The California Coven Project

by Bob Stickgold

  Beckie’s voice faltered as she answered, “None.”

  “Not even one?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “No.”

  “And so you lied when you said you didn’t know why it didn’t work on some people. You knew that it didn’t work on men, didn’t you?”

  “No! I mean, yes, I knew it didn’t work on men, but no, I don’t know why it doesn’t.”

  “And I suppose you don’t know why the men died after your treatment?”

  “No!”

  “I ask you again, Miss McPhee, was there any difference in the medication—the so-called medication—between what you gave to the men and what you gave to the women?”

  “No!”

  “But the women lived, and the men died?”

  “Not all the men have died, and they have terminal cancer! Don’t you understand?”

  The DA. turned to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  * * *

  Bill Krueger sat nervously in the waiting room, his briefcase by his side. He had reached Linda Coles’s office at four, and was told that the trial would probably run until five. If Linda returned to the office before heading home be could see her then. Otherwise, he could leave a message, and she would probably get in touch with him Saturday. He rejected the thought of not making contact tonight, and had quietly looked up her home address in the phone book while waiting. It was ten after five, and the receptionist was in the process of closing up the office when the door opened.

  Krueger leaped to his feet. “Are you Linda Coles?” The woman nodded. Krueger closed in on her and said, “My name is Bill Krueger. I’m with Stanford Medical School—I’m a cancer specialist.” He looked nervously at the receptionist. “Could I talk to you in private for a minute?”

  Linda looked at him. Friend or foe, she wondered, and then, relenting, said, “All right, Mr. Krueger, come on in. But I have only a minute.”

  Krueger followed her into her office, struggling to maintain his composure. Linda dropped her attaché case on the floor next to her desk, and sank into her chair. She looked up and saw a distraught man, clutching an old leather briefcase. Had he said be was a doctor? She couldn’t remember, but thought not. A crackpot? She managed a weak smile and said, “Now, Mr. Krueger, what can I do for you?”

  For a moment, Krueger stood dumbly. Two nights without sleep suddenly combined with his anxiety over seeing her and left him utterly confused. “It’s about the Rebecca McPhee case,” he finally answered.

  Linda leaned back in her chair. He’s a nut, she thought. Five-fifteen on a Friday evening, and I get a nut. But, ever the professional, she smiled encouragingly. “Yes, you wanted to tell me something about the case? You said you were a cancer specialist, is that your profession or hobby?”

  “A what?” Krueger came out of his daze and laughed. “I’m sorry, I’ve been running on adrenaline too long.” He reached for a chair and pulled it over to where he was standing. Sitting down, he continued, “I’m a professor of oncology—that’s tumors—at Stanford Medical School, and a friend of Maggie Stone.” He smiled as she started. “I have the originals of all the Coven’s records downstairs in my car, and I’m prepared to testify that the Coven can definitely cure cancer—at least in some cases.” He hesitated over the qualification.

  “You mean the sex thing, or something else?” she asked quickly.

  Krueger nodded. “Yes, the ‘sex thing.’ It only works on Women.”

  Linda was on her feet, pacing back and forth. “But what would you testify? You’ve seen the records, but you haven’t seen the patients. What could you say?”

  “A lot. First of all, I have seen one of the patients, Maggie’s mother.” He noted the look of surprise in Linda’s face. “That’s right. Maggie tried the potion on her mother first, while I was her doctor. So on that one case I can testify as the patient’s doctor. But half of the women they’ve treated have been through the cancer group at Stanford, and I’ve seen the records for at least a dozen women who I’ve since verified were treated by Coven members. So on over a dozen cases I can testify that the Coven records agree with the medical records at Stanford.” He paused a moment before continuing, “And I’m ready to testify that, based on the Coven records, and the cures that I have been able to verify independently, there is no question but that the Coven’s treatment cures cancer in women.”

  Linda stopped her pacing and turned to him. “Does it cure all cancer in women?”

