Chapter 29
The security scanner buzzed with mechanical indifference as Laurel stepped into the marble-and-steel lobby of Oakridge Solutions after the guard had read the warrant and buzzed them up.
She noted the scent first. Industrial-grade cleaner, faint traces of ethanol, and something organic. Not unusual for a biotech company.
Walter Smudgeon stood beside her, taller, broader, and already shifting his weight like he wanted to start knocking on doors. “Last time we were here, that sniper nearly got you.”
Huck and Officer Tso stood behind them, looking like badass bodyguards. Tso was younger than Huck with angled features and dark hair. He’d moved to Washington State recently from Arizona and appeared to be in good shape.
“I know,” she said softly, the skin on her neck prickling. They’d parked in the underground parking area and then taken the elevator to this floor. Even so, she scanned the entire area around them and was well prepared to stay away from windows.
They didn’t wait long.
Dr. Bertra Yannish carried an air of importance this time. Wearing a lab coat with a sleek navy blouse beneath, she approached at a controlled pace. High heels, midrange designer. Minimal makeup. Calculated professionalism. “I understand you have a warrant.”
Laurel nodded and handed it over. “Federal search warrant for full access to Oakridge Solutions’ research labs and all supporting documentation in digital and hard copy.
” She smiled. “Walter and I are just the first wave. An FBI Evidence Response Team should be arriving within the hour to catalog the specimens and all data. We’re here for a quick look and also to interview you as the new acting director, Dr. Yannish. ” A fact the guard had told Laurel.
“Please call me Bertra. I insist.” Bertra skimmed the first few lines, her expression remaining neutral. “I’m more than happy to show you around.” Her gaze lifted, and her eyes narrowed as she took in Huck and Tso. “Do you still have a sniper trying to kill you?”
“Yes,” Laurel said.
Bertra’s nostrils flared. “Then I object to this. Dr. Sandoval was my friend, and now he’s dead. I don’t want to join him.”
Walter stepped in. “Just show us the labs. We don’t need to be near any windows.”
“The warrant is for the FBI and not Fish and Wildlife.” Bertra glanced at Huck’s jacket. “You two can stay here, and I promise we’ll avoid all windows. I’d very much like to remain alive.”
“We’ll keep you safe,” Walter promised.
Bertra looked him over, a little too slowly to be entirely clinical. “You weren’t here last time, were you?”
“I was,” Walter said, blinking. “I was the one who tackled Laurel to the floor.”
Bertra’s lips curled just slightly. “You do seem . . . protective.”
Walter opened his mouth and then shut it. “I—uh—well, that’s sort of the job.”
Bertra’s smile widened, but only for a moment. “Lucky Laurel.”
Laurel didn’t react. She turned and motioned forward. “Let’s go.”
Bertra turned to lead the way. Instead of taking them to the corporate offices like last time, they walked in silence down a corridor lined with locked doors.
Laurel noted the badge scanner on each entry that required the key card plus biometric for the main labs.
Clean tech, state-of-the-art. Oakridge Solutions was well-funded.
Inside the primary lab, sterile light reflected off steel countertops and glass storage cases.
Laurel counted three fume hoods and two refrigerated storage units in use.
The walls held framed posters of chemical maps with one featuring a taxane derivative.
She paused. “You’re using yew tree extract. ”
Bertra glanced over. “Yes. We utilize a modified taxane compound in very small doses, which we acquire legally through sustainable harvest partners.” She gestured toward a file drawer. “We can provide documentation.”
Laurel nodded once. “Taxanes are cytotoxic. What’s the purpose here?”
“Tau protein stabilization. It’s shown potential in slowing cognitive deterioration—particularly in early-stage Alzheimer’s and other tauopathies.”
Laurel knew all of this. “Side effects?”
“We’re still in early phases. Animal testing and very controlled human trials under IRB.”
Walter cleared his throat. “And none of those trials led to lesions on the brain?”
Bertra’s expression didn’t change. “Not as far as our internal data indicates.”
Laurel didn’t respond. She turned instead to the nearest workstation, scanning the terminal. “Log us in. I want access to batch records and compound storage logs.”
Bertra stepped forward and entered her credentials. “You’ll find all entries are time-stamped and validated.”
“I expect to,” Laurel said.
Walter moved toward the refrigeration units. “Any reason your inventory logs are two weeks behind?”
Bertra blinked. “They shouldn’t be.”
