Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  Why leave your son without a father?

  Susan had already asked herself those questions a million times, an d t here had been no answer. She guessed that she would never know, tha t o ne day she would stop asking herself and move on with her life.

  Why ...?

  They entered the apartment.

  "Jennifer?" Susan called out.

  "Susan? Is that you?"

  "We came home a little early," Susan called back.

  "The woods were starting to get to us. Anything new in the civilize d w orld?"

  Jennifer did not answer. Instead, she came out of the kitchen and face d t hem both. Susan was taken aback by her sister's appearance.

  Jennifer's face was ashen, her eyes deep dark circles that looked a s t hough they had not closed for weeks. Her body looked frail, her postur e s lumped.

  In her left hand she held a white envelope.

  "Jen ... T' Jennifer handed Susan the envelope.

  "This," she began, "came for you."

  Susan took the note from her sister. She had to bite back a scream whe n s he recognized the handwriting.

  Chapter 23.

  I will kill both of them in the lab.

  I wish there were another way. I am not a killer. I do not enjoy it.

  I loathe it. I fear it. And yet what choice do I have?

  None.

  My hands can't stop shaking. Everything has gone so awry. My plan shoul d h ave been simple and precise. But I got fancy. I went overboard. Gettin g m ichael involved was necessary, but I should have seen the possibl e p roblems. Now I have my back against the wall and there is only on e t hing I can do.

  Kill again.

  I feel nauseous, but I know what must be done. There is no turning bac k n ow. I have to go on. Two more lives the lives of a doctor and a b eautiful woman must be sacrificed too. Then everything will settl e d own. Everything will fall back into place.

  I must remain focused. I must remember why I am doing this. I must ri d m yself of sentimentality. It is hard, but I will have to perform thes e d eeds myself. There is no George Camron to do the work for me this time.

  On my own hands will be the blood of the innocent man, the innocen t w oman, and the child within her womb.

  Stop it!

  I must think of the positive, of my goal, of my dream. And for Sar a l owell it may be for the best. Once Sara Lowell is dead, she mil know n o m ore pain. I can take some solace in that. Sara Lowell is strong and ha s o vercome obstacles before. But she has never faced an agony like the on e t hat awaits her.

  You see, I never wanted to kill any innocent people. But look at th e l ist of names: Bruce Grey ... Janice Matley ... Michael Silverman ... And now I have t o a dd two more names.

  When they get to the lab.

  Sara knocked.

  "Come in," Harvey called out.

  Sara opened the door and stepped into the office. Again, she was greete d w ith Harvey's tired smile.

  "Hi, Sara. Hear anything from Lieutenant Bernstein?"

  "Not yet. I got your message on my machine."

  "Good."

  "I guess you were calling about Bruce's package."

  He nodded.

  "Jen told you about it?"

  "I spoke to her an hour ago," she replied.

  "Did you get it yet?"

  "It came in this morning."

  "And?"

  Harvey took a deep breath.

  "I don't know yet, Sara. I've been going through the files for hours no w a nd I still don't know what to think."

  "Can I take a look?"

  "Be my guest." He handed her a stack of files from the top of his desk.

  "These are all the files from Bruce's package. Six of them."

  "The six cured patients?"

  He nodded.

  "There were also six styrofoam containers, each containing two vials o f a patient's blood. One vial was labeled A, the other B."

  Her eyes scanned Trian's file and then Whitherson's.

  "What's this last entry mean?"

  "You mean that "DNA. A vs. B'? I found that puzzling too."

  She flipped to the back of all six files.

  "It's the last entry in all six files."

  "I know. I am not sure of the significance. It is all very strange.

  I assume the A and B stand for the blood vials. But I canft imagine wha t d NA has to do with them."

  Sara sat back and closed her eyes. DNA. A memory came to her like a d eep, hard punch. She sprang forward suddenly, nearly shouting.

  "Do you remember the Betsy Jackson murder case a couple of years ago?"

  "The one where the husband murdered his wife with the butcher knife?"

  She nodded.

  "The case drew nationwide attention because of its use of DNA testing.

