Mortal Fear

CHAPTER 11

Nightmares involving gross permutations of the terrible scene in Helene’s apartment drove Jason out of bed before the sun paled the eastern sky. He put on coffee and as he waited for it to filter through his machine, he picked up his paper and read about the double murder. There was nothing new. As he’d expected, the emphasis was on the rape. Putting the Gene, Inc., ledger in his briefcase, Jason started out for the hospital.

At least there was no traffic at that early hour as he drove to the GHP, and he had his choice of parking places. Even the surgeons who usually arrived at such an uncivilized hour were not there yet.

When he arrived at GHP, he went directly to his office. As he’d requested, his desk was piled with charts. He took off his jacket and began to go through them. Keeping in mind these were patients who had died within a month of getting a fairly clean bill of health from doctors who’d completed the most extensive physicals GHP had to offer, Jason searched for commonalities. Nothing caught his eye. He compared EKGs and the levels of cholesterol, fatty acids, immunoglobulins, and blood counts. No common group of compounds, elements, or enzymes varied from the normal in any predictable pattern. The only shared trait was most of the patients’ deaths occurred within a month of having the physical. More upsetting, Jason noticed, was that in the last three months the number of deaths increased dramatically.

Reading the twenty-sixth chart, one correlation suddenly occurred to Jason. Although the patients did not share physical symptoms, their charts showed a predominance of high-risk social habits. They were overweight, smoked heavily, used drugs, drank too much, and failed to exercise, or combined any and all of these unhealthy practices; they were men and women who were eventually destined to have severe medical problems. The shocking fact was that they deteriorated so quickly. And why the sudden upswing in deaths? People weren’t indulging in vices more than they were a year ago. Maybe it was a kind of statistical equalizing: they’d been lucky and now the numbers were catching up to them. But that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, for there seemed to be too many deaths. Jason was not an experienced statistician, so he decided to ask a better mathematician than he was to look at the numbers.

When he knew he wouldn’t be waking the patients, Jason left his office and made rounds. Nothing had changed. Back in his office and before he saw the first scheduled patient, he called Pathology and inquired about the dead animals from Hayes’s lab, and waited several minutes while the technician looked for the report.

“Here it is,” the woman said. “They all died of strychnine poisoning.”

Jason hung up and called Margaret Danforth at the city morgue. A technician answered, since Margaret was busy doing an autopsy. Jason asked if the toxicology on Gerald Farr revealed anything interesting.

“Toxicology was negative,” the tech said.

“One more question. Would strychnine have shown up?”

“Just a moment,” the technician said.

In the background Jason could hear the woman shouting to the medical examiner. She returned to the phone. “Dr. Danforth said yes, strychnine would have shown up if it had been present.”

“Thank you,” Jason said.

He hung up the phone, then stood up. At the window, he examined the developing day. He could see the traffic snarled on the Riverway from his window. The sky was light but overcast. It was early November. Not a pretty month for Boston. Jason felt restless and anxious and disconsolate. He thought about the parcel from Carol and wondered if he should turn it over to Curran. Yet for what purpose? They weren’t even investigating Hayes except as a drug pusher.

Walking back to the desk Jason took out his phone directory and looked up the phone number of Gene, Inc. He noted the company was located on Pioneer Street in east Cambridge next to the MIT campus. Impulsively, he sat down and dialed the number. The line was answered by a woman receptionist with an English accent. Jason asked for the head of the company.

“You mean Dr. Leonard Dawen, the president?”

“Dr. Dawen will be fine,” Jason said. He heard the extension ring. It was picked up by a secretary.

“Dr. Dawen’s office.”

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Dawen.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Dr. Jason Howard.” “May I tell him what this is in reference to?”

“It’s about a lab book I have. Tell Dr. Dawen I’m’ from the Good Health Plan and was a friend of the late Alvin Hayes.”

“Just a moment, please,” the secretary said in a voice that sounded like a recording.

Jason opened the center drawer to his desk and toyed with his collection of pencils. There was a click on the phone, then a powerful voice came over the line, “This is Leonard Dawen!”

Jason explained who he was and then described the lab book.

“May I ask how it came into your possession, sir?”

“I don’t think that’s important. The fact is I have it.” He was not about to implicate Carol.

“That book is our property,” Dr. Dawen said. His voice was calm but with a commanding and threatening undercurrent.

“I’ll be happy to turn the book over in exchange for some information about Dr. Hayes. Do you think we might meet?”

“When?”

“As soon as possible,” Jason said. “I could get over just before lunch.”

“Will you have the book with you?”

“I will indeed.”

