Bernadette rode in a police cruiser with Detective Dunn, who drove. They turned out of the parking lot onto Vel R. Phillips, then after a couple of turns, merged onto Interstate 43.
She looked at Kerrigan Dunn, who stared intently through the windshield. “How long have you been a detective?”
“Two years.” Dunn looked over her shoulder and changed lanes. “Not what I thought it would be.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s a lot of paperwork. I worked my ass off to get promoted to detective, and I get assigned all the bad shifts.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Dunn turned off her signal. “Not your fault. I’m only on this case because none of the other detectives want to work with the Feds.”
“So much for inter-agency goodwill.”
The detective gave the windshield a half-smile. “Me, I’m here for the cases. And I gotta say, this is the most interesting case I’ve had since joining District 5.”
“You don’t get interesting cases?”
“Some. There were fifteen or twenty homicides in the district last year. Mostly territory shit. A couple of drug deals gone wrong. The occasional domestic dispute that turned deadly. But this! A body found in the Anne Askew Chapel on the Kilbourn Tech campus? That’s some crazy stuff. I got interviewed by Channel 58 for the first time yesterday. They never care about any of our other cases, but a white kid killed with a weird poison? They’re all over it.” She barked a laugh. “When the media finds out about the cult, that’ll be good for another week of coverage.”
“Yeah.” Bernadette exhaled long and slow. “It’s an interesting case, though. I mean, the cult is based around Anne Askew, and the victim’s girlfriend looks like that actress who played her on TV. That’ll get a couple extra days of attention.”
Detective Dunn chuckled. “I can almost see the interview in my head. People have been copying their looks after movie stars for decades, haven’t they? The girlfriend gets some hair dye, a pair of tinted contacts, a little makeup, and she looks like the cult’s female messiah.” She glanced at Bernadette. “I’m telling you, that religion is odd.”
They exited the freeway at Highland Avenue, and a few minutes later pulled into a parking spot on Eighteenth Street between Highland and Juneau. The snowbank on the right side of the car wasn’t too high—Bernadette estimated she could open the door without much trouble.
Detective Dunn turned the car off and stared wistfully at the set of three-story university apartment buildings. “When I worked this neighborhood as a beat cop, the most I ever had to do around here was bust some kids for growing pot plants, maybe a little possession. Now that it’s decriminalized, I don’t even have to do that.”
Bernadette’s foot slid as she was coming around the corner of the car, but she righted herself. The two of them walked across Eighteenth Street. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped her rapidly freezing finger on the message from Maura.
“Building two, apartment 348.”
“It’s a walk-up,” Detective Dunn said.
“Okay.”
A few minutes later, after ascending two flights of stairs, they were standing in front of apartment 348. Detective Dunn pushed the small black doorbell button. A buzz sounded inside.
A man with black curly hair and dark brown skin answered the door. He wore a Henley long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. His handsome face was marred by swelling and discoloration around his eye. “Hey,” he said. “Can I help you?”
“Eddie Taysatch?” Detective Dunn said, flashing her badge.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“You’re not at the lab?”
“Oh.” A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Uh—no. I called in sick.”
“You don’t look that sick to me.”
“I’m—I don’t have the flu, if that’s what you mean. One of my co-workers died on Monday, and—well, things are weird there. I need some time to process it.”
“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Taysatch.”
“Because I’m taking a mental health day?”
“No—because of Kymer Thompson’s murder.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “You’re calling it a murder? Lightman didn’t tell me that.”
Detective Dunn nodded. “Mind if we come in? It’s cold out here—and you’re letting all the heat out.”
“Uh—sure.”
Behind the door, a kitchen table was shoved under a window, with two lonely-looking wooden chairs pushed haphazardly underneath. The kitchen itself was spare: two burners and a small oven that would have barely fit a baking pan. A small refrigerator and a stainless-steel sink with an old-looking chrome faucet completed the kitchen—not very much cabinet space, and from what Bernadette could tell, no dishwasher.
Looking to her right, the small living room had wall-to-wall burnt orange carpeting, a small blue sofa, and a single chair with an odd, concave shape.
