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"O.k., guys, what have we got?" Chloe demanded. She, Pete, and Clark were gathered around a desk in the offices of the Smallville High School Torch. School had already let out and Clark knew his dad expected him home to get started on his chores pretty soon.
That was one of the few good things about having superpowers—he could do his chores even if he got home hours late. And it looked like he might.
"Pete, you start."
"O.k., well, I got Roshenko's obituary off the Internet—Russian, born in Minsk, served in the Red Army during World War II but escaped to the west in the 1950s. Got his PhD here, two of them, actually: physics and molecular biology. Published a ton of articles—the guy's supposed to be some kind of genius. And get this." Pete leaned forward excitedly. "Dr. Hamilton worked in his lab in the 70s, and Roshenko helped him get the job at Metropolis U."
"But if they were friends, what's Hamilton's motive to kill Roshenko?" Clark mused.
"Oh, come on, Clark, friends kill each other all the time," Chloe asserted.
Clark and Pete just stared at her.
"Well, they do," she insisted. "Clark?"
"The police seem to have a pretty solid case. They're talking murder one."
Pete shuddered. "Wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now."
"God, I'd give anything to be there!" Chloe sighed. "Maybe if I pulled some strings with the county clerk…"
Clark frowned. "You know the county clerk?"
"No way, Chloe," Pete shook his head. "They won't let you in. I asked my mom about it, and she said they probably won't let in any public or press."
"Do you think anyone would buy that I'm his daughter?"
Clark just rolled his eyes in response.
"Ok, ok, I get the hint."
Clark cleared his throat. "Listen, you guys, I don't think it's a good idea to get involved in this. I mean, we're talking murder here."
"Clark, after everything we've seen, how can you let this one get to you?" Chloe protested.
"I just think there's a difference between a meteor mutant and one guy strangling another in cold blood."
"I gotta go with Clark on this one, Chloe," Pete said. "The cops are working the case—I don't see what possible use we can be."
"You don't, huh? Well, I can see I'm just going to have to do this on my own." Chloe hastily gathered up her stuff and headed for the door, back straight, head up.
Pete and Clark looked at each other for a long moment, and both sighed. "Chloe, wait up!" they said in unison.
p
The crime scene tape at Roshenko's lab came down four days after the crime, and since he couldn't (and wouldn't) visit Hamilton again Lex decided to try his luck at the lab. It took him a while to find the right building (as a student here he'd spent very little of his time actually attending classes) but a blushing coed was quite happy to direct him in the right direction. Thinking it was too bad he had other plans for the afternoon, Lex crossed the main quadrangle at the center of the university. His father's new building loomed across one end, cutting off a great deal of the sunlight. Quite a good metaphor for the man himself, actually.
"Very subtle, Dad," Lex said to himself. Thank god that monstrosity hadn't been here while he was a student—he'd never have lived it down.
Roshenko's former lab turned out to be in the basement of one of the older science buildings. A well-concealed staircase led down to a short hallway, ending in a pair of double doors that stood ajar. Lex knocked on one of them, but there was no response.
The killer, and then the police, had certainly done a number on the room—it looked like a tornado had passed through, followed by a dust storm of fingerprint powder. He entered the room, careful not to fall over debris, and wondered why the university didn't have one of its cleaning crews at work. He did hear movement at the far end, however, and upon investigation he found a young woman kneeling on the floor, carefully brushing was appeared to be the shattered remains of an entire rack of beakers into a dustpan. She was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn't hear his approach.
"Excuse me."
He'd tried to speak softly, but it sounded quite loud in the silence of the wrecked laboratory. Startled, the woman's head snapped up and the dustpan slipped. A shard of glass gouged her left palm.
"Damn!" She swore loudly, and jumped to her feet, holding the bleeding hand in her good one. She was tall for a woman, with fair hair pulled back into a messy French twist, and she was very angry. With him.
"Didn't your parents tell you not to sneak up on people?" The young woman stalked over to the nearest sink and ran the cut hand under some water.
"I don't think it ever came up. I am sorry, though." He edged closer. "Are you all right?"
"I think so." She pressed a paper towel to the wound, and then examined it closely. "I don't think I'll need stitches or anything."