For the rest of the morning Jason had trouble concentrating on the steady stream of patients. He was pleased Sally hadn’t scheduled him through lunch. The minute he finished his last exam, he hurried out to his car.

Reaching Cambridge, Jason threaded his way past MIT and among the new East Cambridge corporate skyscrapers, some with dramatically modem architecture that contrasted sharply with the older and more traditional New England brick structures. Making a final turn on Pioneer Street, Jason found Gene, Inc., housed in a startlingly modern building of polished black granite. Unlike its neighbors, the structure was only six floors high. Its windows were narrow slits alternating with circles of bronze mirrored glass. It had a solid, powerful look, like a castle in a science fiction movie.

Jason got out of his car with his briefcase and gazed up at the striking facade. After reading so much about recombinant DNA and seeing Hayes’s grossly deformed zoo, Jason was afraid he was about to enter a house of horrors. The front entrance was circular, defined by radiating spikes of granite, giving the illusion of a giant eye, the black doors being the pupil. The lobby was also black granite: walls, floor, even ceiling. In the center of the reception area was a dramatically illuminated modem sculpture of the double helix DNA molecule opening like a zipper.

Jason approached an attractive Korean woman sitting behind a glass wall and in front of a control panel that looked like something out of the Starship Enterprise. She wore a tiny earpiece along with a small microphone that snaked around from behind her neck. She greeted Jason by name and told him he was expected in the fourth-floor conference room. Her voice had a metallic sound as she spoke into the microphone.

The minute the receptionist stopped speaking, one of the granite panels opened, revealing an elevator. As he thanked her, Jason suddenly fancied that she was a lifelike robot. Smiling, he boarded the elevator and looked for the floor buttons. The door closed behind him. There was no floor-selector panel, but the elevator started upward.

When the doors reopened, Jason found himself in a doorless black foyer. He assumed the entire building was controlled from a central location, perhaps by the receptionist downstairs. To his left a granite panel slid open. Within the doorway stood a man with coarse features, impeccably dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red paisley tie.

“Dr. Howard, I’m Leonard Dawen,” the man said, motioning Jason into the room. He didn’t offer to shake hands. His voice had the same commanding quality Jason remembered from the phone conversation. Compared to the tomblike austerity of the rest of the building, the conference room looked more like a wood-paneled library and seemed positively cozy until you looked at the fourth wall, which was glass. It looked out on what appeared to be a large ultramodern lab. There was another man in the room, an Oriental, wearing a white zippered jumpsuit. Dawen introduced the man as Mr. Hong, a Gene, Inc., engineer. After they were all seated around a small conference table, Dawen said, “I assume you have the lab book….”

Jason opened his briefcase and handed the ledger to Dawen, who handed it to Hong. The engineer began studying it page by page. A heavy silence ensued.

Jason looked back and forth between the two men. He’d expected things to be a bit more cordial. After all, he was doing them a favor.

He turned and peered through the glass wall. The floor of the room beyond was a story below. Much of the area was filled with stainless steel vats, reminding Jason of a visit he’d once made to a brewery. He guessed they were the incubators for the culture of the recombinant bacteria. There was a lot of other equipment and complicated piping. People in white jumpsuits with white hoods were moving about checking gauges, making adjustments.

Hong closed the lab book with a snap. “It seems complete,” he said.

“That’s a nice surprise,” Dr. Dawen said. Turning to Jason he said, “I hope you realize everything in this book is confidential.”

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, forcing a smile. “I didn’t understand much of it. What I’m interested in is Dr. Hayes. Just before he died he said he’d made a major discovery. I’m curious to know if what is described in those pages would be considered as such.”

Dawen and Hong exchanged glances. “It’s more of a commercial breakthrough,” Hong said. “There’s no new technology here.”

“That’s what I suspected. Hayes was so distraught I couldn’t tell if he was entirely rational. But, if he made a major breakthrough, I’d hate to have it lost to humanity.”

Dawen’s blunt features softened for the first time since Jason had arrived.

Jason continued, directing his attention to the engineer. “Any idea what Hayes could have been talking about?”

“Unfortunately, no. Hayes was always rather secretive.” Dawen folded his hands on the table and looked directly at Jason. “We were afraid you were going to extort us with this material — make us pay to get it back,” he said, touching the cover of the lab book. “You have to understand that Dr. Hayes had been giving us a rather difficult time.”

“What was Dr. Hayes’s role here?” Jason asked.

“We hired him to produce a recombinant strain of bacteria,” Dawen explained. “We wanted to produce a certain growth factor in commercial quantities.”

Jason guessed that was the Somatomedin.

