final slap in the face, Jason found a parking ticket under his
windshield wiper. Irritated, he pulled it out, realizing he'd parked in
a zone that required a Cambridge resident sticker.
it took much longer for him to return to GHP than it had taken to drive
to Helene's apartment. The traffic on Storrow Drive was backed up
exiting at Fenway, so it was about seven-thirty P. m. when he finally
parked and entered the building. Going up to his office, he found a
large computer printout on his desk listing all the GHP patients who had
received executive physicals in the last year, along with a notation of
the patient's current physical status. The secretaries did a great job,
Jason thought, putting the printout in his briefcase.
He went up to the floor for inpatient rounds. One of the nurses gave him
the results of Madaline Krammer's arteriogram. All the coronary vessels
showed significant, diffuse, nonfocal encroachment. When the results
were compared with a similar study done six months previously, it showed
significant deterioration. Harry Sarnoff, the consulting cardiologist,
did not feel she was a candidate for surgery, and with her current low
levels of both cholesterol and fatty acids, had little to suggest with
regard to her management. To be one hundred percent certain, Jason
ordered a cardiac surgery consult, then went in to see her.
As usual, Madaline was in the best of moods, minimizing her symptoms.
Jason told her that he'd asked a surgeon to take a look at her, and
promised to stop by the next day. He had the awful sense that the woman
was not going-to be around much longer. When he checked her ankles for
edema, Jason noted some excoriations.
"Have you been scratching yourself?" he asked.
"A little," Madaline admitted, grasping the sheet and pulling it up as
if she were embarrassed.
"Are your ankles itchy?"
"I think it's the heat in here. It's very dry, you know."
Jason didn't know. In fact, the air-conditioning system of the hospital
kept the humidity at a constant, normal level.
With a horrible sense of deja vul Jason went back to the nurses' staiion
and ordered a dermatology consult as well as a chemistry screen that
included some forty automated tests. There had to be something he was
missing.
The rest of rounds was equally depressing. It seemed all his patients
were in decline. When he left the hospital he decided to take a run out
to Shirley's. He felt like talking and she'd certainly made it clear she
enjoyed seeing him. He also felt he should break the news of Helene's
murder before she heard it from the press. He knew it was going to
devastate her.
It took about twenty minutes before he pulled into her cobblestone
driveway. He was pleased to see lights on.
"Jason! What a pleasant surprise," Shirley said, answering the bell. She
was dressed in a red leotard with black tights and a white headband. "I
was just on my way to aerobics."
"I should have called."
"Nonsense," Shirley said, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.
"I'm, always looking for an excuse not to exercise." She led him into
the kitchen, where a mountain of reports and memoranda covered the
table. Jason was reminded of what an enormous amount of work went into
running an organization like GHP. As always, he was impressed by
Shirley's skills.
After she brought him a drink, Jason asked if she'd heard the news.
$1 don't know," Shirley said, pulling off her headband and shaking out
her thick hair. "News about what?"
"Helene Brennquivist," Jason said. He let his voice trail off.
"Is this news I'm going to like?" Shirley asked, picking up her drink.
"I hardly think so," Jason said. "She and her roommate were murdered."
Shirley dropped her drink on the couch and then mechanically occupied
herself cleaning up the mess. "What happened?" she asked after a long
silence.
"It was a rape murder. At least ostensibly." He felt ill as he recalled
the scene.
"How awful," Shirley said, clutching her hand to her chest.
"It was gruesome," agreed Jason.
"It's every woman's worst nightmare. When did it happen?"
"They seem to think it happened last night."
Shirley stared off into the middle distance. "I'd better phone Bob
Walthrow. This is only going to add to our PR woes."
Shirley heaved herself to her feet and walked shakily to the phone.
Jason could hear the emotion in her voice as she explained what had
happened.
"I don't envy you your job," he said when she hung up. He could see her
eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I feel the same about yours," she said. "Every time I see you after a
patient dies, I'm glad I didn't go into medicine myself."
Although neither Shirley nor Jason was particularly hungry, they made a
quick spaghetti dinner. Shirley tried to talk Jason into staying the
night, but though he had found comfort being with her, helping him to
endure the horror of Helene's death, he knew he couldn't stay. He had to
be home for Carol's call. Pleading a load of unfinished work, he drove
back to his apartment.