She was a pretty girl, but there were dark circles under her blue eyes and she looked as if she'd been crying quite recently. Lex decided she must be one of Roshenko's students.
"I apologize again for the intrusion—this must be a difficult time. I'm trying to find a Dr. McKay."
The girl's anger seemed to have faded to mild annoyance. "Well, you found her, but I'm not a doctor yet." She looked about her and bit her lower lip. "Actually, I might never be if we can't salvage what's on these hard drives."
Lex was tempted to reach out and touch her before she managed to chew through her bottom lip. She seemed so fixated on the damage around her she had forgotten he was there. And her hand was bleeding again.
"Here." He took her left hand in his and she jumped again.
"You're bleeding," he said gently. Over the sink he spotted a first aid kit, and drew down some gauze and a bandage. He had spent enough time in labs himself to know how frequently accidents happened; the all-encompassing focus of the researcher required a stash of first aid supplies to be handy at all times.
She let him bandage the hand, but she frowned, as if she knew what he was thinking.
"Look, I'm not usually a nervous wreck like this," she apologized. "Really, I'm not. It's just—a lot has happened around here this last week."
"So I see." The last piece of adhesive tape went over the gauze, and he let go of her hand. She immediately lifted it to her face, examining the job he'd done. She seemed to find it adequate, because she didn't remove the makeshift bandage. But, he couldn't help but notice, she didn't say 'thank you,' either.
"My name is Lex Luthor."
"So?" Clearly she was still more preoccupied with her injury than his presence. It was starting to annoy him—Lex didn't like being ignored.
"I wanted to speak to you about Dr. Hamilton."
It was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say. Wariness immediately replaced the fatigue in her eyes.
"Don't tell me you're his lawyer. I didn't think any of the Luthors were into that."
"We're not." Although certainly he and his father both found lawyers useful enough to keep a whole fleet of them on retainer. But no need to tell her that. "I'm a friend of his, and I'm concerned about his arrest.
"Yeah, it's all happened pretty quickly."
Lex saw his opening, and jumped at it. "I understand you're the one who saw him here shortly before Roshenko was killed."
She began sorting a pile of papers she'd retrieved from the floor. "Yes, he was in Roshenko's office a little bit past midnight. The coroner," and here she swallowed hard, "says the doctor died around two a.m."
Almost two hours unaccounted for. Lex was beginning to feel a bit better about Hamilton's case. "How did you know it was Dr. Hamilton? I mean, had the two of you met before?"
She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Everyone in the science division knows who Dr. Hamilton is. The U ordered him never to return to campus. He cost them a lot of money, you know."
So clearly she knew the truth behind Hamilton's dismissal, that it wasn't his meteor theories that had gotten him fired.
"Hush money?" Lex suggested. "To keep those girls quiet?"
Ms. McKay shrugged. "I guess. Before my time."
"So you never actually met him."
"I didn't say that. We met once, years ago."
"The two of you were…friends?"
He had to hand it to the girl, she was sharp—she understood his insinuation instantly.
"Not friends in the way you're implying." Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Emil introduced us."
"And who is Emil?"
Ms. McKay laid aside her papers, and looked him in the eye. Normally when women gave him their undivided attention it meant they were flirting with him, but something in this woman's expression told him sex was the last thing on her mind just now.
"I thought you said Dr. Hamilton is a friend of yours."
Lex had screwed up somewhere; he just wasn't sure where. "He is."
Ms. McKay folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with her gaze again. "He's your friend, but you don't know his son's name?"
Ah. That was where Lex had screwed up. He thought about lying again, but had the uncomfortable feeling the girl would see right though him if he did. She was an odd mixture of contrasts—a scholar with what were clearly sharp skills of perception. He would have to watch his step around her.
So Lex told the truth. "He never mentioned a son."
That seemed to satisfy her, because she turned away and went back to sorting papers. "Doesn't surprise me—they don't speak. I think the day Emil introduced me may have been the last day they saw each other. Emil was doing his grad work at Central City while I was an undergrad. Directed my senior thesis. Smart guy."
Ms McKay was turning out to be a veritable font of information.
"If you don't mind me asking, why isn't Emil Hamilton here?"
