Flash and Bones

wearer.”

“So, in all likelihood, it would take a deliberate act to obtain abrin, either from rosary pea seeds or from some other source, and use it to poison someone?”

“In all likelihood. Now, I want to know—”

“If ingested, how much is required to kill a human being?”

“Very little.”

Williams curled his fingers in a “give me more” gesture.

“One seed would probably do it.” Larabee tapped the paper on his blotter. “Now. My turn. How was this sample obtained?”

Williams answered with carefully chosen phrasing. “Early this morning, Special Agent Randall and I entered an unlocked vehicle licensed to Wayne Gamble and collected a coffee mug clearly visible through an open window.”

“Your lab has an amazingly fast turnaround time.” I couldn’t help myself.

“This case has top priority.”

“Why is that?”

“The FBI has obtained information that”—Williams paused for another vetting—“bumped our request to the front of the queue.”

“This is your interpretation of normal professional exchange?” Disdain chilled my words.

Larabee had had it. Before Williams could respond, he jumped in. “Dick with this office, you’ll wish you were working a coal mine in Guizhou province.”

Williams and Randall exchanged another of their Men in Black glances. Then Williams graced us with a crumb of an explanation.

“Ted Raines works at the CDC but supplements his income with part-time employment at Emory University. The project on which he is a lab technician is funded by the U.S. Army Zumwalt Countermeasures to Biological and Chemical Warfare program. The project’s research focuses on the fate and mobility of environmentally dispersed phytotoxins.”

“Such as ricin and abrin,” I said.

“Yes.”

“So Raines has access to these substances.”

“Theoretically.”

For a full minute we all let that percolate. Down the hall, I heard my office phone ring.

I broke the silence. “The landfill John Doe showed signs of ricin poisoning. Wayne Gamble shows signs of abrin poisoning. Cindi Gamble and Cale Lovette disappeared in 1998. Ted Raines has now vanished. You believe these facts are interrelated?”

“That is correct.”

“How?”

“The FBI would very much like to know.”

“Why did the FBI order my John Doe torched?” Larabee spat the letters as though they were a bad taste on his tongue.

“That is hardly a fair assessment.”

“Why was the Lovette-Gamble file confiscated?” I asked.

“I cannot confirm bureau involvement in that.”

“You had that one all loaded up.” Larabee was growing more steamed with each of Williams’s evasive replies. “Tell me, then. What is the FBI doing to resolve this whole mess?”

“The bureau is working with local law enforcement to determine Mr. Raines’s whereabouts.”

“Probably six feet under, like Gamble and Lovette and the poor slob from the landfill.”

Williams ignored Larabee’s outburst.

“With the consent of Mr. Raines’s wife, experts are searching the hard drive from his home computer. Unfortunately, his laptop goes with him when he travels. Mr. Raines’s cell phone records are also under scrutiny.”

“Unfortunately, his cell phone goes with him when he travels.” Larabee’s sarcasm had the atomic weight of lead.

“We have established that Raines’s mobile was not used after Monday last week. A call was made from Charlotte to the Raines’s home landline. We are also looking at the GPS on Raines’s second vehicle.”

“Which, unfortunately, was in his driveway when the poor schmo fell off the planet.” Larabee stood, anger barely in check. “This is bullshit. Get back to me when you’re ready to share what you learned by stealing my stiff.”

Williams and Randall rose, smiled tightly, and took their leave.

Back in my office I had not one but two phone messages. Both were unexpected.

I returned the calls in the order in which they came in. And slammed into yet more anger.