“No, no. That’s fine, I just—here, come with me.”
They walked three abreast down the hallway.
“Do you know a man named Aaron Treadman? Used to work security here on campus?”
“Don’t think so.”
Vaughn pulled up the photo he’d taken from the morgue. He wasn’t in the habit of shocking civilians with pictures of the dead, but he had no other options.
“This is him.”
Dr.McGill stopped, lifted his glasses to his forehead.
“Jesus, what happened to him?”
When he inched closer, Vaughn put his phone away.
“You recognize him?”
“No.”
They exited the building, went around back.
Dr.McGill led them to a fenced-in area filled with gas tanks. Dozens of them. Different sizes. Some white. Others chromed like the one at the barn.
“We use hydrogen sulfide for biodegradation experiments and for some pharmaceutical applications. It’s very volatile. Dangerous, even. Strictly controlled.”
Vaughn observed the fence. It was chain-link, but the individual steel wires were closer together than a typical yard fence. Too small to fit a hand through, let alone a tank. The top was also covered, completely boxed in. No jumping over.
Several specialized-looking vents—much more sophisticated than the dryer ducts in the barn—exited through the top of the fencing.
No cuts or breaks that Vaughn could see.
Dr.McGill produced his wallet, swiped it against a card reader. It beeped and the lock on the gate disengaged. He opened it and held it that way.
“You first,” Darnell said.
Vaughn used his foot to keep the gate from closing while Dr.McGill and Darnell entered.
They wove through the cannisters, all attached to pillars with those tie-down straps with ratcheting mechanisms.
Vaughn read the thick black letters on the tanks: Ammonia. Chlorine. Oxygen.
Dr.McGill stopped abruptly.
“What the hell?”
He was staring at a pole. Anemptypole. Tan-colored tie-down straps lay on the ground.
“Something wrong?” Darnell asked.
Dr.McGill muttered something to himself. There was a plastic-covered clipboard hooked on the pole. He grabbed it, flipped through the pages. Flipped back and forth.
“Dr.McGill?”
He turned, his eyes impossibly wide behind his magnified lenses.
“They’re supposed to be here—the hydrogen sulfide gas is supposed to behere.”
