Contagion

14

“Hey, sport, how the hell are you?” Chet asked Jack as Jack scooted into their shared office and dumped several folders onto his cluttered desk.

“Couldn’t be better,” Jack said.

Thursday had been a paper day for Chet, meaning he’d been at his desk and not in the autopsy room. Generally the associate medical examiners only did autopsies three days a week. The other days they spent collating the voluminous paperwork necessary to “sign out” a case. There was always material that needed to be gathered from PA investigators, the lab, the hospital or local doctors, or the police. Plus each doctor had to read the microscopic slides the histology lab processed on every case.

Jack sat down and pushed some of the paper debris away from the center of the desk to give him some room to work.

“You feel all right this morning?” Chet asked.

“A little wobbly,” Jack admitted. He rescued his phone from beneath lab reports. Then he opened up one of the folders he’d just brought in with him and began searching through the contents. “And you?”

“Perfect,” Chet said. “But I’m accustomed to a little wine and such. Remembering those chicks helped, particularly Colleen. Hey, we still on for tonight?”

“I was going to talk to you about that,” Jack said.

“You promised,” Chet said.

“I didn’t exactly promise,” Jack said.

“Come on,” Chet pleaded. “Don’t let me down. They’re expecting both of us. They might not stay if only I show up.”

Jack glanced over at his officemate.

“Come on,” Chet repeated. “Please!”

“All right, for chrissake,” Jack said. “Just this once. But I truly don’t understand why you think you need me. You do fine by yourself.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Chet said. “I owe you one.”

Jack found the ID sheet that had the phone numbers for Maurice Hard, Susanne’s husband. There was both a home number and an office number. He dialed the home.

“Who you calling?” Chet asked.

“You are a nosy bastard,” Jack said jokingly.

“I’ve got to watch over you so you don’t get yourself fired,” Chet said.

“I’m calling the spouse of another curious infectious case,” Jack said. “I just did the post, and it’s got me bewildered. Clinically it looked like plague, but I don’t think it was.”

A housekeeper picked up the phone. When Jack asked for Mr. Hard, he was told Mr. Hard was at the office. Jack dialed the second number. This time it was answered by a secretary. Jack had to explain who he was and was then put on hold. “I’m amazed,” Jack said to Chet, his hand over the receiver. “The man’s wife just died and he’s at work. Only in America!”

Maurice Hard came on the line. His voice was strained. He was obviously under great stress. Jack was tempted to tell the man he knew something of what he was feeling, but something made him hold back. Instead he explained who he was and why he was calling.

“Do you think I should talk to my lawyer first?” Maurice asked.

“Lawyer? Why your lawyer?”

“My wife’s family is making ridiculous accusations,” Maurice said. “They’re suggesting I had something to do with Susanne’s death. They’re crazy. Rich, but crazy. I mean, Susanne and I had our ups and downs, but we never would have hurt each other, no way.”

“Do they know your wife died of an infectious disease?” Jack questioned.

“I’ve tried to tell them,” Maurice said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jack said. “It’s really not my position to advise you about your personal legal situation.”

“Well, hell, go ahead and ask your questions,” Maurice said. “I can’t imagine it would make any difference. But let me ask you a question first. Was it plague?”

“That still has not been determined,” Jack said. “But I’ll call you as soon as we know for sure.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Maurice said. “Now, what are your questions?”

“I believe you have a dog,” Jack said. “Is the dog healthy?”

“For a seventeen-year-old dog he’s healthy,” Maurice said.

“I’d like to encourage you to take the pet to your vet and explain that your wife died of a serious infectious disease. I want to be sure the dog isn’t carrying the illness, whatever it was.”

“Is there a chance of that?” Maurice asked with alarm.

“It’s small, but there is a chance,” Jack said.

“Why didn’t the hospital tell me that?” he demanded.

“That I can’t answer,” Jack said. “I assume they talked to you about taking antibiotics.”

“Yeah, I’ve already started,” Maurice said. “But it bums me out about the dog. I should have been informed.”

“There’s also the issue of travel,” Jack said. “I was told your wife didn’t do any recent traveling.”

“That’s right,” Maurice said. “She was pretty uncomfortable with her pregnancy, especially with her back problem. We haven’t gone anywhere except to our house up in Connecticut.”

“When was the last visit to Connecticut?” Jack asked.

