The Color of Wounds Page 18

  Kent looked around the lab, his eyes stopping at each of the suffering animal subjects.

  “Hold on a second,” Tice said, still animated. “It’s for a game I call starling fetch. Although any bird would work if you trained it properly. Mammals too, for that matter.”

  He lifted a speckled brown starling from a nearby cage, restrained it under his arm as it struggled, and secured the harness and pouch to its body. He carried the squawking bird to his desk and sat. Holding the bird with one arm, he reached in the top drawer and pulled out a laser pointer like the one Kent had seen him use at the Lectures Over Lunch Series. He waved it with a showman’s panache.

  “See that eraser on the far counter?”

  Kent could just make out an ice cube-size piece of pink rubber twenty-five feet away. “Uh-huh.”

  Tice focused the red laser dot on the eraser and instantly the starling flew to it.

  With mechanical precision, the bird lifted it in its beak, deposited it in the pouch on its chest, and returned to Tice.

  “Voila,” Tice said.

  “That’s it?” Kent said.

  “It’s a great way to get sugar for your coffee too,” Tice said. “Just beam a light like this on a sugar packet and your pet bird will get you one. Hell,” he motioned at Lucinda who stood next to Kent, “I bet we could teach that hound of yours to do it.”

  Instinctively Kent stepped in front of Lucinda. “Is that the kind of crap you’ve been working on up here? You call that research?”

  Tice scowled. “Of course not. Don’t be absurd.” He flashed Kent a sympathetic look. “The problem is my real work would take hours to explain to a trained behaviorist, let alone you. If I could even do it.” He motioned at the experiments surrounding them. “All this represents thousands of hours of work by me, and others. Years of work. There is data in this room that will have a major impact on mankind.” Tice paused, deciding if he should reveal more secrets. “That’s why ol’ lady Muelick hired me in the first place. She knew the potential for these projects.”

  “Phyllis Muelick would never authorize this stuff!”

  Tice’s expression changed from sympathetic to hopeless. “She wrote the grant proposals. She covered for me with her work out front. She talked about having worked with the great pioneers of behavior study, Lorenz and Hess. They were Germans like her. Did you know that? She kept the whole thing secret. She and I had the only keys. That’s right.” He stabbed his finger at the door like a sword. “Your master key doesn’t even work on the lock.” He drew a calming breath and his voice became wistful. “We are on the verge of greatness. Now she won’t get her share of the credit.”

  “Not credit. Blame,” Kent shouted. “People get blamed for torturing animals. Not credit.”

  Tice didn’t seem to hear him. “Studying stress! How it affects the mind and body. And most important, how to control its effects. Believe me, Phyllis Muelick knew about everything and was a big part of it.” Tice leaned across the desk toward Kent. His eyes went fiery again. “She supported me one hundred percent.”

  A selfish thought rumbled through Kent’s mind, one that surprised him with its appearance at such an odd moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, stunned for a moment. Then it came out in a long, sighing question. “What is the accreditation committee going to think?”

  “Loren Summer, you mean?” Tice spat her name. “I wouldn’t worry about her. She isn’t as tough as she thinks she is.” His voice dropped back into its ominous whisper. “Besides, I don’t think she’ll be around much longer.”

  Kent stared at Tice. He was at a loss for words. Had the man just made a threat against Loren? Finally, Kent reached over to a telephone and dialed a couple of numbers. As he waited for someone to answer, he said to Tice, “Get off CVC property now. And don’t come back.”

  Tice shrugged, made no effort to resist. “Like I said, ‘You are the boss.’” When he reached the door, he turned. His face held pity for Kent. He shook his head slowly. “You will be sorry you did this.”

  A voice on the line pulled Kent’s attention back to the phone.

  “Emergency service,” the voice said.

  “This is Kent Stephenson. I need help in the psych ward. Now. Bring a team. We are going to have to transfer a bunch of animals to you guys. Right this minute. Highest priority.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Within minutes of Kent’s call to the emergency service, a convoy of veterinarians and technicians rolled into the psych ward pushing crash carts and gurneys.

