Fatal Care (19 page)

“Like what?”

“Like you usually wear a space suit to keep nasty viruses away from an individual,” Mack explained to her. “For example, if you were working with the Ebola or Marburg virus, you’d wear the space suit to keep the virus
out
and not let it get in to the person. But at Bio-Med it seems they’re using the space suit to prevent a person from transmitting a virus into the lab.” He slowly shook his head. “I’ve never heard of any laboratory doing that. Why spend all the money when you don’t have to?”

“Are you saying they don’t need the space suit to contain the adenovirus?”

“Not in my book,” Mack said. “All that technician needed to wear was a mask, surgical gown, and latex gloves. That keeps out the HIV and hepatitis viruses. It sure as hell would keep in an adenovirus.”

“Maybe that’s why the technician was wearing plain latex gloves rather than the big bulky ones you usually see with the space suit outfit,” Joanna said, thinking aloud. “But it still doesn’t tell us why she wore a space suit.”

Mack tilted back in his chair and rocked gently, considering the various viruses that could contaminate an in vitro cell line. Usually it was the Epstein-Barr virus, not the adenoviruses, that caused the contamination. Then Mack remembered that sometimes strange, modified forms of adenoviruses were used in genetics laboratories. “Did you ask about the type of adenovirus that was causing them trouble?”

“No,” Joanna replied. “Is that important here?”

“It could be,” Mack explained. “Genetic labs often use a modified form of adenovirus to serve as a vector which transfers genetic information from one cell to another.”

He saw the puzzled looks on their faces and went into more detail. “Let me give you an example. Say you wanted to transfer DNA or genes from cell A to cell B. It can be done using a virus as a carrier. First, you take an adenovirus and modify it by removing its disease-producing portion. Next you take a sip of DNA from cell A and attach it to the modified virus; then expose the mixture to cell B. The virus carrying DNA from cell A then penetrates cell B. And voila! You’ve effected the transfer of DNA or genes from cell A to cell B.”

Joanna let the information sink in before saying, “I’m not sure they do that kind of work out at Bio-Med.”

“Every genetics lab is doing it,” Mack said promptly. “They believe it represents the key to the magic kingdom. You see, you can use the same technique to transfer genes from one animal to another animal.”

“Assuming that’s all true,” Joanna said, “why would the Bio-Med people be so concerned with a modified adenovirus that can’t cause disease?”

“Maybe the modified virus turned out to be something they didn’t expect,” Mack theorized. “Maybe it turned out to be something vicious as hell.”

Joanna nodded as the pieces began to fall into place. “So the real reason for the space suit might be to prevent the modified nasty virus from infecting the technician?”

“That’d be my guess,” Mack said carefully. “But keep in mind, it’s only a guess.”

“And there’s no way to prove or disprove it.”

“You might ask them straight out.”

“They’d never admit it.”

“Then question the personnel out there,” Mack advised. “See if some of them have come down with terrible virus infections.”

“Questions and more questions,” Joanna grumbled. “With no answers. And chances are, this virus has nothing to do with the cancers caused by that damn enzyme.”

Mack shrugged. “You never know until you look.”

The door to the forensic laboratory opened, and a secretary stuck her head in. “Dr. Blalock, Dean Murdock would like to see you as soon as possible. He’s in the conference room.”

Joanna turned to Mack. “Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.”

“If you want me to go out there and snoop around with you, just give me a call,” Mack offered. “I’m real good at that.”

Joanna hurried out of the laboratory and into the corridor, hoping that Simon Murdock wasn’t bringing more bad news. Which would mean even more work. She was already overloaded to the max, working sixteen-hour days and making absolutely no progress. None. Nada. The only things she was uncovering were more questions she couldn’t answer.

A modified virus! Goddamn it! What did that have to do with anything? Probably nothing. But she’d have to track it down and see where it led. She wondered where she’d find the time to do it.

Joanna entered the conference room. Simon Murdock was pacing around a big oval-shaped table. The blinds in the room were drawn, the phone buttons flashing on hold.

“Lock the door, please,” Murdock said in a somber voice.

Joanna turned the lock and looked over at Murdock. He had a worried expression on his face, the lines deeper than ever. “Bad news?”

