“An ER nurse manager was cleaning out some files and she came across the print-out of his ELISA and it was positive. No follow up testing was done because he died and as I said, the ball was dropped. We don’t know why blood wasn’t sent during the autopsy.
“Now here is the clinker. When I got this report, I called his wife. Are you ready for this? She just found out she’s got AIDs. And, evidently, she is in contact with two of her late husband’s sexual partners. One has AIDs and the other is HIV positive. Their names were already in the system but we just haven’t gotten to their paperwork yet. I think we have a real mess on our hands.
“The wife gave me the names of the two other women. One, a Miss Sandra Benson, is pregnant with Jack Smith’s baby. I then called Miss Benson. She gave me the name of two possible contacts; a William Smith, Jack Smith’s brother who is in Riker’s and has admitted being a sexual partner, and his wife, Anne Smith, in city jail.” Dee stopped talking. And then she remembered the second partner. “There is the other woman who has AIDS, Miss Marie Fabian. She is Mrs. Smith’s sister. He has two college age children that Mrs. Smith has agreed to question.” Dee took a long breath and let it out slowly. She felt sick to her stomach. Her three colleagues looked at her, shocked. This man was evidently a whoremonger, who was also an adulterer of the worst type; he didn’t care who he slept with. He was dead; how would they find his victims?
“We are going to have to advertise, I’m afraid,” Betty said. “If you all agree, I’ll get a court order going. If and when it’s instated, we can start with the little, underground publications. I’m not ready to expose his family to the Times.” All but Maggie shook their heads in agreement. This policy, although tricky to pull off legally, had worked for them in the past. Betty had a standard add that she took out with the decedents name in small type.
Friends and Friends of Friends
You may have information that is desperately needed.
If you are a friend, or a friend of a friend of Jack Smith,
please contact Helen Davenport at
718-555-1212
immediately.
Helen Davenport was their pseudonym for Health Department.
“What is going to work for us in this case is that he was mugged on the train after his heart attack. That fact was advertised in the New York Times in a story which accompanied his obituary. It might appear to anyone who knew him, but not about his proclivity for sexual promiscuity, not that I am judging him, that we are looking for information about the mugging. They won’t be tipped off so easily,” Dee told them.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie argued. “He was a family man, correct? Don’t we have some obligation to protect his children, at the very least, from slander? I mean, even if you only place those ads in the most obscure papers, the court order will still be part of public record. Good luck trying to get those documents sealed.”
“Good point. What’s the alternative?” Ron asked.
“The problem is that if we wait, his victims may be having unprotected sex. I mean it is no guarantee that anyone will come forward anyway. But at least we will have done what we are supposed to do legally,” Dee said. No one else said anything. Finally, Betty spoke up.
“How’s this for a compromise. Let’s wait until Thursday to file the order. It will give us through the holiday weekend for someone to come forward. In the meantime, let’s interview the five known contacts. Does that sound like a plan?”
“I think so,” Maggie agreed. “Hopefully, we can determine right away if there is a need to go public. Why’d I ever go into this field?”
“The same thing just crossed my mind,” Dee said. She finished her lunch and got up to start the mountains of forms each interviewer would need. Ron Peterson walked back to Dee’s office with her.
“I’m not convinced that waiting until Thursday to file is a smart move,” he said. “I have to countermand your plan. We don’t know anything about Jack Smith right now, and I know we are not supposed to form opinions based on behavior. But what we can do is to project possible outcomes based on past behavior. The scary part is that I recognize his name. His family is Columbus Avenue, Central Park West, the whole nine yards. That scares me. Rich people think they can get away with murder. No, I think I’ll give it day and if we don’t uncover anything by closing tomorrow, you better file with the court.”
“Ah, why didn’t you say anything when we were all together?” Dee asked. Then she added, “Sir.” Ron smiled.
“Because you work for me and I want you to tell them.” He walked toward his office, dismissing her, and closed his door.
“What an asshole,” she whispered to herself. So she walked back to the conference room where Betty and Maggie were having a final cup of coffee.
“Ron wants to file by tomorrow afternoon unless we can convince him this was isolated behavior on Smith’s part. Sorry, Betty. I thought it was a good plan, but he’s the boss.” Dee went to the food tray and started cleaning up their lunch mess. “I’ll take one of the interviews and that will speed things up. Why don’t you two head out to Long Island and talk to the wife this afternoon if she is available. I’ll head downtown and start with the girlfriend.”
“He’s probably right,” Betty replied. “The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be for contacts to come forward. I just feel sorry for the family. Did he say anything about the media we chose?” Dee shook her head ‘no’.
“I’ll help you decide where to place the ad when the time comes,” Dee said. “Maggie, would you get copies of his credit card statements?”
Dee went to her office and closed the door. She looked through her notes and found Sandra Benson’s contact information. She sat down at her desk and pulled the phone closer, keying the numbers in. A generic “hello” followed by a chipper “Lane, Smith and Romney! How may I help you?” Dee asked for Sandra Benson and another ring, another hello.