  B negative blood was found at the scene the same blood type as Bets y j ackson's husband, Kevin.

  But Kevin Jackson's attorneys claimed that many people had B negativ e b lood and thus the evidence meant nothing." "I remember it now," Harve y s aid.

  "Didn't the DNA test prove that the blood found at the scene was a p erfect match with Kevin Jackson's?"

  "Yes. When Jackson's attorney tried to question the validity of th e t est, the prosecution came back with evidence that proved DNA testin g w as 99.7 percent accurate."

  "So what does this have to do with Bruce Grey?"

  "Suppose," she continued, "that Bruce wanted to compare the two bloo d s amples from the same patient and see if they matched."

  "Why?" "I don't know," she said.

  "Maybe he had some reason to believe that the blood in the vials labele d a would not match the blood in the vials labeled B. Maybe he though t t hat someone had tampered "

  "Whoa, slow down a minute, Sara. I explained to you and Lieutenan t b ernstein that there were always two of us handling the blood. It woul d b e impossible to tamper with the blood samples."

  "But there is something else to consider," Sara said.

  "Eric took blood from Michael without your knowledge."

  "So?"

  "So he could have done it other times. Bruce could have done it too."

  "To what end?"

  "I'm not sure, but there has to be a connection here somehow.

  First, Bruce sends himself blood samples with instructions about DNA t esting. Then Eric takes a blood sample from Michael in direct defranc e o f your rules."

  "So? You're not suggesting that Eric is somehow involved in all of this , are you?"

  "I am not suggesting anything," Sara said.

  "The only way to know for sure is to run a DNA test on the bloo d s amples. Where are they now?"

  "The blood specimens? They're in the lab."

  "Doesn't Eric have a key to the lab?"

  "Of course."

  Sara felt something cold prick at the base of her neck. Her voic e s ounded distant, hollow.

  "Is Eric at the clinic right now?"

  "Yes."

  "You saw him?"

  "A little while ago. Why?"

  She swallowed.

  "Did you ask him why he took Michael's blood without your authority?"

  "He said he needed it for treatment verification, that's all."

  "And you believed him?"

  Harvey looked at her.

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "Has Eric ever done anything like this before?"

  Pause.

  "No," Harvey said slowly.

  "Never."

  She stood.

  "We have to get to the lab."

  "Why?"

  "Eric could be in there destroying the evidence."

  "Evidence? Sara, what are you talking about?"

  "The blood samples," she urged.

  "Why would Bruce have mailed them out hours before he was killed unles s t hey were important? Harvey, listen to me: somebody murdered Bruce t o g et that package."

  Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it.

  "Damn!" He s
tood and ran toward the door.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  Harvey stopped, turned, and told her the awful truth.

  "Eric is in the lab right now."

  Ralph Edmund was standing over a corpse, biting down on a souvlaki, whe n m ax stumbled into the morgue.

  "Willie said you wanted to speak with me?"

  Ralph looked up. The juices from the souvlaki spilled out of the pit a b read, down his gloved hands and onto his arms.

  "Hand me a napkin, will ya, Twitch?"

  "Where are they?"

  He signaled with his elbow, trying to hold back the gushing souvlaki.

  "Over there. Bottom drawer. Hurry before this shit falls into this guy's i ntestines."

  Max fetched the napkins and brought them to Ralph, his eyes averted fro m t he still form on the table. Max was not good with corpses, and dow n h ere a casual glance was always an unpleasant surprise. An acciden t v ictim with no face. A homeless man found gnawed on by rats.

  An infant who had fallen from a fourth floor window.

  "Here, hold this."

  Ralph Edmund handed the souvlaki to Max and took hold of the napkins.

  "Look, Ralph-"

  "Hold up a sec." Ralph wiped his hands and forearms, changed gloves, an d t ook back the souvlaki.

  "There, thanks."

  Still fighting off the desire to look down at the corpse, Max said , "Willie told me you had the test results for Riccardo Martino?"

  Ralph took another bite and nodded.

