Flight

“Yes, I see what you mean.”

“In any case, don’t let the boss know I talked to you about this, all right? Or anyone else, for the time being. Al’s actually going to try to match the hairs up to Dale’s or Vince’s cat, but both of them are touchy about it.” Haycroft smiled. “Dale had to let Al comb his cat, of course — Al’s his boss. But he resented the implication that he was sloppy on an important case. Dale’s a little — well, lacking in physical coordination at times. He’ll trip over his own two feet. But when he’s concentrating on a case, that clumsiness disappears. He’s never careless when it comes to handling evidence.”

“And Vince?”

“Oh, Vince was so mad about it, he told Al he’ll have to get a court order to come anywhere near his cat.”

“Al?”

Dr. Al Larson, who had been staring into a microscope, gave a start. He looked up at Phil and said, “Oh! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. Can you spare a few moments?”

He hesitated slightly, then smiled and said, “Sure. I could use a break. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

They moved to a small break room, aglow with the light from a wall of vending machines. Lefebvre declined Larson’s offer of coffee, then waited while the other man got a cup for himself. As they sat down at one of the empty tables, Larson said, “What’s on your mind, Phil?”

“Trent Randolph.”

Larson’s smile disappeared. “I liked Trent Randolph very much,” he said quietly. “I can’t tell you how difficult it has been for me to work on this case. He was brilliant. And to have a scientist on the commission… a terrible loss.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Personally? Not well. After he was appointed to the commission, he spent a great deal of time here, though. So he was well acquainted with the lab and everyone who worked in it — he reviewed the whole lab and had wonderful suggestions — and resources. He even donated equipment.”

“Didn’t you resent that a little? Not the donations, but having some newcomer from the commission reviewing your work?”

Larson pushed the coffee cup away. “Not in the least. I invited him to do so. I knew what Michael Pickens was trying to do to this lab.”

“Commissioner Pickens wanted it shut down.”

“Yes,” he said. “Move everything to the county. I saw the chance to have an ally, someone who would be able to give an informed and respected opinion to the commission.”

“And Randolph was that ally?”

“Absolutely. Pickens is no scientist. Randolph was able to silence his objections quite easily. And he was able to help us acquire funding that we’ve needed for years. Until Randolph came on the scene, Pickens always made sure we were shortchanged. He kept us from obtaining new equipment, then complained that we weren’t able to do the job because our equipment was outdated.”

“Politicians,” Lefebvre said.

“Exactly! But Randolph outmaneuvered him. He got O’Connor from the Express — you know him?”

“I’ve met him once or twice,” Lefebvre said.

“Trent Randolph got that old man in our corner, and between the two of them, they put Pickens on the defensive for once. So the recommendations for the budget looked a little different than they had for the last few years — and we got our funding.”

“Is that funding secure without Randolph on the commission?”

Larson moved the paper coffee cup to the center of the small table, the coffee still untouched. “We’ll be fine this year, but who knows what will happen without Trent?” He frowned, then added, “I’ve only talked to you about the funding, but he was — he was more than that to us. He was a colleague. And a man of integrity.”

Lefebvre waited.

Larson suddenly looked him directly in the eye and said, “I know why you’re asking.”

Lefebvre told himself to keep his face impassive, to stay calm. “Oh?”

“It’s the boy,” Larson said.

Lefebvre didn’t answer.

“Don’t be angry with me for suggesting this, Phil, but there are those around here who think you’re too attached to Seth Randolph — a little too devoted, let’s say. Staying overnight in his room and so on. I won’t repeat the crudest comments—”

Lefebvre felt an impulse to let his fist fly into Larson’s face. With an effort, he held his temper, but Larson must have read something of the intent in his eyes, because the lab director turned pale and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

His voice cold, Lefebvre said, “Are you implying—”

“I’m simply warning you that there are rumors. Just a word to the wise — okay? I don’t even know who started them. Besides, most of them are saying you’re after the ex-wife.”

“Tory?” He nearly laughed.

“Yes, after all, she’s a beautiful woman and—”