Pathogen

by Jessica L. Webb

  They arrived at Starbucks, the expected line snaking back towards the door. While they waited, Kate people-watched, noting the expensive outdoor jackets in shades of jade and cranberry and amber, not a single one showing signs of wear. Women talked to each other in too loud tones, wearing their babies or their yoga mats on their backs. She watched how they reacted to Andy in her uniform, to the glowering look on her face. Kate remembered being intimidated by that expression, not understanding what was behind it. She knew better now. Kate knew she had to get Andy talking.

  Coffee finally in hand, they walked back out into the warm October air. Andy took them on a different route back to headquarters, and Kate deliberately slowed her pace. She only wanted to have this conversation once.

  “May I have the privilege of knowing your opinion, Sergeant Wyles?”

  “It’s your decision,” Andy said shortly.

  “Thanks. I’d already figured that part out, actually,” Kate said, acid leaking into her tone.

  Andy looked at Kate, but her eyes gave away very little. “I’m trying very hard not to influence you.”

  “Why? I just want to know what you think about all this,” Kate said, not understanding. Wasn’t this what people did in a relationship, talked things out, asked for the other person’s thoughts and opinions?

  “Because it’s your life, Kate. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything or be anything you’re not.”

  Kate took a moment with Andy’s words. “Are we still talking about me taking on a case with your division?” Kate asked.

  “Yes,” Andy said slowly.

  “Really? Because I feel like somehow we’re back to talking about my sexuality.”

  Andy flicked her eyes to Kate, then back to the sidewalk in front of them.

  “I just think—” Andy started, and then stopped as a group of kids came screaming up the sidewalk. The kids darted around them, laughing, before taking off down the street. Andy waited until they were off in the distance before continuing. “I just think a lot has happened to you in the last few months, and you haven’t had very much time to process any of it. Things are finally settling down and now you’re being asked to once again leave everything that’s familiar.”

  Kate lifted the tab on the lid of her coffee, allowing some of the steam to escape into the still air. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if she should be aiming for familiar in her life. But Andy seemed to know. Andy always seemed to know.

  “So it’s not just one thing you’re worrying about,” Kate said.

  Andy watched Kate carefully now. “I’m not doubting your abilities, Kate. I have every confidence in you. In fact, I know exactly why Heath and Finns want you on this case.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re smart, you’re fast, you see things other people don’t. You can walk into any situation with any group of people and get them to listen to you and trust you. It helps that you were good with the media. You came across as professional and approachable but not attention-seeking,” Andy said succinctly.

  “So I’m good at it, and I like it. Isn’t that an answer?”

  “It’s one answer.”

  Kate decided she needed to be direct.

  “Do you hate the idea of working with me again? Would you prefer I wasn’t involved in your work?” Kate knew it wasn’t fair to try to pin the decision on Andy like this, but she needed to know.

  “No, Kate, I don’t hate the idea,” Andy said softly. “Not at all.”

  They didn’t say anything more as they approached the parking lot, walked to Andy’s car, and got in. Andy didn’t start the car, though. She sat and looked out the windshield at the now full lot. Kate took her first sip of coffee, waiting.

  “It might not be easy. On us, I mean,” Andy said finally.

  “We’ve done it before,” Kate reminded her.

  “That wasn’t what I would call easy,” Andy said, her voice sharp. Kate knew she was thinking about Angler, about the scar on Kate’s arm.

  “Nothing happened, Andy,” Kate said firmly, wishing they could get past this. “I know what happened with Angler was an isolated incident. My arm healed faster than your gunshot wound, and I didn’t have any lasting side effects from the lorazepam overdose. Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen.”

  Andy was quiet, playing with the lid of her coffee, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

  “I don’t know,” she finally murmured. “I’ve always secretly suspected your IQ dropped a few points after the overdose,” Andy said and smiled.

  Kate looked at Andy, stunned, before punching her on the shoulder.

  “Hey now, no assaulting the police officer.” Andy laughed. Kate felt relief spread through her body at the sound.

  They were quiet for a minute as the tension that had built from yesterday eased away.

  “So should I tell Finns you’ve made a decision?” Andy asked.

  Kate met Andy’s eyes, her beautiful grey eyes which looked at her in a way no one ever had before.

  “You can tell him I’ll take him up on his offer. I’ll go up to Hidden Valley.”

  “Okay,” was all Andy said, and she checked her watch. “Then I should get you to your last shift.”

  Chapter Four

  Kate was underwhelmed by her first impression of Hidden Valley. After driving through Whistler, with its over-the-top, Disneyfied version of a chalet town, Hidden Valley seemed at first very plain. As Andy continued driving, though, Kate started to see the differences. Whistler was bright and carefully coloured, dramatically displaying its imitation of nature in the rocks and stones and wood of the architecture. But Hidden Valley actually accomplished what Whistler only boasted. Huge houses were tucked into crevices of the mountain and the slopes of the valley. Even Kate, who knew absolutely nothing about architecture, could see the line of form and function blur around the edges, or meet exactly in the middle as they were supposed to. Kate had never aspired to this kind of grandeur, but she could appreciate the style with which Hidden Valley had been built.

