Turken scowled. “What do we have?”
Rendon leaned forward, his face tense with concentration. “The dancer had a trace of cocaine in her blood, but no signs of heavy use, and with only traces of the cocaine left, the drug was likely not a major contributing factor to her death. The other cases have no signs of drug abuse at all. So far the listing shows consistent age bracket, time, and socioeconomic status, except perhaps the dancer. But that still leaves us absolutely nowhere.”
Turken nodded. “Is this your first outbreak investigation?”
“Yes. Now, look at Legionnaires’ disease: in the first outbreak, all the people were located together and exposed together. None of these cases seem connected at all.”
“You plotted the locations on a map?” Turken said, and his jaw shook as he yawned.
“Yes. One of the men who died lived near the dance club. That’s the only geographical cluster. Tomorrow, my senior partner will be calling the hospitals and docs again. I’ll be out in the morning talking to the lawyer’s partners and his neighbors. In the afternoon, I’ll be at the strip club. Maybe something will show,” Rendon said.
The medical examiner raised his thick, gray eyebrows.
Rendon continued, barely noting the expression on the other man’s face. “I’ll start there, trying to connect them. Maybe the club served bad food? Some of the other dancers or staff may have symptoms, and I hope I can get to the dancer’s roommate. According to the manager, she’s disappeared. She could have it, particularly if it’s airborne, and we’d have a case to study before it’s full-blown. At this point, everybody’s dead before we even know they’ve got it.”
“That’s the problem all right,” Turken said. “You say your partner is checking the hospitals?”
“Yes, I’m doing the shoe leather. He’s got the phone. One thing though, given the hearts we’ve looked at, I’m betting virus—and a contagious one. It seems to be spreading fast. If it keeps up, we’ll have a major epidemic,” Rendon said and felt his neck tighten with every word.
Turken sighed. “That seems a good division of labor. See what you can dig up on the other cases, too. If it is spreading, we could end up with a lot of dead bodies before we’ve even isolated the cause.” He pursed his lips. “The state epi will handle the media on this. He wants to downplay it for now. It’s unlikely, but these deaths could still be coincidence.”
Four
Harry doubled over with pain, and then a fist to the jaw straightened him and drove him stumbling into the side of his car. Before he could hit the ground, he was grabbed and dragged to the darkness in front of the Chevy. He struggled to free himself. A fist drove into his stomach again; then he was spun and shoved against the concrete of the retaining wall. He hit with a groan.
“Where is Lee?”
Harry stared at the man in front of him and gasped for breath. He recognized his assailant. It was the huge one from Lee’s apartment. The man grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, picked him up, and flattened him to the wall, his feet dangling in the air.
“Where is she—the stripper?”
“Put him down, Willy, and let him breathe, Christ,” said a man coming from behind the giant. Harry looked around the massive shoulders of Willy to see a smaller man, his face concealed by the darkness. Willy let loose of Harry’s shirt. Harry slumped against the wall.
After a moment to catch his breath, he brushed the blood from his chin. His lip still bled. He ran through his options, not liking them. He could see people at the entrance to the mall but no security. He was too far away to be heard if he yelled.
“Don’t know where she is.”
Willy drew closer, his hand balled into a fist.
“I don’t,” Harry said and tried to sidle farther away from the man. “She was supposed to meet me here a half hour ago, and I was late. I guess she left.” He split blood onto the pavement.
“All right,” said the smaller one. “You tell her she better call Denny. Right away.”
“Hey, I may never see her—”
Willy grabbed Harry by the shirt and threw him into the wall again. Harry gasped as he slammed against the concrete. A fist smashed into his face and then into his stomach. Pain shot through him. He fell to the ground, writhing.
“Find her and tell her,” came the man’s voice.
Harry struggled to get up on his elbows, and suddenly a boot caught him in the ribs, lifting him off the ground. Searing agony forced the breath from his lungs. He collapsed, his face flat against the cold macadam.
The sound of footsteps faded. He couldn’t move. Each breath burned fire in his chest.
A hand touched his face. The fingers felt cold. He flinched. Then he felt someone wiping his chin. He opened his eyes. It was Lee, dressed in a black tunic and tights that made her a small shadow in the darkness. The expression on her face was soft, wide-eyed.
“You,” he groaned.
The look on her face hardened. “Shh, they’re still close enough to hear you,” she whispered.
He tried to get up, but she gently pushed him back.
“Wait. The big one’s going around to the other side of the mall. Are you hurt?” A flicker of that soft look came back to her eyes.
He wedged himself up against the wall, keeping his head lower than the car hood, catching his breath in small gasps. He felt the urge to slap her, if he could have moved that far. “What the hell would you care?”
Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t make you come.”
“No, and you didn’t tell me that ape would be waiting for me, either.”
“How could I? I didn’t know they’d be here. I’m sorry. Can you get up?”
“I don’t know.” He felt at his lip. It was swollen. His ribs felt cracked. He gingerly touched his side. She was right; she hadn’t made him come. It had been his decision. How could it hurt? he’d thought. He cursed under his breath. He wanted to hit someone.
