Two hours later, a scream from the other end of the newsroom stopped everyone in their tracks.
“Jennifer, Jennifer, what’s wrong dear? Jennifer.” Kathy yelled out, “Call 911. Somebody call 911.” She burst into tears. Her daughter had vomited and fallen to the floor, unresponsive.
One of the sports department interns rushed over. “I’ve got EMT training. Let me through.”
Within seconds, he determined the girl had shallow breathing, with a heart rate double what it should be. Eight minutes later, after an ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the building, three EMTs burst into the newsroom with a stretcher. As they quickly asked for any information that would help, Lishan timidly spoke up.
“I think she may have been poisoned. I received these cupcakes in the mail today. She ate one.”
“Do you know who they came from?” said the EMT issuing the orders.
“I’m not quite sure. Someone named Socrates, who says I met him at a meeting. It has an odd return address. 399 BC.”
“399 BC?” a voice from a few desks away spoke up. “That’s the year Socrates drank the poison that ended his life.”
The head EMT relayed the information to the ER doctor he was in contact with.
“Are these the cupcakes?” He grabbed the box without waiting for a reply.
All eyes, especially Kathy’s, focused on Lishan as the EMTs loaded Jennifer on the gurney.
“How could you let her eat it, not knowing where it came from? How could you?” Kathy was beside herself.
“I…I didn’t know.”
“You just eat anything that comes in the mail to you? And you’re a reporter who pisses people off.”
“I…I didn’t think it through. The cupcakes were in a bakery box. I’ve been to that boulangerie so many times. The box was so familiar, I guess I just let my guard down. I’m so sorry, Kathy.”
Kathy just glared, saying nothing more as she headed to the elevator, her daughter barely hanging onto life.
A Metropolitan PD cop, who arrived after monitoring the emergency scanner, came over to Lishan.
“Ma’am, we need to fill out a report.”
- - -
As soon as the newsroom quieted down as much as it could, Lishan went out into the cool air. Her life suddenly felt in shambles. What should she do? She knew that checking on the child, the one who was laughing and playing only an hour ago, was the proper thing to do. She also knew she should never have let her have the cupcake.
Howard University Hospital. She found Kathy pacing the floor. Her daughter was in ICU. At first Kathy wanted nothing to do with Lishan, understandably. But as the minutes went by, Kathy broke down, her tears falling like daggers in Lishan’s mind. Lishan approached her with an embrace. It was not refused.
It seemed like an hour had passed before a doctor came out to talk with Kathy. Jennifer’s vitals had stabilized, but she had not woken up. Her EEG suggested a coma, but it was not unlike when someone is given a general anesthetic. The doctor was hopeful the coma-like state would pass, but another significant concern was that her kidneys appeared to be failing. The lab hadn’t yet returned the results of the breakdown of what was in the cupcakes. The doctor said she would let Kathy know the minute they had more information.
Lishan stayed until some of Kathy’s family arrived. She decided to return to The Mirror. As she entered the newsroom, a few of her closer friends came over, offering support. They knew Lishan had made a mistake, but not beyond the realm of error they might make someday.
- - -
Lishan’s fury began to overtake her sorrow, though the sorrow was never far behind. She decided to head to the library, a place she hadn’t visited much since the Internet took top billing. But there was still much to be garnered from its authoritative shelves. Besides, she needed to clear her head, and a strong coffee along the way would help.
One of her favorite cafés was on the same block as the library. Choosing a seat away from any windows, Lishan began writing notes in her reporter’s notebook. The Americano was comforting. She wanted to get to some decent bandwidth and track down everything she could about poisons and comas, but there was little point to it until the lab finished its probing.
Her life was indeed being threatened. Not just a minor threat. There was no question. She shuddered involuntarily. One last sip and she continued to the library.
Shutting down her cell phone, Lishan entered the library, heading straight for the reference desk. Of the two staff members nearby, she chose the fellow with the long dreads.
“Hi. I need to find out everything you have on Jack Conner, the food and drug CEO. Also, anything on the FDA and Senator Libby.”
