“I hate the idea of the investigation stopping things,” Julia said as she limped to the coat rack. Linda beat her to it, pulling down her soft gray cloth coat and helping her into it.
“Don’t worry about that. Things are already kinda stopped.”
Julia froze and looked into Linda’s eyes.
“What?”
“Oh. I thought you’d heard.” Linda looked at the doorway as if checking to make sure no one would overhear. She was a monumental office gossip, often getting the news about hospital goings-on before anyone else. Most of the time, her stories were accurate.
“Dr. Bodian had to go down to Bethesda,” Linda whispered. “To the National Institutes of Health. They’re trying to figure out if the polio trials should go forward.”
Julia felt as if touched by an electric wire. “Because of Dr. Lowenstein’s death already?”
“No, no. Something else. There’s some trouble at the Parke, Davis lab in Detroit. The chimps they got there—some of them—came down with it. With polio, I mean. Well, with what they think is polio. I was going to tell you this morning. I just heard it.”
Oh no. Julia slumped. The monkeys were used to test the vaccines that were being produced in the labs for the upcoming vaccine trials. Everything had seemed so hopeful. And now…
“That’s awful.” Despite her effort not to show her grief, she felt tears well in her eyes. It was this morning’s terrible events, that was it, a delayed reaction.
“Oh, honey, don’t get upset.” Linda put her arm around Julia. “It don’t mean things will be put off. Dr. Bodian just needs to check things out, straighten ’em all up.”
It could mean far worse things than the trials being “put off.” It could mean outright cancelation. No vaccine. No cure. Thousands upon thousands of children and young adults facing what she’d faced. For a second, she held her breath, remembering.
“But it’s getting late,” Julia murmured. She herself had caught polio in early summer. Epidemics could start as early as March and it was now almost April.
“They’ll fix it,” Linda said, but Julia knew she was only saying that to make Julia feel better. Linda didn’t have the same sense of urgency as Julia did about the trials.
As was her habit, Julia forced a smile and straightened, shrugging out of Linda’s embrace.
“Do you need me or Susan to do any of your stuff for you?” Linda asked as Julia pulled on her gloves.
Julia thought of Linda alone in the office without Susan. She wouldn’t burden the girl with her assignments when Dr. Kenneth Morton was loading her up with so much. She knew that some other labs around the country thought it extravagant that the doctors at Hopkins each had his own secretary, but there was more than enough work to go around, and if one of the girls was ever out, the others often had to work overtime to make up for the absence. They didn’t just work for these doctors anyway. They served as a general typing pool for other researchers who didn’t have secretaries.
“No, I’m caught up,” Julia lied.
“You have a ride? I could call a cab for you.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Julia turned to leave the small room she shared with Linda Marie Boldari and Susan Schlager, the other secretaries on this research unit. Susan, Dr. Lowenstein’s secretary, was out spending a few days visiting her aunt in Easton on the Eastern Shore. Julia wondered if anyone would think to try to contact her.
Julia paused at the door. “Do you think you could call Susan tonight—and tell her the news?”
Linda nodded, frowning. “I guess I oughtta. Poor Suse. Dr. Mike was a dream boss.” She sighed and went back to her desk.
Even though Linda was two years younger, Julia always felt as if the secretary were an older sister. She was certainly more experienced with men. Linda had had a string of beaux before and during the war, according to her stories. Now she was engaged to a day shift manager at Continental Can. Julia felt closer to Linda than to Susan, whose lack of experience and education seemed a willful rejection of the unknown.
In fact, Julia had to admit she disliked Susan. Once, Susan had refused an offer of fudge from Julia, and Julia was sure it was because Susan thought she could get the disease from her.
Julie tried to be nice to her, though. Why, just the other day Julia had taken care of something for her when a smudged envelope from Susan to Dr. Lowenstein had been returned to the office because of insufficient postage. Figuring it had been something personal, Julia had put it in another envelope and sent it to Susan’s home. She’d felt very good about herself for that act of charity.
