Vector

by Robin Cook

  “It was,” Jack said. “The star was on the desk in the office, but the source for the anthrax spores was his warehouse, not the office. Apparently the spores came in a shipment of goat skins and rugs from Turkey.”

  “I see,” Ted said.

  “I suppose the spores could have been on his person,” Jack said. “So when he came back to his office and sat down, they dropped off.”

  “Seems reasonable to me,” Ted said. “Or what about the possibility of his coughing out some of the spores. I understand it was an inhalational case.”

  “That’s an idea, too,” Jack said. “But either way, why the hell were they only on the star? I cultured several spots on the desk, and they were all negative.”

  “Maybe he coughed out the star,” Ted said with a laugh.

  “Now that’s a helpful suggestion,” Jack said sarcastically.

  “Well, I’ll leave the sleuthing to you,” Ted said. “Meanwhile I’ve got to get back to my sick piece of equipment.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jack said absently. He continued to wrestle with the puzzle of the contaminated star as he wandered out of the DNA lab and descended the stairs to the fifth floor. He had the uncomfortable feeling the star was trying to tell him something that he couldn’t understand. It was like a message in a code without a key.

  Jack leaned into Laurie’s office, but she wasn’t there. Riva, Laurie’s officemate, glanced up from her desk. In her soft, charming Indian-emigre-accented voice, she told Jack that Laurie was still in the autopsy room.

  Still in a daze about the star, Jack headed for his own office. It occurred to him that the star might have had a slight electrostatic charge, since its sheen suggested it was made of either metallic or plastic material. That might have explained the reason the spores had stuck to it.

  He turned into his office and sat at his desk, still obsessed by the mystery of the tiny, cerulean blue star. With his head cradled in his hands, he tried to think.

  “What kind of blue star are you mumbling about?” a voice questioned.

  Jack glanced up. He was surprised to see Lou. The detective’s expression was as hangdog as it had been when they met at the bar the night before, but he was back to his crumpled, perpetually disheveled look. Gone were the pressed suit and the polished shoes.

  “Was I talking out loud?” Jack questioned.

  “No, I’m a mind reader,” Lou said. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” Jack said. He reached over and pulled one of the straight-back chairs he and Chet shared closer to his desk. He patted the seat with his hand.

  Lou sat down heavily. It didn’t appear as if he’d shaved that morning.

  “If you’re looking for Laurie, she’s down in the pit,” Jack said.

  “I was looking for you,” Lou said.

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “I’m flattered. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a confession to make,” Lou said.

  “This sounds interesting,” Jack said.

  “I felt so bad about it, I couldn’t sleep. I was up most of the night.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Jack offered.

  “I don’t want you to think badly about me or anything.”

  “I’ll try not to.” Jack drummed his fingers impatiently.

  “Because this is not something I usually do. I want you to know that.”

  “For crissake, Lou, confess! How else am I going to give you absolution?”

  Lou looked down at his clasped hands and sighed.

  “Okay, let me guess,” Jack said. “You masturbated and had unclean thoughts.”

  “I’m not joking around!” Lou snapped.

  “Then tell me so I don’t have to guess.”

  “Okay,” Lou said. “I ran Paul Sutherland’s name through the system.”

  “Is that it?” Jack questioned with exaggerated disappointment. “I was hoping you’d done something significantly more salacious.”

  “But it’s abusing my law enforcement prerogatives.”

  “Maybe so, but I would have done the same thing,” Jack admitted.

  “Honest?”

  “Absolutely,” Jack said. “So, what did you find?”

  Lou leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “He’s got a sheet.”

  “Something serious?” Jack asked.

  “Not really all that serious,” Lou said. “I suppose it depends on your point of view. The charge was cocaine possession.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It was a sizable amount of cocaine,” Lou said. “Not enough to suggest he was dealing, but enough for quite a party. He pleaded no contest and got probation and community service.”

  “Are you going to tell Laurie?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lou admitted. “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

  “Oh, jeez,” Jack said. He rubbed his forehead. It was a difficult question.

  “I’d be asking myself why I was telling her,” Lou said.

  Jack nodded. “I understand what you mean. She might ask the same question and then take out any anger the news generates on the messenger.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Lou said. “Yet as a friend, I kinda think she should know. Of course, he may have already told her.”

  “My intuition tells me he hasn’t,” Jack said. “He’s too full of himself.”

  “I feel the same,” Lou said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a figure fill his entire doorway. It was Ted Lynch from the DNA lab.

  “I’m sorry,” Ted said. “I didn’t think you’d be busy.”

  “It’s okay,” Jack said. He introduced Ted and Lou, but they said they’d already met.

  “I couldn’t get your question out of my mind,” Ted said.

  “You mean about the degree of contamination of the blue star?”

  “Uh huh! And there is a way to do it!” Ted said excitedly. “It’s called TaqMan technology. It’s a new wrinkle on the PCR.”

  “What’s PCR again?” Lou asked.

  “Polymerase chain reaction,” Jack said. “It’s a way of augmenting a tiny piece of DNA so that it can be analyzed.”

  “Right!” Lou said, pretending he understood.

