Vector

by Robin Cook

  “True,” Jack said. “But I realized we’re obligated to make sure this swollen eye isn’t the result of an infectious process. And with my usual surgical precision I took only the tiniest sample. I’ve full confidence that you can all but make it disappear with your cosmetic wizardry.”

  “This is outrageous!” Gordon complained. He bent over to study the defect and was dismayed. In his estimation, it was hardly tiny. Connie’s face looked horribly and irrevocably altered.

  As rapidly as possible Jack threw all the sample containers, his used supplies, and even his inside-out rubber gloves into the satchel and snapped it closed. At this point he felt like a bank robber who’d just been given the cash and had to make his getaway. Grabbing Warren by the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt, he pulled him toward the door.

  “Let’s make this fast but orderly,” Jack whispered.

  They went through the first set of double doors still hearing Gordon swearing in the background. After clearing the second set of doors, they began looking for Flash. He was nowhere to be seen. Exiting the building, they found him pacing on the front walk.

  “Let’s go!” Jack ordered.

  The three men walked quickly to the car. Jack wasn’t worried they’d be pursued, yet he wanted to get away as soon as possible. He knew he’d pushed Gordon over the edge with the skin sample maneuver. To a funeral director, disfiguring the face was the worst possible sin.

  They piled into the car. Warren got it going, and they headed back toward Prospect Park, driving in silence. It was Flash who finally spoke: “Well, aren’t you guys going to say anything? What did you find?”

  “I found out that I’m never going back into a funeral home until I’m carried in,” Warren said. “What in God’s name were they doing to that guy on the other table, vacuuming out his insides? I almost lost it, I gotta tell you. Man, this has been the worst experience of my life.”

  “In other words,” Flash said angrily, “you didn’t learn crap about what happened to Connie.”

  “We got the samples we needed,” Jack said. “Now you’re going to have to be patient. Like I said earlier, we won’t know anything definitive until these samples get processed.”

  “I could see that he smacked her in the face,” Flash said. “That’s enough for me.”

  Warren glanced up at Jack in the rearview mirror. “See what I’m up against with this guy? It’s like talking to a wall, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Listen, Flash,” Jack said heatedly. “I’ve put myself out on a limb here for you. Do you understand?”

  “I suppose,” Flash admitted reluctantly.

  “I could be in deep trouble if Strickland or the Brooklyn office makes a stink about this, especially if the samples turn out to be negative. Now the least I can expect from you in return is to promise you won’t go out there to your brother-in-law’s house.”

  “What about that black eye?” Flash demanded.

  “For the last time, we don’t know how she got it,” Jack said. “I took a skin sample and we’ll see what it shows. It might have been from a punch, but then again, it might not have been. I’m telling you, I’ve seen bathroom falls much worse. In fact, I’ve seen it where it was the fall itself that killed the victim, not whatever went on before.”

  “Promise the man,” Warren said. “Or I’m going to be royally pissed myself. I mean, there’s a lot of things I’d rather be doing today than standing in that funeral home getting grossed out, you know what I’m saying?”

  “All right, I promise,” Flash said. “Are you guys happy now?”

  “Relieved is a better word,” Jack said. He looked out the window at the rush-hour traffic and wondered what kind of price he would have to pay for his shenanigans.

  ________

  TWELVE

  Tuesday, October 19

  4:35 P.M.

  The snow stretched in an immaculately white blanket all the way down Fatherland Hill. Yuri and his brother, Yegor, had named the slope in celebration of its being the finest sledding hill in all of the Soviet Union. After crowding onto a sled that they had fashioned themselves out of discarded wood and metal, they pushed off down the steep slope. Yegor was in the front and Yuri in the back.

  For Yuri, it was like being launched into a fairyland. The crystalline snow swirled about them as they hurtled down toward the farmhouses along Lake Niznije. It was like flying, and Yuri yelled with delight.

