Fatal Reaction by Gini Hartzmark Read Free Book Online Page B

disconcerting intensity with which he went about his duties. Whenever I really tried to imagine his life outside of work, I always conjured up the same image: a squalid, stripped-down room with an army cot against one wall and a gun collection along the other.
    “You’ve been assigned to Mr. Wohl’s office,” Bill informed me as I signed the guest sheet. “Dr. Azorini’s orders. Here’s the key. Do you remember where that is or do you need me to escort you?”
    “I know the way,” I assured him quickly.
    “My condolences about Mr. Wohl. He was a good man.”
    “Yes, he was,” I agreed and quickly made my way across the lobby, glad to have my encounter with Paramilitary Bill behind me.
    Compared to the plush clubbiness of Callahan Ross the utilitarian corridors of Azor Pharmaceuticals seemed stark and alien. My high heels clicked against the polished linoleum while the entire building seemed to throb with the pulse of unseen high-tech equipment. From behind closed doors I heard laughter and from the adjacent corridor that housed the ZK-501 labs I heard country music, sad and sweet.
    I turned the key and opened the door to Danny’s office, scrabbling in the dark until I found the light switch. In the two weeks since he’d left for Japan the place had taken on a desolate air. When the company made the move to the suburbs Danny’s old secretary had balked at the additional commute and taken another job downtown. Danny, busy with Takisawa, had not yet had time to replace her. As a result, unopened mail was piled high on his desk, and incoming faxes overflowed the machine spilling out onto the floor. A chain of Post-it notes trailed forlornly from the bottom of his computer screen and everything was covered with a thin layer of dust.
    I was just taking off my coat, wondering where to begin, when I heard a knock on the door. I looked up and saw Carl Woodruff leaning against the frame with a thin smile of welcome on his face. Carl, a high-strung Englishman, was the project manager for ZK-501. Originally trained as an organic chemist, he’d had his graduate studies derailed by a bout with Hodgkin’s disease. While he’d beaten his cancer, his illness had left him with a commitment to the practical side of pharmaceutical research. Still, his years at the laboratory bench stood him in good stead with the scientists whose work it was his job to oversee and I knew from Stephen that Carl commanded a measure of respect usually not granted to an administrator.
    “I’ve been sent to officially welcome you to the asylum,” Carl announced good-naturedly. He was about five foot seven, with a slight build and thinning sandy-colored hair that straggled over his collar. He wore a wrinkled white shirt and a pair of dust-colored corduroys. His aviator glasses seemed to be the biggest thing about him.
    “I wish I could say I was happy to be here,” I said, extending my arms as if to encompass Danny’s entire office.
    “Yes, shocking news about Danny and all that,” replied Carl. “What was it? Someone told me a ruptured appendix.”
    “I don’t think it was his appendix,” I said, pushing down the images of Danny’s apartment that were crowding themselves into my brain. “They won’t know until after they do the autopsy.”
    “Stephen tells me you will be joining us full time,” continued Carl. From his tone of voice I couldn’t tell how he felt about it.
    “Only until we’re done negotiating with the Japanese.”
    “So then under the circumstances I guess it would be fair to ask you how much you know about chemistry?”
    “Enough to know that I didn’t want to take a second semester of it in college,” I replied.
    The look on his face told me that all his worst fears about lawyers had just been realized.
    “Would it at least be safe to assume that you know what a molecule is?” he inquired dryly.
    “Yes, Carl, I may be a lawyer, but I’m not a moron. I know what a molecule is.”
    “Good. Then allow me to