorn's office. "The intern decided not to stay."

It was perhaps the worst desk and location in the building, but at least the computer allowed Kelly to log in and address his accumulation of e-mails – over a hundred since he left on Monday. He could ignore most, but responded to a few. He also sent a note to the "leaders" list, an e-mail group that included all the people who held supervisory roles for running the studies – the team leaders, the director of phlebotomy, and the phlebotomy shift managers.

"Back at work, but still banned from clinical study wing. Supposedly assisting new COO, but that hasn't kept me very busy. Will check with Potts to see if I can resume some of my usual stuff from here."

The replies started right away.

"Welcome back, Kel. As long as you're up there, how 'bout you knock off Potts, too? Ha ha. :-)"

"That's awful," came a rebuttal from another list member.

"Sorry. Just joking."

"Careful what you say," came a third e-mailer. "E-mail's probly not private ... speshly with investigation goin on."

"You're new. Are you an intern?"

Kelly turned to find a guy about his age, short with straight black hair. His glasses were a little too big for his face. Kelly had seen him around. Jimmy, he remembered. Handled the mail, kept the printers full of paper, and ran errands. One of those errands, the "skin run," involved trips to Habiger Surgical Arts, or any of the other plastic surgeons in town. As the story went, it was weeks before a disbelieving Jimmy learned he was picking up leftover skin from surgical procedures, like tummy tucks. The pre-clinical research department used the skin for preliminary testing of topical drug applications.

"I'm here temporarily," said Kelly, "helping Mr. Petrowski, the new COO."

"Welcome to the ad commons."

"Yeah, thanks."

"You know about the murders here?"

"Uh, yeah. I certainly do."

"One of 'em right there," said Jimmy, pointing to Heckathorn's still-sealed office.

"You don't say."

"Guy back in the clinical study wing. He probably did it, but don't worry; he's gone. They suspended him. The cops searched his place."

"I heard about that."

Jessica breezed into the room, heading for her cubicle. "What about her?" said Kelly, just loud enough to catch her attention. Kelly lowered his voice. "The murders started just after she got here."

Jimmy looked at Jessica, then back to Kelly, cocking his head like a dog who just heard a curious sound.

Jessica turned and came toward them. "What about me?"

"Jimmy was just telling me about the guy back in clinical studies who's probably the murderer, but I pointed out that it's a pretty remarkable coincidence that the murders started just after you arrived."

"You dork," she said to Kelly. "Jimmy, you're right. It's the guy in back; he's a real poop. Don't believe anything Adam here tells you."

"I wouldn't believe that about you, Jessica." Jimmy was almost gushing. "I knew he was only kidding."

Jessica looked back at Kelly, who had remained seated. "And what are you doing here ... Adam?"

Kelly gave her the evil eye, pretending umbrage over her use of his real first name. "This is my desk." He gestured to it Vanna White style, as if showing off the latest new car on the Wheel of Fortune.

"Very nice," said Jessica. "And so conveniently located."

Kelly's phone rang. "And it even has a phone!" He framed it with another flourish of Vanna hands before snatching up the handset.

Jessica couldn't help a smile as she rolled her eyes and peeled away toward her cubicle.

Kelly covered the phone mouthpiece. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy."

"Yeah, me too, Adam," but Jimmy seemed a little uncertain, not quite following what had just transpired.

It was Mary on the phone. "Mr. Petrowski's ready for you."

"On my way."

When Kelly arrived at the COO's office, Petrowski came from behind his desk and gestured to a small meeting table by the windows, which looked out on a garden and pond generally referred to as the executive courtyard. They sat across from each other, Petrowski sighing, as though taking a load off.

"I'll be speaking at the POA meeting tomorrow. I wrote up some remarks and sent them to Connie. She's looking them over. After I get her comments, I'd like you to look at it, too."

"Isn't that a bit over my pay grade?"

"Nope. You're pay grade's fine. I just want your impressions. Get your reaction."

Kelly shrugged. "Okay. I suppose I can do that."

Petrowski leaned forward. "I hear you've been suggesting to the cops that the company founder might be involved in the murders?"

"Well, yes. Just a theory."

"You might want to back off on that. A number of our significant shareholders still regard him with ... well, apparently reverence isn't too strong a word. They were already concerned because the share price has been dropping on all this bad news."

Kelly wondered how Petrowski knew he was the source of the Naughton idea. At first he thought of Amundson, but it seemed unlikely that anyone in the police department would reveal the source of a tip. Then he remembered mentioning the idea to Dilman and Potts last Saturday.

"For better or for worse," continued Petrowski, "Dr. Naughton still gets associated with the company. It would have helped if they'd gotten the company name changed. That was probably a mistake. Anyway, pissing off their beloved Doctor Naughton is just adding to the shareholder anxiety."

"I can understand that."

"Good. You can go. I'll call when I get the revised remarks from Connie for you to look at."

"Speaking of things for me to do, I was thinking I could do quite a bit of my old job from up here. If that's okay with you, I could check with Potts. I think he'd like the idea, since he's one of the people who has to pick up the slack."

"Sure."

Kelly headed down the hall to the Reagan museum, where he found Eddie Potts at his desk.

"Hell, yes," said Potts to the idea of Kelly resuming some of the coordinator duties. "I've been too busy working on the POA meeting to do much else."

"At least you don't have to move the POA to Houston."

"Thank God for that, though maybe it would be safer there."

"I suppose until they arrest somebody, we'll have a lot of nervous people. Were there many cancellations for the meeting?"

"Nothing unusual," said Potts. "There's always a few. No way of knowing if the murders scared them off, but all this news about the killings is actually going to work in our favor. Marketing came up with a great shtick. We're having lapel pins made for the entire sales force -- plastic yellow ribbons that say 'Naughton Remembers.' Instant connection for the salesman. He'll have sympathy on his side from the moment he walks through the door."

"Or she," Kelly noted. He wasn't sure of the ratio, but wouldn't be surprised if most of the sales people on the street were women. The same couldn't be said of management.

"Or she. Of course."

"Kind of a downer, though."

"That's where you come in." Potts almost giggled. "We're going to make sure they all know the story about you scaring Westby. What an ice-breaker!"

"Are you shitting me?"

"No. It's brilliant. Especially for the rookies. This is just the thing to help them stand out; gives them a way to establish rapport. It's perfect."

"I don't want sales people all around the world telling stories about me."

"Oh, they won't mention you by name, Westby either. The sales veep loved the idea. The yellow ribbon makes the connection to all the news coverage, gets the conversation started, then they follow it up with the story about Westby. The sales will be easy-peasy."

Kelly rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'll be at my new desk ... if you can call it that ... in the commons. The extension there is 617. Anything in particular you want me to start with?"

"S-A has posted a handful of new protocols. I think 159 through 163. I haven't done a damn thing with them, so you can just start at the top and get them rolling."

Kelly returned to his desk, finding the commons as busy as ever. He wished he'd brought the ear buds for his cell – he could have cut the office din with tunes. As it was, he did his best to focus on the scheduling and staffing for the new studies.

As part of the commentary from Scientific Affairs, the protocols typically indicated whether a study was high priority or not. Low-priority studies could fill out slow periods, smoothing out the staffing, while other studies needed more prompt attention. Urgent studies could even mean restructuring the schedule.

As Kelly began the analysis of which study could occupy which unit and when, he was surprised to discover that 148, the study in Unit 2 he and Rhonda had supposedly terminated, had instead continued to completion – at least that's what appeared in the record.

His first thought was that Dilman had rigged it, but it wasn't like 146, the large, long-term, third-party study that could affect the spinoff of the new research company. Instead, it was a comparative trial involving one of their existing meds to see how it did versus a competitor.

Kelly checked the current work schedule to see that Rhonda was working in Unit 1. He called her.

"That was Potts," said Rhonda, explaining what had happened. "He finally returned my phone message from earlier that evening. He told me to keep the study going, but discontinue dosing for anybody who developed tolerance issues. He figured we might be able to salvage something if we didn't kill it. We did end up washing out quite a few people."

"I wonder which drug caused the problem."

"Could have been either one. Or maybe both," said Rhonda.

By design, it was normal for the people running the studies to be unaware of which test subject got which drug.

"I saw that the study kept going, so I wondered how that happened."

"I would have told you, but that's about the time you found Barry, and things went kinda nuts."

"No shit. And I hate to admit it, but I suppose Potts' decision was right. We maybe should have thought of that."

"Well, he wasn't pissed or anything."

"Okay, thanks."

Kelly was chagrined that Potts had come up with a better course of action, but Potts was more experienced – not completely worthless. Had to give him credit on that one.

An hour later, Kelly was fully absorbed in the details for one of the new studies when Jessica came by. "Are you breaking for lunch?"

Kelly noted the time on the computer clock. Almost noon. "I suppose I should." He smiled. "Especially if there's a beautiful blonde who wants to have lunch with me."

"Let's go look. Maybe we can find one in the break room."

Kelly laughed. He saved the open spreadsheet and they headed down the hall. On the way, Kelly stopped at Potts' office. "I'll catch up. I want to talk to Eddie quick."

Jessica continued on as Kelly knocked at the open door. Potts was at his desk.

"Kelleeee. Waz up?"

"Rhonda told me you kept 148 going. Sorry we didn't think of that approach."

"No prob, Kel. Sometimes we can get something useful out of studies that seem to be failing. Turns out that none of the 18- to 35-year-old women washed out. That gave us a little ammo for the POA. "

"That was quick."

"Well, that's not to say we have anything ready for the FDA, but Groton Labs is ahead of us – they already have FDA approval to market their depression drug for OCD. They even gave it a new name – Confidizone. But our guys ... I mean our salespeople ... can still make the point that Premaxicol is essentially equivalent, and we can say we have a study showing it's well-tolerated by young women, leaving it to the doctors to connect the dots. They know we can't promote it for off-label use, but wink wink, nod nod, they'll get the idea."

Kelly suddenly felt less remorseful about his attempt to kill the study.

"Jelly bean?" Potts gestured to the jar on his desk.

"No, thanks. I'm off to lunch."

Kelly headed off to the break room, where Jessica had just retrieved her salad from the community fridge. "Check this out," she said.

A flyer on the fridge looked like an old wanted poster. It featured a rather well-drawn, multi-colored sketch of a sandwich. "WANTED: bologna sandwich ... stolen and presumed eaten. Be on the lookout for dickwad thief."

Kelly laughed. "The thief is probably our murderer."

"Your friend Amundson should maybe look into this."

"That would be better use of his time than looking at me," said Kelly as he fed money into a vending machine. "At least I haven't heard from him in a while."

"I did," said Jessica.

"Really?"

"I'll get a table while you heat that up," she said, referring to the tub of lasagna Kelly had chosen. "I'll tell you all about it." While the mini casserole warmed in the microwave, Kelly bought an iced tea. He then joined Jessica, who shook a bottle of dressing before pouring it over a large home-made Greek salad.

"Amundson was in the parking lot this morning. Wondered if I'd seen you lately. I said, 'Sure, right here at work.' He didn't know they'd brought you back. I definitely got the feeling he thought that was a bad idea."

Kelly sighed. "I was hoping he'd given up on me as a suspect."

"He laid it on pretty thick. He has this whole profile about you worked out."

"Yeah, I know ... hero complex, college drop-out, cop wanna be."

"And momma's boy, and violent past..."

"Violent past? That's crap."

"But momma's boy? That's on the mark?"

"No. I'm close to Mom. She raised me on her own, and I lived with her last year when she was recovering from surgery, but I'm no momma's boy ... at least not in any unhealthy way."

Jessica smiled. "Amundson says you've got a criminal record for fighting in a bar."

"Yes, but I was just keeping my buddy Kermit from getting creamed by a drunk, a guy he played hockey against in high school."

"For Amundson, it all adds up to you being a prime suspect."

"Well, good for him." Kelly sighed. "Not much I can do about it."

"Will the criminal record hurt your chances with the department?"

"I hope not. A bigger problem is this murder investigation. If that's still going on, and there's even a one percent chance I could be the guy, I don't suppose they'd consider me."

"I told Amundson he's wrong. He countered by warning me to stay away from you."

"He's probably hot for you. Looking to steal you away."

Jessica wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so. He's more Cliffy's type."

"Amundson? No way."

"Maybe, but my radar's pretty good."

Kelly scraped out the last of his lasagna and pitched the bowl into the nearby trash. "Oh, here's a story for you. Remember that study we killed the night Heckathorn was murdered?"

"Not really. I know you came to work that night, but I don't remember the particulars."

