“In short, a man nobody would miss,” he said.
She nodded. “He was about my father’s height, and build, and age. Beyond that, he was…unrecognizable. It was like a gift. A strange and terrible gift. I’d walked out, looking for an answer—and here one lay, literally at my feet. I ran back to the camp. It took some convincing, but eventually my father agreed—especially when I explained that this was the best way, the only way, to free him once and for all. I took my father’s wallet, ran back to the waterfall, and exchanged it for the dead man’s few pitiful papers. I retrieved the backpack and buried it out in the woods behind the lab. I burned the journal. I installed my father here, in this remote outbuilding, where nobody would bother him or discover him. And the next day, I reported to the authorities that he was missing. I knew it wouldn’t be long before somebody found the body—a cop, or a ranger, or Mark on one of his hikes. And that was exactly what happened. Naturally, when they found my father’s wallet they asked me to identify the mutilated body. I did—at least, I said I did. A week later, they returned his ashes to me. I scattered them around the base of the waterfall. And I duly reported his death to the scientific community. I ordered extra equipment, installed it here myself when no one was looking. I rewired the building to the electrical grid. I came out to see my father, to bring him food, to assist in his work, but only late at night—after Mark and Kevin had gone to bed.”
Suddenly—to Logan’s shock—she reached out and clutched at his sleeve. “Do you see?” she asked in a tense tone. “Right or wrong, six months ago I had realized there was no way, no way, I would be able to save my father. He was as good as dead….It was only a matter of time.”
Laura’s face looked drawn and utterly exhausted. She spoke more softly. “Jeremy, I’m not proud of this situation. But I hurt no one. That wanderer’s death was tragic—but I took it as a sign. Only my father’s ‘death’ would silence the taunting that tormented him so. And this way, he could continue his work in peace. And I can tell you, my father has been more productive—more like his old self—in this last half year than he’s been in a decade. And I believe the world will benefit from his discoveries.”
Suddenly, she looked at him once again with that same determination. “So…now what are you going to do?”
Logan didn’t answer. He’d been so surprised to find Chase Feverbridge alive that this question had not yet occurred to him.
“We’re at your mercy,” she went on. “Both of us. But what you said the first time we met—about knowing what it’s like to work, knowing the entire world might be laughing at you—makes me think you’ll understand why I had to do what I did. You’re an outsider—just as we are. You’re not a cop. If you turn us in…well, I’m not going to try to stop you. But it’s my hope you won’t do that; that you won’t judge us; that you’ll understand. If you expose him to the world…it will be his death sentence. He’ll try to commit suicide again—and this time, he’ll succeed.”
Logan opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He realized he was facing a terrible quandary. Technically, Laura Feverbridge had done something illegal, or at the very least unethical—she had deliberately misidentified a body. On the other hand, it had been done with the best of intentions. The dead man had died accidentally, a lonely drifter with no family or social ties. The ashes had long since been scattered. He thought of the elderly Dr. Feverbridge, sitting inside the secret lab hidden deep in these woods. Even given the few words they’d exchanged, he’d felt an intellectual power, a charismatic conviction in his own beliefs, radiate from the man. He also sensed an alienness, a strangeness—exactly the kind of thing that would frighten men of smaller intellect: academics who’d be quick to dismiss his work. As Laura Feverbridge had reminded him, he himself was all too aware what it felt like to have one’s work derided. He admired her loyalty—and he could sense the intense effort she had gone through, was going through, to help and protect her father. He’d been aware of something, that first time they’d met—something going on inside her that was beyond the ordinary. Now he knew what it was.
He also knew what Jessup would want him to do. But he asked himself: What crime had been committed here, really? And who had been hurt? Nobody. On the other hand, if he were to reveal the truth, the old man would quite likely take his own life…leaving his daughter alone and his work incomplete.
Laura Feverbridge was looking at him intently. He glanced from her face to the shotgun in her hands, and back into her eyes again. This was a dilemma he simply did not know how to resolve.
“Let’s go back inside,” he said.
She looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded and silently led the way across the clearing and into the lab.
20
As they stepped inside, Dr. Feverbridge—who was still sitting at the lab table—raised his head, looking at Logan with a mild yet proud gaze.
“I suppose my daughter told you all about me,” he said. “The troubled genius, the self-destructive scientist.”
Logan nodded silently as Laura Feverbridge placed the shotgun in a corner.
“I’m not proud that I tried to take my own life, Dr. Logan. But I simply couldn’t stand it any longer—the personal anger, the despair.” He paused. “I suppose I should consider myself the luckiest father in the world: to have a daughter willing to sacrifice so much for my sake. These past six months, I’ve been like a free man. You see, it doesn’t matter to me whether my work is published posthumously, so to speak—it only matters that I get the chance to finish it, free from the constant, the maddening, torrent of hecklers and naysayers. Except it seems we’ve been careless of late. I suppose we’ve allowed our voices to be overheard, our lights to be seen.”
“No doubt.” Laura shook her head bitterly, then glanced at Logan. “And I suppose we have Kevin to thank for your return.”
They had been keeping their voices pitched low, precisely so that—Logan realized—this same Kevin would not overhear them.
“The fact is, my work is extremely important. And I’m close to finishing it—so close.” Feverbridge looked at Logan more intently. “I can sense you’re conflicted. You don’t know whether to alert the authorities about all this. Perhaps if I showed you the full nature of my work, showed you what we’ve truly accomplished, it would help you decide.”
Laura looked at him sharply. “Father? Are you sure—?”
“What choice do we have? Besides, your Dr. Logan here might find our accomplishments enlightening.” He looked back at Logan. “Let me pose a question to you. What do you suppose our early ancestors—the East African hominids—felt when they looked up at a full moon?”