by Robin Cook
“How do you make the diagnosis, then?” Jack asked.
“We have to send any samples out,” she said. “Because of the risk of handling the bacteria the reagents are generally kept only at reference labs where the personnel are accustomed to dealing with the microbe. There is such a lab here in the city.”
“Can you send it right away?” Jack asked.
“We’ll messenger it over as soon as it gets here,” she said. “If I call and put a rush on it, we’ll have a preliminary result in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Perfect,” Jack said. “I’ll be waiting. I’ve got ten dollars and twenty-five cents riding on the outcome.”
Agnes gave Jack a look. He considered explaining, but feared he’d sound even more foolish. Instead he fled upstairs to his office.
13
THURSDAY, 10:45 A.M., MARCH 21, 1996 NEW YORK CITY
“I’m liking it more and more,” Terese said. She straightened up from Colleen’s drawing board. Colleen was showing her tissues that her team had comped up just that morning using the theme they’d discussed the night before.
“The best thing is that the concept is consistent with the Hippocratic oath,” Colleen said. “Particularly the part about never doing harm to anyone. I love it.”
“I don’t know why we didn’t think about it before,” Terese said. “It’s such a natural. It’s almost embarrassing that it took this damn plague epidemic to make us think of it. Did you catch what’s happening on morning TV?”
“Three deaths!” Colleen said. “And several people sick. It’s terrible. In fact, it scares me to death.”
“I had a headache from the wine last night when I woke up this morning,” Terese said. “The first thing that went through my mind was whether I had the plague or not.”
“I thought the same thing,” Colleen said. “I’m glad you admitted it. I was too embarrassed.”
“I hope to hell those guys were right last night,” Terese said. “They seemed pretty damn confident it wasn’t going to be a big problem.”
“Are you worried being around them?” Colleen asked.
“Oh, it’s gone through my mind,” Terese admitted. “But as I said, they were so confident. I can’t imagine their acting that way if there were any risk.”
“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Colleen asked.
“By all means,” Terese said. “I have a sneaking suspicion that Jack Stapleton will turn out to be an unknowing fountain of ad ideas. He might be bitter about something, but he’s sharp and opinionated, and he certainly knows the business.”
“I can’t believe how well this is working out,” Colleen said. “I was a lot more drawn to Chet; he’s fun and open and easy to talk with. I have enough problems of my own, so I’m not attracted to the anguished, brooding type.”
“I didn’t say anything about being attracted to Jack Stapleton,” Terese said. “That’s something else entirely.”
“What’s your gut reaction to this idea of using Hippocrates himself in one of our ads?”
“I think it has fantastic potential,” Terese said. “Run with it. Meanwhile I’m going to head upstairs and talk with Helen Robinson.”
“Why?” Colleen asked. “I thought she was the enemy.”
“I’m taking to heart Taylor’s admonition that we creatives and the account people should work together,” Terese said breezily.
“Yeah, sure! Likely story!”
“Seriously,” Terese said. “There’s something I’d like her to do. I need a fifth column. I want Helen to confirm that National Health is clean when it comes to nosocomial or hospital-based infections. If their record is atrocious, the whole campaign could backfire. Then, not only would I lose my bid for the presidency, but you and I would probably be out selling pencils.”
“Wouldn’t we have heard by this time?” Colleen asked. “I mean, they’ve been clients for a number of years.”
“I doubt it,” Terese said. “These health-care giants are loath to publicize anything that might adversely affect their stock price. Surely a bad record in regard to nosocomial infections would do that.”
Terese gave Colleen a pat on the shoulder and told her to keep cracking the whip, then headed for the stairwell.
Terese emerged breathless onto the administrative floor, having taken the stairs two at a time. From there she marched directly toward the carpeted realm of the account executives. Her mood was soaring; it was the absolute antithesis of the anxiety and dread of the day before. Her intuition told her she was onto something big with National Health and would soon be scoring a deserved triumph.…
As soon as the impromptu meeting with Terese had ended and Terese had disappeared around the corner, Helen returned to her desk and put a call in to her main contact at National Health Care. The woman wasn’t immediately available, but Helen didn’t expect her to be. Helen merely left her name and number with a request to be called as soon as possible.
With the call accomplished Helen took a brush from her desk and ran it through her hair several times in front of a small mirror on the inside of her closet door. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she walked out of her office and headed down to Robert Barker’s.
“You have a minute?” Helen called to him from his open door.
“For you I have all day,” Robert said. He leaned back in his chair.
Helen stepped into the room and turned to close the door. As she did so, Robert surreptitiously turned over the photo of his wife that stood on the corner of the desk. His wife’s stern stare made him feel guilty whenever Helen was in his office.
“I just had a visitor,” Helen said as she came into the room.
As was her custom she sat cross-legged on the arm of one of the two chairs facing Robert’s desk.
Robert felt perspiration appear along his hairline in keeping with his quickening pulse. From his vantage point, Helen’s short skirt afforded him a view of her thigh that didn’t stop.
“It was our creative director,” Helen continued. She was very conscious of the effect she was having on her boss, and it pleased her. “She asked me to get some information for her.”