  A clinician with a stethoscope around her neck and a clip board in her hands shot questions at him. He answered the ones he could. He tried to help, but soon realized that the best help he could give was to stay out of the way and let the emergency team do what they were trained to do.

  Eventually, he gave up and took a seat on a faux leather bench along one wall where he could watch. He didn’t know which was worse, the anger he felt toward Tice, the embarrassment he felt for the CVC, or the pain he felt for the animals as he watched the pitiful creatures wheeled away. When Lucinda nudged her head onto his lap and whined softly, he rocked back and closed his eyes. If ever there was a time he felt like crying, this was it.

  He opened them when he felt someone sink into the bench beside him. When he turned to look, it was Cheryl.

  “Thank God it’s over,” she said with a sigh. “Dr. Stephenson, I’ll love you for the rest of my life for shutting that lab down.”

  “You knew what was going on in there?”

  Tears welled into Cheryl’s eyes. “Sort of. Some of it. I knew there was some weird stuff going on in there, but it only got crazy bad lately.” She waved toward the emergency team scurrying around. “I had no idea. Dr. Tice never let me, or anyone else for that matter, in there. Only Dr. Muelick.”

  Cheryl glanced left then right, readying herself to reveal a secret. The relief in her tone told Kent she had kept it too long.

  “They had some hellish fights in here. I heard lots of shouting through the door. Sometimes one or the other of them would stomp out, all red-faced. Hopping mad.”

  Cheryl had Kent’s full attention now. “What about?”

  “I could never figure that out. And truthfully, I figured it was none of my business.” She shifted her eyes to the floor. “We underlings soon learn it’s better to keep low when the big ego types are ranting.”

  Kent nodded. “I get that. But you should have come to me.”

  “I know that now. I’m so sorry.” Cheryl said. Then she leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Here’s something for you. In the cafeteria some of us girls were talking about this mysterious woman that the cops are thinking may be connected to the bombings.” She looked questioningly at Kent. “Have you heard about her?”

  Kent’s reply was a colossal understatement. “I have.”

  “Well,” Cheryl went on. “There was a woman that fits her description up here, right here in this lab, visiting Dr. Tice a time or two. And,” she held up a finger like a schoolteacher making a point to her class, “it was right around the time of those visits that Tice and Muelick had their nastiest arguments.”

  “Why was she here?”

  Cheryl’s shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t know. She never said a word to anybody but them as far as I know.”

  Kent lifted himself off the bench. “Thanks for talking to me. If you think of anything else that might help us get all this sorted out, please come to me about it.”

  Cheryl assured him she would. He headed to his office.

  Kent busied himself with visits to the large animal services for the rest of the afternoon. When he checked his watch, it was just after six. The head of the emergency unit had notified him that all animals had been transferred out of Tice’s lab and were being treated as needed. By now, Cheryl was gone for the day. He stood up from his desk a
nd clucked to Lucinda.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s go have a look.”

  As he expected, when he and Lucinda entered Tice’s lab, there was not a soul around. He’d seen enough of the actual test setups earlier and forced those images out of his mind. He stepped to a four-drawer cabinet and for half an hour he pored through manila folders. Nothing of interest. Next, he turned to Tice’s desk. The top drawer held pens, pencils, paperclips, an ancient slide rule, the infamous laser pointer, and an assortment of small office items. But again, nothing of interest. Likewise the two upper side drawers. It was the bottom one that held a treasure that made Kent’s whole degrading venture worthwhile. He pulled out a three-ring binder, gray cloth cover tattered at the edges from years of wear. It contained over a dozen yellowed newspaper clippings. Kent did not immediately recognize its importance and was about to set it aside when his eye caught a familiar face staring back at him out of one picture.

