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Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Light, food, predators.
Stephanie woke up and Diane followed a minute later. The called for their mother, instead, their grandmother showed up. They loved grandmamma, but they were much less enthusiastic to see her now rather than their own mother. It was almost dawn, and everyone was really tired. The girls asked where their mommy was, and before Barbara’s mother could answer, they were fast asleep again.
Mrs. Mitchell, though, was very far from being able to fall asleep. Her mind and heart were with her daughter and her strange son in law. She had no idea what was going on, and that was not her style. She was used to knowing everything. She was used to knowing things that her husband, for example, would roll in his grave had he known she was aware of. She was a quiet powerhouse kind of lady. She was always involved in the lives of her two daughters, but not in the pervasive way other mothers were. She was listening and observing. She was analyzing and advising. But she never intruded. She was involved to the degree she was asked to be involved. Over the years, as it turned out, she was quite involved in her daughters’ lives. After her husband passed away, she made herself even more available to her daughters, and in a strange way, she was more involved in her son in laws’ lives as well.
She knew that her daughter wasn’t very happy lately. She knew it had something to do with the long hours Michael was working down at the lab. She looked down at the girls, who were sleeping peacefully, and thought about her daughter and her husband.
Beatrice Mitchell was not very fond of her son in law. When Barbara and Michael first met, she was happy that her daughter finally stepped out of her shell and pursued a relationship with a man. Indeed, he wasn’t to her liking. He came from a middle class family. That in itself was enough to dismiss the guy. But there was more. He seemed to have been somewhat uncomfortable in the company of other people. She couldn’t really point it out, but Michael was avoiding eye contact, and always resorted to a weak handshake rather than the two cheek kiss practiced by her family.
Beatrice Mitchell had a strange feeling that Mr. Moore was after her daughter’s inheritance. When her husband died, he left behind a small fortune. A trust fund was set for Barbara and Nancy, and a very nice amount was left for her. Her husband, may he rest in peace, was a life loving person. All his life he gave lots of money to charity, helped friends in trouble, and invested very conservatively. He worked hard and partied hard as well. He owned a yacht, in fact, he bought it just before he died, and he made sure that both he and Beatrice would be certified skippers. He loved taking the boat out on sunny Sundays; throw an anchor just a couple of miles of shore and fish for hours. He insisted that fun would always be part of their lives.
It was easy to accept. Fun loving attitude along with the funds to support it were a very good combination indeed. Beatrice Mitchell was afraid that her daughter would get hurt by fortune chasers. She always encouraged her daughter to be selective, and to choose carefully who she was dating. Unfortunately enough, Barbara was so choosy that she dismissed all attempts to seek her company. Her sister Nancy was the other extreme, she loved men, and she loved their awkward attempt to hide their real intentions, whether it was scoring a one night stand or a fortune.
To her complete surprise, Barbara really opened up to this guy Michael Moore. Out of fashion and awkward, Michael Moore was not chased by many women. In fact he was chased by none. But as it turned out, Barbara opened up to this strange guy, and for the first time, it was obvious, she was head over hills in love with a guy. She had relationships before, but they didn’t mean a whole lot, and they ended shortly after they have started. This guy Michael though, was sticking around.
After some time, Barbara learned to accept him. After all, he was brilliant. Her good friends at Harvard, the recipients of many donations, told her that he had a great future ahead of him. And since she had seen no disrespectful behavior towards her daughter, quite the contrary, she reluctantly approved.
When they had married, Beatrice still thought that it wouldn’t last. She even said that to Barbara. It was a big mistake, as Barbara was giving her the silent treatment for weeks. But after Stephanie, her older granddaughter was born; she knew that this relationship was meant to last. Life with Michael around was calm and relaxed. He didn’t care about playing golf with business associates, nor did he lose his head over a miserable investment. He didn’t have many friends, and drinking was certainly not a problem. Beatrice started to think that Michael was not such a bad choice for a husband after all.
And then he started working late. After months of being absent, the smile was erased from her daughter’s face, and even the girls weren’t as cheerful anymore. When Beatrice brought up the topic with Barbara, she was met with an iron wall. She refused to say anything. All she was volunteering was that this is a tough period, that her husband was involved in some really groundbreaking scientific experiment, that he was busy beyond belief, and that this period like all others will end. Beatrice, with no other option, accepted.