“What kind of information?” Robert asked. His eyes didn’t move, nor did he blink. It was as if he were hypnotized.
Helen explained what Terese wanted and described the brief conversation about the plague outbreak. When Robert didn’t respond immediately, she stood up. That broke the trance. “I tried to tell her not to use it as the basis of an ad campaign,” Helen added, “but she thinks it’s going to work.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything,” Robert remarked. He loosened his shirt and took a breath.
“But it’s a terrible idea,” Helen said. “I couldn’t think of anything more tasteless.”
“Exactly,” Robert said. “I’d like her to propose a tasteless campaign.”
“I see your point,” Helen said. “I didn’t think of that on the spur of the moment.”
“Of course not,” Robert said. “You’re not as devious as I am. But you’re a quick study. The problem with the idea about nosocomial infection in general is that it could be a good one. There might possibly be a legitimate difference between National Health and AmeriCare.”
“I could always tell her the information wasn’t available,” Helen said. “After all, it might not be.”
“There is always risk in lying,” Robert said. “She might already have the information and be testing us to make us look bad. No, go ahead and see what you can find out. But let me know what you learn and what you pass on to Terese Hagen. I want to keep a step ahead of her.”
14
THURSDAY, 12:00 P.M., MARCH 21, 1996
“Hey, sport, how the hell are you?” Chet asked Jack as Jack scooted into their shared office and dumped several folders onto his cluttered desk.
“Couldn’t be better,” Jack said.
Thursday had been a paper day for Chet, meaning he’d been at his desk and not in the autopsy room.
Generally the associate medical examiners only did autopsies three days a week. The other days they spent collating the voluminous paperwork necessary to “sign out” a case. There was always material that needed to be gathered from PA investigators, the lab, the hospital or local doctors, or the police. Plus each doctor had to read the microscopic slides the histology lab processed on every case.
Jack sat down and pushed some of the paper debris away from the center of the desk to give him some room to work.
“You feel all right this morning?” Chet asked.
“A little wobbly,” Jack admitted. He rescued his phone from beneath lab reports. Then he opened up one of the folders he’d just brought in with him and began searching through the contents. “And you?”
“Perfect,” Chet said. “But I’m accustomed to a little wine and such. Remembering those chicks helped, particularly Colleen. Hey, we still on for tonight?”
“I was going to talk to you about that,” Jack said.
“You promised,” Chet said.
“I didn’t exactly promise,” Jack said.
“Come on,” Chet pleaded. “Don’t let me down. They’re expecting both of us. They might not stay if only I show up.”
Jack glanced over at his officemate.
“Come on,” Chet repeated. “Please!”
“All right, for chrissake,” Jack said. “Just this once. But I truly don’t understand why you think you need me. You do fine by yourself.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Chet said. “I owe you one.”
Jack found the ID sheet that had the phone numbers for Maurice Hard, Susanne’s husband. There was both a home number and an office number. He dialed the home.
“Who you calling?” Chet asked.
“You are a nosy bastard,” Jack said jokingly.
“I’ve got to watch over you so you don’t get yourself fired,” Chet said.
“I’m calling the spouse of another curious infectious case,” Jack said. “I just did the post, and it’s got me bewildered. Clinically it looked like plague, but I don’t think it was.”
A housekeeper picked up the phone. When Jack asked for Mr. Hard, he was told Mr. Hard was at the office. Jack dialed the second number. This time it was answered by a secretary. Jack had to explain who he was and was then put on hold. “I’m amazed,” Jack said to Chet, his hand over the receiver. “The man’s wife just died and he’s at work. Only in America!”
Maurice Hard came on the line. His voice was strained. He was obviously under great stress. Jack was tempted to tell the man he knew something of what he was feeling, but something made him hold back. Instead he explained who he was and why he was calling.
“Do you think I should talk to my lawyer first?” Maurice asked.
“Lawyer? Why your lawyer?”
“My wife’s family is making ridiculous accusations,” Maurice said. “They’re suggesting I had something to do with Susanne’s death. They’re crazy. Rich, but crazy. I mean, Susanne and I had our ups and downs, but we never would have hurt each other, no way.”
“Do they know your wife died of an infectious disease?” Jack questioned.
“I’ve tried to tell them,” Maurice said.
“I don’t know what to say,” Jack said. “It’s really not my position to advise you about your personal legal situation.”
“Well, hell, go ahead and ask your questions,” Maurice said. “I can’t imagine it would make any difference. But let me ask you a question first. Was it plague?”
“That still has not been determined,” Jack said. “But I’ll call you as soon as we know for sure.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Maurice said. “Now, what are your questions?”
“I believe you have a dog,” Jack said. “Is the dog healthy?”
“For a seventeen-year-old dog he’s healthy,” Maurice said.
“I’d like to encourage you to take the pet to your vet and explain that your wife died of a serious infectious disease. I want to be sure the dog isn’t carrying the illness, whatever it was.”
“Is there a chance of that?” Maurice asked with alarm.
“It’s small, but there is a chance,” Jack said.
