“Yes, he had emailed me about it. Thank you for bringing it.” The tension in Perkins’s voice indicated annoyance rather than gratitude. “Can you tell me the sample’s significance?”
“A U.S. agricultural aid team believes there may be a connection between the water and some mysterious deaths in villages along the reservoir.”
“I see. Well, we can certainly take a look at it.”
“Perhaps you can answer a question,” Pitt said. “Why would Dr. Nakamura send a water sample to you here in Scotland?”
“Our firm is at the forefront of bioremediation research,” Perkins said. “We have the resources to analyze and identify biological impurities that other facilities may lack. Plus, Dr. Nakamura was a friend of our company’s late founder, Frasier McKee.”
As Perkins held the vial to the light and swirled it around, Pitt glanced at the family photo on the desk. It showed Perkins outside a soccer field with his wife and two small boys. Several older cars were parked next to the field. Pitt noticed that Perkins was wearing the same clothes now as in the photo.
“Did Dr. Nakamura indicate,” Pitt asked, “what he thought the water sample might contain?”
“No. But I will be happy to share our analysis with you. It should only take a day or two.”
As if on cue, the desk phone rang. Perkins listened briefly, then hung up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt, I’m needed in the lab. It was very nice meeting you.” He rose from behind the desk.
“Thank you for your time.” As Pitt rose, he pointed at the photo. “You have an attractive family. What are your boys’ names?”
Perkins glanced at the photo. The hesitation in his voice was minuscule, but unmistakable. “Finn and Liam.”
With no further comment, he escorted Pitt to the lobby. “Enjoy your stay in Scotland,” he said. He shook Pitt’s hand and vanished down the corridor.
Pitt drove a few blocks into the city, then turned around. He circled back to the building, approached from a side street, and parked a block away.
While the Mini was concealed from the road, he had a clear view of the front of BioRem. Keeping one eye on the building, he pulled out his phone and called Hiram Yaeger at NUMA headquarters.
“Calling to get my order of Scotch whisky?” Yaeger asked.
“I thought you were a confirmed wino,” Pitt said.
“Certain days require something a little stronger than grape juice. What can I do for you?”
“How about a quick and dirty biography of one Dr. Miles S. Perkins of Inverness, Scotland.”
Yaeger’s fingers flew over a keyboard. Pitt had a response in seconds.
“Dr. Miles S. Perkins, Ph.D. in biology from Aberdeen University?”
“Sounds like our man.”
“Born in Kirkcaldy, Scotland, age fifty-five. Background in chemistry and microbiology. Taught at the University of Edinburgh for many years. Was a disciple of Dr. Frasier McKee. Joined his company, BioRem Global Limited, in 2010 as Chief Science Officer. He’s published many papers on microbiology and the use of bacteria for industrial benefit. Has been married twenty-seven years to one Margaret Anne Perkins. No children.”
“No children?” Pitt said.
“None that I show.”
“Do you have any photos of him?”
“A few from his days at the university. Slight man with glasses, wavy dark hair. I’ll email you the best ones. Did you meet him?”
“Allegedly,” Pitt said. “Thanks, Hiram. I’ll get you that whisky.”
“Bowmore’s, if you please. Thanks, boss.”
Pitt’s suspicions were confirmed. The man wasn’t Perkins, or even a good imitation. If he had to guess, he’d say the imposter was a security man pressed into service. His speech and mannerisms didn’t fit a respected scientist. The family photo looked like it had just been produced, with the fake Dr. Perkins Photoshopped in with another family. Then there was the sterile office and the semivacant building. The looming question was, why?
The answer, he hoped, was forthcoming when a gray Volkswagen appeared from behind the building. When the car turned onto the frontage street that led out of town, Pitt saw that the driver was bald. Pitt started the Mini and followed at a distance, motoring past the BioRem building.