“Miss Benson?” She gave her a chance to confirm it was before she went any further. “This is Delores Frank from the Department of Health here in Manhattan. How are you today?” They always asked that question to allow the client time to absorb the Department of Health shocker.
“I’m okay,” Sandra answered hesitantly. “I’m nervous about this call.”
“Yes, I understand that, truly Miss Benson. Can we meet somewhere to talk privately? I understand you are at your place of business. I can tell you that I am a Public Health representative. Everything we discuss will be confidential.” Expect public humiliation for your boyfriend, Dee added silently.
“Where and when?” Sandra asked. “I’m available now, if that will help. My office is downtown.”
“I’m in Chelsea, Miss Benson. You tell me where to meet you and I’ll be there.” Dee said.
“I can come to you. As a matter of fact, I would rather come to you. My office may not be as private as I think it is and I don’t want to take any chances,” Sandra confessed. They arranged for her to come to Dee’s office. There was a little-used, comfortable and private interviewing area with an unmarked door that was accessed from Twenty-Eight Street. The locals weren’t even aware of its tenant. They said good-bye to each other after arranging to meet in half an hour.
Sandra was sure she knew the purpose of the meeting, and had gathered the notes she took after Cindy Thomasini left the office an hour earlier. There was timeliness to these things that brought terror to Sandra rather than peace. Slowly, what she thought she knew to be true about her life was being destroyed.
Chapter 4
Betty James picked Marie Fabians name to interview after the meeting with Pamela Smith was completed. She and Maggie left the Smith house in Babylon with sadness and compassion, but also, strangely, admiration. Pam Smith was a woman who, only a month or so into her grief discovered shocking information about her beloved husband. Not only was he a philanderer who left a pregnant mistress behind, he had sexually abused his wife’s sister from the time she was fifteen years old. And to make
matters worse, all three women had positive Western blocs.
When Betty and Maggie pulled up to the front of the Smith house, they both sighed. It was such a picturesque house; white clapboards and a cedar shake roof, with green shutters all the way around. It appeared to be a modest Cape Cod from the street with a large three car carriage house in the front. The garden was lovely; salt tolerant perennials grew in colorful clumps along a split rock path to the front door. As they walked the path, the true size of the house became evident. It was a trick to the eye. The door was eight feet tall and wide enough for two adults to go through side by side, yet as they viewed it from the curb, it looked like a gnome door.
Pam greeted them both warmly, and led them into a wide hallway. But it was what lay beyond the low ceilinged hallway that took the women’s breath away; a large set of glass doors which slid out of view opened up to a vast veranda right out of House Beautiful. And then the vista of the sea. The dunes rose just high enough to obscure the beach and the only thing one could see from that vantage point was the very tips of some umbrellas and the vast blue of the Atlantic Ocean. The doors were open and the sound of gulls calling, the surf hitting the sand and the laughter of children made both Betty and Maggie want to take their shoes off and run to the join them. They immediately relaxed, staring at the water and saying nothing. Pam laughed out loud.
“It’s the magic of the sea,” she said. “Enjoy it while you are here.” She stood in the doorway and swept her hand toward the veranda. “Come and sit, won’t you? I have a light snack for you.” The women moved forward, mesmerized. Later Betty said she didn’t remember even arriving at the house. It was as though they went from the car to sitting on the veranda in one movement. Betty pulled her chair out without taking her eyes off the water. Maggie couldn’t stop looking around.
“Check out that rock garden. I might have to take a picture later,” she whispered, reaching into her briefcase to pull out the paperwork she had on Pamela Smith. It was the law that hospitals and laboratories send names of new HIV positive cases to the Department of Health for surveillance data. She also had Partner Notification forms, which were not mandatory in the State of New York. It was ethical and moral to tell the interviewers who your sex partners were, but not illegal if you chose not to.
In the case of a dead person, the team had planned on taking out a cryptic ad which was considered by some factions to be illegal, but could be supported if the behavior of the decedent was so promiscuous that many lives were endangered. Also, if a known HIV infected person infected many partners in a wanton manner, which may be the case here, a court order would absolve the team from criminal charges if the family found out and sued. There was always the risk that a citizen who became infected with AIDS by a person know to the Department of Health could sue if they were not notified by the department. There were so many angles and they were always treading lightly. The women wanted to err on the side of conservatism, where their boss was quicker to act. It was his head that would be on the chopping block.
Pam Smith was a known AIDS case because her physician contacted the health department when he was supposed to and sent in the required paperwork. She had been on the list of people to interview. When her husband’s blood tests were found, she moved to the front of the list. No one wanted to disturb the peace of another human being, but it must be done. As though she were entertaining long last friends, Pam returned with a tray of iced tea and cake. But the illusion would not last for long.
“Mrs. Smith, you understand why we are here, is that correct?” Betty asked. Pam acknowledged that she did, gritting her teeth. “We want you to know that everything we say here is confidential. Also, that some of the questions we ask may be painful for you to answer. You are under no legal obligation to reveal anything to us. If you feel like we are coercing you at any time, please say something right away. Is that clear to you?”
Yes,” Pam replied. Get on with it, will you? She thought. I hate you, Jack.
