A Study in Crimson by Chris Orcutt

Author:Chris Orcutt [Orcutt, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780996278393
Publisher: Have Pen, Will Travel Publishing
Published: 2018-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

17

The Prodigal Protégé Returns

Returning to Cambridge, we parked on Memorial Drive and walked across the MIT campus from the river. Along the way, I gave Svetlana the nickel tour, pointing out buildings where I’d taken various classes, and noting to myself with a smile the building that housed my freshman English professor’s office, where I’d once spent a rainy, quiet, watershed afternoon with her, receiving, shall we say, some special, private tutelage.

Then Svetlana and I entered the courtyard in front of building 18—Dreyfus—which, as a sandy brown rectangle with rows of small square windows, bore an uncomfortable resemblance to FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. I held open the door for Svetlana, boarded the service elevator with her, and pressed the button for “B3”—the deepest bowels of the building, where my mentor used to have his office and private lab. The elevator doors closed and we slowly descended.

“So, who is this mentor of yours?” Svetlana asked.

Knowing how long the elevator ride and walk to his office would take, I told Svetlana about him. When I was an undergraduate here, I explained, MIT didn’t officially have a forensic science program. What MIT did have was Dr. Steven Lenz, or simply “Steve” as he insisted we students call him, who would attend his colleagues’ chemistry lectures and poach promising students who showed an interest in forensic science and criminalistics.

Steve had begun his academic career in the 1970s doing pure biochemistry research; but shortly after receiving tenure, he experienced a terrible tragedy: his wife and daughter were murdered. From that day on, Steve became obsessed with forensic science—not only to try to find the killer of his wife and daughter, but also to improve forensic science for law enforcement in general. Some of his early research in DNA helped to develop DNA “fingerprinting” for criminal investigations, and he had consulted for the Massachusetts State Crime Lab, the FBI, Scotland Yard and Interpol.

When the elevator doors opened, I led Svetlana down the long, dingy hallway. The air was still filled with the same acrid chemical smell that I’d come to associate with Steve and his “secret” lab.

“He sounds like a fascinating man,” Svetlana said.

“He is,” I said, “but don’t get the wrong picture of him. He’s not a typical white-haired ‘mad scientist.’ The guy’s a total maverick. Used to drive a motorcycle. Not sure if he does anymore, but if he’s still here at MIT, I’m sure he’s just as much of a rule-breaker as he always was.”

Our footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. I chuckled to myself remembering another aspect of Steve’s personality.

“By the way, Svetlana—fair warning.” I glanced in the lab windows as we passed them. “Steve was always a notorious ladies’ man. He’s in his late fifties now, so I’m sure he’s mellowed, but don’t be surprised if he flirts with you a little bit. Ah, here we are.”

A cracked plastic name plaque beside the door read, “Dr. Steven Lenz,” and a card beneath it listed his office hours. Steve was scheduled to be here later this afternoon.

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