"Rhonda and I cancelled a study because of a tolerance issue, but Potts' vetoed our decision, and he was probably right – something I hate to admit – but it turns out they're planning to use part of that study to promote off-label use for Premaxicol."

"And?"

"Well, technically it's against the rules. You're not allowed to promote for off-label use, but they've got ways to make that pitch without saying it in so many words. The legal department is real clear on what they can say and what they can't."

"But if there was a tolerance issue ...."

"They found one category of subject – one demographic – that didn't report a problem at the high dosage level needed to help with obsessive compulsive disorder. That's what they'll tell the doctors, and you can be sure the sales person won't dwell on the tolerance problem that the rest of the people have. And the doctors – how many will remember the specifics about the side effects? That's part of the problem with off-label use – there's rarely good documentation. The doctors could end up prescribing it for anybody."

"The more I learn about this business, the crazier it seems."

"Oh, shit. That reminds me. This is better yet. They're even using the murders to help sales."

"What?!"

Kelly told her about the yellow ribbons and the plan to use the Westby story as a rapport builder.

Jessica dropped her plastic fork to the table. "That's an appetite killer." She pushed the dregs of her salad to the side.

"Changing subjects, want some company tonight?"

"Yes," she said, abruptly, petulantly, a bit of theatre to suggest that Kelly's stories had left her in need of consoling.

He chuckled. "Seven-ish?"

With that settled, they returned to their desks. The afternoon was passing quickly as Kelly prepped the new studies and answered occasional questions from Petrowski. That all changed when Amundson suddenly appeared at his side, sitting backwards in a chair he'd pulled over from a vacant nearby desk.

"Hey, sport. Got a minute?"

Kelly looked around the room, wondering if Amundson had attracted any attention. It didn't seem so. "Actually, I'm pretty busy."

"Too busy to help with a triple murder investigation?"

Kelly decided he had a few questions of his own. "Okay, but not here."

"Sure. How about the parking lot?"

They went outside to a hot and muggy August afternoon, the kind of day that quickly left a person sweating. A haze of wispy cirrus clouds did little to take the edge off the sun's rays.

Amundson led the way, heading toward Kelly's car. A patrol unit was stationed nearby. The officer climbed out as they approached. Backup, Kelly realized.

"I'd begun to wonder where you were when I didn't see your truck," said Amundson. "You switched vehicles on us."

"I switched, but it had nothing to do with you. The media was showing too much interest, and they knew the truck."

"Sure. That's a good story."

"Don't get me wrong. I don't mind avoiding you, either."

Amundson walked around the Delta 88, casually looking in the windows. Kelly suspected it wasn't the first time. "Go ahead. It's not locked."

Amundson completed his circuit of the car, then he handed Kelly a folded piece of paper and a pen. "I don't suppose you'd leave anything interesting in there, but I figure it's worth a look."

The paper was another Consent to Search form. Kelly signed and handed it back.

"This junker must have set you back fifty bucks or more."

Kelly ignored the taunt. Amundson started in the driver seat, checking all the storage spaces and reaching into possible hiding spots behind the dashboard. "You know, your ideas about Doctor Naughton have been a pain in the ass."

"Sorry about that. It was a long shot, but it doesn't seem like you've got any better ideas."

"But I do."

"Right. Your profiling theory. Jessica told me you shared that with her. She wasn't impressed."

"Our lieutenant wasn't impressed that we checked out Naughton again – all the way out by Kindred no less." Amundson got out and flopped the front seat forward, accessing the back where he found a windbreaker, a window scraper and a compact umbrella.

"Does Naughton have a lab out there?" asked Kelly.

"No. It's not even his place. It's in the name of his pal, Ivers."

Amundson pulled up the back seat to examine the space beneath it.

"No animals in crates out there?"

"Nope. We found a crate, but it was empty. He says it was left over from a government contract. He took it to the farm just to get it out of the way."

Amundson replaced the back seat bench, climbed out, and went around to passenger side, where he resumed the search. The uniformed patrolman kept a close watch on Kelly as he leaned on the still-open driver's door, looking in on Amundson.

"No sign of a lab out there?"

"Nope," said Amundson, as he felt behind the dash. "Just a house full of old furniture and a couple old barns."

"Nothing in the long barn built against the hillside?"

"You sound familiar with the place."

"I've seen it."

"It was a henhouse once. Large chicken and egg operation. Now it's mostly empty. Just some junk."

Amundson popped open the glove box. "Binoculars. Been spying on anyone we know?"

Kelly kept silent, not wanting to admit that he and Bennie had watched the search.

"Flashlight." Amundson shined it at Kelly. "Nice and bright. Fresh batteries?"

"I was working on the dash wiring."

"I thought you liked it dark."Amundson turned off the light and set it aside.

"What are you talking about?

"Saturday night, when you were wandering around the building with the lights off."

It took Kelly a second to understand. "Is that the real reason you like me as a suspect?"

"There's a lot of reasons."

"Sure, but the profiling. You know that's a reach."

"What I know, is that it all fits, and I think we'll eventually find the evidence to prove it."

"The lights ... I actually get that. I left them off for the reasons I told you, but I can see why it looks suspicious."

Amundson's inventory of the glove box also turned up the mosquito spray and two ancient road maps for Minnesota and North Dakota. "Hey, you actually have gloves in the glove box."

"Yeah. Bulky winter gloves are just the thing when you don't want to leave fingerprints."

Amundson ignored the sarcasm. He stuffed the items back in the glove box and climbed from the car. Kelly opened the trunk, anticipating the next stop. Amundson looked at the pile of junk, apparently wondering where to start.

"Holy crap, dude."

Kelly smiled. "Have at it."

The trunk held a mother lode of spare parts – alternator, radio, shocks, hubcaps, spark coil, and even a tail light assembly. There were also tools and various can't-live-without items like tarps, jumper cables, jack, road flares, rain coat, sleeping bag, and an old Chilton service manual that included the 88.

"Might even be a body under all that if you look closely," said Kelly.

Amundson poked around without enthusiasm. However, from one of the tool boxes, he fished out a nearly spent roll of duct tape.

"Well, now that's suspicious," said Kelly. "A guy having duct tape in his trunk."

Amundson held it carefully from the sides as he read the printing on the inside of the roll.

"Right," said Kelly. "You wouldn't want to mess up my fingerprints. Or maybe I used the gloves. Yeah, I remember now. It took forever to get the tape started with those gloves on."

Amundson tossed the tape back in the tool box. "Wrong brand." He closed the trunk. "Let me know if you switch cars again. And before you pass along another tip about Naughton, or anyone else, it might be good if it's grounded in something real." Amundson turned away, heading to his car and dismissing the patrolman with a nod.

Kelly leaned on the trunk, watching as they climbed in their cars. Even though Amundson still suspected him, he found it oddly comforting that there was a better reason than just the profiling – the business about the lights being off. The profile was demeaning, even creepy. He also wondered if Amundson was beginning to come to grips with the idea that Kelly wasn't the guy. His demeanor at times had been casual, even chatty. Or maybe he was trying to get Kelly to drop his guard, say something incriminating.

As Kelly headed back to the building, he realized he had an audience – people watching at the windows. Being spotted, some adopted a casual demeanor, turning away, sipping at their coffee. Others watched the departing police cars. Still others continued to stare at Kelly, quite unconcerned that their curiosity was noticed.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but at the security desk, Kelly sensed a little extra scrutiny as he checked in. In the administration support commons, stolen glances came from around the room as he returned to his desk.

Jimmy the mail guy scurried in from the hallway, a half-eaten powdered donut in hand. He went to the window and looked around as he scarfed down the rest of his snack. He finally turned away and returned to the printer area. He leaned on the divider at the back of Kelly's desk. "Hey, I heard the cops just searched somebody else's car." There was powdered sugar on Jimmy's chin. He licked his fingers and brushed crumbs from his shirt. "Did you see it?"

"I wasn't in here."

"Shit. I missed it, too." Jimmy looked around as though wondering who else he could ask, but he apparently didn't see anyone who would welcome his inquiry. Instead he looked back to Kelly. "You think anyone else will get croaked?"

Kelly raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Won't be me," said Jimmy. He looked around as he dug into his pocket and surreptitiously showed Kelly a small spray tube on his key ring. "Pepper spray," he whispered, nodding.

"Ah. Smart. But don't use it until the murderer drags you out of the building. Everybody's eyes would be itching if you used it indoors."

Jimmy leaned back from the divider, staring blankly at Kelly, uncertain whether he was serious. Kelly nodded in solemn confirmation. He was spared from further conversation by his cell phone, which began a chorus of 9 to 5. Jimmy, still appearing puzzled, turned his attention to a tub of recycled paper in need of emptying.

Kelly answered the call. "Hey, Ma."

"If you're bored to tears, you could come over and fix my back door. It's not latching right."

"I'm actually back at work. The new COO was looking for someone to assist him, and they figured I'd be a good fit."

"You're back at work already? Your leave didn't last long."

"The study they were worried about became a non-issue, so that helped."

"You could still fix the door tonight. I'll make chicken and dumplings."

"Tempting, but I told Jessica I'd meet up with her tonight."

"Bring her. I'd love to meet her."

"I suppose I can check with her. Hang on."

Kelly walked over to Jessica's cubicle. She looked up with a smile as Kelly held the phone against his shoulder to mute it. "Mom's invited you over for chicken and dumplings tonight."

"Sure. I'd love to."

"Yeah, she'd love to." They made plans for dinner at seven, with Kelly picking Jessica up at 6:30.

Back at his desk, his phone's voice-mail light was blinking. The message came from Deborah, director of the call center, asking him to call. He did.

"Kelly belly," she said, using her pet name for him. "The recruitment rate has gone down the toilee. I don't think there's any chance of filling the schedule."

"Crap. I should have seen that coming."

"Well, who'd have thought a mass murderer on the loose would hurt recruiting?"

"Yeah, shit. Sorry about that."

"Not your job. Potts gets the big bucks. What's a manager for if he doesn't manage?"

"I'll go talk to him."

"Thanks, honey."

Kelly found Potts in the hall outside the conference room, chatting up one of the company's young female legal assistants who'd been working with the police to comply with the search warrant – redacting personal health information. Potts didn't seem to welcome the interruption, but the legal assistant did, and she made her escape. Kelly explained the recruiting problem.

"I'll talk to Lenny in S-A," said Potts. "We'll figure out which studies have priority, and we'll delay some others."

"The suspended advertising probably hurt, too," said Kelly.

"Right. Maybe we'll resume it. And the college students will be back soon. That will help. In the meantime, don't kill anybody else, okay?" Potts laughed, slapping Kelly on the shoulder.

"It's tempting," said Kelly.

* * *

On his way home after work, Kelly caught a newscast on the radio. The main story was another oil train derailment, two tanker cars blowing up near Battle Lake in Minnesota, but that was followed with a story about tomorrow's memorial service, with Naughton employees from around the country attending. The report included a comment from Diane Lundeman, taking a turn as company spokesperson:

"We hold meetings a few times a year that include employees from across the nation and from several other countries. We considered cancelling this week's meeting, but the overwhelming message from our employees was that they wanted to come. From New York to California, Europe to Australia, they wanted to be here to pay their respects and show their support for the families of the victims and for all their colleagues in the Naughton family here in Fargo."

"Slick," thought Kelly. He could hear the hitch in Diane's voice, and figured her emotion would be even more effective in the television coverage.

Kelly didn't see any media vehicles as he neared his apartment – though he hadn't really expected to, given all the other news. He started up the front steps, but spotted Ted and Jerry sitting at the old patio table in the shade of the big elm tree. Ted waved, and Kelly changed course to join them.

"Jerry was just about to tell me about a murder at one of his properties." Ted wore his old jungle hat – a familiar part of his summer attire.

"Not a murder," corrected Jerry. "Just a dead guy."

"I stand corrected," said Ted.

Jerry wore blue jeans and a grey tank-top undershirt. He hadn't shaved for a couple days. "This was probably 15 years ago," said Jerry. "Real heavy guy. Not that old, either. Late 50s I think. He was retired on disability from the sugar factory. Drank a lot. Fell in the kitchen. His brother found him. He'd been dead four days they figured. I had to put in new linoleum."

"Still have the place?" asked Kelly.

"Oh, yeah."

"Do you tell renters a guy died there?" asked Ted.

Jerry shook his head. "No way."

Ted turned his attention to Kelly. "What do you hear from work?"

Kelly hadn't seen either of them since getting called back in. He brought them up to speed, explaining his new assignment and cracking them up with the anecdote about scaring Westby in the pharmacy storage room.

