The Carbon Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulders. “Well, I know he likes me. He’d never ask me out though, while I was with Jake. But he said he came to warn me that the research guys at HP are after me.” I assumed she meant Houston Poly and not the real HP, the company that made my printer and other peripherals in my home office. “But it’s hard to believe anyone’s on my case. I never did anything to make Alex Simpson or the guys on his team mad at me, as far as I know.”
    “Did he give you any details about why they’re after you?”
    “Supposedly I have some privileged information that came to me through an email I shouldn’t have gotten. It could be something about the research, maybe a patent? Not that I’m working with them that much, but I’ve had a little interaction through Wayne and this student, Mary Roderick, who’s doing a term paper on buckyballs.”
    I’d blocked out the crowd around us until I heard a chorus of “Buckyballs? What are buckyballs?” I thought I also heard “Bocce balls?” and “Bucking broncos?”
    Berger’s reappearance prevented me from calling everyone to attention and giving a lecture on buckyballs, starting with the original “Bucky,” F. Buckminster Fuller, and the geodesic dome, and nanoscale technology—one of the hot items in today’s research arena.
    “We’re going to let him go,” Berger said. “No priors, no reason to keep him, since you’re not pressing charges. Right, Mary Catherine?” Berger raised his bushy, dark eyebrows in a gesture that offered one more chance for MC to request formal police action.
    MC shook her head. “He’s harmless, really.”
    For myself, I thought Wayne Gallen ought to be punished simply for upsetting my godchild. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t knock on her door if he had information—I suppressed “a warning”—to give her.
    “We should at least check out your email,” I said, swinging my
head from MC to Berger. Before you let him go , I meant, but Berger had turned and walked away by then.
    “I’m sure it’s nothing,” MC said.
    I smiled and nodded. She didn’t need to know I’d be nagging her until we had no loose ends.
    It took about ten minutes to clear the area outside the station. At one in the morning the breeze from the ocean had taken over, lowering the temperature several degrees. The chill felt more intense after the overheated police station. I suspected the heating system in the old building had only two settings, on high or off completely, with no control in between.
    The Galigani clan moved quickly to their cars, but slowly enough for hugs, kisses, and expressions of both relief and concern. Rose had talked her daughter into spending the night with her and Frank on Prospect Avenue, a few blocks from our house, and well across town from the scene of the incident.
    Matt, who showed up while we were dispersing, threw his coat over my shoulders as we walked toward his Camry.
    My mind was anything but settled. I had the feeling I hadn’t heard the last of Wayne Gallen. Or a few other Texans.
     
    Once strapped into the front seat, I mulled over the appropriate time to ask Matt for an account of his whereabouts during our ad hoc interview with MC. But a bigger question came up. Instead of heading home, Matt turned left on Broadway and drove toward Chelsea.
    “I think Landano’s is closed,” I said.
    Matt smiled. “But they’re probably in there baking the cannoli shells right now. I can flash my badge, and …”
    I laughed. “You win. Matt, where are we going?”
    “Gallen will be released in about fifteen minutes. We’re going to beat him home.”
    “We’re going to Houston?”
    “Ha.” Matt hit the steering wheel to indicate good one .
    “You pulled his address,” I said, then reviewed my own language.
When had I switched from “discovered” or “located” to police jargon like “pulled” an address?
    Matt made no reference to my migration to his language. “He’s registered at the Beach Lodge,” he