Page 37 of Requiem & Reverie
“Thank you for your time, Mister Jeffries,” I say, backing away from him.
“Of course. Thank you for your donation. It’s how we continue to do our work.”
Eyes still on him, I follow the woman back out of the lab, as he hunches over his work once more. A quick glance at me, and he adjusts the lamp in front of him, diverting his attention back to the mouse.
We reach a conference room at the back of the department, where the crown of a man’s head peeks over a recliner. Curls of smoke drift toward the ceiling, and my tour guide coughs, waving her hand through the air.
The man twists around and quickly smashes the end of his cigar into the ashtray set out on a nearby table.
“My apologies! Goodness, no one comes back here!” He jumps to his feet, and when he faces us, I estimate his age to be somewhere in the neighborhood of my own. Not a single feature recognizable.
“I’d like to introduce you to Mister Voss. He’s a potential donor.”
“Ah. For Christ’s sake. I’m sorry. Simon would kill me, if he knew I was smoking back here. You won’t say anything, eh?”
“Of course not.”
Striding toward us, he reaches out his hand, and the moment I reciprocate, he covers our clasped hands with his free palm.
“Mister Voss, I can’t express enough how much we appreciate donors. Many don’t understand the importance of what we’re doing here.” He releases my hand and stands akimbo, bringing his high-waisted khakis and mismatched socks to my attention.
“I hear you’re a doctorate level. An amazing accomplishment for one so young.”
“Young. Right. I suppose in the greater scheme of things, thirty-eight isn’t all that old, but some days …” Guy could pass for forty, so I’m not totally dismissing him.
“I’m sorry, your name’s Richard? Why did I think it was Carl?” He never made the mistake, but I’m curious to see how he reacts to the name—a method I use when interrogating criminals.
He shrugs. “No Carl in this department, that I’m aware.”
“No? Mid-forties, little shorter than me, quiet, perhaps a little strange?”
Richard scratches his head and crosses his arms, shrugging. “Not seen anyone who fits that description. Well, except Simon. The quiet and strange part, anyway.” An obnoxious laugh bounces off the walls, and he rubs his chin. “Definitely not six foot, though.”
And clearly young.
“Thank you for your time, Richard.”
“Hey, anytime. Come back, and I’ll give a delightful little lecture on the Passenger Pigeon, which, incidentally, went extinct in nineteen-fourteen.”
“Sounds riveting.”
He offers another handshake and a smile, before turning his eyes toward the woman beside us. “I’ll see you a bit later,” he says, giving her a wink.
Cheeks fully blushed, she turns away and leads me back through the lab, where I catch another glimpse of Simon on the way out. he doesn’t even acknowledge us, as we pass.
Another dead end.
Fuck.
I exit the Conservatory to my vehicle, feeling like a goddamn mouse who missed the fucking cheese.
Once inside my car, I toss my phone to the side and drive back to the employee lot on the west side of the building.
After a few minutes of staring off at absolutely no activity, I do what I always do when I’m idle.
Think of Nola Tensley.
It’s possible that Carl is leading me on a wild goose chase, as a distraction, stringing me along to keep me from Nola. Occupying my time with fruitless bullshit, so that he can swoop in and snatch her up, when I’m not looking. I’ll be damned if I let that happen.