“We agreed to pay him a flat fee for the project, as well as letting him use the Gene, Inc., facilities for his own research. We have some very unique equipment.”

“Any idea what his own research involved?” Jason asked.

Hong spoke up. “He spent most of his time isolating growth-factor proteins. Some of them exist in such minute quantities that the most sophisticated equipment is required to isolate them.”

“Would the isolation of one of these growth factors be considered a major scientific discovery?” Jason asked.

“I can’t see how,” Hong replied. “Even if they’ve never been isolated, we know their effects.”

Another dead end, Jason thought wearily.

“There’s just one thing I remember that might be significant,” Hong said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “About three months ago Hayes got very excited about some side effect. He said it was ironic.”

Jason straightened. There was that word again. “Any idea what caused his excitement?” he asked.

Hong shook his head. “No,” he said, “but after that we didn’t see him for a time. When we did see him, he said he’d been to the Coast. Then he set up an elaborate extraction process on some material he’d brought back with him. I don’t know if it worked, but then he abruptly switched to monoclonal antibody technology. At that point his excitement seemed to die.”

The words “monoclonal antibody” reminded Jason of the second lab book, and he wondered if he shouldn’t have brought it after all. Maybe Mr. Hong could have made more out of it than he had.

“Did Dr. Hayes leave any other research material here?” Jason asked.

“Nothing significant,” Leonard Dawen answered. “And we checked carefully, because he’d walked off with our lab book and the cultures. In fact, we were suing Dr. Hayes. We never anticipated he would try and contend he owned the strains that we’d hired him to produce.”

“Did you get your cultures back?” Jason asked.

“We did.”.

“Where did you find them?”

“Let’s say we looked in the right place,” Dawen said evasively. “But even though we have the strain, we still appreciate getting the protocol book back. On behalf of the company, I’d like to thank you. I hope we have helped you in some small way.”

“Perhaps,” Jason said vaguely. He had an idea he’d inadvertently found out who had searched Hayes’s lab and apartment. But why would the scientists from Gene, Inc., want to kill the animals? He wondered if the huge animals had been treated with Gene, Inc.’s, Somatomedin. “I appreciate your time,” he said to Dawen. “You have an impressive setup here.”

“Thank you. Things are going well. We plan to have recombinant strains of farm animals soon.”

“You mean like pigs and cows?”

“That’s right. Genetically we can produce leaner pigs, cows that produce more milk, and chickens that have more protein, just to give you a few examples.”

“Fascinating,” Jason said without enthusiasm. How far away could they be from genetically engineering people? He shivered again, seeing Hayes’s outsized rats and mice, especially those with supernumerary eyes.

Back in the car, Jason glanced at his watch. He still had an hour before the staff meeting being held to go over recent patient deaths, so he decided to visit Samuel Schwartz, Hayes’s attorney.

Starting the car, Jason backed out of the Gene, Inc., parking lot and worked his way over to Memorial Drive. He crossed the Charles River, stopping at Philip’s Drug Store on Charles Circle. Double-parking with his emergency light blinking, he ran into the store and looked up Schwartz’s address. Ten minutes later he was in the lawyer’s waiting room, flipping the pages of an outdated Newsweek.

Samuel Schwartz was an enormously obese man with a glistening bald head. He motioned Jason into his office as if he were directing traffic. Settling himself into his chair and adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, he studied Jason, who had seated himself in front of the massive mahogany partner’s desk.

“So you are a friend of the late Alvin Hayes….”

“We were more colleagues than friends.”

“Whatever,” Schwartz said with another wave of his chubby hand. “So what can I do for you?”

Jason retold Hayes’s story of a purported breakthrough. He explained that he was trying to figure out what Hayes had been working on and had come across correspondence from Samuel Schwartz.

“He was a client. So what?”

“No need to be defensive.”

“I’m not defensive. I’m just bitter. I did a lot of work for that bum and I’m going to have to write it all off.”

“He never paid?”

“Never. He conned me into working for stock in his new company.”

“Stock?”

Samuel Schwartz laughed without humor. “Unfortunately, now that Hayes is dead, the stock is worthless. It might have been worthless even if he had lived. I should have my head examined.”

“Was Hayes’s corporation going to sell a service or a product?” Jason asked.

“A product. Hayes told me he was on the verge of developing the most valuable health product ever known. And I believed him. I figured a guy who’d been on the cover of Time had to have something on the ball.”

“Any idea what this product was?” Jason asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Not the foggiest. Hayes wouldn’t tell me.”

“Do you know if it involved monoclonal antibodies?” Jason asked, unwilling to give up.