  As they streaked toward the main road, they saw a sleigh coming from town pulled by two horses as white as the snow. As their paths drew closer, Yuri could hear the sleigh bells jangle in time with the horses’canter. It got louder and louder until Yuri was yanked from his favorite dream. The jangling wasn’t sleigh bells, it was the phone.

  Sitting up suddenly, Yuri nearly fainted. He steadied himself and leaned over so his head was between his knees. When he felt normal, he slowly sat up. The dizziness had disappeared, but the phone was still insistently ringing.

  Yuri got up on slightly unsteady legs and headed for the kitchen. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and a quick glance at his watch suggested he’d slept soundly for more than four hours. Snatching the phone from its cradle, he found that his voice was hoarse and that he had to clear his throat.

  “This is Gordon Strickland calling. I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Davydov, but there’s been a problem that you should know about.”

  Yuri rubbed his forehead while his sleepy mind wrestled with the name Strickland. He knew he’d heard it, but he couldn’t remember in what context. Then, with a start, he remembered. It was the funeral home that he had arranged to take Connie.

  “What kind of problem?” Yuri asked. His mind fought through the fog of sleep. He didn’t like the sound of “problem.”

  “Something very irregular has happened,” Gordon continued. “Not long after your poor deceased wife arrived here at our facility, three men appeared demanding to see her body and take samples.”

  “What kind of samples?” Yuri demanded.

  “Body fluids for analysis,” Gordon said. “I want to apologize for this whole affair and for not calling you immediately and asking your permission. Unfortunately, it all happened so quickly. They were authorized by the chief medical examiner, but now, after the fact, I’m confused as to the legality of it. You might consider retaining counsel. You could possibly have grounds for a big award from the city.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Yuri said. “My wife wasn’t autopsied.”

  “Precisely,” Gordon said. “That’s why this is so irregular. I’ve been in this business for almost thirty years, and my father for a lifetime before that, and nothing like this has ever happened in either of our experience.”

  “Who were these men?” Yuri asked. He put the phone in the crook of his neck so he could get a glass. From the freezer he got the vodka and poured himself a slug. He needed it.

  “One of them was a medical examiner,” Gordon said. “Dr. Jack Stapleton. He had an assistant...”

  “What was the doctor’s name?” Yuri demanded, interrupting the funeral director mid-sentence. Even in Yuri’s sleepy state the name rang a discordant bell in his mind.

  When Gordon repeated the name, Yuri took another belt of his vodka. Jack Stapleton had been the man in the Corinthian Rug Company office!

  “The medical examiner was also accompanied by a relative of your late wife,” Gordon went on to say. “At least that was what we were told. He was introduced as Frank Thomas, although I heard Dr. Stapleton refer to him by the sobriquet ‘Flash.’“

  Yuri felt a chill down his spine. He grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it over to the phone so he could sit down. His legs had suddenly turned to rubber. Flash Thomas was the one person in the world who Yuri truly feared. Not only was he a big, muscled man, he’d threatened Yuri on several occasions. The last time had been on the telephone, when he’d said that if Yuri ever hit Connie again he’d come out there to Brighton Beach and kill him.

  “Are you st
ill there?” Gordon questioned. Yuri had not responded to his last statement.

  “Yes, I’m still here,” Yuri managed. His pulse was racing. What could it mean that Flash Thomas was with this mysterious Jack Stapleton? What kind of weird coincidence could this be?

  “We’re going to need some directions from you,” Gordon repeated. “Were you intending to have an open casket?”

  “No!” Yuri yelled. Then he calmed himself. “No. I just want to do this as simply as possible. That’s what Connie would have preferred.”

  “But you will have to come and choose an appropriate casket.”

  “What is the least expensive?” Yuri asked.

  “It would be far better if you were to come in,” Gordon said in his unctuous business voice. “We could show you our whole line, with descriptions of the benefits and disadvantages of each.”

  “What about cremation?” Yuri asked.

  “That can be arranged,” Gordon said. “But there is still the issue of choosing an appropriate vessel.”

  “I want her cremated,” Yuri said. “And I want it soon. Today, in fact! “

  “There’s to be no viewing or service?” Gordon questioned.