Laurel walked to the storage drawers along the back wall—custom stainless steel, magnet-sealed, temperature-controlled. She opened one to find vials labeled with both batch codes and shorthand compound names. Most were standard. One wasn’t. “‘RZ-3’ isn’t in the compound index,” she said.
Bertra moved beside her. “It’s a placeholder code from one of our early yew variants.”
“Who had access?” Laurel asked.
Bertra hesitated, then said, “Myself. Dr. Liu. Dr. Sandoval before he was murdered.”
Laurel didn’t push further. Not yet. Instead, she followed Bertra into the next lab.
This one was darker with shades drawn over the windows.
It was a more clinical environment involving less chemistry and more neurology.
A digital whiteboard on the far wall displayed a time lapse of brain scans, highlighting plaque reduction over successive intervals.
The MRI comparisons were impressive. But Laurel noticed something else.
The earliest scans—the baseline—belonged to someone identified only as Subject 4C.
“Pull the file on 4C,” she said.
Bertra didn’t argue. She moved to a computer, typed for a moment, and within seconds, a redacted file appeared on the nearest screen.
“Where’s the full name?” Walter asked.
“The trial’s double-blind.” Bertra squinted and studied the board. “This is of a monkey, as I’m sure you know. A very old one.” She turned just slightly toward Walter as she added, “But you’re probably used to decoding messy scans. Or maybe you just clean up the messes?”
Walter blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “Uh—I mostly do paperwork these days. Less mess.”
Bertra gave him a small smile. “I find that hard to believe.”
Was she flirting with Walter? Was that why he was blushing?
A door across the lab opened, and a slender teen walked in, balancing a tray of pipettes.
She wore an oversized white coat, sleeves rolled up at the wrists, with her hair twisted into a quick, no-nonsense bun.
Laurel recognized her immediately. Viv Vuittron.
Laurel had expressly told her to stay away from the lab.
Viv paused when she saw Laurel, her tray tilting just a hair before she recovered. She gave the smallest shake of her head, showing no expression, no fear. Just a quiet warning.
Bertra turned. “Oh, this is one of our after-school interns. The local high school runs a STEM pipeline program, and she’s helping to catalog historical compound data.”
Laurel tilted her head. “How long has that program been running?”
“A few months. We’re selective. She’s one of four. Mostly observational work,” Bertra quickly. “This is Viv, who is working all day today because there’s a teacher workday at school. She’s a straight A student.”
Laurel kept her gaze on Viv. The girl had no idea how dangerous this might be. “Who supervises them?”
“I do,” Bertra said. “Our compliance officer signs off on all their hours.”
Laurel nodded slowly, careful not to glance too long at Viv. “Four interns?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of clearance do they have?”
“No clearance,” Bertra said. “They can’t access anything proprietary and provide mostly archival assistance and basic lab prep.”
Viv didn’t look at her again. She kept her head down and moved to a supply shelf, sorting tubes into racks. Efficient. Quiet. She was pretending not to listen, but Laurel had no doubt she was catching every word.
Bertra pointed at the door. “I’ll show you one of our clean rooms now.”
Viv looked up and gave a small smile. Laurel shot her one final look. They would certainly talk about this. Soon.
They moved to the clean room next to find positive air pressure and sealed cabinets.
Two techs inside were suited up, moving vials into insulated trays.
Laurel watched them for a full minute before turning to Bertra.
“I want a list of every compound those two are handling, and I want the current batch numbers cross-referenced with export logs, and I expect the evidence team to secure samples.”
“Your warrant doesn’t include samples, and our attorneys will fight you under trade secret law,” Bertra said.
Most likely. “Show us the rest of the area, and then let’s retire to a conference room. I’d like to interview you,” Laurel said.
They continued the walk lab to lab, finding each one more specialized. Clean rooms. Observation bays. Testing suites with treadmills and biometric scanners.
Laurel continued walking. “When did your last internal audit take place?”
“Two months ago.”
Laurel couldn’t read the woman. “Results?”
“Standard issues. Some chemical waste mislabeling. Nothing unusual.”
Walter focused on her. “Please provide the report along with the other requested data. You have one week, according to the warrant.”
Bertra gave him a sidelong glance. “One week? That’s generous. But I’m sure you’re very reasonable . . . when you want to be.”
Walter cleared his throat and looked straight ahead.
They returned to the main hallway, where a security guard passed with a clipboard, nodded, and moved on.
Laurel stared at her. “We’ll need your full internal calendar for the next ten days. Meetings. Deliveries. Anything marked as restricted access.”