  “Anyway this technique is fantastic,” Ted said eagerly. “It involves putting a specific enzyme in the PCR reaction mix. What the enzyme does is gobble up single strands of DNA like that old video game PacMan. Remember that?”

  Both Jack and Lou nodded.

  “The slick thing is that when it hits an attached probe for whatever it is you’re looking for, the enzyme signals. Isn’t that sharp? So you can quantify what was in the sample originally by knowing the number of doublings the reaction has gone through, since that’s time-related.”

  Both Jack and Lou looked blankly at the excited DNA expert.

  “So you want me to do it?” Ted asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Jack said. “That would be great.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Ted said. He disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “Did you understand that?” Lou asked.

  “Not a word,” Jack admitted. “Ted’s in his own world up there. That’s why they put the DNA lab on the top floor. We all think the results are coming from heaven.”

  “I’ve got to learn more about that DNA stuff,” Lou admitted. “It’s becoming more and more important in law enforcement.”

  “The trouble is the technology is changing so rapidly,” Jack said.

  “What’s this about a blue star?” Lou asked. “Is that the same blue star you were mumbling about when I came in?”

  “One and the same,” Jack said. He went on to tell Lou the story of the tiny, glittering star, including the fact that it was the only thing in the Corinthian Rug Company office that was contaminated with anthrax spores.

  “I’ve seen little stars like you’re describing,” Lou said. “In fact, just this year the invitation I got to the Police Ball had them inside the envelope.”

  “You�
�re right!” Jack said. “I once got an invitation with them in it as well. I’d been wondering where I’d seen them.”

  “It’s a curious thing to find in a rug office,” Lou said. “I wonder if they’d had a party.”

  “Let’s get back to your question,” Jack said. “How are you going to make this decision whether to tell Laurie or not about her new boyfriend’s criminal record?”

  “I don’t know,” Lou said. “I suppose I was hoping you’d offer to tell her.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Jack said. “This is your ball game. You got this information, and it’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”

  “Well, there is more,” Lou said.

  Jack’s ears picked up. “I’m listening.”

  “I found out what kind of business he’s in.”

  “That’s in his police record?” Jack questioned.

  Lou nodded. “He’s an arms dealer.”

  Jack’s jaw slowly dropped open. As far as he was concerned, Paul Sutherland’s being an arms dealer was far more important vis-a-vis Laurie than his having been convicted of cocaine possession.

  “He used to have a monopoly of sorts importing Bulgarian AK-47s, at least until 1994 when the Omnibus Crime Bill was passed and they were banned along with eighteen other semiautomatic assault weapons.”

  “This is serious,” Jack said.

  “Of course it’s serious,” Lou said. “These Bulgarian AK-47s are very popular with far-right militia groups and other screwy survivalists.”

  “I’m talking about in relation to Laurie,” Jack said. “Do you have any idea of her stand on gun control?”

  “Not exactly,” Lou admitted.

  “Well, let me tell you,” Jack said. “She’d like to disarm the entire country, including patrolmen. She’s made gunshot wounds her forensic specialty.”

  “She never mentioned that to me,” Lou said. He sounded hurt.

  “Well, I think the fact that her potential fiancé deals in guns is a hell of a lot more important to tell her about than the cocaine bust.”

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “Oh, hell,” Jack said. “Won’t you? You found out about it, and she’ll surely ask me my source. I’ll have to say it was you anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lou said. “I think you could do it better than I. You’ve got so much more in common with her.”

  “Coward,” Jack said.

  “Well, you’re hardly being courageous,” Lou pointed out. “Come on! You see her much more than I do. I mean, you work in the same building.”

  “All right, I’ll think about it,” Jack said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  Jack’s phone rang. He snatched the handset from its cradle and his voice sounded almost angry. He quickly mellowed when he heard himself. Marlene Wilson, the receptionist, was on the other end of the line.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you, Dr. Stapleton,” Marlene said. She had a slight Southern accent.

  “Not at all,” Jack said. “What’s up?”

  “There are several gentlemen down here to see you,” Marlene said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “Not that I know of,” Jack said. “What are their names?”

  “Just a moment,” Marlene said.

  “Hey, I gotta go,” Lou said. He stood up. “I better get out of here before I run into Laurie.”

  “Keep in touch,” Jack said with a wave. “We’re going to have to make a decision about this sensitive intelligence you’ve gathered.”

  Lou nodded and disappeared from view.

  Marlene came back on the line. “It’s Mr. Warren Wilson and a Mr. Flash Thomas. What would you like me to say to them?”

  “My word,” Jack said. “Tell them to come on up!”

  Jack slowly hung up the phone. He couldn’t believe that Warren had come to visit him. Jack had suggested it a few times when he thought Warren would find it interesting to see firsthand what Jack did for a living. It was part of Jack’s attempt to get Warren to go back to school. But Warren had said that there was only one way he’d visit a morgue and that was dead!

  Jack got the straight-back chair from next to Chet’s desk and pulled it over next to the other one. Then he stepped out into the hall and walked down toward the elevators. He’d timed it just about right, because when he got there the doors opened and out stepped his two basketball buddies.