Schwartz laughed again. “I wouldn’t know a monoclonal antibody if I walked into it.”

“Malignancies?” Jason was only fishing, but he hoped he could jog the lawyer’s memory. “Could the product have involved a cancer treatment?”

The obese man shrugged—“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Hayes told someone that his discovery would enhance their beauty. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Listen, Dr. Howard. Hayes told me nothing about the product. I was just setting up the corporation.”

“You were also applying for a patent.”

“The patent had nothing to do with the corporation. That was to be in Hayes’s name.”

Jason’s beeper startled both men. He watched the tiny screen. The word “urgent” blinked twice, followed by a number at the GHP hospital. “Would it be possible to use your phone?” Jason asked.

Schwartz pushed it across the desk. “Be my guest, doctor.”

The call was from Madaline Krammer’s floor. She’d arrested and they were giving her CPR. Jason said he’d be right there. Thanking Samuel Schwartz, Jason ran from the lawyer’s office and impatiently waited for the elevator.

When he got to Madaline’s room, he saw an all too familiar scene. The patient was unresponsive. Her heart refused to respond to anything, including external pacing. Jason insisted they continue life support while his mind went over various drugs and treatments, but after an hour of frantic activity, even he was forced to give up and he reluctantly called a halt to the proceedings.

Jason remained at Madaline’s bedside after everyone else had left. She’d been an old friend, one of the first patients he’d treated in his private practice. One of the nurses had covered her face with a sheet. Madaline’s nose poked it up like a miniature snow-covered mountain. Gently, Jason turned it back. Even though she had been only in her early sixties, he couldn’t get over how old she looked. Since she’d entered the hospital, her face had lost all its cheerful plumpness and taken on the skeletal cast of those nearing death.

Needing some time by himself, Jason retreated to his office, avoiding both Claudia and Sally, who each had a hundred urgent questions about the upcoming conference and the problems of rescheduling so many patients. Jason locked his door and settled himself at his desk. As such an old patient, Madaline’s passing seemed like the severing of one more connection to Jason’s former life. Jason felt poignantly alone, fearful, yet relieved, that Danielle’s memory was receding.

Jason’s phone rang, but he ignored it. He looked over his desk, which was a mass of stacked hospital charts of deceased patients, including Hayes’s. Involuntarily, Jason’s mind went back to the Hayes affair. It was frustrating that the package from Carol, which had held such hope, had added so little information. It did give a bit more credence to the idea Hayes had made a discovery that at least he thought was stupendous. Jason cursed Hayes’s secrecy.

Leaning back, Jason put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He was running out of ideas about Hayes. But then he remembered the Oriental engineer’s comment that Hayes had brought something back from the Coast, presumably Seattle. It must have been a sample of something because Hayes had subjected it to a complicated extraction process. From Hong’s comments, it seemed to Jason that Hayes had probably been isolating some kind of growth factor which would stimulate growth, or differentiation, or maturation, or all three.

Jason came forward with a thump. Remembering that Carol had said Hayes had visited a colleague at the University of Washington, Jason suddenly entertained the idea that Hayes had obtained some kind of sample from the man.

All at once, Jason decided he’d go to Seattle, provided, of course, Carol would go along. She might. After all, she’d be the key to finding this friend. Besides, a few days away sounded extremely therapeutic to Jason. With a little time left before the staff meeting, Jason decided to stop by and see Shirley.

Shirley’s secretary at first insisted that her boss was too busy to see Jason, but he convinced her to at least announce his presence. A moment later he was ushered inside. Shirley was on the phone. Jason took a seat, gradually catching the drift of the conversation. She was dealing with a union leader, handling the person with impressive ease. Absently she ran her fingers through her thick hair. It was a wonderfully feminine gesture, reminding Jason that underneath the professional surface was a very attractive woman, complicated but lovely.

Shirley hung up and smiled. “This is a treat,” she said. “You are filled with surprises these days, aren’t you, Jason? I suppose you’re here to apologize for not having spent more time with me last night.”

Jason laughed. Her directness was disarming. “Maybe so. But there’s something else. I’m thinking of taking a few days off. I lost another patient this morning and I think I need some time away.”

Shirley clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Was it expected?”

“I guess so. At least over the last few days. But when I’d admitted her I had no idea she was terminal.”

Shirley sighed. “I don’t know how you deal with this sort of thing.”

“It’s never easy,” Jason agreed. “But what’s made it particularly hard lately is the frequency.”

Shirley’s phone rang, but she buzzed her secretary to take a message.

