Blood Hunt

He had wanted the elderly man shocked, surprised, scared. He was getting all three.

“Dr. Killin?” he said to the figure cowering in the short hallway, holding a book over his head. The title of the book was something to do with molecular biology.

The old man looked up, blinking spaniel eyes. Reeve hit him just hard enough to send him to sleep.

He left the body where it lay and went back outside. There was still no one about. The houses were separated by high hedges. Somebody might have seen him from the house across the way but it was in darkness, and besides, the pizza van hid Dr. Killin’s doorway from general view. Reeve jumped the gate rather than bothering to open it, and jogged back to his car. He brought it around to Dr. Killin’s house, parking next to the pizza van. The old man didn’t weigh much and was easy to carry out to the car. Reeve dropped him onto the backseat, then went back to the house, switched off the lamp beside Killin’s chair, and pulled the front door closed. In the shadow of the covered porch, you could hardly notice the splintered wood of the surround. From out on the pavement, you couldn’t see it at all.

Reeve got into the Dart and drove north on a local road that seemed to parallel I-5 but kept closer to the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Just south of Del Mar, he pulled the car into a rest area sheltered from the road but with a view of the ocean. Not that you could see anything much, but with the window rolled down Reeve could hear the waves. He got out of the car and opened the trunk, bringing out the video camera and the replacement for Lucky 13. Back in the driver’s seat, he swiveled so he was facing Killin. Then he switched on the car’s interior lights. Dulwater and he had discussed lighting, but this camera had a good low-light facility and even a spot beam of its own-though using it would drain the batteries fast. Reeve switched the camera to ready, removed the lens cap, and put his eye to the viewfinder. He watched the old man stirring. The needle on the viewfinder told him the lighting was poor, but not unusable. Reeve put the camera down again and picked up the dagger. It was the first thing Dr. Killin saw when he woke up.

He sat upright, looking terrified. Reeve wondered for a moment if the knife would be enough to slice the truth from the man.

“What’s going on?” the doctor asked shakily. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“This knife,” Reeve said quietly, “could bisect you from skull to scrotum and still have an edge on it.”

The doctor swallowed and licked his lips.

“I have some questions,” Reeve said. “I want answers to them. You’re being watched, round-the-clock protection. Why?”

“That’s absurd. Why would anyone watch me?”

Reeve smiled without a trace of humor. “You worked for Co-World Chemicals, didn’t you? Did you ever meet Dr. Owen Preece?”

“I’m sorry, I want to help you, but I don’t know that name.”

Reeve angled the dagger so light glinted off the blade, causing Killin to squint. The doctor licked his dry lips again.

“Fear can do that,” Reeve told him. “It stops the saliva getting to your mouth. Here.” He reached into his left- hand jacket pocket and handed Killin a small plastic bottle of mineral water. Killin took the bottle and stared at it. “Can’t answer questions with a dry mouth,” Reeve said. He drew out an identical bottle from his right-hand pocket. “Can’t ask them either.” He broke the seal and unscrewed the top. Killin was still staring at him. “You don’t want it?” Reeve said. “Want mine instead?”

Killin thought about it then shook his head, broke the bottle’s seal, and unscrewed the top. He sipped at the water, tasting it, then gulping a mouthful. Reeve put his own bottle on the passenger seat and lifted the video camera. To do so meant putting down the dagger.

“Now,” he said, “I hope you’ve noticed this car has no back doors. Your only exit is past me, and I don’t think you want to try that.”

“Look, I’ll answer your questions if I can, but I want to know what’s going on.”

Killin was growing either testier or more confident-confident that Reeve wasn’t the type to kill him.

“I’ll tell you,” Reeve said. “I want to know about Co-World Chemicals. I want to know about Dr. Owen Preece and the work he did for CWC. I want to know about a man called Kosigin who set the whole thing in motion. I want to know about pesticides, Doctor. I want to know what you know.”

Killin took his time answering. “It’s true,” he said, nursing the bottle, “that I worked for CWC. I headed the R & D team for four years, but I’d worked for the company for fifteen years before that. You are correct that a man called Kosigin also works for CWC, though in what capacity I’m not sure. He may not still be there; I don’t keep in touch with CWC, and I believe executives in most companies flit about from competitive salary to competitive salary. And that,” he said, “is all I do know.”

“Did a man called Reeve ever come to see you?”

“I don’t recollect.” Killin sounded impatient.

“A British journalist? He came to your house wanting to ask questions.”

“If he did, I didn’t let him in.” He tapped his forehead. “My memory’s not what it…” His fingers stayed on his forehead, rubbing at beads of sweat which were appearing there. He blinked hard, as though trying to focus. “I don’t feel well,” he said. “You should know that my heart has been giving me trouble. There are some pills back at my home…”

“You’re all right, Doctor. You’re just drugged.” Reeve hadn’t started the tape running yet, but he had his eye to the viewfinder. Even in color, Killin’s face looked gray, like he was acting in a black-and-white movie. “You don’t need to break the seal to inject something into a plastic bottle. You just need a dot of glue to seal the bottle up again.”

“What?” The doctor lost the faculty of speech for a moment. Reeve took the doped bottle from him and replaced it with his own.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“You’ll feel a lot better when you clear your conscience. The birdy will help with that. Now, where were we? Yes, Co-World Chemicals.” Reeve started the tape running. “You were telling me, Dr. Killin, that you worked for CWC-what was it-nineteen years?”

“Nineteen years,” Killin agreed, his voice dull and metallic.

“The last four of those heading the company’s R & D?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you know a man called Owen Preece?”

“Dr. Preece, yes, he was a psychiatrist.”

“Well respected?”

“They might have invented the word eminent with him in mind.”

“Did he do any work for CWC?”

“Yes, he headed a research team looking into pesticides.”

“Specifically?”

“Specifically side effects.”

“And these pesticides were…”

“Organophosphorus.”

“So he was looking at PrPs?”

“Well the team examined all aspects of a great many pesticides. Its conclusions were published in several journals.”

“And those conclusions were accurate?”

“No, they were faked.” The doctor stared out of the car’s back window. “Is that the ocean out there? Doesn’t it sound angry?”

“Yes, it does,” Reeve said.

“It should be angry. We dump so much dangerous trash into it. Our rivers trickle mercury and other poisons into it. You wouldn’t think you could kill an ocean, would you? But we’ll do it one day. That’s how negligent we are.”

“Is CWC negligent?”

“Monstrously so.”

“Why haven’t you spoken out about it?”