Barbara, unlike her older sister Nancy, was not very outgoing. She was always a good student. She was always keeping out of trouble. She had a couple of close friends, whom she kept many years after graduation. One of them, Rebecca, lived in Boston. Mrs. Mitchell made up her mind, that if she heard nothing from Barbara when the morning comes, she would call Rebecca and see if she knew anything about this strange sequence of things. She took another look at the sleeping girls. They were peaceful. Stephanie was sucking on her thumb. They were so cute, she thought, and her only grandchildren. She knew that she would stop at nothing to protect them. When the morning comes, she knew, she would have to run some errands. The family vault would be the first stop. The family lawyer would be the next. Rebecca Forrester would be last. She knew, though, that if her feelings were correct, many other errands would have to be run. She had a couple of hours before getting the girls dressed and taking them to school. She wasn’t worried about clothes and other necessities. The girls spent many nights over. They had their clothes, dolls and toys at her place. They were no strangers. In the meantime, she thought, it wouldn’t hurt to sleep a little. She closed her eyes, recited her mantra, and thirty seconds later she was sound asleep.
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Death.
Detective Bradley Jones was surveying the crime scene at the luxurious apartment building downtown Boston. During his tenure with the Boston Police Department, he’s seen quite a few murders already. He had a much better than average record of solving murder cases, even really tough ones. He already knew that this new case will not be simple.
The deceased was a scientist and a businessman. He didn’t have a criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. He lived well, dressed well, and had a reputation for dating pretty, young, and mostly rich women. The neighbors heard nothing, the doorman saw nothing. There were no signs of struggle, no evidence of foul play, except of course the dead man.
One shot between the eyes usually carried some significance. Arthur Lewis was not connected to the Mob, not as far as the police records showed anyway. This shooting was not a warning, it had no message, and it was terminal. The man had no known enemies, he wasn’t married, and if he had family, it was very far away. No doubt, Detective Jones though, this case will be interesting.
He spoke briefly to the crime scene investigation technician that was collecting evidence, and gave him a few instructions. “Look for a safe deposit box, bring every piece of paper with you to HQ, all computers, hard drives, CDs, DVDs”. The guy asked if he should bring music CDs and movie DVDs as well. “Yes, moron”, he spat, “bring anything you even think can serve as a data storage device to any kind of data”. He added some instructions about looking into the closets, possible fresh fingerprints on dishes, signs of forced entry, and finally, cellular phones and car keys.
This was no crime of passion, thought Detective Jones. The guy met his assassin next to the elevator. He must have known the murderer, as there were no signs of struggle. Mr. Lewis must have been on his way to some social function given his attire. Art was in some kind of a rush and had to leave in a sudden, given that there was a half drunken cup of coffee on the kitchen counter.
Assassinations of businessmen and scientists were not very common. Murders of businessmen, who happened to have been scientists as well, were almost unheard of. Detective Jones, who has been with the police force for many years, did recall a similar incident, a couple of decades ago. There was a lot of money involved then, and a couple of women. It was an easy case, and he solved it in no time. This one was different. Unless some women and a bunch of money would present itself during the investigation, this one may prove as a new class of crimes in Boston Greater Area. Detective Jones, of course, was the right man for the job. He was experienced but not too old. He was highly motivated, but not vindictive. His cases were usually clear cut, evidence was presented, juries were convinced, and they were convicting. His conviction rate was way over ninety percent, and the isolated cases were acquittals were dealt, were ones were the DA screwed up somehow. Hung jury was not on his list.
His new assistant, a brand new graduate of the police academy, and the daughter of someone or other, was interviewing a neighbor. By the puzzled look on her face, Detective Jones concluded that she was on to something. He opened his sports jacket, removed his hat, and walked over to the other side of the room. He introduced himself, nodded his head to the neighbor, and listened while the guy was voicing the usual displeasure over the crime committed right under his nose. Not atypical, he also said something about where the world was heading these days, the behavior of youngsters, and the uselessness of the police force. Detective Jones kept his poker face, until the speech was over, and then started questioning the neighbor on his own.
