“Yes. Perhaps it is.”
“It was opened, but there were no dirty glasses.”
“I washed my glass myself.”
“Ah. There was a chicken in the ice box as well. And some vegetables.”
“I went shopping.” Thank the Lord, Miriam had not gotten to cook. “Mrs. Jensen, I would like to ask a favor.”
She stood and waited, wondering what the favor had to do with the chicken and the French wine.
“Would you go to Abraham & Straus for me today? I would like to change the wallpaper. Perhaps some of the furniture as well.”
“I don’t understand, doctor. You’ll only be living here another six months.”
“Something brighter, more cheery. Not so . . . old. And, oh yes, one more thing. Would you buy me a picture frame? Suitable for a photograph.”
Mrs. Jensen stood in stunned silence.
“These are perfectly reasonable requests, Mrs. Jensen. Now, would you please get me the newspaper? I’m already late.”
She stood her ground for a moment more, unsure of what to do. Finally, thinking of no way to elicit the information from someone so erratic, she fetched the Daily Eagle and trudged out of the room.
He leafed through to page three and the headline DAY OF TROLLEY ACCIDENTS. Underneath, it read CONDUCTOR’S SKULL CRUSHED BY FALLING FROM HIS CAR—DEATH SOON FOLLOWS, then ONE MAN JUMPS FROM A MOVING CAR, WHILE ANOTHER TRIES TO BOARD ONE—INJURED MAN FOUND ON TRACK; and, finally, HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE—LOCAL MAN PULLED FROM PATH OF CAR NEAR MADISON SQUARE.
Noah read down the article to a description of the last episode. All the circumstances precisely matched his brush with death: time, the nature of the rescue, even the number of the trolley. But the man pulled from the path of the trolley had been identified as one John J. Coughlin. And there was no mention of anyone being pushed—the article claimed the near-victim had been “celebrating on the Sabbath.”
Before he could come up with a reason why the police would release a false account to reporters, the bell on his telephone sounded. A singularly annoying noise. A mechanism to inform subscribers of incoming calls was necessary, of course, but why couldn’t the telephone companies develop a less intrusive device? Mrs. Jensen started for the instrument, but Noah waved her off. He lifted the earpiece and heard a familiar voice.
“Whitestone? Herold here. How far away are you from 40 Stone Street? It is in lower Manhattan.” Herold’s voice had the distinctive hollowness that indicated a third ear was on the line. Noah hoped that Herold would not transmit any sensitive information.
“I know where it is,” Noah replied. “No more than an hour, certainly.”
“Excellent! I want you to meet me there.”
“When?”
“Now, Whitestone. Now. Why do you think I asked?”
Noah arrived fifty minutes later to find Justin Herold waiting for him at the entrance of a four-story brick building. Stone Street was a narrow thoroughfare, two blocks long, tucked between two main arteries, South William Street and Pearl Street. The district was home to New York’s major financial institutions, but Stone Street consisted of a series of unprepossessing structures housing other businesses that wished to benefit from proximity to money. Number 40 backed Hanover Square. Delmonico’s was a mere twenty yards to the north and west.
“Very punctual, Whitestone. Come inside.”
Herold led Noah to a directory of the tenants. “Any of these strike a chord?”
Noah scanned the names but could find none that appeared to have any relation to the problem. There were two lawyers, a dentist, and a bondsman, plus a variety of other businesses of various nationalities he could not identify.
When Noah admitted to being at sea, Herold aimed his finger at one of the listings. “What about this one?” It read FARBENFABRIKEN OF ELBERFELD CO.
Noah tried to recall his medical school German. “Fabriken is factories, is it not?”
“Very good, Whitestone. How about farben?”
“Uh, colors. That’s it. Colors.”
“And what do you think colors factories means?”
Noah had it. “Dye makers.”
“Correct. And the significance?”
“About twenty years ago, dye makers discovered that some of the products they use had medicinal properties as well. Acetanilide is one of them. It was formerly marketed as Antifebrin, until the side effects were discovered and it was discontinued as an ethical drug. Now it’s the active ingredient in Orangeine. A number of the agents discovered by dye makers are now used in patent medicines.”
