56

 

CARMEL, MONDAY MORNING

Gwen clocked into the Lab at five after nine on Monday morning. She forced a breezy smile, aimed for a loose stroll as she headed for her office. She greeted Mandy, Kevin Barclay, and Mel Barbieri, all hogging the coffee machine with Monday morning yawns. Peter Weiss shuffled past, Beats headphones clamped to his ears, whistling in time. R.E.M. again. He raised a hand in greeting, secreted himself in his office, back-kicking the door closed, able to whistle, Gwen supposed, to his heart’s content without risking violent attack.

Gwen sat at her desk, turned on her computer, wondered how she could keep up her act.

She buried herself in the sensors and their latest readings. Still the seas warmed. She felt sure an ARk Storm was getting closer. Maybe the ARk Storm 1000. She could almost see it, speeding across the oceans on the Pineapple Express. How much longer could she keep silent?

Her cell trilled at eleven.

“Lunch today?” asked Dan, unusually curt.

“Sure,” she replied.

“Same place we met?” he asked elliptically.

“Sure. Twelve thirty?”

“See you then,” he confirmed and hung up.

He didn’t sound his usual self, thought Gwen, perturbed.

*   *   *

He was waiting for her at a corner table of the seafront café in Carmel, nursing a San Pellegrino.

He greeted her with a distracted kiss.

“Went to a press con this morning, Monterey cops,” he said by way of hello. “The body they found when we were at the Half Moon’s been ID’d. Elise Rochberger.”

Gwen gasped. “Rochelle’s friend. The hooker the man calling himself Haas/Hans roughed up?”

“Yeah, roughed up, and quite possibly killed.”

“Unless you believe in coincidence.”

“I don’t,” said Dan, eyes hard.