“You have to answer my question,” said the policeman. “Who were you talking to, and what did you say about somebody trying to kill someone?”
“I was wrong,” said Lyle, “nobody was trying to kill anybody. It was all an accident.”
“Accidental death still sounds like the kind of thing you ought to tell us about.”
“It was an acute hemolytic reaction, but drawn out over time,” said Lyle. “That’s why none of us saw it. His body was literally giving itself a blood transfusion cell by cell over the last five weeks. Do you realize how impossible that is?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“I need to call a lot of people,” said Lyle. “We have to deal with this immediately. What if Susan has the wrong blood type, too?”
“Who’s Susan?”
“Just let me make a phone call,” said Lyle, bringing up his phone. “I have to call and find out how she is.”
The cops slammed on the brakes and dove out of their seats, bolting around to the back. Lyle found Susan’s number and hit send just before the cops swarmed through the rear doors and tackled him.
“Put down the phone! Do not touch that phone!”
“I’m just calling a friend!”
Ring.
“That’s her,” shouted Lyle. “Just let me talk for five seconds!”
Ring.
“Calm down,” shouted Woolf. “You’re talking about killing people and giving people blood and we cannot allow you to make a phone call until you answer our questions!”
The phone on the floor clicked softly, and a woman’s voice spoke. “Hi, Susan’s phone.”
Lyle shouted. “Is Susan there—oof.” One of the officers hit him in the gut, and he doubled over as much as he could with two policemen holding him down.
“What do we do?” asked Woolf.
Luckesen shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“I’m sorry,” said the woman on the phone, “Susan’s not available right now. She’s in the hospital.”
“I told you,” Lyle wheezed, gasping for breath. “Find out if she’s okay.”
Woolf adjusted his grip on Lyle, keeping one hand tightly on his wrist while reaching down with the other to pick up the phone. He held the phone to his ear.
“Hello, ma’am, this is Detective Woolf, NYPD. Do you know a man named Lyle Fontanelle?”
Lyle couldn’t hear the answer.
“I see. Does your friend Susan know anyone named Lyle Fontanelle?” Pause. “No, I don’t know anything about Susan, it’s…” He glanced at Lyle. “It’s kind of a weird situation; we witnessed some suspicious behavior and stopped it while the phone was already ringing. Tell me, ma’am, why is this Susan in the hospital?” There was another pause, and the officer’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?” Pause. “Seriously?” He pulled the phone away, glanced at it, then held it back to his ear. “I may need to call back tonight or tomorrow with some more questions. Will you keep this phone on you? Thank you.” He hung up and looked at Lyle. “Who is Susan?”
“My assistant at work,” said Lyle. “I’m the vice president of Research at NewYew Incorporated. Chief science officer. She’s a lab intern.”
“Looks like you might need a new intern pretty soon,” said Woolf. He looked at his partner. “Susan has leprosy.”
12
Wednesday, May 2
5:52 A.M.
Central Booking, Brooklyn
226 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
Sunny sat down next to Lyle on the bench outside the police station, rubbing his eyes with one hand and clutching his coffee with the other. “I’ve cleared up the robbery issue: they’re convinced, for now, that you were at work when the crime was committed, but the investigation is ongoing.” Sunny twisted his neck, stretching until it cracked quietly. “They’re somewhat more concerned about, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, alleged chemical weapons testing.” He looked at Lyle. “What in the bright blue hell do you do on your weekends? Is there anything else I should know about?”
“You and the entire executive staff,” said Lyle. “Can we go?” He had already called the hospital again, asking about Susan; her body was sloughing tissue from the chest and groin, which they had preliminarily diagnosed as leprosy. Lyle knew better. “We have a lot to do.”
“Yeah, we can go,” said Sunny. “Just give me a minute with this coffee first, okay? I’m a corporate legal counsel, not a divorce lawyer—I’m not used to these emergency police station visits at four a.m. And in Brooklyn, no less—why’d you have to get arrested in Brooklyn?”
Lyle stood up. “I know who it was.”
“Who what was?”
“The guy who robbed the house was named Tony Hicks. He was one of our test subjects for 14G.”
Sunny frowned. “The last ReBirth test? How do you know it was him?”