“Excellent, Whitestone. But not just patent medicines. Dye makers are spending thousands—many thousands—developing new ethical drugs as well. The beauty for these companies is that the substances, once discovered, are remarkably inexpensive to produce in bulk. This particular firm has recently synthesized a substance we recently encountered.”
“Acetylsalicylic acid?”
“Precisely. Only in order to ensure that these simple and inexpensive substances are not made available at a less-expensive price, the dye makers, now drug companies, have begun to assign trade names and take out patents. Since American patent laws are more stringent than those in Europe, only the patented version of the drug will be available for prescription. And, since patenting assures a virtual monopoly, the profits will be immense. In the millions. Perhaps millions each year. With stakes such as these, it is not difficult to imagine the lengths to which these firms will go to discover new drugs to patent. Acetylsalicylic acid will be marketed under the trade name Aspirin. We just happened to come across it in the test phase. But, as you will see, that phase is ending.”
What Herold had just told him reminded Noah of McKee’s investigations. Had the murdered reporter stumbled onto this very place?
“Which company is this?”
“They do business in this country simply as Farbenfabriken of Elberfeld, but in Germany it’s Bayer Dye Works. Aspirin, I have discovered, was synthesized by one of their chemists. A man called Hoffmann. But we are interested in another substance that Hoffmann synthesized. He did not restrict the acetylization process to salicylic acid.”
“What else?”
“Let’s go up to their offices and find out.”
Their destination was on the third floor, a simple wooden door with a brass plaque. Herold walked in without knocking. Inside was a counter, chest high, behind which sat a buxom young redhead. She broke into a huge grin as Herold and Noah entered.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Can I help you? You are from the Smith Company, are you not?”
Noah was about to ask if that was Martin H. Smith, but Herold nudged him with his foot. “I’m afraid not,” the pathologist said. “We’re physicians.”
The woman looked disappointed. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Onderdonk will be tied up this morning.”
“I’m Justin Herold. I’ve attended many of the city’s high office holders.” With a flourish, Herold took a card from his vest pocket and placed it on the countertop. “This is Noah Whitestone, a very prominent physician from Brooklyn. We are extremely interested in your line of products. We presumed to drop in without an appointment to hear something of your remarkable assortment of new pharmaceuticals.” He gestured to a placard propped up on the counter. “This is it, yes?”
The woman took the card, read it, then glanced up at Herold. Her eye went back to the card and then to Herold once more. “Perhaps I should ask Mr. Onderdonk if he’s got a few moments to speak with you.” The woman put up a finger and then darted through a door to an inner office.
“Look at the placard, Whitestone,” Herold said. “Notice anything?”
Across the top left, it read BAYER PHARMACEUTICAL PRODUCTS; across the top right, SEND FOR SAMPLES AND LITERATURE TO. On the bottom right was FARBENFABRIKEN OF ELBERFELD CO., and on the bottom left 40 STONE STREET, NEW YORK. In the center was a display of Bayer’s wares, arranged like a piled set of child’s blocks. The array contained the nam
es of twenty products, although only four were featured. One of the four, at the top of the pyramid, was ASPIRIN. The substance was billed as THE SUBSTITUTE FOR SALICYLATES. Noah understood immediately why Bayer had sought a patent on the name. Aspirin was a salicylate.
When Noah indicated that portion of the placard, Herold shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “The other one. Beneath Aspirin on the left.”
Noah saw it, THE SEDATIVE FOR COUGHS, just as the young woman emerged.
“Mr. Onderdonk will see you,” she announced operatically, as if President McKinley were behind the door.
As Noah and Herold entered the office, a man moved forward to meet them. He was short and round, and wore a dark blue wool suit that, even to Noah’s untrained eye, had certainly been custom tailored. His hand was extended, his right arm rigid. A salesman’s sincere, toothy smile was frozen on his face.
