Martin tried to protest. “I’m so close, and really, I’m safe down here. It was only Alison remembering my saying I’d use Planck’s constant instead of the fine structure that opened the secret door for you.”
I shook my head. “Metargon and Homeland Security, whoever gets here first, have such sophisticated electronic spyware, they’ll break the code in a second. Or Metargon’s goons will simply take an ax to the wall. You’d be trapped in here.”
Martin’s jaw jutted in obstinacy, when Alison appeared on the stairs. “Martin! Vic! You need to come up! There’s a story on TV about Julius Dzornen and a dead woman!”
50
MALWARE
WHEN WE GOT to the front room, the station had gone to commercials. We watched a woman extol the virtues of a new drinkable yogurt, followed by a man driving an SUV through the La Brea tar pits.
Beth Blacksin, one of Global Entertainment’s news anchors, finally appeared. “Today’s top story is the dramatic discovery of a skeleton that’s been buried underneath the kitchen of a Hyde Park home for at least fifty years, and perhaps longer.”
She was standing in the cellar where I’d been entombed yesterday, gesturing to the hole in the floor where police had dug up the skeleton. I wanted to be outside, breathing real air, but I forced myself to stand next to Alison and watch the screen.
“What makes this story both more tragic and more important is that this coach house was the site of Edward Breen’s original workshop,” Blacksin was saying. “Breen, whose revolutionary computer design led to the creation of the world-famous Metargon company, allowed Julius Dzornen to live here after the Breen family moved to Lake Forest.
“In a statement today, Edward Breen’s son, current Metargon CEO Cordell Breen, said he was shocked that Julius Dzornen had taken advantage of the family’s generosity by murdering a woman and burying her underneath the kitchen.”
Meg took Lily to the kitchen. “She’s only four; she doesn’t need murder and what-all in her life yet.”
The scene switched to Metargon’s headquarters. Breen spoke from his office, the Rothko painting in the background.
“This discovery is a shock to all of us in the Metargon family.” Breen’s mellow baritone was appropriately solemn. “Julius Dzornen’s father, Benjamin, collaborated closely with my own father to design America’s nuclear arsenal. When Julius and I were boys together, everyone thought he would become a scientific giant like his father. Instead, he became depressed and reclusive and dropped out of school.
“Julius often spoke of having committed a terrible crime, but I always assumed he was referring to squandering his scientific gifts. I can’t begin to fathom what made him commit such a heinous murder, but he came to see me on Tuesday night, speaking as if he wanted to confess. In the end, he didn’t reveal his horrible secret, but it was after leaving my house that he drove his car into a ravine on Sheridan Road.”
That was all Breen had to say. After Breen’s speech, Murray Ryerson appeared outside Metargon’s headquarters.
“Police currently have no clues as to the woman’s identity,” Murray said, “but a button found with the body was given to Chicago Fashion Institute historian Eva Kuhn. Kuhn says it’s from a Dior suit cut in 1952, so the dead woman was possibly murdered in ’52 or 1953. Police are anxious to talk to Chicago investigator V. I. Warshawski, who discovered the skeleton yesterday, but has since disappeared. This is Murray Ryerson, live in Northbrook.”
Murray was replaced by a couple of men waist-high in cranberries. Dorothy muted the sound.
My skin turned cold. Cordell Breen had pulled off a very neat stunt. He’d landed Julius with sole responsibility for the dead woman. There was no way to refute him, since Julius was dead. My assumption, that the Breens installed Julius in the coach house to avoid anyone finding the body, was only an assumption, after all.
Alison was jubilant. “See! My father didn’t have anything to do with Julius Dzornen’s death. Durdon wasn’t tampering with his brakes. I shouldn’t have listened to you, Vic, you’ve been making me scared of my own father.”
“Alison, Rory Durdon tried to murder me yesterday.” I was close to screaming in frustration.
Alison’s eyes were bright, as if the effort to live in denial was making her feverish. “Dad sent him down to the coach house to see if Julius Dzornen had taken our sketch. Maybe he overreacted to seeing you there, but that doesn’t mean my father—”
“Dorothy!” It was Meg, calling from the kitchen. “An SUV just pulled up out front. I’m taking Lily over to Gracie’s, see if her mama will let us watch Clifford with her.”