Fatal

CHAPTER 26

It was past two in the morning when Matt and Nikki found a motel vacancy just outside of Stamford, Connecticut. Confused, bewildered, and more than a little frightened, they checked in and carried their small cache of belongings up one flight to a fairly standard, well-maintained room with a view of 1-95.

After leaving the shambles that was Nikki's apartment, they had ridden south in light traffic through Providence and on into Connecticut. It was a somber, silent ride, made well under the speed limit. Each of them was experiencing some tension born of Nikki's continued determination to involve themselves with the police and possibly the FBI in the face of Matt's desire to remain as much of a mystery to Bill Grimes as possible until his business with Belinda Coal and Coke was completed. Two exits past Providence, she asked him to leave the interstate. There, at a rest stop, she called the Boston police.

"There's been a double murder at the medical examiner's office on Albany Street," she said, surprised by the composure in her voice. "Chief William Grimes, G-r-i-m-e-s, of the Belinda, West Virginia, Police Department is responsible."

A minute later they were back on the highway.

"Feel better?" Matt asked over his shoulder.

"Not much. Grimes will probably say that he doesn't know anything, and that some nutcase he once arrested is out to cause him trouble."

"Once those bodies are discovered, I'm sure the police will begin to search out everyone who works in your building. It won't take long for them to figure out that it might be you who made the call."

"I don't care. I know you do, but I don't. You and I are the only ones who can connect Grimes to Joe. It'll be our word against his, but two M.D. degrees have to count for something. After we wake up, I want to go to the FBI to report the murders and also being kidnapped. That's definitely a federal offense. If you want, I'll tell them I don't know where you are. That way you can get to Washington and meet with the guy your uncle spoke about."

"Do whatever you have to do," Matt replied.

"I'm really sorry if I end up interfering with your plans."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"You're angry."

"I'm not angry. I would have liked to have, I don't know, solidified our position before involving the police — maybe speak to a lawyer."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. You've been living a nightmare ever since you set foot in Belinda. You have a right to do whatever you want."

"And so do you," she said.

"So do I," Matt replied, just before accelerating up the entry ramp and back onto the interstate.

So do I.

Nikki showered and dressed for bed in the bathroom. Matt had changed into sweats by the time she emerged. He was reading a hostelry magazine in the armchair beside the small writing desk, as far away from the bed as possible.

"You coming in?" she asked unemotionally.

"Soon, maybe," he responded in the same tone. "I'm a little wired from the ride and all that's happened. Will the lamp bother you?"

"Not really."

"Good."

There were differences between Ginny and this woman, Matt was thinking, but not when it came to digging in. God, but he wanted to take her in his arms right now. Instead he stayed in the chair, flipping pages one moment, staring sightlessly at a bland photo of some snow-covered mountain inn the next.

Nikki rolled onto her side, facing away from him, but he could tell by her breathing and posture that she wasn't asleep.

"You sleeping?" he asked finally.

"No."

"This has been a really hideous night."

"Yeah. Joe was such a wonderful man."

Several silent minutes passed.

"You know," he said finally, "in case you couldn't tell when I didn't even know how to pronounce the word, I don't know an awful lot about prion disease. If you're up to it, since we're both still too awake to drift off, I was wondering if you might be able to share some of what you know from your reading and that guy's presentation you went to."

Nikki slowly rolled over to face him and propped her cheek on one hand.

"You mean Stanley Prusiner?"

"Yeah, him."

"Is this a ploy because things are a little tense between us right now?"

"No… Well, I mean, yes… I mean I really don't know anything but the basics about prions, so I wouldn't exactly call it a ploy. More of a fact-finding mission."

"You going to stay over there?"

"I don't want to."

"And I don't want you to."

"So, what am I doing over here?" He sat down beside her. "Tell you what. How about I work some of that tension out of your shoulders while you enlighten me on spongiform encephalopathy?"

"I think Stanley would like that." She turned onto her stomach as he began to knead at the considerable tightness radiating from the base of her neck. "Mmmmm. Just a little softer. Oh, that's it, that's perfect. Okay, let's see, you already know that prions are little particles of protein that have the ability to reproduce themselves. No DNA, no RNA, yet they can reproduce. Amazing."

"That's pretty much the sum total of my knowledge."