“H. Bryce Onderdonk,” the man exulted. “It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of two esteemed members of the medical profession.” The man gave a small wave with a pudgy hand. The opal on the ring on his little finger flashed in the light. “Your fame precedes you, Dr. Herold. The coroner’s office has not been the same since your departure. And I watched your testimony in the Meyer trial with fascination.”
Herold gave a short bow, trying without success to appear modest.
“So,” Onderdonk went on, not waiting for a comment, “what brings you to our offices?”
“We are interested in obtaining samples for some of these new medications,” Herold said. “And I, as a medical researcher, would be fascinated to hear something of their development.”
“I thought you were more interested in the dead than the living,” Onderdonk said, but in a manner that left no doubt the remark was in jest. He removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his lips.
“True, Mr. Onderdonk. But in order to correctly analyze the dead, I must be aware of any new medications they might have taken while they were alive.”
“Of course. Are you interested in any in particular?” Onderdonk remained affable, but a note of disquiet had crept into his voice. He emitted a small cough to cover his unease.
“Well, let’s start with Aspirin,” Herold replied. “A substitute for salicylates. Does that mean it has analgesic and antipyretic qualities?”
Onderdonk regained his full measure of enthusiasm. “Indeed. Aspirin will be a wonder. All the benefits of salicylates without the excruciating aftereffects.”
“What are the ingredients? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind at all, Dr. Herold, if you don’t mind my not answering. In truth, I’m not certain myself. All I can say is that this medication was developed by the very best chemists in Germany and then tested for safety. It is a compound that represents a vast improvement over salicylates.”
“Why is Aspirin not yet on the market then?”
Onderdonk offered a small, conspiratorial chuckle. “That was a decision of the home office. We are going to bring it out slowly at first, then launch a major advertising campaign. A copy of the placard you saw on the way in is to run as an advertisement in both the New York Medical Journal and the American Journal of Insanity, both highly prestigious publications.”
“But are there samples available?” Herold pressed. “As a physician, I would be excited to be able to prescribe a new wonder drug.”
“Alas, we have nothing on hand,” Onderdonk replied. “We are expecting a full supply of samples from Germany very soon. I have your card. I will personally see that each of you is placed at the very top of our list of recipients.”
“Thank you so much.” Herold beamed. “Medicine is indeed poised to leap into the new century.”
Onderdonk beamed wider. “My very sentiments, Dr. Herold.”
“Can we obtain samples of your other three featured drugs as well? I noticed on the placard out front you have a uric acid solvent . . .”
“Lycetol. Yes, a remarkable new treatment for kidney ailments.”
“An antineuralgic and antirheumatic . . .”
“Salophen. Another remarkable innovation.”
“And a sedative for coughs.”
“Yes. The best of all. Not only will this drug relieve coughs in children—as you know, Dr. Herold, perhaps the most pernicious problem facing medical science today—but it has shown great promise both in the relief of other respiratory ailments . . . asthma, even tuberculosis . . . and as a general mood enhancer. The drug is even a remarkable sleep aid. It received its name because test subjects in Germany were so uplifted after its use. Heroisch. Heroic in English. So our marketing director thought to keep the sentiment and called the drug Heroin.”
“Very deft.”
“And,” Onderdonk proclaimed, “the preeminent feature of this new substance is that it is perfectly safe! No harmful effects whatever!”
“Truly a boon,” exulted Herold. “I suppose you are not at liberty to discuss the ingredients of this medication either.”
“I would be completely at liberty if I knew myself, Dr. Herold. Given the intense competition to develop new pharmaceuticals, I’m sure you can understand why the home office would be reluctant to publicize the details of a new discovery.”
Noah was about to say that the details would have needed to be divulged in order to gain a patent, but a look from Herold caused him to hold his tongue. Onderdonk was ignoring him anyway.
“Of course,” Herold agreed with a nod. “Parents across America will sing your praises for having developed a cough remedy for children that does not contain opioids. I assume that is what makes this discovery so revolutionary.”
Onderdonk shifted his weight. “As I said . . .”