"And the public relations consultant came up with a way to save this week's big sales meeting. They were thinking of moving it or postponing, but instead they're framing it as an opportunity for the employees to participate in the big community-wide memorial service."

Ted nodded, appreciating the strategy. "Allowing them to go forward with the meeting without seeming insensitive."

"Right. And corporate motives aside, I think it's the right call. It's a good thing. You could even say it was fortunate that we had folks coming in this week. It will be a nice show of support."

"Corporate and community interests are compatible most of the time," said Ted. "But conflicts get the most attention."

"That's right," said Jerry. "It's like landlords. We get a bad rap, but we're an important part of the community."

"Indeed you are," said Ted with a smile.

"One other thing," said Kelly. "Detective Amundson searched my car. He's still not sure about me. I'm glad the media wasn't around for that."

"They're preoccupied with the Battle Lake derailment," said Ted.

"I owned a house by the tracks once," said Jerry. "Right on Main Avenue. Could never keep a tenant very long. The place was a real pain in the ass. Always cracks in the walls. And that was back before they stopped blowing their horns in town. That was loud as hell, like they were right inside the house; and that reminds me of a tenant I had who worked for the railroad ..."

Before Jerry could launch into the story, Kelly excused himself, leaving Ted to hear the tale. Kelly had time to do his sit-ups and pushups, but had to forego the running. When he arrived to pick up Jessica, she was waiting outside, looking great in jeans, tennis shoes and a white oxford shirt.

When they arrived at the house, Kelly's mom seemed equally impressed. Kelly knew she would be, even though she had a history of being less than enthusiastic about Kelly's girlfriends.

Kelly and Jessica settled at the kitchen table. Tanya Kelly filled salad bowls at the counter.

"There are Gulsvigs at our church," said Tanya.

"That would be my Dad's cousin, Danny, and his family."

"Seven kids," said Tanya, as she brought out the salads. "Lots of children in your family, too?"

The polite conversation continued through the salad and the chicken and dumplings, with Kelly's mom and Jessica seeming to hit it off, finding common interests like quilting and Janet Evanovich novels. Kelly was mostly relegated to listener, though he did speak up in his own defense during exaggerated stories about his potty training and getting lost at the mall.

"Once, when he was six or seven, he spray-painted the car's new tires," said his mom.

Jessica gave Kelly a bemused smile.

Kelly shrugged. "I saw some old cars at a show that had whitewalls. Seemed like a good idea."

After they ate, Jessica helped clean up while Kelly turned his attention to the kitchen's problematic back door.

"I suppose the murders have really upset things for you at work," said Tanya to Jessica.

"More so for Kelly. And I really haven't been there long enough to know what normal is like. So, for me, I guess all the security and nervousness is normal."

Kelly found a loose hinge that allowed the door to sag, causing the misalignment. While Jessica and his mom continued to visit, he retrieved some larger screws from the garage.

"Did Kelly tell you his car was searched today?" asked Jessica.

"No," said Kelly's mom, throwing Kelly a why-didn't-you-tell-me glance.

"It was detective Amundson again," said Kelly as he re-secured the hinge. "I feel a little better about him, though. I think the profile he came up with isn't why he suspects me. It's because I was walking around the administration wing with the lights off. That reason makes more sense."

"Why on earth were you walking around with the lights off?" asked his mom.

"So I could see outside, watch the rain."

"He always did like the rain," said Tanya to Jessica. She turned back to Kelly. "But why does that make you feel better about Amundson?"

Kelly tossed the screwdriver back in the tool drawer. "The profile's insulting. Makes me out to be a sniveling coward who needs attention."

"And having a good reason to suspect you is better?"

"It just seems more fair."

Tanya looked at Jessica. "Maybe you should try to find a normal boy."

CHAPTER 12 - THURSDAY

When Kelly arrived at work on Thursday morning, Mary had Petrowski's remarks ready for him to review, an assignment Kelly wasn't particularly comfortable with. He decided to look at them in the auditorium, where he could watch the closed circuit feed from the POA meeting.

All three giant monitors carried the same picture from the Oak Manor conference center, which at the moment, consisted of an empty podium. The CEO, Raymond Lorch, was scheduled to speak, after which, busses would take the conferees to the memorial service. Only a smattering of employees had come to the auditorium to watch the feed.

The vice president in charge of sales soon took to the podium, offering a welcoming message for the sales force, which included the district managers, sales leaders, and rookies getting their first chance to connect with the wider Naughton community -- an opportunity to get them fired up for their new jobs. Kelly didn't pay much attention to the feed, focusing mainly on Petrowski's written remarks, but his focus was soon interrupted by an executive talking on his cell. He had entered the door on Kelly's right, taking a seat across the aisle one row up.

"I'll be over there in a while," said the exec. "I had to stop here to get my handouts printed."

Kelly vaguely remembered the guy. Assistant sales manager? Or maybe assistant to the sales vice president? Kelly wasn't really sure. Maybe marketing

A wave of applause came from the close circuit feed as the VP of sales finished his introduction of Raymond Lorch, who came to the microphone.

The sales exec continued his phone conversation – loudly. "Don't worry about your numbers yet. It takes a while to prime the pump."

Lorch was in triplicate on the big screens as he welcomed the gathered sales force. "Thank you for coming during these sad and difficult days, as we all mourn for our co-workers and grieve along with their families."

"You're new," continued the sales exec, distracting Kelly from Lorch's comments. "Focus on doctors that write a lot of product and you'll be fine."

"Our mission at Naughton Pharmaceuticals is to discover, develop, and provide medicines that improve the lives of people worldwide."

"Remember," said the exec on the phone, "it's all about being personable, making a connection, knowing the pitch, and then asking them to write your products. The samples are key. Once they prescribe the sample, you've got the pipeline flowing."

"Honesty and integrity are the keys to our success."

"Shit, no. Leave the side effects to the black box warning. If a doctor or patient can't spot a black box warning, that's their own damn fault. If they don't ask, don't tell."

"... all the while striving for affordability."

"The price hike is part of the plan. Prices are typically hiked after the first couple years. We get a good customer base going, and then hike the price the remaining years of the patent. Look at the bright side – your commission is going to be higher.

"That's why we invest 23% of our revenue in research and development – well above the industry average."

"We're researching a new formulation on Taskadol that should give us a fresh patent and a new message, but if that doesn't work, we also have the legal department working to stretch out the patent."

The junior exec finally ended the call, checked the time on his phone and rose to leave, noticing Kelly looking at him, amused.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Your conversation."

"Maybe you should mind your own business." The exec marched to the exit.

Kelly shook his head and turned his attention to the sheaf of papers that were Petrowski's remarks. He spent another half hour mulling them over, making some notes. When he returned to Petrowski's office, he found the COO and his assistant, Mary, examining a spread of documents on the meeting table. A television in the corner of the room carried the feed from the POA event, but neither seemed mindful of it. Upon seeing Kelly, Petrowski appeared to welcome the interruption. He went to his desk, gesturing for Kelly to have a seat. Mary began sorting the materials on the table, putting them in some kind of order.

"How bad are they?" asked Petrowski as Kelly handed over the remarks.

"Not bad at all," said Kelly. "It's all pretty good, full of reassurance and confidence. Hits a nice tone about the future of the company."

"But?"

"Well, it's just that there's really nothing about you in this."

"Me?"

"The employees don't know you. It's one thing to tell them the company's going to be fine, but they're only going to believe that if you give them some reason to believe in the interim COO."

Petrowski's eyes narrowed, regarding Kelly with an 'are you nuts?' expression. "I think citing successes from my resume would be both boring and poor form."

"No, nothing like that. I'm thinking of something that lets people get to know you – what you value, or what you find important, or something that helped shape you."

"I see what you mean. A 'daddy-used-to-say' story, or 'I remember when.'"

"Sure. Something that personalizes you and carries a constructive message – a story that makes you real, that says you're not just a hired gun."

Mary brought her newly assembled stack of documents and placed them on Petrowski's desk. He looked at her. "Did you know this young man was so smart?"

"No," Mary deadpanned. "I'm pretty sure he's not." She smiled as she headed off to her adjoining office.

"Kelly, you just get no respect around here, do you?" It was more a statement than question.

Kelly shrugged.

"Any other suggestions?"

"If you can say anything about jobs; that might be good. Some drug companies have been cutting back on their sales force, relying more on advertising directly to the public."

"Not a bad thought, but ..." Petrowski let the thought die.

"But selling the company," said Kelly, remembering. "I suppose that will affect jobs."

Petrowski's eyebrows rose. "You know about the sale?"

Kelly nodded matter-of-factly, realizing too late that it could look bad that Dilman had disclosed news of the sale to minor employee like Kelly.

"Has that gotten around?"

"No. Not really. They told me about it because one of our studies was in trouble. Losing the study could have blown up the deal. It was made pretty clear that it's sensitive inside information."

"Insider trading is a murky thing. There's been a time or two, maybe more, where big trades occurred simply because I came to a company."

"That's quite a compliment."

"Not really. It's just that I've become associated with mergers and acquisitions. There are clever traders who watch for tip-offs like interim hires, but in this case, an acquisition might not be suspected, since it's mainly a vacancy-by-death matter."

Petrowski rose and grabbed his suit coat from the back of his chair. Kelly also stood.

"Are you going to the memorial service?" asked Petrowski.

"No. After the way Westby reacted to me, I figure I better stay away."

Petrowski nodded, appreciating the point.

With the administration offices thinned out for the service, Kelly found the work environment more peaceful. He looked forward to making progress on organizing the studies, but had barely gotten started when Bennie happened by, pushing a wheeled stepladder that held a handful of replacement lighting tubes in a built-in rack.

"Oh. Hi, Kelly."

"Hey, Bennie. Not going to the memorial service?"

"No. I didn't much know those guys, and there needs to be at least one of us on duty, so that's me."

"I decided not to go, too, though I'm interested to hear if Naughton shows up."

Bennie leaned an elbow on the ladder. "Well, if he was still pissed about losing his company and stuff, I'd guess he'd stay home."

"On the other hand, he knew all those guys. If he wants to appear like he has no grudge, maybe he'll go."

Bennie slowly nodded.

"Oh, and that detective Amundson," said Kelly, "He confirmed that they didn't find anything at Naughton's farm. In fact, the farm technically belongs to Naughton's pal."

Bennie looked around, making sure the two people still at their cubicles weren't close enough to hear. "Nothing? No research stuff?"

Kelly shook his head.

"What's he doing out there then?"

"Beats me."

"Was there an office or something in that potato barn?"

"No. Turns out it's an abandoned industrial-sized chicken coop. Amundson said there was just a bunch of junk that didn't amount to anything."

"Why would they hang out in there?"

Kelly thought for a moment, but had no answer. "Shit, that's right. They went in there after the cops left."

"Maybe they had something hidden and they went to get it after the cops left.

"Could be. Makes me wonder, that's for sure."

Kelly felt kind of stupid that Naughton's behavior hadn't struck him as odd sooner. That Bennie had picked up on it didn't really surprise him, though. He knew Bennie to be sneaky smart, an easy guy to underestimate.

"Gonna tell the cops?" asked Bennie.

"Shit, no. At least I don't think so. They're pretty fed up with me coming to them with Naughton theories. Besides, even if Naughton did hide something from the cops, it probably has nothing to do with the murders."

"Maybe they have plans to adapt the barn for something."

"Maybe. But if they were going to do some research in there, they'd need equipment and some supplies. I don't suppose you have any info about that."

"No." Bennie gave a shrug that said 'why would I?'.

"I just figured that if you've been watching Naughton, you might have caught on to something like that."

"I've seen them with a box or a bag, but I don't know if it was research stuff or not."

"Have you ever tried looking through their garbage?"

"No."

"I'm just thinking there might be clues about what they're up to – packaging for research supplies or something." Kelly suddenly felt the urge to do some investigating. "I think I'll take an early lunch. You want to come along, take another look around Naughton's place – the place in town?"

"I can't leave."

"Oh, that's right. Essential personnel and all that. I'll let you know if I see anything interesting."

Kelly hoped Naughton and his goon had gone to the memorial service, or better yet, were out at the farm. He drove to the converted depot, parking a half block beyond the building. He donned a ball cap against the sun and approached on foot, walking decisively, trying to appear purposeful rather than furtive. He climbed the steps to the large porch. It ran the length of the building. He knocked at the door, planning to act surprised if anyone answered – pretending he expected to see someone else. He'd apologize, say something about having the wrong address, and leave. But, as luck would have it, no one came to the door.

