Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  Thousands of living, breathing human beings are dying horrible death s f rom AIDS." "I know that," Lowell said, "and Lord knows, I hope thos e b oys are cured. But the money being spent on AIDS is outrageous whe n s elf-control will stop its spread."

  Harvey shook his head. "You're just plain wrong, Dr. Lowell eve n e conomically speaking. Do you know how much AIDS is ultimately going t o c ost us if we don't find a cure for it? Do you have any notion of th e e normous expense in treating AIDS patients?

  Every social and medical program will be drained.

  Whole cities will go bankrupt from the medical bills."

  "The patients should foot the bill themselves," Lowell replied.

  "There are other priorities, other ways the board could have spent tha t m oney." His voice began to crack and Sara knew what was coming next.

  She closed her eyes and waited.

  "I watched cancer kill my wife," he continued.

  "I watched it eat away at my Erin until ..." He stopped then, his hea d l owered, his face anguished.

  "And your commitment is admirable," Harvey replied.

  "I however, never got the chance to see my brother die. Sidney suffere d a lone while lesions and infections engulfed and destroyed his body. He w as shunned, made an outcast by his own family including me. Most o f t hese young men boys in their twenties and thirties, for chrissake di e t he death of a leper.

  If this disease had hit any other segment of the population, th e g overnment would have reacted quickly and with lots of money.

  But everyone thought it was merely a 'fag' disease, and who cares abou t a bunch of fags anyway?"

  "They should have shown some self-control."

  Harvey shook his head.

  "You can't play God, Dr. Lowell.

  While part of me agrees with your harsh statements on cigarette smoking , I have to ask you, sir, where do you draw the line?

  Should thin people get priority over obese? Should people who ignor e t heir doctor's warning about high cholesterol be told that they aske d f or their heart attack? Where do you draw the line, Dr. Lowell? And wh o g ets to play God?"

  John Lowell opened his mouth to continue the argument, then closed it.

  His face was etched in exhaustion.

  "The sad fact is that resources are limited. That means that toug h c hoices have to be made."

  "And who is going to make those choices, Dr. Lowell?"

  John waved his hand as though dismissing the question. His voice took o n a nervous, shaky edge.

  "Enough of this now," he said.

  "I want to hear about Michael's condition."

  Police Lieutenant Max "Twitch" Bernstein hated New York in the summer.

  Too damn hot for a human to be in the city this time of the year. No t t hat Max knew anything else. He had been born and raised in Manhattan , went to college at New York University in Manhattan, lived with Lenny i n m anhattan, worked as a cop in Manhattan. Homicide. Business was alway s g ood when you worked homicides in a place like Manhattan, but in th e s ummer the whackos really came out of the woodwork.

  Max parked his unmarked Chevy Caprice squad car (unmarked, his ass lik e a criminal wouldn't know it was a cop's car in a glance) and move d t oward the police barriers. He did not look like a homicide detective.

  He was too young, his hair too long and curly, his mustache too bushy , his nose and face just a little too long and thin. Actually, he looke d m ore like he should be delivering pizzas than chasing killers.

  He walked to the side of the building with a sign above the door tha t r ead "Black Magic Bar and Grill." Max had visited the Black Magic in mor e l iberated, fun-loving days when it was called the Butt Seriously.

  More than once, actually. Always in disguise.

  Used an alias too.

  He flashed his badge at a couple of uniforms and proceeded down th e a lleyway. Sergeant WUlie Monticelli greeted him.

  "How's it going, Twitch?" Willie asked.

  Bernstein did not care much for his nickname. First of all he did no t h ave a twitch. Yes, he fidgeted a lot, gestured wildly, bit hi s f ingernails past the cuticles, played with anything he could get hi s h ands on, blinked too much, never sat or stood still. Sure, everybod y w as always asking him when he had quit chain smoking.

  But there was definitely no twitch.

  "Better before I got this call," he replied.

  "Looks like you put on a little weight, Willie."

  Monticelli patted his stomach.

