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The minute Margo Green stepped out of the door to her apartment, she knew that something was wrong. The entire business with Pendergast had given her both a heightened sense of paranoia and a sharpened sense of self-preservation, which sometimes caused her to see danger where there was none; shadows in alleyways, seemingly meaningful glances from complete strangers. A prickly feeling on the back of her neck wasn't close to the magnitude of either of those situations, but she was fairly certain it wasn't paranoia this time around. Something was definitely wrong.
Instinct took over and just in case somebody was watching, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and took a nonchalant step backwards through the doorway, as if she had forgotten to bring something with her. She paused. A plain white envelope sat on her doorstep with a small cardboard box right next to it. Caution and curiosity warred inside her as she stood in the doorway. It could just be an innocuous note from a neighbor, or someone playing a prank on her, maybe. Or was it something more malicious?
A small internal struggle arose, but (and Smithback sometimes said that it was because they all had an inner Pendergast) caution eventually won out.
Being a true scientist at heart, she had a box of laboratory gloves stored inside her apartment, left over from heavens knew which experiment she had brought home with her. She quickly found them and donned a pair. Holding her breath, she picked the envelope up – it was of standard mailing size with no other identifying features – and opened it.
A small piece of paper fell out and on it, written in neat print, read: For your studies. Love, an admirer
She involuntarily took in a sharp breath, warily slanting her eyes towards the cardboard box. If the sender's understanding of her studies was correct, she really did not want to open the box. There was no immediate sense of panic, though; she simply (and rather uncharacteristically) cursed under her breath and picked up both items to bring to the museum with her. There she would be able to find the one person who could help her most.
For the third time that morning, Nora hung up on a new archaeology intern after answering at least ten or fifteen questions about where specific equipment or records were located. She sighed and placed her head in her hands. They were well-meaning and eager, and she didn't blame them for asking considering the state of organization in the museum, but did the museum director really have to tell them that if they needed any help, she "was their woman"? The museum was still attempting to clean up the aftermath of the Diogenes fiasco. She certainly had her hands full; the museum needed all the help they could get in regaining the trust of the public.
The door of the office opened with a click and she raised her head in annoyance, expression smoothing out again when she realized who it was. Margo stepped inside the office, closing the door behind her.
"We have to talk," she said, setting an envelope and small cardboard box down on Nora's desk. Nora noticed that she was wearing latex gloves.
"What happened?" Nora asked, concerned. Margo looked slightly shaken.
"I think they know about it."
Nora frowned. "Who? And what?"
Margo gestured towards the cardboard box helplessly. "Whoever sent this. An 'admirer'. They know about my studies, and they sent something to 'help' me."
"What's-" Nora frowned, an expression of disbelief dawning on her face. "Wait, is that what I think it is?"
"I can't take it to the police," Margo told her immediately, the suppressed panic slowly bubbling through. "I can't. They'll spend a long time having me fill out paperwork and might even take this away as evidence; who knows what this person could send or do during that time."
It was difficult to break the societal instinct to trust law enforcement, but Nora understood Margo's reasoning. In their dealings with the local police department, the museum – and particularly the two of them – had seen nothing but incompetence from most individuals.
"Besides," Margo continued, "first I should find out if this is really-" She trailed off, looking at the box. "In any case, if it is then it's most likely somebody from the museum. Who else would know about my research?"
"Are you sure you don't want me to call-"
"Who, Pendergast?" Margo asked, giving a quiet laugh. "I'm sure he wouldn't be interested in a boring old stalker case. No, I'll be okay. I just want to find out more information before I do anything else." She picked up the note and cardboard box and stood up to leave.
Nora quickly stood up as well, stepping around her desk and lightly laying a hand on Margo's arm. "Hey, be careful," she said quietly. "Sometimes I worry about you."
"I know. That's why I told you."
Walter Smith walked down the street with a slight spring in his step, elated at the thought of his surprise holiday bonus. Now he could finally buy the cigarettes he always wanted to smoke instead of being stingy and buying the cheaper brand that he could afford to smoke. It may not have seemed like such a big deal to most people, but the small things of life were important to him.
As he turned the corner, he saw some movement in an alleyway out of the corner of his eye. Spooked, he spun around suddenly, seeing nobody and noticing nothing - until he felt a sharp piercing sensation in his neck.
All he could think was "I guess that means no cigarettes for me" before everything went pitch-black.
Margo pipetted a few drops of solution into the test tube in the rack in front of her and leaned against the lab counter, waiting for the results. She mentally went through everyone that she worked with, everyone that acted slightly strange around her, but there were simply too many museum employees and everyone at the museum was slightly strange in their own way, including herself.
She glanced up at the test tube in time to notice the reagents slowly changing color. It was what she had expected, but it still sent a chill down her spine. Where would somebody get-
An idea struck her. It was only a hunch, but she wanted to act on it quickly and begin ruling out conspiracy theories before she had to relent and go to the police. She just wanted her life to return to the (relative) normal of an employee at the Museum of Natural History. Grabbing her coat, she hurriedly cleaned off the lab counter and packed up her belongings, only briefly stopping at the information desk to check the address of a museum employee.
When she stepped off the subway stop somewhere in uptown Manhattan, the address was only a short block away. A few minutes later, she was knocking on the door of an apartment.
There was silence. She stood in frustration for a moment, left hand on her hip, when she suddenly heard someone on the sidewalk behind her. "I didn't expect to find you here."
She spun around quickly, eyes widening slightly. "Robert! I came looking for you. I – I really need to ask you a few questions."