“About a week and a half ago,” Maurice said. “She liked it up there.”

“Is it rural?” Jack asked.

“Seventy acres of fields and forest land,” Maurice said proudly. “Beautiful spot. We have our own pond.”

“Did your wife ever go out into the woods?” Jack asked.

“All the time,” Maurice said. “That was her main enjoyment. She liked to feed the deer and the rabbits.”

“Were there many rabbits?” Jack asked.

“You know rabbits,” Maurice said. “Every time we went up there there were more of them. I actually thought they were a pain in the neck. In the spring and summer they ate all the goddamn flowers.”

“Any problem with rats?”

“Not that I know of,” Maurice said. “Are you sure this is all significant?”

“We never know,” Jack said. “What about your visitor from India?”

“That was Mr. Svinashan,” Maurice said. “He’s a business acquaintance from Bombay. He stayed with us for almost a week.”

“Hmm,” Jack said, remembering the plague outbreak in 1994 in Bombay. “As far as you know, he’s healthy and well?”

“As far as I know,” Maurice said.

“How about giving him a call,” Jack suggested. “If he’s been sick, let me know.”

“No problem,” Maurice said. “You don’t think he could have been involved, do you? After all, his visit was three weeks ago.”

“This episode has baffled me,” Jack admitted. “I’m not ruling anything out. What about Donald Nodelman? Did you or your wife know him?”

“Who’s he?” Maurice asked.

“He was the first victim in this plague outbreak,” Jack said. “He was a patient in the Manhattan General. I’d be curious if your wife might have visited him. He was on the same floor.”

“In OB-GYN?” Maurice questioned with surprise.

“He was on the medical ward on the opposite side of the building. He was in the hospital for diabetes.”

“Where did he live?”

“The Bronx,” Jack said.

“I doubt it,” Maurice said. “We don’t know anyone from the Bronx.”

“One last question,” Jack said. “Did your wife happen to visit the hospital during the week prior to her admission?”

“She hated hospitals,” Maurice said. “It was difficult to get her to go even when she was in labor.”

Jack thanked Maurice and hung up.

“Now who are you calling?” Chet asked as Jack dialed again.

“The husband of my first case this morning,” Jack said. “At least we know this case had plague for sure.”

“Why don’t you let the PAs make these calls?” Chet asked.

“Because I can’t tell them what to ask,” Jack said. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just have this suspicion that there is some missing piece of information. Also I’m just plain interested. The more I think about this episode of plague in New York in March, the more unique I think it is.”

Mr. Harry Mueller was a far cry from Mr. Maurice Hard. He was devastated by his loss and had trouble speaking despite a professed willingness to be cooperative. Not wishing to add to the man’s burden, Jack tried to be quick. After corroborating Janice’s report of no pets or travel and no recent visitors, Jack went through the same questions concerning Donald Nodelman as he had with Maurice.

“I’m certain my wife did not know this individual,” Harry said, “and she rarely met any patients directly, especially sick patients.”

“Did your wife work in central supply for a long time?” Jack asked.

“Twenty-one years,” Harry said.

“Did she ever come down with any illness that she thought she’d contracted at the hospital?” Jack asked.

“Maybe if one of her co-workers had a cold,” Harry said. “But nothing more than that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mueller,” Jack said. “You’ve been most kind.”

“Katherine would have wanted me to help,” Harry said. “She was a good person.”

Jack hung up the phone but left his hands drumming on the receiver. He was agitated.

“Nobody, including me, has any idea what the hell is going on here,” he said.

“True,” Chet said. “But it’s not your worry. The cavalry has already arrived. I heard that the city epidemiologist was over here observing this morning.”

“He was here all right,” Jack said. “But it was in desperation. That little twerp hasn’t the foggiest notion of what’s going on. If it weren’t for the CDC’s sending someone up here from Atlanta, nothing would be happening. At least someone’s out there trapping rats and looking for a reservoir.”

Suddenly Jack pushed back from the desk, got up, and pulled on his bomber jacket.

“Uh-oh!” Chet said. “I sense trouble. Where are you going?”

“I’m heading back to the General,” Jack said. “My gut sense tells me the missing information is over there at the hospital, and by God I’m going to find it.”

“What about Bingham?” Chet said nervously.

