It was a wig of long black hair, so like her own she might have been holding her own scalp.
Meanwhile, in the shadows beneath the car, a small digital clock wired to three cylinders and a battery continued to count—clicking off the seconds until 9 a.m.
It was 8:46.
––––––––
“You what?”
The truck swerved; Oberon got a grip on himself. He could not believe what Nimson had just said.
“I—I did it,” the biologist stammered. “I caused everything—I murdered Levi.”
“Bullshit,” said Oberon.
“No. It’s all true.” The biologist gazed out his window, taking in the mountains. “I wanted to sabotage her project ... I wanted ... She was making too much progress, disproving all my theories! I had to do something ... So I formulated a plan—I guess that sounds pretty pathological—and put it into use.
