The Love Potion Murders in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [10]
“The morning-after pill for tipplers,” I said, dissembling that elusive sensation, spinal in its origin, that comes over me when I get a whiff of quarry. Dr. Penrood was hiding something. “What was the bone of contention?”
“Well, as you know, Norman, RL has advanced to human trials. I think it should prove quite lucrative. Pyramed, the pharmaceutical concern, has already started working on the ad campaign. As for Ossmann and Tromstromer, when the breakthrough occurred there was the usual jostling for credit.”
I nodded as though satisfied. For all his old-school self-possession — Cambridge, I believe — Dr. Penrood evinced an undeniable edge of arrière pensée in his hesitations. But what, if anything, could he be hiding?
We reviewed the principal projects under way at the institute. Dr. Penrood explained how a new version of NuSkalp, the biosynthetic scalp transplant, could be used to replace hair on other parts of the body. “It has enormous potential. There’s sure to be a lot more real blonds around.” He gave a curious little laugh, and again the double take.
He went on. Chicken without feet; MelSus, the clean transgenic swine; possible therapies for inherited disorders; and deciduous beef.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes, very interesting. We’re trying to get an Angus to grow an extra set of ribs, one that could be cleaved off with a minimum of blood and trauma, leaving the animal alive to grow another.”
“And Mel …”
“MelSus. It’s a pig that produces virtually no dung. The feed-to-meat ratio approaches one. They produce lots of gas, but that gets harvested and used to heat their pens.”
“And these pharmaceuticals?”
“Yes. As you can see, a lot of antibiotics. We’re going sub-molecular. It’s a war out there. I’m not sure we’re going to win it.”
Dr. Penrood qualified an attitude of impeccable deference with the remark that, of course, he had gone over all of this with the officers from the Seaboard Police Department.
I admit to being a bit disingenuous in invoking at that point an upcoming meeting with the Oversight Committee, implying that I had to report to a higher authority than even the law.
Penrood appeared to relax, as though academic politics explained everything. He even allowed that, given the range, complexity, and duplication of research conducted in the labs, there could be room for “freelance activity.”
I asked if there might be some unobtrusive way to monitor such activity.
“Well, it’s all rather difficult, you understand, but we have stepped up our in-house monitoring. I wouldn’t exactly call it security, because that is not really the issue, if indeed there is an issue here.”
I nodded vaguely, thinking to myself that the “monitoring” could work both ways were something untoward transpiring in the labs.
“Speaking of which,” he continued in a tone smacking of the stiff upper lip, “I must protest the changing of the locks in the offices of Professor Ossmann and Dr. Woodley.”
“That,” I replied, “is official police business. Or, if not quite official, something that can be made so with a phone call. At this point Ms. Stone-Lee is merely making an inventory. Best, right now, to handle it quietly and … unofficially.”
He agreed, reluctantly. Then, as though taking me into his confidence, he said, “You understand, of course, that Pip … Professor Ossmann … was not very popular among his colleagues. He liked to poke his nose into things. I’m not saying this had anything to do with his demise, but it’s something you should be aware of.”
I drew him out about Ossmann’s relations with others in the lab while jotting down some notes. At the end of our interview I told Dr. Penrood to stay in touch; I was counting on him to help us in our investigation.
After he left, I spent several moments pondering the man. I could not shake the impression that he had not been candid with me. There is a fine line between