Chemistry for Revenge

By Susan Egner

Dave Sears and Les Coggins, top research chemists, collaborate on a project so secret that all records are encrypted. After clinical trials, worldwide recognition and untold wealth await them. Now Dave and Les are dead. Revenge is the catalyst in a formula that breaks the laws of chemistry and society: (revenge) + (manipulation)(greed) = murder!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Seale
• Release date: Dec 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301199587

Susan Egner

Minnesota Author Susan Egner followed her father’s footsteps into the life of a newspaper reporter before turning her pen to fiction. Her father, Lou Egner, was the well-known photojournalist for the Florida Times-Union and the former Jacksonville Journal. Now married and living in Burnsville, Minnesota, a suburb of Minneapolis, the mother of two and grandmother of four, fondly recalls, “Daddy gave cameras to my two sisters and me when we were still in elementary school saying, ‘Wherever you go, always remember to take your camera.’ He felt a story could unfold anywhere and he wanted us prepared. That training resulted in my writing about female photographers.”Encouraged by friends after hearing the stories she made up for her own children, Egner wrote and published her own children’s book series, Has Anyone Seen Woodfin? She has made multiple guest appearances with costumed characters in seven states and Shanghai, China; appearing in bookstores, elementary schools, children’s hospitals and the Mall of America. Her work was featured as one of ten programming initiatives at a gala event held in Chicago’s Field Museum by PBS affiliate, WYCC.Egner’s previous writing experience also includes writing and editing for the Dakota County Tribune, a weekly newspaper. In addition, she was a freelance writer for the Dayton Hudson Corporation Santa Bear series.Egner made the transition to e-B­­ook publishing in 2012 with her five-star rated novel, Scotoma. A gifted storyteller, Egner’s characters face challenges and often undergo personal transformation as they confront issues in contemporary society. Her stories are about ordinary people who find themselves in adverse circumstances that could face any of us. The choices each makes—and the resulting consequences—weave a tapestry of mystery, intrigue, and romance that will keep the reader wholly absorbed until the last page.Susan Egner proudly supports Operation eBook Drop, which provides free access to uniformed men and women deployed in service overseas. Learn more about Susan Egner on her website, EgnerINK, on Google+, and on Facebook.

Book preview

Chapter One

Stillwater, Minnesota, came alive in the summer months. The small historical hamlet nestled on the bluffs of the St. Croix River, twenty miles from downtown St. Paul, drew summer crowds for sailing events on the river, gourmet dining in the many restaurants and pubs, and shopping in a variety of retail establishments. It was a picturesque place to visit and drew visitors from the five-state area.

However, it was two in the morning and restaurants and pubs were closed. The trolley was no longer running and the paddlewheel was safely docked at the pier The streets were lifeless with only an occasional car heading east on State Highway Ninety-five. Emergency lights flashed at the summit of the lift bridge that spanned the St. Croix River between Stillwater and Somerset, Wisconsin. A car was stopped there, backing up traffic, meager though it was. The hollow sound of a tentative horn traveled with the flow of the river, dwindling and folding into the gentle lap of the water. People waited patiently as only what visitors called Minnesota nice would do. Eventually a police car with lights flashing passed the waiting cars and drove up silently in the wrong lane to investigate.

Stillwater Police Department investigator, Lucy Ruediger, was first on the scene as she climbed from her car to survey the situation. She found what appeared to be a parked car, but the engine was running and the driver’s door open, but there was no sign of the driver. She noticed that the driver had conscientiously turned on the emergency flashers to warn approaching vehicles. Lucy walked around the car, aiming her flashlight through its windows and peering in, certain she would find its occupant passed out from inebriation. But the car was empty.

When she spotted a pair of shoes neatly aligned with the bridge railing, her heart lurched in her chest. She leaned over the railing and looked down. Water glided by with barely a ripple as if to murmur its innocence of any wrongdoing. Lucy returned to the driver’s side of the car, reached in and turned the engine off. As she removed the keys, she noticed a nametag on the chain that read Lazerbee Institute. She reached into the glove box and located the insurance papers that stated the car belonged to Lester Adam Coggins. That gave her two places to start.

After running the driver’s license and arranging for the car to be towed, Ruediger called in a probable suicide jumper.

Andrea Sears, called Andie by friends, sat at the kitchen table reading the morning paper. Even she admitted she was no Andrea. Short and petite with naturally curly, red hair that tended to frizz with humidity, Andie was not unattractive. As more than one friend had commented, you are a tall five foot two, but not the tall, long-limbed woman you would think of as an Andrea.

Sunlight streamed through the breakfast nook windows causing her to put down the paper and gaze out at the brilliant blue morning glories that covered an adjacent trellis. This year they lived up to their name: they were glorious. Dave had put the bow window in, not quite a year ago, to show off his wife’s gardening skills. Beyond the blossom-laden trellis, a stretch of yard boasted a patchwork of summer flowers anchored at the end by her prizewinning rose garden. A heavenly fragrance traveled through the open window.

Andie released a heavy sigh. In two weeks, Dave will have been gone a full year. Found dead in their garage with no signs of foul play, the police had classified it a suicide. Her beloved Dave, a suicide!

