We met in a conference room on the third floor of the Epstein Science Center at the University of Chicago. I looked out a window as I waited and thought about another science lab. Another early morning. My best friend, Nicole Andrews, throat cut, eyes drowning in blood, my name on her lips as she died in my arms. That was four years ago. At the time, it felt like the end of days. Now I looked up at the man walking through the door and wondered if it might only have been a dress rehearsal.
“Kelly, thanks for coming in.”
Matthew Danielson sat down, parked his Homeland Security briefcase on the table, and snapped it open. I tried to hold my breath, but the stench of matters essential to national security crept up my nostrils and fuzzed my brain.
“When was the last time we spoke?” Danielson said.
“You know when we talked. It was a month ago, at my apartment.”
“That’s right. Two days before Agent Lawson was found shot to death. You two were close, no?”
Katherine Lawson had worked as an FBI agent. She’d also murdered a friend of mine. Lawson’s body was found in a tunnel on the Blue Line with three bullets in it.
“If you’ve got a point,” I said, “why don’t we just get to it.”
Danielson rolled his mouth in a painful attempt at a smile. Then he reached into his case, took out a pistol sealed in plastic, and slid it across the table.
“It’s a twenty-two, unregistered. Been fired twice.”
I looked at the gun and back up to Danielson.
“So?”
“It’s the gun that killed Lawson. Hasn’t been examined yet, but, take it from me, it has your prints on it.”
“Are you saying I killed her?”
Danielson took out a flat envelope and pushed it across the table. Again, I didn’t touch it.
“Three photos, time-stamped from the morning Lawson was murdered. Two of them show you exiting and leaving the subway by a CTA access door, less than a mile from where Lawson was murdered. The third shows you getting into your car, parked three blocks away.”
“So you killed her,” I said.
“Not sure a jury would agree, but that’s an interesting take on the evidence.”
“I met Lawson in the subway that morning, and I shot her. With a thirty-eight, in the leg. But you already know that. You have the gun that killed her. Which means you, or one of your flunkies, had to be the shooter.”
“We’re going to be joined in a moment by a woman. She’s one of the foremost experts in the world on the genetic engineering of bioweapons, as well as bioforensics. She’s going to need some help this morning, and you’re going to give it to her. You’re going to do this to the best of your ability and without sharing this information with anyone outside of our working group. If you refuse, I’ll take you into custody and have you charged with the murder of a federal agent before noon.”
“You told me on the phone there was a possible situation in the subway. It has to do with the lightbulbs, doesn’t it? They were loaded with anthrax, and they fell.”
“You’ll get the details once we come to an understanding.”
“Lawson knew about the bulbs. Is that why she was killed?”
Danielson put the gun and envelope back in his briefcase. “Do I bring in the scientist, or do we pull out the bracelets and head downtown?”
I floated a smile. “Bring her in.”
If Danielson was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he snapped his briefcase shut and left the room. For a moment, I was left alone with my decision, which hadn’t really been much of one at all.