or old. She projected an image that was larger than she, a sense of self that could control a stage as it did a living room.
He thanked her and asked, "Did you know MartyDr. Zellerbach was working with your father?"
"Not for sure, no. My father and I were close, but we lived such busy and separate lives that we didn't see each other as much as we would've liked. We talked often on the telephone, though, and I recall he mentioned once he'd gotten the oddest and most wonderful collaborator an eccentric recluse from America who suffered from an obscure autistic disorder. But the fellow was also a computer genius. He implied that this Dr. Z, as he called him, had simply walked in one morning, fresh from the airport, and volunteered to be part of the research. When Dad realized who he was, and what he could do, he showed him everything. Dr. Z was soon advancing Dad's work with the most original innovations. But that's all I know about your friend." She added, "I'm sorry."
She was sorry. Smith could hear it in her voice. Sorry for Marty, for her father, for herself, and for Smith. It was in her eyes, too, the impact of her father's shocking disappearance, the conclusion that it must mean he had been killed. An impact that left her walking in a mental limbo neither in the present nor in the past, but suspended between.
He saw pain in her eyes. "It's a lot harder for you," he said. "At least Marty has a good chance."
"Yes." She gave a vague nod. "I suppose that's true."
"Did your father say anything that led you to think someone might've wanted to murder him? Someone whom he was afraid might try to steal his work?"
"No. As I said, Dr. Smith, we saw each other infrequently, but even less so these last twelve months. In fact, we talked on the telephone less often, too. He was deeply immersed in his lab."
"Did you know what he was working on?"
"Yes, the DNA computer. Everyone knew what the project was. He hated secrets in science. He always said there was no place for such ego-centered nonsense."
"From what I've heard, that was true up until last year. Any idea what happened to change him?"
"No." There was no hesitation.
"What about new friends? Women? Envious colleagues? A need for money?"
She almost smiled. "Women? No, I think not. Of course, a child, especially a daughter, never knows for certain, but my father barely had time for my mother when she was alive, even though he was devoted to her. She knew that, and it enabled her to put up with her giant rival his laboratory. Dad was, as you Americans would say, a workaholic. He had no need for money and never even spent his large salary. He had few friends, only colleagues. None was new or particularly envious that I knew about. But then, they had no reason to be. All his associates had great reputations of their own."
Smith believed her. The profile was prevalent among world-class scientists, especially the workaholic part. Enormous envy was unusualtheir egos were far too big to envy anyone. Compete, yes. Competition was fierce, and nothing delighted them more than the false starts, wrong lines of reasoning, and errors of their rivals. But if a competitor got ahead on the same project, they would be far more likely to applaudand then go to work improving on the other person's success.
He asked, "When you did talk to him, was there a hint he was close to the goal? A working prototype?"
She shook her head, and the cloud of long black hair resettled on her shoulders. "No. I'd remember that."
"How about your intuition? You say you and he were close."
She thought about it long enough to glance nervously at her watch. "There was a sense about himhellip;a feeling of elation the last time we had lunch. We were at a bistro near the Pasteur."
"When?"
"Oh, perhaps three weeks ago, probably less." She looked at the watch again and stood up. "I really must go." She smiled at him, a bold, direct smile. "Would you like to come to the theater tonight? See the performance and perhaps talk over dinner later?"
Smith smiled in return. "I'd like nothing better, but not tonight. Rain check, as we Americans say?"
She chuckled. "You'll have to tell me the derivation of that phrase sometime."
"It'll be my pleasure."
"Do you have a car?"
Smith admitted he did not.
"May I drive you? I'll take