Mail in the mailbox and a newspaper lying near the door in a plastic bag were two more indications there was no one around. He was tempted to look at the mail, but decided he'd have a hard time explaining if someone saw him.

A set of blind-covered windows offered no glimpse of what lay within. At the end of the porch, a second set of steps led to the gravel parking lot. Kelly glanced around as he descended, but saw no one who might see him.

He wandered past the ground-level garage to the back of the building where he looked in the dumpster, finding it empty. Beyond the dumpster stood an old garbage incinerator, its rusting smokestack supported by struts connected to the building. He wondered if the incinerator was used any more. If nothing else, it would be an efficient way to dispose of incriminating documents. He worked open the heavy iron door. He couldn't see anything, but there was no smell of recent smoke.

That left the loose trash behind the dumpster, back in the corner and along the walls where a few volunteer saplings and weeds had managed to root in the shade. The trash included plastic bag remnants, old bottles and cans and a long-abandoned sweatshirt – perhaps left by a homeless person who had taken refuge there. He did find some envelopes, but nothing of interest. A poster for a punk band touted an appearance last January. Finally, something of interest – an old packing slip, still in a plastic pouch, from North Star Laboratory Supply. The enclosure was dated May of last year, indicating delivery of 20 BSL-3 rated HEPA filters and a quantity of six portable Steri-Bright UV-C 4.0 units, whatever those were. None of it meant much to Kelly, but it suggested Naughton wasn't completely idle.

Kelly had just stepped out from around the dumpster when a familiar black, mud-spattered SUV drove into the parking lot. Kelly winced, knowing he was spotted. Glare on the car windows obscured the occupants, but he had no doubt who it was. He kept walking, past the garage, acknowledging the car with a nod and slight wave, playing the role of casual passerby who just happened to cut through the urban, albeit private, parking lot, something he hoped wasn't too unusual, given the proximity to the bike path. He also tried to hide his face, tilting his head to keep the brim of his hat low.

The car slowed, in part to allow the garage door to open, but also, Kelly assumed, to scrutinize the trespasser. Once the car pulled into the garage and was out of sight, Kelly broke into a sprint, making sure he was long gone before anyone could come from the garage to confront him. He jumped into the Delta 88 and pulled away from the curb, watching in the rear view mirror, but he saw no one before he made the corner.

Seriously amped-up from the adventure, Kelly desperately wanted to talk to Jessica, but she was busy at the POA meeting. He texted her, suggesting another trip to Roger's Pub after work, saying he had some news.

Arriving back at work, he sought out Bennie, finding him in the hallway outside the bio-analytical lab. He related the story of getting spotted. "I assume it was Naughton and his goon in the car. I didn't wait around to find out."

"I wonder if Naughton goes anywhere without that guy."

"Maybe not."

He showed Bennie the packing slip. "This is all I found."

Bennie didn't seem too impressed. "What is that stuff?"

"I'm not really sure, but I'm thinking it means he's been doing some research. Doesn't it?"

Bennie shrugged. "I guess. Is that important?"

Kelly stared at the packing slip. "If the research has something to do with the murders, it could be a clue."

"If you say so."

Kelly had expected Bennie to show a little more interest, but maybe Bennie was right. The packing slip by itself did nothing to implicate Naughton. Kelly looked through the window of the bio-analytical lab. "I suppose I could ask one of the techs about this stuff." The techs seemed busy, hunched over microscopes, drawing liquids with pipettes, or operating one of several centrifuges. "Maybe I can catch one of them later in the break room."

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to interrupt them while they're playing with all that blood, poop and pee."

Kelly chuckled. "On the one hand, those are great jobs; on the other hand, you don't want to get any of that stuff on either hand."

As Kelly headed back to his desk in the administration commons, a text came in from Jessica, agreeing to the Roger's date.

The afternoon seemed to pass slowly as Kelly worked on the logistics for the upcoming studies. A little after five, he met Jessica outside the conference site.

"So, what's your news?" she asked, after a welcoming kiss.

"I'll tell you at Roger's. I was excited about it at first, but now I'm thinking it's probably nothing."

They set out for the restaurant, choosing to walk. High clouds building in from the west gave them a break from the sun, and though it was hot and muggy, a nice breeze compensated for the humidity. They took the "scenic" route, choosing a neighborhood of apartment buildings rather than a shortcut through the K-Mart parking lot.

"How'd things go at the POA?"

"They had me on the welcoming table this morning," said Jessica. "Then busses took us to the service. Nice service. Full venue. They allowed news cameras in the back. After lunch, we had a breakout session for the new sales employees, basic orientation stuff. Later, during breaks, we did individual meetings – answering questions about health insurance, their 401(k), their responsibilities for the company car, and the big thing – their phone options. That seemed to be what they cared about most."

"Excited group, I bet."

"Should be. They get great perks and even better pay."

"I hear there's a hundred applicants for every opening."

"I believe it. The resumes are impressive; an elite crowd. Cream of the crop when it comes to ambition and personality."

"And good looking."

"I suppose. They certainly have to present themselves well."

The restaurant was busy, but not full. The hostess seated them in a booth that overlooked the street. Kelly cracked open one of the complementary peanuts and tossed the shells on the floor.

''We're not the only Naughton-ites here,'' noted Jessica. The visiting employees were apparent by their upscale business-casual attire, some with Naughton gift bags, and some still sporting their name-tag lanyards.

Jessica pulled a brochure from her purse. ''Did you see the agenda?" She turned the page toward Kelly, craning her neck to read as she pointed to a session called Personal Security. "You suppose that's because of the murders?"

"I don't think so. The sales people cart around samples worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. That's one reason they don't drive cars with the company logo."

"Hundreds of thousands?"

"Sure. I've heard that some sales people ... maybe not at Naughton ... but at some companies, might have a million dollars of product they're responsible for."

"In samples?"

"Some drugs are damn expensive, at least until the patents run out."

Jessica stared off in space, deep in thought as she cracked open a peanut. She looked back at Kelly. "Could the murders be related to misdirected samples? Drugs being sold instead of going to doctors?"

"I suppose anything's possible, but accounting for the samples is serious stuff. I don't know all the safeguards, but I do know that doctors have to sign for them."

"Do you think the police are investigating that angle?"

"I hadn't thought about it, but I bet they are. Any time there's something valuable involved, it's got to be a possible motive."

The waitress returned and took their order. Fried clams for Kelly, and Cobb salad for Jessica.

Unlike Kelly, Jessica stacked her peanut shells in a pile on the table. She selected another from the basket. "So, what's this news you said you had?"

"I thought I discovered something significant today, but the more I think about it, it's probably nothing. I thought if I could find evidence that Naughton was actively involved with research, that it would prove he was hiding something, but I don't think that's true anymore. Just because the cops didn't see bubbling flasks over Bunsen burners doesn't mean he's hiding anything, and they did say he has a nice lab." Kelly went on to tell the story of his visit to Naughton's building, and getting discovered as he left.

"You actually went dumpster diving?"

"Well, no, though I did look. It was empty. All I found was an old packing slip in the weeds by the building." He pulled it from his back pocket and passed it to Jessica. "All it proves is that he ordered some stuff from a lab supply company."

"What is this stuff?"

"HEPA filters ... I've heard of those on vacuums and stuff. The other gadget, I have no idea."

Jessica dug out her smart phone. "Well, let's find out." She tapped away, searching the Internet."HEPA refers to High-Efficiency Particulate Air filters. For bio-medical applications, it says they're used to prevent the spread of airborne organisms. And BSL-3 ..." she refined the search. "That stands for Biosafety Level, and 3 is second highest." Her eyebrows rose. "I wonder why he needs that?"

Kelly pulled out his phone and joined the search. "BSL-3 filters ... one application seems to be for clean rooms – rooms where you don't want any contamination getting in. Seems there are some industrial applications, like electronics, not just bio-medical."

"Check this," said Jessica. "This other thing, the Steri-Bright UV-C 4.0. That's a germicidal ultraviolet light unit." She read from the screen: "'Four feet tall, it can be used as a floor unit, mounted on a wall, or hung on a ceiling,' and it has a 'variable reflector that can be adjusted for wide or focused application. The unit can also be configured for 360 degree decontamination.'"

The food arrived, and for a time they fell silent, eating, but also thinking about Naughton's equipment order.

"I bet those light units aren't cheap," said Kelly, as he dipped another clam in tartar sauce.

Jessica consulted the packing slip. "He bought six."

"When Amundson said Naughton had a nice lab in his building on 2nd Avenue, the old depot, I sure didn't imagine it including something as elaborate as a clean room with HEPA filtration and ... what were they again?"

Jessica looked again to her phone, which was still on the web page. "Ultraviolet germicidal light units."

"Ultraviolet ... that would be invisible, right?"

"I think so. Sounds right."

"When Bennie and I were at the farm, I remember Naughton and his guy, Ivers, going into the poultry barn with a lamp, and I could see the light in the windows, but then it went out."

"You think they were doing something with UV lights?"

Kelly thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Probably not. Amundson said there was just some junk in there. He'd have noticed four-foot-long fancy lighting fixtures." Kelly ate another fried clam. "At the time, it didn't seem odd that the light went out ... like they had gone into some internal room or something, but Amundson said it was just one big open barn."

"What kind of experiment would require a dark barn?"

"And no equipment. Pretty mysterious."

"Now I'm getting curious." Jessica stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. "Let's go out there some time. I'd like to see the place."

"Sure." They fell silent again as they finished eating. Kelly drank the last of his water, then met Jessica's gaze. "Are you thinking we should go tonight?"

Jessica gave a shrug of acquiescence. "I'm up for it."

"Okay. Let's go now while there's still some light."

CHAPTER BREAK – THURSDAY NIGHT

In the distance, above the expanse of prairie, thunderheads flickered, lit silently from within, too far for the thunder to carry. Kelly had laid out a canvas tarp at the edge of the sumac shrubs, the same spot where he had sat with Bennie. The sun had dropped below the western clouds, and the ravine below was now in deep shadow, but no lights showed in the farmhouse windows.

They had stopped at Jessica's house, where she changed into casual clothes, including a charcoal grey rugby shirt with a pink stripe -- long sleeves to guard against mosquitoes. She had also grabbed a rain jacket. Following her lead, Kelly retrieved his dark green windbreaker from the back seat. He also took the flashlight and the tarp. Jessica carried his umbrella.

Kelly pointed to the long, low barn built against the hillside. "That's the poultry barn I told you about."

Off to the right, closer to the farmhouse, was the half-collapsed wreck of the traditional barn. The main door faced left, with the basement door oriented toward the house. To Kelly, it seemed like the brick silo helped support some of the walls.

"Looks quiet," said Jessica.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the August night – the chirping crickets, the display of the distant lightning, the croaking of the frogs from the stream below.

"I wonder if there's a way to check public records for permits involving experiments on animals," said Jessica.

"Probably. Unless he's still working for the government on some secret project."

"Maybe Kupmeier and the other victims found out he was using animals illegally, and they used that for blackmail."

"Could be. That would make for a hell of a movie plot. But the cops didn't see any animals."

"Maybe they have a third place."

"Someplace the cops don't know about? That's a thought. I suppose we could follow Naughton again; see where he goes, but I'm curious about that barn and why they were in there."

"You think the police might have missed something."

"Maybe they moved stuff out, or hid it. They had advance warning. They agreed to the search."

"You want to look inside, don't you?"

Kelly nodded "Them being in there, in the dark, just doesn't jive with what Amundson said about the place."

"Maybe you should talk to the police again?"

"No. I've already ruined my credibility with them."

"They might give you a better explanation. Maybe there's a good reason for what you saw."

"Maybe."

"But you don't want to ask."

"No, I don't."

"Then let's look for ourselves."

Kelly looked at her. "That's probably the dumbest thing we can do."

Jessica smiled. "Probably."

"You sure you want to?"

She nodded.

Kelly looked back to the farmstead. In truth, he had already given the idea some thought. "What we could do, is go right up to the house and knock. If anybody comes to the door, we'll tell them our car won't start and we don't have cell service. We'll ask to use their phone."

"What good will that do?"

"That's the cover story in case someone's home. If nobody's there, we go on to the barn, like we're looking for someone to help us."

"What if they recognize you from this afternoon?"

Kelly thought about that for a moment. "Well, I was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Going without should help. And I can put on the windbreaker." He looked at Jessica hopefully.

She nodded, affirming that the changes should do the trick.

They took the tarp back to the car. Jessica also left her rain jacket, but kept the umbrella. They headed down the hillside toward the single-lane wooden bridge. It had no railings. The stream below ran deep and fast, swollen by an overly-generous share of isolated thunderstorms.

