The Nitrogen Murder(53)

I pulled into a slot right in front of the building—a miracle in Berkeley, where even residents had restricted parking permits.

“About that ‘lovers’ comment,” Matt said, as we opened the frosted glass door to the lobby. “Pretty soon we’ll be able to say ‘husband and wife.’”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

And then I tripped on the edge of the carpet.

“Okay,” Matt said. “‘Wife and husband.”’

I regained my composure and gave him a loving smile.



Our worries that Dorman consultants would overreact to our questioning presence were put to rest when we met the imposing, white-haired Dr. Howard Christopher, whom I’d been introduced to at the bagel shop the day Phil and I had lunch. The day Phil disappeared.

Christopher’s manner was stiff, like his modern office decor, and his responses were brief and factual.

“Chambers came to the meeting around one-thirty on Monday. Right after that lunch with you, Dr. Lamerino.” He nodded at me, as if to shift blame for any upset. “He gave a presentation to the senior staff.” Christopher leaned back in his black leather chair, keeping his hands in his jacket pocket.

“Anything you can talk about?” Matt asked.

“Not really.”

“Understood.”

“Was there anything unusual about the presentation?” I asked. A weak attempt at a cop question, though Matt and I had decided not to play up his RPD credentials. He was, after all, three thousand miles from his jurisdiction. We’d made it clear to Christopher that we were on a personal errand, on behalf of Phil’s family.

Matt and I had discussed the near certainty that Inspector Russell had visited Dorman to inquire about Lokesh Patel, the firm’s recent gunshot victim, but so far Christopher hadn’t mentioned an onslaught of “investigators” at his office.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Christopher answered. “As usual, Chambers had some, uh, charts, and some, uh …”

“Data?” I offered.

“Right.” Christopher’s voice was deep and resonant, reminding me of a network news anchorman whose name escaped me. Elaine would know, I thought. She watched all the Sunday morning political talk shows and was always up on current events. I felt a shiver of distress at her current plight. And maybe Phil’s.

“That’s it?” Matt asked. “Nothing you can tell us about his manner, or his mood?”

Christopher shook his head, sending a shock of white hair to his forehead.

I wasn’t sure why I didn’t believe him; maybe because, except for his hair color (that is, not colored), he reminded me physically of Phil, whom I’d never gotten to know well enough to trust.



With a matronly body much like my own, Verna Cefalu, one of the consulting firm’s secretaries, managed considerably more animation than the tall, fit Dr. Christopher.

“What’s this about?” she asked. She raised her eyebrows, revealing more of the pale blue eye shadow that matched her sweater set. “Has something happened to Dr. Chambers?”

“Ms. Cefalu, did anything unusual come up for Dr. Chambers, say, on Monday afternoon? Something he might have needed to pay attention to unexpectedly?”

“Nothing.” Ms. Cefalu twisted a button on her cardigan. “Well, except for that urgent phone call.”

I gasped, but internally.

“I see. Can you tell us about that?” Matt asked, with a restraint I wouldn’t have been able to summon.

“Once in a while he gets these calls, from the same man, I think, and then he has to leave in a hurry He got one on Monday I had to call him out of his meeting. Should I have done something different?”

I was distracted by the thought that Howard Christopher hadn’t considered it important to mention the urgent call that took Phil from his meeting. I knew I’d been right not to trust him. Not that I was quick to jump to conclusions.

“Do you remember exactly what the caller said?” Matt asked.

I loved listening to Matt not answer questions. One more way that his training differed from mine. Scientists tended to answer questions directly and literally Like children, sometimes. I thought of a typical telephone dialogue I’d had with Sophie, my cousin Mary Ann’s five-year-old grandniece.

“Is your aunt home?”

“Yes.”

No offer to call Mary Ann to the phone, as an adult would. Children had no context for social dialogue; scientists had context trained out of them, to better prepare them to attack each question or problem with rigorous logic.

With Matt, it was all context. He understood layers of meaning, and often answered a question with one of his own when on the job. The subtext: I’ll ask the questions; your job is to give me information. Pleasantly administered, but a firm and effective policy nonetheless.