Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [37]
“C’mon, Newton!” one of his friends bellows.
“I’m being called to action,” he says.
“May I interject please?” Grandma asks. Without waiting for a response, she continues: “I commend the young man on his word choice. It’s energizing to hear English spoken with precision.”
For some reason, this stops Newton. He turns around. “Are you a real-estate agent?”
Grandma thinks the question is directed to her.
“My father worked in a bakery.”
“I’m a journalist. I got a note from Ms. Pederson asking to meet me here. I think she wanted to contact me about a story.”
“Newton!” A friend screams
He turns to them. “I’ll be there in a moment!”
“Why do they call you Newton?”
“I like science.”
“Me too. Why did you think we were real estate agents?”
“Because you stop living here when you can afford anything else.”
I consider it. “Is Ms. Pederson too rich for these digs?”
“Her first name is Lulu,” he says. “But she hates it. She thinks it makes her sound like an airhead.”
“Lulu Pederson?” I ask. L. P.
He doesn’t respond.
“Have you seen Ms. Pederson around?” I ask with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
“Not for a few days. She tutors me in science on Wednesdays, but she didn’t show up last night.”
“So you think maybe she moved out of the neighborhood?”
“Newton!” a friend shouts.
“I would,” he says in response to my question. “Anyway, I gotta run . . .”
I interrupt him. “Any idea where can I find her?”
“Nathaniel, you ask a lot of questions,” Grandma inserts.
Newton laughs. “She’s funny.”
“It’s really important that I find her,” I say.
He looks at me cautiously, measuring me now.
“She’s pretty smart—a genius. I assume she’ll find you if she’s interested.”
“Please,” I say. “It’s critically important.”
He’s had enough, and now one of his friends is striding purposefully towards us to retrieve him.
“Try her company. It’s called Biogen,” he says.
“Biogen?” I make sure I heard correctly.
He nods.
The biotech giant.
He’s walking away.
“What does she do at Biogen?”
He shrugs.
“Is she a scientist?” I shout after him. I start to walk around the side of the court, to find an entrance.
Newton’s friend—the one who came to retrieve him—takes a step in my direction. He’s much bigger and less friendly.
“Can we get back to our game?” he asks. It sounds rhetorical. He wants this interview to end.
“Newton, please. This is important. I need you to help me.” I’m using an adult voice I’m surprised to know I’ve got inside of me. I’m asking this child to behave reasonably.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strange adults.” Trump card. Smart kid. “If you see her, tell her Newton says hello,” he adds.
I pull out my business card. I wave it, and stick it in a gym bag left where Newton was sitting.
“This is my phone number, Newton. Call me if you want to talk about Lulu.”
Grandma and I are sitting back in the car. I cup her chilly hands in mine and blow on them, then gently rub, feeling the frail bones beneath.
“Congratulations, partner,” I say.
“Harry doesn’t have trouble hiding his excitement. He always seems calm, even when he’s not.”
“You just played Good Cop,” I say.
“I’ve never had a problem with people in law enforcement.”
We finally have a lead.
“Have you heard of Biogen?”
“What?”
“It’s one of the most respected biotech companies in the world. I think it’s the biggest.”
No response.
I look at the clock. It’s 4:20. Probably too late to get to Biogen, which is located in South San Francisco. But it’s not too late to call.
I call Directory Assistance and get Biogen’s main number. I call the company, suffer through instructions from an automated attendant, and hit zero for a live human. When I get one, I ask for Lulu Pederson. The human operator transfers me. The phone rings three times, then goes to voice mail.
“You’ve reached Adrianna Pederson in Biogen’s Advanced Life Computing department. I’m not available right now; leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Did I hear right. Did the voice mail say “Adrianna Pederson