“Did you know the deceased?” he asked. The person had said that he met Arthur Lewis in the elevator a few time. “Nice guy”, “very polite”, “European”. Detective Jones despised people, who thought European was a synonym to good manners, charm, and good taste in food, wine and women. Personally, in his line of work, he had met quite a few people of European decent, who were far from polite, and their taste in wine, women, and anything else for that matter was ridiculous.
“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary recently?” the detective inquired. “No” said the man, “there was nothing unusual”. “Is there anything at all you think we should know?” he asked. The answer was negative. Detective Jones was ready to start reciting the thanks and the good byes, when the person said that he did see something unusual that involved Arthur Lewis. In fact, he added, at the time it looked very peculiar. “A delivery guy from some restaurant showed up one night and knocked on the door. He was wearing the uniform of some fancy downtown restaurant”. Detective Jones was getting ready to move on, but then he heard the man say “you would expect a food delivery guy to be carrying food, wouldn’t you?” “Well”, he said, “this delivery guy was empty-handed”. Detective Jones was now fully engaged.
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Fear. Danger.
Michael was getting cold. Boston in the fall is not exactly tropical. He felt regret for leaving his raincoat behind in the lab. He was trying to think what could possibly be the connection between a scientific experiment, its conclusion, a phone call, and a death of a friend and colleague.
Art and he agreed that until the experiment’s result are conclusive; there will be no word to the press, or to anyone else for that matter. He knew for sure that he kept his part. He hasn’t told anyone. In fact, he never even told Barbara. Perhaps he should have, he was thinking. But did Arthur keep his side of the agreement? Was it possible that Art opened his mouth and got himself killed? But why? Why would anyone kill over the results of an experiment? Yes, what he found was groundbreaking, it was outstanding. But still, the role of junk DNA isn’t exactly cure for cancer? Is it?
Michael started to play the sequence of events in his mind. He was hoping that he would find no connection between his dead friend and his experiment. He was hoping that his friend was killed in an act of random violence, a robbery, or more likely, that Art was in some financial trouble over his gambling habits, or a really upset lady friend. He knew that Art was no saint, but it was much easier for him to believe that the death of his friend was unrelated to their relationship or their work.
He was trying to think about the experiment. Years ago, in one of his failed experiments, Michael found out that aging DNA was still synthesizing correct protein molecules. But the very same experiment showed also, that new DNA showed changes in the junk areas. In fact it was obvious, that the old patterns which looked random were suddenly more ordered. At the time, Michael dismissed it as random changes. Since those changes were inconsequential to the formation of cellular structures, he didn’t see this discovery as important. It always bothered him though. What if the changes were not random? What if the changes were reflecting changes in the organism? What if changes in the DNA were caused by an illness? Was it mutation? Scientists always believed that DNA remained constant during the course of life of all organisms. Is it possible that this assumption was incorrect? Were these changes moved on to the next generations? This thought alone was mind blowing, but at the same time, some was relatively simple to prove or disprove. Michael actually proved it, and more, in his first experiment.
In the old failed experiment, Michael discovered changes in junk DNA over time. He assumed that mutation was responsible for the changes. Sun rays, ultraviolet radiation in the lab, chemicals, maybe even cellular phones. He didn’t that even with all factors reduced to nothing, change still took place. In fact, he proved that even weeks apart, junk DNA still changed. Not by much, but still, there was a traceable change from one sample to the other. Weeks apart, significant DNA change.
Later on, Michael repeated the experiment with other organisms. He tried the same with microbes, monkeys, guinea pigs. The results were all the same. Junk DNA showed traceable changes in all organisms overtime. No exceptions. He even did something mildly unethical and tested his own DNA, only to show the exact same results. There was no doubt, junk DNA was changing overtime with no apparent reason.
Michael knew at that point that there was something out there. He also knew that for as long as he was living and breathing, he will be looking for the answers. He also told Arthur. He told Arthur for two reasons. Arthur was the pragmatist between the two of them; he would know what possible applications this discovery could have. In addition, Art had friends. Art had access to funds. He had access to lots of funds. Art could actually mean the difference between resources to run experiments, instruments, lab animals, assistants, and nothing at all. Art could spell success much better than he could.
In retrospect, Michael should have known that something was up when Art turned atypically silent for quite a few minutes. In fact, he didn’t speak at all for some time. He ripped a couple of pages from a lab paper block and started scribbling. When he was done he said one sentence only. He said: “Mike, I will get you all you need to run the experiments, and you will tell nobody about this, not even Barbara”. Michael complied. Well, until today.