Eddie shut the door behind them. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Detective Kerrigan Dunn. This is Agent Bernadette Becker of the CSAB.” Dunn gestured to Eddie’s face. “Nasty black eye you’ve got there.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Got sucker-punched coming into work Sunday afternoon,” Eddie said. “The guy from the fishing collective, or whatever they call themselves.”
“Piscary Association,” Bernadette offered.
“Right. I opened the front door and the guy turned and punched me as hard as he could. I fell down—almost hit my head on the sidewalk, and he walks away.”
“You didn’t call the police?”
Eddie laughed. “Sure. Me, a twenty-five-year-old Black guy, filing an assault charge against a fifty-year-old white guy who probably lives in the suburbs, whose wife belongs to the Junior League. How do you think that would go for me, Officer?”
“Detective,” Dunn said absentmindedly. “And, yes, I can understand your reluctance to contact us.”
Eddie looked at Bernadette. “Who did you say you were with?”
“The Controlled Substance Analysis Bureau,” Bernadette replied.
“What are the Feds doing here?” Eddie leaned against the wall.
“Investigating the death of your co-worker,” Dunn said.
“I mean, sure, homicide is serious, but why the Feds?”
Bernadette took a deep breath. “CSAB protects communities from dangerous substances. Kymer Thompson was killed by one of those dangerous substances. That makes it federal business.”
Eddie nodded, fascinated. “Cool.”
Detective Dunn arched an eyebrow. “Cool?”
Eddie blanched. “Well—no, I mean, the fact that Tommy’s dead isn’t cool.”
Detective Dunn took out her notebook. “Let’s start with something easy. Where were you on Monday night between ten o’clock and one in the morning?”
“In the Byron Library on campus. Grading papers for Dr. Obermeyer’s organic bio class,” he said, sitting in the concave chair and motioning to the sofa. “Well, until about midnight—then I bundled up and left.”
“Can anyone vouch for you being in the library?”
Taysatch turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. There were a lot of other people there. Midterms and all. Maybe one or two of them would recognize me.”
“But you didn’t talk to anyone?”
“No.”
Detective Dunn nodded. “How did you get along with Kymer Thompson?”
Taysatch pressed his lips together. “We were work colleagues.”
Dunn tilted her head. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I suppose it doesn’t.” Taysatch leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I suppose you’ll find out anyway. He and I didn’t get along.”
Dunn nodded. “And why was that?”
“He had an annoying tendency to take credit for work I’d done.”
Dunn tilted her head sympathetically. “And that made you—what? Angry?”
“Annoyed,” Eddie said evenly.
“What did he take credit for that you’d done?” Bernadette asked.
“We altered the larval diet to enrich the ferritin in the silver lampreys’ livers. It was my idea, but Thompson took the credit.”
Detective Dunn nodded. “And did that make you angry?”
“I didn’t say I was angry. I said I was annoyed.”
“I know you said you were annoyed,” Dunn said, raising her eyebrow. “I’m asking you if you were angry, too.”
“Fine, I was angry,” Eddie said. “But now that he’s dead, I have no chance to prove that I’m the one who suggested it first.”
“Really?”
“How do you think it will look to the media and the public—not to mention any future employer? I’ll tell you how it will look—it’ll look like I’m trying to steal glory from a dead guy.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t the first idea of mine he took credit for, either, but now that he’s gone, we’ll probably name the damn medicine after him.”
“TommyContin,” Bernadette suggested.
A smile played at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Yeah. Heh.” He leaned forward in the weird chair. “If I wanted to claim what were rightfully my ideas, I needed that asshole alive.”
Bernadette scooted forward on the sofa. “Did you do anything to try to get proof?”
Eddie frowned. “Like what?”
“Maybe recording a conversation?” Bernadette glanced over at Detective Dunn. “Or getting information off his computer?”
Both women watched Eddie carefully as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I tried to get him to admit it. I recorded a couple of our conversations on my phone.”
Bernadette looked over at Dunn again. “I believe Wisconsin’s a one-party consent-to-record state,” she said, and Dunn gave a slight nod. “There’s nothing illegal in what you did. Do you still have the recordings?”
“Uh—I guess so. There’s nothing useful on there. He was paranoid.”
“Paranoid?”
“Yeah. Kept saying he knew what they were up to.”