She sighed. "Because I don't think he knows about his father's arrest. Emil's been working for the Pentagon—no one's heard from him in months. I tried to get them to give him a message, but I got the bureaucratic run around. That place has so many layers of secrecy even they may not know where he is."
Lex came to stand next to her, watching as she rifled through what appeared to be reams of data. "What does Emil do? Mineralogy, like his father?"
She shook her head. "Molecular chemistry."
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her about anyone else who might have wanted to harm Roshenko when the double doors swung open again. It was Detective Harris, still wearing the same brown coat Lex had seen him in before. He did not look happy to see Lex.
"Detective Harris, hello," Ms. McKay said, covering the awkward silence in the room.
"Angela," the detective nodded. "Mr. Luthor."
"Please, call me Lex," he offered, before turning to the girl next to him. "And may I call you Angela?"
She hadn't offered her first name during their previous conversation, but Lex was never one to miss an opportunity. And the name suited her, really. With her fair hair and willowy figure she could pass for one of the daughters of Metropolis' elite, but then she would have to have a trendy name like Tiffany or Caitlin. Angela seemed much more…practical than that.
And, of course, the detective already felt at liberty to use her first name. That explained a great deal of the hostility Lex sensed: clearly the good detective felt Lex was poaching on his territory. Although judging from her judicious use of the detective's last name, Angela had no intention of humoring whatever romantic visions Harris entertained.
"I'm sorry, have the two of you met?" she asked.
Lex spoke up before the detective could. "I made a few inquires into Dr. Hamilton's case last week. Detective Harris was most helpful."
"And why are you here, Mr. Luthor?"
"Just seeing if I can be of any assistance to Ms. McKay in restoring the laboratory."
Angela shot him an odd look, but remained silent.
"My family prides itself on supporting the research objectives of this university," Lex said smoothly. "It would be a great loss to the scientific community if the late doctor's work was not carried on."
"According to Dean Carroll, insurance will cover most of the damage," the detective fairly growled.
"How can I help you, Detective Harris?" There is was again. Lex almost felt sorry for the man. He had no idea Angela McKay was subtly trying to shoot him down.
"We need whatever Dr. Roshenko had been working on for the last few months. We've already cleaned out the files in his office." Harris eyes the row of mutilated computers. "Do you know which machine he stored his data on?"
Angela pointed to the smallest one, nearly an antique by computing standards. "That one. It only runs MS DOS, though." She shrugged apologetically, as if excusing her mentor's lack of technological savvy. "He was still using a typewriter when I came here."
While Harris unplugged the hard drive to take it with him, Lex tried to think of a safe way to return to the subject of Hamilton without Harris trying to take his head off. Fortunately, it was Angela who stepped into the breech.
"Detective Harris, I wouldn't presume to tell you your business, but I have to say I'm a little concerned about the way this investigation is going."
"Really? How so?"
"I just don't think Dr. Hamilton would do something like this. And even if he had a reason to kill Dr. Roshenko, why destroy the lab? It doesn't make sense."
Harris gave her an indulgent smile. "That's what we're hoping the information on this hard drive will clear up. Apparently that night was not Dr. Hamilton's first visit here. He and Dr. Roshenko appear to have been collaborating on something for the past several months, something that required the two to met in secret."
For a moment the young women looked as if she'd been slapped in the face. Startled. Hurt. "No way." Angela shook her head defiantly. "Dr. Roshenko didn't keep secrets from me. I would have known about it."
"Can you be certain of that?" Harris tucked the computer drive under his arm. "How much do you really know about Evgeny Roshenko, Angela?" He then turned his attention back to Lex. "And I hope I won't need to tell you, Mr. Luthor, what can happen when someone impedes a police investigation." With that parting shot, he left.
"He knows something he's not telling us," Angela murmured, more to herself than to Lex. "This doesn't look good for Dr. Hamilton."
Lex could only nod. Damn Hamilton! Lex had warned him about involving anyone else in the work at Cadmus labs. All the money, all the equipment Lex had funneled out of his father's company to fund Hamilton's research, and he'd still felt the need to involve a third party? Without telling Lex about it? Clearly once Hamilton was out of jail Lex would have to have a serious conversation with him about trust, and what happened when you disobeyed a Luthor.