  “Jesus, Lucinda. That’s the woman! What’s her name? Mitt.” Quickly he read several of the articles. “These are all about the Burman A&M University scandal. She was one of the graduate students who took the blame.” He let his memory drift back to that time. “I’m pretty sure she was the one who chewed me out at the courthouse after the hearing. Why was she here at the CVC?”

  CHAPTER 33

  Kent sat next to Aubrey in semi-darkness. They were in the VIP section at the VinChaRo Farm annual sale. Their tiny cocktail table was front and center, just a couple horse lengths away from a circular stage that was bathed in light. Maybe thirty feet in diameter, the stage was surrounded by a double rail that protected the audience without obstructing the view. The floor was a bed of fresh sawdust raked smooth, like an oak-colored carpet. Above, a banner stretched across: WELCOME TO THE CHARLES F. ST. PIERRE PAVILION.

  Kent twisted his neck and tugged with two fingers at the collar of his tuxedo. He thought about how Lucinda sulked when he put her collar on and, at that moment, he could relate to her. Aubrey had insisted that he wear the damn penguin suit. He glanced over at Aubrey and had to admit it was worth the discomfort just to be with her, dressed to the nines. He was the envy of every guy in the place.

  She crossed her legs and her treacherously high spike heels flashed. He chuckled. She hated high heels and held to the philosophy that there was no place for them in a horse barn, ever. Revenge. I got the tux, she got the heels.

  He was just starting to relax when thoughts of Tice’s Torture Lab crept into his head. He sank back into his chair and breathed deeply. The scent of expensive perfume mingled with the smell of sawdust and horses, sending his olfactory centers into a tizzy. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and told himself to focus on the sale.

  He scanned the crowd of New York’s industry notables, then nodded to Elizabeth St. Pierre, one table over, as she looked up from her consignment catalogue to watch the next horse being led into the ring. It was a nervous bay two-year-old, and the handler struggled to control it. The announcer quickly summarized what the audience already knew from their reading, and then the auctioneer began barking out dollar amounts and unintelligible sounds as spotters pointed out bidders.

  “It’s going well,” Aubrey said over the applause when the auctioneer’s gavel fell. “These people came to buy.”

  He signaled back a clenched fist of victory. He was trying hard to hold up his end of the conversation, but it was just over twenty-four hours since he had searched Tice’s lab and discovered the scrapbook that linked Tice and Mitt. He was still waiting for word from Merrill about his talk with Tice. And Mitt, if she could be found. Again, he forced those matters out of his head and focused on the sale.

  They watched several more horses go on the block. Bids were higher than they had hoped for.

  The auctioneer announced the next horse, number twenty-nine, and a muscular black gelding, seventeen hands tall, was led in. An audible murmur of admiration spread through the crowd. The auctioneer read the horse’s stats and reminded buyers that this horse was a non-racing consignment.

  Kent saw some spectators headed for restrooms and cocktails in the courtesy suite. He knew that many in the audience were only interested in racer horses. But another faction, buyers hoping to find a good show jumper or dressage prospect, perked up.

  He was only half paying attention as bidding started for the handsome gelding until he felt the crowd’s energy rising. Side conversations and socializing tapered off as all eyes shifted to the ring. The bid was ascending into the “impressive” zone and continued to climb. Those who had opted to get a drink pushed back in from the courtesy suite, drawn by the crowd noise. Within a few seconds the bid leaped into the astronomical realm usually reserved for the most elite racers.

  Kent glanced at Aubrey. She was nibbling a fingernail, eyes glued to the stage.

  The auctioneer nudged and baited, teasing out the last few bids. Finally, he raised his gavel and paused, holding the suspense for all he was worth. Then, when he was sure there were no more takers, he pounded it down. Seconds later the announcer confirmed, “We have a new sale record for non-racing entries.”

  “Can you believe that, Elizabeth?” Aubrey asked, leaning across Kent, directing the question to her boss. “A new sale record.”

  Elizabeth was just as giddy. “Maybe we should pay a little closer attention to the show horses and not just concentrate on racers. What do you think, Kent?”

