She cleared her throat. “What about Larry Scott?”
Dr. Sandoval sat back. “Scott? That poor kid? He killed himself.”
So the doctor had heard of him. “Did you know him?”
“Not at all,” Dr. Sandoval said. “But when one of the young techs dies, we all hear about it. What a tragedy.”
Laurel couldn’t read him. “Isn’t that odd? That there have been two deaths of your employees?”
Dr. Sandoval slowly nodded. “I suppose so, but hundreds of people work here. So maybe not? I truly don’t know.”
Laurel switched tactics. “What was Dr. Liu doing driving erratically in Tempest County? This facility is in King County. That’s over sixty miles away.”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Sandoval said. “I believe she may have had a cabin somewhere, or perhaps she rented a place. Dr. Liu enjoyed taking time away from the city to work or relax. We knew each other professionally, but not personally.”
Walter leaned forward. “Have there been any other recent deaths? Of your many employees, I mean.”
Dr. Sandoval paled. He cleared his throat.
Laurel measured his breathing and blink rate. Both had increased. “Doctor?”
“Yes.” Dr. Sandoval swallowed. “A young financial analyst named Melissa Palmtree died a few days ago. She was efficient and detail oriented, and she handled our budgets and funding streams.”
“How did she die?” Walter asked slowly.
The doctor shuddered. “She died falling down stairs at a bar in Seattle. Such a damn tragedy.”
Laurel tried to click the three deaths into a pattern, but didn’t see it based on causation. “You’ve had three deaths in six weeks—in a facility that contracts with the defense department. You know, Walter? I think wedohave jurisdiction here.”
“Same here, boss,” Walter drawled.
“I understand your concerns,” Dr. Sandoval replied. “But I haven’t seen any indication of foul play. If you have specific questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.” He pushed his glasses up his nose again. “Larry heard voices sometimes. Geniuses often do. Plus, his girlfriend of five years broke up with him, and he didn’t take it well.”
“So you don’t find it odd that three people, all of them working with a governmental contractor, are dead within weeks of each other?” Laurel asked.
Dr. Sandoval glanced away briefly. “They weren’t all working on the same projects.”
“Did all three of them work on the Alzheimer’s project?” Laurel asked.
“Yes.” Sandoval’s gaze settled back on her. “They all contributed to it in different ways. Larry focused on biochemical modeling. Melissa handled the financials. And Dr. Liu was involved in the formulation process itself.”
“Well, that’s a definite coincidence,” Walter said, his voice dry.
“I don’t see how,” Dr. Sandoval replied. “We have many contracts with the government, so we’re monitored constantly. Sometimes people die. It’s tragic but not indicative of anything sinister.”
Laurel narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. Why is the government contracting with you to cure Alzheimer’s? That doesn’t make sense.”
Dr. Sandoval’s jaw tightened. “The contract is actually with Daisy Pharmaceuticals. But yes, it has governmental clearance.”
Laurel nodded. “You receive grants from the government.”
“Yes. Daisy Pharmaceuticals receives the funding, and they subcontract to us.”
Walter looked at Laurel, his gaze sharp.
Laurel didn’t rely on feelings or instinct. She focused on facts, evidence, and patterns. “Are there any other applications for Dr. Liu’s research? Anything defense based?”
“No,” Dr. Sandoval sighed. “Miriam just wanted to cure dementia. She lost her mother to the disease young and was very determined. I’m so sorry she’s dead.” His brow furrowed into what Laurel had learned was the grief muscle.