  Andy drove the Yukon past grand, countrified houses into the heart of a very small, quaint town. One main intersection branched off into smaller, tree-lined streets. The buildings continued the trend of understated brick and stone, with enough plain siding to make it look like a miniature Christmas town without the snow. Andy pulled off the main street and parked outside a grey brick building, much smaller and more utilitarian than those surrounding it. Kate could see the RCMP logo displayed in the front window. Andy killed the engine and looked over at Kate before zipping up her storm jacket, settling her hat on her head, and climbing out of the car.

  The inside of the building was small and simply decorated. The posters on the wall promoted community awareness and bicycle and road safety as opposed to the anti-drug and poverty awareness posters of downtown Vancouver. These posters gave off friendly encouragement and lacked the feel of caution and desperation of those in the city.

  Andy walked confidently up to the reception area, free of glass or any other protective covering. Kate felt like she was walking into a dentist’s office, not the only law enforcement in a fifty-kilometre radius.

  “Good morning,” Andy said politely to the woman behind the desk. The secretary looked to be in her late fifties, her short grey hair feathered and sprayed into one perfect, unmoving wave.

  “Welcome back, Sergeant Wyles. Constable Ferris is out on a call but should return within half an hour. Could I get the two of you some coffee while you wait?”

  “Yes, thanks. It’s Judy, right?” Andy asked.

  “That’s right.” Judy seemed touched Andy had remembered, fingering the gold chain around her neck in an unconscious motion.

  “Judy, this is Dr. Kate Morrison.”

  “Hello, we’ve been expecting you.”

  Kate wasn’t sure, but she suspected she heard a note of frost in the woman’s voice. Or at the very least, reserve.

  “It’s nice to meet
you,” Kate said, giving her most pleasant smile. Judy seemed slightly taken aback, though Kate couldn’t figure out why.

  Judy took their coffee orders and immediately disappeared around back. Kate gave Andy a questioning look.

  “You’ll notice a very entrenched social hierarchy out here,” Andy said wryly, under her breath.

  “You mean blue collar, white collar?” Kate asked.

  Andy nodded.

  “Great,” Kate muttered, but didn’t say anything else as Judy returned with two mugs, cream and sugar for Kate, black for Andy.

  “There’s a Starbucks and a few independent coffee shops in town,” Judy said, settling herself behind her desk once more. “But Constable Ferris seems to like the way I make it, so we’ve always got a pot going in the back.”

  Kate sighed as she took her first sip. “This is absolutely perfect, thanks.”

  Judy smiled tentatively back.

  The front door of the office opened just then as Constable Ferris returned from his call. He was older than Kate had expected, and his stomach bulged slightly with the paunch of the middle-aged. When he took off his hat, Kate saw his receding hairline. As he happily introduced himself to Kate, his handshake firm and his eyes kind, Kate could see what Andy meant by someone who seemed hard to ruffle.

  “Come back into my office, you two. I see you’ve already got a cup of the Judy blend,” he said, indicating their cups.

  Once they were seated in the simple, small office at the back of the building, Ferris jumped in immediately, surprising Kate with his directness.

  “Sergeant Wyles, I’d like to apologize for not getting back to you in the past few days. As I’m sure you have already figured out, I was instructed not to say anything until you were here. Now that you’re sitting here in an official capacity, I think we should get all the information out on the table.”

  “Excellent. Maybe we can start from the beginning to get Dr. Morrison up to speed.”

  “September first, a journalist from the Squamish Herald by the name of Paul Sealy comes up to Hidden Valley, wanting to interview Michael Cardiff about the upcoming election. Michael Cardiff says he doesn’t have time and, according to sources, words are exchanged.”

  “Threats?” Kate said, deliberately using the word.

  “Depends who you ask,” he said. “Witnesses say Mr. Sealy accused Michael Cardiff of refusing to represent half the constituents in Hidden Valley, namely those whose annual income is less than a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Okay,” Kate said, frowning. “Doesn’t sound like a threat.”

  “Apparently Mr. Sealy then moved on to specifics.” Constable Ferris emphasized the last word. “He asked Mr. Cardiff about the possibility that his stance on a two-tiered medical system could be seen as contrary to the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.”

  “Which sounds like a political statement phrased as a question to me,” Andy said.

  “There’s more,” Constable Ferris continued. “According to witnesses, Mr. Sealy’s parting words were that Michael Cardiff would regret supporting a bill that could potentially see his voters too sick to even come out to vote him into office.”

  “And then people got sick,” Andy said, seeking confirmation from the constable.

  “Three days later, the Squamish Herald published an article about the effects of influenza on voter turnout. Only brief mention was made of Cardiff and his electoral campaign,” Constable Ferris said. “And then people started getting sick.”

  “And Cardiff thinks those two things are connected?” Andy asked, her tone perfectly even, but her grey eyes betraying her disbelief. Kate understood. Seasonal influenza didn’t really care all that much about politics.

  “Michael Cardiff has said nothing. When interviewed, he gave a description of the incident, said he expected the situation to be monitored and has said nothing since.”

