intercourse, eleven times oral sex, three times anal sex. So you can imagine how tedious it was.”
That was a new one on me. I would’ve liked to see his baseball scorecards.
“How did Alicia take it when you told her you wanted to break up?”
“Quite composed, as a matter of fact. I thought she would have taken it harder, but she didn’t reveal any emotion at all. She sort of shrugged her shoulders and said, well, let’s carry on. I had the sense she was tiring of me also.”
I nodded. “What about her work as an securities analyst? Which industries did she cover?”
He took another drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray. “Well, as far as I know, she followed companies in the real estate industry. She used to cover defense and technology areas. That was unusual for a woman. I kept on trying to interest her in genetic engineering but she was reluctant to change. I told her that this was a hot industry-this was where man played God.”
He stared at me. “And that brings me to the reason why I wanted to talk with you.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Now that the human genome has been sequenced, we’re going to be a very successful company. We have several genetic engineering projects going on at the present time-one of which is particularly exciting.”
His hungry eyes grew positively rapacious as he spoke. This guy made the big bad wolf look bush league. “We’ve produced hemoglobin from genetically-altered bacteria. We use recombinant hemoglobin that’s been engineered to mimic natural hemoglobin. This means we can mass-produce cheap synthetic human blood that would be free of HIV and hepatitis viruses. You could give a transfusion to any recipient without worrying about blood-type matching and the product would have a much longer shelf life than human blood.”
His eyes flashed. “Do you see how this blood could be useful for accident victims or wounded soldiers on the battlefield?”
I nodded. “And why are you imparting all this valuable insider information to me, free of charge?”
“Because…” And his eyes gleamed brighter than the Eddystone lighthouse, “we are about to make an initial public offering of our stock. We’re a closely-held company. This is going to be an exceptional opportunity. I know you have top-drawer contacts. I’d suggest you purchase some stock at the offering and inform your associates about this opportunity to make a large profit very quickly and very easily.”
I looked at him. This clown was violating just about every SEC regulation in the book and some they hadn’t even thought of yet. “And you’re going to make me a rich man because you like the cut of my jib?”
He snorted. “I do like your style, Mr. Rogan. And I know you’re not stupid enough to turn down an opportunity like this. Aren’t you interested in making a killing?”
“Not this way,” I said.
“Don’t you understand what we’re doing? We’re creating new strains of human gene cells that will enable us to pass on better traits from one generation to the next-actually improving the human species. We’ll theoretically be able to create a race of superbeings-far superior to the diseased and disabled wrecks you see around you. Something Nietzsche would envy and be proud of. Something he could only hope for in his writings. And think of the fortunes we’ll be making in the process. These new people will be smarter, tougher, more disease-resistant. In short, they’ll be far above and beyond your pathetic human beings of today.”
This insufferable son of a bitch was starting to get on my nerves. I gave him a sour grin. “You better go back and reread your Cliff Notes on Nietzsche. His Superman was a man of integrity, considerate to his inferiors-not some money-grubbing stock jobber.”
His mouth opened but he didn’t make a sound.
I stood and said, “Don’t trouble yourself to show me out. I’ll find my way.”
CHAPTER VIII
I dropped the paper bag on Gene Black’s desk in his office next to the squadroom. “Here’s a six-pack for you,” I said.
He squinted up at me. “You gotta be out of your fuckin’ mind. They’re tighter than a nun’s asshole around here,” he rasped. “You want me to lose my pension? Me with five years till retirement?”
“Calm down, officer. Don’t get your balls in an uproar.” I took out a bottle of Perrier, opened it and put it in front of him.
He grunted. “Perrier water?” He pronounced the final R. “What’re you? Some kind of faggot?”
“Drink it,” I said. “Good for your beer belly. No calories.”
He took a swig and grimaced.
“Wadda ya want?” he asked.
“About my ex. What did you find?”
He nodded and rolled his swivel chair over to a file cabinet without getting up. He took out a file and rolled back to where I was sitting on the edge of his desk. Without looking at me, he thumbed through the contents and said, “You’re not looking through this. You can’t see it, so don’t even ask me.”
“What happened to Mr. Personality?”
“Who?”
“Your partner, Forgash.”
“Shit.” He shook his head. “I’m trying my damnedest to get him transferred to Tremont Avenue. That sombitch is driving me up the wall. You know what they say about oil and water.”
“I thought you two got along like ham and eggs.”
He wrinkled his brow. His face was one of those that always had a dark shadow, even when he’d just shaved.
“More like a cobra and a mongoose,” he said as he leafed through the file.
I surveyed the squadroom. The nineteenth was pretty quiet today. The place was mostly empty except for a couple of cops talking on the phone or typing reports. One cop with his feet up on his desk was tossing wadded-up balls of paper into a wastepaper basket.
“Did you see the story on Channel five? About your wife.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t feel like watching.” The local TV news shows had pounced on the story and were featuring its most gruesome aspects with unalloyed delight.
The Post had carried the story on page four. “Wall Street Beauty Shot Dead.” I guess the headline had an element of human interest in monosyllables.
Black looked up from the file. “We don’t have anything good yet, Rogan. Apartment ransacked, valuables missing, no forced entry. It was a nine-millimeter slug caught her in the back of the head.”
“Anybody hear the shot?”
He shook his head. “No one we can find. You figure it. I personally searched her place for two hours-couldn’t find as damn thing. No footprints, tracked in dirt, hair…” He rubbed his chin. “There were fingerprints, but nothing unusual. Michael Chisolm, he was her boyfriend…her sister…”
“What about Chisolm?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“He shoot her?”
Black shrugged. “Find me a motive. He was her boyfriend. He was entitled to be in her apartment.”
He took a long look at me and shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s the way it is. Way I figure it, push-in job. Some punk stops her outside on the street, pulls a gun, makes her open the door and let him in, kills her, takes the loot and splits.”
“What was her position when she was shot?”
“She was sitting.”
“That make sense to you?” I asked.
“You got something better?”
“Let me see the photos.”
He held up his hand. “You sure you wanna see them? It’s pretty rough.”
“Sure,” I said. I’d seen death before. Both friend and enemy. You never get used to it, but after a while it doesn’t seem so awesome.