Suicide? she had gasped, as if the word had come from a foreign language and was unintelligible. You can’t be serious. My Dave. He was happy. We were happy. I…I don’t understand.

And that was it. No investigation, nothing. It was routine for family members to be in shock and denial and challenge what, to the police, was regrettably evident from the crime scene: an open and shut case of suicide. Though she knew in her heart it was not true, for the boys it was another matter. Both sons felt deeply betrayed by a father they had loved as playful, deeply caring and their primary source of strength. His most valuable and often repeated guidance had been, Sit tall in the saddle, which he had taught the boys by word and deed meant, refrain from activities that will bring you shame.

She tried desperately to reassure them, but what could she use as proof. And if not suicide, what? On the face of it, the evidence pointed to Dave’s having taken his own life, though everyone who knew him said it couldn’t possibly be true. She had questioned friends, co-workers, family, and neighbors, even his parents, searching for even the slightest indication of unhappiness. Everyone was as dumbfounded as she.

Dave had not only been passionate about his work as a research chemist, commenting almost daily about the latest developments and quantum leaps in their technical capabilities, he’d been enthralled by it. Excited to get up in the morning to go to work; equally excited to come home to his beloved family in the evening. Though she understood little of what he actually did in the lab, his excitement was contagious and she loved listening to him expound on his God-given privilege to unravel the mysteries of disease. Dave was not one to brag or give in to overstating facts. If anything, he would err on the side of caution in such circumstances. But when it came to his work, this project, he unreservedly expressed confidence that they were on the verge of chemically engineering the capability to target, and thus turn off, the insidious genetic markers in any strain of cancer. They were creating a universal cure for cancer. He was at the very pinnacle of his career.

Friends were equally doubtful that his death was the result of suicide. Dave was the friend who never failed to jump in with a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on. He had counseled more than one friend leaning toward straying from marriage and convinced them to turn the same energy toward their wives. She knew for a fact that at least two marriages had been saved because of Dave. Though he had never shared any of these confidences with her, the wives of the salvaged marriages had bestowed their thanks on Andie.

So what about their marriage? She and Dave had been happily content; she was sure of it. She thought about the many sacrifices he had made for family and for her. They had not been unhappy choices for him. Dave had been devoted to their marriage and their two sons, Alex and Scott. It seemed a foregone conclusion that he would choose family first.

Their marriage had been a comfortably affectionate bond. Granted, they didn’t have sex as often as before the boys were born, but it was not nonexistent either. In fact they had had a delightful afternoon together only two days before his death. The boys had been invited to a Twins baseball game and would be gone for hours. Dave had surprised her by coming home early from the lab, holding a bottle of her favorite wine, Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio, in one hand, and a bouquet of summer flowers in the other.

Did you pick those from the garden she laughed, filling a vase and plunging the fresh cut stems into water. Dave decanted the wine and removed two pieces of Riedel stemware from the hutch in the dining room.

What’s the occasion? she asked, tipping her glass to his.

No kids, he said with an artificial smirk. We have all afternoon just for ourselves. I made dinner reservations at Santorini’s.

It had been a memorable afternoon and evening. Andie remembered saying a prayer of gratitude at the time for her wonderful husband. Two days later he was dead.

Chapter Two

A cloud edged over the face of the sun, throwing the flowers in shadow and shaking Andie from her melancholic thoughts. She took a sip of coffee. Aaagh! Cold!

She dumped the contents into the sink and refilled her cup with fresh, hot coffee just as the phone rang.

Good morning, she said, trying desperately to add a lilt to her strained voice.

Having a hard day? asked her mother.

Hi, Mom, she swallowed a sniffle. Why was it that talking to her mother inevitably resulted in tears? She wondered if she would forever revert to the role of child when with her mother, as if the years since reaching adulthood would never be sufficient to diminish the bond of her mother’s caring and protection. The usual.

How are the boys doing?

Alex is doing pretty well. Scott… she released a long sigh. Well you know Scott. He’s struggling."

What does the counselor say?

Same old, same old. Give it time, don’t rush him.

I’m sure that’s good advice, said her mother, her words cautious. Andie and her mother had always been more than candid with one another, but these circumstances had pushed them into a series of awkward and somewhat guarded exchanges instead of their normal, unconstrained dialogue.

Except he’s devastated, Mom. You know how close Dave was with both the boys, but Scott was his sidekick.

I know, honey. We’ll just have to help him in whatever way we can.

How do we help him when he’s been told his father committed suicide?

We both know that’s not true.

Do we? Andie began to cry in earnest.

Andie, this probably isn’t the time, but I think you should know this.

Mom, she protested as she tried to gulp back sobs, please don’t offer me anymore of well-intended comments. I know you’re trying to help, but… The words came out in a rush of agony, remembering the attempts her friends made at the funeral with their platitudes that God has a plan, and God never gives you more than you can handle, and Be grateful for the wonderful marriage you had. Grateful! Grateful for losing my one true love? Were they serious?

As if reading her thoughts, her mother said, Andie, stop, listen to me. Have you read today’s paper?

Huh, what? Andie, bent on a path of self-pity was pulled up short, almost out of the loop of conversation. What did you say?

