"That's the mode of action," Josh said, "for our maturity gene."
"Exactly. So if you ownedACMMD , you would effectively control the maturity gene because you would control its expression. Nice, huh?"
Josh said, "Who owns theACMMD patent?"
The attorney flipped pages. "Patent filed by a company called Gen-CoCom, based in Newton, Mass. Filed for Chapter 11 in 1995. As part of the settlement, all patent apps went to the principal investor, Carl Weigand, who died in 2000. Patents passed to his widow. She is ill with terminal cancer and intends to give all the patents to Boston Memorial Hospital."
"Can you do anything about that?"
"Just say the word," he said.
"Do it," Josh said, rubbing his hands.
CHapter 027
Rick Diehlapproached the whole thing like a research project. He read a book on the female orgasm. Two books, actually. One with pictures. And he watched a video. He ran it three times, and even took notes. Because, one way or another, he had sworn he would get a reaction from Lisa.
Now he was down there between her legs, hard at work for the last half hour, his fingers stiff, tongue aching, knees sore - but Lisa's body remained completely relaxed, indifferent to his every attention. Nothing the books predicted had occurred. No labial tumescence. No perineal engorgement. No retraction of the clitoral hood. No change in breathing, abdominal tension, moans or groans...
Nothing.
He was exhausting himself, while Lisa stared at the ceiling, zoned out like she was at the dentist's. Like a person waiting for something vaguely unpleasant to be over.
And then...wait a minute...her breathing changed. Only slightly at first, but then distinctly. Sighing. And her stomach was tensing, rhythmically tensing. She began to squeeze her breasts and moan softly.
It was working.
Rick redoubled his efforts. She responded strongly. It certainly was working...working...she was grunting now...gasping, writhing, building strongly...her back arched...And suddenly she heaved and screamed,"Yes! Yes! Brad! Yessss!"
Rick rocked back on his heels as if he had been hit. Lisa threw her hand over her mouth and twisted away from him on the bed. She shuddered briefly, then sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes, looked down at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with arousal. "Gee," she said. "I'm really sorry."
At this awkward moment, Rick's phone rang. Lisa lunged for it on the bedside table and handed it to him quickly.
"Yes, what is it?" Rick snapped. He was angry.
"Mr. Diehl? It's Barry Sindler here."
"Oh. Hi, Barry."
"Something wrong?"
"No, no." Lisa was off the bed, getting dressed, her back to him.
"Well, I have good news for you."
"What's that?"
"As you know, last week your wife refused to undergo genetic testing. So we got a court order. Came through yesterday."
"Yes..."
"And confronted with the order, your wife fled rather than submit to testing."
"What do you mean?" Rick said.
"She's gone. Left town. No one knows where."
"What about the kids?"
"She abandoned them."
"Well, who's taking care of them?"
"The housekeeper. Don't you call your kids every day?"
"Yeah, usually I do, but it's been busy at work - "
"When was the last time you called them?"
"I don't know, maybe three days ago."
"You better get your ass over to your house right now," Sindler said. "You wanted custody of your kids, and you got it. You'd better show the court some parental responsibility."
And he hung up. He'd sounded pissed.
Rick Diehl leaned back on his knees and looked at Lisa. "I gotta go," he said.
"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. See you."
CHapter 028
Bail was setat half a million dollars. Brad Gordon's attorney paid it. Brad knew it was his uncle's money, but at least he was free to go. As he was leaving the courtroom, the funny-looking kid in the Dodgers jacket sidled up to him and said, "We need to talk."
"About what?"
"You were set up. I know exactly what happened."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. We need to talk."
The kid had booked an interview room in another part of the courthouse. It was just Brad and him. The kid shut the door, flipped open his laptop, and waved Brad into a chair. He turned the laptop so Brad could see it.
"Someone accessed your phone records."
"How do you know?"
"We have contacts with the carrier."
"And?"
"They accessed your cell-phone records when you wereoff work."
"Why?"
"As you probably know, your phone contains GPS technology. That means your location is recorded whenever you make a call." He tapped a key. "Graphing your locations over a thirty-day period, we find this." The map showed red dots all over town, but a cluster of dots in one part of Westview. The kid zoomed in. "That's the soccer field."
"You mean they knew I went there?"
"Yeah. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Somebody knew that two weeks ago."
"So thiswas a setup," Brad said.
"That's what I have been telling you, yes."
"What about the girl?"
"We're working on her. She's no ordinary teenager. We think she's a Philippine national. She's appeared on a webcam, masturbating for money. Anyway, what's relevant now are the inconsistencies in her story. If you look at the hotel security camera" - he tapped another key - "you see here that she turns her body away from the camera while waiting for the elevator, opens her purse, and touches her face. We think she is putting drops, or s?ome irritant, in her eyes. When she gets in the elevator a moment later she is visibly crying. But notice: as a supposed rape victim, crying in the elevator, apparently very upset, she doesn't go right to the hotel desk to report that she has been raped. You have to wonder why not."