  "Nice to meet someone who's not all caught up in the diet craze, huh?"

  "Great." Bernstein took out his pencil, put it in his mouth, and chewed.

  It already looked like a much-used dog toy.

  "What's the story here?"

  "A garbage man found him half an hour ago. Wanna take a look?"

  Already feeling his stomach churn, Max nodded and bit down harder on th e p encil. He hated this part.

  "Have to. It's why I'm paid the big bucks."

  "Yeah, I can tell by your fancy set of wheels."

  Willie walked over to the still form sprawled in the garbage.

  He pulled the sheet back. Max swallowed away his nausea. Then he ben t d own and examined the mess that was once a living man.

  "Jesus."

  "Looks like the Gay Slasher is back," Willie said.

  "Same M. O.

  as the other two." "With one noticeable difference," Max said almos t u nder his breath.

  "And don't call him that, Willie. The press will dive all over it."

  "They're gonna dive anyway."

  "They ignored the first two victims," Max noted.

  "They won't ignore this one."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Do you know who this is?"

  Bernstein looked down at the disfigured face and then up at Willie.

  "His mother wouldn't recognize him."

  "You're not going to like it."

  "I never do."

  "According to his wallet, his name is Bradley Jenkins. I checked hi m o ut. His father is "

  "A U. S. Senator, I know." Max closed his eyes and turned away. He s troked his mustache.

  "Right. Bradley lives on 12th Street. His father and mother have a hous e i n the Hamptons. Weird, huh? Senator from Arkansas who vacations on Lon g i sland?"

  "Senator Jenkins has been living in the Northeast since he began goin g t o school here as a boy," Max explained.

  "I doubt the guy has spent five straight days in Arkansas, except durin g e lection campaigns."

  "How do you know so much about it?"

  Max's hand ran through his thick, dark curly hair several times.

  "First of all, he's the Senate Minority Leader. Second, I read a n ewspaper now and again."

  "And third?"

  "Bradley is a good friend of Sara Lowell's. I met him once."

  "Oh," Willie said.

  "That's too bad. Think Sara will handle the story? It'd be nice to hav e a member of the press on our side for this one."

  "I doubt it."

  "Yeah, she won't waste her time with us anymore. She's big time now.

  You see her on TV last night?"

  Max nodded, pacing rapidly back and forth but traveling no more tha n f ive feet in any direction.

  "You got today's Herald in your car?"

  "Sure. Why?"

  "Get it. I want to show you something."

  Willie fetched the paper and handed it to Bernstein. Bernstein grabbe d i t and thumbed through the pages quickly, ripping several as he wen t a long.

  "Whoa, Twitch, slow down a minute."

  "It's right here ..."

  "what's right here?" Willie asked.

  Bernstein continued to rifle through the paper, the pencil still in hi s m outh.

  "Did you read the society pages today?"

  "Shit, no, I don't read that crap. But I did check out the box scores ."

  "That should be a big help," Max said. He turned a few more pages
, hi s r ight foot tapping the pavement impatiently.

  "Bingo," he said at last.

  "Take a look at this."

  Willie looked over Max's shoulder. A page of photographs showed th e w ell-dressed people who had attended Dr. John Lowell's charity ball th e p revious evening. Max pointed to the picture in the upper right-han d c orner.

  "There."

  "Shit on a stick," Willie whispered.

  The caption read: The luminous Sara Lowell enjoys the festivities afte r h er triumphant News Flash debut with (right) her handsome hubby an d k nick superstar Michael Silverman and (left) Senator Stephen Jenkins'

  dashing son, Bradley.

  "It's him," Willie exclaimed, pointing to the photograph.

  "It's Bradley Jenkins."

  "Correct."

  "Not much resemblance now. Maybe a little around the ears."

  "Very funny."

  "God, I hate these big cases," Willie said.

  "Mayor'll be calling all the time. Everybody wanting answers."

  "We might as well get started then. I want you to check th e n eighborhood. See if anybody saw anything."