“Anyway,” Jason said, “I’ve decided to take a few days off.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Shirley said. “I wouldn’t mind doing the same if these damned union negotiations conclude. Where are you planning to go?”

“I’m not sure,” Jason lied. The trip to Seattle was such a long shot that he was ashamed to mention it.

“I have some friends who own a resort in the British Virgin Islands. I could give them a call,” Shirley offered.

“No, thanks. I’m not a sun person. What’s happened about the Brennquivist tragedy? Much fallout?”

“Don’t remind me,” Shirley said. “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t face it. Bob Walthrow is handling that.”

“I had nightmares all night,” admitted Jason.

“Not surprising,” Shirley said.

“Well, I’ve got a meeting,” Jason said, getting to his feet.

“Would you have time for dinner tonight?” Shirley asked. “Maybe we can cheer each other up.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Let’s say around eight.”

“Eight it is,” Jason said, heading for the door. As he left, Shirley called after him.

“I’m really sorry about your patient.”

The staff meeting was better attended than Jason had expected, given such short notice. Fourteen of the sixteen internists were there, and several had brought along their nurses. It seemed obvious they all recognized they were facing a serious problem.

Jason started with the statistics that he’d extracted from the computer printout listing all patients who’d died within a month of a complete physical. He pointed out that the number of deaths had increased in the last three months, and said he was trying to check up on all GHP clients who’d had executive physicals in the last sixty days.,

“Were the physicals evenly distributed among us?” Roger Wanamaker asked.

Jason nodded.

A number of the doctors spoke out, making it clear they feared the start of a nationwide epidemic. No one could understand the connection with the physicals, and why the deaths were not being anticipated. The acting chief of cardiology, Dr. Judith Rolander, tried to take much of the blame on herself, admitting that in most of the cases she’d reviewed, the EKG done during the physical did not predict the imminent problems, even when she was armed with hindsight.

The conversation then switched to stress testing as the main key to predicting catastrophic cardiac events. There were many opinions on this issue; all were duly discussed. Upon recommendation from the floor, an ad hoc committee was formed to look into specific ways to alter their stress testing in hopes of increasing its prognostic value.

Jerome Washington then took the floor. Getting heavily on his feet, he said, “I think we’re overlooking the significance of unhealthy lifestyles. That’s one factor that all these patients seem to share.”

There were a few joking references to Jerome’s weight and his affection for cigars. “All right, you guys,” he said. “You know patients should do what we say and not what we do.” Everyone laughed. “Seriously,” he continued. “We all know the dangers of poor diet, heavy smoking, excess alcohol and lack of exercise. Such social factors have far more predictive value than a mild EKG abnormality.”

“Jerome is right,” Jason said. “The poor risk-factor profile was the only negative commonality I could find.”

By a vote, it was decided to form a second committee to investigate risk-factor contribution to the current problem and come up with specific recommendations.

Harry Sarnoff, the current month’s consulting cardiologist, raised his hand, and Jason recognized him. When he got to his feet, he began to talk about noticing an increase in morbidity and mortality for his inpatients. Jason interrupted him.

“Excuse me, Harry,” Jason said. “I can appreciate your concern, and frankly I’ve had experience apparently similar to yours. However, this current meeting involves the problem with the outpatient executive physicals. We can schedule a second meeting if the staff desires to discuss any potential inpatient problem. They very well may be related.”

Harry threw up his hands, and reluctantly sat back down.

Jason then encouraged the staff to be sure to autopsy any patients who met unexpected deaths if the medical examiner didn’t take them. Jason then told the audience that the results from the medical examiner’s office on his patients suggested that the people were suffering multisystem disease including extensive cardiovascular problems. Of course, that fact only undermined the concern that their conditions had not been picked up on either resting or exercise EKGs. Jason added that Pathology thought there was an autoimmune component.

After the meeting broke up, the doctors gravitated to smaller groups to discuss the problem. Jason collected his printout and searched for Roger Wanamaker. He was in an animated conversation with Jerome.

“May I interrupt?” Jason asked. The two men separated to allow Jason to join them. “I’m about to leave town for a few days.”

Roger and Jerome exchanged glances. Roger spoke: “Seems like a poor time to be leaving.”

“I need it,” Jason said without elaborating. “But I have five patients in house. Would either of you gentlemen be willing to cover? I’ll admit right up front that they’re all pretty sick.”

“Wouldn’t much matter,” Roger said. “I’ve been in here night and day trying to keep my own half dozen alive. I’ll be happy to cover.”

With that problem solved, Jason went into his office and called Carol Donner, thinking late afternoon would be a good time to catch her. The phone rang a long time and he was about to give up when she answered, out of breath. She told him she’d been in the bath.

