Murder: Cryogenesis

Neither of the other two brusque men said anything for a moment but turned to each other as if to hold silent conference. Max let his gaze wander to the bay window to his left that looked out over the tree-lined street, anxious to learn what this intrusion was all about but unwilling to begin any conversation himself. He was the host and painfully aware of his duties according to traditional British standards; he could not offend his guests by seeming pushy or rude, much as he would have liked to be direct.

Outside the double-glazed window, the branches of a small ash tree beat across the glass back and forth, keeping time with the screeching winter gales that the distant echo of a rushing train had drowned out a few minutes before. The window was encrusted with ice around the edges that had formed swirling freize-like patterns. Max suddenly remembered that he had left his electric blanket turned on for more than an hour, but he would have to get back to it later. He tried to remind himself not to forget about it entirely.

"So, Dr. Stott," Wentworth finally began. "Do you remember our last meeting? It was a brief meeting, to be sure, but I believe we made some arrangement as to discussing my company's proposal." Wentworth's ice blue eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, as if by doing so he could jog the memory of his host.

"Er--yes..." Max took a step back. He brought his fingers to his mouth and tucked his thumb under his chin, supporting his left elbow with his right arm dug in across his chest. This was his usual expression of concentration. Soon he remembered a day three weeks before at the lab, when a visitor from Medcorps, a branch corporation of the ***** company, had been authorized to meet with him. Max had been too busy to pay much attention to Wentworth then, whose insistent proposal promised him a better salary and funding for his own project in exchange for a small favor--an errand on behalf of Medcorps to regulate certain imports from the Far East.

Max had no idea why they were bothering him, a geneticist, with the affairs of the foreign market and had done the appropriate thing by forgetting that the meeting had ever taken place. Now he remembered saying "Yes, all right, anything you like," in answer to Wentworth's requests for a private meeting in order to make the man go away.

"Ah--yes, I remember now," Max finally nodded. Wentworth and Eddings exchanged a conspiratorial glance. Max made a deliberate effort to recollect his nerves. "Can I offer you gentlemen something to drink?"

"Some Scotch will be fine, thank you." Wentworth nodded in acknowledgment of his host's courtesy.

"And for you, Mr. Eddings?"

"Talisker or Glenmorangie if you have it." Was the other man's laconic reply. A moment later Max handed a glass to each before resettling himself against the mantlepiece in a casual slouch, his arms folded across his chest, his ankles crossed.

"I take it you've considered our proposal then?" Wentworth asked, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the sofa.

"What exactly did you want me to do?" Max decided to be blunt.

Wentworth smiled slowly. At the same time, Max found Wentworth's smile vaguely disconcerting.

"To be frank, Dr. Stott," Wentworth replied, "we need someone with the right credentials to confirm Medcorps' suspicions with some hard evidence. You have worked in forrensics and DNA analysis, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but that was a long time ago, before Cambridge." Max looked suddenly pained. "And anyway, what has forrensic evidence got to do with this business? I thought you were worried about company imports," Max sounded exasperated, but Wentworth chose to ignore it. He brushed aside Max's indignation with a little wave and then sighed.