Today’s paper. Have you read it?

I started part of it, she mumbled, trying to figure out where her mother was going. If she had some outing planned or some mega-sale, Andie thought she’d scream. That’s the way it had been in the days before Dave’s death. Her mother would call, enthusiastic about some event and they’d take off to spend the day together. Many of her friends were openly envious of the friendship she shared with her mother. She knew her mother loved her deeply, but no cultural event or 13-hour Macy’s sale could ever replace the presence of Dave in her life.

They had met in college and though there was no rush of emotions that first meeting, the embers ignited and slowly built into a blast furnace of passion. Years of marriage had done little to extinguish that fiery twinkle in his eye that reminded her every day how much she was loved.

Mom, she sighed.

Her mother heard the resignation in her daughter’s voice, a deep reservoir of self-pity. But who could blame her? She was barely forty and already a widow. She and Dave had had one of those rare, even enviable, marriages with so much to look forward to in the future. She reigned-in her own personal grief, always prepared to be supportive of her daughter as much and as often as necessary, but gently and firmly.

Andie, I think you should read the paper. An article in the front section, near the back. I almost missed it. Another research scientist has been found dead.

Andie tried to re-direct the course of her thinking from the expected offer of a mother-daughter day to the staggering news that a chemist like Dave had been found dead.

Was it suicide? she whispered.

At first that’s what they thought, but…well, read the article and then call me back.

Chapter Three

Andie unfolded the paper where she had left it on the table and rifled through the pages until she found the article her mother wanted her to read:

New Evidence Alters Suicide Report

Chemist Lester Coggins, employed as a research scientist at the Lazerbee Institute, St. Paul, was found dead on the banks of the St. Croix River, Thursday, August 5. Initially Coggins was classified as a suicide when his 2004 Honda Pilot was found abandoned midway across the Stillwater Bridge around two am, August 4th. Stillwater police found the vehicle parked at the top of the bridge, its engine idling and driver’s door open. The vehicle’s emergency lights were flashing. A pair of shoes, later identified as belonging to Coggins, was found beside the bridge railing, leading on-scene investigators to preliminarily conclude that someone had jumped from the bridge. Registration in the car identified its owner as Lester Coggins.

Riverbanks were combed; and divers searched the river in the vicinity of the bridge, but no body was found.

The following morning, two fishermen identified as Carl Chaucer and George Tyler, pulled the body from the water and took it to the eastern bank of the river near the town of Afton where they called police.

Autopsy results indicate that Coggins put up a struggle before receiving a severe blow to the back of the head. Forensic evidence determined that Coggins was dead before entering the water.

Police investigator Lucy Ruediger told reporters that the Stillwater Police, assisted by the FBI, are investigating the incident, now classified as murder.

Stunned by the newspaper article, Andie dialed her mother’s number. Was it possible that Dave had been murdered? The thought was almost as hard to comprehend as suicide. Why? Why would anyone want to murder Dave? Everyone loved Dave. Her thoughts swirled around, suddenly relieved, as bazaar as that sounded, that Dave might have been murdered, that he had not committed suicide. She needed to talk to her mother to anchor her thoughts.

You read it? her mother answered.

Yes, but I don’t know what to think. Why would anyone murder Dave? It sounds so farfetched.

Andie, we all know that Dave did not commit suicide.

But murder. Why…?

Honey, you need to go to the police. They haven’t called you yet, which means they haven’t connected the dots.

What dots? What do we know? It could just be a coincidence.

We know he didn’t commit suicide. It’s no coincidence.

But the police won’t listen to me. I don’t have any kind of evidence to show them. This Lester Coggins didn’t even work with Dave…didn’t even work at the university.

But, according to the paper, he was a research scientist at a lab, just like Dave.

That doesn’t mean Dave knew him.

You don’t really know that, do you?

What do you mean?

Isn’t it possible that scientists exchange information? I know Dave attended conferences every year. Surely he met people in his own area of expertise all the time. Andie, call it instinct, maybe a mother’s instinct, but I’m willing to bet there’s a connection. This could be very important for the boys; for you, too.

It’s still a hard scenario for them to deal with, Mom. I don’t know if Scot could take it, right now. I mean, he’s so fragile. And it still begs the question, why?

Well, let’s keep it between us for now; but it won’t take long before others see the similarity and start asking questions. Eventually this coincidence will get back to the boys, whether you want to tell them or not.

It would be better for them to hear this from me, I realize that. It’s just that I want to be sure, to know more.

"The article in the newspaper mentioned an investigator by the name of Lucy Ruediger. That might be a place to start.

Chapter Four

Lucy Ruediger read the article before hurling the paper into the trash bin. Dan Rimmer had jumped the other Twin Cities papers with his coverage of the purported suicide. Lucy had read the first article by Rimmer the previous evening. Had it been her imagination or had the article been written slanted toward murder from the very beginning. If so, how had Rimmer known?

It was early in the investigation, but Rimmer’s apparent prescience certainly made him a person of interest from Lucy’s perspective. She jotted a note to call him and invite him over for a little chat. After all, she’d been the first officer on the scene called it