Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Standard issues. Some chemical waste mislabeling. Nothing unusual.”
Walter focused on her. “Please provide the report along with the other requested data. You have one week, according to the warrant.”
Bertra gave him a sidelong glance. “One week? That’s generous. But I’m sure you’re very reasonable . . . when you want to be.”
Walter cleared his throat and looked straight ahead.
They returned to the main hallway, where a security guard passed with a clipboard, nodded, and moved on.
Laurel stared at her. “We’ll need your full internal calendar for the next ten days. Meetings. Deliveries. Anything marked as restricted access.”
“Of course.” Bertra gestured them into a high-end conference room outside of the labs. One secure and without windows. “I’ll include that with all of the data you wish for me to collect. This is going to take some time.”
Laurel drew out a chair as the other two did the same. “Do any of your studies create lesions on the brain?”
“Of course not,” Bertra said.
“Interesting.” Laurel pulled a folder from her satchel and tossed pictures onto the smooth marble table. “Dr. Miriam Liu. Tyler Griggs. Mark Bitterson. Melissa Palmtree. All of these people had lesions on their brains. We don’t know about Larry Scott because he was cremated.”
Bertra took a moment too long before responding. “Dr. Liu died in a car accident, and Melissa Palmtree fell down a staircase and broke her neck. I heard that Larry Scott killed himself.” She frowned, looking up. “Lesions? What lesions?”
“Melissa’s body was exhumed last week,” Laurel said. “Toxicology revealed chemical traces not explained by recreational use or prescription medication. There were similarities to taxane derivatives discovered.”
“That’s—” Bertra stopped herself. “I’d need to see that report.” The woman paled.
Was she exhibiting surprise or fear? Laurel wasn’t sure. “Tell me about Mark Bitterson and Tyler Griggs.”
Bertra shook her head. “I’ve never heard of either of those people.”
“Tyler Griggs was a conspiracy podcaster who met with Melissa Palmtree on the night of her death. My guess is that she had something of import to tell him. How about you avoid the federal death penalty and get out ahead of this?” Walter suggested nicely.
Bertra glanced at her phone. “I’ve already called in my lawyer. He should be here soon.”
“You’re not in custody and can leave anytime,” Laurel noted. “For now, how about you tell us about Elk Hollow Detective Robertson?”
Bertra blinked and a light pink filtered beneath her cheekbones. “Who?”
“Detective Joshua Robertson. He worked security here and functioned as a courier between Melissa Palmtree and Mark Bitterson, who I believe secured stolen yew tree compounds for you.” It was a guess and a bluff, but Laurel needed answers.
“A security guard isn’t something I’d be looped in on,” Bertra said. “Again—logistics. And as for your accusation, we don’t utilize stolen samples of anything. You’ll find that to be true once you go through the mountainous amount of documents you’ve requested.”
Her phone buzzed and she read the screen. She smiled, then glanced at Walter. “Excellent. Our attorney is on his way down. I hope he’s as charming as your partner here.”
Walter coughed lightly. “I—uh—don’t usually get mentioned in legal strategy.”
Bertra tilted her head. “Maybe you should. You’re much easier to look at than your average federal agent.”
What was happening with the flirting? “One more question,” Laurel said smoothly. “What’s going to happen here that got Tyler Griggs killed?”
Bertra looked up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Laurel studied her. Her tone hadn’t changed. Her posture hadn’t shifted. But her breathing and blink rate had accelerated. Barely—but enough.
“You have no plans for an event or a test that might be dangerous?”
Bertra drew back. “No.”
Movement sounded and then Henry Vexler strode inside, this time wearing a dark brown and silky-looking suit with a red power tie. “I’m attacking the warrant. This interview is over.”
Laurel lifted her head. “What a surprise.” She cocked her head. Vexler had discovered the investigation into Detective Robertson from Rachel and Sandra. How in the world had he learned about this? “How long have you represented Oakridge Solutions?”
He smiled perfectly pearly white teeth. “That’s none of your concern.”
Either the man had a source inside the FBI, or—Wait a minute. Laurel reached for her phone and texted Agent Norrs: Did you tell Abigail about the warrant for Oakridge Solutions Labs? It would behoove Abigail to have her attorney mess with Laurel’s head for the next couple of weeks.
Not sure. Might have mentioned it in passing. Why?
In passing? Right. For goodness’ sakes. That man was truly lost. Because her lawyer is here messing up my investigation.
Agent Norrs didn’t answer again.
Vexler leaned against the doorjamb. “How about we make a deal? I’ll let you continue questioning my client, so long as I get to ask questions of you as well.”
Laurel stood and smiled at Dr. Yannish. “You’re not his focus and should secure alternative representation.”