Spilled Blood

10

The guards at Mondamin Research didn’t want to let Chris inside the gate. It took ten minutes of phone calls back and forth to the administration building before they confirmed that he had an appointment with Florian Steele. One of the guards, whose tattoo suggested that he was a retired Marine, climbed into the passenger seat of Chris’s Lexus without being asked.

‘I’ll show you where to park,’ he told Chris, pointing at a road leading around the rear of the facility.

The main building was approximately two football fields in length. It was clean and pristine, as if the white paint were touched up daily. There were no windows along the walls of the building, but he could see extensive environmental duct work on the roof. As he drove, he saw that the larger section of the campus was connected to a smaller administrative building by a glass-enclosed walkway. He could see two employees in white coats walking behind the glass.

When he reached the opposite side of the smaller building, which overlooked the river, he saw a small parking area. The guard gestured.

‘Park there.’

Chris spotted several empty visitor parking places near the front door. At the far end of the first row of cars, he also saw a bright orange Mustang convertible. He didn’t think there were two vehicles like that in Barron, Minnesota. This was Ashlynn’s car.

He ignored the guard’s instructions and drove past the building entrance. He stopped in an empty parking spot forty yards down, immediately next to the Mustang. The man next to him protested.

‘Not here!’ he instructed Chris. ‘Back up!’

Chris turned off the Lexus and hopped out. ‘You going to shoot me?’ he asked.

While the guard climbed out of his car, Chris made a careful examination of the exterior of the Mustang. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. The flat tire that had stranded Ashlynn in the ghost town hadn’t been replaced; he assumed the vehicle had been towed here. He bent and studied the tire and didn’t see any obvious damage. It was most likely a puncture wound deep in the tread. The rest of the chassis was in perfect condition, without dents or scratches. If there had been dirt or dust on the frame, the rain had washed it away.

‘Let’s go, Mr. Hawk,’ the guard warned him in a growling voice.

Chris paid no attention. He tried to drown out the low machinery hum from the buildings, the murmur of the river fifty yards away, and the guard’s voice. Instead, he put himself inside Ashlynn’s mind that night. She was sitting in the Mustang, near midnight, stranded in a town full of dead buildings. She’d driven this car. This was the last place she’d been before she died. He cupped his hands and peered through the windows at the white leather seats inside. The interior was immaculate, not a scrap of paper, no coffee mug in the cup holder, no pen shoved into the visor. He assumed that anything inside had been bagged and tagged by the police. Or maybe Ashlynn simply kept a clean car. It was impeccable, except for the remnants of powder where the police had dusted for fingerprints and messy splotches of dried mud on the driver’s seat and on the floor mat from the recent rains.

There was nothing to see. Even so, something about the Mustang bothered him.

‘I didn’t invite you here so you could conduct a search of my daughter’s car, Chris,’ Florian Steele snapped.

Chris looked up from the Mustang’s windows. Florian stood on the sidewalk in front of the building, ten feet away. His arms were folded across his chest. The guard began to apologize, but Florian waved him to silence.

‘Shall we go inside?’ Florian asked. ‘Or do you want to poke around the trunk and the glove compartment, too?’

‘That’s not necessary,’ Chris said.

Florian gestured toward the glass entrance to the building, and they walked side-by-side in silence. At the main doors, Florian swiped a magnetic card, and the doors slid aside to let them enter. They passed into a vestibule, and inside was another door that operated on the basis of a biometric fingerprint ID pad. Florian placed his right index finger on the pad, and the next door opened, leading them into the company lobby. He pointed at the receptionist’s desk.

‘You’ll need to register, have your picture taken, and get your fingerprint digitized. Then we’ll issue you a personalized visitor’s pass.’

‘Do you need a urine sample, too?’ Chris asked.

Florian didn’t smile.

He followed instructions and was rewarded with a white magnetic card that he clipped to his belt. Florian pointed at a floor-to-ceiling revolving door that required them to pass individually. The CEO went first, and then Chris followed, using the ID card and his fingerprint to gain access. On the other side of the door, he found himself in a windowless corridor, as bone white as the exterior of the facility. It smelled of disinfectant, and white noise hummed through hidden speakers.

‘You’re serious about security,’ Chris said.

Florian shrugged as he led them down the corridor. ‘We have to be. It’s partly for intellectual property protection, although most of those threats are more sophisticated. Electronic hacking. Moles. Attempts to bribe and blackmail employees. The physical dangers to the facility are primarily from environmental extremists.’

