'Many persons. Many principal hospitals must have it on hand. I'd be exceedingly surprised if we didn't have a supply here at the medical center. They'll have an abundance of it at the Office of Vector Biology and Control in Sacramento.'
'Who'd have access to the supply here in the med center?'
He looked thoughtfully at the question. 'Assuming they have it, probably many persons. Numerous materials must be stored in their freezers, and presumably quite a number of persons go in and out. How many know where, in the freezer, to find it is another matter.'
'Right. Dr. Chatterjee, thank you very much. You've given me serious food for thought. And remember, sir, it's important—vital—that you don't mention our talk to anyone. Not your friends, your wife, or anyone on your staff.'
For a moment I'd thought of telling him who, specifically, I was interested in—Veronica Ashley. That she was Ashkenazi's sister-in-law. It would make the importance of silence more real, and reduce the chance of a leak. But it wouldn't be fair to her. I felt reasonably sure she was guilty, but I'd been wrong before.
16
After driving Chatterjee back to his office, I called the UCLA med center, got connected to Medical Supplies, and talked to the guy in charge. That night at nine he let me into the freezer room where the EVM vaccine was kept, and I took print masters off the drawer and flasks that held the vaccine. The next day our lab sorted out the prints, but none matched Veronica Ashley's in the national print archives. She could, of course, have worn gloves, but I wouldn't have expected her to.
So all I had was an ingenious theory and some circumstantial evidence. Nothing a prosecutor could make work in court. I went to Carlos' office and ran it all by him, hoping he'd see something I'd missed. He didn't. He asked if I wanted to continue on administrative leave, or if he should line me up with a new assignment. I said I'd keep plugging, then went to my own office wondering if I was just being stubborn.
I called Tuuli and told her answering machine I wanted to take her out for Mexican food that evening. I'd call her again before five. Then I went to Gold's and worked out for the first time since Monday, extra hard to make up for the calories I intended to take on that evening. After that I went home for a nap.
About the only satisfaction I had that day was listening to KFWB on my car radio. Arthur Ashkenazi's will had left the bulk of his estate to the Hypernumbers Institute, a psychically oriented group. For research into the multidimensional nature of reality. Veronica Ashley would be fit to kill.
17
It was getting dark when Tuuli and I got to her building from Casa de Herreras. I felt stuffed. There was a parking place made to order, and I grabbed it. Then, instead of getting out of the car, we sat for a few minutes in a weird, silent mood.
'I don't think you'd better come up tonight,' she said at last.
I got out, went around and opened the off-side door for her. She looked worried. 'I mean it,' she said.
'What's wrong?'
'I'm not sure, but . . . Something doesn't feel right.'
I reached to help her out. 'I'll just walk you to your door and leave,' I told her. We walked up the sidewalk between her building and the thick, eight-foot hedge bordering the property. There was night jasmine around somewhere, smelling a bit like Michigan in lilac time. Night jasmine's one of the things I like best about L.A. Tuuli's apartment was on the second floor, front corner. Like a lot of places in L.A., the stairs were outside, leading to an outside second-floor walkway. I opened the screen, intending to hold it for her while she unlocked her door.
I heard a
The shots had come from the building next door, and I couldn't make up my mind whether to go there, or back up to Tuuli's. While I crouched there trying to decide, her front window opened. 'Martti!' she called softly. 'Stay there! I'm all right. I'll call 911.'
I didn't take her advice. Instead I went back to the stairs, and crouched listening in the cover of the hedge in case whoever it was came over. Although I was pretty sure he wouldn't. It was me he was after, and having lost his surprise, he'd taken off. Maybe to set another ambush at my place.
Things were still as midnight. We hadn't made enough noise to draw attention. I had no idea who the gunman might be. In my business you offend people who might take a notion to exercise their grudge that way. Something I'd learned the hard way. And while most of them end up domiciled with the state for extended periods, there are always some running around loose.
Two or three minutes later the police pulled up, and after I'd identified myself, we went next door together. There was a sign out front:
APTS FOR RENT
1 & 2 BEDROOMS
SEE MGR
9 AM–7 PM
We went up the stairs two at a time, and along the second-floor walkway on the side facing Tuuli's. The drapes were open wide in one apartment, the window was open, there was a hole in the screen, and it was dark inside. One of the officers went and got the manager.
All we found inside were three empty cartridge cases: .40 caliber. I was damn lucky he hadn't hit me. By that time another patrol car had arrived, this one with a senior sergeant. After talking with him, I got in my car, and the first officers followed me home. Staying close on the chance the gunman might try for me again.
My apartment's in a security building on Lanewood, with a basement garage. They waited in the patrol car while I stopped on the ramp to insert my key card. Lanewood has a row of big shaggy Mexican pines on each side of the street, and it was darker than hell, but it seemed to me someone was crouched in the tall shrubs ten feet from the ramp. While the door opened, I spoke into my shortwave mike. 'Car 1094,' I said, 'I think our man's in the