“I want to see you tonight,” Jason said.

“Oh,” Carol said noncommittally. She hesitated. “That might be difficult.” Then she added angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me about Helene Brennquivist last night? I read in the paper that you were the one who found the bodies.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said defensively. “To be perfectly honest, you woke me last night and all I could think about was the package.”

“Did you get it?” Carol asked, her voice softening.

“I did,” Jason said. “Thank you.”

“And…?”

“The material wasn’t as enlightening as I’d hoped.”

“I’m surprised,” said Carol. “The ledgers must have been important or Alvin wouldn’t have asked me to keep them. But that’s beside the point. What an awful thing about Helene. My boss is so distressed he won’t let me go anywhere without one of the club bouncers. He’s outside the building at this very moment.”

“It’s important that I see you alone,” Jason said.

“I don’t know if I can. This behemoth takes orders from my boss, not me. And I don’t want any trouble.”

“Well, call me the minute you get home,” Jason said. “Promise! We’ll think of something.”

“It’ll be late again,” Carol warned.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s important.”

“All right,” Carol agreed before hanging up. Jason made one more call, to United Airlines, and checked on service from Boston to Seattle. He learned there was a daily flight at four P.M.

Gathering his stethoscope, Jason left his office and headed for the hospital to make rounds. He knew he needed to thoroughly update his charts if Roger was going to cover. None of his patients was doing very well, and Jason was disturbed to find that another patient had developed advanced cataracts. Troubled, he arranged an ophthalmology consult. This time he was certain he hadn’t noticed the problem on admission. How could the cataracts have progressed so far so fast?

At home, he changed into jogging clothes and ran a good hour, trying to sort out his thoughts. By the time he showered, changed, and drove over to Shirley’s, he was in a better mood.

Shirley outdid herself with the dinner, and Jason began to think she’d fit into the Superwoman category. She’d worked all day running a multimilliondollar company and conducting crucial union negotiations, yet somehow she’d gotten home, put together a fabulous feast of roast duck with fresh pasta and artichoke. And on top of that she’d dressed herself in a black silk chemise that would have been appropriate for the opera. Jason felt embarrassed that he’d put on jeans and a rugby shirt over a turtleneck after his shower.

“You wore what you wanted and so did I,” Shirley said with a laugh. She gave him a Kir Royale and told him to wash the radicchio and the arugula for their salad. She checked the duck and said it was about done. To Jason, it smelled heavenly.

They, ate in the dining room, sitting at opposite ends of a long table with six empty chairs on either side. Every time Jason poured more wine. he had to get up and walk several steps. Shirley thought it was amusing.

As they ate, Jason described the staff meeting and added that all the doctors were going to intensify the quality of their stress testing. Shirley was pleased, reminding Jason that the executive physical was an important part of GHP’s sales pitch to corporate clients. She told Jason that there would be a new emphasis on preventive medicine for executive customers.

Later, over coffee, she said, “Michael Curran came by this afternoon.”

“Really,” said Jason. “I’m sure that was unpleasant. What did he want?”

“Background material on the Brennquivist woman. We gave him everything we had. He even interviewed the woman in personnel who’d hired her.”

“Did he mention if they had any suspects?”

“He didn’t say,” Shirley said. “I just hope it’s all over.”

“I wish I’d gotten to talk with Helene again. I still think she was covering for Hayes.”

“Do you still think he discovered something?” “Absolutely.” Jason went on to describe the lab ledgers and his visit to Gene, Inc., and to Samuel Schwartz. He told Shirley that Schwartz had set up a corporation for Hayes that was to market the new discovery, whatever it was.

“Didn’t the lawyer know what the product was?”

“Nope. Apparently Hayes trusted no one.”

“But he would have needed seed capital. He would have had to trust someone if he was planning to manufacture and distribute.”

“Maybe so,” Jason admitted. “But I can’t find anyone he told — at least not yet. Unfortunately, Helene was the best bet.”

“Are you still looking?”

“I guess so,” he admitted. “Does that sound stupid?”

“Not stupid,” Shirley said, “just disturbing. It would be a tragedy if an important discovery were lost, but I definitely think it’s time to put the Hayes affair to rest. I hope you’re taking time off to relax, not to continue this wild-goose chase.”

“Now why would you suggest that?” Jason asked, surprised at his own transparency.

“Because you don’t give up easily.” She moved over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go to the Caribbean? Maybe I could get away over the weekend and join you….”

