The Helium Murder(27)

I looked around for a ten-gallon hat on a coat rack somewhere, but didn’t find one. I did see the traditional bolo tie around Carey’s neck, however, a thick black cord with a large turquoise-and-silver ornament that looked out of place in Chelsea.

“You’re Sgt. Gennaro, I presume,” he said, taking Matt’s hand. I hoped he didn’t crush my boss and friend. “And you’re Miss—?” This last query was directed at me, but before I could recover from his enthusiastic Southern drawl, Matt introduced me.

“This is my technical consultant, Dr. Gloria Lamerino,” he said.

I thought I saw Carey’s eyebrows go up a notch, but it may have been my biased imagination.

We took seats around the desk in the small office. What motif there was leaned decidedly toward southwestern, with geometric patterns the colors of sand and pastels in the carpet, and Native American art on the walls.

“I’m afraid we’re not set up for the kind of hospitality we could show you down in the Panhandle,” Carey said, “but I can have Miss Lacey get you a cup of coffee.”

We shook our heads “no thank you,” and exchanged a few more pleasantries about the Massachusetts weather. Then Matt assumed his business posture, his right leg crossed over his left, his notebook on the newly made lap.

“What was your relationship to Congresswoman Hurley?” Matt asked.

“Why, I didn’t really have one to speak of,” Carey said. “Of course, we met during the course of business now and then.”

“The business being the federal government’s helium operation?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell us about your contracts with the program,” Matt said, sounding as casual as if he were interviewing a celebrity for a general interest magazine.

“Oh, we have a contract or two with them, has to do with computers and such. Lots of folks do. Universities, laboratories.”

“I noticed that you’re installing upgrades in the software and adding memory boards,” I said. “Sixty-four megs of RAM on each of three dozen PCs since last fall. Isn’t that overkill for a simple database system?”

“Especially one that might close this year?” Matt added. I’d resolved to leave the political phrases to him.

“That surely has not been decided,” Carey said, stiffening, and converting his relaxed smile into a tight-lipped frown. “That project is one of the few examples of government gone right. They provide a valuable service to private buyers, for one thing.”

“Not since the new source was discovered in Wyoming more than twenty years ago,” I said, noticing both Carey’s and Matt’s eyebrows go up this time. It bothered me to be arguing against the helium operation, but I felt it was necessary to smoke out Carey’s vested interest, and therefore his motive for murder. “That source amounts to about two hundred billion cubic feet of helium, and the total worldwide consumption is less than four billion cubic feet a year.”

While I was rattling off numbers that I’d boned up on that morning, Matt was waiting to zero in on his real question. He took out the letter we’d found in the hidden compartment of Hurley’s briefcase and handed it to Carey.

“Can you explain this letter, Mr. Carey?”

Carey handed the letter back to Matt, holding it by one edge as if it might be contaminated, or, I thought, evidence in a murder trial.

“I have no comment,” he said.

“It looks to me like you and the congresswoman had something going that you didn’t want to end,” Matt said. “You contracted for more than two million dollars last year alone. Maybe Ms. Hurley was starting to worry about her conflict of interest?”

“And maybe I misunderstood the nature of this call,” he said.

Carey stood up, looming over the neat desk. He buttoned his jacket in a gesture of closure.

“This conversation is over until my attorney is present,” he said. “Leave your card with Miss Lacey and she’ll call you to schedule an appointment.”

I admired Matt’s response under the circumstances, showing that he was more accustomed to this kind of abrupt send-off than I was.

“Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Carey,” he said. “I’ll see you at the police station with your lawyer.”

On the way back to Revere, I took the Hurley folder out of my briefcase to insert my new notes.

“I had a few more questions,” I said, “but I guess they’ll have to wait.”

“You did all right with the time you had,” Matt said. “Those numbers you had at the tip of your fingers—very impressive.”