Stolen in Paradise (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) by Toby Neal Page A

teeth. “I’m wondering how we can possibly be of interest to the FBI.”
    Rogers took the lead. “We’re investigating the murder of a prominent scientist, Dr. Trudy Pettigrew. She was working on a project AgroCon is reported to be interested in, and her research was stolen. We’re following up on anyone who had an interest in the research.”
    “What!” The man’s shock appeared genuine. “I did hear about Dr. Pettigrew on the news, but I didn’t know the research was stolen! I thought the rights to her work reverted to the University of Hawaii.”
    “No. Her research was stolen and the sample stock as well.”
    Smith’s face reddened and a vein pulsed in his forehead, indicating a possible problem with his blood pressure. “This is news to me.”
    “Be that as it may.” Rogers forged on. “What was AgroCon’s interest in Dr. Pettigrew’s research?”
    “We helped fund it. We owned an interest in it. This is a terrible loss.” He stood up, paced.
    “What exactly was your understanding about ownership of the rights to BioGreen?” Rogers asked.
    “We gave Dr. Pettigrew a five-hundred-thousand-dollar grant. We had a handshake agreement that she would entertain our offer for the rights first, over other competitors, if the project was successful. Which we had heard it was.”
    “Hm. We were given to understand by the university that grants are given no strings attached; unless it’s a privately funded lab, all work product is jointly owned by the researchers and the university. No one can unilaterally ‘buy’ a project; nor does the research automatically belong to anyone who contributes to the project,” Marcella said.
    The AgroCon VP flapped his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Grants are the lifeblood of research and we all know that, as do the researchers. Dr. Pettigrew knew which side her bread was buttered on, and now that I’m aware of this, I’ll be having our legal department draw up a claim.”
    Rogers and Marcella exchanged a glance. Marcella finally spoke. “We are in the middle of an active murder investigation. Perhaps Dr. Pettigrew didn’t see it the way you did—perhaps she had other plans for BioGreen. And you killed her for it.”
    Smith’s high color faded, leaving him the same mushroom shade as the seating arrangement.
    “That’s ridiculous. No one would be that stupid. Dr. Pettigrew was worth way more alive.”
    “How deeply caring,” Marcella said.
    “What I mean to say is, AgroCon Ltd. would never stoop to such tactics. We are a worldwide conglomerate with no need to compromise ourselves in this way.”
    “Oh. In what way do you compromise yourselves?”
    “No comment. Now, if you have nothing further to ask me, I have a company to run.”
    “We’d like copies of all the paperwork between your firm and Dr. Pettigrew.”
    “There wasn’t much. Just her grant application and our letter approving the grant. Anything further was a verbal agreement, which we will still consider binding.”
    “Not when the woman is dead, leaving no paper trail. We’d also like any internal memos, etcetera.”
    The VP depressed a button on his desk and spoke into it. “Janice, can you notify legal that these agents are asking for internal paperwork and copies of correspondence relevant to Dr. Pettigrew? Thank you.” He released the button, showed his veneers again. “I’m sure you have a subpoena for that information.”
    “By the time you collect it, we’ll have it,” Rogers said. “Your lack of helpfulness is duly noted.”
    They left the office, Marcella working her phone to get subpoenas for the AgroCon correspondence. Back at the Acura, Rogers loosened the collar of his pressed white shirt, yanked out his tie, turned the key with a roar.
    “Corporate ass.”
    “Did you expect anything different? Types like that, all they do is make phone calls and generate memos. I’ve got no problem with AgroCon having a motive—but finding out who in a giant organization actually