Dinah shook her head. “We looked at the return rates for the past thirty years. There’s nothing like this in the records.”
“Terrific.” Elaine pushed herself off the wall. “Just what I need right now. And what does Cindy think is going on?”
Dinah shrugged slightly. “Somebody dumping toxic waste at night? That’s the most likely explanation, but there’s no big fish kill downstream. It could be poaching, someone stringing a net across the stream and taking everything that’s coming up. Cindy was going to take some samples yesterday, but I don’t know where she got with it.”
“So we’re going to lose the field season,” said Elaine. “Not all of it.” Dinah’s voice was hopeful. “I can complete the runs if we can find someone to help me.”
“I can help out,” I said, looking at Elaine.
“What’s the point,” she snapped. “If something’s disrupting the population and we don’t know what it is any data we collect is absolutely useless. That goes for all the olfaction work too. Dinah, pull all the runs done on Weaver Creek fish.”
I kept my voice low and non-confrontational. “One step at a time, Elaine. Let Dinah and me complete the runs and see if we can figure out what’s going on. Worry about the big picture later.”
Elaine’s breathing was audible. She looked like a bull preparing to charge. Finally she said, “Damn it,” and banged her fist against the wall. Then she looked at me. “It seems you’ve come on the perfect week. We might be needing an investigator after all.” Then she addressed Dinah. “Notify the Department of Fisheries and Oceans and the Salmon Commission. See if anyone knows what’s going on. And when you go up tomorrow bring me back samples on dry ice; brains, livers, and a couple of whole fish. We’ll check for parasites and toxins. And let Madden know. It may affect his work too.” She started to move toward the door. “And this time,” she stopped at Dinah’s chair and gave her a sharp poke in the shoulder, “keep me informed.” Then she stormed out the door.
Neither Dinah nor I dared to breathe until we heard the lab door slam shut. When I was sure Elaine had gone I turned to Dinah. “She’s under a lot of pressure right now. It’s no excuse, but we’ve got to cut her a little slack.”
“Yeah, well…” Dinah didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, thanks for the defence back there.”
She rose slowly from her chair as if she didn’t quite know what to do next. Then she looked at me. “What did she mean by investigator anyway?”
“An in-joke. Not very funny in the circumstances.” She nodded absently, then picked up her chair. “Goddamned Cindy,” she muttered, and left the office. A minute later I heard her leave the lab.
I waited a second, listening, then hit the redial button on the phone.
“Hi babe,” came Sylvia’s husky voice. “Changed your mind about lunch?”
“I need another search. And I need the printout and articles by four today. Comprehensive. The last five years.”
I could hear her typing in the background. “Shoot.” I paused. “Dr. Elaine Okada.”
The typing stopped, and there was silence on the other end of the line. I thought Sylvia might refuse, but then I heard the typing resume. Her only comment was, “She’ll kill you,” and that I already knew.
Graham wasn’t in the lab when I arrived. The ratfish were. Or at least what remained. They lay sliced open, pinned back, and hacked apart in their dissecting trays, which someone had carefully lined up on the side counter. I passed them with hardly a glance, making my way to Graham’s office.
The door was open, so I walked right in. I’d already started my greeting when it registered that the back of the head at the desk was not Graham’s. At the sound of my voice, the man swivelled around and surveyed me with interest. Then he said, “Ah,” and shut the file he’d been reading. He turned and came gracefully to his feet, extending his hand. “Dr. O’Brien I presume.” His voice was smooth and gently self-mocking. It took me a moment to respond.
“Forgive me. I was expecting Graham. You are…”
“Madden Riesler. Please, call me Madden. I’m afraid Graham is tied up elsewhere.” He turned up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Research beckons. But I told him that I’d be delighted to conduct the tour myself. Elaine speaks very highly of you.”
“Really?” I tried not to sound too surprised. Elaine must really want me off her turf.
“Absolutely. I think she hopes to see you here in a more permanent situation, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“That’s very kind.”
“My pleasure. I have the greatest respect for Elaine’s work.”
He had taken my elbow and was guiding me out of the office. In another man I would have found this offensive, but not in Madden Riesler. It had to do with his manner. Charming, understated, slightly self-effacing, and very respectful. In fact, he was beguiling, and I tried to maintain enough objectivity to analyze my reaction.
In the corridor he began telling me about his lab and his research. I tuned out, nodded and smiled at random intervals, and took a moment to examine him. He was certainly handsome: lithe and small, with a quiet confidence that was unmistakably masculine. His eyes were electric blue, and the colour was accentuated by a faded denim shirt and jeans that casually set off his trim frame. While his face was young, slightly narrow with well-defined cheekbones, a prominent nose, and clear, unlined skin, his hair and close-cropped beard were a dramatic grey blending to white. The effect was startling, and very attractive, as if the best features of several different people had been pulled together and moulded into one. When he grinned I could see tiny wrinkles frame his eyes, but other than that, I would never have guessed that he was nearing fifty.
I suddenly realized that he’d stopped speaking. “Finished the inspection?” he asked, then chuckled.
“Caught in the act.” “And did I pass?”
I thought about that for a minute. Would I give this guy hundreds of thousands of taxpayers’ dollars to spend however he saw fit? You bet. Hand me the cheque and tell me where to sign.
It was a disturbing thought.
chapter ten
I was surprised to see that Riesler’s lab was almost empty. When I went to university research technicians rated only slightly higher than laboratory rats, and most of the techs had little choice but to work through lunch. Now, with unionization, things had obviously changed.
As Riesler held the door open for me he asked, “Did you have a chance to talk with Graham at all?”
I shook my head.
“Now that is unfortunate. You must try to catch up with him later.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t say this to my other students, but Graham is by far the most brilliant and productive researcher I’ve ever had in my lab, and with no fish biology background whatsoever. Of course, he went to a great school — Johns Hopkins — but in terms of fish, and fish genetics, he knew absolutely nothing. But then,” he leaned over, as if to whisper in my ear, “sometimes that helps. You approach problems differently, see things in entirely new ways.” He straightened. “And Graham’s publishing record is excellent. I don’t know how he does it really.”
That was curious. I didn’t remember seeing Connell’s name in the list of Madden’s co-authors. Maybe he worked on another species. “Does he work on salmon?”
Riesler looked surprised. “So you’re familiar with our work?”
“I’m interested in the Network. That’s why I’m here.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
He