Read Online The Hydrogen Murder by Camille Minichino - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Camille Minichino
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we could go any further, Jim Guffy arrived. With his
awkward gait, boyish grin and bright eyes, he had the look of an Irish altar
boy. At twenty-something, he wasn't that much older than Peter's students. It
was hard to think of him as a potential murderer.
"It's good to see you again," he said to me. He
shook Matt's hand and stumbled into the chair next to mine, dropping his
sunglasses on my feet.
"Sorry," he said, brushing back thick brown hair.
He sat at the edge of the chair, his hands on his knees in a ready-set-go
position.
Matt went over Jim's written statement that he hadn't seen
Eric since the end of the workday on Monday. He was at an all-day meeting in
Boston on Tuesday, he said, and didn't go to the gas gun lab at all. He didn't
hear about the murder until lunch break on Tuesday, when everyone was talking
about it.
"I just want to make sure I have this right," Matt
said. "You live with your parents in Everett?"
"Yes," Jim said, "I was home that night. I
mean I was sleeping when Eric, uh..."
Jim trailed off, shuffling his feet under his long legs. If
nervousness is a sign of guilt, I thought, Jim did it. Lucky for him, I knew he
was naturally shy and uncomfortable in strange situations. And this situation
was about as strange as you could get. I also figured that, like me, he was
afraid one of the officers in the station would ID him as having made an
illegal lane change on Route 1A three years ago.
"Do you remember Eric's saying anything about a
discrepancy in the hydrogen data at your party?" I asked.
"No, I don't. I guess I was too busy with the
songs."
Jim took his Saint Patrick's Day party seriously. He
photocopied the words to dozens of Irish folk songs, with verses no one ever
heard before, and we all sang along to the music on CD. It was the only time
I'd seen Jim show any signs of leadership.
"But I know a lot of people heard him," Jim said.
"Doctor Leder says Eric was drunk."
"Do you know what Eric's supposed problem was?" I
asked.
Jim looked down at his brown tassel loafers. "I heard
it was about my trigger mechanism," he said. "Eric said the timing of
the signal was off."
"You mean 'they say Eric said,' don't you," Matt
asked, "since you didn't hear him?"
"Right," Jim said. He looked flustered and nearly
dropped his glasses again. "That's what they told me."
After a few more questions, Matt thanked Jim for coming in
and encouraged him to call the station if he thought of something that might
help the investigation.
Jim let out a deep breath and started out the door. As he
passed me, he said, "Neat hologram, Gloria."
"What was that all about?" Matt asked when Jim had
left.
"The hologram?"
"That too. But I was thinking about the trigger
thing."
"Jim designed a trigger mechanism that produces an
electrical signal when the shock wave from the gas gun hits it. A certain
measurement at that very moment tells us whether or not the hydrogen has been
metallized. It'll be clearer if I draw a diagram."
I reached over to the pad on his desk and noticed several
infinities, just like the ones he'd drawn in Leder's office. I wondered if I'd
ever know Matt well enough to tease him about that.
"No more science until after lunch," Matt said,
leading me out by my elbow. "There's a small deli around the corner,
unless you have other plans."
I was starting to worry about the Police Department food
budget, but I didn't let that keep me from agreeing. The deli was almost all
counter, with a high refrigerated meat and cheese case along the length of it.
There was a single row of small round tables along the opposite side and we got
the last one at the back.
The turkey sandwich was good, but no match for Russo's
eggplant special. I picked up our conversation, explaining how Eric's computer
program would determine when the trigger fired.
"Eric might have seen something in his own
program—a line of code that told the trigger to fire at the wrong time.
Then the measurement they got would be
awkward gait, boyish grin and bright eyes, he had the look of an Irish altar
boy. At twenty-something, he wasn't that much older than Peter's students. It
was hard to think of him as a potential murderer.
"It's good to see you again," he said to me. He
shook Matt's hand and stumbled into the chair next to mine, dropping his
sunglasses on my feet.
"Sorry," he said, brushing back thick brown hair.
He sat at the edge of the chair, his hands on his knees in a ready-set-go
position.
Matt went over Jim's written statement that he hadn't seen
Eric since the end of the workday on Monday. He was at an all-day meeting in
Boston on Tuesday, he said, and didn't go to the gas gun lab at all. He didn't
hear about the murder until lunch break on Tuesday, when everyone was talking
about it.
"I just want to make sure I have this right," Matt
said. "You live with your parents in Everett?"
"Yes," Jim said, "I was home that night. I
mean I was sleeping when Eric, uh..."
Jim trailed off, shuffling his feet under his long legs. If
nervousness is a sign of guilt, I thought, Jim did it. Lucky for him, I knew he
was naturally shy and uncomfortable in strange situations. And this situation
was about as strange as you could get. I also figured that, like me, he was
afraid one of the officers in the station would ID him as having made an
illegal lane change on Route 1A three years ago.
"Do you remember Eric's saying anything about a
discrepancy in the hydrogen data at your party?" I asked.
"No, I don't. I guess I was too busy with the
songs."
Jim took his Saint Patrick's Day party seriously. He
photocopied the words to dozens of Irish folk songs, with verses no one ever
heard before, and we all sang along to the music on CD. It was the only time
I'd seen Jim show any signs of leadership.
"But I know a lot of people heard him," Jim said.
"Doctor Leder says Eric was drunk."
"Do you know what Eric's supposed problem was?" I
asked.
Jim looked down at his brown tassel loafers. "I heard
it was about my trigger mechanism," he said. "Eric said the timing of
the signal was off."
"You mean 'they say Eric said,' don't you," Matt
asked, "since you didn't hear him?"
"Right," Jim said. He looked flustered and nearly
dropped his glasses again. "That's what they told me."
After a few more questions, Matt thanked Jim for coming in
and encouraged him to call the station if he thought of something that might
help the investigation.
Jim let out a deep breath and started out the door. As he
passed me, he said, "Neat hologram, Gloria."
"What was that all about?" Matt asked when Jim had
left.
"The hologram?"
"That too. But I was thinking about the trigger
thing."
"Jim designed a trigger mechanism that produces an
electrical signal when the shock wave from the gas gun hits it. A certain
measurement at that very moment tells us whether or not the hydrogen has been
metallized. It'll be clearer if I draw a diagram."
I reached over to the pad on his desk and noticed several
infinities, just like the ones he'd drawn in Leder's office. I wondered if I'd
ever know Matt well enough to tease him about that.
"No more science until after lunch," Matt said,
leading me out by my elbow. "There's a small deli around the corner,
unless you have other plans."
I was starting to worry about the Police Department food
budget, but I didn't let that keep me from agreeing. The deli was almost all
counter, with a high refrigerated meat and cheese case along the length of it.
There was a single row of small round tables along the opposite side and we got
the last one at the back.
The turkey sandwich was good, but no match for Russo's
eggplant special. I picked up our conversation, explaining how Eric's computer
program would determine when the trigger fired.
"Eric might have seen something in his own
program—a line of code that told the trigger to fire at the wrong time.
Then the measurement they got would be
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