"You're slowing down. You want to learn about this stuff or not? Much better. Okay. Prions are present normally in humans and possibly in every other organism with a nervous system. PrPC is the abbreviation for these normal prions. Some people and animals are unfortunate enough to have a mutation occur in one or more of their PrPC prions. The result is a gradual buildup of a toxic prion known as PrPSc. The brain and nervous system unknowingly adopt this imposter prion. Then the normal nervous tissue slowly comes apart, and the host organism dies."

"Humans and cows."

"And minks, and deer, and cats, and even monkeys. I suspect that the more we look, the more spongiform diseases we'll find. And prions may be at the center of some other neurodegenerative diseases, as well, such as Alzheimer's."

"My mother's disease," Matt said.

"Yes. That made me so sad this morning when you told me about her."

"Most of the time I think she's handling it better than those around her."

"Well, it's still too early to know, but possibly she has a prion-mediated disease. Are you getting tired doing that?"

"Nope."

"In that case, a little farther out toward the shoulders, please. Nice. That's it. Oh, doggies, that feels good."

"So, is mutation the only way to get prion disease?"

"No. Any means that gets the germs into the body will do the trick. The prions that cause Mad Cow disease or kuru are eaten. Patients receiving corneal transplants from someone infected with spongiform disease can get it that way. I would suspect that other routes of administration would do it as well."

"And there is a long delay before symptoms develop?"

"Maybe decades. So far there have only been a hundred or so cases of Mad Cow disease in Great Britain, despite the tons of beef that those people ingested before the condition was recognized and warnings were sounded. That could mean there are thousands of cases still brewing. But I don't think so."

"What do you think?"

"The arms. I think you should work on the upper arms. You're very good at this."

"Thank you."

"Are you like all those guys who say they love giving back rubs, then after a girl starts dating them, it turns out the first back rub is all they really enjoy giving? From then on it's do me, do me."

"Maybe. That's for me to know and you to find out. So, don't leave me hanging. Why do you think there won't be thousands of cases of BSE in humans?"

"Partly because there haven't been thousands — tens of thousands — already. It seems to me that only a very small percentage of those who are exposed to PrPSc prions get infected. How could it be otherwise?"

"Why is that?"

"Why do you think that is?"

"Genetic factors?"

"Quite possibly. As with most diseases, we really don't have any idea why one person exposed to a germ gets sick and the person standing right next to them during the exposure doesn't. A little harder, Doc. Perfect. You tell me bad luck, and I'll tell you that right now for most infectious diseases, that's as good an explanation as any. I believe that those who develop spongiform disease are either lacking some sort of protective gene or else have a gene that in essence invites the altered prions in."

Nikki rolled over, drew Matt's face down to hers, and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

"Tell her what she just won, Merv," he said as she finished. "Congratulations, you just won another two hundred hours of massage."

Matt cupped his hands over his mouth and imitated the roar of a crowd.

"I'll tell you what, big guy," she said. "We'll stop in some city in New Jersey and I'll just file a report with the FBI office there. Then I'll go with you wherever it is you want to go. Deal?"

"I'm agin it."

"I know you are."

"Okay, deal… There's something else you want to add. I can see it in your eyes. What is it? What?"

"Matt, I hate to say this, and I don't want you to get upset or discouraged, but the mine theory isn't holding together well for me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the connection between the toxic exposure and the syndrome we've encountered."

"The waste dump is there. I saw it."

"Given. Let's assume the two miners had the same spongiform disease that Joe found in Kathy. Spongiform encephalopathy, at least the four or five different types we know of, is caused by prisons, but I just don't know how a toxic exposure can cause a prion infection."

"Well," he said after some thought, "let me take a crack at that. There are good, life-sustaining prions that everybody has and loves, right?"

"Yes."

"And there are bad, spawn-of-the-devil, PrPSc prions that cause spongiform disease, right?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Then, how about the toxic exposure increases susceptibility to bad prions… or… or causes mutations from good to evil? Organic toxins cause mutations that go on to cause cancer."

"That's a fact. But remember, these conditions seem to take years to develop — in some instances, decades. So if a toxic exposure did occur affecting our three cases, I would think it occurred before any of the subjects was old enough to be working in the mine. And what about Kathy? She never even came close to the mine as far as we know."

"What about groundwater contamination?"

"The toxins from the mine get into the water and accelerate prion mutations. Is that what you wish to believe?"

"That is what I would like to believe, yes," Matt said.

She kissed him once again, then pulled her pillow in tightly as she drew her knees and arms in.