“Cover for me,” Jack said. “If I’m late for Thursday conference, tell him…” Jack paused as he tried to think up some appropriate excuse, but nothing came to mind. “Oh, screw it,” he said. “I won’t be that long. I’ll be back way before conference. If anybody calls, tell them I’m in the john.”

Ignoring further pleas to reconsider, Jack left and rode uptown. He arrived in less than fifteen minutes and locked his bike to the same signpost as the day before.

The first thing Jack did was take the hospital elevator up to the seventh floor and reconnoiter. He saw how the OB-GYN and medical wards were completely separate without sharing any common facilities like lounges or lavatories. He also saw that the ventilation system was designed so as to preclude any movement of air from one ward to the other.

Pushing through the swinging doors into the OB-GYN area, Jack walked down to the central desk.

“Excuse me,” he said to a ward secretary. “Does this ward share any personnel with the medical ward across the elevator lobby?”

“No, not that I know of,” the young man said. He looked about fifteen with a complexion that suggested he had yet to shave. “Except, of course, cleaning people. But they clean all over the hospital.”

“Good point,” Jack said. He hadn’t thought of the housekeeping department. It was something to consider. Jack then asked which room Susanne Hard had occupied.

“Can I ask what this is in reference to?” the ward clerk asked. He had finally noticed that Jack was not wearing a hospital ID. Hospitals all require identification badges of their employees, but then frequently do not have the personnel to enforce compliance.

Jack took out his ME’s badge and flashed it. It had the desired effect. The ward secretary told Jack that Mrs. Hard had been in room 742.

Jack started out for the room, but the ward clerk called out to him that it was quarantined and temporarily sealed.

Believing that viewing the room would not have been enlightening anyway, Jack left the seventh floor and descended to the third, which housed the surgical suites, the recovery room, the intensive-care units, and central supply. It was a busy area with a lot of patient traffic.

Jack pushed through a pair of swinging doors into central supply and was confronted by an unmanned counter. Beyond the counter was an immense maze of floor-to-ceiling metal shelving laden with all the sundry equipment and supplies needed by a large, busy hospital. In and out of the maze moved a team of people attired in scrubs, white coats, and hats that looked like shower caps. A radio played somewhere in the distance.

After Jack had stood at the counter for a few minutes, a robust and vigorous woman caught sight of him and came over. Her name tag said “Gladys Zarelli, Supervisor.” She asked if he needed some help.

“I wanted to inquire about Katherine Mueller,” Jack said.

“God rest her soul,” Gladys said. She made the sign of the cross. “It was a terrible thing.”

Jack introduced himself by displaying his badge, then questioned whether she and her co-workers were concerned that Katherine had died of an infectious disease.

“Of course we’re concerned,” she said. “Who wouldn’t be? We all work closely with one another. But what can you do? At least the hospital is concerned as well. They have us all on antibiotics, and thank God, no one is sick.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Jack asked. “What I mean is, a patient died of plague just the day before Katherine. That suggests that Katherine could very well have caught it here at the hospital. I don’t mean to scare you, but those are the facts.”

“We’re all aware of it,” Gladys said. “But it’s never happened before. I imagine it’s happened in nursing, but not here in central supply.”

“Do you people have any patient contact?” Jack asked.

“Not really,” Gladys said. “Occasionally we might run up to the wards, but it’s never to see a patient directly.”

“What was Katherine doing the week before she died?” Jack asked.

“I’ll have to look that up,” Gladys said. She motioned for Jack to follow her. She led Jack into a tiny, windowless office where she cracked open a large, cloth-bound daily ledger.

“Assignments are never too strict,” Gladys said. Her finger ran down a row of names. “We all kinda pitch in as needed, but I give some basic responsibility to some of the more senior people.” Her finger stopped, then moved across the page. “Okay, Katherine was more or less in charge of supplies to the wards.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“Whatever they needed,” Gladys said. “Everything except drugs and that sort of stuff. That comes from pharmacy.”

“You mean like things for the patients’ rooms?” Jack asked.

“Sure, for the rooms, for the nurses’ station, everything,” Gladys said. “This is where it all comes from. Without us the hospital would grind to a halt in twenty-four hours.”

“Give me an example of the things you deal with for the rooms,” Jack said.

“I’m telling you, everything!” Gladys said with a touch of irritation in her voice. “Bedpans, thermometers, humidifiers, pillows, pitchers, soap. Everything.”