No, not always so good. Sometimes it made her feel uneasy. She’d suspected what was in that note to Dr. Lowenstein…
Can’t think about it.
Julia quietly slipped out, pausing in the hallway to tie a blue silk scarf around her head, a Christmas gift from her sister Helen. It matches your eyes, Helen had said when Julia’d opened it, and Julia had felt the need to be effusively thankful. Helen was so easily upset if things didn’t go according to her expectations. She’d been engaged at the end of the war to Tommy Radcliffe. He’d written he was on his way home and then….
And then catastrophe. His parents had notified Helen to tell her Tommy was missing and presumed dead. Some foolish parachuting exercise near Berlin that had gone awry. His body wasn’t recovered. Helen hadn’t recovered either. And the world marched on.
Sometimes Julia resented that, too—the way people like Helen and Mrs. Wilcox were expected to get over their sorrow, and the way their pain was never adequately acknowledged. The world was cruel.
Julia walked from the research section into the main hospital, through hallways filled with nurses and lab-coated doctors, the busy hum creating a background noise that comforted her with its sense of urgency and importance. She nodded to some workers, said hello to others. One, a short man in frayed shirt, gave her a gentle smile as he passed. He, too, walked with a cane, but he always seemed to be hurrying, as if to prove he could outpace any able-bodied man. He stopped when he came to her.
“Did you hear about Dr. Mike?” he whispered, as if they shouldn’t talk about it. This was Earl, the poor soul who tended the research monkeys. His past experience with polio made him especially suited to the job. Like Julia, being afflicted with the disease meant he was in no danger being around it. Julia always felt a bit uncomfortable around him, though, because he assumed a familiarity with her that she didn’t think appropriate. Just because they were both polios didn’t mean they shared anything else.
Yet even as his friendliness irritated her, it also made her feel guilty. Did she shy away from the man because he was a polio, because she, like everyone else, only wanted to associate with people who were whole?
“I found him,” she said. “His body.”
His eyes widened. “Lord almighty!”
She looked at her watch as if in a hurry.
Earl noticed her impatience. “Guess you need to get back to your boss.” He spoke so softly she barely heard him among the hubbub of the hospital.
“Um-hmm,” she lied and walked away.
Everyone knew Dr. Jansen was demanding, even Earl, the monkey-tender. She’d worked here for five years, only the last one for Dr. Jansen, and she’d been grateful to land the job.
Because Dr. Jansen was viewed as something of a tyrant, few envied Julia her position. He demanded long hours when he had reports to write and unreasonably accused her of forgetting things he’d never told her about in the first place. But she treated him with a patronizing detachment, always ready to offer the soothing word that calmed his storms. Everyone thought she was a saint, but she was really just immensely relieved. Relieved to have this job “out in the world” and grateful for her parents’ agreement to let her take it. It was her father, after all, who often came to pick her up when she had to work late, or when she was just too damned tired to take the bus.
Before this job, she’d worked in a small legal office near her home
. Just two lawyers in a wood-paneled second-floor suite on Belair Road, an office as smoky and claustrophobic as her own life. The steep stairway to their office had been daunting at first, but she’d met that challenge daily, strengthening her resolve for further challenges. The work, mostly wills and real estate transactions, had tired her faster than the stairs.
She’d caught a terrible cold her last winter with the lawyers that brought her to the edge of pneumonia, and she’d shamelessly used her illness to convince her parents she needed to find another job. “The smoke bothers my lungs,” she’d said. They’d acquiesced to her new arrangement with frowns and whispered conferring, resulting in her father’s insistence on picking her up from work some days so she wouldn’t have to depend on buses.
Today was one of those days. When she’d called her mother to say she’d be coming home early, Mutti had insisted—your Vater can pick you up, don’t be silly now, really, Julia—and now Julia had to wait for him on Broadway, feeling guilty for pulling him away from his job at Glen L. Martin all the way over in Middle River. He was a supervisor there, having risen through the ranks quickly during the war when the big plant was draped in camouflage and buzzing with activity.
