Free Splicer by Theo Cage, Russ Smith Page A

Otter was sure she hadn't been crying that morning but her eyes had that rheumy look he had seen before. She was on the verge. All it would take would be the wrong word, a certain look.
    "He called me after lunch. He had a question about his trip." Why won't she look at me Otter thought?
    "Where was your husband going?"
    "Vegas," said Avril. "The twice-yearly International bio-tech conference." She turned to him. "He was leaving on Friday. GOING to leave. He had a question about his ticket. Wanted to make sure I had made all the arrangements. He also wanted to know if anyone from Las Vegas had called." Her emphasis on the words Las Vegas troubled Otter. He made a mental note of it.
    "And had they? Someone called I mean?"
    "No,” she said slowly. "Is that important?" she turned to him again, her eyes heavier, more doe-like.
    "I don't know,” answered Otter. "His partner said he seemed concerned about the show. Said that Redfield usually made the arrangements."
    "That's not true. Jeff always handled the shows. He wouldn't trust that kind of thing to anyone."
    "Are you saying that Mr. Rosenblatt lied?"
    She jumped up and began to pace in front of the glass wall. "Norman? The truth only confuses him." Otter had a sense of what she meant. Her distant look turned to a focused anger. "You only wonder why someone who lies so often wouldn't get better at it."
    "Did you ever speak to anyone from Las Vegas? An organizer? A representative?" he asked.
    This time she openly turned to him and riveted him with her dark eyes. She was searching for something, scanning him. He was willing to offer her what he could, but sensed that she knew more than she was telling. There was so much more to this case than he first surmised, than Koz believed.
    "Have you found anything?" she leaned forward, her arms crossed to hide the shake in her hands.
    "I came here today to ask you if your husband talked to you about his dinner meeting, that's all."
    She looked disappointed, even a little confused, then closed her eyes and held her coffee mug to her forehead. "He was a member of the President’s Club. He liked to go there for lunch. I can't remember him ever having dinner there, but I couldn't swear to it. He certainly never said anything about it on Wednesday."
    Otter thought for a moment. "Is there anything else you talked about?"
    "Detective, I've gone over that conversation a thousand times. It was the last time I spoke to Jeff. Did you ever wonder what you might say to someone if you knew it was your last?"
    Otter nibbled on his mustache but said nothing.
    "You know, there are so many things you could say. You could say you were sorry. You could say thanks . You could express a regret. It makes you realize how empty and stupid most of our conversations are! I think back on our last chance to... say something... and I come up with... with a shopping list." Her voice broke and she covered her eyes with one hand.  "A bloody shopping list, for God's sake,” she cried.
    Otter looked at his wet shoes on the white carpet, felt helpless.
    "I'm sorry officer. But you have to expect this. The stupidest things just bring back some memory ... "
    "Don't apologize,” he said. He was using a different voice, not his cops aggressive bark. A comforting murmur. The kind he might use on his young son after seeing him fall from his bike on the driveway. He waited for her to continue.
    "He read me a list of things to get for him for his trip. Shaving lotion. Sunscreen. The new Patterson novel, which was his guilty pleasure. Batteries for his Nikon. Then, just as he's about to hang up, he tells me when he gets back, we're going to celebrate."
    "Celebrate what?"
    " The Splicer. "
    "That's the machine you were working on. The breakthrough?'
    "The damn Splicer was everything he thought about. Scientists told him for years a machine like that couldn’t be built. Making it happen would allow Jeff to snub his nose at all of his critics. It wasn’t the money for him. The