  "When you first asked me to run the tests, I didn't understand th e r elevance. It was clear that Martino did not die of somethin g a IDS-related."

  "I know."

  "I mean, AIDS had absolutely nothing to do with the cause of death. Bu t t hen I saw that report on TV the other night the one that said Martin o a nd a couple of other guys with AIDS had become HIV negative and I go t t o thinking: Twitch is up to something."

  "Ralph, I don't have the time. Was Martino HIV negative, yes or no?"

  Ralph smiled.

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "As positive as Martino's HIV test. I ran two Western blots and tw o e LISAs just to be certain. If Martino had been cured of AIDS, his test s h ad a funny way of showing it. I also ran a test on his T cells and th e c ount was dangerously low."

  "Then you're saying "

  "Riccardo Martino had AIDS."

  Max felt his legs go weak.

  "Where's the phone?"

  "Over there."

  Max sprinted, picked up the receiver, dialed the safehouse, and waite d f or Doctor Zry to answer.

  Zry answered.

  "Hello?"

  "You get those HIV test results on Krutzer, Leander, and Singer yet?"

  Max asked.

  "Yeah, they check out."

  "All three of the patients are cured."

  "Yep. HIV negative."

  "You sure?"

  "Of course, I'm sure. Krutzer, Leander, and Singer have all been cure d o f AIDS. It's a miracle, Twitch."

  "How do they look to you?"

  "Healthy as can be. Just a few side effects from the SRI."

  Max hung up, his mind spinning. Fragments flew about his head, but fo r t he first time Max was able to reach out, grab them, sift through them , and piece the important ones together. The first three cured patients.

  The blood work. Grey's patients. Hiker's patients. Eric. Sanders.

  Sara's father. The Senator. Markey. The blood work, the damn blood work.

  Martino HIV positive. Krutzer, Leander, Singer HIV negative.

  The blood work.

  Max reviewed the medical histories. Then he took out the chart he ha d m ade on board the plane: Patient Original Blood Work Later Blood Work Trian, S. Grey Rike r w hitherson, W. Grey Riker Martino, R. Grey Riker Krutzer, Riker Gre y l eander, P. Riker Grey Singer, A. Riker Grey Patients who were admitte d a fter Eric Blake joined.

  Max put down the chart. He felt like he was trying to read a recor d w hile it spun on a turntable Michael as Markey's guinea pig. The nigh t m ichael was kidnapped. Sara and Reece seeing Eric Blake. Sara goin g u pstairs. Taking something for Eric. Almost ruining everything fo r g eorge and his employer. And George Camron said his payments came late , that he had finally been paid within the past few days ..."Oh no."

  Cold, dark fear rushed over him in high, crashing waves.

  Ralph took another bite.

  "This Gay Slasher thing keeps getting crazier and crazier, huh, Twitch?"

  Max shook his head slowly.

  "No, Ralph," he began.

  "For the first time, things are beginning to make sense."

  Ralph stuffed the rest of the souvlaki in his mouth and licked hi s f ingertips.

  "Do you know who killed these guys, Twitch?"

  Max nodded and ran for the door.

  "I do now."

  Sara's leg throbbed as she tried to hobble quickly after Harvey.

  Her heart fluttered wildly, as if a bird were trapped in her chest, bu t t he fluttering was more from fear than exertion. She glanced sideways a t h arvey. His face was set, his eyes straight and unwavering, his lip s t hin, his fists and jaw clenched.

  "Did you tell Eric about the package?" she asked.

  Harvey hesitated, then nodded.

  "He's supposed to be setting up some tests right now."

  With his words they both increased their speed. Sara struggled to kee p u p with him, changing her steady limp into an awkward sort of one-ste p h op.

  Harvey stopped in front of the lab door.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Fine."

  He nodded and reached for the knob. He tried to turn it.

  "Locked," he said.

  "Is that normal?"

  "Not if Eric is in the lab it's not."

  Harvey reached for his key, found it, and placed it in the lock.

  A moment later the door swung open with an unhappy creak.

  "Eric?" Harvey called out.