She hurried outside, past the hushed offices of hospital administrators and the nervous rooms of patients, into the lobby where the statue of Christ the Healer ignited both awe and self-examination (she always felt He was looking into her heart and finding her lacking), out into the misty, raw rain.
There was nowhere to sit. Oh well, she’d stay put. She’d much rather be out here than in the stuffy building. Already, the air was reviving her, making her feel alive. She stared at the rooftops of houses and the traffic beside the hospital. It made her feel important, all this bustle around this place, as if she herself were involved in the healing that went on here.
After a while, a familiar voice called out behind her.
“Julia!”
She turned and forced a smile, leaning on her cane. “Will!” Suddenly, she was so tired. Fatigue worried her. It was how the polio had started—with a soul-crushing tiredness.
William Beschmann came toward her through the doors. Tall and awkward, with a prematurely receding hairline, Will wasn’t what most women would call “a catch,” but he was the man who’d caught her. With a sunny disposition and carefree attitude, he seemed to be just what she’d needed when she first met him. His war had consisted of playing poker and doing the books for an Army unit stationed in the Philippines after the bombs were dropped, giving him the status if not the history of a veteran.
Will now worked in the Hopkins accounting office, which was where she’d met him when she’d gone there over two years ago to straighten out an accounting mix-up with a grant from the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis. They’d been seeing each other for two years and had been engaged for only a month. Her left hand was still ringless, however, because Will, to her disappointment, had not proposed with ring in hand. He’d left that purchase for a time when they could shop together so he’d be sure to get what she wanted.
What she wanted was her fiancé to know what she wanted, to sweep her off her feet with romantic gestures. She sometimes wondered, to her shame, if she would have said yes so quickly had she known he didn’t have a ring. But Will was a good man. She shouldn’t be choosy.
“I heard about the murder,” he said in a stage whisper, his eyes darting to and fro to make sure no one had heard. Like Earl, he seemed to enjoy the drama of the incident.
“I’m not sure why everyone assumes it’s a murder,” Julia said. She looked toward the road, trying to spy her father’s Buick. “He could have just fallen on his own.”
Will quickly shook his head. “It must have been awful for you, hon. Are you headed home? You should have called me. I would have driven you.”
Yes, she should have called him. But she craved solitude. She’d discovered a dead body. She deserved….something.
“My father’s in the area,” she lied, “so he’s stopping by.” She gave him a mock frown of concern. “It’s cold. You should go in.” He was only in his shirt and tie. Will didn’t always wear a jacket to work, and this annoyed Julia. She didn’t see how he expected to get ahead if he didn’t dress like someone capable of being in charge of things.
“Lowenstein was kind of a cold fish, wasn’t he?” Will pressed, ignoring her concern.
Her mouth opened in surprise. Yes, Dr. Lowenstein had kept to himself. But he’d been nice enough. Susan, his secretary, liked him. Of course, one of the reasons she liked him was because he was so undemanding. And he always got her a gift for Christmas—that was a kindness, especially considering that he was Jewish. Whatever anyone knew about him, this wasn’t a time to review the man’s faults. This was the time to mourn. Or at least to be silent.
Here was something else that annoyed her about Will—his social clumsiness. Ever since the engagement, it seemed as if she couldn’t talk to him without noticing some fault. What was wrong with her? She was physically clumsy, and he tolerated that. She should be able to look past his flaws as well—shouldn’t she?
“I…I guess. I don’t know.” She didn’t want to say too much. She kept thinking of that detective asking her questions.
She saw a dark blue Buick with a scuffed right fender pull up to the curb below. Her father.
“I have to go, Will. He’s here!” She moved her cane in the direction of the curb.
“I’ll call you this evening—after the news!” He squeezed her lightly on the arm before she left. “Don’t worry about anything.”
