quietly and slowly pivoted his head in the dark, trying to capture the essence of the spacious room. Unlike most researchers, who work away in anonymity, their work appreciated only by a select group of their peers, Wilson Bledsoe not only had made his mark in scientific circles but had crossed over into the broader public arena. Industry leaders recognized the importance of his research. On Wall Street, traders and analysts picked stocks according to a complicated algorithm Wilson had worked out that predicted how herds of animals will react to changes in environmental stimuli. The enormous size of Wilson's lab was only fitting.
Sterling and Wiley slowly walked along lab benches and tables piled high with slides and mounted specimens. An entire corner of the lab had been devoted to what looked to Sterling's urban eyes like otters.
At the back of the lab, Sterling spent a few more minutes in silence as he took in his brother's work space. Everything was so neat and shiny, all the way down to the microscopes perfectly aligned on the lab benches. He imagined Wilson striding down the aisles in his white lab coat, instructing his assistants, lending them a hand when they ran into problems.
“Clean enough to eat off the floors,” Wiley said, admiring his reflection in one of the countertops. “Your brother runs a pretty tight ship.”
“So I see,” Sterling said, wishing his own lab were half as organized. He carefully reached into a box and grabbed a couple of pairs of latex gloves, one for himself, the other for Wiley. This wasn't the same Wilson whose bedroom was always a mess, papers and books all over the house, his clothes remaining for days wherever he happened to take them off. His mother would always tell him,
A great mind can't think clearly in a cluttered room.
After all these years he had finally listened.
“Doesn't look like the place has been touched,” Wiley said.
“Looks that way, but too soon to say for sure, Lieutenant,” Sterling warned. “We don't even know what we're after yet.” Sterling walked over to a small metal desk in the corner. The computer screensaver had a family of owls sitting in a tree, their yellow eyes blinking. Every few seconds one would let out a screech, then dive to the ground and disappear off the end of the monitor. When the tree was empty, a whooshing sound could be heard, and the owls would fly back in a pack and reposition themselves on the branches.
“Technology is something else these days,” Wiley said. “I barely know how to turn the damn things on. Tickles the hell outta my kids. But they can do the damnedest things with those electronics, especially the younger ones. The other night they were talking to some students in Europe through the computer.”
“And that's only the beginning,” Sterling said, tapping the keyboard to get rid of the screensaver. The screen cleared and revealed pages where someone had downloaded information from the FDA's drug reference section. Sterling scribbled the URL address in his black book.
“I know the Professor has an expertise with animals,” Wiley said. “But what exactly does he do?”
“He's an animal behaviorist,” Sterling explained. He scrolled down the FDA's home page to see if anything caught his eye. “Some people call them ethologists. He observes animals in their natural environment.”
Sterling and Wiley continued to search the lab, carefully moving items for inspection, then putting them back in place. Finally they came to the door of Wilson's office and a sign that read CAUTION: WILD ETHOLOGIST ON THE LOOSE. This touch of humor wasn't the Wilson that Sterling remembered. Wilson had always been so serious, even when he wasn't working.
The door to Professor Bledsoe's office was unlocked, just as it had been for the last twenty years. He had always believed in an open-door policy, making himself available to his students and colleagues alike, whatever their problems, personal or scientific. Wilson
Sterling and Wiley slowly walked along lab benches and tables piled high with slides and mounted specimens. An entire corner of the lab had been devoted to what looked to Sterling's urban eyes like otters.
At the back of the lab, Sterling spent a few more minutes in silence as he took in his brother's work space. Everything was so neat and shiny, all the way down to the microscopes perfectly aligned on the lab benches. He imagined Wilson striding down the aisles in his white lab coat, instructing his assistants, lending them a hand when they ran into problems.
“Clean enough to eat off the floors,” Wiley said, admiring his reflection in one of the countertops. “Your brother runs a pretty tight ship.”
“So I see,” Sterling said, wishing his own lab were half as organized. He carefully reached into a box and grabbed a couple of pairs of latex gloves, one for himself, the other for Wiley. This wasn't the same Wilson whose bedroom was always a mess, papers and books all over the house, his clothes remaining for days wherever he happened to take them off. His mother would always tell him,
A great mind can't think clearly in a cluttered room.
After all these years he had finally listened.
“Doesn't look like the place has been touched,” Wiley said.
“Looks that way, but too soon to say for sure, Lieutenant,” Sterling warned. “We don't even know what we're after yet.” Sterling walked over to a small metal desk in the corner. The computer screensaver had a family of owls sitting in a tree, their yellow eyes blinking. Every few seconds one would let out a screech, then dive to the ground and disappear off the end of the monitor. When the tree was empty, a whooshing sound could be heard, and the owls would fly back in a pack and reposition themselves on the branches.
“Technology is something else these days,” Wiley said. “I barely know how to turn the damn things on. Tickles the hell outta my kids. But they can do the damnedest things with those electronics, especially the younger ones. The other night they were talking to some students in Europe through the computer.”
“And that's only the beginning,” Sterling said, tapping the keyboard to get rid of the screensaver. The screen cleared and revealed pages where someone had downloaded information from the FDA's drug reference section. Sterling scribbled the URL address in his black book.
“I know the Professor has an expertise with animals,” Wiley said. “But what exactly does he do?”
“He's an animal behaviorist,” Sterling explained. He scrolled down the FDA's home page to see if anything caught his eye. “Some people call them ethologists. He observes animals in their natural environment.”
Sterling and Wiley continued to search the lab, carefully moving items for inspection, then putting them back in place. Finally they came to the door of Wilson's office and a sign that read CAUTION: WILD ETHOLOGIST ON THE LOOSE. This touch of humor wasn't the Wilson that Sterling remembered. Wilson had always been so serious, even when he wasn't working.
The door to Professor Bledsoe's office was unlocked, just as it had been for the last twenty years. He had always believed in an open-door policy, making himself available to his students and colleagues alike, whatever their problems, personal or scientific. Wilson
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