“Why didn’t the hospital tell me that?” he demanded.
“That I can’t answer,” Jack said. “I assume they talked to you about taking antibiotics.”
“Yeah, I’ve already started,” Maurice said. “But it bums me out about the dog. I should have been informed.”
“There’s also the issue of travel,” Jack said. “I was told your wife didn’t do any recent traveling.”
“That’s right,” Maurice said. “She was pretty uncomfortable with her pregnancy, especially with her back problem. We haven’t gone anywhere except to our house up in Connecticut.”
“When was the last visit to Connecticut?” Jack asked.
“About a week and a half ago,” Maurice said. “She liked it up there.”
“Is it rural?” Jack asked.
“Seventy acres of fields and forest land,” Maurice said proudly. “Beautiful spot. We have our own pond.”
“Did your wife ever go out into the woods?” Jack asked.
“All the time,” Maurice said. “That was her main enjoyment. She liked to feed the deer and the rabbits.”
“Were there many rabbits?” Jack asked.
“You know rabbits,” Maurice said. “Every time we went up there there were more of them. I actually thought they were a pain in the neck. In the spring and summer they ate all the goddamn flowers.”
“Any problem with rats?”
“Not that I know of,” Maurice said. “Are you sure this is all significant?”
“We never know,” Jack said. “What about your visitor from India?”
“That was Mr. Svinashan,” Maurice said. “He’s a business acquaintance from Bombay. He stayed with us for almost a week.”
“Hmm,” Jack said, remembering the plague outbreak in 1994 in Bombay. “As far as you know, he’s healthy and well?”
“As far as I know,” Maurice said.
“How about giving him a call,” Jack suggested. “If he’s been sick, let me know.”
“No problem,” Maurice said. “You don’t think he could have been involved, do you? After all, his visit was three weeks ago.”
“This episode has baffled me,” Jack admitted. “I’m not ruling anything out. What about Donald Nodelman? Did you or your wife know him?”
“Who’s he?” Maurice asked.
“He was the first victim in this plague outbreak,” Jack said. “He was a patient in the Manhattan General. I’d be curious if your wife might have visited him. He was on the same floor.”
“In OB-GYN?” Maurice questioned with surprise.
“He was on the medical ward on the opposite side of the building. He was in the hospital for diabetes.”
“Where did he live?”
“The Bronx,” Jack said.
“I doubt it,” Maurice said. “We don’t know anyone from the Bronx.”
“One last question,” Jack said. “Did your wife happen to visit the hospital during the week prior to her admission?”
“She hated hospitals,” Maurice said. “It was difficult to get her to go even when she was in labor.”
Jack thanked Maurice and hung up.
“Now who are you calling?” Chet asked as Jack dialed again.
“The husband of my first case this morning,” Jack said. “At least we know this case had plague for sure.”
“Why don’t you let the PAs make these calls?” Chet asked.
“Because I can’t tell them what to ask,” Jack said. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just have this suspicion that there is some missing piece of information. Also I’m just plain interested. The more I think about this episode of plague in New York in March, the more unique I think it is.”
Mr. Harry Mueller was a far cry from Mr. Maurice Hard.
He was devastated by his loss and had trouble sp
eaking despite a professed willingness to be cooperative. Not wishing to add to the man’s burden, Jack tried to be quick. After corroborating Janice’s report of no pets or travel and no recent visitors, Jack went through the same questions concerning Donald Nodelman as he had with Maurice.
“I’m certain my wife did not know this individual,” Harry said, “and she rarely met any patients directly, especially sick patients.”
“Did your wife work in central supply for a long time?” Jack asked.
“Twenty-one years,” Harry said.
“Did she ever come down with any illness that she thought she’d contracted at the hospital?” Jack asked.
“Maybe if one of her co-workers had a cold,” Harry said. “But nothing more than that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mueller,” Jack said. “You’ve been most kind.”
“Katherine would have wanted me to help,” Harry said. “She was a good person.”
Jack hung up the phone but left his hands drumming on the receiver. He was agitated.
“Nobody, including me, has any idea what the hell is going on here,” he said.
“True,” Chet said. “But it’s not your worry. The cavalry has already arrived. I heard that the city epidemiologist was over here observing this morning.”
“He was here all right,” Jack said. “But it was in desperation. That little twerp hasn’t the foggiest notion of what’s going on. If it weren’t for the CDC’s sending someone up here from Atlanta, nothing would be happening. At least someone’s out there trapping rats and looking for a reservoir.”
Suddenly Jack pushed back from the desk, got up, and pulled on his bomber jacket.
“Uh-oh!” Chet said. “I sense trouble. Where are you going?”
“I’m heading back to the General,” Jack said. “My gut sense tells me the missing information is over there at the hospital, and by God I’m going to find it.”
“What about Bingham?” Chet said nervously.
“Cover for me,” Jack said. “If I’m late for Thursday conference, tell him…” Jack paused as he tried to think up some appropriate excuse, but nothing came to mind. “Oh, screw it,” he said. “I won’t be that long. I’ll be back way before conference. If anybody calls, tell them I’m in the John.”