As she made her way down the shallow steps, she had to shake off another pang of irritation. Will didn’t need to tell her not to worry. She had done nothing wrong. But even as she brushed aside worry, it pushed back in. She was the person to come across the body, after all. My God—maybe she’d be a suspect.
Chapter Two
SEAN CAUGHT UP with his partner at the Lowenstein house in Homeland a little after noon. He wasn’t a moment too soon. Poor Sal was politely but desperately trying to turn down an invitation to tea by a lonely neighbor, the woman who’d let Sal in.
She was a tiny woman, nearly a foot and a half shorter than Sean. Even Sal, who was no giant, seemed large in comparison. Her pewter-colored hair was streaked with white, and she didn’t wear it long and pulled into a bun like so many older women. No, it was short and curly, a younger style. Her face was covered with makeup as well, but it couldn’t hide her extensive map of wrinkles. Her age was therefore accented by these choices, rather than masked.
“I was just telling Mr. Sabataso here that he could join me for some tea and biscuits in my sunroom. I live just next door. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have about our dear doctor.”
Sean raised his eyebrows at Sal, whose eyes widened in a quick negative response.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to be getting on to the station house, Miss…..”
“Mrs. Wellstone.” She held out her hand, and he carefully shook it. It felt like a bird skeleton, full of fragile bones. “The poor doctor. I was only a neighbor, of course, but it was a shock to hear he was gone. And in so frightful a manner.”
Sean acknowledged her sympathy with a nod and looked at Sal. “Have you had a chance to look around?”
“As best I could.”
Sean imagined it had been difficult with Mrs. Wellstone hovering.
“I’ll take a quick look myself, if you don’t mind.” Sean glanced over at the old lady. “You go ahead and keep Sal company while I finish up.” Sal shot him a grimace.
Sean heard the woman continue to chatter while he made his way through the clean, neat house, trying to focus on the task at hand while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.
That polio research lab—he was scared enough of his twin boys coming down with it, had even considered not sending them to kindergarten because of it. He followed all the warnings. “Don’t mix with new groups, don’t get chilled, don’t get overtired, but do ke
ep clean.” Christ, he had that damned poster memorized. Any fever could be the beginning of…no, he couldn’t think like that.
Robby had felt warm this morning, too, and had been more quiet than usual. Was he coming down with something? Or was he just going through a bad stretch again?
Robby and his twin brother, Daniel, had been quick to slip into night terrors and groundless fears if they didn’t feel safe. And they hadn’t felt safe for nearly a year—ever since their mother, Mary, had died. Died in the very hospital he’d been at today. Another ward. Another floor. The one where they treated patients with cancer, a disease that branded you as bad as leprosy. No one uttered the word.
That snobbish secretary with her aversion to the smell of his coat—God almighty, he’d had enough of hospital odors himself and had barely restrained himself from saying a thing or two about that.
Nothing to be done about it. He gave himself a mental shake and focused his attention on looking through the house. Sal had probably had enough of Mrs. Wellstone by now.
Although Sean was no expert on antiques, he guessed that many of the finely carved chairs, bedsteads and tables came with names like Louis this or Queen Anne that. There were three bedrooms upstairs, but only two were set up as such. Nothing but clothes and toiletries and the like were in the bedrooms.
But the third upstairs room was set up as an office of some sort with a large kneehole desk and wooden filing cabinets filled with scientific magazines. He took some time going through those, but all he found were the usual personal papers that told him little. Copies of the house deed. Bank statements. A ledger with financial transactions. Sean scooped up these and took them with him. He opened another desk drawer, a larger lower right one built to accommodate files. It was empty. Had Lowenstein not had enough to fill it? Sean looked around. No, that wasn’t the case. There were some piles of magazines and scholarly papers on his desk. Maybe he’d not had time to put them away. Or maybe—
LOST TO THE WORLD Page 2