Dunn raised her eyebrow. “What who were up to?”
Eddie stood and started pacing. “He didn’t tell me. Hell, I didn’t care who he was talking about. I wanted him to talk about the idea for altering the larval diet, but he kept talking about the lampreys. He walked out of the room. It was like he wasn’t even listening to me.”
“Would you be able to send us those recordings?”
“What—like over email?”
“Yes.”
“I guess so.”
“Is there anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tommy?” Bernadette asked.
“Hurt? Yes. Killed? No.”
“Who’d want to hurt him?”
Eddie paused. “I wanted him to admit what he did, for sure. I can’t deny it—I complained about him all the time. But I didn’t kill him. I’m sure there are cameras around the library. I know people saw me.” Eddie sat on a straight-backed chair across from Bernadette. “I should have taken that job at Parr Medical instead.”
“A job? Instead of grad school?”
“I could have left after last year,” Eddie said. “Parr offered me a lot of money. But I’d come this far—I thought finishing my degree was more important.” He sighed. “But sometimes finishing what you started isn’t the right move.”
Dunn nodded. “It’s a nice story, Eddie, but I know it’s not always easy to keep your anger in check. Even if it’s the smart, sensible thing to do. Kymer Thompson’s been stealing from you. Kymer Thompson’s been getting busy with a cute girl who looks like a movie star. You’ve got nothing to show for your hard work.”
“I’ll still get my degree in June.”
“Still,” Dunn said, “I bet you’ve thought about how great it would be to punch him in the face. Just once.”
Bernadette watched Eddie’s face as his eyes lost focus, and he stared at the wall. Yes, he was picturing it.
“And,” Dunn continued, “maybe the two of you were working late on Monday night. Maybe he was down there in the aquarium area, shuttling his precious lampreys from one tank to another. And maybe something snapped. Maybe you’re not the one who got the first punch in.” She tapped her eye. “That’s quite the shiner there, Eddie. You sure it was the guy from the Piscary Association?”
“Positive,” Eddie said through clenched teeth. “I even filled a form out with HR. It didn’t have anything to do with Kymer Thompson.”
“Okay, Eddie,” Detective Dunn said. “What did you do after you left the library at midnight?”
Eddie bristled. “You have some nerve accusing me. Just because I’m—”
Dunn folded her arms. “Just because you’re what?”
“Never mind,” Eddie muttered. “I grabbed a late dinner. There’s a new all-night Thai place on Second and Wells.”
“What did you have?”
“Yellow curry with tofu and eggplant.” He paused. “I might still have the receipt.”
“You pay with a credit card?”
“Uh—no. Cash.”
“Tofu and eggplant? That sounds healthy.”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“A vegetarian?” Bernadette arched an eyebrow. “And yet you kill fish and pull their livers out to cure cancer?”
“I’m a walking paradox.” Eddie’s upper lip curled slightly. “After I ate, I walked straight home. I got back around twelve-thirty, maybe twelve forty-five. My roommate had fallen asleep in front of the TV. I woke him up when I came in.”
“He can confirm your whereabouts?”
“I guess so. He was pretty out of it and went straight to bed. Maybe he remembers.”
“Is he a grad student too?”
“Yes. Philosophy.”
“Philosophy?”
Eddie rocked the chair back on two legs. “He’s dying to wear a tweed blazer with elbow patches.”
“Is he home?”
“No. In class until four.”
“You have a phone number for him?”
Eddie eyed them, then grunted and got up. He walked into the kitchen and came back with a sticky note and a pen. He wrote on it and handed it to Detective Dunn as she stood.
He took out his wallet and leafed through the bills, then withdrew a receipt. “There. That’s for the Thai place Monday night. Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m on call tonight. I’ve got some errands to run.”
“Actually,” Bernadette cut in, “one more thing. How hard is it to take a syringe full of ibogaine without anyone knowing?”
“It’s under lock and key on the third floor in a temperature-controlled cabinet.”
“That didn’t answer the question. Who has access?”
“We need to inject it into the fish livers, Agent Becker.”
“Even though ibogaine is a Schedule 1 controlled substance?”
