“Owen, I know that! How do you think I spotted it in the first place? The pattern’s there. What I don’t have is proof. Meantime, I’m walking on eggshells . . .”

Ah, Owen Pensky and Mary Lee Bryce. How lovely to have you here. Carry on.

She said, “I hope not. You don’t understand how ruthless he is. It’s fine as long as I’m in the lab, but I can’t get anywhere near the clinic.”

A question from Owen.

Her reply: “The lab’s in Southwick. The clinic’s in the Health Sciences Building.”

I stopped the tape and scribbled as much as I remembered. I pressed play again. This was like a two-character radio drama. Mary Lee to Owen, Owen to Mary Lee, except that his comments were a blank. She might have been talking to herself.

“Because that’s where the subjects are seen for follow-up.”

Whatever Owen said in answer was met with derision: “Oh, right,” said she. “Talk about a red flag.”

And a moment later, “I figured you’d appreciate the finer points.”

There was an exchange about a journal published in Germany.

I listened, squinting, but couldn’t see the relevance, so I moved past that bit and concentrated on the next.

Mary Lee said, “‘Too bad’ is right. What he’s doing here is worse. With the grant he got, he can’t afford to fail.”

Silence.

“Nuhn-uhn. He has no clue I’m onto him. Otherwise, he’d have found a way to get rid of me before now. I mentioned his ripping me off because it’s indicative of his . . .”

I stopped the tape again and wrote down what I’d heard. My Aunt Gin had refused to let me take secretarial courses in high school and I was royally pissed off about it now. If I’d been able to take shorthand, I could have made quick work of this. I pressed play again. I missed a garbled sentence or two, but I could have sworn she’d mentioned Glucotace.

“I have his password, but that’s it so far.”

Owen responded, silently.

“It was written on a piece of paper in his desk drawer. How’s that for clever?”

Again, a pause for her response.

“Because I saw the printout before he shredded it.”

I pressed stop and play until I heard her say, “Not Stupak’s, Linton’s. These guys are always circling the wagons. Any hint of trouble, they close ranks. Shit. Gotta go. Bye.”