Buck Fever (27 page)

~ ~ ~

“Is he dead?” Porter asked, as he pointed his recorder at the body in the bed in room nine. Dingman stood next to him.

The doctor poked and prodded various parts of Moses Carpenter’s upper torso. A computer display whined a soft tone as a flat blue line traveled across the display grid.

“He definitely was infected, and he is dead. This card in his pocket says he’s Moses Carpenter from the church over in Greektown,” Dr. Grace said.

“Huh, that’s the guy the cops say killed Father Fellorday and now an attempt at Sister Mary Agness. What do make of that?” Dingman said.

“Could be the infection sparked a depressive reaction and he simply lost control. We will never know.”

Dingman’s earflap phone buzzed. He tapped it.

“Dingman here. Yes, sir. What? Hmm. We just witnessed an attempted murder by Moses Carpenter. He tried to shoot a nine-millimeter at Sister Mary Agness of Father Fellorday’s parish. Okay, I will pass that on to the doctor. Any word on the situation in Reno? No? Okay, talk later.” Dingman tapped the earflap, ending the call.

“News?” Porter asked.

“The cops just confiscated Carpenter’s vehicle in the parking lot. Apparently, a security guard at the entrance found a body and trail of blood leading to Carpenter’s vehicle. They think he ran over a pedestrian and dragged his body through the streets of Detroit and into the hospital entrance ramp.”

“No way,” Porter said.

“Unbelievable what this infection is capable of,” the doctor said.

“What if, throughout history, some of the mad men that have wreaked social havoc had simply been infected with a similar virus and Ergot poisoning? Worth pursing, eh?”

“Several studies of the Salem witch trials have suggested that Ergot was the basis for the strange behavior among the young women at the time, however, nothing conclusive has been uncovered.”

“I just had a rash thought. What if these people recover from their infections, get back to living normal lives, and then an event triggers a response that reactivates their bizarre actions?” Porter said.

“I’ve given that some consideration. It’s highly unlikely. Some diseases can trigger ongoing depression and bi-polar activity, but the actions are usually manifested before the infection.”

“Say again?”

“He means that people usually show signs of abnormal behavior long before any disease might trigger such behavior. Right, Doc?” Dingman said.

“Something like that. None of the patients here have exhibited a history of non-social behavior that I know about…and…”

“And?”

“We are investigating the possibility.”

“Are we being investigated too?” Porter asked, his face turning pale.

“Why, you have something to hide?” Dingman said.

The doctor laughed. “Let’s just say we are thorough about the people we allow in here; and you are in here, so you must have been properly cleared. There is one issue, though, about those parking tickets; you might want to get those paid.”

“What, how did you know? I…ah…that was years ago before I was allowed to park under the Times building, and—” Porter explained.

Dingman patted Porter’s back. “I think that was a ‘gotchya,’ right Doc?”

“Yup, just kidding.”

“Oh, son of a—”

“Let’s take a half-hour break. I need to be briefed and then brief the media about the Carpenter shooting and body found in the driveway. Feel free to hang out in the nurses’ ready room down the hall. You can hear the briefing from there.”

Chapter 53

A
noisy TV image appeared on the television monitor in the nurses’ ready room as Dr. Grace briefed the media community from behind the glass partition in the waiting room. He gave sketchy facts about Moses Carpenter: “He accidentally shot himself as a possible result of the infection, and he ran over a pedestrian who was dragged underneath his vehicle into the Disease Center parking lot.”

The brief statements drew a rash of questions and criticism that the media was not being fully informed. They accused the doctor of hiding new information about the disease. It sounded like a conspiracy.

“Is that Jordan?” Porter said, pointing to the monitor.

“Yes, I asked Pillbock to send over a reporter to keep him up-to-date while we help the good doctor. We need to get all of this on the front page for the afternoon edition,” Dingman said, approaching a white board in the room. He looked for a marker. “You see anything to write with? I would like to pose a question to you.”

“Try the stylus hanging on that chain,” Porter said, pointing to a pen-like object.
Here comes another boring life lesson
, Porter thought as he yawned.