The librarian rolled his eyes, but juxtaposed the gesture with a sharp smile. “The library isn’t big enough, once you include the FDA. As to Conner, not much of the truth has made it to print. However…here, follow me.” They wound their way to the political section. The librarian reached up to a top shelf, retrieving a book that had been pushed back out of sight. Before he handed the book to Lishan, he stopped, measuring up the client before him.
“How do you vote?” he asked.
“Let's just say the new administration is attempting to quash civil liberties and give us air we can't see through and water the color of industrial waste,” replied Lishan.
"Let me guess." The librarian paused, contemplating. “Okay. Alan Frazier. This guy’s in prison, framed under the pretense of unlawful surveillance, but it’s known that libel is what irked Conner. We were ordered by the publisher to remove all of his books, but, hey, freedom of speech. The management doesn’t know we still have it.”
Lishan barely focused on the book at first, thinking about the author in prison. Jarring herself back to the present, she took a close look. CEOs & Senators: Bedfellows With Your Food & Drug Administration. It seemed full of pertinent data.
“Prison. Hmm. Can I check it out? Sounds like just the info I’m looking for.”
The librarian hesitated. “It’s a loan. Nothing formal. Return it to me, personally.” The librarian winked. “Just know I consider it a treasure. Don’t make any waves that will bring it to anyone’s attention. Are you writing about the FDA?”
“Yes. And a senator and Conner. At this point, Conner is getting top billing since he is trying to silence me. I’m a reporter at The Mirror.”
The librarian made a sound, as though he had just discovered something of interest. “And they’re letting you write about this?”
“No, not really. I’m breaking the rules.”
The librarian smiled, giving a hint of a nod. He took Lishan to another section where he handed her two books. “These will give you some background on Conner, but they read almost like an autobiography. That is, there’s not much dirt in these pages. Your best bet for your purposes is search engines, which I hate to say, since I’m a librarian. Good luck,” he said as he returned to his desk.
Lishan picked out a stuffed chair in a corner of the library. There was no point in returning too quickly to the newsroom. Jerry would be sure to sniff out the book. Her initial foray began with the author’s page. Who was this risk-taker? How was this author any different from herself? Frazier. A Philadelphia journalist with two non-fiction books about the government under his belt.
She checked to see who the publisher was. Undercover Press. Ah, she remembered. There was a small story in one of the publishing magazines. Undercover Press had narrowed its field two years back, profitable though the publishing house had been. Children’s stories seemed to be their specialty these days. She imagined the sedative, an injection from Conner or Libby straight to the bottom line.
The kudos on the back cover were, not surprisingly, few and unfamiliar. It must have seemed a risk to have one’s name listed in conjunction with this author. She did recognize one name, though: Howard Perkins.
The contents page. Lishan could feel her heartbeat quicken.
1. Who’s on the payroll?
2. The elitists and t
heir food monopolies
3. What’s in a pharmaceutical besides money?
4. The injustice of pills you can't afford
5. Does the FDA protect the public over industry?
6. Government vs. the public: whose dollar is it, anyway?
7. Government vs. the public: whose heart attack is it, anyway?
8. Isn’t monosodium glutamate our right as Americans?
9. Trans fats won’t kill you—if you don’t eat them.
10. The senator who could.
11. Check your life vest as you rock the boat
Lishan’s eyes were wide. She had to talk with this author. Would he agree? She would find a way. Prison, though. She wouldn’t admit it openly, but it scared her a little.
A poignant film, The Shawshank Redemption, came to mind, kindling memories of her volunteer literary work with the incarcerated when she was twenty-one. She remembered the four locked steel doors she had to pass through, to get in or out. The memories were unnerving.
But she couldn’t let go of her story. Especially now. Someone has already gone to prison for speaking out. Perhaps this would be her life’s work. My calling, Lishan thought, or undoing, remembering the cupcake. No, she would be smart. And there was always Howard Perkins if the author was incommunicado.
