by Robin Cook
“What problem?” Ho asked with a heavy accent.
“You have a tenant by the name of Carol Stewart,” Jack began. He had already seen her name next to the buzzer for apartment 2A, confirming the address. “Unfortunately, Miss Stewart has passed away.”
“No, she still here,” Ho said.
For a second Jack thought he was about to be confronted with another shocking revelation, until he realized that Ho had misinterpreted the meaning of the expression passed away. Jack rephrased it: “What I meant to say is that Miss Stewart has died. She is no longer with us.”
“Ah, I see,” Ho said. “Very sorry. She was a nice person.”
“I’m sure she was,” Jack said. “I would like to take a quick look in her apartment. Would you be able to open it for me?”
“Yes, I can open apartment,” Ho said. He stepped aside so Jack could enter.
After one more reassuring glance over his shoulder at the Escalade, Jack stepped past Ho and started up the stairs. Ho followed close behind, getting out his keys in the process. At the top of the stairs, Ho pushed past Jack, who had paused, not knowing which direction to go.
A few minutes later, Jack entered a pleasant one-bedroom apartment that looked out onto 45th Street. Jack took the opportunity to glance yet again at the Escalade. So far, no metermaids.
Directing his attention back inside, Jack noticed that the furniture, although new, had a distinctively generic appearance, making him believe it was probably a rental. To Carol’s credit, the apartment was neat and spanking clean. On the coffee table were a MacBook Pro and several copies of Adweek, a professional advertising magazine. A book titled The Miseducation of Cameron Post sat on a side table. There was no bric-a-brac.
“Did Miss Stewart live alone?” Jack asked, as he walked into the kitchen area. There were no dishes in the sink.
“Yes, she live alone,” Ho said.
“How long was she a resident here?” Jack asked. He opened the refrigerator. It contained a moderate amount of food. Clearly, she was cooking for herself. There was also food in the pantry cabinet.
“Just a few months,” Ho said.
“Did you notice if she had many visitors?” Jack asked, as he walked back into the connected living area.
Ho didn’t answer immediately. Jack looked over at him. He seemed conflicted as to how much information he should reveal. “I’m not police,” Jack assured him. “I’m a medical doctor trying to understand why she died.”
“I see,” Ho said. “She had visitors the first month. A man and a woman. They came at night and play music too loud. I have to tell Miss Stewart. But then the man and the woman didn’t come back, so everything was good.”
“Has there been any sickness in the building that you know of?” Jack asked.
“Last winter many people had the flu,” Ho said. “This year so far okay.”
“How about problems with pests, like mice or rats or insects?” Jack asked, just to cover all the bases.
“No trouble with pests,” Ho said.
Jack walked into the bedroom. Ho followed at his heels. The bedroom was as neat as the living area. The queen-size bed was made. Jack opened the closet. There were a number of expensive-appearing dresses, blouses, and pants, all carefully hung up and appropriately grouped. There was an impressive collection of shoes both high heeled and flat and also a number of sneakers of varying colors. There were also boots. She obviously liked footwear.
Next Jack walked into the bathroom. It, too, was neat and clean, with the towels carefully hung and a bathmat folded over the edge of the bathtub.
“I guess she was a good tenant,” Jack said, as he opened the medicine cabinet.
“Yes, a good tenant,” Ho said. “Very nice person.”
“Did she pay her rent on time?” Jack asked. He noticed there were no prescription medications in the medicine cabinet.
“No need for Miss Stewart to pay rent,” Ho said.
“Oh,” Jack voiced. He looked at Ho questioningly. “Why did she not pay rent?”
“The owner not require rent from Miss Stewart,” Ho said. “She was special.”
“Well, that was nice for Miss Stewart,” Jack said, puzzled. “Do you know where Miss Stewart worked?”
“I don’t think she worked, unless she work here with her computer,” Ho said. “She didn’t go out much.”
“Did the owner come and visit her?” Jack asked.