After a late jog and a shower, Jason sat down with the printouts of all
patients who'd had GHP physicals in the last year. Feet on his desk, he
went over the list carefully, noting that the number of physicals had
been divided evenly among all the internists. Since the list had been
printed in alphabetical order rather than chronologically, it took some
time for Jason to realize that the poor predictive results were much
more common in the last six months than in the beginning of the year. In
fact, without graphing the material, it appeared that 212 1
there had been a marked increase in unexpected deaths over the last few
months.
Taking a pencil, Jason began writing down the unit numbers of the recent
deaths. He was shocked by the number. Then he called the main operator
at GHP and asked to be connected to Records. When he had one of the
night secretaries on the line, he gave the list of unit numbers and
asked if the outpatient charts could be pulled and put on his desk. The
secretary told him there would be no problem at all.
Putting the computer printout back into his briefcase, Jason took down
his Williams' Textbook of Endocrinology and turned to the chapters on
growth hormone. Like so many other subjects, the more he read, the less
he knew.
Growth hormone and its relation to growth and sexual maturation were
enormously complicated. So complicated, in fact, that he fell asleep,
the heavy textbook pressing against his abdomen.
The phone shocked him awake-so abruptly that he knocked the book to the
floor. He snatched up the receiver, expecting his service. It took
another moment before he realized the caller was Carol Donner. Jason
looked at the time-eleven minutes to three.
"I hope you weren't asleep," Carol said.
"No, no!" Jason lied. His legs were stiff from being propped up on the
desk. "I've been waiting for your call. Where
are you?"
"I. m at home," Carol said.
"Can I come get that package?"
"It's not here," Carol said. "To avoid problems, I gave it to a friend
who works with me. Her name is Melody Andrews. She lives at 69 Revere
Street on Beacon Hill." Carol gave him Melody's phone number. "She's
expecting a call and should just be getting home. Let me know what you
think of the material, and if there's any trouble, here's my
number~-which she recited.
"Thanks," said Jason, writing everything down. He was surprised how
disappointed he felt not to be seeing her.
"Take care," Carol said, hanging up.
Jason remained at his desk, still trying to fully wake up. As he did so,
he realized he hadn't mentioned Helene's death to Carol. Well, that
might be a good excuse to call Carol back, he reflected as he dialed her
friend's number.
Melody Andrews answered her phone with a strong South Boston accent. She
told Jason that she had the package, and he was welcome to come over and
get it. She said she'd be up for another half hour or SO.
Jason put on a sweater and down vest, left the house, walked down
Pinckney Street, along West Cedar, and up Revere. Melody's building was
on the left.
He rang her bell, and she appeared at the door in pin curls. Jason
didn't think anyone still used those things. Her face was tired and
drawn.
Jason introduced himself. Melody merely nodded and handed over a parcel
wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It weighed about ten
pounds.
When Jason thanked her she just shrugged and said, "Sure."
Returning home, Jason pulled off his vest and sweater. Eagerly eyeing
the package, he got scissors from the kitchen and cut the string. Then
he carried the package into the den and placed it on his desk. Inside he
found two ledgers filled with handwritten instructions, diagrams, and
experimental data. One of the books had Property of Gene, Inc. printed
on the cover; the other merely the word Notebook. In addition there was
a large manila envelope filled with correspondence.
The first letters Jason read were from Gene, Inc., demanding that Hayes
live up to his contractual agreements and return the Somatomedin
protocol and the recombinant E. coli strain of bacteria that he'd
illegally removed from their laboratory. As Jason continued reading, it
was apparent that Hayes had a significant difference of opinion
concerning the ownership of the procedure and the strain, and that he
was in the process of patenting the same. Jason also found a number of
letters from an attorney by the name of Samuel Schwartz. Half of them
involved the application for the patent on the Somatomedin-producing E.
coli and the rest dealt with the formation of a corporation. It seemed
that Alvin Hayes owned fifty-one percent of the stock, while his
children shared the other forty-nine percent along with Samuel Schwartz.
So much for the correspondence, Jason thought. He returned the letters
to the manila envelope. Next he took up the ledger books. The one that
had "Gene, Inc." on the cover seemed to be the protocol referred to in
the correspondence. As Jason flipped through it, he realized that it
detailed the creation of the recombinant strain of bacteria to produce
Somatomedin.