“Of course.” Bertra gestured them into a high-end conference room outside of the labs. One secure and without windows. “I’ll include that with all of the data you wish for me to collect. This is going to take some time.”
Laurel drew out a chair as the other two did the same. “Do any of your studies create lesions on the brain?”
“Of course not,” Bertra said.
“Interesting.” Laurel pulled a folder from her satchel and tossed pictures onto the smooth marble table. “Dr. Miriam Liu. Tyler Griggs. Mark Bitterson. Melissa Palmtree. All of these people had lesions on their brains. We don’t know about Larry Scott because he was cremated.”
Bertra took a moment too long before responding. “Dr. Liu died in a car accident, and Melissa Palmtree fell down a staircase and broke her neck. I heard that Larry Scott killed himself.” She frowned, looking up. “Lesions? What lesions?”
“Melissa’s body was exhumed last week,” Laurel said. “Toxicology revealed chemical traces not explained by recreational use or prescription medication. There were similarities to taxane derivatives discovered.”
“That’s—” Bertra stopped herself. “I’d need to see that report.” The woman paled.
Was she exhibiting surprise or fear? Laurel wasn’t sure. “Tell me about Mark Bitterson and Tyler Griggs.”
Bertra shook her head. “I’ve never heard of either of those people.”
“Tyler Griggs was a conspiracy podcaster who met with Melissa Palmtree on the night of her death. My guess is that she had something of import to tell him. How about you avoid the federal death penalty and get out ahead of this?” Walter suggested nicely.
Bertra glanced at her phone. “I’ve already called in my lawyer. He should be here soon.”
“You’re not in custody and can leave anytime,” Laurel noted. “For now, how about you tell us about Elk Hollow Detective Robertson?”
Bertra blinked and a light pink filtered beneath her cheekbones. “Who?”
“Detective Joshua Robertson. He worked security here and functioned as a courier between Melissa Palmtree and Mark Bitterson, who I believe secured stolen yew tree compounds for you.” It was a guess and a bluff, but Laurel needed answers.
“A security guard isn’t something I’d be looped in on,” Bertra said. “Again—logistics. And as for your accusation, we don’t utilize stolen samples of anything. You’ll find that to be true once you go through the mountainous amount of documents you’ve requested.”
Her phone buzzed and she read the screen. She smiled, then glanced at Walter. “Excellent. Our attorney is on his way down. I hope he’s as charming as your partner here.”
Walter coughed lightly. “I—uh—don’t usually get mentioned in legal strategy.”
Bertra tilted her head. “Maybe you should. You’re much easier to look at than your average federal agent.”
What was happening with the flirting? “One more question,” Laurel said smoothly. “What’s going to happen here that got Tyler Griggs killed?”
Bertra looked up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Laurel studied her. Her tone hadn’t changed. Her posture hadn’t shifted. But her breathing and blink rate had accelerated. Barely—but enough.
“You have no plans for an event or a test that might be dangerous?”
Bertra drew back. “No.”
Movement sounded and then Henry Vexler strode inside, this time wearing a dark brown and silky-looking suit with a red power tie. “I’m attacking the warrant. This interview is over.”
Laurel lifted her head. “What a surprise.” She cocked her head. Vexler had discovered the investigation into Detective Robertson from Rachel and Sandra. How in the world had he learned about this? “How long have you represented Oakridge Solutions?”
He smiled perfectly pearly white teeth. “That’s none of your concern.”
Either the man had a source inside the FBI, or—Wait a minute. Laurel reached for her phone and texted Agent Norrs: Did you tell Abigail about the warrant for Oakridge Solutions Labs? It would behoove Abigail to have her attorney mess with Laurel’s head for the next couple of weeks.
Not sure. Might have mentioned it in passing. Why?
In passing? Right. For goodness’ sakes. That man was truly lost. Because her lawyer is here messing up my investigation.
Agent Norrs didn’t answer again.
Vexler leaned against the doorjamb. “How about we make a deal? I’ll let you continue questioning my client, so long as I get to ask questions of you as well.”
Laurel stood and smiled at Dr. Yannish. “You’re not his focus and should secure alternative representation.”
Bertra slowly turned her head to look at Vexler. “Is this true?”
His smile didn’t dim. “Not in the slightest. I’m very capable of multitasking.” He gave one slow wink. “Agent Snow, you and I are going to become very close. You might as well give in now.”