Robert Pierre stood behind her, looking slightly puzzled at that announcement. He was a museum laboratory employee, a young man who worked part-time at the museum, attended graduate school, and also held one or two other part-time jobs. They ate lunch and talked shop together sometimes, and he was always very pleasant and polite. Margo almost couldn't let herself believe that he was the one behind everything. The phrase "he was always so nice" came to mind.
"This is about the note, isn't it?" Robert asked, and Margo's doubts came crashing down. She suddenly realized that she was there at his apartment alone. Way to be an idiot, Margo, she thought to herself, as he smiled at her. "I'm sorry if it seemed forward. It was just that with your line of research, I thought that you might want to test it out in the lab. I've been collecting samples for you."
She froze. Slightly stilted, she forced herself to grit out, "You really shouldn't have done that," with false enthusiasm.
Perhaps it was too false. He furrowed his brow. "You're disappointed in me, aren't you? Come on, let me show you." He held out a hand.
She had a handgun in her purse. That was all she could think about. "I- I'd rather not, thank you-" She didn't want to use it, though, since he wasn't being threatening, per se, only extremely unhinged and rather terrifying. Then he placed a hand on her wrist and his grip was a little too tight for her comfort. "Robert, let go of me."
"No, you have to come and see what I've collected," he said, expression determined. He started digging around in his pockets – assumedly for keys, but Margo's purse was on the same shoulder as the wrist he had a grip on and she fumbled in it for her gun with her other hand, just in case.
Suddenly, there was a barrel of a gun pointed at his neck that most certainly wasn't her own. "Step away from Margo, you jerk." Robert paused in his movements, glancing from Margo to the person holding gun. He wavered for a moment and then took a step back, letting go of Margo's wrist in the process.
Margo glanced to the side, still keeping an eye on Robert. "Nora!"
"Are you all right?"
"Yes," Margo said, slightly astonished. "What are you doing here? And since when do you carry a gun?"
"I told you I was worried about you. And as I've said many times before, I get all of my good habits from you," she said, smiling slightly. "Also, I called in back-up."
A familiar figure strode up the sidewalk to the apartment and Margo also had to smile. She felt like she was in an episode of Charlie's Angels. "Hello, Captain Hayward."
"Hi, Margo. Nora," Hayward nodded. "Make sure you keep your gun pointed at him. Did this man threaten you, Margo? And did he send you what was possibly a vial of human blood? This is what Nora told me."
"Yes, he did, and yes, though it was most definitely human blood," Margo corrected. "I did some tests. I'm sorry that I didn't come to the police; I just – I wasn't sure, and it was all a hunch, since I knew that he was one of the only people at the museum who works at a blood bank-"
"Margo, it's okay, Hayward said.
At the same time, Robert said, "Used to work at a blood bank."
"What?" Margo asked.
"I got fired. Two weeks ago."
"Then where have you been getting the human blood since then?"
He smiled. Margo shivered slightly, glancing in slight trepidation at the apartment. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know.
Hayward eyed it speculatively. "I think we should open the door up and take a look."
She jiggled the handle. It was locked. "If only we had Pendergast with us," Margo said. "He could pick the l-"
Hayward took a step back and gave the door a sharp kick; it slammed open with a loud bang.
"Or you could do that," she added hastily.
All three of them stared in horror at the living room of the apartment. Clear vials of blood lined the walls, each of them carefully labeled. There must have been hundreds of them stored on what appeared to be homemade shelves. Some of them were most likely taken from the blood bank, but with the amount of blood on the shelves, one could only imagine how many people would have to bleed to create that amount and how many people he would have continued killing at this rate.
Hayward noticed that Nora looked vaguely sickened; the true immensity of what Robert did had just hit her. She stepped in. "Nora, put your gun down. I'll just cuff him to the railing until I can radio in for more squad cars. We'll have to move all of this out as evidence and attempt to determine which ones he obtained more recently than the others. Why don't you go grab some coffee? Margo, go ahead and take her."
Margo placed a hand over Nora's and Nora shakily lowered the gun and returned it to her purse. "Come on, let's go," she said. As they made their way down the sidewalk, she glanced back at Hayward over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said.
Hayward simply nodded at her and gave her a small smile as she cuffed Robert to the railing.
"I can't believe that you he thought you needed human blood because you were researching the usage of blood in ritualistic human sacrifices," Nora said quietly, as they walked towards the coffee shop that was two blocks away.
"Well, if you put it that way," Margo said lightly, "my line of research does seem kind of creepy. The ritual blood sacrifices were supposed to result in eternal youth, though, so maybe somewhere in his deluded mind, he thought it could actually happen." She made a face. "Why are the only guys interested in me the really creepy ones?"
"Oh, come on," Nora said, finally calming down a little; enough to joke around, at least. "Who needs them? We solved this entire thing by ourselves. We didn't even need-"
They stopped in their tracks. Standing in front of them in an extremely well-fitted and elegantly pressed suit, looking vaguely like an undertaker, was none other than Agent Pendergast. He half nodded and half bowed. "Miss Kelly, Miss Green. It's a pleasure to see you again. I was in town on other business and I learned about this situation much too late to aid in any fashion. I trust that you have it under control?"
There was no other way to reply politely (asking about his 'other business' was out of the question), so Margo simply nodded and smiled. "Hello, Agent Pendergast. We do."
"Thank you for asking," Nora added.
"I am glad to hear of that. Now, if you will excuse me," he gave them a small polite smile, half bowed again, and glided away.
They walked for a few moments in silence before Nora leaned over and said into Margo's ear, extremely smoothly with a hint of a Southern accent, "Miss Green..."
After that, they burst into laughter. Slinging their arms around each other, they made their way to the coffee shop with lifted spirits.