“The worst,” Murdock replied. “It seems we have another cancer in the enzyme-treated group.”

“Oh, Lord!” Joanna groaned and sat in a high-backed chair. “Where is the cancer located?”

“Kidney.”

“And he had his renal arteries cleaned out with the lipolytic enzyme. Right?”

“Exactly.”

“It’s a nightmare, Simon,” Joanna said softly. “A medical disaster.”

“There’s still a glimmer of hope,” Murdock told her. “The presence of the cancer hasn’t been proved yet.”

Joanna reached for a pen and a file card. “Give me all the details.”

Murdock continued to pace. “He’s a sixty-year-old patient who had extensive atheromatous plaques blocking his renal arteries. As a result, he was hypertensive and his kidneys were starting to fail. He underwent the arterial cleansing procedure and everything reversed. He was doing wonderfully well until yesterday when he began to urinate blood. X rays show a mass in his right kidney.”

“It’s cancer,” Joanna said.

“But they haven’t proved it yet,” Murdock argued. “He’ll have surgery next week, and they’ll do a biopsy then.”

Joanna looked up from her file card. “Why the delay?”

“Because he has pneumonia from which he is now recovering.”

Joanna thought through the case again, concentrating on the patient’s renal mass. “Was the mass present in X rays done before the patient received the lipolytic enzyme?”

“They don’t think so.”

“It’s cancer,” Joanna said again. “We may as well face up to it.”

“But it’s only in one kidney,” Murdock said hopefully. “So if we remove that cancerous kidney, perhaps he’ll be cured.”

“Maybe for now,” Joanna told him. “But remember, that enzyme preparation was squirted into both renal arteries. It’s only a matter of time before the other kidney develops a cancer. That patient is sitting on a time bomb.”

“Shit,” Murdock muttered, allowing himself a rare obscenity. “And to make matters worse, this patient also sits on the editorial board of the
Los Angeles Times
.”

Joanna watched Murdock slump into a chair at the far end of the table. He looked like a very tired, very old man. “There’s no way you can keep this nightmare under wraps any longer. You’ll have to issue some sort of statement.”

“Saying what?”

“The truth,” Joanna advised. “Make it plain and to the point so everybody understands it.”

Murdock sighed sadly. “Another scandal at Memorial. Another black mark against our good name.”

“It would be foolish to try to cover up any of this,” Joanna warned. “That will only make it worse later on. You should tell the public exactly what we know.”

Murdock nodded slowly. “I’d like you to look at the statement before it’s issued.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll be around all day?”

“And all night.”

Joanna left the conference room, for once feeling sorry for Simon Murdock. There was no way to sugar-coat the press release. It was a medical nightmare no matter how you phrased it. Memorial had, in fact, given people cancer. It was more than a scandal. It was a catastrophe that would stain Memorial’s name for years to come.

Joanna entered the forensic reception area, poured coffee into a plastic cup, and walked into the laboratory at the rear. Mack and Green were gone. Lori was hanging up the wall phone.

“Guess what?” Lori asked.

“What?” Joanna asked, hoping it wasn’t more bad news.

“They found some peculiar-looking material in Edmond Rabb’s skull fracture,” Lori reported.

Joanna put her cup down, her eyes glued on Lori. “Who found it?”

“The people who did the electron microscopic study,” Lori said. “They discovered some slivers of a foreign material embedded in the fracture site. And they were able to get some of it out.”

Joanna’s mind went back to the
Argonaut
and the thick bottles of Coca-Cola served aboard the ship. She wondered if there were chips of glass in Edmond Rabb’s skull. “Were they able to identify the foreign matter?”

“That’s the strange part,” Lori said. “They think the material is regular old leather.”

Joanna’s eyes widened. “They zapped him.”

“They
what
?”

“They zapped him with a blackjack.”

Joanna reached for the phone and dialed Jake’s office number. He wasn’t in. He was attending Billy Cunningham’s funeral.

Lori watched Joanna hang up, not certain what a blackjack was. She had heard the term used but had never really seen one. “Without sounding too stupid, can I ask what a blackjack looks like?”

