Golden in Death(22)

“Military?” Eve pressed.

“If it is, they’ll deny it because it violates all sorts of conventions and treaties and interplanetary laws. That’s why I went CIA—because, you know, covert. Because CIA. You’re sure it’s not?”

“Doubtful. How would you get those agents?”

“You gotta figure we’ve got bioweapons stashed away in some secret locations. Getting one out? I don’t know, man. And they’re unstable on top of it. It’s going to take steel balls, and some crazy with it.”

“How do you make it?”

“You’d need a seriously controlled lab, special containers, glassware, a fume hood. And yeah, a bunch of skill, a whacked-out brain. The whacked-out because if you screw up even a little, you’re gone, gone, gone. I can get you all the substances and precursors that go into it. I was going to write it all up after I got some shutdown, but the coffee’s got me revved, so I’ll have it for you in a couple hours. You’re going to need somebody who gets the science. You’re looking for somebody who gets the science or can pay somebody who does.”

“All right. Copy the ME on the report.”

“The body was clean, right? Organs gone, eyes all burned, like that, but the agent was dead?”

“That’s right.”

Siler drank more coffee. “Brilliant.”

Outside, on the sidewalk, Peabody stopped, turned her face up to the sky.

“What’re you doing?”

“Blue sky, pretty day. I’m reminding myself the world isn’t a completely fucked-up place. I did just okay in chemistry, like I said, but I know enough to get that somebody spent a lot of time, took a lot of risks to create something to kill a good man. Overkill, it seems to me.”

“Yeah, it does.” Eve jerked a thumb toward the car. “And back to specific. Just Abner—adding the kill agent in there proves that. He didn’t want Rufty, for instance, running back home. Forgot something, whatever, and being exposed. He didn’t want anybody to die but Kent Abner.”

“Unger Memorial?”

“That’s right. Maybe Dr. Ponti’s brilliant.”



* * *



Middle of the morning, Unger’s ER was busy but not insane. Eve suspected a good portion of the people waiting had put off going to a doctor for whatever ailed them until they hit desperate.

She could relate.

Others looked like a mix of falls, bumps, fights, kitchen mishaps.

She went to the check-in counter, pulled the woman on the stool’s attention away from her comp screen.

“We need to speak to Dr. Ponti.”

“Dr. Ponti’s with a patient. You’ll need to sign in here, then—”

“We need to speak to Dr. Ponti,” Eve repeated, and held up her badge. “Police business.”

“He’s still with a patient.”

“Where?”

She checked her comp screen. “He’s in Exam Three—and if you try to go in while he’s with a patient, I’ll call Security whether you have a badge or not.”

“We’ll wait. Outside of Exam Three.”

With Peabody, she hunted it up, stationed herself outside the door.

“The other three on the list,” Peabody began, studying her PPC. “There’s nothing to indicate they’d have the knowledge or skill to create the toxin. Or have access to something like we’re dealing with. Or, for that matter, the financial means to pay for somebody who did.”

“Blackmail, force, like minds,” Eve reeled off.

“Yeah. Still, it has to cost. I’ll start going down levels on the financials.”

“Do that. And military or paramilitary backgrounds or associates. Spouses, family members. Same with science and medical.”

As she spoke, the door opened. “Change that dressing tomorrow. You should see your regular doctor within the week.”

“Okay.” The man with the bandaged arm and sour expression kept walking.

“And you’re welcome,” Ponti muttered.

“Dr. Ponti.”

“Yes?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. NYPSD. We need to speak to you.”

Though he looked pretty fresh—Eve figured the three-day scruff was a fashion statement—he gave them the weary eye. “If this is about the stabbing a couple nights ago, I gave the officers all the information I had.”

“Something else. Would you like to talk here, or somewhere more private?”

He sighed, a man in his late thirties with streaky blond hair to go with the scruff and good high-tops, pressed jeans, a pale blue shirt, and a white doctor’s coat.

He wagged a thumb, started down the hall. “I can’t take ten unless I get a buzz. What’s this about?”

“Dr. Kent Abner.”

“Who? Oh, right, right.” Now he rolled his eyes, pushed a door open into a small lounge. He walked straight to the coffeepot. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Ponti paused in pouring the coffee, and the eyes that had shown no interest whatsoever narrowed with it now. “Police dead? What happened?”

“It’s odd you wouldn’t have heard, as Dr. Abner had privileges here. I would think some of the staff would mention it.”