Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  Actually, they were potent enough to work on a charging rhino.

  Long shadows came in through the windows and reached across the roo m l ike giant fingers readying to close. Sara sat in a wooden chair at th e s ide of Michael's bed, her hand clutching his. Even in the poor lightin g h arvey could see anguish tightening the skin around Sara's cheekbones.

  Her lips quivered as though from cold, her eyes were moist. She had no t y et acknowledged his presence, though she surely must have heard hi m o pen the door. Instead, Sara continued to look down at her sleepin g h usband. Harvey wondered if she was lost in her own thoughts or if sh e h ad simply chosen to ignore him.

  Probably a little of both.

  He looked again at the figure hunched over the bed. They were confident , at least, that Sara's HFV test would come back negative. She had alread y t aken the test less than a month ago as part of her research for a stor y o n AIDS testing at the New York Herald and it had been negative. Whil e t he virus was known to remain dormant for many years, it was stil l e ncouraging news for Michael and Sara and the unborn infant.

  Harvey turned away from the pitiful sight and let the door close. He k new Sara was going through hell right now, worse even than Michael.

  Standing aside and watching helplessly while a loved one suffered wa s o ften more difficult than the simpler task of suffering through th e p hysical trauma. Harvey wished he could help. He wished that he coul d t ake Michael's place, that it was he rather then Michael who had to bea r t his great burden.

  I But of course that was impossible.

  | Cruel as it seemed, Michael and Sara would have to go through thi s o rdeal alone. Crueler still, Harvey knew, was that he saw the possibl e b enefits from Michael's situation. When Harvey considered the positiv e i mplications for AIDS patients generally and the clinic specifically th e h ope, the finances, the !j publicity he could not help but hope Michae l w ould go public with his illness. Awful as it might seem, he realize d t hat Michael's diagnosis could in the long run save thousands of lives.

  Michael could do for AIDS what no one since Rock Hudson or Ryan White I h ad done bring it home to the public, make it real, change th e p erspective of thousands, perhaps millions of people.

  And that was why Sara was angry with him. Harvey had really not sai d v ery much, but his feelings on the matter were clear. Michael had bee n h anded a responsibility that was bigger than all of them. A rar e o pportunity to do good had been thrust upon him. He could not just tos s i t away. And Sara saw that.

  In her heart she knew what would have to be. But right now Sara's 4

  mind was too clouded by her pain for her to see what was so clear. Tha t w as certainly understandable. Right now the rest of the world did no t m atter to her. Only Michael mattered. Protecting him.

  So steam would eventually have to be blown off. The hurt would have t o r un its course before they could all look at things rationally, calmly.

  But not tonight. Tonight they needed to be left alone to ponder thei r f ate. Saving lives could wait for another sunrise.

  Harvey moved down the hallway in the direction of the clinic's l aboratory. The night was absolutely still now. Harvey could only hea r t wo noises: the heals of his shoes clacking against the cool tile an d a nd the rustling noise coming from behind the lab door.

  He froze. Winston and Eric had sealed all experiments and locked the la b d oor three hours ago. No one else had a key. And no one was supposed t o b e in there.

  Don't panic. Maybe one of them came back to do a little extra work.

  It wouldn't be the first time.

  That was certainly true. Harvey slid closer to the door. The door's w indow had a shade pulled over it so he could not peer in. Instead, h e p ressed his ear against the pane. It felt cold to the touch. He l istened. Nothing. The lab was quiet. He closed his eyes, straining t o h ear.

  The rustling sound started up again.

  Okay, no problem. It's just Winston or Eric. I'll just turn the knob , open the door and ... His head hurt like a bastard now; the pounding i n h is forehead was almost audible. Harvey reached for the knob, graspe d i t, and turned.

  The door was locked. An icy coldness glided through him. His hand fle w a way from the door. The lab door was never locked when someone wa s i nside. Never. He tried to peer into the room through the tiny crac k w here the shade did not cover when he realized something that twiste d h is stomach. He looked down by the floor to confirm his fears.

  No lights.

