damn sure wasn’t going back to see Shelton. The discovery of her father’s warning against trusting anyone was too fresh.
“I think it’s just my schedule,” Erin went on. “I’ve been pulling night shift twice a week to accommodate Penny’s maternity leave. It’ll straighten out in another week or two.”
Winchette smiled, warming to his fatherly role. “When Penny gets back, why don’t you take a few days yourself? Have you been up to the lake house at all?”
“Not for a while.” She struggled to keep her voice smooth. The lake house was a tender subject, but not for the reasons Dr. Winchette assumed. In fact, it was her last trip to the lake that had proved the best therapy: that of turning her grief into rage.
After delaying the trip for months, she’d finally gone to scatter her father’s ashes, to honor his last wishes. And give herself closure. She’d purposely gone alone, not wanting to share the symbolic last moment she’d have with her father.
She hadn’t expected to find his letter, hidden where he knew she’d find it. She also hadn’t expected to discover, there in the heartbreakingly beautiful Shenandoah Mountains, that her father had actually expected he would be silenced over his accusations of plagiarized research. Accusations that had subsequently gotten twisted and deflected back at her father. It was just so wrong!
Don’t ask questions. Don’t press for answers. Just get the data I’ve collected on the Lethe Project to Professor Ralph Inger. He’ll know what to do, whom to contact.
Her father’s work had been highly classified, so contacting anyone had worried her. But then she’d learned Professor Inger was dead, too. An automobile accident. And Inger wasn’t the only one having fatal accidents. Two other scientists mentioned in her father’s notes had also died recently. Moreover, the files on this so-called Lethe Project weren’t where her father had indicated.
She was careful to put her father’s letter in a safe-deposit box while she searched for substantiation. To go public with so little meant running the risk of further tarnishing her father’s reputation.
Truth be told, she was running out of places to look for his life’s work. Which meant she either needed to abandon her search or enlist someone’s help. But who could she trust?
Don’t think about it now.
“Perhaps when I return we can—” Winchette cut himself off once again as his phone rang. “Blast.”
Erin took advantage of the interruption and stood. “Before we leave, I need to run by my office. Can I meet you in the lobby?”
“Five minutes,” he said. “I’m cutting it close already.”
Erin barely had time to get back to her office after being stopped twice by coworkers in the hallways. When she reached the lobby, it was deserted, but she spotted the shiny black Town Car idling out front beneath the portico. The driver opened the back door, where Winchette was already seated.
As soon as she was settled, they took off. To her relief, Winchette was all business.
Handing her a clipboard, he started talking before she retrieved a pen. “This is my patient roster. The first one is Kenneth Parson. He’s one of five veterans participating in a study for a new antianxiety med. His PTSD includes hallucinations. The others in the study—we’ll get to them in a moment—exhibit similar symptoms. All have shown marked improvement at the lowest dosages with the exception of Mr. Parson. I conferred with the manufacturer and received approval to increase his dosage.”
Erin scribbled as Winchette moved down the list. It wasn’t unusual for his entire roster to include drug study patients. As a matter of fact, over the past few months he’d grown increasingly vocal about his desire to focus exclusively on such studies. Almost like he was obsessed with these patients.
In fact, Colby Deets had let it slip that the Springfield facility would be nothing but research and development, a
“I think it’s just my schedule,” Erin went on. “I’ve been pulling night shift twice a week to accommodate Penny’s maternity leave. It’ll straighten out in another week or two.”
Winchette smiled, warming to his fatherly role. “When Penny gets back, why don’t you take a few days yourself? Have you been up to the lake house at all?”
“Not for a while.” She struggled to keep her voice smooth. The lake house was a tender subject, but not for the reasons Dr. Winchette assumed. In fact, it was her last trip to the lake that had proved the best therapy: that of turning her grief into rage.
After delaying the trip for months, she’d finally gone to scatter her father’s ashes, to honor his last wishes. And give herself closure. She’d purposely gone alone, not wanting to share the symbolic last moment she’d have with her father.
She hadn’t expected to find his letter, hidden where he knew she’d find it. She also hadn’t expected to discover, there in the heartbreakingly beautiful Shenandoah Mountains, that her father had actually expected he would be silenced over his accusations of plagiarized research. Accusations that had subsequently gotten twisted and deflected back at her father. It was just so wrong!
Don’t ask questions. Don’t press for answers. Just get the data I’ve collected on the Lethe Project to Professor Ralph Inger. He’ll know what to do, whom to contact.
Her father’s work had been highly classified, so contacting anyone had worried her. But then she’d learned Professor Inger was dead, too. An automobile accident. And Inger wasn’t the only one having fatal accidents. Two other scientists mentioned in her father’s notes had also died recently. Moreover, the files on this so-called Lethe Project weren’t where her father had indicated.
She was careful to put her father’s letter in a safe-deposit box while she searched for substantiation. To go public with so little meant running the risk of further tarnishing her father’s reputation.
Truth be told, she was running out of places to look for his life’s work. Which meant she either needed to abandon her search or enlist someone’s help. But who could she trust?
Don’t think about it now.
“Perhaps when I return we can—” Winchette cut himself off once again as his phone rang. “Blast.”
Erin took advantage of the interruption and stood. “Before we leave, I need to run by my office. Can I meet you in the lobby?”
“Five minutes,” he said. “I’m cutting it close already.”
Erin barely had time to get back to her office after being stopped twice by coworkers in the hallways. When she reached the lobby, it was deserted, but she spotted the shiny black Town Car idling out front beneath the portico. The driver opened the back door, where Winchette was already seated.
As soon as she was settled, they took off. To her relief, Winchette was all business.
Handing her a clipboard, he started talking before she retrieved a pen. “This is my patient roster. The first one is Kenneth Parson. He’s one of five veterans participating in a study for a new antianxiety med. His PTSD includes hallucinations. The others in the study—we’ll get to them in a moment—exhibit similar symptoms. All have shown marked improvement at the lowest dosages with the exception of Mr. Parson. I conferred with the manufacturer and received approval to increase his dosage.”
Erin scribbled as Winchette moved down the list. It wasn’t unusual for his entire roster to include drug study patients. As a matter of fact, over the past few months he’d grown increasingly vocal about his desire to focus exclusively on such studies. Almost like he was obsessed with these patients.
In fact, Colby Deets had let it slip that the Springfield facility would be nothing but research and development, a
Similar Books