  Krueger shook his head. “I can’t answer that. There’re more than a hundred distinct types of cancer, and probably close to a thousand variants have been reported. I’d need a carefully selected sample of ten thousand women to answer that question. But the Coven is running a miraculous hundred-percent cure rate on the women they’ve treated.” He stopped and thought a second, then pulled a calculator from his pocket. After punching in a series of numbers he looked up again. “I’d be willing to say that the cure is almost certainly ninety-percent effective, and probably at least ninety-eight percent. Of course, that’s short-term cure, it’ll be twenty years before we can say anything about the permanence of the cure.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I’d say at this point that this is the best treatment available for women with cancer, and that as fast as the Coven can train people as—oh, whatever they want to call themselves—as fast as they can train people, all women with cancer should be treated.”

  “You’d give that recommendation in court?”

  Krueger laughed. “I’m prepared to say it at a scientific meeting!”

  Linda sat down again, delighted. With a smile, she shook her head. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you.” At a sudden thought, she asked, “What about the men? Do you know what’s going on there?”

  Krueger shook his head. “No idea. Only that it doesn’t seem to help men.”

  “Does it harm them?”

  He stopped and thought. “Now I really don’t know. I never thought about that. You see, the Coven didn’t do any real follow-up work on the men who weren’t cured.” He frowned. “I guess the testimony of the doctors of the two men who died wasn’t very conclusive, is that right?”

  Linda nodded. “They had cancer and they died. Maybe they died earlier than they would have and maybe they didn’t. As far as I can tell there isn’t any information to suggest one or the other.”

  “So I guess that’s at a standstill, it might be worth pointing out at some point that it could still be helping at a slow rate that the Coven’s statistical methods just haven’t been able to detect. But, if pressed, I’d have to say the treatment doesn’t seem to do anything at all to men, and I haven’t the foggiest notion why not.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  SATURDAY afternoon, Sue Tiemann drove away cheerfully from the home of Male Patient # 1. He was better, no doubt about it. She and Amy had started treating the four men the previous Sunday and this would be their last visit. Four for four! The patients had all shown the clear signs of progress that Amy and Sue had learned to expect from women patients. Maggie’s idea had done the trick, and now the Coven could boast a hundred-percent cure rate, she could hardly wait for Sunday’s phone call from Maggie.

  Turning off the Bayshore Freeway, she started winding through the streets of Redwood City toward the home of Male Patient # 2. Sue had been tempted to ask them if they would testify at Beckie’s trial now that curing men had become an open issue, but she and Amy had decided that the treatments should be finished before either was asked. Otherwise, the request might appear an implied threat. She parked her car, picked up her bottle of potion. and headed for a run-down bungalow set back a bit from the road. Patient # 2’s wife answered the door as soon as she knocked.

  There was an edge of nervousness in her that Sue had not expected. The seventh day usually saw patient and family euphoric as the reality of the cure began to penetrate. But this woman seemed almost terrified. Nevertheless, she showed Sue in and smiled.

  “How’s Gary today
?” Sue asked.

  “Oh, Sue, he’s doing so much better, I’m almost believing that your cure has worked for him!”

  Sue smiled. “Well, that’s what its supposed to do.”

  The woman looked totally confused. “If it’s true, Sue, we’ll owe you so much—” She trailed off, and then added, “Remember that, Sue, please.” Turning she led Sue into the bedroom where her husband lay. “He’s so much better, I almost feel that he doesn’t need the treatment today. Do you think maybe we could just as well skip it?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Sue answered from behind. “I know it tastes foul, but the treatment calls for seven days, and even if he is a lot better already, we need to do the full seven days.”

  The woman shrugged without answering. Sue turned to the man and was surprised to see the same scared look in his face. “How you feeling, Gary?” She cursed herself silently for letting her own confusion leak into the question.

  “A thousand times better, Sue,” he answered. “It’s like Jenny said, we owe you so much and—well, we just want you to remember that.” He looked away. “Well, let’s do it.”