  No answer. The shades were pulled down, and the lights were out. The la b w as blanketed in darkness.

  Harvey flipped the light switch. The room was immediately illuminate d w ith bright fluorescent lights. He stepped toward a table in the corner.

  "Damn!"

  "What is it?"

  "The blood samples are gone. I left them right on the table."

  He checked under the counter and in the nearby vicinity. Nothing.

  "Check the refrigeration room in the corner," he said.

  "I'm going to look in Eric's private file cabinet." "I thought th e p rivate files were locked."

  "They are. I'm going to bust the damn thing open."

  Sara hobbled past several lab tables, past Bunsen burners, past tes t t ubes, past the large periodic chart on the wall, past tables an d a djustable stools, past countless charts and scraps of paper.

  The lab looked more like an eighth-grade science classroom than a n u ltramodern research center. Still, it had the feel of professionalism.

  Everything was spotlessly clean. The microscopes and other assorte d g adgets looked high-tech and expensive.

  When she reached the door to the refrigeration room, she turned aroun d f or a brief moment. Harvey had found a metal ruler and was working o n t he top drawer of Eric's file cabinet.

  She could hear him grunting from the effort. She turned back toward th e d oor. She hoped the blood samples were in the refrigeration room.

  She hoped that her suspicions about Eric were wrong, that he had no t d one anything wrong, that he was still their friend ... The door handl e w as cold. She gripped it with her fingers and pulled back. The suctio n g ave way and Sara was immediately greeted with a frosty breeze.

  Little pricks of terror began to rise on the base of her spine. Sh e p ulled the door all the way back, stepped into the doorway, and peere d i nside.

  Sara inhaled sharply but could not move.

  A scream built inside her throat, but only
a strange, unrecognizabl e s ound a grunt of some kind managed to push its way through her lips.

  She stared forward, her eyes wide and fixed.

  Eric Blake's bloody corpse lay twisted on the floor in front of her.

  Almost a full minute passed before she turned away from the dead bod y a nd looked toward Harvey. He looked back, pointing a gun at her. Ther e w as no surprise or panic in his face, just a look of exhaustion , aggravation, defeat the look of a man whose car had just blown a tire o n h is way to work. Harvey sighed heavily, closed the lab door behind him , and tried to smile.

  "I haven't had a chance to move him," he said by way of explanation.

  Chapter 24.

  Susan Grey's knees felt wobbly. She continued to stare at her nam e w ritten in Bruce's familiar scrawl.

  "Look at the other side," Jennifer said in a hollow voice.

  Susan turned the envelope over: TO BE OPENED UPON MY DEATH She fell heavily onto the couch, her eyes still glued on the envelope.

  "Another suicide note?"

  "I don't know."

  "Mommy ..."

  "Come with me, Tommy," Jennifer said, steering the child away.

  "Let's go into the kitchen."

  Left alone, Susan flipped the envelope back over.

  SUSAN Her name was written by her dead husband in large block letters. Th e f amiliar penmanship raked across her heart. She could look at picture s o f Bruce, listen to him talk on a cassette, even watch him on a vide o t ape. But there was something so personal about handwriting, somethin g s o individual, so eerie, that she had to look away for a moment.

  She pushed back her long brown hair and fumbled open the envelope.

  Several pages of plain white paper slipped out and fell to the floor.

  She reached down, picked them up, and unfolded them. As her eye s t raveled down the lines of written text, they widened: Dear Susan, If you are reading this letter, it means that my suspicion s w ere correct. For much of the past two weeks I was hoping that I wa s m erely paranoid or even a full-fledged nutcase. I wanted to b e e verything but right. I even hesitate in sending you this letter becaus e l ike it or not, I have put you in danger. Someone will kill to get thei r h ands on this package. Someone has already killed twice (and now that I a m dead, three times) because of what has been occurring in the clinic.

  I wish I could give you some sound advice about what to do with th e c ontents of this letter, but I can't. I probably should have gone to th e n IH or to the media and showed them what I had, but I was afraid of th e r esults. I thought I could handle it on my own.