“Okay, we can get started. Have you had unprotected sex, which includes anal, vaginal or oral with another partner? Unprotected means without the use of a condom or rubber dam.”
“No,” Pam answered. She involuntarily shivered. She clenched and unclenched her fists, resolving to stay calm no matter how gruesome and depraved this meeting became.
“Have you shared needles to inject intravenous drugs with anyone?”
“No!” Pam exclaimed. What the hell did they think she was? The questioning continued for several more minutes with the same questions being answered different ways. Pam was quickly losing interest until the last question was asked.
“Do you know of any other partner your late husband may have had sex with, or shared intravenous injected drugs with?” Pam stared at Maggie with an unreadable emotion; either contempt or stubbornness or complete disgust. But she answered.
“Yes. He slept with my sister, Marie Fabian, and with Sandra Benson. I can provide telephone numbers for both women if you don’t already have them. However, I already gave Miss Frank this information.”
“Do you suspect there were others?” Maggie asked as gently as was possible. Pam looked out to the sea. She thought of the attractive young women who had shown up at Jack’s funeral; at least twenty of them who came alone, and thought she might have an answer. She remembered an odd young woman who had come to Bernice’s birthday party a few years ago, and then materialized at the funeral. Of the gorgeous model type who said she had come for the beach not knowing the Smith’s lived there, but later just happened to run into Jack right in front of the house. What would disclosure mean to her family? It was all hearsay. No one had any proof until someone stepped forward. What difference did it make? Would saying yes mean they would search further into his life? Truly, she wanted to know. Having her head stuck in the sand, as she had evidently done most of her adult life, had not worked for her.
“Yes,” she answered. “But having said that, I must ask that you divulge what information you are able to gather to me. I won’t ask names, but I must know the truth.” And then she thought of her mother-in-law. She remembered reading the accusation that Jack had made that his father had sexually abused him and his brother, Bill for most of their childhood. If Jack had gotten HIV from his father, there was a risk that his mother would be infected, too. Oh my God. “I just thought of something,” she said looking at Maggie. “My mother-in-law may be infected.” She didn’t need to say another word. Betty James nodded her head. She reached out a hand to Pam.
“Please accept our deepest apologies for having put you through this. I wish there were another way to gather information. As for your request, we will stay in touch with you. That’s all I can say right now.” Betty looked over at Maggie for confirmation.
“Anything you need from us, you only have to ask,” Maggie said. “We will do what we can to help you through this, okay Mrs. Smith?” They stood up together to end the questioning. But Maggie wasn’t ready to leave. “Can I just walk down your path here? I am dying to see the water. It will probably be the only time this summer that I get to the beach.”
“Me too,” Betty said. “Every year we say we are going to go to the beach for a picnic and then we end up in Philadelphia with my husband’s brother.” The three women walked down the wooden path to the beach. It was a gorgeous day for sunning and swimming, but not for them. They didn’t speak for several minutes. Finally Maggie said it was time to go; they had to get back to the city by four. She was reluctant to move from that spot on the boardwalk.
“I don’t want to leave!” She whined. The women laughed together, and Betty tugged at her colleague’s hand.
“Let’s go!” Betty said. They gathered up their papers and stuffed them away. Pam, always the gracious hostess, waited patiently while the intruders prolonged their departure. Finally they were gone and she was alone. Yet another humiliation at the hands of Jack. One more slap in the face. Thank you, Jack! Great work! I wonder how we will escape public scrutiny this
time. How much more can my pride take? Her mind was running rampant as she cleaned up the cake mess from entertaining the public health pests. Her usual compassionate resolution wasn’t working. It wasn’t their fault that she was embarrassed by their questions, she reasoned. It really didn’t make any difference at all if the whole world knew what a scoundrel her late husband had been. The painful fact was that soon she was going to be forced to tell her children about the AIDS. Maybe once that task was over with, she would return to her usual, content, optimism. But for now, she chose to wallow in self-pity, not caring where it took her. For once, she was giving in to something negative and painful without giving herself the usual pep talk. There was nothing she could say this time that would help.
Chapter 5
Melissa
Something is happening to my body and it is really scaring me. If this keeps up, I will have to go to the doctor, which I hate. I hate how the nurses look at me like I’m a freak when I walk in. No one in that clinic asks any questions to me directly. They’ll start every inquiry with an ‘I wonder,’ or ‘I guess.’ ‘I wonder if this could be related to your tattoos.’ Or my favorite; ‘I guess this could be a residual effect of drug use.’ No one has ever treated me for drug addiction, or tested me for it that I know of. Their treatment of me comes from the way I look. And that pisses me off. One nurse in there is so God damned fat that she has to walk down the hall sideways, her panus swaying back and forth, yet she treats me like a pariah. A few years ago, she even had the nerve to comment out loud about a little weight I had gained….six pounds in a year. I went from a whopping one hundred twelve pounds sopping wet, to one eighteen. I am five six. I attributed the gain directly to Jack. That man couldn’t stand to be around me unless he had me fed, first. In the five years we dated, we probably went out to dinner every week.
Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Page 4