'I don't know.'
Now his un-tired eyes became hard as stones.
'Do I have this right, Mr. Corman—you say Mr. Lonnigan asked you to come out to the greenhouse with him but he didn't say why?'
'He was very secretive about his work, Detective Molson.'
'Can you tell me what Mr. Lonnigan was working on at this time?'
'In general terms I can.'
'In general terms, then.'
I was aware of his scrutiny, which was meant to unnerve me. To some extent, it did, but I plowed on.
'He was working on genetic mutations in the perennial sweet violet. It is also known as V. odorata. It's a species of violet with stemless flowers—in other words, the flowers grow on stems separate from the leaves.'
I turned to rummage in the wreckage of my desk, producing a copy of Palmer and Fowler's Fieldbook of Natural History. Flipping through the pages, I stopped at the appropriate page.
'Here,' I said, as Molson bent down to look at the flower my finger pointed to. 'That's what it looks like. Notice how the petals have veins, and the bottom is possessed of a spur.'
Molson straightened.
'I fail to see—'
For some reason, my patience had worn thin. I nearly blurted out the first thing that came to my head at that point—which would only have gotten me in trouble—but instead I said, 'The point is, detective, that Ralph Lonnigan was supposed to be working on making a hardier, more productive version of V. odorata, whose oils of essence is used to manufacture perfume. Two million of V. odorata yield scarcely a pound of oil. But Lonnigan was doing something else with his violets.'
'And what was that?'
'I have no idea.'
Molson closed his notebook with a snap.
'I don't mind telling you, Mr. Corman, that I don't believe you. And I can be a very persistent lad when I want to be.'
Something about his continued prodding, his developed meanness, made me snap.
'I know why you don't like me, detective. It's because I saw you vulnerable yesterday. You told me your wife left you and now you resent me because you appeared weak. Well, I don't care. I've got my own problems, detective, and I have little enough time to think about yours.'
His eyes became even harder.
'I'll be back, Mr. Corman,' he said, nodding at me. 'You can count on that. And I'll be back again and again, until I break this thing or you.' 'Fine,' I said, suddenly only wanting him to leave.
I turned back to my desk, and in a few moments when I looked back, the door to my cubicle was still open, but Molson was gone.
I stayed late that day, watching twilight turn to darkness as I straightened my affairs on my desk, and somewhere after the moon rose I saw a large figure, who I recognized as Abigail Smyth, leave the building to the right of my window and make her ponderous way up the hill. I saw her silhouetted against the red rising moon for a moment, and then she walked to the entrance of the nursery and went in.
I watched her silhouette make its way through the glass panels, and then, as she moved deeper into the greenhouse, she was hidden by a wall of leaves.
I went home; and it was only as I began to drift off to sleep that I realized that the spot where I had seen Smyth vanish into the tangle was a spot that had been cleared of flowers the week before. I knew because it had been one of my own projects that had been there, and I knew that the panels of glass on that side were now clear straight to the other side of the building.
I rose out of the dreams, veined, stemless flowers holding me in their grip, to the sound of loud knocking on the door to my flat.
'Just a minute!' I called, rising and throwing on a robe.
Even as I reached the door, sleep was yet leaving me; but my dreams and slumber left me altogether as I opened the door to find Detective Molson, stern-faced and with his two beefy gravediggers, standing at my threshold.
'Detective—'
'Mr. Corman, I'm going to have to insist that you come with me.' 'Of course,' I said. 'But what—'
'Just get dressed, please.'
I nodded and pulled myself into clothes, while the two uniformed policemen moved into the flat, fingering my things. One of them tittered over a statuette my mother had given me, a reproduction of Rodin's 'Thinker.' 'Look a' this, Willie!' he said, holding it up for his friend's scrutiny. 'It's a fellah on a toilet bowl! And wiffout anythin' to read!'
Willie guffawed, until a cross look from Molson, still in the doorway, made Willie's friend set the statue down again.
We left, and I was escorted to Molson's car, where I was made to sit between the two uniformed policemen in the back.
'Would you mind telling me what this is about?' I asked.
'When we get there, Mr. Corman.'
Willie grinned at me, and I noticed that his bottom teeth were horribly crooked.
'Soon enough, mate,' he said.
I closed my eyes as Willie and his friend began a seemingly endless conversation about who had bet on what horse the weekend before, and what horse was bound to win this coming weekend.
'Of course, I may not be able to go this weekend, Jack, being with my mum sick and all.'
His friend concurred.
'Well, the following weekend, then.'
'Right.'
I opened my eyes as we topped the hill to the greenhouse. The car braked to a stop by the door, and Detective Molson said, 'Out, please, Mr. Corman.'
Both Eagleton and Marsha Reed were waiting for us by the door.
Administrator Reed had a pinched, nearly hysterical look on her face, and Eagleton's face was unreadable, since he was staring down at his shoes.
When we had all arranged ourselves by the door to the nursery, Molson said, 'Would you please tell me again, Mr. Eagleton, what you told me earlier this morning?'
Eagleton continued to study his shoes.
'Only,' he said quietly, 'That I saw Mr. Corman working late last night.'
'And what time was that?'
'I left at seven-fifteen. I noticed his light on at that time, and caught a glimpse of him at his desk as I walked to the parking area.'
'And was Ms. Abigail Smyth still here when you left?'
'Yes, she was. She said she had work to catch up on.'
'Thank you, Mr. Eagleton.'
Eagleton shrugged, unwilling to raise his eyes.
'And Administrator Reed, would you tell me what time you left?'
'Five o'clock, detective.'
'And Mr. Eagleton, was Administrator Reed's car gone when you entered the parking area at seven- fifteen?'
'Yes it was.'
'Thank you.'
Again, Eagleton shrugged.
I felt all eyes on me, and waited.
