"A lot." Myers lessened his grip on the knob. "I'm his assistant. Or was, I suppose." A flash of fear sparked his eyes.

"Yes, I know he's dead. I didn't see you at the funeral yesterday." Laura smoothed her hands over the gray skirt she now felt self-conscious of.

"My apologies. I was a bit busy."

For the first time, Laura noticed the trash bags resting against the interior wall and near the door, paper shreds poking out of their cinched tops. "You know, I could help you with that: I'm sure there are plenty of personal things the family would like to keep."

"Thanks, but not necessary." Myers removed his hand from the knob, and reached down for two of the four bags. "I think the only personal effects your dad kept are on his desk."

Laura gave the office one vast sweep with her eyes. "And the rest?"

Myers held the two trash bags tightly to his chest, protectively. "It belongs to the Institute."

Laura looked him up and down, noticing carpenter shorts and sandals beneath the lab coat. "You're clearing his office out on a Sunday morning."

Myers looked away, at the sun blazing through the two windows. "I'm headed back home today, and thought I'd get it done before I left."

"There wasn't any security at the front desk."

"The guard's making a round. They're like clockwork here." Myers looked at her again. "How'd you get in here?"

"The lobby door was chocked open." She looked down. "With a brown sandal."