The Endorphin Conspiracy

by Fredric Stern

  “Except with kids. He was great with kids.” Geoff remembered Kapinsky at Jessica’s bedside, making balloon figures.

  “The police are calling it a suicide,” said Pederson, turning and facing Geoff.

  “So they told me last night.” Geoff poised to tell him everything. He was like a dam ready to burst. “There’s—”

  “Did they ask you any questions about your relationship with Howard?” Pederson looked Geoff squarely in the eye.

  Geoff hesitated. He was caught off guard, not sure of Pederson’s intent.

  “The way you two argued,” Pederson said.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Of course they would have no reason to ask questions like that. It was a suicide, wasn’t it? Note and all?”

  “Yes.” Geoff shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “That’s what it appears to be.”

  “Good thing they found that note, or you might still be at the police station answering questions.”

  Geoff began to reconsider his plan to share the information with Pederson. He forced a smile and nodded.

  Pederson leaned forward in the chair. “What the hell were you doing in the lab on a Monday night?”

  Geoff was caught off guard once again. “I was looking for a chart I—”

  “Do you realize what a commotion you caused? I know the alarm went off. Someone from security told Balassi the whole thing, and he hit the roof. I’ve spent most of the morning calming him down, telling him you must have had a goddamn good reason for doing that!”

  “I did,” Geoff said.

  Pederson continued, his face now crimson. He lowered his voice, forcing Geoff to lean uncomfortably close in order to hear. “First, my senior resident wanders into the lab and hangs himself, then my chief resident breaks in like some cat burglar and sets off the alarms. Patients that should be in the rehab unit by now die suddenly, one jumping out the window, the first suicide at the NYTC in years. What the hell kind of department do you think I’m running here? This is the New York Trauma Center, Dr. Davis, not an episode of Grey’s Anatomy!”

  “But—”

  Pederson put up his hand, his voice a mere whisper. “It hurts me to do this, Geoff, but I have no choice but to put you on probation. You’re suspended for thirty days, effective immediately. Stay home, spend some time in the countryside, get yourself and your priorities together before you come back. It’s the only way to protect the interests and reputation of the department and the medical center. You should consider yourself fortunate to still be in the program.”

  Geoff could not believe what he was hearing. He had been wrong to break into the lab, but he was shocked at Pederson’s implication about his having some connection with Kapinsky’s death. Did Pederson really believe Geoff might do something so horrid? Was Balassi behind all of this?

  Geoff looked down, his gaze coming to rest on Pederson’s desk: the compulsively arranged desk photos, the Monte Blanc desk set, the Tiffany crystal paper weight. On the far corner, a stack of imaging folders that must have been covered up by the papers now on the floor. The computer generated name on the top folder came into focus.

  Geoff closed his eyes, massaged them with his thumb and index finger. He could feel Pederson’s ire from across the desk.

  Consider yourself fortunate to still be in the program.

  He opened his eyes, it was all a bad dream. Worse than that—it was real. The scan on top was Romero’s.

  Chapter 26

  “Thanks for stopping by, Geoff. I’ve been very worried about you.” Suzanne closed the door behind Geoff, invited him into the living room. The warm, sweet smell of fresh-baked bread filled the air. “When you left the message last night you couldn’t make it over, I knew something bad had happened.”

  “It was bad, all right. Pederson placed me on probation today.”

  “What? Why would he do that?”

  Geoff smiled knowingly. “For breaking into Balassi’s lab. But it was worth it. Except for Kapinsky.”

  “You’re the one who found Howard Kapinsky? That’s awful.” Suzanne touched Geoff’s hand, furrowed her brow in concern. “I’ve never been able to understand a person’s motivation to commit suicide, especially in so gruesome a way as he did. He must have been tormented by inner demons we never appreciated.”

  “I think his demons were external,” Geoff said.

  “You think he was pushed to the brink?”

  “No. I think he was murdered.”

  A silent pause. Suzanne appeared momentarily lost in thought. “That’s quite an accusation, Geoff. I have those scans you wanted to review. Can you stay for dinner?”

  “I’d love to. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “How about a glass of wine?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Suzanne walked to the kitchen, grabbed the chardonnay out of the fridge, poured a couple of glasses.

  Geoff remained in the living room, standing by a bookshelf. He browsed her CD collection, much of it jazz, then glanced at her framed photographs—the usual collection of graduation and family shots—resting on the shelf below. One in particular caught his attention. A black and white picture set in an antique pewter frame stood alone. A man and a woman smiled, cradled a beautiful, dark-haired baby girl between them. The man looked distinguished, hair dark with streaks of grey at the temples, starched white shirt, thin striped tie, knotted perfectly, stare intense. The woman tall, striking, could have been Suzanne’s older sister, but by the clothes and hairstyles, Geoff dated the photo in the early sixties. He presumed the baby was Suzanne.

  Suzanne returned to the living room, handed Geoff his wine.

  “These your parents?” Geoff picked up the framed picture.