In addition to the lingering daylight, a nearly full moon now rose in the east – only a light haze of clouds obscured it. They didn't need the flashlight, but it was dark enough for the motion sensor to trigger the floodlight. Kelly opened the screen door and knocked. Jessica came forward, leaning close, listening for any sounds from inside. Kelly knocked a second time, more loudly. Still nothing. They waited several seconds.

"So far, so good," said Kelly, just above a whisper.

A gravel path led to the poultry barn. The entrance had a set of twin doors, each four feet wide. A padlock hung open, the hasp undone.

"It doesn't seem like they're very intent on security," said Jessica.

Kelly knocked, then slowly pulled a door open. "Hello?"

The glass windows lining the left side of the building were grimy and some were broken. The windows let in just enough light to give shape to the room and to several pieces of old equipment. The stale air carried a hint of oil or gasoline and a fair dose of mildew.

"Spooky in here," whispered Jessica.

Kelly turned on the LED flashlight and panned it slowly over the items, among which were the remnants of a harrow, a few steel drums, and a dusty headboard and footboard stacked with a set of rusted bed springs. Farther on, they found an old metal kitchen table with one matching chair lying on its side. There was also the old animal crate Kelly had seen. It gave no immediate clue as to the type of animal it had held. Parked by the windows was an old car on flat tires, a Chrysler LeBaron K-car from the 80s. "Not much worse condition than new," joked Kelly.

Beyond the car, the wood floor ended, giving way to dirt as the barn stretched away in a series of pens made of wood and chicken wire. "I sure don't see why they'd be spending time in here."

"Maybe they sit in the car to listen to the radio," said Jessica.

Kelly chuckled. "That's as good an explanation as any."

He pointed out several sets of footprints in the dirt. "Those are likely from the police search." He played the light back toward the entrance. "The dirt's been swept up in the front. No prints."

A faint whirring caught their attention.

"What's that?" said Jessica.

Kelly clicked off the light, fearing it might be seen, though he was quite sure they would have noticed any approaching vehicle. Aside from the headlights, it would have rumbled upon the bridge.

The whirring subsided, but Jessica gasped, drawing Kelly's attention to a light showing from below a stack of metal shelves against the wall. They hid behind the car just as the shelves swung outward. Through the car windows they saw Doc Naughton emerge, dressed in a lab coat, lantern in hand. The hidden door swung shut behind him. As Naughton went to leave, he stopped at the partially open barn door. After a long pause, he turned, looking around. Jessica ducked, but Kelly held still, confident he could not be seen, but his heart raced, and Jessica's grip on his leg spoke to her tension.

Naughton finally turned away, seemingly satisfied there was no one there. The room darkened as he closed the door. The hasp slapped into place, followed by the snap of the lock. The hint of light from his lantern faded along with the crunch of his footsteps on the gravel.

Kelly exhaled in relief.

"Crap, I about peed," whispered Jessica.

Kelly crept to the windows, finding a broken pane to look through. The motion light came on as Naughton neared the house.

Jessica came to Kelly's side. "I think he locked us in."

Naughton entered the house, turning on an interior light.

"We'll go out the window," said Kelly. He shielded the flashlight with his hand. Using a sliver of light from between his fingers, he determined that the window was hinged at the top, with a simple latch at the bottom. He turned off the flashlight and unhooked the latch. The window was stiff. It groaned as Kelly cracked it open. "It's going to be noisy. And the frame is in pretty bad shape. The glass could even break. Might be a good idea to give him some time to fall asleep."

"We wait in here?" Jessica's apprehension was clear.

"Maybe there's another way out. Either way, I'd like to see what's behind that secret door before we leave."

Jessica looked toward the door. "Are you sure?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"One close call is plenty. And we still need to sneak out of here."

"I suppose."

"And we have enough to go to the cops now, right?"

"Sure. A secret room. We broke the law to find out, but we need to tell them."

Jessica looked again at the secret door. "What do you think is in there?"

"Well, I'd expect a lab, but he has a lab in town. Why would he need a secret lab?"

"Maybe it's not a lab?"

"Man cave? Big screen TVs? Wet bar?"

Jessica punched Kelly's shoulder. "It's not a man cave."

"Maybe he's growing special mushrooms, breeding a secret variety of truffle or something."

"Oh, wouldn't the cops love that. Send them back out here to find mushrooms."

"Maybe they're psychedelic. Or ..." Kelly looked at Jessica, suddenly more serious. "Maybe they're medicinal. He plans to derive a new drug from mushrooms. That would totally make sense."

Jessica acknowledged the possibility with a shrug. "I guess. That's as good a theory as any. Except it doesn't explain why he didn't let the cops see."

"Corporate secrecy? Or maybe he did show them, and they're respecting his request to be discrete."

They briefly fell silent, contemplating the possibilities. The yard spotlight timed out, further darkening the barn. Kelly could see uncertainty in Jessica's eyes, her expression caught in the faint moonlight. He put his arm around her as they sat crouched beside the car.

"If it's just mushrooms," she said at length.

"Could be embarrassing."

"I suppose we should know first."

"Changed your mind?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Maybe just a quick peek as long as we're here and have to wait?"

"Sure. Let's do it." Kelly stood. "And if anything happens, we go for the window and get out fast."

After checking for any sign of action at the house, they crept to the secret door, the moon providing just enough light to find their way. The panel looked no different than the rest of the wall, except for the attached shelving that helped disguise it. Kelly gave the shelf a tug. The panel moved silently and with little effort. He opened it a crack and used the flashlight to peer inside. "There's another door," he whispered. He eased the panel open farther and briefly turned on the flashlight to examine the door frame, looking for an alarm trigger. He saw nothing, but still returned to the broken window in the barn to check the house for any sign of activity.

"Anything?" asked Jessica.

"No. Seems quiet. There's just that same light in the window."

He rejoined Jessica and they entered the passage, closing the panel behind them before turning on the flashlight. The second door was metal, with a one-foot square double-paned window. Kelly looked in. All he could see were a few tiny LED indicator lights glowing red or green in the darkness. He shined the flashlight through the window, doing his best to shield the glare off the glass.

"Looks like a lab." A pair of red lights blinked – glowing eyes staring into the flashlight. "Holy shit," Kelly jumped back, startled.

"What?"

"Something looked back at me." Kelly waited for his pulse to settle, and then tried the door handle. The lever moved freely, and despite the presence of a deadbolt, the door yielded with a slight whoosh as an airtight seal gave away. At first, there was only fan noise, but then there came a faint chatter. The flashlight found the source – a small monkey in a large acrylic cage, eyes faintly glowing as it looked into the light. It hunkered down cautiously on an elevated platform in the back. The cage also contained a real tree branch. A grid of rope ran from the floor to the platform.

Kelly closed the airtight door and found a light switch. The well-lit lab had two more large acrylic chambers to either side of the monkey. The one on the left had a patient gurney draped in heavy black plastic and topped with a folded blanket and pillow; the one to the right was empty.

The lab also had a desk and a handful of work stations that reminded Kelly of the bioanalytical lab at work, though two of the stations here were more sophisticated. They were sealed, with sleeved ports for reaching within.

A small countertop centrifuge sat next to a large cabinet with temperature controls and a glass door. The cabinet contained a number of culture dishes and flasks, plus a rack of centrifuge tubes. The containers held red or yellowish media, and they were labeled with lot numbers and dates. There was also a large two-door refrigerator. Kelly peeked inside to see bottles of cell culture media, white paper bags of unknown content and an assortment of jars and trays that meant little to him.

The monkey had left the platform, crossing a limb of the tree branch to approach Jessica, who regarded him through the acrylic panel. "So, what do you suppose they're doing with this little guy?"

"I wish I knew." Kelly pointed to the top of the acrylic cage. "There's the Steri-Bright germicidal lights." There were two mounted on the ceiling in each of the chambers.

At the back of the lab were two more doors. One looked like a freezer door, thick with a small window and typical pull handle. The other was more promising – another airtight door, which suggested a possible exit. Kelly worked the handle. A hiss of incoming air greeted him as he pushed the door open. It led to a mechanical room, the source of the fan noise. Kelly turned on the lights. Jessica joined him.

Immediately on their right was a decontamination tent with hand-held shower head. Hanging beside the tent was a hazmat suit.

"Whoa. He must be working on some nasty shit."

A passage along the left wall took them past a furnace, air conditioning unit and water heater. At the back of the room was a workshop, complete with drill press, compressor, tool cabinets, wet vac, and backup generator. A first aid kit and fire extinguisher were mounted on the wall by the electrical panel, but the most important feature was on the left – another door suggesting a way out. Kelly pulled it open.

"Why are their doors unlocked?" said Jessica.

"Remote location, old barn, secret door – they're probably overconfident, especially if the barn door is normally locked. If Naughton hadn't been here, maybe we don't get in."

The door opened onto another small, dark entryway that led to another secret door of old barn wood. From this side, they could see the hidden hinge. They let the first door close behind them, which cut off the light from the mechanical room. Kelly turned on the flashlight, holding it low and partially screening it with his hand. He pushed the panel open and they were greeted by the now-familiar barn smells. There was also the scent of fresh rain, and they could hear a few raindrops upon the roof. It was darker now, the moon obscured by the clouds building in.

They found themselves at the far end of the barn. "Gets us nowhere," said Kelly. "We'll still need to go out through a window."

"One back here, farther from the house, might be best."

"Right. We better turn off all the lights first."

"And maybe take some pictures."

"We could, but if this goes badly, pictures could incriminate us for breaking in."

"Yikes. And if it's some secret government thing ..."

"Federal prison, maybe."

They returned to the lab, Jessica pausing at the monkey cage as Kelly killed the lights. They relied now on the flashlight and the spill of light from the window in the mechanical room door. They were about to exit that way when Jessica stopped, pointing at the freezer. "We didn't look in there."

Kelly redirected his flashlight to the freezer door. "May as well. If we take a little time to let it start raining good, that will help drown out any noise when we break out."

Kelly pulled open the freezer door, located the light switch and turned it on. Their breath misted in the frigid air. Jessica held back, holding the door open, avoiding the worst of the cold.

Shelves on the right were crowded with plastic boxes full of vials, foam containers, a rack of plastic laboratory flasks of different colors, and numerous white cardboard boxes, some quite small, others as large as a file drawer.

Above on the left was a row of white cabinets. Below was a shelf. Kelly was about to look in a cabinet when his attention turned instead to the shelf. Stacked there were some long black plastic bags. "Hey, I think ..."

Jessica gasped, turned off the light and allowed the door to close. "Kelly!" she whispered.

The lights came on in the lab. Kelly turned off his flashlight and joined her at the door, taking care to stay out of the light from the window. Naughton held the door as Naughton's assistant, Richard Ivers, backed into the lab pulling a wheelchair. A man strapped in the chair was slumped over, apparently unconscious. Naughton crossed the room, opening the thick acrylic door to one of the chambers. Ivers unstrapped the man and easily lifted him to the gurney in the chamber.

Naughton slipped into a white lab coat, pulled on examination gloves, and wheeled an IV stand into the chamber. He hung a bag of liquid from one of the hooks and set about finding a vein to start a drip.

"Looks like some derelict they brought in," whispered Kelly.

"I hope they don't stay long." Jessica was already shivering.

Naughton adjusted the drip to his satisfaction, and then left the acrylic chamber. Ivers closed the door, ensuring it sealed tightly, screwing down a series of three latches.

Naughton pulled off the latex gloves, tossed them in a garbage can, and went to a computer station. After a moment of typing, he looked back at the chamber. "Vents are opening." A red warning light came on above the door. "Time ... 9:02pm."

Ivers folded the wheelchair and stowed it beneath a counter. Naughton looked toward the back of the room, something catching his attention. Kelly and Jessica sank down, making sure they weren't seen.

"Richard, did you turn on the lights in the mechanical room?"

"No, sir."

The lights! Kelly and Jessica shared a look of concern.

"Those lights were off when I left," said Naughton.

Kelly braved another look, staying well out of the window light. Naughton reached into a drawer and pulled out a handgun. He went to the main airtight door and turned the deadbolt, locking it. He gestured toward the mechanical room and handed the pistol to Ivers. "You better take a look."

Jessica snuggled close to Kelly, her teeth beginning to chatter. He put his arms around her. Ivers was lost to sight as he went to the mechanical room.

"They wouldn't look in here, would they?"

"I sure hope not." Kelly looked toward the black bags on the shelf. "Want to hear the other bad news?"

"No," she whispered. "But tell me anyway."

Kelly regretted bringing it up. "It can wait."

