Taji's Syndrome (26 page)

“Did you really talk like that when you were young?”

“According to my family, I surely did, honey,” he continued in the same vein. “Most of ’em still talk this way. Me, I took on airs when I got my medical degree, as they always remind me.” He grinned at her and went on in his usual speech, “Try the rice, too. It’s good.”

“All right,” she said, and obediently picked up her fork. To her surprise, she was ravenous. Each bite was more delicious than the last and she could not bring herself to stop, even though she was afraid that she was being impossibly rude to eat so voraciously.

“See?” Weyman said between mouthfuls, “it isn’t so bad after all.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Because I did it myself a couple of times while we were working on the Silicon Measles investigation. I let myself get worn out and then not eat.” He spread butter over his bread and handed it to her. “Jeff forced food into me then. I’m just passing on the lesson.”

“Say thanks to him for me sometime,” she said, her embarrassment passing.

When they were through with supper, Weyman insisted that they order dessert and a glass of port. “There’s not enough alcohol to fuddle your wits but it will take the edge off. You need it more than coffee.”

She was skeptical enough to order a pot of tea as well, and sipped nervously at the dark, heavy wine. “My mother used to make a drink for us when we were kids and got all wound up, Warm milk with a little port and honey in it.”

“Makes sense,” said Weyman, watching her. “Let’s figure to get to work at nine tomorr—this morning. I don’t think that we need to push any harder than that.”

“What?” She was so startled she almost dropped her glass.

“Work. Morning. We don’t need to start before nine.” His lips did not move but his eyes smiled. “What did you think I meant?”

Her face reddened. “Nothing.”

“This isn’t the right time or place to proposition you, if that’s what you were thinking,” he said lightly.

Her blush deepened. “Of course not,” she lied.

“For one thing, I’m too tired.” He lifted his glass to her. “I won’t say it hasn’t occurred to me, but there’ll be a better time.”

Her face grew somber again. “Will there?”

—Jeff Taji and Susan Ross—

THERE WAS
no attempt made to conceal the hostility Susan felt at Jeff’s intrusion. She sat on the sofa in the living room of her brother’s house and glared at her unwelcome visitor. “I don’t know anything that could help you,” she told him without apology. “You came a long way for nothing.”

“But perhaps you do,” Jeff said, apparently unaware of her attitude. “That’s the thing that comes to light in complex investigations like this one: so often there are those who know something and are not aware of it. If you’re willing to answer a few questions, I’ll make this as brief as possible.”

“What questions?” Her hands became fists in the drape of her skirt. “I have to pick Grant up in forty minutes.”

“I hope this won’t take that long; I’ll do my best to be as brief as possible.” Jeff referred to a leather-bound notebook, although he had no reason to do so—he knew all the questions since he had written them. “You see,” he went on after closing the notebook, “we’re drawing a blank. So we’re going back to the first reported cases of TS and we’re trying to find out what those cases had in common, if anything.”

“The people who got the disease are dead, that’s what they have in common,” Susan reminded him bluntly.

“Yes. And most of them were young. Before the summer of last year, as far as we can determine, no one had ever contracted this disease. And as of last autumn, only a few had.”

“You mean Kevin?” she asked tightly. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He was one of the first to . . . to die of it. We’re hoping that we might discover how the disease got started by learning as much as possible about the first victims.”

“Harper said you’d already got the family health history. Why do you have to talk to me? Isn’t that enough?” Her voice got harsher with each challenging word.

“It might be, but you know as well as I do that there are a great many things that never get into such records.”

“If you mean the trouble we’ve had with Grant, ever since we found out about it, there’s been no attempt to—” Her features grew more stark.

“No, no; nothing like that. I hope you won’t mind if I assume that you’re willing to tell me how your children have been in the last two years. You certainly know more than Sam Jarvis does about them and you’ve got a different perspective than Harper.” He smiled and wished he wore glasses; he knew how useful they could be in changing the “feel” of a question.

“We could have done this over the phone,” she said resentfully. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“Well, with the blood work and PAST scans we have ordered, I thought we might just as well do it all at once.” He watched her stiffen with disapproval. “What’s troubling you, Missus Ross?”

“It’s bad enough that Kevin’s dead, but you refuse to leave it alone. You’re bringing it all back. You’re making a case for it. You won’t let it be. How are we supposed to get over it if you keep it under our noses all the time?” She got up and paced down the room. “Grant’s started to make a little progress here and you don’t understand how disruptive your presence here can be. You come in here, ordering tests and scans and all the rest of it. It was bad enough to have all the kids put through the Standard Public School Blood Screens.”

