Nano

CHAPTER 22

Pia reckoned she had four or five hours to search Berman’s home. The fact that her host was drunk and drugged up didn’t stop Pia from going back and checking on him twice in the hours since he’d finally succumbed. Pia had arranged Berman in a kind of a recovery position on his large couch with his head a little over the side in case he became nauseous. She was confident that to the world, he appeared to be sleeping like a baby. Pia spent ten minutes in the kitchen, drinking several glasses of water until she felt slightly more human herself. She wanted all her faculties.

Pia had no notion of what she was looking for in Berman’s house. She walked through the whole place, making a mental note of the location and function of each room. The property was on three levels, with guest rooms, a workout room, a wine cellar, and access to the garage downstairs. She had seen the whole of the first floor, but nothing of the second. The two main rooms up there could be reached by a main staircase from the living room, and by a back stair from the kitchen.

Berman’s giant master bedroom, with two huge baths, occupied most of the space. But there was another room as well, and it was the one Pia was most interested in. It was clearly a home office.

Wearing a pair of latex examination gloves she’d picked up in the ER when Paul Caldwell was off getting her Temazepam capsules, Pia sat at Berman’s desk in his chair and looked around. The table was glass and on it sat a large Mac, the latest model with retina display. To the right was a six-inch-high stack of papers; to the left, a flat-panel charger for Berman’s iPhone and Android. To the side, below the table, was a cherrywood filing cabinet that was locked. Pia swiveled around and took in the room. Unlike the rest of the house, there was a smooth finish to the walls, wood paneling that lent the room a more businesslike air than the rest of the timbered home.

There were a couple of low cabinets against one wall and Pia tried the door handles on both. Each was locked. Bookcases lined the other wall, filled with what Pia saw as a standard guy’s collection of business books, sports biographies, and thrillers, with a few coffee table books on the Rockies thrown in. She pulled a few of the books back but the wall behind was solid. There was no drawer in the glass desk, and Pia ran her hand along the flat surfaces in the room, looking for keys. Nothing.

All Pia had ready access to was the pile of papers on the desk.

Pia read through the pile meticulously. Most of the papers turned out to be printed-out copies of intra-company emails. Many were anotated in pencil in Berman’s hand. The majority were status reports of tests and experiments going on throughout Nano, and Pia recognized a few of them as her own. Her unfamiliarity with some aspects of other applications of nanotechnology hindered her ability to decode some of the more technical language. Scattered among the emails were copies of requisition forms that Berman had signed, including hers for the additional biocompatibility experiments.

One paper was a form for a new office chair for someone named Al Clift that Berman had turned down. He drew vigorous circles around the price—$359—and wrote “request denied” next to it. All Berman could be accused of from the evidence in this pile of paperwork was being a micromanager, and a cheap one at that.

Pia slumped down in the seat and stared at the Mac. It was powered down and she thought if she turned it on, Berman most likely would know someone had been in his office, and she’d be the prime suspect. She was frustrated and extremely tired. It was now a quarter of four. She decided to take one more tour around the house, come back to the office and look at the papers again, and then leave before Berman woke up.

The lower level yielded nothing. She could see into the wine vault but couldn’t open the door, which had a separate lock. Through the window she saw row after row of bottles but no safe or cabinet or any other out-of-place piece of furniture. The climate-control system hummed along, keeping the room at a steady temperature and humidity. Pia hesitated to go into the garage in case Berman considered it part of the outside and her visit would be recorded. She had a moment of panic when she wondered if Berman had been lying about cameras inside the house being off, but it was much too late to be concerned about that.

She carefully checked the door into the garage. It didn’t seem to be wired. When she opened the door, she kept herself out of view until she could be sure there were no switches on any of the doorjambs. It seemed that the outer doors of the garage were the ones wired to the alarm system. It made sense, considering what was in the garage.

There were three vehicles: a Ford F-150 with a snowplow attachment, a Range Rover, and an Aston Martin. There was also a sailboat on a trailer. The room had two freezers, which on inspection were largely filled with venison and elk meat. One wall was covered with power tools and gardening equipment mounted on hooks. This was a meticulous and well-prepared man, Pia thought.

As she followed that line of reasoning, Pia realized it was unlikely Berman would store sensitive material in plain sight in his home. Why risk having documents lying around at home, no matter how good the security system, when he could leave everything at work? Nano had fences, armed guards, iris scanners, multiple cameras, and who knew what else. Pia sighed. She’d give the paperwork one more look and then cut out.

Pia walked up to the main level of the house. As she passed the small room where Berman kept his TV monitors, a movement caught Pia’s eye on one of the screens. She moved closer and was horrified to see something walking up the steps toward the front door that was barely ten feet from where she was standing. It was the tall and unmistakable figure of Whitney Jones.

Pia did an immediate one-eighty and hurried back toward Berman and the den. As she ran along on her tiptoes, she pulled off the surgical gloves and held them in her hand. In the den, Berman hadn’t moved, and he was still snoring peacefully. Pia imagined Whitney was approaching the front door. Quickly she pulled the den door to without shutting it. By then she could hear the sound of heels on the hardwood floor, so she made her way over to the couch. She plopped herself down and curled up in the corner with Berman’s feet in her lap. She hoped she looked as if she were asleep. Once again her heart was pounding in her chest.

Whitney had walked into the dining room but hadn’t looked in the den. Pia peeked and saw from a display on the TV console that it was 4:42 A.M. Did she always show up that early? Maybe the garage had been wired, after all. Pia knew Whitney would have seen her car in the driveway. As the footfalls receded, she figured Whitney was going to check on the bedroom, the logical place. Pia reached under her short dress and stuffed the exam gloves into her panties. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her ears, she thought Whitney could probably hear it from upstairs.

After what seemed like a half hour, the footsteps returned, louder and faster this time. Whitney hadn’t found Berman in his bed, perhaps she was now worried. After another circuit of the living area, the door to the den opened slowly, and the room was filled with light. Pia breathed more loudly. Now her head was pounding from anxiety, and she felt nauseous. Whitney must have surveyed the scene from the doorway because the door quickly closed and the den was plunged back into darkness.

Pia lay still, thanking her luck in seeing Whitney on the monitor and not having to run into her someplace else in the house, wondering if she had left any evidence of her nocturnal visitation. She figured Whitney was still in the house, and she didn’t relish the idea of lying here in the dark, listening to Zach Berman snore. She needed to grab a couple of hours’ real sleep in her bed. Pia swung her legs over the couch, fumbled for her purse in the dark, and stepped over to the door.