He kept an eye on Naughton, who seemed to be checking to see if anything had been tampered with.

"Tell me."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

Jessica gave him the evil eye and poked him with the umbrella.

"Ouch."

"Tell me, you dork. You can't just say there's more bad news then clam up."

Kelly took a deep breath. "See those black bags on that shelf?"

Jessica nodded, shivering.

"I'm pretty sure they're body bags. And I think that's what's on that gurney out there."

"Oh, crap." Jessica stared at the bags. Her voice quivered. "They're not empty, are they?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"How many?"

"Two, three. Maybe even four. They're piled together."

To Kelly's surprise, Jessica took the flashlight and handed him the umbrella. She went to the bags.

"Careful with the light," he whispered.

Jessica gave Kelly a glance that questioned his need to warn her. She cupped the end of the thin flashlight and turned it on, creating just a pinhole of light. Kelly crept over to join her.

"Steri-Safe Remains Bag," she read from the printing.

There was also an orange bio-hazard warning patch. She played the light across the pile. "Three looks about right." She turned off the light and handed it back to Kelly. "I think we have to call the police now, secret federal project or not."

"We'll need to get back to the highway where we can get a cell signal."

Voices resumed in the lab. Kelly and Jessica crept back to the door, but the conversation had ended. Naughton and Ivers were huddled at a computer.

Kelly held Jessica close as they squatted by the door. She snuggled against him, her head on his chest, as they tried to resist the cold.

"They better leave soon," said Jessica, as they continued to whisper.

"We should be okay – as long as they don't pull an all-nighter."

"But maybe they will pull an all-nighter – dealing with their fresh test subject."

Kelly had no answer for that. He knew they couldn't stay in the freezer indefinitely, but he didn't see any way to make a run for it – not with Ivers there, or with Naughton having a pistol.

A minute or two later, Naughton spoke again, too softly for them to hear what was said. Kelly and Jessica stood to look just as Naughton and Ivers left the lab, turning off the lights. That left the warning light on the acrylic chamber, which painted the room in a faint red glow.

"Looks like one of those photography darkrooms you see in old TV shows," said Jessica.

They waited several minutes before pushing on the latch release and easing the door open.

"Let's use the back door," whispered Kelly.

Jessica looked in at the unconscious man. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Best thing we can do is go for help. I'm pretty sure opening that chamber would be a bad idea."

They left the lights off as they slipped into the mechanical room, the hazmat suit looming as a ghostly greeter. The darkness was made even more ominous by the fan noise, humming circuits, and small indicator lights that seemed to hang in space. Kelly left the flashlight off, managing – barely – to see the way. As they came past the air conditioning unit, it kicked in with a squeal and whir that caused them to jump. "Holy shit," said Kelly.

Jessica leaned against him, hand on her chest, just as startled. "I did not need that," she gasped.

Catching their breath, they continued on through the soundproof door, the darkness becoming complete in the small entryway. They could now hear rumbles of thunder and the patter of rain. Kelly briefly cupped the flashlight and turned it on to get their bearings. He turned it off again as he eased open the secret panel to the barn.

Kelly welcomed the rain. It drummed strongly and would help mask any noise as they went out though a window. The lightning, too – it came in an almost steady flicker, high in the clouds, helping light the way.

Lightning suddenly captured the silhouette of a man by the windows. He turned on a spotlight, blinding them.

"Stop right there! We are well armed and will shoot." A thunderclap gave exclamation to the threat.

Naughton. Kelly recognized the voice. Stepping into the light on the left, blocking the way to the front of the barn was Richard Ivers, armed with a shotgun.

CHAPTER 13 - FINALE

Kelly and Jessica stood in the back of the laboratory chamber, Kelly with an arm around Jessica's shoulders, her with an arm around his waist. There was no furniture. Steel framing held the inch-thick acrylic walls.

"Bullet resistant," said Naughton, tapping the glass with his pistol. "Quite escape-proof. So, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't scratch it up by trying." He turned back to Ivers, handing him Kelly's keys. "They probably parked out on the road. Get that car out of sight. Take the two-way."

Naughton took the shotgun from Ivers and passed him a hand-held radio unit. Ivers fetched a raincoat from a cabinet and left the lab. Naughton set the shotgun in the corner by the cabinet and put the pistol back in the desk drawer. He pulled an office chair from one of the work stations and rolled it over by the chamber where Kelly and Jessica were imprisoned. The adjacent chamber held the monkey. In the far chamber, the man brought in earlier remained unconscious.

"We almost didn't discover your presence," said Naughton. "After noticing the light in the mechanical room, we checked the security camera to see who might have entered after I left, but of course you weren't there. I thought perhaps I was mistaken about the light. Fortunately, we checked earlier images, and there you were – entering the barn before I left. Even more interesting, there were no pictures of you leaving. Where did you hide?"

Neither of them answered, but Naughton picked up on Jessica's involuntary glance toward the freezer.

"Ah. The freezer. So, you had better tell me; what are you doing here?"

"I told you," said Kelly. "We were looking for help. Our car wouldn't start."

"Well, having looked though your billfolds and phones, I find it too coincidental that that you both happen to work at my former company. So, you can stop with that nonsense about the car."

"Your assistant will find out we're telling the truth. It won't start."

Naughton dismissed Kelly's protest with a wave of his hand. "Let's discuss something more interesting. Did you come to kill me? Are you behind the mysterious murderers at my former company?"

"What? No, of course not."

"No shock weapon hidden about? No roll of duct tape? No bottle of pills to fill my throat?"

Kelly shook his head. "We're not here to harm anyone."

"I guess you do seem unlikely – a young man, an attractive young lady. Unless you're the next Charlie Manson. Are you? Have you drawn this young woman into your cult?"

"If anyone here is behind the murders, it's you," said Kelly.

"Oh, not that again." Naughton waved his hands in exasperation. "What makes people think that?"

"You could be angry over the role they played in ousting you. You might be wanting the company back and want to disrupt takeover plans by someone else. Or maybe they found out what you're doing here, and you had to shut them up."

Naughton scoffed. "What an imagination. Delightfully feasible, I suppose, but nonsense." His brow wrinkled. "Is that why you're here? Amateur sleuthing? The search history on your browser does suggest an interest in law enforcement."

Kelly said nothing as Naughton mulled over the idea.

"I believe that must be the explanation," continued Naughton. "You hatch this idea about me and imagine yourself solving the crime. How cute. But your theories are groundless. First of all, I don't want the company back. There's no future in that company." He smiled. "Or in any other company for that matter. And while I harbor no kind regard for those who participated in my termination, neither am I interested in revenge. Their passings please me, but only because there are three fewer humans to clutter up the planet. And finally, the only person who knows what I'm doing, or even knows there's a lab here, is my assistant, Richard."

"Why are you hiding it? Is this some secret government thing?"

Naughton chuckled. "Hardly." He leaned back, looking around the room. "Nice little lab, don't you think? It's not quite up to proper BSL-3 standards. Should even be level four, I suppose, but that's such a bother. And given my intensions, well, it really doesn't matter." He crossed his legs and pawed his goatee. "I guess I don't mind telling you. You'll be the first to hear of it – aside from Richard. One does like to share his accomplishments. And while I do plan on sharing it with the world, it's not the sort of thing I'll be disclosing in scholarly journals." He laughed, clapping his hands together. "Actually, my purpose is nothing less than to heal the planet." He let the words sink in. "Heal the planet," he repeated.

"Cool," said Kelly, trying to sound sincere. The stories of Naughton being nutty were beginning to look spot-on.

"Consider this. The world population has grown from two billion to seven billion in less than 100 years. Humans are out of control. Extinctions of plants and animals are happening at an astonishing rate – one thousand times greater than before humans walked the earth." Naughton stood, and stepped closer to the glass. "The planet has experienced five major extinctions, and we are causing a sixth. Humanity does not have the courage or the ability to control itself." He paced to the chamber with the monkey. "We are destroying the planet we rely on, and we're taking much of the rest of life with us."

"And you can fix that?"

Naughton turned back to look at Kelly. "Oh, yes. Beyond a doubt. We developed a virus some time ago. By we, I mean the United States. It was part of the biological weapons program – mostly intended to find ways to defend against biological warfare. The rational was that we needed to know the weapon to know the defense. The work I was involved with was eventually terminated, but I remained interested in the Pandomidae Virus. We called it PV 7 or Pan 7. I now have Pan 14. Several of the variants were deadly enough to do the trick, but the problem is, they also affected other primates. Before I released the virus and solved the world's human problem, I wanted to see if I could develop a variant that could spare our wild cousins. I'm happy to report that Pan 14 appears to meet that requirement." Naughton gestured toward the monkey in the adjacent chamber. "As you can see, Topper is doing quite well, and the early first-in-man tests have been successful. I only need to confirm continued viability."

Kelly eased away from Jessica and approached the acrylic barrier. "You're trying to use this virus to kill people off?"

"Precisely. While I dream of a 100% mortality rate, mid 90s is more realistic. Other-cause deaths, violence and so forth, will raise that number. With any luck, the population will get low enough to create an extinction event. If not, the planet should still enjoy a nice reprieve."

"You'd be killing yourself, too."

"Oh, yes. But I'm perfectly willing to embrace the responsibility to die. That's one of the problems with humanity. We don't, as a species, realize that limiting our numbers is critical, that developing a sense of responsibility to die would be healthy. Instead we test monkeys and countless other animals, killing them in an effort to live yet longer. When it comes to life, we are greedy beyond belief; beyond any sense of responsibility. We have unbalanced the planet."

"You're a lunatic."

"Oh, please. Think about it. We're doomed anyway. May as well get it over with and save the other animals."

Kelly gestured toward the far chamber. "And that man you brought in? You're testing the virus on him?"

"Yes. He should be symptomatic in about 24 hours."

"You won't have 24 hours. The police will be here before that."

"And why is that?"

"Because we didn't come alone. Our friend will be calling the police by now."

"Nice try. We have your car keys."

"I didn't drive. We took my buddy's car."

Naughton pondered that possibility. "Quick answer, but I don't believe it." Naughton went to the counter by the desk, picked up the other two-way radio. "Richard, have you seen any cars drive off?"

"No. All quiet. Haven't found their car yet."

"They probably hid it, which is good. That means you could wait and find it tomorrow in the daylight."

"I'll keep looking. I'd rather move it in the night."

"Yes, I suppose that may be best. Thank you." Naughton set the radio back on the charger. "Good man, Richard. Very loyal." He turned back to Kelly. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell us where your car is. Save him the trouble of looking."

"I told you. My buddy drove."

"Yes. First you say your car wouldn't start, and now your buddy drove. I suspect Richard will find your car soon. But if not, and if you really do have an accomplice, then we release the other variants. That actually has some appeal – might be more effective to release more than one – but it's also regrettable. A lot of work went into protecting our primate friends." He looked toward the monkey. "That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it Topper?"

Jessica chimed in, still squatting against the back wall, arms around her knees. "You say you care about the primates, the monkeys," she said, "but I bet you've killed quite a few playing with your virus."

"Only a few," said Naughton, as he headed toward the door leading to the barn. "And yes, it's regrettable." He fetched an umbrella from the cabinet. "Fortunately, most of the testing can be done on humans. It's only the end-stage testing that requires a monkey. Theirs is a noble sacrifice."

"How many humans have you ... tested?" asked Kelly.

Naughton turned toward him. "Not nearly enough. There's well over seven billion to go."

He smiled as he unlocked the door to leave, but Kelly had one more question. "Where do you get your test subjects?" Jessica came to Kelly's side and wrapped an arm around him.

Naughton looked back at them. "We find them all around the region. Mostly people who will not readily be missed." He pointed his umbrella at the third chamber. "That new gentleman was discovered at a bus depot in St. Cloud. Richard rather enjoys acquiring our test subjects. Still, it's very nice of you to save him a trip by volunteering."

Naughton gave them a salute with his umbrella. He laughed as he opened the door, but the laugh stopped abruptly, interrupted by a loud snapping. Naughton became rigid, shook, and fell to the floor.

"Bennie!" cried Kelly.

Bennie moved quickly. Using the baton-style stun gun as a club, he struck Naughton in the head then rolled him onto his stomach. With the baton dangling from a wrist strap, Bennie slipped a pre-tied loop of line over one of Naughton's wrists and set about tying the other hand.

"Bennie," murmured Kelly as he realized the truth.

Naughton began to moan in protest. Bennie pulled a roll of duct tape from an accessory bag on his belt. He added a few turns of tape around Naughton's wrists, supplementing the line.

"No," said Jessica, not wanting to believe that Bennie could be the murderer.