‘Are fringe groups like that a serious threat?’ Chris asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Florian replied. ‘Many are violent and fanatical. They’re anarchists. If they could blow up or disable our facility, they would. We’ve had two incidents in the past ten years where individuals were caught with wire-cutters and explosive materials outside the fence.’

Florian led Chris into his sprawling office, which had a wall of windows overlooking the Spirit River. It was a modern, elegant space that could have fit into any of the upscale downtown towers in Minneapolis. His desk was glass, with no drawers. He had high-definition videoconference equipment on one wall. His artwork was sterile and modern, mostly nonrepresentational bronze designs. The only traditional painting in the office was an oil rendering of Julia and Ashlynn. His wife’s arm was slung around Ashlynn’s shoulder in a firm, protective grip.

Florian didn’t sit behind his desk, but rather took a chair at a round glass conference table near the windows. Chris sat opposite him, where he could see the flow of the water meandering south from the dam. Florian rubbed the balding surface of his skull. He tugged at his shirt sleeves, balancing the amount of white fabric visible under his suit coat. He looked impatient for the interview to begin and end.

‘You’ve done well, Florian,’ Chris said.

‘You always had a better business mind than most lawyers.’

Florian shrugged. ‘Your own legal practice seems very successful.’

‘It is, but I don’t really create anything. I just do deals.’

‘Back in law school, you were more concerned with social justice. I’m surprised you became another hired gun paid by the hour.’

Chris recalled his debates with Florian in the editorial offices of the law review. Even then, Florian had been particularly skilled at finding pressure points and applying his thumb. He hadn’t lost his touch. ‘I had a family to support,’ Chris replied. ‘I still do a lot of pro bono work.’

‘Good for you, but I always thought pro bono work was a worthless sop to ease the conscience of rich lawyers.’

Zing.

‘If you really want to help people,’ Florian went on, ‘start a business. Create jobs. That’s my philosophy.’

‘How many people do you employ here?’ Chris asked.

‘More than two hundred and fifty. We’re one of the largest employers in the region.’

‘To be honest, Florian, I’m not entirely sure what you do at Mondamin. No one seems to know, or they won’t talk about it.’

‘It’s not a secret. We’re one of the leading research facilities in the country on applications of biotechnology and nanotechnology to the agricultural industry.’

‘What does that mean in practical terms?’

‘It means we use the most sophisticated technological tools available to feed the world.’

‘That sounds noble.’

‘Our research is a major factor in the development of corn and soybean crops with dramatically improved yield. We develop seeds that embody a genetic resistance to various insects and fungi, in order to reduce the application of toxic pesticides. We do research that minimizes water usage, reduces the spread of disease, and improves the potential of agricultural alternatives to fossil fuels.’

‘So why does Mondamin attract so much controversy?’ Chris asked.

‘Because we represent change, and change is scary,’ Florian said. He might as well have been speaking to an investor group or giving an interview to the Wall Street Journal. ‘People hear about genetically modified organisms and nanosilvers, and some of them respond with irrational fears. They think making modifications to plant DNA is something unnatural, when in fact humans have been genetically modifying crops for millennia. It’s merely that our process is new and efficient.’

‘Five children died of leukemia in a town of a few hundred people,’ Chris pointed out. ‘St. Croix is barely ten miles from here. You can understand their suspicions.’

Florian folded his hands neatly on the table. He didn’t take the bait or grow agitated. ‘I have the deepest sympathy for the parents who lost their children. I’ve lost a child myself now, so I know the pain it causes. You want to lash out. You want to punish someone. When disease strikes in a small town, people assume there must be a tangible cause. They don’t want to believe it’s just bad luck.’

‘Do you really think that’s all it was?’

‘I do. The county and state epidemiologists all told the people of St. Croix that there was no cancer cluster. When they went ahead with a lawsuit, we bent over backwards to be fair. We made no objections when the judge wanted to appoint an independent special master to conduct an analysis prior to ruling on summary judgment. It was intrusive and inconvenient, but we agreed. This wasn’t a biased expert hired by one side or another. Our counsel agreed with the selection, and so did Rollie Swenson. The expert analyzed groundwater, soil, and air samples; she reviewed blood samples from the victims; we invited her inside Mondamin to do a nearly limitless review of our records and lab findings. Her conclusion was that causation could not be proved and almost certainly did not exist. I’m truly sorry that the people of St. Croix couldn’t accept that simple reality and have instead pursued a violent vendetta against me, this company, and the town of Barron.’