  Suzanne appeared to tense momentarily, her eyes became glassy. She stared at the photograph, seemed to force a smile, took the picture out of Geoff’s hands, and set it back down in its resting place. “My father died not too long after that picture was taken. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to get to know him. Mom’s still alive, in a nursing home. She always told me what a great man he was. He was a political science professor.”

  Geoff realized he had over-stepped his bounds. He thought of the pain of his own father’s agonizing death, how lucky he was. Though they had had their differences, he had a father while he was growing up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, I—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Suzanne motioned him towards the couch, touched her glass to his with a clang. “To better days.”

  They each took a sip, sat down. “Couldn’t be much worse than the last two,” Geoff said.

  Suzanne brushed back her long, auburn hair, extended her arm across the top of the couch in Geoff’s direction. “Tell me about your meeting with Dr. Pederson.”

  “Pederson’s in on it,” Geoff said. “I can’t believe it.” He shook his head in disgust. “He had Romero’s scan, the one everyone has denied the existence of. The same one I was able to pull up on Balassi’s computer. That’s the real reason he put me on probation. He probably thinks I’ll get scared and back off.”

  Suzanne smiled. “But you won’t, will you? In fact, if he really knew you, he’d understand you’d see his ploy as a challenge.” Geoff knew she was right, but wondered how she knew him so well. He felt suddenly uncomfortable. He stared at her chestnut eyes, searching for any hint of deceit. He was beginning to feel manipulated, but then again, he was using her to get the information he wanted. The thought assuaged him.

  She returned his stare, her warm smile reassuring.

  Geoff took a sip of the cold, dry wine. “Anyway, I’ve got evidence.”

  Suzanne leaned closer. “Let me play devil’s advocate. You spot a missing PET scan of a crazy man on Dr. Pederson’s desk while he’s placing you on probation for illegal entry into
Balassi’s lab. While you’re in the lab, you stumble upon a dead body, under mysterious circumstances, though they’re calling it a suicide for now. The dead man and you never got along real well, and were often at odds in public. Tell me, Geoff, what are you going to do, call the FBI? Who do you think they’ll arrest? Balassi and Pederson, or you?”

  Geoff sighed, sipped his wine. “Doesn’t look good, does it?”

  “Quite honestly, it doesn’t. Neither does your theory. Josef Balassi, world renown researcher by day, mad scientist by night, stalking the hospital and injecting patients with lethal doses of medication.”

  “I didn’t say he was the one who did it.”

  “That’s what your accusation amounts to.”

  “I said he was somehow involved in a cover-up.”

  “Your evidence is circumstantial. It would be thrown out of court in a second.”

  Geoff grinned. “I’ve got something a lot more than circumstantial.”

  “Besides sighting the mysterious scan on Pederson’s desk? Like what?”

  “A couple of things, actually.”

  “Well, let’s hear it.”

  “I found Walter’s isotope log book. There was nothing wrong with the isotope used for the PET scan on Jessica. Balassi lied.”

  “Hmm. They could say it was a mistake. Maybe Walter made the wrong entry, transcribed his initials in the wrong column or something.”

  “Maybe, though Walter’s a pretty compulsive guy. I guess you’re right. They could try and explain it that way.”

  “What else did you find?” Suzanne asked, her interest clearly piqued.

  “Two vials of synthetic endorphins, one of which probably matches the substance found in the brains of three of the patients who recently died.”

  Suzanne’s pupils dilated in surprise. “How did you—”

  “They were in Balassi’s refrigerator in his lab. I have them well hidden right now, but I’ll get them to you tomorrow. Run the assays, and we’ll have our smoking gun.”

  Suzanne tensed, leaned back on the couch. “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “I haven’t told a soul, Suzanne. You’re the only one.” Geoff thought about the e-mail messages, the encrypted message he copied from Balassi’s computer. He debated whether or not to let Suzanne in on the rest, then had second thoughts. Maybe after the assays were run and they had their evidence documented, but something told him not just yet.

  “Then don’t tell anyone. You’re getting in pretty deep, Geoff. You just never know who you can trust.” Suzanne straightened up, finished her wine.

  Geoff looked at her warm, brown eyes, saw a hint of sadness behind them. She was holding something back. He leaned toward her, smiled, placed his hand beneath her chin, looked her in the eye. “I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Suzanne Gibson.”

  “I could say the same about you, Geoffrey Davis.”

  Geoff brushed a wisp of hair off her face. A scent wafted by him. Fendi, Sarah’s favorite. He pulled back, fought the urge to get up and leave.

  “Something wrong?” Suzanne asked.

  “Not a thing,” Geoff said. He leaned closer to Suzanne, caressed her smooth cheek.

  “Want to review those scans?” she whispered.

  Their lips met, Geoff feeling a warmth he had not known in many months. He was unhappily certain he knew what the scans would show. “How about in the morning?”

  Chapter 27

  Geoff lifted his heavy head off the pillow, reached over, and squelched the shrill buzz of the alarm clock. He managed to open his puffy lids just a slit, gazed at the time, the red glow of the numbers forcing his eyes to squint. Five-thirty a.m. One glass of wine too many had given him a hangover. He wasn’t a big drinker and rarely had more than a couple of glasses, so the bottle of wine he had last night with Suzanne just about put him under the table, or on top of the counter, in this case.