It was raining slightly, and it was getting colder. Michael Moore was shivering ever so slightly. He was thinking about Barbara. The sound of a siren was heard in the distance. An old man was taking his old dog for a walk. Most people were sleeping. The sound of a slowing car was heard. Michael tensed in anticipation, but it wasn’t Barbara. He was getting nervous, cold, and as he was just realizing, hungry. Across the park he could see a large car driving slowly. It was an SUV. He was almost ready to dismiss it as some drunk, and then he looked again. Smart girl, he thought, when he realized that Barbara was smart enough to take her mother’s car rather than her own. Just in case, he thought, we need to disappear for a while, whoever knew them would look for either his Toyota or her Chevrolet. Nobody would look for a black Mercedes SUV, brand new with all the additional features most only dream about.
He came out of the dark, walked over to the park corner. Barbara saw him right away, slowed down, and waved. He opened the door and jumped in the car. “Drive” he said. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Anywhere”, he answered, “quickly”.
Previous chapters
Preface
Chapter 1
Light
Arthur Lewis was five years older than his friend Michael. He was not as smart, not as skilled, not as creative. But he had many other things going for him. He was good looking, or so said the many women who were hoping to get him settled. Arthur, Art as his friends and acquaintances called him, was a scientist. The kind of scientists who would twist the results of an experiment, omit some, even make up some to prove his point. So far, he was not unsuccessful in doing so. With the kind help of his friend Michael Moore, he made a reasonable reputation for himself. Michael didn’t mind the relationship at all. He knew that there was a price to pay for his inability and unwillingness to be in the spotlight. He left all the legwork and all the begging to his charming friend who somehow knew exactly when to show up and ask for a grant, how to make companies interested in what they were doing.
Arthur had some dark sides as well. While Michael was his best friend and colleague, his loyalty to him and in fact to anybody at all, was questionable at best. In the past, on more than one occasion, Arthur submitted Michael’s papers as his own, edited the results of failed experiments. But there was a lot more. Arthur was an opportunist.
Arthur Lewis was born in Newark. His parents, a housewife and a navy NCO, had four more children. Arthur was the one in the middle. Even as a young boy, he had to fend for himself. He had to wrestle with his older brothers, earn his place in the large family, and endure the occasional spanking from his strict father. Arthur was not a spoiled child. The family moved every few years to navy bases around the United States, Asia and Europe. Arthur learned to communicate with different people, in various languages. He knew just about enough about a large variety of topics, and just enough to get by in a few languages. He was an average student, an average friend, an average son to his parents. He was a classic jack of all trades, and master of none.
For Art to be hooking up with Michael was far from natural. The two were so different in almost every aspect of life. They grew up in different places, different backgrounds. They aspired to different things. Art was out for glory and riches. Michael was only looking to satisfy his own curiosity. It was a match made in heaven.
Arthur Lewis hung up the phone, and went straight to the large walk-in closet. He carefully picked a conservative grey suit, a white shirt with his initials on the pocket, and a blue tie. For a second he was considering a Fedora hat, he thought it would be appropriate for his new stature, but dismissed it. He was dressed in no time, sprayed a little Cool Water, took the wallet and the car keys, locked the apartment and headed for the elevator. The hallway was well lit, lit enough to see how pretty the woman waiting by the elevator was. Art Lewis was rushing, but he wasn’t rushing enough to not even consider making a pass at this lovely woman. Who knows? Perhaps she was living across the hall. How convenient. He put on one of his best smiles, the one with the slight twist on the right side. She turned slowly towards him, smiled politely and reached for her purse. From then on, everything went very quickly. The elevator arrived, the doors opened. The woman went in, turned around and put a single bullet between Arthur J. Lewis’ eyes. Arthur collapsed next to the elevator. The doors closed. It was over. Art’s last thought was “what the hell?”
Michael Moore was starting to worry. He didn’t know why, but he felt a growing sense of trouble. He looked at the clock and realized that over an hour passed since he called his friend and colleague. Art lived practically around the corner. His phone call didn’t leave much room for interpretations. He was playing the conversation back in his mind, and realized that he couldn’t have been clearer. They both knew what was at hand, they both knew what the results meant, they were both waiting, expecting, weighing the possible consequences. It was clear. Michael’s discovery spelled money, lots of it, and glory to last more than one lifetime. What was keeping him?