Angela McKay was staring at him again with that oddly penetrative expression. "Well?"
Still fuming at Hamilton's perfidy, Lex clamped down on his temper. "Well, what?"
"Any other bright ideas? Because if you really want to help Hamilton it looks like you may be running out of time."
Lex was silent for a moment, debating how much he should tell McKay. On the one hand the last thing he needed was someone tagging along with him, trying to play Nora to his Nick. He wasn't Chloe Sullivan--he preferred working alone, especially when the situation was a sensitive one. On the other hand, Angela was positioned to provide him with a good deal of information. And while it was obvious she didn't completely buy his cover story about being a friend of Hamilton, she also seemed inclined to believe the man was innocent.
"Don't forget, I have a stake in this, too," she added, once again appearing to read his thoughts.
"Do you have copies of Roshenko's data?" he asked.
"Of course, I do." Angela stressed the "I," clearly indicating she would not be willing to share it with him.
He smiled. "I notice you didn't tell Harris you had it."
"He didn't ask."
"Take a look at it and see if you can find anything that might have connected his work with Hamilton's."
She frowned. "I thought you were trying to prove they hadn't been working together."
Careful, Lex—he'd nearly slipped up again.
"And the best way to prove that is by examining Roshenko's data."
Angela gave him a skeptical look, but finally nodded. "I'll see what I can find." She glanced around her ruined empire again. "Not much else I can do here, anyway."
Lex gave her his card, one of the new ones with the LexCorp logo on it, but wrote his cell phone number on the back.
"How can I reach you?"
"Oh," she waved a hand distractedly, "I'm always here."
"Right. Thank you for your help."
"Um hum," she said absently. Clearly she'd turned her mind back to other issues, once again dismissing him from her mind before he'd actually left the room.
As Lex walked back to his car he had the odd feeling he was being watched, but it was early afternoon and the quad was nearly deserted. He shook it off. Hardly time to get paranoid—he still had one more stop to make before he could head back to Smallville. Cadmus Labs.
p
Clark had spent the afternoon in the local library, trying to track down some of the late Dr. Roshenko's work. He'd finally been able to pull a couple of articles off the Internet, but now, as he studied them, sitting in his loft, he had to admit most of it was over his head.
"Hey, Clark," Chloe greeted him as she bounded up the stairs. "How'd the research trip go?" Her hair stuck out at odd angles, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly, and her blouse was buttoned wrong, but she looked happier than Clark had seen her in awhile. Nothing made Chloe happier than having a story to investigate.
"I got a couple of articles—there's a lot of things here Hamilton might have been interested in. Matter, antimatter, molecular breakdown…"
Chloe picked up the pile of papers and thumbed through it. "Pretty exciting stuff compared to rocks. No wonder Hamilton wanted to work with Roshenko. I've had Pete doing some more digging into the late doctor's life, but we can't go back any farther than 1953 without getting on a plane to Moscow." Even as she said this, though, she was grinning.
"Chloe, what's up? You've got that look again."
"Well," and here Chloe paused to reach into her bag, "I just happen to have here a copy of a paper Hamilton and Roshenko collaborated on in 1976. Never published." Chloe pushed him over so she could sit next to him on the battered sofa. Clark read over her shoulder.
"'The Possible Implications of Extraterrestrial Rocks for Molecular Research.' I'm impressed." Chloe's sources had always been better than his.
"What can I say?" she smiled proudly.
"So Hamilton must have written this after he got access to the Apollo moon rocks."
"Yeah, and since it was never published I'm guessing NASA wasn't too happy with it. It's a lot of speculation about how rocks from different planets might operate differently on a molecular level than rocks on earth."
"Wow. Sort of a prequel for his meteorite theories."
"Exactly, only in '76 he didn't have any of the hard data to back it up."
Clark was thoughtful for a moment. "Do you think he has it now?"
Chloe shrugged. "Could be. I mean, why else go to his old mentor unless he needed help proving something?"
Leaning back on a pillow made from an old Crow jersey, Clark shook his head.
"I don't know, Chloe, this is still really speculative. We don't know that's why Hamilton was in Metropolis."
