The Love Potion Murders in the Museum of Man by Alfred Alcorn Page A

Lab building itself, one making rounds, “who can’t be in all places at all times,” and one watching an array of monitors.
    “You mean to say there was no video monitor set up in the lab where this tragedy occurred?” Dearth asked me in his best withering courtroom manner.
    “There was a monitor,” I replied, “until several of the researchers, led by Professor Ossmann, took the matter to the American Civil Liberties Union and forced us to remove it on the grounds it was an invasion of privacy.”
    Mr. Dearth subsided.
    Izzy waxed philosophical at that point. He noted that we are increasingly taking over our own evolutionary destiny; that,
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his latest publication, evolution itself is evolving. Once Crick and Watson let the genie out of the bottle, well, there was no putting it back in.
    I agreed. I pointed out that before long we will be raising pigs with genetically altered hearts that can be transplanted into human beings.
    Ms. Berthe declared that for most corporate types the genetic modifications wouldn’t be necessary.
    Thad Pilty weighed in at that moment, saying that “transgenic swine are already old hat.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he added, “Before long, theoretically, anyway, you’ll be able to grow yourself a second sex organ.”
    Not everyone laughed.
    Izzy chortled. “I think it’s quite enough to manage one.”
    “Tell me about it,” said Ms. Doveen, trying not to giggle.
    Ms. Brattle brought us back to the frowning level by recalling the attempts of Dr. S.X. Gottling to produce a new “perfect” human genotype at the lab using chimps as experimental models.
    Professor McNull scowled his approval of her disapproval.
    The question, Professor Athol stated somewhat pretentiously, “is not what is to become of us, but what are we to become?”
    “I see lots of room for improvement,” Izzy said.
    Ms. Doveen inquired very sensibly if it might be possible for someone to be concocting a potent aphrodisiac in the lab without the knowledge of management.
    I told her such a thing was possible but not very probable given the protocols in place for developing and testing such a drug before it would be allowed on the market.
    “But you don’t know for certain?” Professor Athol spoke in an accusatory tone.
    “That’s true,” I said, “any more than you would know for certain whether one of your deans was downloading pornography into the hard drive of his office computer.”
    Ariel Dearth revived from an uncharacteristic somnambulence. “But if such a drug were under development in the lab, it would be in your interest to cover it up, wouldn’t it?”
    “I resent your insinuation,” I replied. “And what possible motive could we have for covering up that or any other research?”
    Mr. Dearth smiled. “What I mean, Mr. de Ratour, is that should you be experimenting with anything like a powerful aphrodisiac, then the museum could be liable for wrongful deaths.”
    Izzy gave a snorting “ha!” Then he said, “And what rich postmortem pickings there would be for you, Ariel, and the members of your … profession.”
    It was Father O’Gould who stepped in to point out that we were meeting to offer advice to the Genetics Lab, if it were needed, and not to indulge in accusations based on speculation.
    I thought at that point the meeting might be over or move on to something else, perhaps whether the university’s health coverage should pay for sex-change operations and that sort of thing. Instead, Professor Athol brought up Bert and the chimp’s participation in the development of ReLease, and, with that, the ethical issues surrounding the use of animals in medical experiments.
    Father O’Gould, I noticed, leaned forward, evincing a close interest in what I had to say. “Well, first,” I began, “we subscribe, as I’ve noted, to all the provisions of the Animal Welfare Act.Additionally, we take every measure possible to assure the comfort both physically and