  “This place sucks,” Warren said, making an expression of disgust. Then he smiled. “How’s it going, man?” He held up his hand.

  Jack smacked it as if they were greeting each other on the basketball court. He did the same with Flash, who was clearly more intimidated at the surroundings than Warren was.

  “It’s going like most days,” Jack said. “Except for your visit. I’m shocked to see you guys, but come on into my office.”

  Jack led the way down the hall.

  “This place smells weird,” Flash said.

  “It reminds me of a hospital,” Warren said.

  “No hospital I’d ever want to be in,” Flash said with a nervous laugh.

  “You told me you did autopsies in a place called the pit,” Warren said. “This whole place looks like a pit.”

  “It could use a bit of a renovation,” Jack admitted. He gestured inside his office.

  The three sat down.

  Jack smiled. “Did you fellows come all the way down here just to make sure I was going to play tonight?”

  “You should have played last night,” Warren said. “You had your chance to run with us. We never lost.”

  “Maybe I’ll luck out tonight,” Jack said.

  Warren looked at Flash. “You want to ask him or you want me to?”

  “You do it,” Flash said as he fidgeted in his seat. He was clearly agitated.

  Warren turned to Jack. “Flash got some bad news this morning. His sister died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said. He glanced at Flash, but Flash avoided his eyes.

  “She wasn’t all that old,” Warren said. “About your age. It was sudden-like. And Flash here thinks there had to be some negative stuff going on. You see, she and her old man didn’t get on too well, you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Am I to assume there was a little domestic violence involved in this relationship?” Jack asked.

  “If that’s what you call his smacking her around now and then,” Warren said.

  “That’s the usual euphemism,” Jack said.

  “A lot of domestic violence,” Flash interjected heatedly.

  “Cool it,” Warren said to Flash. He gave Flash’s shoulder a reassuring pat. Turning back to Jack he added, “I had to talk Flash out of going out there and beating the pulp out of his sister’s hubby.”

  “The son of a bitch killed her,” Flash growled.

  “Come on, man!” Warren pleaded. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I know it,” Flash said.

  Warren turned to Jack. “You see what I’m up against. If Flash goes out there, there’s going to be trouble. Somebody’s going to be dead, and I don’t think it’s going to be Flash.”

  “What can I do to help?” Jack asked.

  “See if you can find out what killed her,” Warren said. “If she died of something natural-like, then Flash here’s going to have to take his irritation out on something else, like on you and me on the court.” Warren gave Flash a friendly cuff on the top of the head. Flash parried the blow irritably.

  “Where is her body at the moment?” Jack asked.

  “At the morgue in Brooklyn,” Warren said. “At least that’s what Flash was told by the Coney Island Hospital where she’d been treated.”

  “Well, then it’s going to be easy,” Jack said. “I’ll talk to whoever does her autopsy, and we’ll have the answer.”

  “There ain’t going to be no autopsy,” Flash blurted. “That’s part of what’s bothering me. They took her to the morgue to have an autopsy, but now she’s not going to. Something�
��s wrong here, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Not necessarily,” Jack said. “Not every corpse brought into the medical examiner’s office is autopsied. In fact, that she wasn’t autopsied means that the chances of foul play are small. Since she died at a hospital, it means that the attending doctor certified the cause of death, and in that case an autopsy is not mandatory.”

  “Flash is thinking conspiracy here,” Warren said.

  “I can assure you there’s no conspiracy,” Jack said. “Incompetence, maybe, but conspiracy, no.”

  “But...” Flash began.

  “Hold on!” Jack interrupted. “I’ll still look into it for you. What was her name?”

  “Connie Davydov,” Flash said.

  Jack wrote the name down and reached for the phone. He called the Brooklyn office, which administratively was part of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of New York. Technically Bingham was chief, but the Brooklyn office had its own acting head. His name was Jim Bennett.

  “Who’s the scheduling ME this week?” Jack asked the operator who answered after Jack had identified himself.

  “Dr. Randolph Sanders,” the operator said. “Would you like me to page him?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Jack said. He wasn’t pleased. He was reasonably acquainted with Randolph, whom he put in the same category with perfunctories like George Fontworth. Jack tapped his pencil while he waited. He wished he’d be dealing with any one of the four other Brooklyn MEs.

  When Randolph came on the line Jack wasted no time getting to the point. He asked why an autopsy wasn’t done on Connie Davydov.

  “I’ll have to get the folder,” Randolph said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve gotten a request to look into the case,” Jack said. He left it vague who had asked him. If Randolph wanted to think it was Bingham or Calvin, that was fine with Jack.

  “Hold on,” Randolph said.

  Jack turned to Flash with his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Davydov doesn’t sound like any African-American name I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s not,” Flash said. “Connie’s husband is a white boy.”

  Jack nodded, sensing there was more reason for possible hostility between Flash and Connie’s spouse than the purported history of domestic violence. “Did he get along with the rest of your family?”

  “Ha!” Flash voiced contemptuously. “The family wouldn’t talk to either one of them. They didn’t want her to marry him, no way.”