  Slowly, Sue started talking him up, encouraging him, reassuring him, building up a visible sense of confidence in the cure and in his ability to work with the potion to cure himself. For ten minutes they went through the ritual as they had every day that week, as Sue had done a hundred times before. Except it wasn’t working. Tension and fear were evident in his expression, disappearing only briefly now and then.

  Finally Sue stopped. “What is it, Gary? Something’s bothering you so badly that you can’t concentrate. Tell me what it is?”

  Startled he looked at his wife and then back to Sue. “I’m Sorry,” he said, “I’ve just been distracted. Lets just keep going. I’m sure I can click into it.” He offered her a strained smile.

  Five minutes later Sue was satisfied with their progress, and poured out the potion. He took it and drank it down quickly, Returning the glass to his night table, he looked up at her from his bed and said, “Thank you, thank you so much and . . .” He stopped and looked past Sue toward the bedroom door. Turning back to Sue, he added, “And I’m sorry.” His eyes sank to his lap and he leaned back in his bed, exhausted.

  “Susan Tiemann?”

  She whirled to find the source of the voice.

  “You’re under arrest for practicing medicine without a license, conspiracy to practice medicine without a license, and dispensing unapproved drugs for human consumption.”

  The policeman’s hand rested on the butt of his pistol.

  * * *

  “The woman, Susan Tiemann of San Francisco, is now the second midwife to be arrested in conjunction with the dispensing of an alleged cancer cure. Tiemann was arrested for the treatment of Gary Painter of Redwood City. The arrest comes just one day after the other woman arrested on similar charges, Rebecca McPhee, acknowledged in court that the treatment was not effective on men. A bail hearing is scheduled for Monday. In other news—”

  Maggie turned off the TV with a violent stab. “God, They’ll crucify her!” She stamped angrily into the kitchen. “They’ll say she was treating men even though she knew it didn’t work, and then they’ll speculate about whether we’re killing the men, and . . .” She sputtered to a halt.

  Carol followed Maggie into the kitchen. “But she could just tell them that she was trying a modified potion that we thought might be more effective with men.”

  “And then they’ll ask her what that modification was,” Maggie replied, “and they’d love to hear that. They’d have a field day!”

  “But Beckie never told them what the potion was, why would Sue have to give any details?”

  “Because— Oh. I don’t know. It’s just that this messes everything up—Beckie’s trial, the tests with the men—I just don’t know where we are anymore.”

  Carol stopped and thought. “But when did they start treating the men?” Maggie looked at her uncertainly. “I mean, wasn’t today supposed to be the last treatment? If they haven’t grabbed Amy, and they certainly didn’t say anything about it on the news, then she might very well have the results.”

  “That’s right! When did they say they started?” Maggie stopped to calculate. “We talked to them Thursday night and they were already getting results, so that must have been day five, which makes Friday six and today seven! Then they did finish the tests!”

  “And we can get the information from Amy!” Carol was jumping with excitement. She looked at her watch. “Let’s go out and call her now. She’ll still be up!”

  Maggie laughed. “Just rush right out and call her? No more caution?”

  “Oh, jeez, Mom. All we ever do is be cautious. I’m about ready to turn myself in rather than keep sitting in this dumb house! Dr. Krueger’s gone to San Francisco to testify, Beckie and Sue have been arrested. Beckie’s back out and Sue probably will be on Monday.”

  “Well, if we’re going to turn ourselves in, we can turn ourselves in. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to go and get caught just by being sloppy.”

  “All right, already,” Carol agreed, “but can’t we call her all supercautious then? You know, ten telephone booths and forty quarters? Because if they really do have four cures, and especially if that guy Sue was treating is cured, then we’ve got real important information that we should at least get to Beckie’s lawyer somehow.”

  “You mean you don’t want to turn yourself in?” Maggie teased.