“You wouldn’t have any record of Katherine going up to the seventh floor during the last week or so, would you?”

“No,” Gladys said. “We don’t keep records like that. I could print out for you everything sent up there, though. That we have a record of.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“It’s going to be a lot of stuff,” Gladys warned as she made an entry into her computer terminal. “Do you want OB-GYN or medical or both?” she asked.

“Medical,” Jack said.

Gladys nodded, pecked at a few more keys on her terminal, and soon her printer was cranking away. In a few minutes she handed Jack a stack of papers. He glanced through them. As Gladys had suggested there were a lot of items. The length of the list gave Jack respect for the logistics of running the institution.

Leaving central supply, Jack descended a floor and wandered into the lab. He did not feel he was making any progress, but he refused to give up. His conviction remained that there was some major missing piece of information. He just didn’t know where he would find it.

Jack asked the same receptionist to whom he’d shown his badge the day before for directions to microbiology, which she gave him without question.

Jack walked unchallenged through the extensive lab. It was an odd feeling to see so much impressive equipment running unattended. It reminded Jack of the director’s lament the day before that he’d been forced to cut his personnel by twenty percent.

Jack found Nancy Wiggens working at a lab bench plating bacterial cultures.

“Howdy,” Jack said. “Remember me?”

Nancy glanced up and then back at her work.

“Of course,” she said.

“You guys made the diagnosis on the second plague case just fine,” he said.

“It’s easy when you suspect it,” Nancy said. “But we didn’t do so well on the third case.”

“I was going to ask you about that,” Jack said. “What did the gram stain look like?”

“I didn’t do it,” Nancy said. “Beth Holderness did. Do you want to talk with her?”

“I would,” Jack said.

Nancy slid off her stool and disappeared. Jack took the opportunity to glance around at the microbiology section of the lab. He was impressed. Most labs, particularly microbiology labs, had an invariable clutter. This lab was different. It appeared highly efficient with everything crystal-clean and in its place.

“Hi, I’m Beth!”

Jack turned to find himself before a smiling, outgoing woman in her mid-twenties. She exuded a cheerleader-like zeal that was infectious. Her hair was tightly permed and radiated away from her face as if charged with static electricity.

Jack introduced himself and was immediately charmed by Beth’s natural conversation. She was one of the friendliest women he’d ever met.

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come here to gab,” Beth said. “I understand you are interested in the gram stain on Susanne Hard. Come on! It’s waiting for you.”

Beth literally grabbed Jack by the sleeve and pulled him around to her work area. Her microscope was set up with Hard’s slide positioned on its platform and the illuminator switched on.

“Sit yourself right here,” Beth said as she guided Jack’s lower half onto her stool. “How is that? Low enough?”

“It’s perfect,” Jack said. He leaned forward and peered into the eyepieces. It took a moment for his eyes to adapt. When they did, he could see the field was filled with reddish-stained bacteria.

“Notice how pleomorphic the microbes are,” a male voice commented.

Jack looked up. Richard, the head tech, had materialized and was standing to Jack’s immediate left, almost touching him.

“I didn’t mean to be such a bother,” Jack said.

“No bother,” Richard said. “In fact, I’m interested in your opinion. We still haven’t made a diagnosis on this case. Nothing has grown out, and I presume you know that the test for plague was negative.”

“So I heard,” Jack said. He put his eyes back to the microscope and peered in again. “I don’t think you want my opinion. I’m not so good at this stuff,” he admitted.

“But you do see the pleomorphism?” Richard said.

“I suppose,” Jack said. “They’re pretty small bacilli. Some of them almost look spherical, or am I looking at them on end?”

“I believe you are seeing them as they are,” Richard said. “That’s more pleomorphism than you see with plague. That’s why Beth and I doubted it was plague. Of course, we weren’t sure until the fluorescein antibody was negative.”

Jack looked up from the scope. “If it’s not plague, what do you think it is?”

Richard gave a little embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know.”

Jack looked at Beth. “What about you? Care to take a chance?”

Beth shook her head. “Not if Richard won’t,” she said diplomatically.

“Can’t someone even hazard a guess?” Jack asked.

Richard shook his head. “Not me. I’m always wrong when I guess.”

“You weren’t wrong about plague,” Jack reminded him.

“That was just lucky,” Richard said. He flushed.