She craned her head up high enough to see over the hood. “The big one’s gone. The other one’s still looking around. If you could go over and open the car door, I could crawl in, and he might not see me.”
“I don’t know if I can drive,” Harry said.
“I will.” She looked around as if expecting trouble. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Clenching his teeth to keep from groaning, he pried himself up to a standing position. Using the car as a crutch, he hobbled around to the driver’s side and collapsed into the seat. A moment later, he forced himself to climb over to the passenger side. Bending low, Lee scurried in, shut the door, and reached for the keys.
“Hurry, give me the keys. I think he saw me.”
Painfully, Harry dug in his pocket. She stared at the mirror. “He’s running.”
Harry tossed her the keys, and the car started with a cough and then raced backward. Harry slammed into his seat and then jerked forward. He clutched his ribs and groaned. Metal shrieked as she clipped the side of the retaining wall.
“What are you—”
He stopped, his mouth open as she floored it and the car darted forward into the exit lane and then through a red light into the traffic on Peachtree. In his mind, Harry pictured the truck that had almost killed them the day before. His breath froze in his chest. Lee wove into the left lane and forced another car into oncoming traffic. The driver managed to slice back in before a head-on collision. Then she was back in the right lane. The car bounced off the curb. Horns blared. Harry stared at the speedometer. She was doing fifty-five miles an hour down the busiest street in town. He looked at her face. It was set in what looked like panic.
“Slow down,” he said.
She let off the gas totally.
“I thought you could drive?”
“No.”
“Oh shit. Stop. I’ll drive.” He looked behind him at the mall several blocks away and then was thrown forward in
to the dashboard as she came to a squealing halt. Pain shot through him, searing the breath from his lungs. From behind, there came the screeching of brakes, and a car fishtailed around them, just barely missing the back of the Chevy.
“Not here,” he roared and grabbed at his chest again, his heart pounding. “Go up a ways and pull off.”
He was planted back into his seat as she sped off down the street. He managed to strap his seat belt across his chest. “There, pull off into that gas station.”
He pointed. There was a phone booth. “I’ll call the police.”
“No.” She floored it again, and he was thrown to the side, into the door. He gasped.
“What the hell! Stop this car—”
He saw her leg moving to stamp down on the brakes, and he quickly added, “No, I mean stop it over there. Turn down that road.”
They swerved round into the side street and finally came to a halt on the other side of the street, wedged up against the sidewalk. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
“You need to go to the hospital. I’ll take you there,” she said, and her hand went to the gear shift.
He grabbed her hand. “No. I’ll drive. You’ll kill us both. But first you’re going to tell me why you don’t want the police.”
Her face reddened. She pulled her hand from his and started to reach for the door handle.
“Look, I won’t tell anybody, but I want to know. I’ll help you if I can.”
She released the handle. “Don’t make me.”
“Go ahead and get out, then,” he said, the pain making him feel exhausted and unable to care what she did.
“Afterward. After they treat you at the hospital.”
“OK. You get out and go around to the other side.”
She did, and with difficulty he drove over to Northside Hospital, the closest ER he knew.
The doctor showed little belief in the story that he had fallen. Ree stayed out in the waiting room. He half expected her to be gone when he came out, but she wasn’t. She sat huddled against a corner, reading a magazine. She looked at him with a set, angry glance.
He didn’t care. He wanted to get back to the apartment and take the “number threes” the doctor had given him. It still hurt to breathe.
“You coming?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Back to my place.”
“Can’t go there. They’ll be watching.”
“Damn.” She was right. If those two hoodlums had seen her driving out with him, they’d probably shoot next time. “To a motel,” he said.
“No.”
“Ree, where the hell do you want to go?”
Her eyes widened.
“Yes, I know your name and a lot more, too. Now what do you want? I’ve got to get somewhere and lie down. I feel like shit.”
“OK, a motel, but two rooms.”
He nodded and limped out to the parking lot. “And when we get there, you’re going to tell me what is going on here.”
She didn’t answer but walked along beside him.
The Bare Nights Club was a dive. Smoke filled the air. In the ashtray were tackily inscribed matches. Rendon picked one up and put it in his pocket. It was a souvenir. He waited for the next person he would interview. On the stage, some twenty feet in front of him, a dancer with no clothes on swayed to a raucous-sounding song. Rendon studied the girl with fascination. She seemed to have no guilt at all about being naked in front of a group of leering men. In fact, she seemed to like it. Her smile was wide, and she kept catching his eye, even though he was far in the back against the wall. Her large breasts swayed in time with the music.
He remembered the name she had given him—Angel. She had been a friend of Susie’s, or so she said, and, no, Susie hadn’t seemed sick beforehand, and she didn’t know where Susie had eaten the night before, and, no, she didn’t know where Lee was, and last of all, no, she hadn’t felt sick herself.
The answers from all the staff had been the same—no, no, and no some more. The kitchen had been his first stop. But it was clean. In fact, it didn’t look used.
The staff confirmed that few ate here. Serving food allowed the bar to serve drinks on Sundays. He had taken samples.