Before Chris could reply, Florian’s face reddened, and he added, ‘On a personal level, I also have to tell you that I am furious that your ex-wife has made me into a monster in the eyes of the public. She fanned the flames around here. In my mind, Hannah is as guilty of Ashlynn’s murder as Olivia. If I could, I would ask Michael Altman to charge them both.’

Chris knew he was on sensitive ground. Florian and Ashlynn. Rollie and Tanya. Himself and Olivia. They were all fathers trying to protect their daughters. For Florian, it was too late. He’d failed. Underneath the hardness of the man’s exterior, the loss was eating him up.

‘I do understand,’ Chris said.

Florian looked toward the river, obviously frustrated with himself for letting his temper sneak through his shell. ‘Yes, well, there I go, doing the same thing that the people of St. Croix did. Seeking revenge for my loss.’

‘Can you tell me about Ashlynn?’ he asked.

Florian smiled for the first time. ‘She was a jewel.’

‘She was a beautiful girl,’ Chris agreed, admiring the painting.

‘Yes, she was. Athletic. Beautiful. She had a marvelous heart. I was proud of her values. She was planning to apply to some of the top colleges in the fall. East coast, west coast. She was going to take a trip with Julia to visit them this summer.’

‘I imagine it was hard for her sometimes,’ Chris said.

‘How so?’

‘Having money in a small town.’

‘Not really. Ashlynn never flaunted her wealth, and honestly, she didn’t have much money of her own. We didn’t give her a blank check. The Mustang for her sixteenth birthday, that was about the only grand gesture I ever made.’

‘How did Ashlynn feel about the feud between the towns?’

‘She hated it,’ Florian replied. ‘I’m sure she was angry that so much of the venom was directed at me, but on a religious level, she was simply distressed by the violence.’

‘Wasn’t she dating one of the boys who were behind the feud?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Kirk Watson.’

Florian’s face darkened. ‘Nonsense. Ashlynn never dated Kirk. I would never have allowed it.’

Chris felt as if he had tiptoed onto an unexploded mine. ‘Is it possible she didn’t tell you? Parents are sometimes the last to know.’

‘It never happened,’ Florian insisted.

‘Okay. I’m sorry. I got some bad information.’ Chris made a mental note to find out what was really going on between Ashlynn and Kirk.

‘Do you know who she was dating?’ Chris continued.

‘I don’t believe she was serious about anyone.’

‘What about friends?’

Florian hesitated. ‘Ashlynn could be a bit of a loner. I felt bad about that.’

Chris didn’t push Florian. It was obvious that the man didn’t really know his daughter well at all. Like a lot of busy fathers, he couldn’t say what was going on in Ashlynn’s head, or her heart, or her life. Chris felt the same way about Olivia. He wondered if Florian’s wife had greater insights into her daughter.

‘Can you think of anyone who had a grudge against Ashlynn?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not.’

‘You mentioned environmental extremists.’

‘So?’

‘I was wondering if you had received any threats from those groups against your family.’

‘No, nothing like that. I’m a target. Mondamin is a target. No one has ever come after Ashlynn or Julia.’

‘What about this person who calls himself Aquarius?’

‘What about him?’

‘His notes seem personal. They’re directed at you. I was wondering if you had any idea who he is or why he’s making threats against you.’

Florian shook his head. ‘None at all.’

‘Did Ashlynn ever talk to you or your wife about anyone who was making her uncomfortable? Anyone who was following her?’

‘No, of course not. I see where you’re going with this, Chris. You want to use this mystery man – this Aquarius – as an alternate suspect. He killed my daughter to get back at me.’

‘It’s not impossible.’

‘It’s a desperate lawyer’s trick. No one will believe it.’

‘I realize you don’t want to hear this, Florian, but I don’t believe Olivia killed Ashlynn. Not by accident. Not on purpose. She didn’t do it. I also don’t believe someone stumbled onto your daughter in that ghost town. Either they knew she was there, or they followed her.’

‘You can make up stories for a jury,’ Florian snapped, ‘but don’t do it with me.’

‘Where was Ashlynn coming from on Friday night?’

‘What?’

‘If someone followed her, they had to know where she was. She told Olivia and Tanya she’d been driving all day. The principal at her school said she’d been gone from school for three days. Where was she? What was she doing?’

Florian was silent. Chris tried to decipher in the man’s face whether he didn’t know, or whether he didn’t want to say where his daughter had spent those days. Either way, he wasn’t going to answer. Florian stood up, and his face was flushed and angry.

‘No one followed Ashlynn,’ he told Chris. ‘Not Aquarius. Not anyone. She was alone that night. Then your daughter found her and killed her. That’s the whole story. You can pretend all you want, but that’s what happened.’