  There were no streams of light coming through the shade opening or fro m u nder the door. The lights in the lab were off.

  What kind of scientist works in the dark?

  Seeing-eye scientists? Scientists with infrared glasses?

  Sweat popped onto his forehead.

  It still might be nothing. It still might be ... Might be what?

  He had no answer to stave off his mounting panic. Acting withou t c onscious thought, Harvey's hand reached into his pocket for the key t o t he lab. He took it out and moved it toward the lock. From behind th e d oor, Harvey heard a file drawer slam shut.

  He swallowed in a deep breath, slid the key into the hole, and flun g o pen the door.

  The room was dark, the dim hall lights providing only a modicum o f i llumination. Harvey thought he saw a movement in the corner of his eye.

  He spun toward it, but there was nothing.

  Could have been just his imagination. His hand reached out blindly , finding the light switch and flicking it up. The lights came on, th e s udden brightness startling him.

  At first he saw nothing unusual. The lab was neat, tidy. No loose paper s w ere visible. The microscopes were covered with plastic. The test tube s s ealed. Only one thing looked different and that one thing made Harvey's e yes widen. Suddenly Harvey forgot about things like caution an d w ariness. Gone were the worries that a dangerous prowler might still b e i n the lab, hiding, preparing to pounce. He stepped forward, concerne d s olely for the welfare of what lay beyond the jimmied lock on the othe r s ide of the room.

  That was a mistake.

  Without warning, something heavy slammed against the base of Harvey's n eck. His body pitched forward. Sharp slivers of pain and numbnes s e rupted throughout his skull. Harvey grasped his head between both hand s a s he folded at the waist and fell to the floor. His eyes closed.

  Jennifer had a light dinner by herself, caught the latest Woody Alie n m ovie at the Qneplex, one of those movie theaters that seemed to hav e m ore screens than clients, and arrived back at the house a little pas t m idnight. She tossed the little airline bag filled with the content s f rom Bruce's post office box onto the couch and collapsed beside it.

  For a few moments she did nothing other than stare at the Sabena Worl d a irways logo on the flight bag.

  Her mind traveled back ten years ten years since she and Harvey ha d f lown on Sabena to Brussels to begin a European odyssey through Belgium , France, and Holland. First class. Champagne and caviar on board. What a m agnificent trip. Alas, it had been the last vacation she had convince d h arvey to take. He, in truth, had not enjoyed himself. Relaxing , sightseeing, eating gourmet, being pampered in fine hotels that was jus t n ot for him.

  The stupid fool.

  All right, so she was bitter. She had a right to be. She had love d h arvey. Still did. But the man did not know how to live.

  Oh sure, he could be funny and seemingly carefree and he was a far cr y f rom some sort of bookworm, but he was obsessed with his work. Wit h s aving the world. Yes, she had married a dreamer and that had been grea t w hile they were courting. It had been romantic, even gothic. But it ha d w orn on her after a while. His selflessness began to eat away at he r l ust for life, leaving her with little more than self-pity.

  The stupid fool.

  Bruce Grey had been dedicated too, but the man understood that ther e w ere limits. He was not nearly as naive and foolhardy as Harvey. Bruc e s aw reality. He knew that the two of them could not stop t
he mas s s uffering, only alleviate it a little. That was all a person could b e e xpected to do. For Bruce, that had been enough. But not for Harve y j ennifer sat up suddenly. The manila envelope. The one Bruce ha d a ddressed to himself the day he died. She had not yet opened it. Sh e s lid over toward the Sabena flight bag, grabbed it, and rummaged throug h t he horde of envelopes. It did not take her long to locate the packet i n q uestion. It was the thickest and heaviest by far. She extracted it fro m t he bag and laid it on her lap. Bruce's name and address were clearl y w ritten in his own handwriting. So strange.

  She walked over to the desk, took hold of the letter opener, and slice d o pen the envelope. Numerous papers, tubular styrofoam containers, an d w hat looked like files streamed out like candy from a broken pinata.

  With a sigh, Jennifer began to read them.

  "Owww."

  "Harvey?"