Another dancer walked up and sat down across from him. She was dressed in a short, lacy teddy. It did nothing to conceal her large, pink nipples. He started asking questions and entering the answers into his computer. She also knew Susie. Her answers were equally unhelpful. He decided on a new track.
“Do you know if Susie had any new friends or customers?”
“There are always a few new people here, but most are regulars. Susie was pretty good with the new ones. She and Lee would work ’em together for a while, and then one would split and find somebody else,” the dancer replied.
“Work ’em?”
“Oh, you know, get ’em to pay you for a table dance.”
“A table dance?”
“You never been to one of these places?” she asked, smiling.
“Well, no.”
“You should. We’re lots of fun.”
“Um, yes. Now what is a table dance?”
“You go into the back, somewhere like this, and the girl dances just for you. You want me to show you.” She dropped the shoulder strap on her teddy.
“No, no, I mean, you don’t have to show me. Just answer my questions.”
The cloth had slid down her large breast.
“OK, darling, but I would do it for free this one time, just to show you.”
“That’s all right. When they do a table dance, do the girls touch the men?”
The dancer stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “No, of course not. You don’t touch, unless you mean like a kiss on the cheek.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.” He made a note on the computer. If it was airborne, the virus could spread like wildfire in one of these clubs. The people were close, and there was plenty of casual contact. This at least was a start. He smiled.
The lawyer’s office had also provided some information. They knew where Woolbanks had eaten lunch. It was the same downtown grill where they all ate, and, no, none of them had been sick, but, yes, Woolbanks had been sneezing and complained of having a cold. They didn’t know where he’d eaten dinner. At home? Rendon had typed it all in and noted the prior symptoms.
“Well?” the woman said.
He looked up and found his gaze stopping at the expanse of her bare breast. “Sorry. Now let’s see. Have you felt sick lately…runny nose?”
The dancer narrowed her eyes again, as if he had asked a forbidden question.
“No, nothin’ unusual.”
“How about feeling dizzy or heart beating unusually?”
“No, I mean, should I?” she said and shrugged. “Did Susie have something contagious?”
“We don’t know. Probably not, at least, not unless you spent a lot of time with her. That’s why we’re looking for her roommate. You wouldn’t happen to know where she might be?”
“No, but Evan always watched out for her. You might ask him.”
“Who?” Rendon leaned forward, his elbows on the table.
“The bouncer. See that guy over there.” She pointed to a solidly built man sitting at the bar.
“Thanks. I think I will.” He’d interviewed the manager, bartenders, a few customers that didn’t mind, and the dancers. He hadn’t thought of a bouncer.
The tip paid off. The bouncer had a card from a newspaper reporter who had been the last one to be seen with the roommate. The man didn’t volunteer the information until Rendon had explained that the girl might get sick and might be helped. The card appeared.
Rendon called the reporter but only spoke to a secretary. Disappointed, he latched his computer and walked back outside. He needed a break.
Getting in th
e car, he headed downtown. Cougher, his senior, would still be down there analyzing the results from a day of calling hospitals and doctors. With luck, he would have found a case where the patient had not died. At the health department, Rendon would call the reporter. Something had to break soon. If it didn’t, they might have a full-blown epidemic on their hands. That thought set him sweating.
William Andrews was a hero gone sour. Tall, lean, with a sharp, long nose, he had once been one of the agency’s best controllers. Now, gray haired and broken, he was a castaway, out of the flow of information, in charge of nothing. Who better, Andrews thought, to send as a liaison to a dead end?
The door opened, and Ferenzi strode into the room. A deep scowl darkened his face. Andrews pointed at a chair.
“I hear Tyrone Baylor has hired you to protect the games from terrorists,” Andrews said.
Ferenzi glared at Andrews. “You were supposed to meet me at the airport.”
Andrews shrugged. “Sorry, nobody told me. I rented a car and checked in before coming down here.”
“Look, Andrews, I know the agency doesn’t give a damn, but this is ridiculous. Why the hell didn’t they send me someone who could help?”
“Maybe because you’re not worth the trouble, but Baylor’s got a lot of money, so they had to send somebody,” Andrews answered, calmly ignoring the insult.
“And how the hell would you know? The last time you saw a classified document must have been ten years ago.”
“They briefed me, and it’s quite simple. There’s no evidence of a plot to attack the games.”
“Yeah, and they’ve got the same sources they had back in the eighties when an embassy was grabbed right out from under their noses.”
“I believe the sources are better now. But they said you had something.”
“I do, and if you think I’m going to show it to you, you’re crazy. But look at this.” He thrust a newspaper in front of Andrew’s face. The headline read: “Six Die of Mysterious Disease.”
Andrews skimmed the article. “So?”
Ferenzi shook his head. “Keep your head down, fool. Suddenly, right before athletes start trickling in to Atlanta, a disease strikes and kills people who are exercising. A bit of coincidence? And next, who is the roommate of the dead dancer? I’ll tell you. The woman who skipped is Arab. Her name is Abu. Now, agency man, what happens if this disease keeps killing? The games get canceled. Millions lost. The United States is embarrassed. What could be simpler?”
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