"Works for me," she said dreamily.

But Matt could tell that it didn't. He waited until her breathing said that she was asleep.

"G'night," he whispered.

He rolled over and drifted off, his mind playing images of an underground river churning past countless barrels of poison, then coursing off into the darkness.

Newark, New Jersey. With four stops for directions, which were invariably given to them in dense Newarkese, it took longer to locate the FBI office than it had to make it to Newark from Stamford. They chose Newark because they expected it would have a good-sized office, and because neither of them wanted to drive into Manhattan. Matt rolled slowly down a tree-lined street, past the tall, nondescript Gateway Center on Market Street, and stopped half a block away.

"So," he said as Nikki stripped off her helmet, buckled it to the bike, and ran a brush through her hair, "here we are."

"Here we are," she echoed, hands on hips. "Matt, you're looking distressed. I thought we had decided on a plan."

"I just don't feel comfortable about this."

"I understand. How about making it a little easier on me." She reached her arms out to him. "Come on," she cooed.

"Sorry," Matt muttered, accepting the invitation to hold her. "I still have trouble coming to grips with why people don't accept my point of view on any given subject as the only viable one, let alone the best one."

"You can come in with me if you want."

"The FBI agents might not look charitably on any guy with a ponytail who isn't Steven Seagal. Tell you what, I'm going to call my uncle from that pay phone we saw on the next block. After that I might come in."

"It shouldn't take too long just to file a report."

"We're talking government agency here. 'Shouldn't take too long' is not a well-understood concept in that world."

"Hold down the fort."

Matt watched as she strode away, took a tentative step to follow, then turned, climbed back on the bike, and rode to the next block. There were two messages on his answering machine. One was from Mae, reminding him of a three o'clock appointment with his dental hygienist, and assuring him that his patients for the day had been moved to other slots.

"I certainly hope you are all right," she added, the concern in her voice unmistakable.

The second message, recorded yesterday evening, was from Hal.

"Everything's set, Matthew. Fred Carabetta will see us at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon at his office in D.C. Call me for details."

Hal answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Matt. Are you okay?"

"No."

Quickly, Matt reviewed the events of the previous night.

"God, that's just awful," Hal said. "And where are you calling from?"

"Newark. Nikki's in with the FBI right now, filing a report."

"Well, I think you've got to get her out of there," Hal said. "I was just going to leave another message on your machine. Grimes has an APB out for your arrest — both of you."

"I was afraid he might do something like that. What's he charging us with?"

"Murder."

"What?"

"Grimes called me early this morning, then came by and drove me out to view a body and bring it back to the morgue. Big man, what's left of him."

"I think I know who he is," Matt said, feeling the acid in his stomach beginning to percolate. "Name's Larry. He worked for Grimes."

"Extra crispy. From what I could tell he was shot in the head in a cabin off Tall Pines Road, then incinerated when it was burned to the ground. Quite well done, the man was. Then, while we're driving back to town, Grimes casually tells me that you and Dr. Solari are wanted for the guy's murder. Wants to know if I might happen to know where you are."

"How does he get off making me a suspect?"

"There are hospital medications and supplies in the woods near the cabin with fingerprints on them, and motorcycle tracks all around. Grimes is speculating that the big man was working for you when he kidnapped Dr. Solari and that you killed him to keep him quiet or from squeezing you for more money."

"Slick. He's setting both Nikki and me up to die, Hal. Maybe a murder-suicide by this deranged doctor who became obsessed with his patient to the point where he had her kidnapped. All Grimes has to do now is get his hands on us. Hal, I've got to get to Nikki before she speaks with the FBI people. I'll call you later."

"We're expected at Carabetta's office at three this afternoon. Constitution Avenue."

"We'll be there," Matt said.

He sped around the block and dismounted the Harley across the street from the office building.

"FBI, please."

"Twenty-second floor," the uniformed security man at the lobby reception desk responded, glancing up from his magazine only long enough to ensure that the questioner wasn't encased in dynamite and brandishing an assault rifle.

The six elevators were all between floors ten and fifteen of the twenty-four stories. Their descent was so painfully slow that Matt actually gave passing thought to sprinting up the twenty-two flights. He was the only one in sight as he stepped into the car, but predictably, three others — a man and two women — materialized just as the doors were about to close, and pressed buttons for floors five, nine, and seventeen. Matt tapped his toe and drummed his fingers over the upward journey, which seemed to take an hour. The elevator opened directly into the waiting room.