“So no one in New York has had the benefit of samples of your wonderful products?” Noah was speaking for the first time.
“Not from this office. We have been so recently established, you see. And you are . . . Dr. Whitestone. Are you in practice with Dr. Herold?”
“Dr. Whitestone has been engaged on a research project with me,” Herold said.
“You’re a fortunate man, Dr. Whitestone,” Onderdonk said, glancing toward the door to his office. He was either wishing Martin Smith would arrive or that his current visitors would leave. Probably both.
“I must confess, Mr. Onderdonk,” Noah went on, “we are not here by coincidence.”
“Oh no?”
“No. We heard of your amazing products from a prominent local physician: Dr. Arnold Frias.”
“Frias? I don’t think I know the man.” Onderdonk rubbed his hands together as if friction would improve his memory.
“Are you certain? We were at a dinner with Herr Hafstaengel.”
“You met the director?”
“Only in a casual way. Dr. Frias was by far more effusive. Herr Hafstaengel seemed almost embarrassed at the praise.”
“He is a modest man.” Onderdonk’s forehead had begun to glow.
“Dr. Frias has had such remarkable results with Aspirin, and I believe other of your medications, that we thought to visit you today.”
“Frias you say?” Onderdonk dug into his vest pocket and withdrew his watch. After checking the time, he looked up and forced a smile. “I would love to chat further with you, doctors, but my next appointment is due momentarily.”
“Martin Smith?” Herold asked.
“Yes. How did . . . well, no matter.” He moved to the door. “Thank you both for coming by.”
“Our pleasure, Mr. Onderdonk,” Herold replied. “The visit has been most enlightening.”
“Exceptionally so,” Noah added. “Thank you for being so helpful, Mr. Onderdonk. We will not forget to mention your extraordinary cooperation.”
“To whom?”
“To whoever asks, of course.”
Once they were back on the street, Herold grabbed Noah by the arm. “Whitestone, I’ll wager anything that this Heroin product they’re so excited about is nothing but acetylized morphine. When we get hold of one of thos
e green tablets the girl in Newark took, we’ll know for sure.”
“Then you’re not upset? That I used Frias’s name? And Hafstaengel’s?”
“It’s your getabout, Whitestone, not mine. This Onderdonk fellow will be in touch with Frias, of course, and word that you are getting closer to a solution will undoubtedly be passed to your enemies. So, I suppose, if you are willing to put yourself in greater danger by flushing them out, who am I to disagree?”
“My only hesitation was that I didn’t want to put you in danger as well.”
“Oh, I doubt I’m in any danger, Whitestone. I’m a prominent person with, if I may say so, not inconsiderable influence. TR and I even got to be friends when he was superintendent of the Board of Police Commissioners. He often consulted with me because he believed the official occupants of the coroner’s office were corrupt political hacks. No, Whitestone, I suspect if your enemies feel the need to toss someone else into the river, they’ll start with you.”
“Thank you for the comforting thought, Dr. Herold.” Noah wasn’t sure that Herold should be quite so sanguine. With millions at stake, not even TR’s friendship would prevent mayhem. But Noah had come to know Herold too well to try to press the point.
“Our main goal now, Whitestone, is obtaining a Heroin tablet. I don’t think Onderdonk was lying about not distributing samples through this office. No one would trust a dolt like him with anything sensitive. I’ll warrant they come from Germany and go directly to the doctors in their employ. Unfortunately, one of the by-products of our last conversation is that, when Onderdonk speaks to Frias, our names will be linked. I was intending to seek him out as a disinterested party. Ah, well, every investigation has its challenges. What you need to do is go and see your Red friends and find out who else might have one of those tablets.”
“Perhaps you should visit the New Visions office, Dr. Herold. I had thought to check with Dr. Jacobi. If there are the beginnings of an epidemic about, he’s the man who would know.”
“Don’t be silly, Whitestone. Jacobi is a good man, of course, and I don’t hold with the Reds any more than you do. But you already have their trust. And, one has to admit, they’ve definitely been out front on this.”
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