  “I don’t know,” Carol responded seriously. Maybe we should.”

  Maggie laughed again. “Well, I’ll make you a deal. We can call Amy up carefully, and then afterward we can talk about what to do next. How’s that?”

  Carol smiled. “It’s a deal,”

  * * *

  It was half an hour before they had chased Amy around to two different phone booths and satisfied themselves that everything was safe. “Did you hear about Sue?” Amy asked.

  “That’s why we’re calling,” Maggie said. “We heard on the news tonight and wanted to know—well, first of all, what’s happened with her patients.”

  “They’re better! All four of the men, the two I treated and the two Sue treated. They’re all better.”

  “Including the one whom Sue was arrested for treating?” Maggie insisted.

  “Yes! Maggie, they’re all better. It works!”

  “What is it?” Carol demanded. She was crowded into the phone booth with Maggie, but couldn’t hear.

  “They’re all better,” Maggie told her. “Amy says that all four, including the one where Sue got arrested, seem to be cured. She says it works on men!”

  “Yippee!” Carol jumped up and down in the tight confines of the phone booth and gave Maggie a hug. “Hooray!” she shouted at the receiver.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  MONDAY morning the courthouse was packed. People hoping for seats in the gallery had begun to arrive as early as six o’clock, a full hour earlier than on any previous day of the trial, and by the time the courthouse opened at 7:30, the line extended around the corner onto Palmer Street, which meant that already the line was longer than could be accommodated in the hall. Linda and Beckie drove by the line shortly before eight on their way to pick up Krueger at the BART station.

  “Looks like they’re expecting an exciting day,” Beckie commented.

  Linda nodded. “They’ll get it, too. Krueger’s testimony will smash the D.A.’s entire case.”

  “Except for the question of the men.”

  Linda shrugged. “That’s something we’ve known about all along. It sits out there like a sore thumb. But I think that with enough medical jargon Krueger can end up making it sound reasonable, and hammer home the efficacy of the cure on women. Everybody’s expecting a circus centered around Sue’s arrest, and the issue of whether we’re killing the men. That’s what brought out the big crowd today. But Krueger’s testimony should throw them.” She smiled across at Beckie. “It’s just like the cavalry, riding up just
in time—I don’t know where we’d be today without his testimony.”

  “Well, there he is,” Beckie said, pointing to a man standing by the curb in front of the station. “At least he’s here on time.”

  Twice as many reporters packed the courtroom than on previous days, reinforcing Linda’s belief that everyone was expecting a sensational event, with the horror of a group of men-killers hovering about the edges of the debate. She scanned the gallery. Mostly women, she noted, but that was generally the case. “Have you looked over the gallery?” she asked Beckie. Beckie shook her head.

  “I never do. They unnerve me, even when I recognize supporters—then I feel like I have to live up to their expectations in addition to just trying to save my neck.”

  “You try to live up to their expectations whether they’re there or not,” Linda said. Beckie looked at her quizzically. “We could have plea-bargained from the very start,” Linda pointed out.

  “Oh, hell. And perjure myself by saying that the cure doesn’t really work, so they can just slap my hand? That’s no choice and you know it.”

  Linda backed off. “I know.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the entry of the judge, and for the next five minutes they paraded through court ritual, Finally Linda took the floor. “Your Honor, the defense calls Dr. William Krueger.”

  “William Krueger.”

  Krueger entered from the witness room carrying his briefcase, and after being sworn in he took his place in the box.

  For the next several minutes, Linda established Krueger’s credentials in great detail—his undergraduate training, medical school, residency in cancer therapy, professorship in oncology at Stanford Medical School. He was the perfect “expert witness,” with a long string of publications, membership in innumerable scientific associations, and the like.

  “Do you know the defendant, Rebecca McPhee?” Linda finally asked him.

  “I know of her, but, to my knowledge, I’ve never met her face to face.”

  “Have you ever, to your knowledge, communicated with her in any way?”