From his reading, he knew that Somatomedins were growth factors produced
by the liver cells in response to the presence of growth hormone.
Putting the first book aside, Jason picked up the second. The
experiments outlined were incomplete, but they concerned the production
of a monoclonal antibody to a specific protein. The protein was not
named, but Jason found a diagram of its amino-acid sequence. Most of the
material was beyond his comprehension, but it was clear from the
crossing out of large sections and the scribbling in the margins that
the work was not progressing well and that at the time of the last
entry, Hayes had obviously not created the antibody he'd desired.
Stretching, Jason got up from his desk. He was disappointed. He had
hoped the package from Carol would offer a clearer picture of Hayes's
break through, but except for the documentation of the controversy
between Hayes and Gene, Inc., Jason knew little more than he had before
opening the package. He did have the protocol for producing the
Somatomedin E. coli strain, but that hardly seemed a major discovery,
and all the other lab book outlined was failure.
Exhausted, Jason turned out the lights and went to bed. It had been a
long, terrible day.
Nightmares involving gross permutations of the terrible scene in
Helene's apartment drove Jason out of bed before the sun paled the
eastern sky. He put on coffee and as he waited for it to filter through
his machine, he picked up his paper and read about the double murder.
There was nothing new.
As he'd expected, the emphasis was on the rape. Putting the Gene, Inc.,
ledger in his briefcase, Jason started out for the hospital.
At least there was no traffic at that early hour as he drove to the GHP,
and he had his choice of parking places. Even the surgeons who usually
arrived at such an uncivilized hour were not there yet.
When he arrived at GHP, he went directly to his office. As he'd
requested, his desk was piled with charts. He took off his jacket and
began to go through them. Keeping in mind these were patients who had
died within a month of getting a fairly clean bill of health from
doctors who'd completed the most extensive physicals GHP had to offer,
Jason searched for commonalities. Nothing caught his eye.
He compared EKGs and the levels of cholesterol, fatty acids,
immunoglobulins, and blood counts. No common group of compounds,
elements, or enzymes varied from the normal in any predictable pattern.
The only shared trait was most of the patients' deaths occurred within a
month of having the physical. More upsetting, Jason noticed, was that in
the last three months the number of deaths increased dramatically.
Reading the twenty-sixth chart, one correlation suddenly occurred to
Jason.
Although the patients did not share physical symptoms, their charts
showed a predominance of high-risk social habits. They were overweight,
smoked heavily, used drugs, drank too much, and failed to exercise, or
combined any and all of these unhealthy practices; they were men and
women who were eventually destined to have severe medical problems. The
shocking fact was that they deteriorated so quickly. And why the sudden
upswing in deaths?
People weren't indulging in vices more than they were a year ago. Maybe
it was a kind of statistical equalizing: they'd been lucky and now the
numbers were catching up to them. But that didn't make a whole lot of
sense, for there seemed to be too many deaths. Jason was not an
experienced statistician, so he decided to ask a better mathematician
than he was to look at the numbers.
When he knew he wouldn't be waking the patients, Jason left his office
and made rounds. Nothing had changed. Back in his
office and before he
saw the first scheduled patient, he called Pathology and inquired about
the dead animals from Hayes's lab, and waited sever-al minutes while the
technician looked for the report.
"Here it is," the woman said. "They all died of strychnine poisoning."
Jason hung up and called Margaret Danforth at the city morgue. A
technician answered, since Margaret was busy doing an autopsy. Jason
asked if the toxicology on Gerald Fart revealed anything interesting.
"Toxicology was negative," the tech said.
"One more question. Would strychnine have shown up?"
"Just a moment," the technician said.
In the background Jason could hear the woman shouting to the medical
examiner. She returned to the phone. "Dr. Danforth said yes, strychnine
would have shown up if it had been present."
"Thank you," Jason said.
He hung up the phone, then stood up. At the window, he examined the
developing day. He could see the traffic snarled on the Riverway from
his window. The sky was light but overcast. It was early November. Not a
pretty month for Boston. Jason felt restless and anxious and
disconsolate. He thought about the parcel from Carol and wondered if he
should turn it over to Curran. Yet for what purpose? They weren't even
investigating Hayes except as a drug pusher.
Walking back to the desk Jason took out his phone directory and looked
Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt Page 18