Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

dear friend: visionary, benefactor, Lunhill president and CEO, David Ramsey.”

There was a smattering of applause. Tarrin was decisively a pro-biotech town. But then again, in a time when many farmers were struggling to make ends meet all across the country and the globe, farmers in Tarrin were thriving. And I didn’t doubt this was in large part to the higher yields they were getting from using Spectrum-H(R) seeds.

Ramsey gave Mayor Van Dixon a quick hug, then took the podium. Like before, he was impeccably dressed in a suit with a navy blue tie. He adjusted the microphone, then said, “How good was that halibut?”

There was a murmuring of agreement.

“Have you guys ever seen a halibut?” he asked with a smile. “The ugliest damn fish on the planet. Both their eyes are one side of their head. Mutant looking things. But man, do they taste good.”

I had intended on waiting a few minutes to make a scene, but patience has never been my virtue.

I cleared my throat and shouted, “Maybe the fish you saw came from the river in Simon Beach. Maybe it just had a bad case of dioxin poisoning.”

One hundred and twenty heads snapped in my direction. Most appeared shocked at my outburst. Others, like Jerome and the Fulton brothers, seemed embarrassed at their proximity to me, as if they might be guilty by association. Like when your plus-one gets hammered at the Christmas party and starts getting handsy with your lieutenant.

Up front, I could see Chief Eccleston’s gaze narrow as he realized the words had come from his BFF. I half expected him to stand up and attempt to have me forcibly removed, but either he thought it would only make things worse or Ramsey had given him some sort of signal to stand down.

Ramsey glared at me for a long second, then said, “If you aren’t aware, what Mr. Prescott is referring to is the tragic dioxin poisoning that occurred in Simon Beach twenty years ago. Though not entirely Lunhill’s fault, we did play a role in the tragedy, and we were forced to pay upward of two hundred million dollars in settlements and restitution.”

The gymnasium was silent. You could actually hear the rain outside.

Ramsey continued, “We could have stopped there, but we at Lunhill felt obligated to do more. That’s why we invested nearly half a billion dollars into the research and development of a new technology that eliminates dioxins more safely and efficiently. Because at Lunhill we want to set an example that we must protect and preserve this planet we call home.”

This was met with heavy applause. A handful of people glanced smarmily in my direction as if to say, “Suck on that.”

For good measure, Ramsey added, “And just for the record, Mr. Prescott, halibut is a saltwater fish.”

Most of the audience jeered. Jerome was smirking so hard his cheeks would probably be sore tomorrow.

“I know about Neil Felding,” I said. “I know what he found out.”

I watched his face. For the first time, I saw a small twitch in his forehead.

“Terminator seeds,” I said. “He was working on a second iteration of them.”

There was a soft murmuring. Many of these farmers knew the danger of Terminator seeds, knew that it was an ecological disaster waiting to happen.

“Yes,” Ramsey said. “Neil Felding was working on revamping what you refer to as Terminator seeds or what we call Sterile Seed Technology.”

“That’s bullshit,” yelled someone from behind me.

“Please, please,” Ramsey said, putting his hand up. “What Neil was trying to accomplish, and I must admit he was doing so in secret, was to add a gene into the seed that would make it impossible for cross-pollination. But four years ago, Neil convinced me Terminator seeds were just too dangerous and we shut down the project. You have my assurances Sterile Seed Technology will never be used.”

He locked eyes with me. He’d laid everything out in the open. He had nothing to hide.

But then what accounted for the twitch in his forehead?

I asked, “What was the dust-up in the cafeteria between the two of you about?”

“Oh, that,” he said with a smirk. “That was just a little misunderstanding. Neil thought I went back on a raise that I’d promised him a few months prior. He was extremely tightly wound when it came to money. I explained to him that the raise was in company stock, not salary, and that he would see it in his next dividend check.”

“Then why did he resign that same day?” I asked.

“He wanted to work on something new. He’d been thinking about leaving for quite some time. And going back to my office and hashing through his raise confusion, we got to talking about his future. And yes, he resigned.”

“And then he was killed three weeks later?”

“Yes,” Ramsey said. “Tragically.”

I’d heard enough.

Thirty seconds later, I was back in the rain.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The usual puddle in the road leading to the farmhouse blossomed into a small pond as a result of the weekend’s rains. I splashed through, the muddy water seeping into my Asics, then continued down toward County Road 52.

I’d been so sure the reason Neil Felding had been killed was his threatening to blow the whistle on the revamping of Terminator seeds, but after listening to Ramsey at the luncheon the previous day, this didn’t seem plausible.

Was I way off base? Did Lunhill not have anything to do with Neil Felding’s murder? Nothing to do with Mike Zernan’s death? Did I want there to be a cover-up so badly that I was creating one in my mind?

Over the course of my career, for the most part, where I smelled smoke there was fire. But every once in a while, it was just a kid lighting off a smoke bomb in the alley.

I’d been wrong before.

Was I wrong now?

As I ran, I thought about everything I knew about Lunhill. Could Neil have stumbled on something else? A dioxin spill? Proof GMOs were causing illness? That Spectrum-H was causing cancer? Some illicit relationship