  “Until his daughter got sick,” Kate said.

  “That’s right. Which, let’s be honest, is why we’re all here today.”

  “My staff sergeant mentioned new developments,” Andy probed.

  “Yes, that,” Constable Ferris said, logging in to his computer. “When you were last here, we had looked at Paul Sealy’s background and found his affiliation with the Green Party and his presence at some low key rallies and protests. But no real red flags.” He stopped and turned his monitor so Kate and Andy could see. “Until my new constable found this.”

  Kate looked at the screen capture that Ferris had blown up. It was a Tweet from @PaulTheSealy which said, “Can refusing medical services to those in need be considered an act of bioterrorism? Watch the fall elections to find out #BCpoli.”

  “Posted September first,” Andy said.

  “Right, same day as his altercation with Cardiff. It was pulled down a day later, at his employer’s request. But it’s the Internet, nothing is ever really gone.”

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Sealy about this?” Andy said.

  “I’m meeting him at the Squamish Herald office the day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to come along.”

  Andy nodded, still looking at the screen as if she could glean more motivation from the words. Kate wondered if this short social media blast had changed Andy’s mind about the credibility of a threat. With a gap in the conversation, though, Kate decided to ask her medical questions.

  “While we’re here, could I get a breakdown of the timeline for the patients?” Kate asked.

  “I know someone who can answer that question far better than I can,” Constable Ferris said. “Grab your coat, Dr. Morrison. I’ll take you on a tour of the town, and then we can head over to the hospital. The chief of staff, Dr. Brenda Doyle, is expecting you.”

  Kate sat in the back of the Yukon and Andy drove while Constable Ferris navigated them outside the town limits. The houses here were simpler, smaller, and interspersed with attached houses and a few low apartment buildings.

  “This is the outskirts of town. Most of the farmhands, seasonal workers, and people who support the service industry live here, including two of the flu patients.”

  “Any connections between the patients that jump out at you?” Andy said.

  “It’s Hidden Valley, Sergeant Wyles. Everyone’s connected. Even people who don’t particularly wish to be.”

  Kate could see Andy thinking through the implication of his answer. But it wasn’t enough information for Kate.

  “What about significant connections, contagion-related connections,” Kate pressed. “People who live together, work together, go to school together, that kind of thing.”

  “I’ve started looking, but no pattern has emerged yet. To tell you the truth, since I’m no expert in influenza or contagion, I’m not really sure how to track that kind of information.”

  “And Public Health wasn’t interested in investigating?” Kate asked him, knowing the answer but wanting to see how he handled the answer.

  “Nope. And at this point I really don’t blame them. Up here on the left is the James ranch. It’s an Ozarc original,” he added in a slightly mocking tone.

  “What’s an Ozarc?” Kate said.

  “Ah, you clearly haven’t checked out the Hidden Valley Wiki site,” he said, in the same mocking tone.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t get a chance,” Kate said dryly.

  “Nicholas Ozarc is considered the founder of the town, or at least its current incarnation. He was your typical handsome, rich, genius ski bum in the late sixties whose father cut him off at twenty-one and told him to make his own way. According to Hidden Valley legend, he spent the next five years building up the Whistler marijuana industry and made himself a little money. He then got cleaned up, decided environmental green was the way of the future and invested in environmentally sound building supplies.

  “Since he dabbled in architecture”—Kate could almost hear Ferris rolling his eyes—“he had a vision of creating a town entirely of his own design that he and his rich pals could play in. What you see is half
his vision, the rest kind of snowballed.” He then pointed out the window. “Take a left up here, we’ll drive by the entrance to his place.”

  “He still lives here?” Andy asked.

  “If you want to call it living. He’s an utter recluse. No one has seen him in town in over a decade. His fourth wife left a few years ago and his only son, Chris, is home, taking a year off from university.”

  “I take it that Ozarc properties are expensive,” Kate said to the constable.

  “Minimum of ten million,” Ferris confirmed. “And that was a small acreage during the worst of the economic crisis a few years ago.” He pointed out the window, and Kate saw a long, low stone wall that stretched along one side of the road and off into the distance.

  “Here’s the Ozarc original. Very few people have ever seen the house.” Other than the elaborate stone wall, and the gated entrance, there was very little to see. “Keep driving, and a few properties down is the Cardiff residence, another Ozarc.”

  They toured around Hidden Valley for another twenty minutes, Ferris giving them bits of trivia relating back to the patients and their families. They wound in a circuitous route until they were at the hospital in the northwest end of town, tucked under the shadow of the mountain range. The hospital itself was bigger than Kate had expected. Its three-story building took up half the block and seemed extreme for the relatively small population size. She wasn’t surprised as much by its grandeur. The richly rough stone blocks and large, glassed-in entrance took the edge away from the institutional feel of most hospitals. By this time, Kate expected nothing less of Hidden Valley.

  “Valley General Hospital,” Ferris announced unnecessarily. “Fifteen acute care beds, fully staffed emergency room, x-ray, and laboratory. It also houses clinics for orthopaedics, dermatology, and physical rehabilitation.”

  “All the clean living services, then,” Kate said, almost to herself.