“No, the owner never come here, even though he owns many buildings in the area.”
“He must be a wealthy man,” Jack said.
“Yes, very important man,” Ho agreed.
“What is his name?” Jack asked, unsure of whether Ho would be willing to divulge it.
“His name is Zhao Wei,” Ho said.
There it was, Jack thought. Somehow, he knew there was going to be a surprise if he visited Carol’s apartment, and now he knew what it was. Wei Zhao was paying Carol’s rent and possibly even paying her a salary, yet it most likely wasn’t for romantic or sexual purposes. Not only was he the executor of her estate, but he was also her benefactor. Why?
Jack thanked the superintendent for his cooperation and left the building feeling even more perplexed than he had when he’d arrived. To make matters worse, there was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper of the car. With a sense of aggravation, Jack pulled it out and looked at it. It wasn’t the amount involved that bothered him, it was having to tell Warren.
Once under way to OCME, Jack called Warren. The sooner he told him about the damn parking ticket, the easier it would be. To his surprise, Warren took it in stride.
“Don’t worry about it,” Warren said. “Check out the ticket carefully. A lot of times the metermaids make stupid little mistakes filling out the form. If they do, all you have to do is point it out to the authorities and they drop it. Are you running tonight?”
“I might have to,” Jack said, echoing what he’d said earlier to Aretha. He had no idea what to expect when he got home that evening or even what he’d confront when he got back to work. It was obvious that Laurie was not thrilled with his behavior.
25
WEDNESDAY, 3:25 P.M.
The drive from Sunset Park, Brooklyn, to the OCME was a relatively straight shot almost due north, using the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. The traffic was heavy but moving well, and Jack was able to relax to a degree. He was becoming accustomed to driving the Escalade, despite its size. At least he had good visibility, sitting as high as he was. He literally looked down on regular cars similar to the de rigueur Mercedes he had in his former life.
As he was trying to integrate Wei Zhao’s apparent financial support for Carol Stewart with what he learned that day, he became so engrossed that when his phone rang it made him jump to the point of almost losing control of the car. With a bit of effort, he steadied the steering wheel and then guiltily looked out at the neighboring vehicles, wondering if anyone had noticed his sudden weave. One driver clearly had, because he gave Jack the finger. All Jack could do was mouth the word sorry.
Picking up the phone, he glanced at the caller ID. He expected it to be Laurie again, asking him why he wasn’t back, but it wasn’t Laurie. At least it wasn’t her mobile number. Although he could tell it was an OCME number, he didn’t know whose. Hoping it wasn’t Laurie or her secretary, Jack answered. It wasn’t Laurie. It was Bart Arnold, and he sounded stressed out.
“I’m so glad I got you. Are you still out in New Jersey?”
“No, I’m in Brooklyn, about to enter the Battery Tunnel. What’s up?” Jack felt his own heart rate accelerate after he heard the urgency in Bart’s voice.
“How soon do you think you will be here?” Bart asked.
“Fifteen to twenty minutes, unless FDR Drive is a parking lot. Why?”
“I think we have another one coming over from Bellevue as we speak.
I just got off the phone with the ER.”
“What do you mean by ‘another one’?” Jack asked, but sensed he knew the answer.
“Another case just like Carol Stewart,” Bart said excitedly, stumbling over his words.
“Another sudden respiratory death?”
“Yes, and uncannily similar in all respects but without the heart transplant,” Bart said. “Young woman, apparently well dressed and not a druggie type. It even again happened on the subway, if you can believe it. This time it wasn’t the R train from Brooklyn. It was the D train from Brooklyn. I mean, that’s pretty fucking amazing.”
Jack felt a bit of perspiration break out on his forehead as the implications of what he’d just been told occurred to him—namely, that Aretha’s cytopathic effects were probably real and the lack of viruses on electron microscopy probably false. Jack shuddered. From the very moment he’d heard of the first case, he’d been terrified of a new lethal influenza virus running rampant in New York and spreading around the globe. Then, as time passed, first hours and then days, when there hadn’t been another case and the influenza screen was negative, he’d progressively allowed his fears to abate to the point of becoming sidetracked by his stumbling onto a possible violation of the National Organ Transplant Act. As egregious as that might be, it wasn’t nearly as critical as a possible new pandemic.