“It’s a short, leather-covered club,” Joanna said darkly. “It’s the perfect weapon to crack open someone’s skull with.”

Sara Ann Moore watched the doctor’s house from her parked car, wondering if the woman who had gone inside an hour earlier was going to spend the night. The woman wasn’t carrying an overnight case and had left her car on the street rather than in the driveway. She was probably visiting.

Bright headlights suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror. Sara quickly slumped down under the steering wheel and stayed there until the car passed by. The residential neighborhood was upper middle class and quiet, with very little traffic. There were no sounds except for an occasional barking dog.

Sara checked her watch. It was ten and it looked as if this was going to be another wasted night. For seven days she had been following the doctor, and all he seemed to do was eat, sleep, and work. He appeared to have no social life until tonight.

Sara’s mind went back to the woman who had gone into the house just before nine. Her appearance was tawdry and cheap. She was wearing boots with high heels, a miniskirt and a short coat that was made from some type of animal fur. She could easily have passed for a hooker. A hooker! Maybe the woman
was
a hooker.

Sara’s gaze went to the woman’s car. An old beat-up Ford that stood out like a sore thumb in a neighborhood full of Mercedes and Lexus. A hooker, Sara thought again. Maybe part of some escort service. It all fit together now. The doctor was so busy he ate only take-out food, and he probably only screwed take-out women. If this woman was a call girl, it opened up all sorts of possibilities on how to set up the doctor’s accidental death.

Sara opened the car door and quietly closed it behind her. She waited for some overhead clouds to pass in front of the moon. Then she darted across the street and up the doctor’s driveway. She crept along the side of the house, keeping within the shadows. The adjacent house was dark except for a lighted upstairs window. Sara could hear a child’s voice and a small dog yapping, but they seemed to be away from the window.

In the doctor’s house the lights were on. Pressing herself against the house, she moved silently up to the first window and peered in. It was a small library with a desk and swivel chair and bookshelves. One wall was covered with framed certificates and photographs.

Sara heard a female voice and rapidly ducked down. There was more talking—then laughter. A big dog barked in the night, but it was houses away. The moon was bright again, casting shadows everywhere.

Sara waited for the clouds to block out the moonlight before moving on to the next window. Now the voices were louder. She heard a man’s voice say, “Don’t tell me you forgot the goddamn menthol.”

“I swear I put some in my bag before I came over,” the woman said.

“Shit!”

Very slowly Sara rose up and peeked in from the corner of the window. She quickly dropped back down, not believing what she had seen. Holy Christ! A freak show! Again she slowly rose and peeked in.

Alex Mirren was lying spread-eagled on his bed with all his extremities tied securely to the bedposts with black silk stockings. Someone had drawn red circles around his nipples and genitals with lipstick.

“I know the menthol cream is in here somewhere,” the hooker said as she rummaged through her purse. She was a tall, thin woman with bushy red hair and small breasts. A cigarette dangled from her lips. She was wearing boots with spike heels, pink panties, and fishnet hose. “I must have lost it.”

“Well, go get some, goddamn it!” Mirren demanded.

“I live out in the Valley,” the hooker complained. “It’ll take me an hour to get there and back.”

“There’s an all-night drugstore at Wilshire and Dorsey,” Mirren said. “Go get the stuff and get the hell back here. And make sure it’s the double-strength menthol cream.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the hooker said unhappily. “I know.”

Sara watched the hooker dress, praying that the woman wouldn’t untie Mirren before she left. The setup was so perfect. Alex Mirren would die in what looked like an accident, and someone else would be blamed for it. So perfect. Just leave his freaky ass tied up to the bedposts.

The hooker was tucking her blouse into her miniskirt. “This is going to cost you extra, you know?”

“Just get the damn menthol!”

Sara knew what the mentholated cream would be used for. One of her girlfriends at Columbia had performed the menthol trick on her boyfriend regularly. The menthol cream was gently rubbed over the man’s scrotum and penis. As the man achieved an erection, the woman mounted him and began to slowly ride him. The warmth of the woman’s vagina turned the menthol on his genitals into an erotic heat that went on and on. The boyfriend had gone from having one orgasm per night to three.