Bad Medicine

by Geoffrey M Cooper

  “So Carlson brought in a Russian hitman to work for him. That son of a bitch. But do you think Carlson knows who he really is? As much as I’d like to hang this whole thing on him, I have a hard time picturing Carlson using a hired killer to do his dirty work.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s certainly what it looks like. I’m going to have them picked up, and we’ll see when we question them. Can you get their home addresses?”

  “Sure, they’ll be in the personnel directory. You want both Carlson’s and Turgenev’s? Or I guess I should say Orlov’s.”

  “Yes, I want to get them both in custody ASAP. Carlson’s complicit in this mess, even if you’re right and he’s not running the operation. I’ll send teams to their homes as soon as you give me the coordinates.” She looked at her watch. “It’s four in the morning. With any luck, they’ll be asleep and we’ll take them by surprise.”

  Karen went to the bathroom while I dug out the home addresses. I felt a welcome sense of relief. Soon Karen would have Orlov in custody. Carlson, too, and she’d figure out what was going on. This lunatic nightmare would be over.

  Then the door flew open and someone burst into the room. With a jolt, I realized it was Orlov.

  A black pistol with a silencer was in his right hand. Pointed at my midsection.

  33

  The blood drained from my face as a wave of shock and panic washed over me. My reaction seemed to amuse Orlov. He closed the door behind him and smiled. The way a cat would smile if it were about to eat a cornered mouse. “Good evening, Professor. You seem surprised to see me.”

  All I could think of was trying to stall. At least Karen was out of sight, behind the bathroom door. If I could let her know what was going on, maybe she could get out through a window. If there was one.

  I spoke loudly, hoping she would hear. “Orlov! What are you doing here?”

  “Ah, you know my name. You’re better than I thought you’d be. Or your FBI girlfriend is. Where is she, by the way?”

  Perhaps a display of more knowledge would slow him down. And distract him from Karen. “Yes, we know who you are. Or would you prefer that I call you Dr. Turgenev?”

  He laughed coldly. “Actually, my name is now Kuznetsov.” He took a passport out of his pocket. “It says so right here, and this is the passport I’ll use to get back home. But you know a lot. It’s good that I’m visiting you before I leave. Turn around and put your hands behind you.”

  “Fuck you!” I screamed to make sure Karen would hear.

  He reacted by slashing the gun across my head, knocking me onto the bed. While I was too dazed to react, he grabbed my hands and used a plastic tie to secure them to the bedpost.

  “There, that should keep you out of trouble. I was watching the house on Drakes Island. When two o’clock came and there was no fire, I knew something was wrong and it was time for me to get out. But I need to know how much you’ve uncovered first. And more important, who else you’ve told.” He shrugged. “It might affect my travel plans.”

  I tried to clear my head. I couldn’t think of anything to do besides stalling. Keeping him talking was the best shot. “How’d you find us?”

  “You used your own credit card to check in here. Not too bright, Professor. An amateur move.”

  I cursed myself. Karen wouldn’t have made that mistake.

  He pressed the gun into my kneecap. “Now tell me what you know.”

  I figured there was no harm in that. “We know you’re a Russian hitman and that you poisoned Carolyn Gelman’s patients with thallium. And that you’re here working for Tom Carlson. Your picture’s been sent out to the cops already. They’re out looking for you.”

  He smiled again. A cruel expression that sent a chill down my spine. “Thank you. I appreciate the information. Even if you’re lying about the cops. Do you think I don’t monitor police communications? But anyway, where is your girlfriend? I’d like to talk to her, too.”

  “She not here. She left a few minutes before you came. Heading to the local police station to arrange for your arrest.”

  Suddenly the shower came on in the bathroom. Christ, hadn’t Karen heard what was happening?

  Orlov chuckled. “I don’t think so, it sounds to me like she’s taking a shower. I’ll just go and see.”

  I strained against the bedpost as he went to the bathroom. To no avail. I tried to yell out a warning, but he shoved a sock into my mouth. Helpless, I watched him throw open the door and step in, gun in hand.

  Suddenly there was an ear-splitting scream. But it didn’t sound like Karen. Then the room filled with the stench of burning flesh and Orlov staggered out. Karen followed, with Orlov’s gun in one hand and a red-hot iron in the other.

  She pushed Orlov, still moaning, to the ground and smashed the iron into the back of his head. He was silent after that, and she retrieved handcuffs from her travel bag. Once Orlov was secured, she cut the plastic ties that bound my hands.

  “That should hold the bastard,” she said. “Thanks for keeping him talking long enough for me to get ready. Handy that this place had an iron in the bathroom. You gave me enough time to get it heated up, and I was all set to smash it into him when he came through the door.”

  Orlov was still writhing on the floor, obviously in extreme pain. “Is he going to be all right? Should we call a doctor or something?”

  She laughed mirthlessly. “Who gives a shit? I suspect he’ll have third-degree burns, probably some broken ribs. But he’ll live.” She reached for her phone. “I’ll call the local cops. They’ll patch him up enough for us to question him.”

