Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(88)

“That is ridiculous.”

Sherlock continued, “Dr. Maddox, you can either speak to us here, or you can contact your lawyer to meet you at the Hoover Building in Washington.”

Lister froze. Then he shook his head, “I can’t imagine why you think I would burn down my own building, and a useful one at that. If the Annex is burning, I should see to it, but of course you won’t let me do that, will you? As for Zyon, he doesn’t know much, hardly anything about my research or my results, and that means you don’t, either.”

Sherlock plowed on, ignoring him. “You’d be surprised, Doctor. We know the man who drew Kara Moody’s blood more than nine months ago looks amazingly like the same man who kidnapped Alex Moody on Monday, though he looks fifteen years younger. Would you like to see a sketch Kara Moody made of the man who drew her blood and compare it to the photo of the man at the hospital? Can you tell me I’m wrong?”

Lister stared at the young woman with glorious red hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky, eyes that were boring into him, condemning him. Kara Moody had remembered Quince well enough from nearly a year ago to draw him? He’d never considered anyone would make that connection. He looked straight at Sherlock and smiled, and for once, his worry beads stilled. “Agent, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I resent your barging in here once again and throwing around your absurd accusations. I want you to leave.”

Sherlock said over him, “I told you we’re not going anywhere, Dr. Maddox. As I said, Alex Moody’s kidnapper looks at least fifteen years younger than the man from about ten months ago. Does that mean you succeeded in your research? Managed to turn back the clock for him by fifteen years? That would be quite an accomplishment.” She paused a moment, then said, “Dr. Zyon must be a genius.”

Lister leaped to the bait. “Zyon, a genius? That’s a joke, that posing bore gave up, said we shouldn’t go on, that it was impossible, the compounds were too toxic, the cost too high. I had to continue the experiments on my own. I was the one who made the discoveries, not he!” He was panting hard. It took him a moment to realize what he’d admitted. He straightened, pulled his shoulders back, and thrust his chin up, now the man in charge, the leader. “There is nothing wrong with my doing research, Agents. I have worked for a laudable goal. You are police officers, you reduce everything to prosaic black-and-white. You are being shortsighted, ignoring what you have seen with your own eyes. Open your minds, consider possibilities you never dreamed of, consider the amazing results standing before your very eyes.”

Sherlock said, “Dr. Maddox, I do appreciate what you’ve accomplished, it seems remarkable. Perhaps you’ll tell us who else you’ve experimented on?” Sherlock waited a beat, then turned to Cargill. “How old are you?”

Cargill looked at Lister. “Sir?”

Lister waved his hand. “Tell her, she can find out your age easily enough.”

“I’m fifty-seven.”

She wouldn’t have believed him, but Sherlock had seen Kara’s drawing and she’d seen the kidnapper. “You look about thirty-five.”

“Yes,” Cargill said, throwing back his head. “I owe the man I am now to Dr. Maddox.”

Connie said, “Dr. Maddox, why haven’t you given yourself any of your magic drugs? You look every one of your fifty years.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too early, I must perfect the treatments first. I’m the only one who understands the drugs and how to use them safely. If any problems develop with the test subjects, I’m the only one to fix them. The entire project depends on my staying healthy.”

Cargill was staring at Maddox. “Dr. Maddox, I never thought of Quince and me as your test subjects before. Is that what we are? Like lab mice?”

“Cargill, I’ve rolled back time for you and Quince, extended your life by at least fifteen years. You’re not stupid, you knew there were risks. You should be grateful.”

So Quince was the name of the kidnapper? Suddenly, it came to her in a flash. Sherlock said, “We want to speak to your father, Dr. Maddox.”

“No! You have no reason to bother him. I told you, he is too ill for visitors, much less law officers who would browbeat him. He wouldn’t understand in any case. Look, I realize this is all quite unusual, seeing Cargill, it is no doubt a shock to you. I’m perfectly willing to discuss my research with you. I will go with you to your Hoover Building. We will join my lawyers there, and I will tell you what it all means. But leave my father alone.”

“He’s seventy-eight years old,” Sherlock said slowly. “I presume you’ve given him your drugs as well, like Cargill and Quince, isn’t that right?”

Lister said nothing.

“Of course you have. So why can’t we see him? Or did your experiments on him go wrong? Did you put him in a coma, like the young man at the hospital?”

Lister Maddox leaned back against the wall, his shoulder touching a picture frame. He was frantically working his worry beads, weaving them through the fingers of both hands. It was a mesmerizing sight. “Of course not. You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Make me understand.”

He remained silent. Sherlock realized they were still standing in the entrance hall, but that was fine with her until the others arrived. Push him, she thought, keep pushing him. “Tell me what I don’t understand, Dr. Maddox.”