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extreme case, scientists who used
complicated computer programs to do their calculations could actually fake
data, by adding a line or two to their software that even another expert in the
field might not be able to uncover.
    "Maybe a few years later," I told Matt, "the
discrepancy between promise and fulfillment would be obvious, but it could be
suppressed until long after money had been granted and large facilities were
built. And even then, it could be passed off as something no one could have
known before."
    "Hmf," was all I heard from Matt, so I continued.
      Reluctantly, I
gave him some other examples of this kind of incident, drawing from the history
of weapons technology and nuclear energy.
    Matt had been taking notes with his right hand, holding his
sandwich in his left. He put down both, wiped his hands on his napkin, and
shook his head, as if he'd just heard about another pop idol on drugs.
    "I guess I'm still naive about what goes on in the
world of science," he said. "I feel a lot more comfortable with people
killing each other over insurance money or large family fortunes. I understand
the motives involved in wills or domestic situations, but I'm out of my league
here."
    The phrase "domestic situations" got my attention
and I wondered if I should I tell Matt about Janice. Not now, I decided. As
bitter as Janice Bensen seemed to be about her life with Eric, I couldn't
picture her standing in front of him with a gun and shooting three times. But
then, I was new to this life of crime solving, so it was hard to picture anyone
other than an obvious madman killing another person.
    Awkward moment number three came when our waiter brought the
check. I reached for my purse. Matt smiled and held up his hand like a stop
signal.
    "Department expense," he said.
    Another smooth move. Like my late beloved Uncle Tony, Matt
had a left-leaning grin and a habit of raising his thick eyebrows when he
smiled. I mentally gave Matt a role in the fourth Godfather movie, which I
desperately hoped was in the works. I cast him as head of security in a
legitimate family pastry business.
    "I wonder if you'd consider visiting the murder scene
with me," Matt asked, leaning forward to stuff his wallet in his back
pocket. His jacket fell open just enough for me to see the gun holstered in a
light brown leather case under his arm.
    It was hard to play it cool, but I managed a simple,
"I'd be happy to."
    "I brought this along in case you agreed," Matt
said, spreading a legal-sized packet of paper in front of me. Another charming
crooked smile.
    I recognized the standard consultant's contract, like the
one I'd signed a few months before in Matt's office. Matt reminded me of the
conditions of the contract. I wasn't an investigator in the sense that he was,
so I couldn't ask suspects about alibis, for instance, or motive. But I could
be present when he asked those questions, and I could ask technical questions,
like how close was this research to achieving full superconductivity at room
temperatures?
    He also warned me, as he did the last time, not to do any
personal interviews on my own.
    "At this point, everyone who knew Eric Bensen and had a
motive and the opportunity to kill him is a suspect," Matt said. "And
we don't want you in any danger."
    Matt had no reason to think I'd do any sleuthing on the
side. On my last contract, I'd stuck to the rules, and done only what was
required of me. Moreover, I'd never been one to take risks when it came to my
body or any of its parts. I wouldn't even consent to let Rose's hairdresser
have a go at getting rid of my gray hair. I was afraid she'd do just that, and
I'd be bald.
    "I have no plans to play detective," I said,
breaking into what I hoped was delightful, flattering laughter.
    But this case felt different to me from my one and only
other murder case. I'd known Eric Bensen and all the more obvious suspects
personally, and I wondered if I meant what I said.

 

 

 
 
 
    CHAPTER 5

 
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