“What’s going on here,” an irritated voice called out.

Jack’s head swung around in the opposite direction. Beyond Beth was the director of the lab, Martin Cheveau. He was standing with his legs apart, his hands on his hips, and his mustache quivering. Behind him was Dr. Mary Zimmerman, and behind her was Charles Kelley.

Jack got to his feet. The lab techs slunk back. The atmosphere was suddenly tense. The lab director was clearly irate.

“Are you here in an official capacity?” Martin demanded. “If so, I’d like to know why you didn’t have the common courtesy to come to my office instead of sneaking in here? We have a crisis unfolding in this hospital, and this lab is in the middle of it. I am not about to brook interference from anyone.”

“Whoa!” Jack said. “Calm down.” He hadn’t expected this blowup, especially from Martin, who had been so hospitable the day before.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Martin snapped. “What the devil are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m just doing my job, investigating the deaths of Katherine Mueller and Susanne Hard,” Jack said. “I hardly think I’m interfering. In fact I thought I was being rather discreet.”

“Is there something in particular you are looking for in my lab?” Martin demanded.

“I was just going over a gram stain with your capable staff,” Jack said.

“Your official mandate is to determine the cause and the manner of death,” Dr. Zimmerman said, pushing her way in front of Martin. “You’ve done that.”

“Not quite,” Jack corrected. “We haven’t made a diagnosis on Susanne Hard.” He returned the infection-control officer’s beady stare. Since she wasn’t wearing the mask she’d had on the day before, Jack was able to appreciate how stern her thin-lipped face was.

“You haven’t made a specific diagnosis in the Hard case,” Dr. Zimmerman corrected, “but you have made a diagnosis of a fatal infectious disease. Under the circumstances I think that is adequate.”

“Adequate has never been my goal in medicine,” Jack said.

“Nor mine,” Dr. Zimmerman shot back. “Nor is it for the Centers for Disease Control or the City Board of Health, who are actively investigating this unfortunate incident. Frankly your presence here is disruptive.”

“Are you sure they don’t need a little help?” Jack asked. He couldn’t hold back the sarcasm.

“I’d say your presence is more than disruptive,” Kelley said. “In fact, you’ve been downright slanderous. You could very well be hearing from our lawyers.”

“Whoa!” Jack said again, lifting his hands as if to fend off a bodily attack. “Disruptive I can at least comprehend. Slanderous is ridiculous.”

“Not from my point of view,” Kelley said. “The supervisor in central supply said you told her Katherine Mueller had contracted her illness on the job.”

“And that has not been established,” Dr. Zimmerman added.

“Uttering such an unsubstantiated statement is defamatory to this institution and injurious to its reputation,” Kelley snapped.

“And could have a negative impact on its stock value,” Jack said.

“And that too,” Kelley agreed.

“The trouble is I didn’t say Mueller had contracted her illness on the job,” Jack said. “I said she could have done so. There’s a big difference.”

“Mrs. Zarelli told us you told her it was a fact,” Kelley said.

“I told her ‘those were the facts’ referring to the possibility,” Jack said. “But look, we’re quibbling. The real fact is that you people are overly defensive. It makes me wonder about your nosocomial infection history. What’s the story there?”

Kelley turned purple. Given the man’s intimidating size advantage, Jack took a protective step backward.

“Our nosocomial infection experience is none of your business,” Kelley sputtered.

“That’s something I’m beginning to question,” Jack said. “But I’ll save looking into it for another time. It’s been nice seeing you all again. Bye.”

Jack broke off from the group and strode away. He heard sudden movement behind him and cringed, half expecting a beaker or some other handy piece of laboratory paraphernalia to sail past his ear. But he reached the door to the hallway without incident. Descending a floor, he unlocked his bike and headed south.

Jack weaved in and out of the traffic, marveling at his latest brush with AmeriCare. Most confusing was the sensitivity of the people involved. Even Martin, who’d been friendly the day before, now acted as if Jack were the enemy. What could they all be hiding? And why hide it from Jack?

Jack didn’t know who at the hospital had alerted the administration of his presence, but he had a good idea who would be informing Bingham that he’d been there. Jack entertained no illusions about Kelley complaining about him again.

Jack wasn’t disappointed. As soon as he came in the receiving bay, the security man stopped him.

