Chapter 8: The Lab Call That Changed the Room
The phone rang at 9:14. I knew because I'd been watching the clock over Mr. Belgasham's desk since seven, watching the second hand tick and trying not to fall asleep on the leather couch he'd told me I could use.
His office wasn't like the cafe. It was quiet and high up, with windows that looked out over the rooftops and a gray sky that hadn't changed since yesterday. The coffee stain was still on his right trouser leg. He hadn't changed his suit. The white napkin from the table was folded in a clear plastic bag on his desk, right next to the little glass vial they'd taken from the guard's pocket. The brown liquid inside the vial had dried to a crust at the edges.
Mr. Belgasham picked up on the second ring. He didn't say hello. He just said, "Yes."
I sat up. My worn gray shirt felt too big in that room, and my hands were tucked under my legs so he wouldn't see them shaking.
He listened for a long time. He held the napkin bag up to the light while he listened, his face not moving at all. The lab tech's voice was thin and fast on the other end, but I caught pieces of it. Words like concentration and toxicology and match.
"You're certain," Mr. Belgasham said. It wasn't a question.
He listened again, then his eyes moved to me for half a second. Just a flick. Then back to the phone.
"And the residue in the vial," he said. "Same compound."
More fast talking from the phone.
"And the napkin," he said. "Cross-contaminated from the spill. Understood. Send the written report to my secure email. No one else."
He hung up. He set the phone down too carefully, like he was afraid it would break. For a few seconds the only sound was the air conditioning.
"What'd they say?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
He looked at the bag on his desk. "The coffee contained a fast-acting toxin," he said. His voice was low and flat. "Enough to stop a heart in minutes. The residue in the vial is the same thing. Exact match. Even the stain on the napkin has it. From where it soaked through."
My stomach dropped. I had known it was poison. I'd seen the guard's hand move over the cup when Mr. Belgasham looked away at the street. But hearing someone in a lab say it made it real in a different way. My hands had knocked that cup. The brown liquid had splashed onto Mr. Belgasham's leg. If I hadn't done it, he'd be dead.
Mr. Belgasham pressed a button on his desk. A door at the far end of the office opened and the guard was brought in. His black leather jacket was gone, he was just in his black shirt now, and his short cropped hair was damp with sweat even though the room was cold. His hands were zip-tied in front of him and he kept looking at the plastic bag on the desk.
"You have the results," the guard said quickly, before anyone asked him anything. Sweat ran down his forehead. "So you know it wasn't —"
"I know you tried to kill me," Mr. Belgasham said. He picked up the bag with the napkin and held it out. "This was on my table. My coffee. My trousers. You put it in the vial, you put it in the cup, and this boy saw you do it."
The guard's eyes darted to me, then away. "He's just a crazy street kid, boss," he said, but his voice cracked. "He doesn't know what he saw."
"He knocked the coffee over," Mr. Belgasham said. "Ask him what he just put in his pocket. That's what he said yesterday. He was right."
The guard licked his lips. His hands twitched in the ties, moving toward his chest where the pocket had been, then stopping.
"Why are you shaking?" Mr. Belgasham asked. He said it quietly, the same way he'd said it at the cafe.
The guard shook his head. "I'm not."
"You are," Mr. Belgasham said. He set the bag down and leaned forward. His slicked-back hair caught the window light. "The lab says the toxin in the cup and the toxin in your pocket are identical. So I will ask you once. Who told you to use it?"
The room went completely still. I could hear my own breathing.
The guard stared at the vial on the desk like it might explain him. Then his shoulders dropped. "It wasn't my idea," he said. His words came fast now. "It was Merriat. You know Merriat, from the river project. He said you were going to cut him out of the deal. He paid me. He said to make it look like natural causes. I didn't want to do it. He said if I didn't, he'd —"
"Merriat," Mr. Belgasham repeated. He didn't look surprised. He looked like someone who had just had a name confirmed that he'd already guessed.
I felt cold all over. Merriat. A rival. A businessman with money and a reason. And I had stood between him and what he wanted. I'd knocked the cup and I'd told Mr. Belgasham to check the pocket and everyone on the sidewalk had seen me do it. If that man had people watching the cafe, they'd know it was me.
Mr. Belgasham saw it on my face. He turned to me and his calm authoritative look softened just a little.
"You saved my life," he said.
I didn't know what to say. I nodded, but my throat was tight.
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"And now he is a target if Merriat learns he was the witness," Mr. Belgasham said, more to himself than to me, but loud enough that the guard heard it too. He looked at the guard again. "You will stay here until I decide what to do with you. And you will not touch the boy again."
The guard didn't answer. He was staring at the floor, sweat still pooling at his hairline, his hands finally still.