Lishan perused the book. She was intent as she skimmed the pages.
After one hour at the library, Lishan realized she needed to get back to the paper. She put the book in her messenger bag, just in case. She didn’t want Jerry discovering it on her desk.
“Hey, how are you, little girl? Where’ve you been, by the way? Getting more cupcakes?”
Lishan hadn’t settled back into her desk for more than one turn of an egg timer. She turned to face Jerry. She wasn’t sure which tack to take today. Acquiesce or raise her gun. She realized that Jerry was the one guy she almost always lied to. He was like a bulldog. There was no reasoning with him, with the truth at least. And “little girl”. Where had she heard this? Then she remembered Conner and Libby—the pack. It also reminded her of the tragedy a few short hours ago. Jennifer.
“Just a coffee run, Jerry. Checking on a lead.”
“Tykes Day Care, I imagine?”
“How’d you know?” An edge of sarcasm rolled off her breath.
“You’ll make a fine reporter, Lishan. Someday.” As he walked off, he turned. Through his usual smirk, his voice elevated for omniscient effect, he said, “I’ll need that daycare piece by noon, Lishan.”
Lishan couldn’t just let this interchange go. “Hey, Jerry.”
He stopped, turning slowly. There was something in her tone that urged a caution on his part. He just looked at her, aware that others were watching.
“Don’t call me ‘little girl.’ It’s demeaning. And don’t ever put your hand on me, like you did when I was in your office. How could you stoop so low to ask me if I went out to buy more cupcakes, Jerry?” She started to turn back to face her desk, but stopped midway. “By the way, do you happen to know the extension for Human Resources?” She wasn’t smiling as she turned away and ended the dialogue.
Lishan gathered up a daycare piece in the works that needed polishing. She kept it in the wings for just such an occasion. Dubbing in “Tykes” where needed, she zipped it off to the city desk.
Ten minutes later found her outside, thinking about Alan Frazier and how to garner the inside scoop from him. She decided to return to the library where she could do some additional research beyond Jerry’s prying eyes. On her way in, Lishan sought out the helpful reference desk librarian.
“Pardon me.” Lishan leaned over, whispering far below library standards. “What are my chances of talking with him, this Frazier fellow?”
Quietly, he replied, “I know right where that book is. Follow me.”
Pretending to discuss a particular book, the librarian softly said to Lishan, “He’s in upstate New York. Rockland Prison. It’s been two years, so I don’t know if they still watch him that closely. But I wouldn’t put it past Conner. Just be careful. Notice if anyone is watching you. Maybe you can pass as someone else. A distant relative, perhaps. Just remember that Frazier’s story was one of the many nails headed towards Conner’s pine box. You can imagine how that went over. Again, be hyper-vigilant where these guys are concerned. Gotta run.” He turned to head back to the reference desk.
“Thanks. Hey, can I leave you a phone number, or email address, in case anything…?”
The librarian never looked back, just shook his head, giving a goodbye sign over his shoulder with his hand. Lishan paused, acting as though she were intent on the pages in front of her. Then she proceeded to an Internet station to search the web. She didn’t acknowledge the librarian after that. Not to be rude. Just pretense, in case. Just in case.
1 x 10100. GOOGOL. Frazier and Rockland Prison. Three hits. October, two years ago. It was a local story, Rockland’s, not too much press. Conner likely wanted no publicity at all. Lishan wrote down the URLs she needed, a few key dates, and a phone number for the prison. She also took note of the front-page photo that accompanied one of the articles. In the background, slightly out of focus, were the head of the FDA and Conner. No, this was no lightweight issue she was getting herself into.
11
Erik was two flavors of geek. He easily spent an hour or two, daily, reading about the cutting edge in gadgets. Anything that spoke of the latest technology was researched a to z. He also had an incessant craving to watch all things related to government that aired on TV, from senate hearings to judicial proceedings.
Erik called himself Scandinavian, but Norwegian was more precise. He traveled to the United States at nineteen, planning only an extended visit, but he found his Scandinavian good looks—his sandy blonde hair, chiseled features, and lean muscular physique—stood out and made him very popular, especially with the women, young and old. His hormones and ego ruled; permanent residency was his natural next step.