Eddie cocked his head. “Not our version of ibogaine. At least, our paperwork says it’s not. The extractions are from a different source and don’t meet the legal definition—”
Bernadette nodded. “I see you know about the loophole, too.”
“From what I understand, we paid a premium to modify the ibogaine so that it would still meet our research needs without requiring the controls and the oversight.”
“So—what, you just take the ibogaine whenever you want?”
“It’s not just me. Tommy had access, Professor Lightman does too.” Eddie rubbed his temples. “We have controls in place. Anyone who takes it needs management approval, and there’s a sign-out process. But it’s not that expensive, and the combination of ibogaine and ferritin has presented the most promising results so far.”
“Does the Freshie enforce the sign-out process?”
“Of course. I always sign it.”
“Be honest with us, Eddie,” Dunn said. “If someone wanted to take some ibogaine without signing it out, how hard would that be?”
“Well, I—” Eddie stopped, then screwed up his mouth. “I guess it would be pretty easy. You could sign out with someone else’s name. Or…”
“Or what?”
“The security personnel aren’t always there.”
“Doesn’t sound like you have oversight,” Bernadette said. “Anyone with access to the building can take it.”
“They’d need a key to the cabinet.”
“Which everyone has.” Bernadette sighed. “Anyone tried to get high off it?”
“In that concentration? Not likely.”
Bernadette shook her head vigorously. “It’d be easy to dilute. Get a teaspoon and a gallon of vinegar and you’d have enough ibogaine to get a whole dorm high.”
“Or a whole congregation,” Dunn murmured.
Bernadette stood and stared at Eddie. “Where’s the accountability? Where’s the audit trail?”
Eddie looked at Bernadette blankly. “We’re not doing anything illegal. Besides, I’m a grad student researcher. I don’t have any input into the Freshie’s policies.”
Bernadette’s phone buzzed in her purse, but she ignored it and let it go to voicemail. “Who’s responsible for the security procedures?”
“Uh—I don’t know. Professor Lightman, maybe? Or—the IT department runs the computer systems that control the key cards, the alarm systems, that kind of thing. They’re the ones we requisitioned the cabinet from.”
“Not campus security? Isn’t that unusual?”
Eddie shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
So many loopholes for what ought to be a Schedule 1 substance. Great.
“I need to run those errands before my on-call time starts,” Eddie said. “I think we’re done here. I’ll walk you out,” Eddie said, pulling on a green overcoat and a gray knit cap.
All three of them walked down the stairs, Bernadette pulling her phone from her purse. Maura had left a voice message.
“Bernadette, it’s Maura. I received the campus security recording of Kymer Thompson. I’m forwarding it to you—it’s not a lot to work with, but it does sound like he knew his life was in danger. I’m sending this to Dr. Woodhead too—maybe it will get him back to the station.”
Bernadette stopped at the ground floor landing and turned the speakerphone on as Eddie walked ahead of them and out the door.
“What are we listening to?” Dunn asked.
“The message Kymer Thompson left with campus security the night he died.”
The recording started: the voice a nasal tenor with a midwestern lilt. “Hi—uh, this is Kymer Thompson, Graduate School of Freshwater Sciences. I believe the Freshie—uh, the Freshwater Science Lab Building—will get broken into tonight, yeah. I don’t know who, but I think they might cause some damage. Uh, I guess I mean a lot of damage. I’d like a couple of security officers over here. I have some evidence they’re going to kill—”
The recording cut off.
“Nice of the campus security office to cut off the recordings at thirty seconds,” Dunn muttered.
“Did Kymer Thompson think his life was in danger?” Bernadette asked.
“I don’t know. He certainly thought someone’s life was in danger.”
“Or he could be talking about the lampreys.”
Dunn nodded. “But no one tried to kill the lampreys. They killed him instead.” She motioned her head back toward the apartment building. “You think it was Eddie? He was angry enough to kill Thompson, right?”
They walked out the front door, and Bernadette caught an idling blue van out of the corner of her eyes at the curb.
It looked familiar.
She glanced to her left, away from the van. Eddie walked down the sidewalk, purposefully. With a start, Bernadette realized it was the same shade of blue as the van that tried to run her over.
Bang.
A pinging sound next to Bernadette’s ear.
Eddie crumpled to the sidewalk.