The Carbon Murder(90)

Lorna was still ranting.

“How do you think we got so smart about immunization against diseases like polio and diphtheria and all the childhood diseases like mumps and measles? Where do you think our sophisticated knowledge of insulin and chemotherapy comes from?”

I’d had enough. I caught Berger’s eye. I shrugged my shoulders, meaning, I’m not really of much use here. I tapped my watch, meaning, I have to pick up Matt. He nodded and tilted his head toward the door. Perfect body language, I thought, glad I was able to communicate with more than one cop.



I hated days when I ran late for everything, and this was one. I didn’t like the idea of Matt sitting in his room when he could be home, where I had brownies waiting. I decided to check my phone messages on the way to the hospital since I hadn’t had time to access them before I left home for the police station. I hadn’t even reconnected the phone by the bed. I punched in my number and then the code for the answering machine.

The computerized voice was frustratingly slow. “YOU HAVE THREE NEW MESSAGES.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, wishing I could fast-forward the machine. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do but sit in the traffic, I told myself. The pace of my life seemed to have picked up without my being aware of it. In California I seldom had more than one extracurricular activity a week, and fewer when Elaine Cody was starting a new relationship. I had no twenty-four/seven consulting jobs, no significant other.

“MESSAGE ONE. EIGHT TWENTY-TWO A.M.”



The first message was from Rose, who should have known better than to call before nine, even on a good day.

“Still sleeping, I guess. Well, good. I told MC about Lorna so she wouldn’t worry anymore. And of course whew, whew, whew, we’re all so relieved. Looking forward to having Matt home. I’ll bring a lasagna over, but I won’t stay. I’ll bet you made brownies last night.”

“MESSAGE TWO. NINE THIRTY-FOUR A.M.” I stopped at a light and dribbled moisturizer on my hands. Not to waste a few seconds.

“Oh, hi, Gloria. It’s Andrea Cabrini. I haven’t seen you so I thought I’d call and see how the case was going. I know there was another murder, but I guess no one at the lab was involved, huh? I hope everything’s okay.”

That one embarrassed me. Once again, I’d forgotten about Andrea. The fact that she thought she needed to give her last name told me what a poor friend I’d been to her, calling her for help, and seldom otherwise. I made a note to invite her to my engagement party. Rose would be delighted that I was thinking along those lines.

“MESSAGE THREE. NINE FIFTY-SIX A.M.” The last one.

“Hi, Aunt G and Matt if you’re home. Wayne Gallen wants to meet me, one last time he promises, so I’m going. If you’re around … hello … are you screening your calls? Guess not. Well, anyway, I’ll be meeting him in about an hour, so, like eleven o’clock, and if you can meet me there it would be great, but if not, no prob, okay?”

It took a few seconds to register. Wayne Gallen was in jail, wasn’t he? I slammed my foot on the brake, pulled over to the curb and then into a supermarket parking lot. I caught my breath and tried to construct the timeline. What was the time on MC’s message? I couldn’t bear to listen to the first two messages again to find out. I knew it was this morning, after Andrea’s, which was around nine-thirty. No matter—Berger had told me Wayne was pulled in in the middle of the night and would be held for twenty-four hours. So either Wayne Gallen had escaped, or someone else called MC.

I knew where Lorna Frederick was. Berger’s voice rang in my mind. The Houston PD can’t find Simpson. Then I heard MC’s voice: He did a pretty good Texas accent …

Alex Simpson, the man who was so good at disguising his voice, had called MC, pretending to be Wayne Gallen. But where were they? I didn’t think I heard a meeting place on MC’s message. I bit my tongue and punched in all the numbers to listen to the messages again, this time as impatient as if someone’s life depended on it. I played them through. “MESSAGE ONE … MESSAGE TWO …” I wished I’d read the instructions to my phone system more carefully. I was sure there was a way to skip to the third message, but this was not the moment to experiment. It had taken two tries to reach the messages at all this time. My fingers were slippery with moisturizer and my brain was searching for what to do next.

I punched in the number for the hospital and asked for Matt’s extension.

I heard his cheery “Hi, I’m all set to go.”

Like it or not, I was about to change his mood.