  “No,” Yuri said. “It is my religious belief it should be done as soon as possible.”

  “Very well,” Gordon said.

  “What kind of samples did Dr. Stapleton take?” Yuri demanded.

  “Just a small piece of tissue and some fluids,” Gordon said nervously.

  “I didn’t want her body violated,” Yuri complained. He wondered what could have provoked this Dr. Stapleton to collect samples after the authorities had decided there was to be no autopsy.

  “All I can do is apologize again,” Gordon said. “But you have to understand, it was beyond our control.”

  “I’ll come by in the next day or so to choose a container for her ashes and settle the account,” Yuri said.

  “That will be most appreciated,” Gordon said.

  “Meanwhile, make sure she’s cremated before her body is violated again.”

  “We’ll see to it forthwith,” Gordon promised.

  Yuri hung up the phone and then stared across the room with unseeing eyes. Could it be that the authorities suspected the botulinum toxin? Yuri could not see how. But Flash Thomas posed a more immediate threat. Yuri tried to imagine what he’d do if his brother-in-law suddenly appeared at the door. It was a terrifying thought. There was no way Yuri could defend himself, if Flash got to him. Yuri knew he had to do something to protect himself, because he couldn’t abandon his lab, at least not until he’d done the final harvest.

  Glancing at the clock above the refrigerator gave Yuri an idea. It was nearly five, which meant that Curt would soon be getting off work. Yuri picked up the phone. He got the number for the fire station on Duane Street and immediately put through a call. When the phone was answered by one of the firemen, Yuri asked for Lieutenant Curt Rogers.

  “Hold on,” the firefighter said.

  Yuri glanced over at the kitchen door, which he’d used when he’d come home that morning. He wanted to see if it was properly locked. It wasn’t. Yuri could see that he’d failed to secure the deadbolt. Standing up and stretching the phone cord to its absolute limit, Yuri pushed the bolt home with a reassuring thunk.

  “Lieutenant Rogers,” Curt said in a tone befitting his rank.

  “Curt, this is Yuri. I need your help.”

  There was an extended pause.

  “Curt, are you there?”

  “What in God’s name are you calling me for here at the station?” Curt growled in a hushed voice. “I thought I made it clear that this was off-limits.”

  “You said not to come,” Yuri said. “But you didn’t say not to call.”

  “What do I have to do, spell everything out for you?” Curt hissed. “Use your goddamn brain! You’ve got a Russian accent, and it’s just as apparent on the phone as it is when you’re in person. I don’t want anybody here knowing I’m dealing with a Russian.”

  “But I had to call,” Yuri explained. “Like I said, I’ve got a problem.”

  “What kind of a problem?” Curt demanded irritably.

  “I need a gun,” Yuri said. “You told me how many guns you and the PAA have. I just need one.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Because of Connie’s brother,” Yuri said. “I’ve just heard he’d been to see her body at the funeral home.”

  “So what!”

  “So plenty,” Yuri said. “You saw her eye last night. I’d swatted her, and her brother told me once that if I ever hit her, he’d kill me.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Curt snarled.

  “I’m serious,” Yuri said. “He’s a big black guy, and I’m not going to stay here and work in the lab without some protection.”

  “All right, we’ll get you a freaking gun.”

  “I need it right away,” Yuri said.

  “We’re getting off work at five,” Curt said. “We’ll bring it around.”

  “Thanks,” Yuri said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Curt said and hung up.

  Yuri shook his head dejectedly as he hung up the phone. He’d planned on telling Curt about Jack Stapleton after he’d mentioned Connie’s brother but had changed his mind when he’d heard Curt’s tone of voice. Again there’d been surprising anger and hostility like there’d been the night before. To Yuri, such an attitude was entirely inappropriate for people who were supposed to be working together. He was forced to consider again that Curt was no friend.