  "My head," Harvey groaned.

  "Harvey, can you hear me?" Sara asked.

  Harvey's eyes opened slightly. The lights seemed particularly bright , pricking his eyes. He closed them, shaded them with his hand, and trie d a gain.

  "Harvey?"

  "Yeah, Sara, I can hear you. Where am I?"

  "You're still at the clinic."

  "How long have I been out?"

  "I found you half an hour ago," Sara replied.

  His vision focused in on two faces. One beautiful, the other thin with a m ustache and long nose.

  "Lieutenant Bernstein?"

  Max nodded.

  "Sara called me. Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, fine."

  "Can you tell me what happened?"

  Harvey tried to clear his head.

  "In the lab," he began slowly.

  "Someone was in the lab." Sara said, "I caught a glimpse of someon e r unning down the hall, but I couldn't see the face."

  "Whoever it was," Harvey managed, "hit me over the head."

  "Why don't we start at the beginning, okay?" Bernstein suggested, takin g o ut his pad and pencil.

  "Tell us what happened." Slowly, Harvey told them what had occurred fro m t he moment he heard the noise in the lab until he was knocke d u nconscious. When he finished, Lieutenant Bernstein stopped pacing an d a sked, "So what was he after?

  What was so precious that you forgot a prowler was in the room?"

  "My private files."

  "Your what?"

  "My private files. I keep them locked in there."

  "You don't keep them in your office?"

  "No. The lock and security around the lab is supposed to be much tighte r t han in my office. And the information I keep in those private files i s u sually derived from lab results. We all kept our private files in th e l ab."

  Bernstein stared at his pad intensely.

  "You keep saying 'private' files. What do you mean by that?"

  "They contain personal information professional secrets, if you will."

  "What kind of secrets?"

  "Different things. Results from experiments, stuff like that."

  "What kind of experiments?"

  Harvey lay back down.

  "Personal ones," he replied.

  "You see, it pays to work closely with partners and to share all you r f indings, no question about it, but sometimes you need to work i n p rivate alone and without any outside interference and suggestions.

  It's often the best way to make headway the one man working in solitud e k ind of thing. We understood and respected each other's private work."

  "Who is 'we'?"

  "Bruce, Eric, and myself."

  Bernstein nodded, circling to the other side of the bed and then bac k a gain.

  "Did Bruce Grey have private files?"

  "Of course."

  "Have you gone through them since his death?"

  "Yes."

  "Was there anything surprising in them?"

  Harvey hesitated.

  "Not really."

  "What do you mean, not really?"

  "I mean there were no major breakthroughs or anything like that. Bruc e w asn't very big on independent research ..." He paused.

  "It might be nothing."

  Bernstein leaned over the bed.

  "Go on."

  "Well, several of his important files were missing."

  "What sort of files?"

  "Patient files. Trian and Whitherson's, to name two."

  "How about Bradley Jenkins'?"

  "That one is still there."

  Max stood back up, walked to the door, fiddled with the knob.

  "I'd like you to give me a complete list of the missing files, and I a lso want to go through Grey's entire file cabinet as soon as possible."

  Harvey nodded.

  "I suspected as much. But do me a favor, Lieutenant. Don't let anyon e e lse go through them. The information in those files is confidential an d m ust remain so."

  "I don't understand something," Sara interjected.

  "Why would routine patient files be locked up with the private files?"

  "There is no such thing as routine patient files in here," Harve y e xplained.

  "Everything in here is confidential. We use codes here, never names, s o t hat no one lab technicians, nurses, orderlies knows a patient's name.

  We often keep patients secluded from one another. Except for roommates , patients never see or get to know one another."

  "Did Whitherson, Trian, or Jenkins know each other?"

  Bernstein asked.

  "No." "What happens when visitors come by?" Sara asked.

  "Won't they see the other patients on the floor?"

  Harvey shook his head.

  "This whole place is compartmentalized. First floor is offices an d v isiting rooms we wheel the patients into private rooms so that th e v isitors never enter the actual patients' ward, which is on the secon d f loor."

  "Sounds like prison visiting hours," Max added.