He decided to look into it. He took a minute to burn a DVD with the experiment process and results, locked the computer, turned off the lights and left the lab. He didn’t even bother to pick up his raincoat, knowing that he would be back in a few minutes. As he was locking the door, he had a disturbing thought. He never called Barbara. He took out his cellular phone, speed dialed his home, and when Barbara picked up, he didn’t even wait for her hoarse voice to ask who it was. He said right away, “Barbara, I love you, I always loved you, everything will be better now. I promise”. She gave a sigh and said: “Well, Michael Moore, you have a lot of explaining to do, but I love you too. Please come home soon. The three of us are waiting for you”.
Michael wiped his eye of the tears, and took the elevator to the surface. It was dark outside, the street was completely deserted. There was no taxi to hail, and his car was a few blocks away in a parking lot that was closed between midnight and 6:00 AM. He decided to walk. Ten minutes later he was on Art’s block. An ambulance with red flashing lights was parked outside, and a couple of police cruisers as well. It was the Crime Scene Investigations truck that caught his attention. It appeared that a crime was being investigated. He was curious, but continued on to the building. The lobby was swarming with detectives in uniform and in plain clothes. As he was walking in, the elevator doors opened, and a gurney with a body strapped onto it was rolled out by two plain clothed Coroner’s Office employees. As they were moving the gurney to the truck waiting outside, a serious looking middle aged man went over and asked to see the deceased. The men stopped, the body bag opened, and to his complete surprise, the very familiar face of Arthur Lewis, white faced and blue lipped. He was dead. His eyes were still half opened, and his constant smile was still there. Two thoughts came to Michael’s mind. The first was that his friend, his only friend, was dead. The second was that a woman must have been involved in his friend’s death, as the smile on his face was reserved to pretty women only.
And then the third thought came to his mind. It was a most disturbing thought. Arthur’s death came minutes after a phone call placed by him. Was it possible that the death and the call were related?
Michael Moore was not very well acquainted with the law. He never had any business with the police. In fact, he never even received a parking ticket. But he clearly understood that if the call and the death were indeed related, and if he wanted to understand the connection, he needed to stir clear of the police. He turned around, and left the lobby. He knew that he will be back here some time. He had no idea how soon.
With no car, there was only one person to call. He took out the phone and called the number of his wife. “Barbara”, he said, “I’m in trouble. Please come and pick me up from the park next to the lab”. Just before hanging up he added, “And Barbara, please do not call anyone. It’s a matter of life and death”. The was silence on the other end of the line, but then the soft reassuring voice of a long lost friend said, “On my way”.
Barbara wasn’t always a frustrated wife. There were other times. Right after they met, Barbara showed Michael a completely different world. With her father’s almost unlimited money, and her carefree spirit, she made him, almost forced him to open up, to experiment, to feel. They started attending to jazz clubs, restaurants; they even went to an arcade and to several amusement parks. At first, Michael was very apprehensive, but after a while he learned to like it. He found the thrill in roller coasters, the interesting taste and strange textures of sushi and sashimi. He developed a taste for music. But most of all, Michael was thankful for Barbara’s presence in his life. It was as if he was born when she showed up. He simply couldn’t have enough of her. Not too long after they first met they moved in together. Michael gave up his single dorm room, and Barbara rented a larger apartment in Brooklyn. They bought a car, and two pairs of bicycles. Some commented about Michael becoming bourgeois, but it was mostly done in good spirits and intentions.
Arthur was an exception. He did not like the new presence in his friend’s life. He felt as if he was pushed aside. In fact, it was worse. He felt like his investment is going down the drain. After all, he thought, what would Michael be worth without him?
Barbara picked up the phone and called her mother. Quickly she said that something came up, and that she needs someone to watch the sleeping girls while she was out. Her mother, a forty year veteran as the wife of a businessman, learned not to ask questions. She said she was on her way, and indeed, fifteen minutes later there was a soft knock on the door. The two women exchanged quick kisses on each other’s cheeks, there was a short exchange of words: “be careful”, and “the girls are fast asleep”, and Barbara was out the door.
Fear. Danger.
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