The Carbon Murder(11)

“Nanotechnology.”

I nodded. “The original buckyball discoverers were chemists from Houston, as a matter of fact. Most people—most scientists, I mean—give them credit for kicking off the nanotechnology revolution.”

“So?”

Matt yawned, a fake one I thought, so I went on. “It started with buckyballs about fifteen years ago, then buckytubes or nanotubes, a sort of cousin to buckyballs a few years later, and now, well, it could lead to nanoscale computers eventually.”

“I’m falling asleep. You’d better step it up. Or make that measurement along my leg again.”

Too late. A progression of loud noises took over. Tires whipping up gravel, indistinct cheers, and whoops of laughter. A group of young people had arrived in tandem cars, their raucous partying already well under way. The flickering lamps and garish red door of the lodge added to the Halloween atmosphere. A couple of weeks early, but there was no mistaking a large, brown, lumbering bear, no fewer than three witches and two fairies, and a couple in prom attire.

“Whatever happened to curfews on a school night?” I asked.

Back to slouching and coffee. By the time the second RPD shift arrived, I’d slipped in some of the major applications of nanotechnology, explaining how the word was used to describe many types of research where the characteristic dimensions were less than about one thousand nanometers—data storage and gasoline production among the most common. Plus the big market for new, smarter drug delivery systems. Like the kind that might be used for treating prostate cancer.

Michelle Chan, out of uniform, came up to Matt’s window and gave us a friendly smile. She waved at me. “Hi, Gloria. We need to get you a badge. You’re putting in more hours than my partner. Any action?”

Matt shook his head. “Unless you count the rowdy kids in cheap costumes.”

“That’s funny. Gallen was released about an hour ago.”

We’d been there longer than I thought.

“What about Jaspers and Connors? They pick him up from outside the station?”

Officer Chan shook her head. “Nope. Well, you’re off the hook anyway; I’ll check it out.”

My stomach tensed. Where was Wayne Gallen? How had he evaded police who were supposedly on his tail?

At least MC was safe at home with her parents. Wasn’t she?

I dug my cell phone out of my purse and pushed the numbers for the Galigani residence. Matt raised his eyebrows, tapped his watch, mouthed “two-thirty,” and, in the end, threw up his hands. I ignored his elaborate gestures.

Rose picked up on the first ring. I pictured my friend, wrapped in dark green chenille, in her unable-to-sleep spot—her closed-in front porch, in full view of her special roses. “She’s fine,” Rose whispered. “Tucked in upstairs. The world’s fine, Gloria. We should be sleeping. Or shopping.”

A laugh, a few more whispered words, like the kind we used to share in the back of the long-gone Revere Theater when we were kids. Is that Paul with his arm around Carol? Are you going to wear heels or flats to Boston on Saturday?

I hung up. Rose was right—we should all be sleeping. There was nothing wrong with Wayne Gallen wandering the streets of Revere. The real concerns were the inconclusive cells wandering around Matt’s body.

I leaned over to him. I wanted to know if he was in pain, if he was afraid. I wanted to be strong for him, to assure him that I’d take care of him, no matter what.

“Are you all right, Matt?” was all I could manage.

Most of his face was in shadow, but I caught a pinched expression, then a loving one as he turned to me. “I know you’re here for me, Gloria. That means everything to me.”

As usual, Matt was ahead of me in expressing his feelings, and mine.

He ran his hand down my cheek. “Let’s just see what happens with the biopsy.”

I smiled. I could be patient—this was like a research project needing more data.

I focused on MC tucked safely in her childhood bed.





CHAPTER FOUR

MC’s heart raced. Her breath came in quick bursts as she pumped the pedals of her nephew William’s bike. She sped through the quiet streets of Revere at two-thirty in the morning, not sure whether she was headed toward or away from something. A goal or an escape? It could be either. Yes, she wanted to check her emails to see if there was anything that would clarify what Wayne was talking about, but she also needed to prove to herself that she wasn’t trapped in her old bedroom.

What am I doing wrong? Coming back to Revere was supposed to bring me peace.

MC rode past the bank where she’d deposited her first babysitting check, the dry cleaners that had removed a telling beer stain from her satiny pink prom dress. Past an all-night gas station, past pungent Dumpsters that lined the deserted parking lot of the old corner market where she’d bought endless quantities of junk food. Except for the beach, with its missing boardwalk, the city hadn’t changed much since she’d drawn daily hopscotch outlines on the sidewalk.