“I was told to tell you to go directly to the chief’s office,” the man said. “Dr. Washington himself gave me the message.”

As Jack locked his bike, he tried to think of what he was going to say to Bingham. Nothing came to mind.

While ascending in the elevator, Jack decided he’d switch to offense since he couldn’t think of any defense. He was still formulating an idea when he presented himself in front of Mrs. Sanford’s desk.

“You’re to go right in,” Mrs. Sanford said. As usual she didn’t look up from her work.

Jack stepped around her desk and entered Bingham’s office. Immediately he saw that Bingham wasn’t alone. Calvin’s huge hulk was hovering near the glass-fronted bookcase.

“Chief, we have a problem,” Jack said earnestly. He moved over to Bingham’s desk and gave it a tap with his fist for emphasis. “We don’t have a diagnosis on the Hard case, and we got to give it to them ASAP. If we don’t we’re going to look bad, especially the way the press is all stirred up about the plague. I even went all the way over to the General to take a look at the gram stain. Unfortunately, it didn’t help.”

Bingham regarded Jack curiously with his rheumy eyes. He’d been about to lambaste Jack; now he demurred. Instead of speaking he removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and absently cleaned them while he considered Jack’s words. He glanced over at Calvin. Calvin responded by stepping up to the desk. He wasn’t fooled by Jack’s ruse.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Calvin demanded.

“Susanne Hard,” Jack said. “You remember. The case you and I have the ten-dollar double-or-nothing bet on.”

“A bet!” Bingham questioned. “Is there gambling going on in this office?”

“Not really, Chief,” Calvin said. “It was just a way of making a point. It’s not routine.”

“I should hope not,” Bingham snapped. “I don’t want any wagering around here, especially not in regard to diagnoses. That’s not the kind of thing I’d like to see in the press. Our critics would have a field day.”

“Getting back to Susanne Hard,” Jack said. “I’m at a loss as to how to proceed. I’d hoped that by talking directly to the hospital lab people I might have made some headway, but it didn’t work. What do you think I should do now?” Jack wanted the conversation to move away from the gambling issue. It might divert Bingham, but Jack knew he’d have hell to pay with Calvin later on.

“I’m a little confused,” Bingham said. “Just yesterday I specifically told you to stay around here and get your backload of cases signed out. I especially told you to stay the hell away from the Manhattan General Hospital.”

“That was if I were going there for personal reasons,” Jack said. “I wasn’t. This was all business.”

“Then how the hell did you manage to get the administrator all bent out of shape again?” Bingham demanded. “He called the damn mayor’s office for the second day in a row. The mayor wants to know if you have some sort of mental problem or whether I have a mental problem for hiring you.”

“I hope you reassured him we’re both normal,” Jack said.

“Don’t be impertinent on top of everything else,” Bingham said.

“To tell you the honest truth,” Jack said, “I haven’t the slightest idea why the administrator got upset. Maybe the pressure of this plague episode has gotten to everybody over there, because they’re all acting weird.”

“So now everyone seems weird to you,” Bingham said.

“Well, not everyone,” Jack admitted. “But there’s something strange going on, I’m sure of it.”

Bingham looked up at Calvin, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand what Jack was talking about. Bingham’s attention returned to Jack.

“Listen,” Bingham said. “I don’t want to fire you, so don’t make me. You’re a smart man. You have a future in this field. But I’m warning you, if you willfully disobey me and continue to embarrass us in the community, I’ll have no other recourse. Tell me you understand.”

“Perfectly,” Jack said.

“Fine,” Bingham said. “Then get back to your work, and we’ll see you later in conference.”

Jack took the cue and instantly disappeared.

For a moment Bingham and Calvin remained silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

“He’s an odd duck,” Bingham said finally. “I can’t read him.”

“Nor can I,” Calvin said. “His saving grace is that he is smart and truly a hard worker. He’s very committed. Whenever he’s on autopsy, he’s always the first one in the pit.”

“I know,” Bingham said. “That’s why I didn’t fire him on the spot. But where does this brashness come from? He has to know it rubs people the wrong way, yet he doesn’t seem to care. He’s reckless, almost self-destructive, as he admitted himself yesterday. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Calvin said. “Sometimes I get the feeling it’s anger. But directed at what? I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve tried to talk with him a few times on a personal level, but it’s like squeezing water out of a rock.”