As Bennie went to tape Naughton's ankles, the doctor fought back, trying to stand. Another jolt of electricity ended his resistance. Bennie quickly immobilized Naughton's legs.

"Bennie, Naughton's crazy," called out Kelly. "He's planning to kill everybody. Everybody in the world. With a virus. That monkey and that man in that last chamber – they're infected. You've got to let us out. We've got to go for help. The CDC has to be alerted."

"A virus?" Bennie took a moment to look around. "I guess we were right. He did have something going on. Pretty fancy digs in here."

"Bennie, let us out."

"How did you end up in there?"

"We snuck in and they caught us. Let us out."

"Saw your car," said Bennie. "Wondered."

"Bennie, please," added Jessica. "Let us out."

"Gonna have to think on that a bit." Bennie rolled Naughton onto his back. "Might be better if you stay there a while. At least until I'm long gone. I'll call the police; let 'em know you're here."

Kelly slapped the acrylic wall. "No, Bennie. There's too much at stake. Naughton's goon could come back at any time. We can't risk the virus getting out."

"Goonie left. Saw him drive off. A round trip to anywhere from here gives us plenty of time."

"No! He went to look for our car. He's still around."

Bennie looked toward the door. He went cautiously out to the barn, baton poised for action. He returned a moment later, closed the door, and threw the deadbolt. "Not back yet."

"But he will be. The car won't start for him. He doesn't know the trick. He could come back sooner than you think."

Naughton was breathing hard, but he managed to raise his head, look at Bennie. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"You killed Mom. And you shoulda gone to prison. But you didn't. So now you get to go to hell."

"Your mother? Who is your mother?"

Bennie ripped a length of duct tape from the roll and tacked it to the nearby chair. "You never met her. She just took your medicine. Your poison. That Amflexidyne. And the others were in on it, too. You all knew." He prepped another strip of tape, and then pulled out a sandwich bag half filled with pills. "So, here's some medicine for you. I picked suppositories – because you're an arrogant pain in the ass." Bennie gave Naughton another jolt of the stun baton and stuffed the bag of pills in the doctor's mouth, sealing it in with the strips of tape.

"Bennie, don't do this," said Kelly.

Naughton bucked on the floor, starting to choke.

"Breathe through your nose," said Bennie. "Nice and calm."

The advice seemed to help. Naughton's struggling eased.

With Naughton secured, Bennie turned toward Kelly and Jessica. "They each got different pills. I used stool softeners for Kupmeier, since he's such a hard ass. Heckathorn got laxatives, because those PR guys are so full of shit." Bennie smiled, amused by his choices. "And Padden got fish oil caps, 'cause his reports on the drug were fishy, and that worked out 'specially well, since I caught him at his fish house."

"Bennie, please," said Jessica.

Bennie ignored her. He stood over Naughton. "He really has a virus to kill everybody? Why does he want to do that?"

"He says humans are overrunning the planet, ruining it. He wants to save the world for all the other animals. Bennie, let us out."

"He can really do that? Release a virus that kills everybody?"

"He seems to think so. He's testing it on that guy over there."

Bennie wandered to the third chamber and tapped the glass with the baton. "Hey, wake up!"

"I think he's drugged," said Kelly.

"Or maybe he's already dead." Bennie turned his attention to the monkey. "I've always thought it would be nice to have a pet monkey."

"Not that one. If he gets out, he'll spread the virus. Bennie, come on; let us out."

"You've been good to me, Kel. And I appreciate you helping me find this farm and track down Naughton. He was tough to get close to. But if I let you out, you'll have to tell the cops about me, and that's okay, but I need a bit of lead time. Unless, of course, I just let that monkey out. That's not a bad idea the Doc has."

"Bennie. Don't talk like that. I'm sorry about your mom, but you've got to help."

Jessica put both hands on the acrylic wall. "You'd be the hero, Bennie. Saved the world."

Bennie seemed mildly amused. "Killed a handful of people, but saved the rest. Pretty goofy hero."

Bennie went back to Naughton. "Okay Doc. Can't wait any longer." He put a small clamp, similar to a clothes pin, on Naughton's nose. Naughton began to thrash, unable to breathe, trying to dislodge the clamp, but Bennie gave him a jolt of the baton. "Takes a few jabs before they stop fighting."

"Bennie, stop – you've got to let us out."

Keys rattled at the door. The deadbolt turned. Bennie whirled, looking to strike as the door opened. Ivers was startled, but managed to deflect Bennie's thrust. He took a shock to the forearm, which only staggered him. He had taken off his raincoat and now bunched it in his hands as a shield against the snapping baton.

Naughton, thrashing on the floor, managed to rub the clip from his nose. His vocalizations were stifled by the bag of pills and the duct tape, but he was clearly appealing to Ivers, and Kelly realized why – he was trying to alert Ivers to the shotgun by the cabinet.

"Bennie! There's ..." Kelly wanted to shout a warning about the gun, but it was closest to Ivers. "Bennie let us out to help you."

Naughton was now between Bennie and Ivers as the two jockeyed for advantage – Bennie wary of the strength and size of Ivers, and Ivers wary of the baton. Ivers bent to remove the tape over Naughton's mouth, but the snapping baton drove him back.

"Bennie! I can help," repeated Kelly.

Bennie relented, retreating to the chamber, working the three latches, all the while keeping an eye on Ivers, who took the opportunity to pull the tape from Naughton's mouth.

"Run!" called Kelly as the door to the chamber opened. He and Jessica raced away from Ivers, toward the mechanical room.

Ivers pulled the bag out of Naughton's mouth. "The shotgun," Naughton gasped. "By the cabinet."

Kelly opened the mechanical room door and glanced back. Ivers was going for the gun. Bennie hesitated, then came running. With Jessica in the lead, the trio ran through the mechanical room.

"Go ahead," said Bennie. "I'll nail 'em if they come this way." He ducked behind the water heater.

Kelly wasn't about to argue. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and headed with Jessica into the passageway. Reaching the barn, Kelly used the extinguisher to bash out a window and clear away the broken glass. They had just climbed over the sill into the driving rain when a shotgun blast from the front of the barn shattered a window, showering them with glass. They ducked down.

"You okay?" said Kelly.

"Yes."

They looked up just as Ivers and Naughton came from the front of the barn, Naughton holding the spotlight and handgun, Ivers the shotgun.

Kelly and Jessica ran, the spotlight finding them as they darted behind the far end of the barn. Indecipherable shouts came from Naughton, but Kelly had no doubt that Ivers was being dispatched to chase them down. They struggled on the slippery, rain-soaked hillside, angling their way to the top of the ridge, quickly becoming drenched by the rain.

Kelly chose to double-back, hoping Ivers wouldn't expect them to go toward the front of the barn. They ran past vents to the lab below that were partially hidden by shrubbery.

They paused behind a bush where they had a good view of the farmyard below. Naughton, armed with the pistol, was still on station near the barn door, using the spotlight to watch the broken window near the back as he covered both exits, apparently realizing that only two of them had gotten out, with Bennie still inside.

"What should we do?" asked Jessica.

"I have a spare key hidden on the car, but it would take some doing to get there, and Ivers likely found the car, so he'll know where to look for us." Kelly looked off to the west. "We could head out across the fields, but we'd be out in the open, easy to spot. I think we better go north along the stream where there's some cover. We'll eventually get to the highway where we can flag somebody down."

They were about to move, but in a ripple of lightning, they saw Ivers coming from behind at a trot. Kelly's choice of direction hadn't fooled him. He hadn't seen them yet, but he was following their path through the tall grass, shotgun at the ready.

Keeping the shrub between them and Ivers, they headed down the ridge. They tried to move quickly, yet not make noise, fearing they'd alert Naughton, whose attention was focused in the opposite direction.

Once on level ground, they ran for the woods, but as they neared the old barn, the motion sensor on the house came on, betraying their presence.

"This way," called Kelly. They turned for the barn just as Naughton hit them with the spotlight. The pistol fired, then the shotgun, the blast splintering the last plank of barn wood that held the door. Kelly and Jessica ran inside, the door clattering to the ground behind them.

Naughton's spotlight had the unintended consequence of allowing Kelly and Jessica see that the barn offered a selection of bad choices – a climb up a pile of debris to a gaping hole in the sagging roof, or an equally unattractive climb down though the shattered floor into the basement, possibly allowing them to escape through the door on the lower level.

They didn't have time for either. "Hide there," Kelly told Jessica, indicating the space behind an old manure spreader by the wall.

Kelly picked up a broken two-by-four to use as a weapon, but then spotted an old hay bale hook hanging on a nail. He grabbed it, just as Naughton's spotlight turned away, leaving them in darkness.

Kelly waited by the door, prepared to attack as Ivers entered, hoping to strike before the shotgun, or Iver's strength, could come into play. He was encouraged by the darkness. The yard light had timed out, and Naughton had apparently gone back to watching for Bennie, but then another light came on – Ivers had a flashlight. My flashlight, suspected Kelly.

Ivers paused outside the door, shining the light around the interior. It fell upon the manure spreader, the debris leading to the roof, and the rubble to the basement. Kelly waited, wanting Ivers to come closer, wanting a chance.

The light suddenly fell away. Ivers' footfalls moved off. Kelly was puzzled, until the light showed from the floor below. Ivers had gone around to the basement door.

"Jessica!" Kelly hissed.

She came running, having reached the same conclusion – that Ivers had assumed they went through the hole in the floor.

They ran up the hillside. The route took them away from Ivers, but it was also more in the open. They started to cut across a field of wheat stubble, but mud accumulating on their shoes forced them back to the tall prairie grass at the field's margin.

Much of the lightning had moved east, but the rain had eased some, allowing a hint of light from the nearby town of Kindred to reflect off the clouds, saving them from total darkness.

Ivers had apparently realized his mistake – the flashlight now appeared behind them, Ivers on the run, perhaps 50 yards away.

Kelly and Jessica ran down the hill, finding a farm lane that made the going easier. They raced north, with the stream to their right beyond the trees.

"We should split up," called Jessica, breathlessly. "He can't follow us both."

"We should," Kelly agreed, but they continued on.

Kelly saw Ivers follow down the hillside, using the flashlight to track them. Kelly figured their best hope now was to lose Ivers in the darkness – hiding somewhere, then slipping away, but the terrain flattened out, the farm field running down to the stream, the trees becoming few, offering no good places to hide. Swimming for it seemed equally bad. Ivers would be quickly upon them, with the swollen, fast-moving water taking them back toward the farm. The stream was also peppered with snags – trees and brush that had fallen victim to the high water.

"You go on ahead," said Kelly. "Draw him off. I'll hide in the grass and jump him – let him have it with this hook."

"Kelly, no."

"Got to. Go on. I'll find a spot."

He began to fall back, trying to find a suitable hiding place in the brush.

"Kelly, there's a train!" The light of a locomotive cut the darkness off to their right, heading for a trestle over the stream. "Come on! Maybe we can cross the tracks ahead of it!"

Kelly sprinted to catch up. If they could beat the train, they could leave Ivers behind. They ran for all they were worth, gasping for air. The farm lane ended where it came level with the field, and they were once again running on a field of wheat stubble, their shoes becoming caked with mud, the going difficult.

"My shoe," cried Jessica as she lost it to the mud. She paused only long enough to pull off her other shoe. Kelly followed suit, pulling off his heavy, mud-encumbered tennis shoes even as he kept moving.

The train neared the trestle, the locomotive rumbling ominously, the freight cars clacking along behind. At the end of the field, Kelly and Jessica tumbled into a ditch, waist-deep with silt-laden water. They quickly recovered, slogging ahead through a stand of cattails. Grabbing grass and brush, they pulled themselves from the ditch and began to clamber up the grassy slope of the railbed.

"Careful. There's wire here," called Kelly as his jeans caught on the remains of an old barbed wire fence. He held the wire down with the hay bale hook and helped Jessica navigate the hazard. A dangling sock snagged and pulled free from her foot, but she made it through. Kelly wasn't so lucky; his pant leg was caught in two places. "Go! I'm coming."

Jessica crawled on all fours up the railbed. Kelly tore his pant leg from the wire and scrambled up after her. The light of the locomotive now lit their position, the train rumbling onto the trestle. The horn blared, the engineer having spied them.

A shower of dirt and rocks exploded by Kelly's hand, the pop of the shotgun dimly heard over the roar of the train. Jessica came to her feet beside the tracks, but hesitated, not daring to dash across as the train was now upon them.

The locomotive charged past, just feet away, plunging them again into darkness and buffeting them with wind. A swirling blast of mist joined the rain.