“What about an ID?” Jack asked. He hoped the case wasn’t an exact replica.
“We are okay in that realm,” Bart said. “We have a name: Helen VanDam, and an address in Bensonhurst. This time the victim was accompanied, and my understanding is that her companion will be in later for a formal identification.”
“Helen?” Jack immediately questioned. In his mind’s eye he immediately saw the name HELEN spelled out in Carol’s tattoo. Could this be the same Helen?
If so, even that was scary by implying an infectious connection.
“I know what you are thinking,” Bart said. “I had the same thought. But yes. It is definitely Helen.”
“Do you know if Bellevue considered it a possible contagious case?”
“I reminded them,” Bart said. “They insisted they had treated it as such from the outset, as did the EMS crew who got the victim off the train. This time it was the subway station at Thirty-fourth Street and Sixth Avenue.”
“That’s close to where Carol Stewart was picked up,” Jack said.
“As I said, the cases are uncannily similar,” Bart repeated.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Jack said.
“You should be arriving about the same time as the body,” Bart said. “It’s coming in a decontaminated body bag. Let me know what you find during the autopsy, and let me know if I can be of any help.”
“Will do,” Jack said. He disconnected. He then immediately pulled up Jennifer Hernandez’s number and made the call. He felt guilty about paying so much attention to his phone while driving, especially after practically having an accident when it had rung. He glanced around at the other drivers. No one seemed to notice, although the highly tinted windows might have played a role in hiding his activities.
The conversation with Jennifer, the current on-call ME, was short and to the point. He merely informed her that another contagion case was coming in from the Bellevue ER that he would handle and do it immediately. She had yet to be informed from Communications but was glad not to have to think about what to do about it.
Next Jack put in a call to Vinnie, whose mobile phone number he also had in his contacts. Although Vinnie was officially off at three, he frequently stayed around, finding things to do and schmoozing with the other mortuary techs coming on for the night shift. Sometimes he stayed as late as five. Although he made it a point to act as if he didn’t care, Vinnie was seriously dedicated to his job, especially after the tight bond had formed between him and Jack.
“Why do I dread getting a call from you when I’m officially off duty,” Vinnie said without so much as a hello.
“I can’t imagine,” Jack said. “But what I can imagine is that you’ve had withdrawal symptoms, since I haven’t been there all day to keep you in line.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Vinnie scoffed.
“Listen, I’m going to make it up to you. I’m on my way in to 520 and will be there shortly. On its way in as we speak is another subway death just like the one we did on Monday. The name is Helen VanDam.”
“Let me guess,” Vinnie groused. “You want to do it right away. Shit! Why can’t you be like everyone else around here? What’s wrong with tomorrow morning?”
“I know you well enough to know you know why,” Jack said.
“Okay, but I have to warn you, I’m still babysitting Carlos Sanchez, so you’ll have to put up with both of us.”
“I heard he wasn’t working out too well,” Jack said.
“The kid’s a jerkoff, has zero initiative, and he’s squeamish as hell. And he’s a worse germaphobe than I am. Why the hell he thought he wanted to be a mortuary tech is a mystery to me. All he does is complain. He’s not going to last.”
“Have you said anything to the chief of staff?” Jack asked.
“Yes, I told Twyla Robinson, for all the good it did me. She thought I wasn’t giving him a chance to prove himself. Personally, I think she doesn’t want to admit she made a mistake in hiring him.”
“If he’s a germaphobe, this case, like the one on Monday, should turn him off enough to quit once we make sure he really understands what it is about. I mean, it terrifies me, and usually I’m relatively nonchalant around contagion.”
“You have a point,” Vinnie said. “He did not like the case you’re talking about.”