  "The situation is similar," Harvey agreed.

  "The key thing to remember is that visitors never go into a patient's r oom."

  Bernstein scratched his smooth right cheek hard, like a dog with a ti c n ear his ear.

  "Okay, so let me get this straight. The first floor has offices an d v isiting rooms. The second floor is the patients' ward. The third floo r h as the lab."

  Harvey shot a quick glance toward Sara.

  "And highly confidential patients are also kept on the third floor," h e s aid.

  "We normally keep no more than one or two patients up here."

  "Was Bradley Jenkins one such patient?"

  "Yes."

  "Interesting." Max put his pencil into his mouth and looked up at th e c eiling.

  "So the prowler may have been trying to find out names of patients o r t he prognosis of a patient."

  Harvey sat up.

  "Could have been," he said, swinging his feet onto the floor.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I have to check my files." "Wait a second," Max said, snapping hi s f ingers.

  "Was there any patient recently admitted? Was there anybody whos e i dentity you wanted to keep confidential?"

  Harvey stopped.

  "You can tell him," Sara said.

  "Tell me what?"

  It was Sara who responded.

  "Michael was admitted today.

  He has AIDS."

  Not too far from where Sara, Max, and Harvey were talking, Janic e m atley, the Sidney Pavilion's most trusted nurse, knew something wa s w rong the moment she opened the door. She sensed it. There was somethin g a bout the stillness of the bed, the way the sheet was twisted around th e b ody, the way the head lolled limply off the pillow. Janice felt a c reeping dread in the pit of her stomach.

  She knew.

  Janice Matley was a heavy-set black woman in her mid-fifties.

  She had been a nurse for the better part of thirty years and had worke d f or Dr. Riker and Dr. Grey for the past decade. She had been crushe d w hen Dr. Grey committed suicide, abso
lutely devastated. Such a lovel y m an, poor thing. And a great doctor.

  He and Dr. Riker had been perfect partners, complimenting one anothe r l ike no other two men could. Dr. Grey was the heart, the team player , the one with the good bedside manner, the one who felt for ever y p atient. Dr. Riker was the brains, the leader, the drive, the one wh o w ould do what had to be done and blind himself to the personal price.

  And Dr. Eric Blake? Janice was not sure where she would place him. He w as a bit of a paradox, that one. He too was dedicated, spending all hi s t ime in the clinic like Dr. Riker, but somehow he seemed distant, aloof.

  Oh, he cared about his patients immensely and Janice knew that Dr. Blak e w ould follow Dr. Riker to the end of the earth and back, but he stil l s eemed so ... unfeeling. Maybe that wasn't fair. Just because she coul d n ot warm up to him did not mean he was not a nice man. He was a fin e p erson, a fine doctor, and smart as they come. His patients an d c olleagues respected him greatly. He just wasn't.. warm, that's all.

  Janice stepped toward the patient with the blank facial expression of a n e xperienced nurse. Inside, she could feel something tremble. She reache d t he bed and flicked on the reading lamp. Her knees went wobbly. Th e p atient's eyes, glassy and uncomprehending, looked straight through her.

  His lips were parted and frozen. His arms felt almost brittle, like th e b ranches on an old tree that would break rather then bend.

  Janice ran for the door.

  Max stared at Sara.

  "Michael has AIDS?"

  She nodded.

  He collapsed into a chair.

  "I don't know what to say, Sara." "He'll be fine," Sara said firmly.

  He nodded, unsure what to say next.

  "Who knows about Michael's condition?"

  "Aside from us," Harvey replied, "just Eric and maybe one of th e h ospital nurses."

  "Maybe?"

  "There is a good chance that the nurse might recognize his face."

  "Who's the nurse?"

  "Her name is Janice Matley."

  "You trust her?"

  "Completely."

  He shook his head.

  "I don't care how much security you have around here, there is no wa y y ou're going to be able to keep this a secret." "We know that," Sar a s aid.

  "Michael has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow evening. It'll b e c overed live on News Flas h b ernstein's eyes squinted into small slits.