Fatal Reaction

frustrating, physical workshops, places where the gap between the concepts and successful experiments formed a cruel and difficult chasm.
    By the time we arrived in the basement a half-dozen investigators were already gathered around the aquarium window, peering into the darkened crystallography lab where Michelle Goodwin labored alone. The room was so crammed with equipment that there was no room for spectators. Also, many of the scientists no doubt preferred to avoid exposure to the high levels of radiation that were the inevitable by-product of the X-ray equipment. Everyone who worked in the basement, not just the crystallographers, wore a small device on their ID card that measured the cumulative amount of radiation to which they were exposed. Because it was colored red it was naturally referred to as “the red badge of courage.”
    Perched on a library stool, Michelle sat hunched over the superstructure of the X-ray generator like a bicycle racer poised over the handlebars. Her short dark curls were disheveled and her face, never pretty, was pulled into a tight frown of concentration. Her hand trembled as she mounted a thin capillary tube into the generator’s rotating top. The generator, which was shaped like an industrial freezer with computers mounted at either end, was so big that it took up most of the available space in the lab.
    “That’s the crystal,” Remminger informed me in a whisper. “It’s floating in the liquid inside the tube.”
    Michelle moved quickly to one of the monitors and punched commands into the computer console. I couldn’t begin to understand what I was seeing, but the tension on Michelle’s face spoke volumes about its importance.
    “She’s just sent the X rays through the crystal,” said Remminger.
    As the machines hummed into action Michelle stepped away from the monitor to give all the spectators an unobstructed view.
    “It’ll be a few seconds before the pattern emerges,” whispered Carl Woodruff, coming up behind me. There was anxiety in his voice—and excitement.
    “Is Stephen here?” asked Remminger, looking over her shoulder.
    “No,” whispered Carl. “He thought his presence would make it worse if she doesn’t succeed.”
    We all waited, straining in anticipation. For a full minute I don’t think any of the people gathered in that hallway even breathed. When the first spots appeared on the screen a murmur of excitement rippled through the assembly, and even though I didn’t understand any of it, my heart soared. But just as suddenly as it had started a hush descended. I couldn’t see Michelle’s face, but her body stiffened in disappointment as if she’d been dealt a blow.
    “Oh shit,” whispered Remminger.
    “Proteins have very large, complex structures,” Carl explained as Lou made her way into the crystallography lab to console Michelle. “They have hundreds of atoms, thousands of electrons, protons, and neutrons. Shoot an X ray through a protein and you should see a small galaxy of spots. But look at this, there are only a dozen. What she’s got in there isn’t ZKBP, it’s something else. A salt maybe.”
    Through the window I saw Lou say something to Michelle, but when the crystallographer turned around, her face was pale and rigid as a mask. Wordlessly she stalked out of the X-ray lab, past the rapidly dispersing scientists, and made her way quickly down the hall and out through the animal labs.
    “Poor Michelle,” someone whispered.
    “Poor Michelle is right,” echoed Borland. “Somebody better go after her and take away her damn car keys.”
     

CHAPTER 16
     
    By Monday morning I felt I had slipped back into the grip of routine that had ruled my life as an associate. I had gotten up before it was light, exercised, showered, and begun my workday as soon as I got into the car, dictating letters into my little tape recorder as I avoided potholes on Lake Shore Drive. The fact that I would spend only a couple of hours at my desk at Callahan Ross before driving out to Oak Brook to begin my day all over again at Azor did little to improve my outlook.
    When I arrived at Callahan Ross, I was surprised to experience a pang of something very much like homesickness. Clearly, it was all starting to get to me— Danny’s death, the sterility of the suburbs, the foreignness of the labs—room after room filled with unfamiliar equipment and people who for all intents and purposes spoke a language I didn’t understand. Fluent in the jargon