“I remember teasing him a bit about Ebola and influenza. We could lay it on a little thicker.”
“It might work,” Vinnie said. “He really hated the moon suit.”
“Okay. With that decided, let’s move on,” Jack said. “I want to handle the case the same way we did the one on Monday. We’ll use the decomposed room along with the moon suits. And take the X-ray and weigh the body without taking it out of the body bag like last time! We’ll again do the photos and fingerprinting in the decomposed room after we get the body out of the body bag. And make sure we have enough viral sample bottles.”
“Okay, boss,” Vinnie said. “And don’t let me down with Carlos.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jack said. “Seems to me I remember you trying to protect him on Monday from my teasing him about losing mortuary techs to contagion from autopsies.”
“Don’t remind me,” Vinnie said. “That was before I knew what a dick he was.”
“Keep an eye out for the body to arrive so you can get right on it,” Jack said. “It’s on its way from Bellevue ER, so it should be there in minutes if it isn’t already. And on my end, I’m happy to report the FDR Drive is moving along so I’ll be there in a flash as well.”
“Got it,” Vinnie said. “See you soon.”
After disconnecting with Vinnie, Jack made a final call to Aretha. “Guess what?” he said when he got her on the line. His voice had an urgency that he didn’t try to hide. “There’s another subway death that sounds exactly like the first one.”
“Wow! That increases the chances that we are dealing with a contagious virus,” Aretha said, even before she heard the details.
“That’s exactly my fear,” Jack said. “I’m heading back to the OCME and will be handling the case immediately. So we’ll have more samples. Will you be available?”
“I was planning on leaving at my normal time, but I’ll stay. I’ll inoculate more tissue cultures tonight. There go my chances for a game this evening.”
“Sorry about that,” Jack said. “But this is important.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Aretha said. “It’s a bit terrifying.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Jack said.
“Oh, by the way,” Aretha added. “In response to your question earlier. I ran another screen on the tissue culture and there is no garden-variety virus present. The cytopathic effects are being caused by a true unknown.”
“Any results from the MPS?” Jack asked.
Aretha laughed. “Identifying an unknown virus is a time-intensive exercise, so no. But you’ll be the first to know. Trust me!”
26
WEDNESDAY, 4:20 P.M.
Originally Jack had planned to park where he’d parked that morning in the shadow of the 421 high-rise, but with time a factor, he drove directly to the 520 building. Although there was no place to park, Jack pulled into the unloading dock area and left the Escalade behind one of the OCME vans with a note on the dash. He also gave the keys to the security officer, whose office overlooked the dock.
After checking the decomposed room for activity and seeing it was still dark, Jack had taken the time to run up to the front office. He thought it best to let Laurie know that not only was he back, but he was doing another subway death autopsy. He also wanted to let her know that he had Warren’s car and would be happy to give her a ride home after he finished the case. He’d known it was a risk that she’d be irritated with him for being gone all day, but he’d thought it a risk he needed to take, as it was important for her to know about the second respiratory death. As it turned out, she was again on one of her interminable conference calls with orders not to be disturbed.
After his quick visit to Laurie’s office, he’d run into the ID room to touch base with Rebecca Marshall. He wanted to make sure she knew about the second death and ask her to call him when someone came in for the official identification. He’d told her he’d like to ask the individual a few questions himself, if at all possible.
Returning to the morgue on the basement level, Jack pushed into the locker room where the moon suits were stored. Carlos was already completely outfitted with his ventilator running, whereas Vinnie was in the final stages of prep, zipping up his suit. Like a rerun of Monday, Carlos had his arms stuck out from his sides at a forty-five-degree angle, as if he was afraid to move. Although Jack couldn’t see his face, it was obvious the man was again clearly spooked. Jack was encouraged. He thought exacerbating the man’s apprehensions, like he promised Vinnie, wouldn’t be difficult, especially with Jack’s own fears at the forefront, but for different reasons.