  Four Wells cops, two state troopers, and an EMT team in an ambulance showed up a few minutes later. The EMTs gave him a painkiller and put a dressing on his burns. At least the painkiller made him stop moaning.

  “We’re going to take him to York Hospital,” one of the EMTs said. “He’ll be okay, but they’ll need to bandage him up and treat his wounds.”

  “Will I be able to question him?” Karen asked.

  “I think so. Give it half an hour or so.”

  The Wells cops followed the ambulance to the hospital. The state troopers stayed behind and took our statements before we headed out after them. Back to York Hospital, which was fast becoming my home away from home.

  Orlov was securely shackled to a bed in the ER when we got there, conscious though looking a bit rough around the edges. The expression on his face changed when he saw Karen. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her with an odd look. Maybe respect. Or awe.

  His voice was weak when he finally spoke. “How you do this to me?” He made a vain attempt to smile. “You must be good. Or maybe just very lucky this time?”

  Karen ignored the bizarre compliment. “You won’t have another time,” she said. “Your killing days are over. Not much for you to look forward to now except life in a cage. We’ve got you for the murder of one of our patients, attempted murder of a second, and who knows what else we can dig up.”

  He tried to shrug, but that was apparently too painful to pull off.

  “You might help yourself by talking to us. Who gives you orders? Carlson? We know he brought you here as a visiting scientist.”

  Orlov almost laughed, except the facial movement produced a jolt of pain instead. “Carlson? You must be joking. He’s nothing. A fool we used.”

  That pretty much fit my assessment of Carlson, but I kept quiet.

  “Then who?” Karen asked. “This is your chance to talk. Get yourself a better deal. Who’s in charge of this shit show?”

  He snorted his disdain. “I’m a dead man if I talk. Your prison won’t protect me.”

  “Give me the man on top and I’ll get you in witness protection. You’ll be a free man with a new life ahead of you. Otherwise you rot in jail.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “The boss is a prick. I don’t mind if I give him to you.” He gave her a sly look. “But can you authorize witness protection? I don’t just take your word. I want
a signed deal from the US Attorney. Get me that, then I tell you what I know.”

  “I’m a senior FBI officer, asshole. If I say witness protection, you’ll have witness protection. But fine. I’ll be back with someone from the US Attorney’s office and a written offer tomorrow.” She gave him a hard look. “Only what you have to say better be good. If not, I’ll throw you in a goddamned cage myself.”

  34

  He drifted in and out of sleep, the woman never leaving his thoughts. How could she do this to him? Take his gun away, burn him, beat him, put him in a hospital bed in shackles. When she was armed with nothing but an iron.

  He’d killed many men when the odds were against him. Now, while he had his gun in his hand, this woman had broken him like he was nothing. A stick of wood.

  She was special. Too good for the FBI. Far too good for that lame professor.

  The kind of woman he wanted for himself. The kind of woman who deserved him.

  35

  Karen called the US Attorney in Boston as soon as we managed to get out of bed and inhale enough coffee to start functioning the next morning. Which wasn’t until nearly ten, after what had been less than three hours of sleep. He agreed to the offer of witness protection, promising to send someone to meet her with an agreement they could present to Orlov later that day. In the meantime, we decided we had enough energy to pay Tom Carlson a visit.

  He was in his office with two of his students when we got there. I knocked and we let ourselves in without waiting for an invitation. Carlson’s response was predictable.

  “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy? Get out and make an appointment with my admin.”

  Karen held up her badge. “You need to talk to us now.”

  Carlson’s eyes widened and the students looked confused. “The two of you can leave,” I said.

  The students got up and made a quick exit. But that gave Carlson time to regain his bluster. “Again, what do you want? You can’t just come busting into my office.”

  “This is me being nice and giving you a chance to talk here,” Karen said. “Do you want me to drag you down to the police station in handcuffs instead?”

  Carlson’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. Maybe he was starting to realize that playing the bully wasn’t going to do the trick.

  “Do you know Sergei Turgenev?” I asked.

  “Of course, he’s one of my visiting scientists. A good man, chemistry PhD from Moscow State University.”

  “How is he in the lab?” I asked. “Seem to know his stuff?”

  Carlson fidgeted in his chair. “Well, he’s only been here a few months. And I give people in my lab a lot of freedom, so I really haven’t had much contact with him.”

  Meaning that Carlson didn’t have a clue about whether Orlov/Turgenev knew any science or not. Sadly, that was probably true for pretty much everyone in his bloated laboratory.

  “How’d you find him?” I asked. “Or did he find you?”

  “I’m always open to good people who want to join my team. Turgenev wrote to me saying that he had a fellowship from Russia to pursue two years of research abroad. He was familiar with my work and said that he very much wanted to study next-generation cancer therapeutics. I asked him to provide references, which he did. They were glowing, so that was that.” He smiled at me. “Always happy to attract a talented young scientist.”

  “Who were his letters of recommendation from?”

  “His PhD advisor and two other faculty members at Moscow State. It’s one of the most prestigious universities in Russia.”