  In one gulp, Yuri finished off the rest of the vodka and put the glass in the sink. Then he wondered if he’d have enough time to suit up and go into the lab to check the second fermenter before Curt got there. In the end, he decided that he’d feel safer around his anthrax powder.

  _________

  THIRTEEN

  Tuesday, October 19

  5:00 P.M.

  Jack had Warren drop him off on the Thirtieth Street side of the ME’s office so he could duck into the building via the loading dock. He wanted to avoid running into the chief or Calvin in case his Brooklyn exploits had already caused a stir. What he hoped to have prior to any confrontation were the results of the samples he’d taken from Connie Davydov. They were to serve as a justification for his actions.

  Jack’s intuition told him that Flash was probably right about his sister having been the victim of foul play. With a heart attack, a stroke, and generalized infectious disease ruled out, poisoning was quite probable considering the history of domestic strife. Lending considerable credence to the theory was the black eye. Even though Jack had been reluctant to admit it to Flash, Jack’s professional judgment told him the black eye had come from trauma and not infection, and that the trauma was the result of a fist rather than an inanimate object in the woman’s bathroom.

  In hopes of generating his alibi sooner rather than later as well as providing evidence to prompt a homicide investigation, Jack went directly to the toxicology lab on the fourth floor. He purposefully avoided the supervisor, John DeVries, who’d most likely keep him waiting for a week or more. Instead, Jack sought out Peter Letterman, the thin, blond, androgynous technician who acted as if he were married to the lab. Jack had seen him there as late as ten P.M.

  “I need your help desperately,” Jack said even before saying hello when he found the tech at the gas chromatography unit.

  Peter raised his eyebrows. He was accustomed to all sorts of creative pleas to cut through the typical toxicology log jam. There was no doubt the department was underfunded. But then, every department in the ME’s office was underfunded.

  “I might be out selling pencils if we don’t get a positive out of this one,” Jack said. He put his satchel down and began removing the sample bottles while giving Peter a thumbnail sketch of what he’d been up to that afternoon. The story about the funeral home brought a smile to Peter’s usually serious, boyish face.

  “You think I’m making this up, don’t you?”
Jack asked, noting Peter’s expression.

  “No, I don’t,” Peter said. “What you’re telling me is too far out to be fiction.”

  “Good,” Jack said. “Then you can appreciate that I might be in hot water about this?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Peter said without hesitation.

  “So you’ll help?” Jack asked.

  “What is it that you’re looking for?”

  “Something that has suppressed respiration. You know, the usual prescription drugs plus cyanide, carbon monoxide, eth-ylene glycol, and hell, anything else you can think of. It doesn’t have to be quantitative on this go-round. Just find something.”

  “All right,” Peter said. “I’ll give it a whirl.”

  “How soon can you do it?” Jack asked.

  “Why not right now?” Peter said agreeably. “I can assay the samples pretty quickly for what you have in mind.”

  Unable to contain himself, Jack threw his arms around Peter and gave him a hug.

  Peter seemed embarrassed when Jack let him go. He blushed and avoided looking Jack in the eye.

  “I’ll be upstairs in my office,” Jack said. “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. Just give a shout when you’re done.”

  Peter nodded.

  “Dinner’s on me in the near future,” Jack said. He gave Peter a light pat on the back.

  “Sure,” Peter said. He began to pick up the bottles.

  “Let me fill out some property receipts first,” Jack said. “We’ve got to establish a chain of custody here if this turns out to be a homicide case.”

  After leaving the toxicology lab, Jack took the stairs to the fifth floor. He was feeling considerably better. With a spring to his step he ducked into histology. He found Maureen O’Conner, the supervisor, with her coat on in preparation for leaving.

  “Just my luck!” Maureen said in her quaint Irish brogue. “I’m late for a pathology conference and Mr. Right walks in looking chipper and eager.”

  Laughter resonated around the room.

  Jack and his officemate, Chet, were the only two unmarried male medical examiners on staff, and Maureen and her team of woman histology assistants got great enjoyment out of teasing both of them. They had plenty of opportunity, since their office was just down the hall.