He was nearly as fond of the women he entertained as the art he admired, though he quickly discovered that posting photos on his walls—photos of the women he had dated—created far more tension than he could manage. This left considerable room for some Post Impressionists, the artistic movement that paved the way for Matisse, whose art was also on his walls along with other Fauvist painters.
Erik dabbled in displays of Picasso and Dali, but the surreal aspects, for some reason, didn’t always sit well with most of the women he dated. This was a curiosity he had yet to understand about them, or himself. Lishan, however, experienced and soundly professed a delight each time she was able to settle into his art, no matter his choices. He always noticed.
Erik had the fit and lithe body of a twenty-year-old. He’d always taken exceptionally good care of himself. Erik had nearly married once, in his early twenties. His study buddy, Janie. But they were too dissimilar, ultimately. They thought the shared love of literature and art would have been enough of a draw. It wasn’t. Janie was too caught up in money, an unlikely combination coming from an English Lit major. She confessed one day to a relentless need to have the fame of Updike, wanting the recognition of The New Yorker and Harper’s, the money of Oprah. Erik didn’t share her passion for money. Art and women were his captors.
Lishan was clearly a favorite of his, but he had self-imposed limits around going the distance with her. The reason went back three years. Her name was Etta, the first student to fully straddle the teacher-student boundary he had successfully maintained since he began teaching. At nineteen, she was eight years younger, with an upbringing in Barcelona that had been beneficial both to her artistic views on life and her allure. The arousal he felt from her sensual writing, and her body, clipped the padlock from the gate. They both sensed it.
One evening, as he stayed late to grade finals, Etta walked into his office long after the political science building was otherwise empty. Closing and locking the door, pulling the shades he occasionally used to gain solitude, she knelt in front of his c
hair. Erik thought to protest, but she gave the “shhh” sign with her finger, all the convincing he seemed to need. Her hands fondled him to a quick erection beneath his black cotton pants. No questions or words were exchanged. Erik just took a deep breath, hesitated, and went with it. Their sex was hot and quick. Ten minutes later, she was gone, a condom wrapper left on the floor. He might have forgiven himself, accepting the biological predispositions in his body, but the illicit affair didn’t last only the week he envisioned. Etta had other plans.
She was a “C” student, a poor one at that, with an “A” in mind. Seeing his predicament, Erik managed to make a math “error,” squeezing Etta into a “B.” One week later, Etta joined the army, eventual deploying to the Middle East. Breathing a mixture of relief and tentativeness, he had hoped to be rid of her, but his hope was diminished two and a half years later. He was sitting on a bench on campus, reading one of Lishan’s exposés, when Etta walked up and sat down. She was friendly in their brief encounter, a gleam in her smile suggesting she had a secret for sale. He knew his tryst with Etta had created uneasiness where he might have otherwise allowed inroads with Lishan.
As to Lishan, his body’s reaction to her presence had always given away his true feelings. From the first day in class—when she smiled at him with those light brown eyes, and the sensation he felt when she stood next to him at the end of class, asking about an assignment—he felt her in his blood. Even the attraction other male students held for her only served to make Erik more desirous. But was that completely true? Erik knew his jealousy was beginning to gain the upper hand.
12
After she left the library, Lishan walked briskly. Her adrenalin caused her to pick up her pace before she realized it had taken hold. Any yellow cab that slowed near her made it worse.
She had no clear thought on how to handle the rest of her day or the rest of her journalistic career for that matter. Could she work for a mainstream paper and still tell the plain truth, regardless of the advertisers and political conflicts of interest? She thought about the FDA, about the commissioner, Senator Libby, and, of course, Conner. Whom could she trust, given that corruption and greed seemed to permeate most anyone who was obsessed with money and power? Thinking back to the hearing, she questioned just how much she knew about the FDA. Her mind raced with ideas.
Silence Her Page 6