  “And you contacted those people directly?” Karen asked.

  Something in her tone took the edge off of Carlson’s cockiness. “No, I have too many applicants to do that. I always ask the candidate to have his references write to me.”

  “They sent you emails? I assume from their university accounts?”

  “Yes, of course. Glowing, as I said. Do you want to see them?”

  Karen shook her head contemptuously. “Not really. They’re nothing but fakes. Don’t you realize how easy it is to concoct a fraudulent recommendation email?”

  “You did nothing to check their legitimacy?” I added. “Or Turgenev’s?”

  Carlson was finally starting to look worried. “Well, no. I mean, these guys are all well-known scientists. And Turgenev knew what he was talking about—he even sent me a copy of his fellowship proposal.”

  That was enough for Karen. “You damned fool. The man you call Turgenev is actually a hitman for the Russian mob. His real name is Alexei Orlov, and he’s responsible for poisoning two of the patients in Carolyn Gelman’s drug trial. One of whom has died. We arrested him last night.”

  Carlson jumped out of his chair. He was trembling and leaned on the edge of his desk to brace himself. “That’s insane! Poisoning patients! What the hell are you talking about?”

  Karen held up a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back. I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “For what? I don’t know anything about this. You can’t arrest me!”

  “Conspiracy to commit murder. Hands behind your back.”

  “At the very least, you brought Orlov here,” I added. “And you’ve been intent on destroying Gelman’s career. It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that you’re directing his operation.”

  Carlson still didn’t move, so Karen grabbed his right arm and slapped the cuffs on. When he realized what was happening, he went limp.

  “I don’t know anything about what he’s done. You’re making a mistake. Please don’t do this. It’s not my fault.”

  “It’ll be up to the US Attorney to decide what’s your fault or not,” Karen said. “At worst, you’re the mastermind of a murderous conspiracy. At the very least, you’ve let a killer slip into the country with fake credentials that you signed off on in his visa application. Either way, you have a lot to answer for.”

  36

  As enjoyable as it was to watch Karen manhandle Carlson into the back of her car, it was probably no more than a guilty pleasure. I really didn’t think he was responsible for anything more than gross stupidity. Which, for a man in his position, was probably enough to justify a night or two in jail, so the spectacle of his arrest was okay by me.

  “Do you really think he’s behind all this?” I asked Karen, once she had him secured in the backseat.

  “Not really, no. I think he’s a pompous fool that Orlov and his real boss manipulated. But who knows? Maybe we can get more out of him in interrogation. You don’t feel sorry for him, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No, not at all. If nothing else, his negligent, incompetent lab management brought Orlov to us. I’m going to see that he’s finished here, once you’re done with him.”

  “Good. Do you want to come to the cop shop with us?”

  “Sure, if you want. I’m happy to ride along and make sure he doesn’t give you any trouble.”

  She laughed. “That’s sweet, but I think I can handle a buffoon like this.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you can.” The thought of Carlson trying to attack Karen was laughable. “Orlov would probably agree with you, too.” I added. Then I paused and thought about my next moves. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here then. I need to get a couple of things taken care of in order to get the heat off of Carolyn.”

  She looked at me sharply. “Like what? Be careful not to let anyone know about the poison. We need to keep that to ourselves until we figure out who’s running things. It’s the only advantage we have at this point.”

  “I’m glad you said something. I was going to tell Leslie Farnsworth the story and have her get Carolyn’s trial started again.”

  “Well don’t,” Karen said quickly.

  I held up my hand. “I hear you, don’t worry. But the secret’s already out, isn’t it? I told Carolyn last night, and now Carlson knows, too. He’ll spread it all over the institute.”

  “Carlson won’t be a problem. I’m going t
o make sure he’s locked up tight and not allowed to communicate with anyone on the outside. And we already told Carolyn not to tell anybody. If you see her, maybe you should remind her of that.”

  “Okay, will do. Although I don’t think she’ll be a problem. There’s nobody she talks to at the institute anyway.”

  Karen nodded. “Good. An assistant US attorney is planning to meet me at York Hospital at two to interview Orlov. Why don’t you join us for that? Your perspective might help unravel whatever we manage to get out of him.”

  ***

  Oddly, Anna had a message from Leslie Farnsworth when I got to my office. She wanted to talk to me about something she’d noticed while reviewing the records of Carolyn’s patients. I headed down to her office, where I found her at her computer, drinking coffee from an oversize ceramic mug emblazoned with the MTRI insignia and a black-capped chickadee, Maine’s state bird.

  “You were looking for me?”

  “Yes, thanks for coming down. I just wanted to touch base on the Gelman situation. We looked into Fred Reed’s record. It was just like Weston’s. He had no earlier problems, nothing to indicate there would be a complication.”

  I wished that I could tell her the truth. But Karen had been adamant. “Good to know. But still, with two patients down, I don’t see any alternative to stopping Gelman’s trial.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s clearly what you have to do. Is there anything else my committee can do to help?”