Jeff did not attempt to argue with her. “It’s never been an easy thing to know where the right to privacy stops and public safety begins. The SPSBS is up for review in two years—who knows? Now that we’ve got the AIDS vaccine, it might be reversed.”

“You wouldn’t like that, would you? If the Supreme Court decided that you weren’t entitled to so much intrusion, you’d have to find some other way to do your work.” Her chin came up. “I wish you’d find some other way now.”

“Missus Ross, your husband has authorized the tests; I hope you’ll be willing to permit them.” He watched her as she picked up a magazine, then set it back down. “Your son Kevin was a tragic loss for you. I hope that we can spare your family and other families further grief.”

“Naturally,” she said dryly. “What does it matter, anyway? You’ve got your permission already, from Harper. You don’t need anything from me. All you have to do is take your document along to the hospital and get the court to order Grant and me to appear.”

“Is there anything I can say that might convince you I don’t mean to impose on you, that my only purpose is an attempt to stop a dangerous and deadly disease?” He had risen but did not move either toward her or away from her.

“I doubt it,” she said. “And I don’t think it matters one way or another if you have ‘noble’ motives. You’re here because you want your ass covered and you’re using my family to do it. So get it over with and go back to Atlanta and file your reports. And leave us alone.”

“Thank you.” He said it without sarcasm but also without any vestige of patience. “I’ll notify the hospital to be ready for tests first thing tomorrow morning. And it might interest you to know that there are four cases of TS in the Santa Rosa Community Hospital right now.”

“Then we’re probably too late. That’s what Sam told us after Kevin died — that by the time he got to the hospital it was already too late.” Her eyes glittered with tears but she refused to weep.

“Missus Ross,” said Jeff mildly, “do you watch the news?”

“Yes,” she said guardedly, unprepared for this change of direction in his questioning.

“And you will agree that there has been some mention of TS, but that it hasn’t been emphasized,” he went on, as if discussing the weather.

“Probably the Public Health Exemption at work again,” she said nastily.

Jeff neither confirmed nor denied, though it was true. “Who do you watch most of the time? Which newsman?”

Now Susan was truly puzzled. “John Post,” she answered as if it were a trick question.

“John Post’s youngest son—fourteen-year-old named Aaron—is in the hospital in Shreveport with TS and has been for the last two weeks. Post suggested that the feature his network is preparing not hide that fact, but that he would prefer a balanced presentation so that he would—”

“You’re making this up!” Susan shouted at him.

“I wish I were,” Jeff said. “My colleague, Doctor Howell, sent me confirmation of this last week.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said directly.

“It’s the truth, whether you believe it or not,” said Jeff. “And by Saturday night, the whole country will know it. Yesterday Elizabeth Harkness taped an interview with Aaron in his quarantine room. They’ll show it on
Final Edition.”

“I don’t believe you,” she repeated.

Jeff went on as if he had not heard her. “I’m telling you this in the hope you will step thinking that my request for all this extra information is capricious or intended to shore up my position with the government. I want to stop TS. I wanted to stop it as soon as I learned about it.”

Slowly and sarcastically Susan clapped a derisive smile on her lips. “I haven’t heard such medical integrity since
Urgent Care
was canceled.”

“Then you haven’t been talking with your husband or Sam Jarvis, have you?” he shot back, ashamed of himself for this behavior but too irritated to resist the urge.

She stood very still. “I talked to Mason last night.”

“Ah, yes; Mason,” said Jeff, glad for a change of focus. “He’s been helpful and cooperative. He volunteered to any tests we might need. So far he shows no symptoms of TS. I pray there’s no change, but I don’t want to rely simply on prayer.”

“Next you’ll try Apple Pie,” said Susan. “I really don’t want to talk to you anymore, Doctor Taji.”

Jeff made one last attempt. “The Governor of California has declared nine Southern California counties disaster areas because of TS.”

“A lot of Californians consider Southern California a disaster area even without your disease,” she said sharply, and laughed without amusement.

“Please help us, Missus Ross. If nothing else, let us run a Standard Public School Blood Screen on you and your son.” It would not be much, but it was better than nothing.

“I’d like you to leave now,” Susan informed him.