Dingman grabbed the stylus and held it to the board. A menu display popped up in the left corner.

“Here we go. It is connected to a rear projector. Hmm, I select the font and color here, and press print.” A page of white paper with colored text slipped out of a white box on the right side and into a waiting tray. “Super. This will do nicely. So what do we not know?”

“We don’t know what happened to Lickshill, and we haven’t seen Sulkin today.”

“Okay, got that. But what is it we do
not
know?” Crisp text appeared as Dingman stroked the board with imaginary ink.

“Sorry, I’m getting burned out. Where are you going with this?” Porter said, raising his hands to rub his eyes, hesitating. “Whoa, I don’t want to do that—could catch something.”

“We know nothing is my point. We have loosely associated facts and observations, but nothing concrete, and I see this going on for days. So how do we get to the next knowledge level?”

“We find out who does know and talk to them.”

“Now you are getting it. And what is the one question we need to ask them above all questions?”

“Is this another lesson in how to become a reporter?” Porter asked, eyes rolling.

“If you cannot answer the question, then definitely.”

“You ask who else has asked similar questions to what we are asking.”

“And if they tell you, who are those people?”

Porter fidgeted. “Ah…the competition?”

“Give the rookie a cookie.”

“Why do we always have to go through this ordeal? Just tell me what to do; and bang my head when I do something wrong.”

“Where is the fun in that? I say we spend a couple more hours here, go home and get a good night’s sleep and hit the news trails hard tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye,
El Capitan
,” Porter said, holding up his right earflap in a salute. He followed that with a mumble, “I hate my job.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, I love my job.”

“Good man. Pillbock will be proud.”

~ ~ ~

“Gentlemen, shall we see how Mr. Sulkin is doing?” Dr. Grace said, entering the room.

“Yes, let’s get on with it; I’m eager to complete our mission,” Porter said, waving his earflaps.

“So, what is it you would like to know?” the doctor said, laughing.

“Huh? Oh, you were listening.”

“We would like to know who else has approached you with questions today—right Jeb?” Dingman said. Porter sheepishly nodded.

“I just got off the phone with a Lynn Spencer, a news reporter in Reno, Nevada.”

“What? You did? That’s the reporter Pillbock was going to call,” Porter said.

“She wanted more information regarding Katie Kottle. I had to turn her request down for privacy reasons. She did say the police arrested a man in an apartment that fit the description that Miss Kottle provided. And—what you’ve been waiting to hear—they found a young blonde woman in the bed in the room tied to a bed by her right leg.”

Porter’s breathing became erratic.

“Calm down, my boy, remember to remain objective and detached,” Dingman said, patting Porter’s right shoulder.

“While the coincidence is more than amazing, you can relax; the woman is definitely not Rachel Kottle. The woman they found is much younger.”

“Damn, damn, damn; now we may never know what happened to Rachel,” Porter said.

“What we need to know is: Did Katie have prior knowledge of such a man and was it through mental transference of some kind with her twin?” Dingman said.

“Most likely there is a simple explanation. After we see Sulkin, let’s visit Miss Kottle and see what we can uncover.”

“Should we tell her about the man and girl, or leave that for another time?”

“I suggest we leave that truth for a discussion after we ask questions so it doesn’t affect her answers,” the doctor said.

“I wonder if Pillbock knows about this.” Porter said.

“He is probably the one who suggested Spencer talk to the doctor,” Dingman said.

“Yes, she did say that a Cory Pillbock referred her. Shall we move on?”

Dingman winked. Porter nodded.

Chapter 54

S
weat beaded on Sulkin’s forehead as he raised his body up in bed and adjusted pillows behind his back.

“You’re looking chipper; how do you feel,” Dr. Grace said. Dingman and Porter held their video recorders up and pointed forward.

“Could someone tell me how I got here, and why I’m here? Who are you two jokers with the toy cameras? Point those away please. I did not give anyone permission to take pictures.”

Dr. Grace waved for Dingman and Porter to lower their hands. Porter slipped his device back into his belt loop. Dingman held on to his and kept the voice recorder on.