  His head throbbed and his thickened tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He felt strangely uncomfortable this morning. It was something more than the hangover, more than a restless night of tossing and turning in bed. He felt as though he had betrayed Sarah, though he had no real reason to feel that way. He liked Suzanne, enjoyed working with her, was attracted to her. There was a sultry sensuality smoldering beneath her cool, intellectual façade. He needed her help, at least until the assays were run. Maybe the relationship would go somewhere, or maybe sleeping with her was part of breaking away from the past.

  Geoff stared blankly at the ceiling, tried to replay his conversation with Suzanne. She had succeeded in planting seeds of doubt, warned him he was becoming too involved, suggested his conspiracy theory needed more proof. He thought about backing off, but quitting was something he hated more than anything. It was one of the few childhood lessons from his father, the renowned surgeon, that had stuck with him: never give up, even when the odds are stacked against you.

  Geoff had been sucked into the vortex of the violent storm swirling around him. His involvement was beyond neutralizing, whether or not he stopped now, even if he returned the endorphins. He knew too much. Whomever was behind it all was clearly aware of that. He had to beat them to the punch, but first he had to root out the key players, and his plan to do that was already in motion.

  All he had to do now was wait and watch—carefully. Very carefully. These people played for keeps. They had proven that with Kapinsky.

  “Geoff, what are you doing up so early?” Suzanne said sleepily, as she reached over and gently stroked his inner thigh.

  “I’m going to go for a run before heading down to the hospital to clean out my locker.”

  Suzanne snuggled up close to Geoff, her hand continuing to roam between his legs. “I could give you a better workout here.”

  He reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then threw off the covers and sat up. “I really need to get back to my apartment. I need you to tuck the scans away some place safe for the day. Will you do that?”

  “You’re no fun.” Suzanne frowned and pulled the covers up over her firm breasts.

  “I had a really strange dream last night,” Geoff said.

  “Oh?”

  “I dreamed we had wild sex on the bathroom counter.” Geoff leaned over, his hand caressing her back through the sheets and kissed the back of her neck.

  “That was great, wasn’t it?” she purred with a satisfied smile. “I guess I’ll let you go now, but you had better be prepared for tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Geoff wondered what he had gotten himself into. “What’s it going to be tonight, the kitchen table?”

  “Sounds exciting.” Suzanne’s smile faded as she reached out to grab Geoff’s arm. She pulled him close. “You did have a strange dream last night, Geoff, but it wasn’t about us.”

  Geoff noted the seriousness behind Suzanne’s eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  “You kept repeating Sarah’s name in your sleep. I’ve got a secure ego, Geoff, but I have to tell you, a woman doesn’t like this sort of thing, especially after a passionate night of lovemaking.”

  Geoff looked away, tried to remember such a dream from last night, but he drew a blank. Was it his drunkenness that put him into such a deep sleep he couldn’t recall it? He had felt uncomfortable when he woke up, feeling he had slept in the wrong bed with the wrong woman, but he had convinced himself it was just a hangover making him feel so down. He was at a loss for words. “I’m—”

  Suzanne pulled Geoff down on top of her, kissed him full on the mouth. “It’s okay, Geoff, I forgive you. Besides, I’m the one who did the seducing, not you.”

  “How can I redeem myself?”

  “Two ways,” Suzanne said. “Drop the vials by my lab this morning...”

  “And...”

  “Meet me on th
e kitchen table tonight. We still have those scans to review. And, yes, I’ll keep them secure for you.”

  Chapter 28

  The rays of the early morning sun barely burning through the dense smog cast a surreal purple glow in the sky above. Temperature inversions were quite common in the city in mid-July, and this morning, New York was socked-in in a bad way.

  Geoff climbed up the steps on 181st Street that lead to his apartment building, his mind filled with thoughts of Sarah. His conversation with Suzanne last night had stirred up the past. The day her anguish ended. The day his began. Intellectually, Geoff knew he had simply carried out her wishes and had done what was right, what she had wanted him to do, but he had never reconciled it with his heart nor his instincts as a physician.

  It was climbing these very steps as Geoff returned from the hospital that day a year and a half ago that the realization of what he had done overwhelmed him. It was a mercy killing, the response to a dying person’s last request, but murder was murder, plain and simple. He had done more than just put Sarah out of her misery.

  It was one of those frigid January nights in New York when the icy wind howled and sheets of hail pelted the window of Sarah’s hospital room like fistfuls of pebbles. Geoff had sat by the bedside, reading the New York Times, waiting patiently for Sarah’s gynecologist, Carl Rosenberg, to return from the operating room. He had brought her into the ER early that evening after Sarah had complained of abdominal cramping, then doubled over in pain and began hemorrhaging.

  Geoff was convinced it was a tubal pregnancy. They had been trying to conceive for months, and her period was late. Geoff remembered the look on Rosenberg’s face as he entered the room. His expression was drawn, and his saddened eyes shifted nervously. Geoff knew right away something was terribly wrong.