‘He’s okay, but there’s been a few changes—’ The doors part, and Travis gestures. ‘Come on, you’ll figure it out.’
About halfway down another white corridor, a new door. Travis swipes his ID, and they’re met just inside by a short, swarthy man with a dark goatee and imposing brows. He’s wearing a white lab coat over a red polo shirt and trousers. He has very nice shoes – a pair of dark brown wingtips that look custom-tooled. The leather has a rich, cognac gleam.
He slaps his hand into Travis’s with a wide smile. ‘Oye, que bueno es verte en persona en vez de hablar por teléfono.’
Travis grins as they shake. ‘No podía quedarme lejos.’ He angles to include everyone. ‘You remember Emma Lewis?’
‘Miss Lewis, welcome back,’ the man says, shaking hands with Emma in turn. Kristin has observed her avoid handshakes, but with this man she doesn’t seem to mind.
‘And this is Kristin Gutmunsson,’ Travis says. ‘She’s assisting on the case. Kristin, this is Carlos Dixon, he’s the foremost trace analyst here at the lab.’
‘Hello,’ Kristin says. She makes a little wave, feeling awkward at how Dixon’s expression changes at the mention of her surname.
But he seems more surprised than horrified. He gives her a courteous nod. ‘Miss Gutmunsson, nice to meet you.’
‘Thank you for accommodating us so early in the morning,’ she says.
Dixon snorts. ‘The lab never sleeps. Come into the office.’
He walks them through an open area that would be large, except it’s crammed full of cardboard boxes and plastic storage containers. Kristin can only see vague outlines through the cloudy plastic lids, but some of the things inside the containers seem very odd – underwear and children’s clothes claim space with doorknobs and pillowcases.
Dixon continues talking as they weave their way. ‘Gerry’s not here – he’s still en route from Pittsburgh. He was up there yesterday, taking samples, we got everything via FedEx yesterday afternoon. How’s the training going?’
‘It’s going,’ Travis says ruefully.
‘Glenn’s got the latest results.’ Dixon turns his head toward Emma. ‘Did Travis tell you about—’
‘He told me,’ Emma says.
‘Okay, cool. Miss Gutmunsson?’ Dixon has noticed her peering around, waves her forward. ‘This way.’
He leads them through a right-hand door, which opens out into a large laboratory. The lab is spacious, with a lot of strange-looking machines and equipment along one side, and at the rear. But it looks efficient, tidy – meticulous, in fact. Half of the lab tables are standard height, and the other half are lowered to accommodate a man in a wheelchair.
The man rolls over to them, navigating smoothly around thefurniture. He’s white, and Kristin estimates his age is about thirty years old. He has very fine brown hair that drifts up a little at the back, and he’s wearing a white shirt and gray trousers. His hands on the chair’s wheels are latex-gloved; once he’s arrived in front of them, he strips off the gloves and tosses them into a nearby wastebasket.
He has a puckered scar down one side of his jaw. His eyes don’t look toughened or traumatized – just wide and curious, and a little tired. He pushes up his glasses, apparently happy to see Emma and Travis. ‘Miss Lewis and Mr Bell, welcome back.’
‘Good to see you, Mr Neilsen,’ Emma says.
‘Oh – just Glenn, please.’ His eyes travel over to Kristin. ‘You brought a friend.’
Carlos Dixon makes the introductions. ‘Glenn Neilsen, this is Kristin Gutmunsson.’
Now Kristin sees a real reaction. Neilsen’s eyebrows lift almost to his hairline. ‘Okay, wow. You’re—’
‘Yes.’ But Kristin was brought up to deflect delicate social moments. ‘You have a wonderful laboratory,’ she enthuses.
Neilsen is immediately distracted. ‘Yeah, it’s a good setup – centrifuge, gas chromatograph, transilluminators …’ He grins at the three of them. ‘Wanna see something cool? Check it out.’
He lifts his chin at a small transparent box, set to one side on a nearby countertop. It’s attached to another black box, which is inlaid with a number of switches and dials.
‘Gel electrophoresis equipment for RFLP analysis. We’re hoping to do more with DNA eventually.’ Neilsen gets a dreamy look while talking about it, then snaps back as he glances over. ‘But you probably want to look through the results, right?’
Travis nods, all business. ‘Is toxicology back yet?’
‘We’re still waiting on that. But we’ve got a load of other material – here, take a look.’
Neilsen wheels over to a bench on the far side of the room. He seems comfortable moving around in the chair, especially within the familiar environs of the lab, but he does not yet have the developed torso and arm musculature common to long-term wheelchair users.