"But it makes perfect sense, Clark." As usual, Chloe didn't relish having one of her theories poked full of holes. "I'll bet Hamilton and Roshenko have been working on this for awhile. Maybe one of them got too pushy, or maybe Roshenko didn't want to share credit. After all, he's a big name in the science game. Hamilton's not even a footnote anymore."
"Anything more on what evidence the police have?"
"No, but I'm working on it, Clark. The Planet will have good coverage of the arraignment; we'll know more then. Unless maybe their online coverage is already up. I'll have to check on that."
"Clark?" His mother's voice carried up the stairs. "Dinner."
"Oh, man, is it that late?" Chloe glanced at her watch.
"Want to stay?"
Chloe shook her head. "No, thanks. Tuesday night's pizza night at my house, and if I don't get there early enough dad orders anchovies. Yuck."
Clark walked Chloe out to her car, and then went in to wash up.
"Chloe looks happy," his mother commented as she pulled a casserole out of the oven.
"She's got a new story to work on."
Martha Kent eyed him wisely. "You mean the three of you have a new story to work on," she corrected.
"Something like that, yeah."
Clark's father came in from the back porch. "What's the story?"
"I'll explain over dinner."
So while the family ate Clark explained what had been happening, from the time they'd heard of Hamilton's arrest to Chloe's assertion that his meteorite research might have played a role in Dr. Roshenko's death.
"What do you guys think? Maybe Hamilton really knows something." Clark found the notion so disturbing he pushed away his third helping, only half eaten.
"The town's convinced Hamilton's a crackpot, son," Jonathan Kent said gently. "From what Chloe's saying it sound likes most of the scientific community thinks so as well."
"It's doubtful anyone takes anything he says seriously," Martha agreed.
"But maybe that's exactly why he teamed up with Roshenko," Clark argued. "To give him some credibility. So people would listen."
His mother gave his father one of her long looks.
"Listen, Clark, what matters right now is that Hamilton has been arrested for committing a crime," Jonathan said. "The courts will be interested in finding out the truth, yes. But only so far as it may have led to this other man's death."
"And I definitely think," he added, "this is not the kind of situation that you and Chloe should get involved in. Even if Hamilton isn't guilty, the fact remains someone killed this Dr….Roshenko."
"Your father's right, Clark. I think you should suggest to Chloe that you both back off and let the police do their jobs. She'll listen to you."
Clark felt a bit better after talking to his parents, but as he walked to the bus stop the next morning he still worried. For a moment he had a vision of Smallville being inundated with scientists and tourists, all anxious to see Hamilton's meteorite rocks. It would be the first few months after the meteor strike all over again, only worse, because this time there would be Hamilton's work to back it up. People would come from miles around to see the freaky rocks and the freaky things they could do…and then how long would it be before someone found out about the freaky kid?
He was so engrossed in this scenario that he didn't hear the expensive car draw to a halt on the road beside him. It wasn't until the passenger window rolled down and a familiar voice hailed him that he snapped out of his reverie.
"Hi, Lex. Didn't hear you."
"Doesn't surprise me. You looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. Want a ride to school?"
"Sure." Clark opened the door and slung his backpack on the car's floor. As usual he felt a little awkward sitting on the Jaguar's leather seat, as if he might scratch the upholstery or the real wood dash. Lex had always been pretty good about not letting the differences in their respective statuses get in the way of friendship, but sometimes Clark was reminded sharply about who were the haves and who were the have-nots in Smallville. This was definitely one of those times.
"Clark, you're still brooding," Lex said after they had driven in silence for a few minutes.
"Sorry. Guess I'm just not myself this morning."
"I swung by your house, but your mom said I'd just missed you. I wanted to talk to you about something, Clark."
"O.k." Clark was a little surprised—even though he counted Lex among his closest friends Lex rarely volunteered information of any kind.
"I wanted you to know that I offered Dr. Steven Hamilton my help in paying for his defense. I thought you should hear it from me first."
"Oh." Clark digested this bit of news for a moment, watching the fields whiz by, then suddenly give way to storefronts. "I didn't think you knew him."
"I know of him, Clark—this town's not that big. The guy's up for capital murder and I don't exactly see Smallville rushing to his defense."
"Yeah, well, most people don't think too highly of him," Clark shrugged.