Jason experienced an excitement he’d not felt since Danielle’s death. The idea of the hot sun and cool, clear water sounded wonderful, especially if Shirley were there too. But then he hesitated. He didn’t know if he was ready for the emotional commitment that would entail. And, more important, he’d promised himself he’d visit Seattle.

“I want to go out to the West Coast,” he said finally. “There’s an old friend out there I’d like to see.”

“That sounds innocent enough. But the Caribbean sounds better to me.”

“Maybe soon.” He gave Shirley’s arm a squeeze. “How about a cognac?”

As Shirley got up to get the Courvoisier, Jason studied her figure with increasing interest.

When Carol called at two-thirty in the morning, Jason was wide awake. He’d been so worried that she might forget, he hadn’t been able to sleep.

“I’m exhausted, Jason,” Carol announced, instead of saying hello.

“I’m sorry, but I must see you,” he said. “I can be over in ten minutes.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. As I told you this afternoon, I’m not alone. There’s someone outside watching my building. Why do you have to see me tonight? Maybe we can work something out tomorrow.”

Jason thought about asking her on the phone to go to Seattle, but decided he’d have a better chance convincing her in person. It was a bit out of the ordinary asking a young woman to accompany him to Seattle after only two meetings.

“Is this bodyguard alone?”

“Yes. But what difference does that make? The guy’s built like an ox.”

“There’s an alley in back of your building. I could come up the fire escape.”

“The fire escape! This is crazy! What on earth is so important that you have to see me tonight?”

“If I told you, I wouldn’t have to see you.”

“Well, I’m not crazy about men coming to my apartment at night.”

Oh, sure, Jason thought. “Look,” he said aloud, “I’ll tell you this much. I’ve been trying to figure out what Hayes could have discovered and I’m down to my last idea. I need your help.”

“That’s quite a line, Dr. Jason Howard.”

“It’s true. You’re the only one who can help me.”

Carol laughed. “When you put it that way, who could refuse? All right, come along. But you’re coming at your own risk. I have to warn you, I don’t have much control over Atlas outside.”

“My disability insurance is all paid up.”

“I live at…” Carol began.

“I know where you live,” Jason interrupted. “In fact, I’ve already had a run-in with Bruno, if that’s the charming fellow guarding your door.”

“You’ve met Bruno?” Carol asked incredulously.

“Lovely man. Such a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Let me warn you, then,” Carol said. “It was Bruno who walked me home.”

“Luckily he’s pretty easy to spot. Watch out your back window. I don’t want to be stranded on your fire escape.”

“This is really insane,” Carol said.

Jason changed into a dark slacks and sweater. He’d be visible enough on the fire escape without wearing light colors. He donned running shoes and went down to his car. Driving along Beacon Street, he kept an eye out for Bruno. He went left on Gloucester Street and left again on Commonwealth. When he crossed Marlborough, he slowed. He knew there was no chance to find a parking place, so he pulled in at the nearest hydrant. He left the doors unlocked; if need be the firemen could run the hoses right through the car.

Getting out of his car, Jason peered down the alleyway between Beacon and Marlborough streets. Intermittent lights formed pools of illumination. There were lots of dark areas, and trees threw spider-weblike shadows. Jason could vividly remember his last attempted flight from Bruno down the same alley.

Marshaling his courage, Jason started into the alley as tense as a sprinter waiting for the starting gun. A sudden movement to his left made him gasp. It was a rat the size of a small cat, and Jason felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring up. He kept walking, happy to see no sign of Bruno. It was so quiet he could hear his breathing.

Arriving at Carol’s building, he noted the familiar light in the fourth-floor window before taking a good look at the fire escape. Unfortunately, it had one of those ladder mechanisms that have to be lowered from the first floor. Jason glanced around for something to stand on. The only thing available was a trash can, and that meant turning it over and dumping it. Despite the fact it would make a lot of noise, he realized he had no choice. But he shuddered as the metal clanged against the pavement and a number of beer cans clattered down the street.

Holding his breath, he looked up. No lights had come on. Satisfied, he climbed up on the garbage can and got hold of the lowest rung of the raised ladder.

“Hey!” someone yelled. Jason’s head turned and he saw a familiar bulky figure coming down the alley on the run, his thick arms pumping, his breaths coming in puffs like a steam engine. At that moment Bruno looked like a fullback for the Washington Redskins.

“Shit,” Jason said. With all his strength he pulled himself up on the ladder, half expecting it to drop under his weight. Luckily it didn’t. Hand over hand, he lifted himself until he could put his foot on the first rung and scamper up to the first floor.

“Hey, you goddamned little pervert!” Bruno was yelling. “You get the hell down here!”