With nowhere else to go, they ran toward the trestle, the sharp railbed rocks beneath their feet. In a ripple of lightning, they glimpsed Ivers, charging through the ditch. He raised the gun and fired. Sparks showered off the passing boxcar, the blast ringing against the steel.

The trestle offered no passage beneath, but a tall stand of grass on the embankment provided a momentary hiding place. Kelly swore as he cut his arm on more barbed wire. The strands had angled up to terminate at the trestle, twisting together where they were once held by a now-missing fencepost.

"No way the train will pass before he gets to us," shouted Kelly over the noise.

"We'll have to swim for it," said Jessica.

Kelly remained convinced that they'd either drown or be shot by Ivers, but Jessica was probably right, they had no other option. Ivers would soon close in.

"Okay, but let's wait until he's on the other side of the wire. He'll have to get back across it to get to the stream. Maybe it will slow him down and we can get past him."

It was a thin advantage, but jumping now would give Ivers time to get positioned by the stream as they swam past.

The scant light was barely enough to track Ivers' progress. As he stumbled onto the fence, they prepared to jump, Jessica eyeing the rushing water as she crouched at the edge of the concrete wall that supported the embankment.

"Wait!" said Kelly. He threaded the hay bale hook through the bundle of fence wire, twisting it around the hook's handle. He yanked the wire from the grass and climbed toward the train.

Ivers, just beginning to pick his way through the wire, spotted him and raised the shotgun. Kelly dove, catching the bottom step of a passing car with the hook. The line of old fence tore from the grass in an eruption of wire, rotted posts and brush. The shotgun went flying as Ivers was snatched up, folded into a snare of wire that dragged him in a tumble to the tracks. The collection of debris thrashed alongside the train, chewed by the wooden railroad ties and iron wheels. Sparks showered where wire fought with steel. Crushed fence posts thudded beneath the train.

The commotion soon subsided, and the last car passed. There came a final spark in the distance, the train continuing into the night as though nothing had happened.

Jessica and Kelly held each other as the red light on the last car slowly vanished into the mist.

Moonlight from breaks in the clouds allowed Kelly to find the shotgun. Farther down the tracks, they could also see the misshaped remains of Richard Ivers.

"Do we really need to go back to the lab?" asked Jessica.

"Can't let Naughton release that virus," said Kelly. "Once he realizes Ivers isn't coming back, he'll know it's all over."

They cut across the field, the mud squishing between their toes.

"You should have crossed the tracks without me," said Kelly.

"I wasn't sure I could make it."

"You could have. You should have."

Jessica took his hand. "If I'd left you behind, you'd probably have done some stupid heroic thing, got yourself killed."

Kelly chuckled, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze as they slogged along, their feet making sucking noises in the mud. When they reached the hillside above the farmstead, the only sign of life was the lone light in the farmhouse window – same light as before. Kelly checked the shotgun, making sure the barrel was clear and a shell was chambered.

"Better stay here," said Kelly.

"No way."

"Makes no sense for both of us to go."

"I'll wait by the barn door and keep watch."

Kelly thought it over, figured it was a good idea, and nodded in agreement. They carefully inched their way down the hill, struggling not to slide out of control. They paused in the long grass before venturing toward the poultry barn, staying far enough away from the house to avoid activating the motion sensor.

The twin barn doors were unlocked, one of them ajar. Jessica took up a position to the side of the doors. Kelly crouched at the opening, easing the door open with the barrel of the gun. He crept into the barn and was startled to come upon a human form on the floor.

Bennie, he feared. He inched closer and knelt beside the body. Clouds passed from the moon, the light revealing Naughton, bound and gagged with duct tape, his lifeless eyes staring to the ceiling. Kelly turned away to get Jessica, but she had followed him in.

Kelly stood. "Bennie got him. Saved the day after all."

"You suppose Bennie's okay? He might have been wounded."

"Wounded or not, he's looking at life in prison. Maybe even the death penalty in a federal case. Was there a phone in the lab?"

"I don't remember seeing one."

"Let's check."

They went through the secret panel. Kelly was about to open the airtight door, but glanced through the window first. The lights were still on.

"Shit." He looked at Jessica, the blood draining from his face. "The monkey is gone. So's the guy they grabbed. The chambers are open."

EPILOGUE – SEPTEMBER

Three squirrels played tag through the trees, each taking a turn as quarry. Above the squirrels, an eagle soared in a summer sky free of clouds, not even a vapor trail. The wind rustled the leaves of a giant cottonwood and fanned the smoke of some distant fire.

Four wild turkeys sauntered across an old overgrown roadway that was slowly being reclaimed by the forest. Beavers plied the nearby stream, which ran uncommonly high for late summer. The maple leaves had begun to turn, soon to be joined by the aspens and oaks to put on a stunning display of natural beauty.

No sirens interrupted the tranquility – no truck traffic, no honking horns, no ringing phones, no loud children, and no human activity.

That was fine with Kelly. He rested on a blanket outside the tent, enjoying the breeze and the sounds of nature, pondering a world without humans – what it would be like had Naughton succeeded.

The crunch of tires on gravel announced Jessica's return from her trip to the convenience store on the highway. They had forgotten mosquito spray – an essential item for camping in Minnesota. The night before, the pests had sent them early into the safety of the tent.

Kelly didn't move – too content, too comfortable, but he sat up when Jessica called out to him.

She hopped from her car and ran over, dropping to her knees, laying the morning paper onto the blanket. "There's news in the case. Another murder."

Ever since the events at Naughton's lab, the paper had given each new break in the story special treatment, featuring a fancy graphic with the catchphrase "Murder at Naughton Pharms." Today it came with a banner front-page headline: "Former Federal Prosecutor Murdered in Phoenix."

"Davis Berringer," said Jessica. "He was US Attorney for North Dakota when the Amflexidyne case went down."

"They figure Bennie killed him?"

"Yep. Weeks ago. Before the others. They just found the body. Duct tape, pills, bruises, poke marks from Bennie's customized stun gun – exact same M-O. His neighbors thought he went back to North Dakota. Nobody reported him missing."

It was a long article, taking up the entire front page above the fold before continuing on page four.

Kelly read aloud: "'The Amflexidyne case involved charges of wrongdoing for withholding safety information ... controversial decision to settle the case for twenty million dollars in fines. No executives were held responsible, though several were named during the investigation.' And get this, 'All of the recent murder victims were among those named.' Wow."

"I wonder if they're any closer to finding Bennie ... or whoever he really is," said Jessica. "I still don't get how Bennie ended up with the identity of some homeless guy in San Francisco."

"I don't think it's hard to pull that off – just find some guy about the right height and hair color who's willing to sell his ID and Social Security card. Or maybe Bennie swiped it."

Jessica sighed. "I wonder if this will start the media madness all over again."

"I wouldn't be surprised, but it shouldn't be as bad. That was crazy."

"No more trips to New York for me."

"We did have fun," said Kelly. "I liked New York."

"The city itself is great. I just don't have any appetite for more talk shows or interviews."

"Me, either."

Jessica pointed to another article. "What's that one?"

Kelly read aloud from the sidebar article. It involved an update from the CDC on the Naughton virus, confirming it was dangerous, but unable to sustain itself outside a laboratory. The article confirmed earlier opinions that Naughton was delusional about the lethal potential.

"Maybe his variant wasn't viable," said Kelly, "but I wonder what would have happened if he released all those other versions. They don't talk about that. Could be that Bennie stopped a major catastrophe."

"Do you think we'd really be in trouble if we talked about the government's role in creating that virus?"

"I'm not sure. Those agents could be trying to scare us. I suppose we could talk to an attorney."

"Doesn't really matter to me. I don't plan on saying anything."

"Neither do I."

Kelly folded up the newspaper, leaned close to Jessica and gave her a kiss. "Sure is nice to get away after all that."

"Yes. Camping was a great idea."

"Go for a swim later?"

"Sure. But nothing with a rocky bottom. My feet still hurt."

Kelly laughed. "No way. It's been over three weeks."

"My feet have a very good memory."

More laughter from Kelly. "Say, do you have my phone?"

"Yes," said Jessica, remembering. She dug into her purse. Cell reception in the campground was lousy, so he'd given her his phone so it could pick up texts and e-mails during her trip to the store. He started paging though the messages.

"Mom says 'Hi,' hopes we're having fun."

"Your mom's cool. She should have gone to New York with us."

"I think she would have if there'd been time to take the train. She's not real keen on flying. Here's a message from Ted, alerting me to the Phoenix story. Says he knew Berringer, the US attorney. 'Might have been coasting to retirement during the Amflexidyne case,' he says."

The next message brought a chuckle.

"What?"

"My dufus college buddies saw us on TV."

"And?"

"In cruder terms, they comment on the extremes I used to impress you."

"Impress being your word, not theirs."

"Exactly."

Kelly suddenly straightened up. A chill went down his spine.

"What's wrong?"

"A message from Bennie."

Jessica gasped.

"'Thanks for distracting Naughton,'" read Kelly. "There's also an attachment."

Kelly opened the picture. It was a selfie – a smiling Bennie with Topper the monkey and some crusty character, also smiling, notable for a few missing teeth. They were posed against a backdrop of blooming bougainvillea.

"Oh, my god," said Jessica. "Could that be the real Bennie with him? The guy whose ID he used?"

"No, I don't think so. I've seen pictures of the real Bennie. He was even interviewed. I bet it's the guy from the lab – the guy Ivers pinched in St. Cloud."

"No shit. Of course it is. He's okay after all."

"More proof that the virus ran out of gas."

"Those CDC people will be happy to see this."

"The cops, too."

"I suppose we should tell them right away."

Kelly stared at the picture. "I suppose we should. But I don't feel like rushing off. Hell, what difference does it make if they see it Monday instead?"

"Might help them catch Bennie."

"I suppose it might."

"Bennie seemed to like Topper. So did I."

"Yep."

"I bet Bennie takes pretty good care of him."

"Yeah, Bennie has a soft side. Cared about his mom; that's for sure."

Jessica leaned her head on Kelly's shoulder, looking at the picture. "I suppose Monday's good."

"Monday's good."

"What did he mean about distracting Naughton?"

"I think it's when we ran into the old barn and Naughton turned his light on us."

"He jumped him then?"

"Maybe. Or maybe that's when he got away, and circled around to surprise him or something."

"Are you going to reply?"

"I don't think so. Bennie will have dumped that phone by now. And even if he didn't, I don't know what I'd say."

Jessica closed her eyes, her hands clasped on Kelly's shoulder. "Maybe it's wrong, but I'm kind of glad Bennie's okay."

Kelly nodded. "Me, too."

Scrolling though his remaining messages, Kelly came upon one from chaugen@fgopd. "E-mail from Sergeant Haugen."

"Let me guess. He wants to know if you've been to Phoenix lately, paid that former federal prosecutor a visit ... Berringer."

Kelly chuckled. "No, that would be Amundson. I couldn't believe it when he suggested Bennie and I could be accomplices."

"So, what does Haugen want?"

"Just says, 'see attached.' A Word doc of some sort." Kelly popped it open. "Haugen says, 'See letter below. Also coming by mail. Thought you'd want to know ASAP. Russ and I both lobbied for you. Welcome aboard.'"

Jessica screamed. Kelly was stunned, his eyes misting. Below Haugen's note was the Conditional Offer of Employment from the Fargo Police Department.

Jessica wrapped her arms around him, looking at the letter. "Kelly, I'm so happy for you."

Kelly took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. "Amundson actually lobbied for me."

"As well he should, for all the crap he put you through. Maybe I don't have to hate him after all."

"I guess I'll be putting in my notice at work."

"Wow. The start of a whole new adventure."

Kelly nodded. "I hope it isn't as wild as the last one."

THE END

Acknowledgements

I am much indebted to my advisors on this project. Jason Loos provided considerable assistance in helping me understand police procedure, departmental organization, and law enforcement training. Jim Puffe's knowledge about clinical research trials provided the basis for Naughton Pharmaceuticals, including the zaniness of that environment. I am also indebted to my dear friend and writing advisor, Scott Reynolds. In addition to his help with Naughton Pharms, he helped me learn the craft during the many years it took to write my first novel, Truitt's Fix, which is available as e-book on Smashwords or in print from Createspace or Amazon. See bit.ly/rexwood for more information about Truitt's Fix.

Rural railway cover photo courtesy of Terry Hinnenkamp. Terry paired with partner Troy Larson to document much of North Dakota's past as seen in the state's old buildings and towns. View their extensive work and order their books at GhostsofNorthDakota.com.