"Yourself included?" Lex asked. When Clark didn't respond, he added, "Most people don't think too highly of me either."
"C'mon, Lex, don't bring that up again. Things are changing. Keeping Plant Three open and saving all those jobs has really changed a lot of people's minds about you," Clark said earnestly.
"Maybe, maybe not." Lex tapped his gloved fingers against the steering wheel for a few moments. "Anyway, I felt it was the right thing to do. Not that it matters—he turned me down flat."
"Really?" Clark couldn't help but feel relieved. The last thing he needed was Lex (tenacious, stubborn Lex) involved in this mess. "I'd think he'd jump at the chance to get a better lawyer."
"So did I, but he didn't." Lex sighed. "It looks pretty grim, too—a witness places him at the scene, and his fingerprints were all over Roshenko's lab."
"I hadn't heard about the prints."
"Chloe's slipping, huh?" Lex laughed. "It's in this morning's paper. But in all seriousness, Clark, I think you should warn Chloe to stay out of this one. I think this whole thing is going to get worse before it gets better. She'll listen to you."
"You're the second person in twenty four hours to say that to me," Clark said absently. "Why does everyone assume my word carries some kind of special weight with Chloe?"
The Jag pulled up to the curb across the street from the high school. "She'll listen to you, Clark," Lex said again.
Clark nodded. "I'll try." And then he grinned. "Thanks for the ride, Lex. And I'll be sure to tell my mom the two of you are starting to think alike."
Lex's laugh was nearly drowned out as he gunned the engine, but Clark could tell he found the idea that he was thinking like Martha Kent pretty funny.
p
Angela's phone rang, and as she dove for it she managed to knock over a stack of term papers on her desk. It had been that kind of a day.
"Hello?"
"Angela, Lex Luthor here."
"Oh."
"You sound surprised."
She managed to retrieve most of the papers and stuffed them unceremoniously in a drawer.
"I hadn't really expected to hear from you again." Realizing that sounded a little rude, she amended herself. "How can I help you, Mr. Luthor?"
"Call me Lex, please. How's the reconstruction of the lab going?"
He'd called her discuss the lab? God, this guy was strange.
"A couple of other grad students came in to help sweep up the rest of the broken glass, and the janitor lent his expertise with a broom so we could get the last of the fingerprint dust off the floors and counters. Dean Carroll has seen to it that the hard drives were removed and sent to the university's main computer lab. The techs are trying to salvage the information on them."
"Yes, it would be a shame if all that data was lost. By the way, I've been reading your work. Very impressive."
"I really don't think two articles constitutes a body of work, but thank you, I guess." Even though he'd been perfectly polite at their first meeting, something about this guy really got her back up.
"Don't sell yourself short, Angela. I think your argument about the need to fully understand the mechanics of cellular mutation before we can effectively search for cures is quite insightful." There was a pause. "Is that what Dr. Roshenko was working on as well?"
"Not exactly. He wanted to prove you can apply mathematical formulas to all forms of cellular behavior. That mainly meant running test after test after test to accumulate enough data. Hence the snowstorm of paper around here."
"I see. Angela, I must admit I have an ulterior motive for calling you."
Surprise, surprise. "I didn't think you just wanted a friendly chat."
"Do you know where Smallville is?"
"Um, not really, no. Actually, I've never heard of it."
He laughed. "Most people haven't, but it's where I lived now. Do you think you could find the time to come and see me?"
She looked guiltily at her "in" box. The president of the university had asked her to take over Roshenko's classes in mid-semester, and her workload had suddenly doubled. Not to mention the problems with the lab. On top of the mess, the mass spectrometer readings were all out of whack; she was really afraid she'd have to get it repaired. There was no money in the budget for that…
He seemed to sense her hesitation. "I know you must be very busy, but I promise it will be worth your while."
Angela still hesitated. She'd met guys like him before, who thought that money and charm would be enough get other people to do anything they wanted. The sad thing was, people—women especially—usually fell for it. She didn't intend to be one of them.
"I have papers to grade…"
"It's about Dr. Hamilton."
Hamilton again. She shut her eyes, unintentionally squeezing the phone tighter in her hand. In a moment she'd made up her mind.
"O.k., tell me again where I'm going?"
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