Thank God!

Nikki was there, seated opposite a receptionist, thumbing through a copy of People. A wizened Asian woman occupied one of the other chairs. Just as Matt stepped off the elevator, a darkly handsome young man with a Hollywood chin emerged from one of the offices, crossed to Nikki, and introduced himself as Duty Officer Sherman. Nikki, clearly startled by Matt's sudden appearance, didn't respond immediately to the agent. The hesitation was all Matt needed. He moved quickly to her side, slipping his hand around her arm, and applying as much force as he dared. Nikki looked momentarily shocked, but then came through and handled the assault coolly, her expression saying, This had better he good.

"I'm sorry to bust in like this, Officer," Matt said, "but we're going to have to come back a little later. There's been a death in the family."

"Now, you jes listen here, Sara Jane Tinsley. You gotta stop actin' up an' let me get some damn work done. There ain't no one followin' you an' there ain't no one tryin' to hurt you. Now go on out an' find somethin' to do or someone to play with. If'n you can't occupy yerself, then jes get out back an' start pickin' corn." "Corn ain't ready, Ma, an' you know it," Sara Jane snapped.

"It's plenty ready."

"Besides, you jes want me out there so those men can have me. You hate me. You hate how ugly I done become. You think it's my fault. You think I'm staying up all night jes to git under yer skin. You don't understand that I cain't sleep. No matter how hard I try, I cain't sleep."

She was twelve, tall and willowy, but yet to show any outward signs of becoming a woman. Right now, she thought, she really didn't care if she became a woman er not. She cared about the men who had tried to git her into their car as she 'uz walking down the road. First they called her by name an' offered her a big stuffed panda to come with them. Then one of them — the thin one with the cowboy hat — got out of the car with a fist fulla money an' held it out for her. At the sight of him, Sara Jane had whirled and taken off through the woods. The man came after her, but there was no way in hell he 'uz gonna catch her. Those were her woods. No one caught her out there less'n she wanted 'em to.

"You're making a big mistake," the man had called after her as he gave up chasin'.

Sara Jane reported the incident to her ma, but it 'uz clear she didn't believe her. All she said was that Sara Jane wouldn't be get-tin' in such trouble if she'd jes stop runnin' off ever' chance she got an' stayed closer to home. Seven kids an' Sara Jane was the only one actin' out the way she was. Stayin' up all night. Makin' up stories. Havin' tantrums. Screamin' at her ma. Gettin' into fights with her brothers and sisters. Racin' off into the woods.

It were the bumps on her face that were poisoning her an' makin' her do bad things, Sara Jane had tried to explain. The bumps. The doctor in Ridgefield disagreed. He said she 'uz jes becoming a woman an' doin' it harder 'n most. The lumps'd go away as soon as her monthlies started. Maybe so. But this mornin' she had found another one, this one jes above her eye — nearly as wide as a dime an' hard as a knuckle. It was the sixth one, plus two right on the top of her head. Them monthlies had better come soon or there wouldn't be nothin' left of her face.

It was clear that her ma had said all she was of a mind to say on the topic of Sara Jane Tinsley. Well, to hell with her. If she wanted the corn picked so damn bad, her fav'rite daughter would pick it.

Sara Jane stormed from the house, slamming the torn screen door behind her, and grabbed one of the plastic baskets. Takin' in laundry an' ironin' was her ma's main source of money, but the corn, half an acre of it, helped. Only this year had been dry, real dry, an' many of the ears was runted. Well, she wanted 'em, she was gonna get 'em, runted or not.

Furious, Sara Jane marched to the end of the farthest row and began tearing off all the ears she could find and throwing them into the bucket. The bending and shaking stalks made a sound like a thresher was going through them. The noise and her own wild movements kept her from hearing the man stealthily approaching her from behind, or sensing his presence until it was too late. Simultaneously, one of his strong, bony hands pinned her to him across her chest, while the second one clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose — a cloth soaked with something that smelled sickly sweet. Sara Jane tried to fight and bite, but he pulled her down to the ground and smothered her with his hand and his body. She knew it was the man with the cowboy hat, but there was nothing she could do. Quickly, her struggles lessened.

I told you, Ma… I told you they 'uz after me…

Her head began to spin. Then, just as she thought she was going to throw up, peace and darkness settled over her.