was deadly and low. “Did you plan to tell me? Or were you just going to pump me for information?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Of course I was going to tell you.”
“Just not yet.”
I sort of shrugged and nodded. Let’s face it. I’d been caught in the act. It was definitely a tactical error not coming clean with Elaine right off the bat, so I let a few seconds pass. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I wanted your untainted opinion first.”
“You know my opinion. The government has no business interfering with research.”
“You can have the research. I’m interested in the money.”
A look of disgust crossed her face. “Money? That’s all you people care about is money.”
“You’d care too if someone was spending your research grant on vacations in Hawaii.”
“Madden wouldn’t do that.”
“Which is why I’m investigating the Network: all of it. Anyone who might have access to the funds. And the more you help me, the faster I’m out of here.”
I sipped my coffee and let her work that one out. I could see the neurons firing. Finally she said, “If you’re interested in Network money, then you better talk to JJ.”
“JJ? Is that Jacobson?”
She nodded. “Madden’s lab manager. He oversees the research program. That includes all the Network finances.” Then she grimaced. “He’s a jerk, but apparently he does a good job.”
“Isn’t it always the way,” I said, shaking my head. Finally, thank God, she loosened up a bit and smiled. I do hate arguing with Elaine, so I reached out and put my hand on hers. “Truce? I’ll pay for breakfast.”
I could see her soften. “Oh yeah, sure. On your expense account.”
The humour was dry, but at this point any humour was a positive sign. Elaine looked at her watch. “Christ. I’ve got a nine-thirty to prepare for.” She grabbed her coat. “Four hundred hormone-pumped first-year biology students packed like sardines into a tiny lecture hall. Imagine. Actually, don’t even try.”
I left money on the table and hurried out behind her. It was just after nine o’clock, and the day was typical Vancouver. Moist and overcast. Gentle and warm. A world of intense green foliage against layers of soft blues and grey. I looked at the sky. By mid-morning the mist would be burned off by a brilliant autumn sun.
I had to trot to keep up with Elaine. “You know your missing graduate student?”
“Cindy?”
I nodded. “Could I use her office while she’s gone? I need a base of operations, preferably in the department.”
Elaine gave a dramatic sigh. “Will it get you out of here sooner?”
I nodded again. “And by the way, I’m Dr. Morgan O’Brien now, a visiting post-doc from Ottawa.” I held out my hand. “How do you do.”
She didn’t take it, just threw me a withering look. Impersonating a Ph.D. was really over the edge.
Elaine, like me, takes all stairs two at a time. On the second floor she pushed through the fire doors. I was right behind her. She stopped in front of an unmarked door and pulled out a set of keys. I could hear her fumbling through them. I leaned against the wall and waited. I heard the door unlatch, and I pushed myself off the wall. Elaine started forward, then stopped abruptly. She was standing absolutely still.
My voice was conversational.
“Aren’t you going in?” I’m not even sure she heard me. When she finally turned around her face was clouded and uneasy. Then she seemed to focus, see me, and like a blind being snapped shut, the expression returned to normal.
“Sorry. I’ll get you those keys.”
Then she turned and walked into her office.
The same office that I had seen the early-morning intruder leave less than two hours ago.
chapter eight
As Elaine moved into her office, I followed, curious to see what I would find. From her reaction I knew she’d noticed something, but not something she felt compelled to share. That meant she was assuming I wouldn’t see it.
It was a small office, with bookshelves lining one wall, filing cabinets along another, a desk on the back wall, and a work table just inside the door. Nothing seemed out of place. The surface of the work table was covered with neat stacks of files, journals, and papers to mark, and the desk top was clear. I glanced at the desk chair, hoping to see a report or book with a friendly little thank you post-it note attached, but the seat was empty. I wandered over to the bookshelf and made like I was examining her books, always a popular pastime with academics, and immediately noticed the bottom shelves, a section devoted to old files and theses.
Elaine is a registered neatnik, with books and papers precisely arranged, pens consolidated in a single holder, everything in its place. Dust and dirt, however, don’t faze her, and I’d seen plants and grungy coffee cups neglected for years on end. Given the healthy layer of dust on the shelf, these papers hadn’t been disturbed, at least not by Elaine, for several months. Someone, however, had been looking at them, and had tried to conceal it. I knelt down to get a better look. A coffee cup, which even the mould had died in, had been moved off the edge of the shelf then carefully replaced, but not carefully enough. A hairline displacement was evident in the dust. Also, papers in some of the files had been pulled out of alignment, something Elaine would have tidied up before she replaced the file. Why would anyone be interested in old files and theses?
I heard the metallic jingle of keys behind me and stood up. “Cleaning staff come in here much, Elaine?”
She slid the filing drawer closed and shook her head. “Cutbacks. They empty the garbage, that’s all.” She crossed the room to me. “Here.” She dropped the keys in my hand, then took my elbow in a firm grip and propelled me toward the door. “It’s 105 in the basement. The offices are on the right, behind the chamber. Cindy’s is in the back, Dinah’s is the one in front. They both should be open. Log in on the lab account if you need network access. Dinah can help you. Oh, and if you see her down there tell her to wait. We need to touch base before class. Still on for dinner?” I nodded. By this time we’d reached the threshold, and she gave me a solid nudge that sent me into the hall. She wanted me out of the office. “Good,” she said. She had the edge of the door in her hand and was closing it as she spoke. “Call me here. Not before eight.”
I managed to twist around and get my foot wedged in the door just before she slammed it. All I could see was a narrow strip of her face through the slit in the door. Her eye glared at me.
“O’Brien!”
“What’s your problem? I haven’t finished.”
She made no move to open the door. “I told you, I’m in a hurry.”
“Then I suggest you open the door, because I’ve got all day.” She opened it a bit, at least releasing the pressure on my shoe, but I