  “I agree, of course. It’s a market VinChaRo could capture in no time.” He could tell the wheels of commerce were turning in the matriarch’s silver head.

  “I bet we see more non-racers at next year’s sale,” Aubrey said.

  “That was Eddy Mathews’ horse,” Elizabeth said. “He never really impressed me, but I have to give him credit this time.”

  “It was?” Aubrey’s eyes broke to the catalog in her lap. “I wasn’t paying attention to the consignor. Wow! Eddy got the sale record.”

  “And you know what?” Kent said, looking back over his shoulder into the crowd.

  “What?”

  “The high bidder is Loren Summer.”

  Aubrey’s head snapped up. She cast a quick look in the general area where bids had emanated. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Kent pointed to a box ninety degrees from where they sat. “She’s over there with him now.”

  Aubrey’s glance followed Kent’s line. Loren glowed in evening attire and the exhilaration of a win. She was standing, leaning onto the shoulders of a man seated in front of her who was obviously in command of the box. He had to be fifty, once muscular at thirty but now paunchy, wavy black hair combed back, silver temples, too deep a tan, too white a smile.

  “If she’s smart, she’ll take her horse and run.”

  “Not likely. Loren has never been very smart about men.”

  “Eddy is pure trouble.”

  “I know it. You know it. Loren doesn’t.”

  “I warned her about him.”

  Kent spread his hands, palms up. “Then it’s up to her.” He took Aubrey’s hand and stood. “Let’s get a drink.”

  Kent invited Elizabeth to join them, but she declined, joking that she probably wouldn’t be around for too many more sales and didn’t want to miss any more than she had to.

  They made their way to the courtesy suite, nodding hello to acquaintances as they maneuvered along the aisle.

  Kent waited in a line at the bar for a white wine and a bourbon on ice. He carried them to a table Aubrey held in a secluded corner. They sat so they both could watch the crowd.

  “I asked for an old-fashioned, but they didn’t have any SoCo,” he said, as he handed her the wine.

  “Wine is good.”

  They sipped and crowd-watched for a few minutes. Eventually, Aubrey said, “I have to powder my nose. I’ll be right back.”

  “Your nose looks great.”

&nbs
p; “My bladder says powder my nose.”

  He took another sip of bourbon and admired how Aubrey moved gracefully through the tight tables, even on high heels. He stretched his legs and stared into the distance. The sights around him blurred, the sounds muffled as his thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had with Merrill that morning. It was as vivid as if he were back at the CVC.

  “I’m telling you, Merrill, that’s the girl,” Kent snapped and pounded his desktop hard enough that Lucinda lifted her head.

  “You’re sure.”

  “Yes. Of course, I’m sure.”

  “You saw her once in Texas, for a few seconds, years ago. Then in the stairwell at the CVC for even less time.”

  “I know that. But even then I thought there was something familiar about her. I just couldn’t place her.”

  “But now you can,” Merrill said from the couch.

  “Yes. Once I saw her picture, I knew. And now I need to know what she was doing in the CVC. And why Tice has her picture and all those articles on the Burman A&M scandal.”

  “Yeah. Tell me about that one more time.”

  Kent let out a long sigh, then reminded himself that Merrill was doing his best. “Okay. About six years ago I was called in to help with an animal cruelty investigation at Burman A&M in Texas. It had to do with some experiments at their medical school. Hideous things. They got shut down, of course, but the school managed to weasel out of the bad press and big penalties by blaming it on a bunch of grad students.”

  Merrill cut in. “And really they were just worker bees, doing what they were told.”

  “Right. I never heard any more about them till now. But it stands to reason that their careers were trashed.”

  “Uh-huh,” Merrill said. “I can see revenge as a motive.”

  “I wasn’t in charge, but I was vocal. And I especially remember this Dee Mitt leading a group up to me after the hearing and reaming me out.”

  “You figure she’s the bomber?”