The Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith Page B

slid in.
    “I'll take him,” Wiley volunteered. “That was my next stop anyway.”
    Sterling knew that Wilson spent most of his time in his lab. He was confident that it would be the right place to start searching for the real evidence. The Mustang's rear wheels spun and kicked up a cloud of dust as he left the parking lot. He was convinced that someone in this small town must've seen or heard something, and as they often said in the Bureau, it would only be a matter of time before the clues started talking.

8
    A Dartmouth Security officer dutifully guarded Wilson Bledsoe's locked laboratory. He stood with his thin arms folded across his chest, his chin slightly tucked back as if he were trying to suppress a cough. The solemn click of heels on newly waxed tile caught his attention.
    “G'morning, Lieutenant Wiley,” the officer said. He straightened his back as if he had spent some time in the military. Sterling was waiting for him to salute, but he didn't.
    “Morning, Carlton,” Wiley snapped. “This here is Agent Sterling Bledsoe. FBI. He's in from New York City.” Wiley took his time pronouncing the last bit. It wasn't every day that they met someone from the big city, especially law enforcement.
    “Couldn't've picked a better day to visit us here in the mountains,” Carlton said, flashing a smile full of perfect teeth. “They say it's gonna climb into the seventies.”
    Lieutenant Wiley rocked back on his heels impatiently. “Carlton Gilly, Agent Bledsoe is Professor Bledsoe's brother. This is not a social call.”
    “I'm sorry, sir,” Carlton stumbled. Sterling nodded his head in acceptance.
    “Has anyone been in yet?” Wiley asked. He spoke in the deep, commanding voice of a man twice his size.
    “Only a student came by,” Carlton said. “It must've been six or seven in the morning. She told me that she worked here in the lab as a research assistant.”
    “Did you catch her name?” Sterling asked.
    Carlton looked up at the ceiling and squinted his eyes till they were slits. Sterling noticed the length of his nose. It would've been a perfect diving board for a bead of sweat. “Not really,” Carlton said. “But she was a good-looking girl, if you know what I mean. She showed me her ID, but the name just didn't stick with me. Helen or Heather—something like that.”
    Sterling scribbled in his black book. It wasn't terribly unusual for a research assistant to come in early on a Saturday morning. Experiments were often an around-the-clock proposition, and the low person on the totem pole typically was stuck with the graveyard shift, making sure everything was running smoothly. Sterling himself had spent many late nights and early mornings mixing reagents and running gels. For a graduate student, it was a rite of passage. “Did you let her in?” Sterling asked.
    “No, sir,” Carlton said, proud that he had at least gotten something right. “Chief Gaylor gave specific orders to keep the door locked.”
    “What time did you get here?” Sterling asked, still writing in his book. Every detail added to the time line.
    “A little after five this morning,” Carlton said. “The night commander sent me over as soon as I got to the station.”
    Sterling looked at Wiley for an explanation. “Since no one had heard from the Professor by the morning shift, we decided to take some extra precautions. Typically, we'd let more time go by before officially declaring a missing person, but these weren't typical circumstances, especially with that prize your brother just won. We thought it best not to take any chances, so we had the campus security send someone over here right away.”
    “Good thinking,” Sterling said. A look of contentment softened Wiley's rigid face as he snapped his head for a quick nod. “Well, let's see what's up.”
    Carlton stepped aside to let Wiley and Sterling pass. As the door closed behind them, Sterling reached out and stopped Wiley from turning on the lights. He stood there