Free Poison Most Vial by Benedict Carey

Whitmore.
    Sharon was nodding impatiently by the end. “So, OK, OK,” she said, tipping forward in her chair. “Now, let’s see those security card numbers again.”
    â€œOh, right.” Ruby copied them on a piece of paper and handed it to Sharon.
    â€œPerfecto,” she said. “Now watch this.”
    She led them to one of the library computers and went to work, with Ruby peering over one shoulder and Rex over the other. She pulled up the DeWitt campus security page from the school’s website.
    â€œYou’re not gonna get us in trouble, are you?” Rex said.
    â€œNo, no,” Sharon replied. “Should be fine, no problem. I’m just going to see what happens when I put these badge numbers into the site.”
    â€œHow you know how to get in that site, anyway?” Rex said.
    Sharon gave a half smile. “Login and password, all it ever takes. Now let’s just see what this tells us about where those ID cards were used.”
    Ruby thought of something. “Just a second. Are we—can you get into the lab’s files now?”
    â€œProbably. At least the general files, not personal ones. Why?”
    â€œSearch for the Toxin Archive,” Ruby said. “Just try it; there may be a file there somewhere that tells us how much poison was in those vials.”
    Two clicks and there was the lab’s internal homepage, with
Toxin Archive
right there in the left margin. Sharon clicked on it—
ACCESS DENIED
flashed on the screen. “Oh, I hate that,” she said. “I always take it personally.”
    â€œPolice probably blocked it,” Rex said. “Anyone else gonna have that file, Ruby?”
    â€œWade,” she said, slapping her head. Better than that, she thought: Wade ran those sensitive detection machines, and he kept better records than Grace, who was in charge of the archive cabinet. “Wade Charles. Let’s go get his personal web page.”
    â€œHello, Mr. Wade,” said Sharon, who now had the page on her screen. “Now, what are we looking for?”
    Ruby smiled to herself. “Try
cocktail lounge
. That’s what Wade calls the cabinet.”
    â€œHow’s this?” Sharon said, pushing back from the screen, which had filled with a long list. There were deadly nightshade, monkshood, chokecherry—all of them. The archive.
    â€œAmazing,” Ruby said. She printed out the list and stashed it in her backpack.
    â€œOK,” Sharon said. “You ready to see who was there?”
    â€œYou mean in the lab?” Ruby said, moving closer. “Of course. How?”
    â€œYou watch.”
    Sharon opened a page called
Badge Tracking
. In a badge number search space, she typed the first number: 011-9865.
    She hit the Enter button. The screen filled with a list of numbers and dates. Sharon scrolled down to September 20, the day of the murder. She pushed back from the screen, so they could see.
    D12 1650
    D7 1651
    D5 1653
    D17 1752
    D5 1753
    D8 1853
    D17 1855
    D5 1956
    â€œUh, OK,” said Ruby, feeling a stirring in her stomach.
    â€œWhat do the
D
s mean?” Rex said.
    â€œThey’re doors,” Sharon said. “Places where you have to use your security card to buzz yourself through.”
    â€œAnd the numbers?”
    â€œTimes. Military times, counting up from noon. So, noon is 1200, one o’clock is 1300, two is 1400, and so on. See that?”
    Ruby felt her temples warming. This was more information than she ever imagined having for that evening.
    â€œIt looks like you buzz through these doors just one way, from the outside,” Sharon said.
    â€œYeah, that’s right, most are like that,” Ruby said. “Except the main front door of the building. You have to use your card to get out, too. Same goes for a few other rooms.”
    Rex said, “D12 must be the main building door, then.”
    Ruby pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to the diagram of the