Jamie Brodie 01 - Cited to Death

Oliver, of Fertility Research. Your medical librarian gave me your name."
    Holy shit . I glanced at the clock over Oliver's shoulder on the opposite wall. I'd only been in Karen's office five hours earlier. This guy worked fast. I tried to keep my facial expression neutral.
    Oliver’s handshake was firm, dry, and brisk. “I understand from Ms. Lewis that you have an interest in an article that I coauthored.”
    Right to the point . “Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”
    Oliver smiled. He had a politician’s smile – not quite natural. “Not at all. Initially I was concerned that another medical group was hoping to co-opt our research. We have patents in place to prevent that, of course. Ms. Lewis assured me that you had no such intent. But I remained curious. What interest could a – I believe she said your subject was history, correct? What interest could a history librarian have in our research?”
    Don’t mention Dan . I tried to think fast. “Another librarian mentioned it to me in passing at a conference several months ago.” The state library association met back in November; that would work as a ruse . “I thought it sounded interesting and wrote down the information, but it got lost in the shuffle and I just found my note yesterday. Karen was kind enough to print out the article for me.”
    Oliver seemed satisfied. He smiled again, a bit more warmly this time. “Do you have a particular interest in fertility medicine? For personal reasons, perhaps?”
    Heh. Good one . “No, sir. I just wanted to expand my horizons. It keeps my brain sharp to learn about something outside my field.”
    Oliver chuckled. He was charming when he wasn’t in interrogation mode. “Very good, young man. Expand away. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. My email address is listed on the paper.”
    “Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”
    “It’s been a long time since anyone addressed me as sir. You must have been raised in a military household.”
    “Yes, sir. Marines.”
    “Excellent.” Oliver looked nostalgic. “I was a Navy man myself. Better food and no crawling through the mud. Was your father a Korean War vet, by any chance?”
    “No, sir. Vietnam.”
    “Ah.” Oliver looked less nostalgic. “I was out of the service by then. Well, Dr. Brodie, I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you for your interest in my work, and please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
    “I won’t. Thank you, sir.”
    Oliver strode away and out of the building.
    I watched him go and let out a long breath; I’d been half holding it without realizing. Why would Oliver come in person for a five-minute conversation? Did he just want to make doubly sure that no one was going to steal his research? Or was there more to it?
    It was 5:00. I taught a class on Wednesdays that started at 5:30, so I needed to get going. I had retrieved my computer bag and was re-locking my file cabinet when IT Andy showed up. Andy Mitchell was the guy who usually came to work on our computers. We called him IT Andy to distinguish him from another Andy that worked at the circulation desk. He looked surprised to see me. “Hey, Dr. B. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
    “I was just leaving. I’m glad to see you.”
    Andy grinned. “I bet. What happened?”
    “I was out of the office for a couple of hours, and when I came back, the computer had shut itself down. I turned it back on and got a blue screen.”
    “Huh. Let me take a look.” He sat down at my desk and started clicking "Weird. It looks like your hard drive just gave up the ghost, but I'm not sure why. How old was it?"
    I tried to remember. "I don't know. It's been a couple of years, I guess, since it was replaced? Doesn't it tell you in there somewhere?"
    "It will...as soon as I can get it restored, I'll be able to tell. Probably the easiest thing will just be to bring you a new hard drive, but I might be able to get this one back in working order. It will save most of your files if I can."
    "Okay. Whatever it takes. You think you can get it done by morning?"
    “Oh yeah. No problem. It’ll be up and running when you get in tomorrow.”
    “Fantastic. Thanks, Andy.”
    He waved, already deep into IT guy mode. I left.
    The class I was teaching this quarter, Historical Research Methods, was held in the education and information science building, right next door to the research library. This was our next-to-last class for the term. It was a 3 ½ hour class. I usually began