  "Sure thing. Someone must have heard something screams or a struggle o r s omething."

  Bernstein shook his head.

  "I don't think the murder took place here."

  "What do you mean?" "Take a look at the corpse," he continued.

  "Bradley Jenkins has been dead since last night, right?"

  "Looks like it."

  "But at night this alley is packed with patrons of the Black Magic."

  "Patrons. Is that what they call them now?"

  Bernstein greeted the remark with a hint of a smile, oh, Willie, if yo u o nly knew.. "Someone would have seen the murder if it happened back her e l ast night. And there's blood only on the body none in the area.

  If he had been stabbed a zillion times back here, the alley would hav e b een sprayed with blood. No, I think Jenkins was killed somewhere els e a nd his body was dumped here. That's where the M. O. is different. Th e b ody was moved this time."

  Willie followed his young lieutenant's pacing, his head shifting bac k a nd forth as if he were watching a tennis match.

  "Makes no sense, Twitch. There's a lot of places less risky to get ri d o f a body. Why here?"

  "Don't know."

  "You want me to find out if Bradley was gay?"

  Max felt a powerful headache coming on and began to massage his temple s w ith his fingertips. The son of a prominent, conservative senator foun d w ith multiple knife wounds behind a gay bar Tylenol wouldn't put a den t i n this one.

  "No need," Bernstein said. ""I'll get the personal info from Sara."

  "Send my condolences."

  "Will do. I want the lab over every inch of this alley and I want thi s n eighborhood canvassed. Ask if they saw anything out of the ordinar y l ast night or this morning."

  "Gotcha. Oh, one more thing."

  "What?"

  "Good luck with the press, those bastards. Next thing you know well hav e e very loony in the area confessing or copy catting the son of a bitch."

  Max nodded and clenched his teeth. The pencil in his mouth snapped int o t wo jagged pieces, nearly cutting his gums.

  It was going to be a bad week.

  Chapter 6.

  "How are you feeling?" Sara asked Michael for the twentieth time.

  "Fine," he replied.

  "Ask again and I'm going to scream."

  "I'm just concerned."

  "Then do something constructive," Michael said.

  "Like?"

  "Like lock the door and get naked."

  "I stepped into that one, didn't I?"

  Michael nodded.

  A woman's voice from behind them said, "Hello, Sara."

  They both looked toward the entranceway where Dr. Carol Simpson no w s tood. Chopin's Concerto in D minor played from the small CD playe r b eside Michael's bed. Reece, of all people, had fetched it from th e k nick locker room at Madison Square Garden and brought it to th e h ospital, claiming, "This shit makes me sick, but it might be just wha t o f' Mikey needs." "Michael," Sara said, "this is Dr. Simpson, th e o bstetrician I was telling you about." "Nice to meet you, Michael,"

  Carol Simpson said.

  "Nice meeting you." "I heard you'd been rushed in," she continued.

  "How are you feeling?" "Better, thanks," he said.

  "Good," she replied.

  "Since I knew you were both here, I thought I'd stop by personally t o d eliver the news."

  Michael sat up. His lips felt dry. He tried to wet them with his tongue , but there was no moisture there either.

  "News?" he asked.

  "Yes. I have the results of Sara's test."

  "And?" Sara prompted.

  Carol Simpson stuck out her hand.

  "Congratulations. You're pregnant."

  Sara's hands fluttered toward her mouth. "You're sure?"

  "Positive. About two months, I'd say."

  Sara turned toward Michael.

  "Did you hear that, hon?"

  Michael nodded, not yet able to speak.

  "Forgive me, Doctor," he managed.

  "It's just ..."

  "No need to apologize. It's nice to see."

  Sara wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, smothering hi m a gainst her chest.

  "Well," Dr. Simpson said, "I have to be going back. Sara, want you t o s top by and see me tomorrow morning, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Michael pulled away.

  "Thanks, Doc."

  "Take care of yourself, Michael. Congratulations again."

  She left them alone.

  Michael smiled.