Jason hesitated. He could hold the man off by stepping on his fingers if he tried to come up, but that wouldn’t get him in to see Carol. And somebody would call the police if there were enough ruckus. Jason decided to take the chance. He ran up the next two flights of the fire escape, arriving at Carol’s window. She was looking out and raised the sash the second she spotted him. Before she could speak, Jason gasped, “Your neo-Nazi is on his way up. Do you think he has a gun?” Jason found himself standing in a large kitchen.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s going to be here in a moment,” Jason said, slamming down the window and locking it. That was going to delay Bruno just about ten seconds.

“Maybe I should talk to him,” Carol suggested.

“Will he listen?”

“I’m not sure. He’s kinda bullheaded….”

“That’s my impression,” Jason said. “And I know he’s not fond of me. I think I need something like a baseball bat.”

“You can’t hit him, Jason.”

“I don’t want to, but I don’t think Bruno wants to sit down and talk this over. I need something to threaten him with to keep him away from me.”

“I have a fire poker.”

“Get it.” Jason turned the light out in the kitchen. Putting his nose to the glass, he could see Bruno struggling to pull himself onto the first ladder. He was strong but he was also bulky. Carol returned with the fire poker. Jason hefted it. With a little luck he might be able to convince the guy to listen.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Carol said.

Jason glanced around the room and noticed that the floor was old-fashioned linoleum. He looked at the door leading from the kitchen to the rest of the apartment. It was thick and solid, with a lock and key. At one point the room had been something other than a kitchen.

“Carol, would you mind if I made a mess? I mean, I’ll be-happy to pay to have it cleaned up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you have a big can of vegetable oil?”

“I suppose.”

“Can I have it?”

Perplexed, Carol opened the pantry door and lifted out a gallon can of imported Italian olive oil.

“Perfect,” Jason said. After another quick check out the window, he hurriedly pulled the two chairs and table out of the kitchen. Carol watched him with growing confusion.

“Okay, out,” Jason ordered. Carol stepped into the hall.

Jason uncorked the olive oil and began pouring the contents over the floor in wide, sweeping movements. As he closed and locked the door, he heard banging on the kitchen window, followed by the crash of glass.

He wedged the kitchen table between the door and the opposite hall.

“Come on,” he said, taking Carol’s hand. In his other he still held the poker. He led her to the front door of the apartment, which was adequately secured with double latches and a metal-pole police lock. In the kitchen they heard a tremendous crash. Bruno had fallen down for the first time.

“That was ingenious,” laughed Carol.

“When you’re one hundred and sixty pounds, you have to compensate.” Jason’s heart was still racing. “Anyway, I have no idea how long Bruno will be entertained in there, so this has to be fast. I need you. The last chance I have of reconstructing Alvin Hayes’s discovery is to go to Seattle and try to find out what he did there. Apparently, he…”

There was another crash followed by a volley of swear words, some of which were appropriately in Italian.

“He’s going to be in a foul mood,” Jason said as he undid the locks on the front door.

“So you want me to go to Seattle with you. That’s what this is all about?”

“I knew you’d understand. Hayes brought back a biological sample from there, which he processed at Gene, Inc. I have to find out what it was. The best bet is the man he saw out at the University of Washington.”

“The man whose name I can’t remember.”

“But you saw him and could recognize him?”

“Probably.”

“I know it’s presumptuous to ask you to come,” Jason said. “But I really do believe Hayes made some sort of breakthrough. And considering his previous track record, it has to be significant.”

“And you really think going to Seattle might solve it?.,

“It’s a long shot. But the only one left.”

The door to the kitchen rattled and they heard Bruno begin a steady pounding.

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Jason said. “Bruno won’t hurt you, will he?”

“Heavens, no. My boss would skin him alive. That’s why he’s so rabid now. He thinks I’m in danger.”

“Carol, would you come with me to Seattle?” Jason asked while removing the pole to the police lock.

“When would you want to go?” Carol asked, vacillating.

“Late today. We wouldn’t stay long. Would it be possible for you to get off on short notice?”

“I have in the past. I just say I want to go home. Besides, after Helene’s murder my boss might be relieved to have me out of town.”

“Then say you’ll go?” Jason pleaded.

“All right.” Carol gave him one of her heartwarming smiles. “Why not?”

“There’s a flight to Seattle at four this afternoon. We’ll meet at the gate. I’ll get the tickets. How does that sound?”

“Insane,” Carol said, “but fun.”

“See you there.” Jason ran down the stairs to his car, fearful that Bruno might have reversed direction and gone back out the window.