“Hmm, no red marks; eyes are normal. Heart rate and blood pressure are normal. How do you feel?”

“I feel great, almost energized. What is going on here? Where am I?”

“You are at the Michigan Disease Control Center in Detroit. A virus that is infecting the deer herd near West Branch apparently infected you. We think you received the infection through contact during an embalming of a potential murder victim: Gordon Lickshill. Ring a bell?”

“Embalming? What? Why would a college student be doing embalming? Just the thought of that is revolting. West Branch? I live in Toledo and go to school at Wayne State University in Detroit,” Sulkin said, taking a longer look at the medical equipment in the room. “Wow, this apparatus is beyond anything I’ve seen. What’s that? Looks like something out of
Star Trek
.”

“Follow my finger,” the doctor said, waving his finger.

Sulkin’s eyes followed the finger, seeing his image in the observation room glass.

“Where is my hair? What did you do to my hair?” he said, patting his baldhead.

“That is all the hair I remember you having,” Dingman said. Porter nodded.

“Shit, am I...am I being treated for cancer?”

“No, but I think you have encountered some memory loss. What year is it?”

Sulkin stared at the doctor. “It’s 1984; the Tiger’s won the World Series. Right?”

“You’re off by more than thirty years.”

“What? No. I remember going to class yesterday. I had a burger for lunch. I studied the night before for a chemistry exam. It’s fresh in my mind.”

“You are a mortician for a funeral home near West Branch. Jeb Porter and I visited with you in the past two weeks along with a newspaper editor, Bob Sanguini. Remember?” Dingman said.

“How can that be? Are you saying I have amnesia?”

“Perhaps a form of amnesia, but...” the doctor said.

“But?”

“But, there is chance you might not regain all of your previous knowledge and experiences.”

“What...what am I going to do now? How old am I? Let’s see...I’m, no...no...no. You’re telling me I’m over 50 years old?”

“Would appear so,” Dr. Grace said, glancing through papers on a clipboard next to the bed.”

Sulkin moved his hands across his face down his neck and over his body. He looked down at his left hand for a ring.

“I don’t appear to have a woman worried about me; I guess that’s a plus.”

“Hmm,” the doctor said, focusing on a statement written in by a nurse earlier.

“What? Am I married? What does it say?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned with now. Please get some rest. Take these pills and we can talk later. Maybe more of your memory will return then.” The doctor handed Sulkin two large blue pills and a bottle of white liquid.

~ ~ ~

“That has got to be a shock to the system, eh?” Dingman said, as he, Porter and the doctor walked through the hallway toward Kottle’s room.

“His talk about marriage is puzzling. Frankly, I thought he was gay the first time we met,” Porter said.

Grace smiled.

“Is that what was written in his profile?” Porter said.

“Can’t say; that’s privileged information.”

“Hah, he’s in for a real surprise, or, maybe he’s not gay anymore. Maybe the infection knocked it out of him.”

“I think the good doctor wants you to drop that train of thought,” Dingman said, also smiling.

“Yes, let’s move on.”

Chapter 55

K
atie Kottle sat up in bed, hands cupped over her mouth, crying.

“Shit, she’s having a meltdown. Let’s get in there,” Porter said as he waited for the doctor to put his hand on the doorway display. Dingman held up his recorder and pushed the record button.

“Are you okay?” Porter said, walking toward the bed. The doctor tugged on Porter’s white uniform and moved in front.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Dr. Grace said, gently pulling Kottle’s hands back.

“I remember; it was six months ago. Jeb and I had dinner, and I didn’t feel good, so I left the restaurant without Jeb and went back to my apartment to rest. I laid in bed thinking about that fateful day when the car with that man approached me. But, I remember thinking that I wasn’t alone. Another girl my age was there and...” She cupped her hands to her face again and wept.

“Her memory is returning,” the doctor said.

“Ironic. She gets her memory back and Sulkin loses his,” Porter said.

“That is the unique effect of this disease. It impacts each person differently.”

“Wait, I remember you called me later that evening and said that someone called you several times, but hung up the phone without talking,” Porter said. “Could that have been Rachel?”