I spent a few minutes cleaning off the soot the cops had left on the window frame when dusting for prints. Then the phone rang. When I answered, I could tell Watt had switched to a cell phone and was outdoors.

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t mean to seem evasive. It’s just, you understand, I’m a couple weeks away from the end of the contract, and I don’t want to be heard speaking personally about anyone at the company.”

“I understand.”

I repeated my question—why Dr. Kriss?

“I can always tell where the brains are,” he said, a phrase I recalled from our first encounter.

“And why not Kenneth Sample?”

“Can this be off the record?”

“Alright.”

“And you abide by that sort of thing, right? When I say off the record, that’s binding?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, the thing is, it’s always been pretty clear to me that Ken doesn’t really understand the trial. You’ve met him, right? He came out of retirement for this. He might be a legend in certain corporate circles, but he doesn’t have the mental agility anymore, if you catch my drift.” Watt paused. “Maybe he was in California too long. But I don’t want to get personal. It’s just that—off the record—from day one, whenever I had a question about anything, nobody but Dr. Kriss could answer. In my opinion, it’s ridiculous that she isn’t the most highly compensated person in the company. She oversees everything—three simultaneous trials, plus the product’s manufacture, plus the reports—it’s staggering.”

I said yes, she was very industrious.

“It’s gotten to the point that, when I need anything from Ken’s office, they send me straight to Dr. Kriss. All the company itself seems to handle is payroll and drumming up investment. So when you came along wondering about the trial, the science, it seemed only natural to put you in touch with Dr. Kriss. I wanted Rubicon to put its best foot forward, and that’s her.”

“Did you have to clear the interview with Sample’s office?” I was remembering that, from the very beginning, Dr. Kriss had made it sound as if Rubicon was against my reporting.

“Rubicon was fine with it,” Watt said. “They left the decision up to her. But you turned out pretty good friends, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, “in a way.”

“As close as a journalist can ever get, I suppose. Anyway, look, I probably shouldn’t say more. Is there anything else?”

“I think that’s it.”

He must’ve detected some change in my voice. “So what do you think,” he said with affected playfulness, “should I cash out my Rubicon stock now, or wait until your story comes out and juices it?”

“I really can’t answer that.”