“All right.” At the door he stopped. “If you reconsider, I’ll be at the Sonoma Hilton until tomorrow morning. I’d welcome a call from you.”

“And the permission from Harper? You mean you aren’t going to wave that around?”

“I’m going to leave it with the local office of PHES and let them tend to it. Your husband is in Washington State and this is California. They’ll have to make up their minds how or if they want to enforce it,” he said, feeling defeated.

Susan gave a tight smile. “I’ll call an attorney if I have to. I don’t want any more disruptions for Grant, not with what he’s already been through.”

Against his better judgment, Jeff made one more try. “Missus Ross, you’re not protecting Grant if he’s got TS, you’re only increasing the likelihood that he’ll die from it.”

“Everyone dies from it,” Susan countered.

“We don’t know that for sure. It’s got a very high death rate, but there is at least one woman in Texas who has survived it. I read the report two days ago. And if there is one, statistically there ought to be more. We’re looking for others now, in the hope that through them we can save more.” To his own ears he sounded pompous, but he noticed that Susan was staring at him with skeptical interest rather than outright hostility.

“Who survived?” Susan demanded.

Jeff took a deep breath. “Her name is Irene Channing. She’s an artist, a widow, with two children. Boys, I think. She lives in Dallas. Her fever broke more than a week ago and it hasn’t returned. Blood tests and PAST scans aren’t normal yet, but they’re . . . improving.”

“One woman in Dallas,” said Susan. “What about the kids?”

“No sign of TS in either of them,” said Jeff, mentally adding the ominous word
yet.

“And what does that have to do with Grant or me?” This was blatantly a challenge.

“I don’t know yet. I won’t know if you don’t have the tests. But Harper will be doing a complete battery tomorrow and Mason will the day after. If you were willing, you might have the key. Someone has the key.”

She looked away from him, out across the street where a large truck emblazoned with the name and logo of a local nursery was drawing up. “The Doniers are getting roses. It’s a little late for planting them.”

“Missus Ross, please reconsider. It’s very, very important. To all of us.”

“They don’t understand about gardens,” said Susan. “They expect them to be ready in a minute, like microwave dinners.”

“Missus Ross.” He waited until she grudgingly gave him her attention. “Help us.”

She made a gesture in front of her eyes and said nothing.

“TS is out of hand. We don’t know how it’s triggered, but we know that in pockets where it has been reported, it’s spreading.” He tried to read her expression and failed. “If only you’d take the tests. It takes three hours, Missus Ross. That’s all.”

“No, it’s not all. There are the tests and the waiting and the reports and everything that happens afterward. You’re asking me to turn my boy—and he already has serious problems—into an all-out freak. There are kids in his school who won’t speak to him, won’t sit near him, because his brother died of TS. Do you know what that’s like for him?”

“f have some idea,” said Jeff quietly. “I’m truly sorry, but it doesn’t alter anything. In fact, if we can give Grant a clean bill of health, it could improve things for him.”

“And if you can’t?” Susan braced her hands on her hips again. “That doesn’t matter to you, does it? Not really. No, not really. You’re determined to have those tests done, and one way or another you’ll find a way to get them. I don’t want them done, but you can win, and you can let PHES sanitize it for you.” She looked out the window, once more entranced by the nursery truck. “My brother thinks we should go to the ACLU.”

Jeff lowered his head. “If that’s what you want. But if you’re concerned about Grant feeling . . . out of place, then you might reconsider.” He opened the door. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time, Missus Ross. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you ever get tired of saying that?”

“Yes: I get tired that it’s necessary, not of the sentiment.” He let himself out, taking care to close the door. As he walked to his rented Nissan Comet, he shook his head, defeat blackening his thoughts. He ought to have found a way to make her understand how urgently her help was needed. He upbraided himself for botching the interview, and then he opened the door of the car and got in.

Susan watched Jeff drive away, anger rising volcanically in her. She turned on her heel so abruptly that she almost tripped on the carpet as she crossed the living room toward the family room, which opened onto an enormous covered patio filled with large tropical plants. Since she had come to her brother’s house she had spent a lot of time on the patio; the huge plants seemed to restore her perspective and calm.

This time she realized it would not work. Frustrated, feeling betrayed, she rushed to the phone and dialed Harper’s lab number. It irked her to have to ask the department switchboard to find Harper, and she was outraged when she was given a number at the medical center to call. She slammed down the receiver and paced through the kitchen twice before trusting herself to dial again.