LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

gaze jerked up, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Kind of like rotten fruit with some garlic tossed in for good measure. Definitely not the usual cadaver smell I’m used to.” She cocked her head to the side. “How did you know?”

      Hannah shook her head, dismissing the question. “And how did you feel after the autopsies?”

      Her friend leaned back, considering. “I got a headache,” she said thoughtfully. “But I just chalked it up to the weather. You know I get headaches whenever we have a storm system move through.”

      “Any trouble breathing?”

      Gabby shook her head. “No. What’s going on, Hannah? What do you know?”

      “Excellent question, Doctor” came a deep voice from the doorway. “I can’t wait to hear the answer.”

      * * *

      Damn, Owen thought, watching the way Hannah flinched at the sound of his voice. She turned to face him, her eyes wide and troubled, and his stomach dropped. She is involved.

      Disappointment settled over him like a heavy blanket. He’d been so sure that she wasn’t connected to these cases, but the fear shining in her eyes dashed his hopes.

      How could he have misread the situation so badly? Were his instincts really deserting him? He’d heard the whispered comments, the remarks made behind his back. A lot of people thought he was weak for taking a leave of absence after John’s death. Even his captain had recommended working through the pain, saying the distraction of the job was the best way to deal with the loss of his partner. But Owen couldn’t bring himself to do the job without his friend, and he’d needed the time to get his head on straight and figure out if he still wanted to be a cop. How could he go on without his best friend? But in the end, he’d come back. Being a cop was the only thing he knew how to do, and quitting felt like a betrayal of John’s memory.

      It was hard, though. Some days, he felt like a rookie all over again, and he spent a lot of time questioning decisions that would have been automatic before John’s death. The realization that Hannah Baker was indeed connected to this case, when yesterday he’d been so sure she wasn’t, did nothing for his shaky confidence.

      “Please, Dr. Baker. You were saying?”

      She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second, as if calling up some inner strength. “It’s probably nothing,” she began, but Dr. Whitman cut her off.

      “How did you know about the smell? And about my headaches?”

      Hannah shook her head. “Lucky guess?”

      Owen cleared his throat. “Try again, please.”

      “The findings you described...” She trailed off. “I saw a similar pathology a few years ago, when I worked at ChemCure Industries.”

      “What do you mean? I thought you didn’t do human experiments.” Dr. Whitman leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest, frowning slightly. Owen felt a flash of gratitude at the woman’s presence. Since she and Hannah had a history, Dr. Whitman’s questions added to his understanding of Hannah and her possible involvement in the case.

      “I didn’t,” Hannah replied. “These were findings from some animal studies. We were testing a drug that had performed beautifully in cell lines, but cells in a dish are a far cry from cells in a person. The next step was animal testing, and we abandoned the compound after we found out it destroyed the lungs.” She shook her head, her gaze turning inward, as if she were reliving the experiments. “It was the strangest thing. The lungs were completely wiped out—just a puddle of goo in the chest. And the smell.” She shuddered, wrinkling her nose.

      “Dr. Whitman,” Owen said, keeping his gaze on Hannah, “do you have the chemical signatures from the samples you sent to Toxicology?” His pulse accelerated as adrenaline leaked into his system. This could be the break he’d been waiting for. If Dr. Baker recognized the chemical signatures, then the chemicals had to have come from ChemCure Industries. And if that was the case, he could use her to gain access to the company and the people who worked on that project.

      “Yes.” He heard her rummage through pages on her desk. “Here you go.” She picked up a manila folder and held it out.

      Hannah stared at the folder as if afraid it might bite her. Then she extended a hand and took it, holding it in her lap.

      “I had the police contact you when I saw the signature for nitrogen mustard compounds,” Dr. Whitman explained. “I thought you might be able to give them some background information on the chemicals.”

      “If this says what I’m afraid it does, I think we’re way beyond background information.” With a glance in his direction, Hannah sighed heavily and opened the folder.

      He held his breath as she examined the printed reports, trying to read her expression for clues. Did she recognize the chemicals? Could she tell him where they had come from?

      Her brows drew together as she scanned the papers, and her hand moved to her neck in that unconscious gesture he was beginning to associate with her. She wasn’t wearing a turtleneck today, he noted, but rather a collared shirt and gauzy scarf. While this outfit was more weather appropriate, the effect was the same—the skin of her neck was completely covered. Why did she insist on doing that? Was she overly modest, or was she trying to cover up some kind of scar?

      Focus, he told himself. Now was not the time to get distracted by irrelevant questions, no matter how intriguing.

      When she looked up and met his eyes, he knew. She recognized the compounds. He swallowed hard to keep from shouting in triumph, instead settling for what he hoped was an encouraging expression. “Do you know these chemicals?”

      Hannah nodded, her features downcast. “I do,” she said, sounding miserable. “They’re the same ones I worked with at ChemCure Industries.”

      “Can they be bought from a company?” Please say no... If the chemicals were unique, it would be easier to track down the source.

      She shook her head. “No. We modified them for our studies. We were trying to develop a new chemotherapy drug that could be taken by inhaler—it was going to revolutionize the treatment of lung cancer.”

      Owen felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Like an asthma inhaler?”

      “Something like that. The hope was that by delivering the drugs straight to the lungs, the patient would experience fewer side effects.”

      “But you never made it to human trials?” Dr. Whitman interjected.

      “No. Not after the results of the animal studies.”

      The room fell silent as everyone retreated to their own thoughts. After a moment, Owen cleared his throat. “I need to phone this in to my partner. Dr. Baker, I’ll need you to accompany me to ChemCure Industries. Are you free this afternoon?”

      “I suppose I am now.” She smiled ruefully, but he could see the worry in her eyes.

      He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

      Owen pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked down the hall, heading for a small, closet-sized coffee station. He stepped inside, grateful for the added privacy. He didn’t think his voice would carry all the way back to Dr. Whitman’s office, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

      His partner answered on the third ring. “Gallagher. What’s up?”

      “I’ve got a lead.” He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, not wanting to sound too eager. But this was the best break they’d had after weeks of investigating. While he knew it was due to timing rather than his own skills as a detective, a small part of him was proud of being the one to bring this information to the table. Maybe it would even help silence some of his critics.

      “What have you got?” Nate’s tone was urgent, hopeful even. He’d been waiting for this, too.

      “I’m

Скачать книгу