  "Do I have to start calling you Mommy soon?"

  She nodded.

  "And I get to call you Dad."

  "Even in bed?"

  "No. There I can still call you by your name."

  "Hung Stallion?"

  "Dream on."

  "God, I can't believe it. We're going to be parents, Sara. You, me, an d b aby makes three."

  They kissed.

  "I love you, Michael."

  "I love you too," he said, rubbing her still-firm stomach.

  "Both of you."

  As they kissed again, the phone rang. Michael reluctantly reached over , picked up the receiver, and said hello. After a brief pause he handed i t t o Sara.

  "It's for you," he said.

  "Who is it?"

  He shrugged.

  "Don't know."

  Sara put the phone to her ear. A nasal, female voice said, "Please hol d w hile I connect you."

  There was one ring before the phone was picked up.

  "Sara?"

  "Max?"

  "Jeez, you weren't easy to find. Took me over an hour to track you down.

  How Ve you been?"

  "Never better."

  "Glad to hear it."

  She could almost see him chewing on his nails as he spoke.

  "This isn't a social call, is it, Max?"

  "No, it's not."

  "So what's up?"

  Max Bernstein let go a long breath.

  "Bradley Jenkins was murdered. I need to talk to you right away."

  They met half an hour later in a quiet corner in the hospital cafeteria.

  After a quick greeting Max said, "Everything we say here is confidentia l a nd off the record, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Let me ask you something right off the top." "Go ahead," Sara said.

  "Was Bradley Jenkins gay?"

  "Yes."

  Max had expected that answer. He nodded, his curly dark hair swayin g w ith the movement. He put a fresh pencil into his mouth and began t o c hew. Then he crossed his right leg over his left, ran his hand throug h h is curls, put his feet back on the floor, and then crossed his left le g o ver his right.

  Bernstein was thirty-two years old, but he looked a good five year s y ounger. Sara knew the police department for that matter the world
a t l arge considered Twitch Bernstein a bit of an enigma. Despite bein g h omicide's number one lieutenant, he had no love of danger. He hate d c arrying a gun and had never used one in the line of duty. He was barel y a dequate with his fists, did not consider himself particularly brave , and tried to avoid violence whenever possible.

  What he did like, however, was solving puzzles the bigger, the better.

  And he was good at it. Damn good. No one knew for sure just how he di d i t, but Bernstein had the rare ability to plod and putter and shift an d u nnerve and fidget his way to the answer.

  "My turn to ask a question," Sara said.

  "What happened to Bradley and why did you want to know if he was gay?"

  "That's two questions."

  "Max ..." "Just trying to keep things light," Bernstein said.

  "We found his body this morning behind a gay bar in the Village."

  "Jesus."

  "The autopsy is not in yet, but we're sure he died from multiple sta b w ounds. We think.. Sara, are you all right?"

  Sara's eyes were wide, her face shockingly pale.

  "Have there been other murders?" she uttered.

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Don't play with me, Max."

  "We may have a serial killer on our hands," he said.

  "I wasn't involved in the investigation of the first two cases, but tw o o ther men were killed in the same grisly way. We suspect that the sam e p erson committed all three murders."

  "And why did you ask if Bradley was gay?"

  "Because the other two victims were. The killer may be targeting the ga y c ommunity. Now it's my turn. How did you know that there were othe r v ictims?"

  "I assume you've met Dr. Harvey Riker," she began.

  "Sure."

  "You know that he is operating an AIDS clinic in here?"

  He shrugged.

  "So?"

  "The first two victims what were their names?"

  "Bill Whitherson and Scott Trian."

  "Right. They were part of a select group of AIDS patients who were bein g t reated in this clinic. It should be in your files."

  Bernstein's leg began to shake.

  "To be honest I haven't had a chance to go through them thoroughly yet.

  I just got the case an hour ago." "Anyway, Harvey told me about it las t n ight. That's how I knew."

  "An obvious question was Bradley being treated here too?"

  Sara lifted the coffee cup to her lips and took a sip.