days to locate the folder. It had been placed under optoelectronics.”
I must admit, I felt a stab of regret. P for Pacific and O for optoelectronics. That sounded to me like an honest mistake. “So it was misfiled.”
“That would be the obvious conclusion, yes. However, engineering and life sciences are filed in different cabinets. In fact, they are filed in different rooms. No one on my staff would make such an error.”
At this point my intellect piped up and chirped principle of parsimony, principle of parsimony like some hormone-crazed male warbler. It was true: good scientific practice demanded that I accept the simplest and most likely explanation to fit the existing facts, and, although the idea of a conspiracy was tempting, the most plausible explanation was that someone, somewhere, had simply forgotten that they had the file. When they realized that they were holding a hot potato they panicked and tried to cover their tracks. Personally, I hoped that unfortunate someone was Bob. I smiled. It certainly merited further investigation.
Lydia continued. “You know, Morgan, I would prefer to have this removed from my permanent record before I leave the Council.”
“She put a reprimand on file?”
Lydia nodded slightly. “And suggested that I not discuss the situation with any of my colleagues.”
I let that sink in for a minute. “Could Patsy herself access your master database? Could she get in there and erase a log?”
She smiled vaguely. “I’m afraid the answer to that question is no. Ms. Middlemass is not what you would term computer literate. I’m not sure she could even find the power switch.”
“Who else then?” “I don’t know, really. The file is password protected, but all the girls in the office know the password.”
I took a moment to organize the information in my head and plan out a strategy that kept Lydia at arm’s length from my inquiries, then I touched her sleeve. “I will need your help. Names and information mainly.”
She gave an almost imperceptible nod, both of us knowing that she’d lose her job if she, or I, were caught looking into this.
“But, Morgan, if you wish to keep the project, may I suggest that you leave work early today, preferably before one o’clock, when Ms. Middlemass will be returning from a lunchtime meeting. The file was not to land in your hands.”
On our stroll back to the trailhead we chatted, mainly about Lydia’s New Age daughter who spent inordinate amounts of time mumbling over little piles of crystals. It was supposed to help her find a job. Lydia had suggested reading the want ads of the local newspaper, but apparently this was not how jobs “come to us.” When we reached the end of the path I agreed to wait five minutes before leaving the woods and returning to the office, mainly to protect Lydia from Patsy’s spies. Just as she was walking away I thought of something.
“Lydia?” She turned back. “Are you sure Patsy said three days later. Not three or four, or several, or a week. Something less defined?”
Lydia shook her head. “She said it quite distinctly. ‘I gave it back to you three days after I received it.’ That’s exactly what she said.”
As Lydia disappeared around the building I thought back to Patsy’s post-it note directive. Keep my nose out of the science? I don’t think so. After all, my first responsibility was to discover the truth, not toady up to the needs and desires of a fifth-floor megalomaniac who had never conducted an investigation. And if I managed in the process to hang Patsy out to dry, all the better. She’d hurt too many innocent people in her fifteen-year reign.
Anyway, what post-it note?
In the office I changed back into my working shoes and made my way to the ladies’. As I passed Bob’s office his secretary, Michelle, called me from within. “O’Brien,” she yelled. I stuck my head in the door. She jerked her head toward Bob’s office door. “CP called from his meeting. He wants to see you in his office when he gets back.”
“When’s that?”
She looked at her watch: one of those domed jobs with Mickey Mouse floating around inside. I was surprised she could read the time. “Half an hour or so.”
“Okay. Tell him to give me a call when he gets in. If I’m not sitting right at my desk I’m around the building somewhere. Tell him to keep trying.”
She gave me the thumbs up. “Ace,” she said.
I made two phone calls before leaving. The first was to Air Canada. The agent cheerfully bumped up Duncan’s reservation from 6:00 P.M. to 1:ffl, although she was surprised at my insistence on having a connecting rather than a direct flight.
“I can put you through Toronto. You’d only wait half an hour for a connecting flight.” I could hear her ticking away on her keyboard.
“How about Winnipeg?” “There will be a two-hour stopover, and you’ll have to change planes.”
“Perfect. And please change the booking to A. O’Brien.” My middle name is Albertine. To this day I wonder how much rye my mother had drunk before she signed the papers for Vital Statistics. At least she didn’t forget the last three letters.
Following the airline, I called Sylvia in Vancouver, outlined briefly what I needed, and made a date to meet her at the Thai Kitchen for dinner. The instant I hung up I stuffed my laptop into my briefcase, shoved the salmon file in beside it, and headed out the door, making for the loading dock. I was just about to cross the platform when Bob drove into the lot. I stepped back into the darkened bay and watched him climb out of his car, slam the door, and stalk across the parking lot to the official back door of the building. Bob was definitely not a happy camper.
When I was sure he was well inside the building, I crossed quickly to my car, got in, and was out of there before he even reached his office.
chapter four
The plane trip from Ottawa to Winnipeg was uneventful, except for a juicy little filet mignon and a passable French cabernet: better than I’d get at home. With time to kill in the Winnipeg airport I called Duncan and updated him on my interview with Lydia.
“Oh, by the way,” he said. “Bob was down. He stomped around your office, opened desk drawers, and rifled your files. He also used inappropriate language.”
“Did he find what he was looking for?” “Nope. Because she’d already left. As an employee of the Crown I have been instructed to inform you, immediately on contact, that you must report directly to your supervisor on receipt of this message. There. I’ve fulfilled my obligation.”
“Registered. Oops. The line is busy. So, are you going up to say a formal goodbye to Patsy?”
“I could be convinced.”
“Mention the salmon network. How pleased you are that it’s gone to me. See what kind of reaction you get.”
“And what do I get for this?”
I hesitated for a moment, as if summoning up the courage to make a great sacrifice. “I’ll babysit.”
“You’re on.”
Actually,
