the Asia project? It’s not necessarily cutting-edge research, I grant you, but in terms of the potential benefit to starving people, well, what’s more important after all.” I started to say something, but he put his hand up to stop me. “We’ll talk salmon if you insist, but not until you hear my Asia pitch. I could really use someone with your skills on that project. Just keep an open mind, that’s all I ask.”
He took my elbow and propelled me toward a steel door at the side of the lab. I had no choice but to move along with him. He pulled it open and we stepped into the hot, fetid air of the rainforest. The light was an eerie blue, filtered through the water of aquariums; rows of them, running floor to ceiling on shelves. Each one housed a single fish. They looked like goldfish but were bigger, the size of dinner plates. As the door clanged shut behind us they turned, in unison, to stare. It reminded me of a TV showroom with all the sets tuned to The Nature of Things.
“Impressive, isn’t it.” Madden was beaming, the lord of the manor. He moved slowly down the row, and I followed. As we moved, the fish, like synchronized swimmers, pivoted slowly, keeping track of our progress. Their aquariums were bare: no pebbles, no plants, just stark glass boxes with an air stone bubbling in the corner. There was barely enough space in each aquarium for the occupant to move.
“Very,” I said, trying to sound truthful. In fact, I found the room unspeakably sad, but Madden continued proudly.
“A few years back I was approached by an overseas aid consortium to do some work on aquaculture, on these guys. Tilapia. They’ve been farmed over there for generations, but the approach has been hit and miss, no real understanding of why some grow faster than others, some are more resistant to disease, that sort of thing. It wasn’t too challenging at first, I’ll grant you that, but one thing led to another, and now we’re on the verge of doing some very fine work. Within a year we’ll be seeing dramatic improvements in growth, yield, survival, and that means increased production. Just to put this in perspective, a lot of these fish farms are momand-pop operations in countries that are desperately poor. A very small increase in productivity can make a huge difference to the lives these people lead.”
He looked at me and his voice became soft and apologetic. “I hate to disappoint you, Ms. O’Brien… may I call you Morgan? But most of my time these days is focused here. What goes on out there,” he nodded to the lab beyond the door, “they don’t need me. Between my lab manager and Graham it runs itself.”
When we were back outside standing in the lab Riesler put his hand on my arm. “So, what do you think?” His enthusiasm was almost catching, but not quite. He caught my expression and sighed. “I can see it’s salmon.” I nodded. “Oh well.” He gave a good-natured shrug. “I gave it my best shot. But if that’s what you really want the person to talk to is JJ. He runs the day-to-day operation.”
When I spoke I kept my voice neutral. “But you must choose the researchers. Manage the allocations.”
With a look of satisfaction he shook his head. “Not anymore.” I was surprised, and he registered it. His voice took on an edge of impatience. “Look, I manage the science. That means I keep a close watch on the directions and outcomes, and I do all the PR nonsense that the government demands of me, but I don’t have time to track every penny and allocate every component for a project of this size. I’d never get anything else done. No. How the science gets done is up to JJ, and when he’s home,” he pointed to an office in the back corner of the lab, “he’s usually hiding in there.”
He turned and started to cross the lab to JJ’s office, passing between several large tanks shimmering with salmon. In one, I caught the telltale crimson of sockeye. In another, huge fish shimmered an iridescent silver-blue. They were so spectacular I was momentarily trans-fixed. I felt Riesler come up beside me.
“Beautiful, aren’t they,” he said, leaning over.
“What are these?”
“Sockeye, but these ones are ocean phase, also know as sea run. Sockeye only turn red on their spawning migration. In fact, these fish are for Elaine. They came in yesterday. If you see her, tell her she can pick them up when she’s ready. There’s a tank open in the housing room.”
I filed that information away in my growing boy-is-Elaine-ever-in-deep-shit file. Riesler started to move off again, but I wasn’t quite ready to end the conversation.
“I’ll be talking to Jonathan Edwards as well. I understand he’s moved to Natural Resources.”
Riesler stopped and turned casually toward me. He seemed perfectly relaxed, and I could see no sign of tension or discomfort in his demeanour. “Yes. It was a most unfortunate occurrence. I suppose Elaine has told you a bit about that. But by all means talk to him. He’s a clever fellow.”
“What do you think of his new technique for determining salmon stocks by analyzing the scales?”
“I can see you’re well informed.” Then he spoke carefully, the objective scientist. “I think it shows promise, but he needs to substantiate his claims. JJ would actually be a better person to ask. As I told you, my life’s in there.” He motioned to the tilapia door. “At this point, JJ’s more up to date on the salmon work, but,” he lowered his voice, “JJ and Edwards don’t get along, so tread carefully.”
“Ah huh?” I waited, silent, but with a look of expectation on my face. It took a moment, but the disclosure side won out.
He sighed. “Suzie, that’s JJ’s wife… ex-wife, that is, at least, I think they’re divorced now. She’s a lecturer here. Anyway, she and Jonathan had a…” He searched for a word. I could have helped him out with several, some more savoury than others, but he found what he was looking for. “… tryst, I guess you’d say, at a conference a few years back. It was brief, or so I understand, but JJ never forgave him. He blames Jonathan for the breakup of his marriage. I would hope it doesn’t cloud his scientific judgment, but just so you know. He can’t necessarily give you a fully objective view of Jonathan’s work.”
The front wall of JJ’s office was a window from the waist up, and I saw someone stand and move from the desk to a filing cabinet. Riesler followed my eyes and his face lit up. He seemed relieved to change the subject.
“Oh good. JJ’s in.” Then he turned back to me quickly. “I hope this conversation remains confidential. I’m not sure who in the department knows,” then he touched my arm lightly, “but I’m sure I can depend on you to be discreet.”
Madden then moved off to JJ’s office. I gave myself a minute to think, admiring the fluid movement of the fish. They swam as if they were part of the water itself, liquid rather than bone and muscle. Madden Riesler was not what I had expected, so what didn’t fit?
When I was ready, I followed him into JJ’s office.
Madden was standing beside JJ, who was seated at his desk holding a DNA radiograph up to the fluorescent lights. Madden was speaking.
“I would have expected the dark band to… ah, here she is.” He performed a brief introduction then looked at his watch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me for the next fifteen, twenty minutes. I’ve got a call to make, but that should give you just enough time to talk.” He gave JJ a solid clap on the back and smiled at me. “This gentleman is the answer to all your questions.”
As Madden left the office JJ half stood and motioned to the wooden chair on the other side of his desk. Even with a lab coat covering his shorts and golf shirt I could see the broad shoulders and muscled thighs of a man who worked hard to keep his body buff, although the aesthetic was somewhat diminished by a ludicrous Prince Valiant haircut and large, beakish nose.
When he was reseated in his own chair he pushed it back on two legs and jammed his hands into his lab coat pockets.
“So what can I do for you?” His voice was unpleasant, high-pitched and slightly nasal, and the smile on his lips was forced. He was obviously going for a casual-yet-helpful demeanour, and it might have worked if not for his eyes. They were narrow and closely set, an abnormally pale grey-green,