Above Nolan’s head, a mural displayed the CRRI logo, a stylized windmill with greenery twining the central post. Three words circled the blades: GENOMICS. PROTEOMICS. METABOLOMICS.

“You the receptionist?” Slidell produced his spiral, more for effect than note-taking, I suspected.

Another nod.

“What goes on here?”

“Research.”

Slidell stared at Nolan. She stared back.

“Why am I getting the impression you’re not enjoying our visit?”

“Into air pollution.”

By my count, that brought Nolan’s total word count to four.

“Research for who?” Slidell positioned his pen.

“Industrial consortia, clinical trials companies, R and D firms, consulting groups.” The answer sounded rote. Nolan had obviously given the spiel before.

Slidell jotted something, then got to the point.

“You attended A. L. Brown High with Cindi Gamble?”

Nolan nodded again. She was very good at it.

“Tell me about her.”

“Like what?”

“Dig deep, Miss Nolan.”

“It’s Mrs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hardly knew her. Like, Cindi wanted to drive race cars. That wasn’t my thing.”

“But you were friends.”

“Just at school. Sometimes we, like, ate lunch together.”

Nolan was gouging a cuticle on one thumb with the acrylic nail on the other. I wondered why a visit from the cops was unnerving her so badly.

“And?” Slidell prodded.

“And then she disappeared.”

“That’s it?”

“We didn’t hang out senior year.”

“Why was that?”

“Like, her boyfriend was a jerk.”

“Cale Lovette.”

Major-league eye roll. “The guy gave me the creeps.”

“Why was that?”

“The whole shaved-head-and-tattoo thing. Gross.”

“That what turned you off? Lovette’s sense of style?”

Vertical lines dented the bridge of Nolan’s nose. Then, “He and his psycho-loser friends were always talking about guns. They thought it was cool to crawl around in the woods and play soldier. I thought it was dumb.”

“That it?”

“They had all these weird ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Japanese blew up that building in Oklahoma. I mean, how dumb is that? Oh, and the United Nations was going to take over the government. There were people, like, setting up concentration camps in national parks.”

“In your statement back in ’ninety-eight, you said you overheard Lovette discussing poison with someone.”

“Another gross-o.”

“Bald and inked?”

“No. Old and hairy.”

“Did you know the guy?”

“No.”

“You stated that Lovette and his buddy were talking about poisoning something.”

Nolan’s eyes dropped to the cuticle. Which was now bleeding. “I could have got it wrong. I wasn’t, like, trying to eavesdrop. But they were pretty—” Nolan circled both hands in the air. “What’s that word for when people, you know, gesture a lot?”

“Animated?” I suggested.

“Yeah. Animated. I passed them when I went to the ladies’.”

“What were they saying?” Slidell.

“Something about poisoning a system. And an ax or something.”

“Where did this conversation take place?”

“A really lame bar up by Lake Norman.”

“Name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why were you there?”