Pandemic

16

TUESDAY, 6:40 P.M.

Once again, there was a good turnout on the basketball court, Jack noted, as his route home brought him past the neighborhood park. It was obvious people intended to take advantage of the string of decent days the city had been experiencing. That day the high had been in the sixties, despite it being the beginning of November. Most important, Jack could see that Warren was already there. Jack had hoped his friend would be playing that evening, because Jack had a big favor to ask and wanted to do it in person.

After crossing the street, Jack carried his bike up his front stoop and deposited it in its usual location. Then he started up the main stairs. The closer he got to the apartment door, the more he wondered what he was going to find. Could Laurie have invited someone over who might get Dorothy to leave? Jack didn’t know, but he thought it couldn’t hurt to be optimistic.

Once inside the apartment, Jack paused to listen. He was pleased when he heard no TV sounds emanating from the guest room. He even noted that the guest room door was slightly ajar and the light was switched off. But then, as he started up the next flight of stairs, he began to hear the evening news coming from the family room TV. That was not a good sign, as he knew Laurie was not a network news fan, nor was Caitlin.

As Jack’s line of vision crested the family room floor while he mounted the fifth flight of stairs, he caught sight of the people sitting on the gingham upholstered couch, and he slowed. To his horror, it was not only Dorothy but also her husband, Dr. Sheldon Montgomery, a retired Park Avenue cardiac surgeon. Both were glued to the television. It was apparent they had yet to see or hear him. As Jack reached the top of the stairs he could see that Dorothy was again in her bathrobe, meaning she was not going anyplace, and, equally distressing, Sheldon was similarly attired, but with the addition of a silk cravat.

Jack glanced over to the kitchen area and stared at Caitlin. In contrast to the Montgomerys, she was looking directly at him and rolled her eyes for his benefit. Turning his head, Jack looked into the playpen. Again, Emma was silently sitting in it with her beanbag toys lined up. Like she had the previous evening, she was constantly rolling her head and staring into space, seemingly locked in her own world.

Jack walked over to the playpen. As he did so, Dorothy caught sight of him and with a smile raised and briefly flapped the fingers of her right hand in a kind of constricted royal wave that Jack associated with Queen Elizabeth. Sheldon also nodded in Jack’s direction. Then both Montgomerys redirected their attention back to the news, despite it currently running a commercial. Jack looked back at Caitlin, and out of the Montgomerys’ line of sight, he hooked his thumb in their direction and flashed a questioning expression with arched eyebrows. Caitlin responded by closing her eyes and shrugging, suggesting she didn’t quite know what was happening.

Jack spent a few minutes talking with Emma and stroking her. He got no response but didn’t expect any. Then he continued down the hall toward the study that he shared with Laurie. He found Laurie and JJ at Laurie’s desk. They were busy doing an art homework assignment.

“Hey, Tiger,” Jack said as he tapped JJ’s shoulder with his fist. Intent on his maneuvering with a pair of scissors, JJ didn’t respond. Jack then bent over and gave Laurie a peck on the cheek.

“At least you got home safely,” Laurie said. She reached up and gave Jack’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “That’s one thing less on my mind.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Jack asked.

“Talk away,” Laurie said. She then put glue on the back of the star that JJ had just laboriously cut out.

“I mean out of earshot of this budding artist,” Jack said. He tousled JJ’s hair. JJ moved away from Jack’s hand as he positioned the star to his liking in the diorama being fashioned from a cardboard box.

“I’ll be right back,” Laurie said to JJ. “Go ahead and cut a few more stars. It’s coming along fantastic.”

Jack walked over to the windows looking out onto 106th Street. He could see that a few more people had appeared on the playground in anticipation of playing basketball. When he sensed Laurie was behind him, he turned around.

“So you now have a name but still no diagnosis,” Laurie said, assuming Jack wanted to talk about the case.

“No specific diagnosis,” Jack said. “But we now have evidence with reasonable certainty that an unknown pathogenic virus is involved. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about at the moment. What’s with your parents? Why is your father here and in his bathrobe?”

“It’s simple,” Laurie said. “I called him today and explained about Mother. We both thought it would be best for her if he came over here. She’s an entirely different person when he is around. She is not nearly so critical.”

Jack stared at Laurie in disbelief. For a moment he was tongue-tied. Having both her parents camping out hardly seemed like a solution to their current struggles.

“He’s going to talk to her about going home, but just not right away. I know you think her presence is disruptive but try to see the situation from her point of view. With both you and me away all day, she feels it is her duty to be here until Emma’s status is determined and a plan of action is decided. She respects Caitlin but feels strongly that she is not family, and this is a quintessential family emergency. And on the plus side, she is very patient with Emma. Even Caitlin says so.”

Jack could feel his blood boil, yet Laurie was making a certain amount of sense. Still, an overwhelming sense of frustration, helplessness, and guilt settled over him like a blasting mat. He found himself thanking his lucky stars he had the subway death case, with all its surprises and twists and turns, to fall back on to keep his sanity.

“Do me a favor!” Laurie said. “Go out there and try to be pleasant. My father likes and respects you. I know that for a fact. I’ll be out as soon as I finish with JJ. You and I are a team, Jack. We’ll get through this.”

Jack was speechless. All he could do was nod in agreement, and he felt worse for it. He should have ranted and raged, but he didn’t. He felt like such a milquetoast because two minutes later he was back out in the family room, pulling over a chair from the dining table so he could make nice with both Dorothy and Sheldon.

The timing was impeccable. The moment Jack settled into his chair the network news was over. As Dorothy switched the channel to PBS Thirteen, Sheldon turned to Jack.

“Evening, Doctor!” Sheldon said. He leaned forward, extended his hand, and gave Jack’s a shake. “Was it a busy day?”

“It was busy, all right,” Dorothy interjected. “But all his patients died.” She laughed mirthlessly at her own joke, one she had used many times in the past.

“It was busy,” Jack agreed. He wondered what they would have said if he’d described his visit to the tattoo parlor. Being a medical examiner was far different and more varied than most people imagined, even other doctors. As far as Dorothy’s cutting remark was concerned, he ignored it, as he usually did. “And how was your day, sir?” Jack asked. He knew that Sheldon was essentially retired but still went into his group-practice Park Avenue office every day. What he did, Jack had no idea, since he had stopped doing surgery two years earlier. But as one of the founding members, he was able to call the shots.

“Dorothy mentioned you had unkind words to say about Hermann Cross,” Sheldon said, ignoring the question. His tone was matter-of-fact and not accusatory.

“I was told he still adhered to the discredited role MMR vaccines played in causing autism,” Jack explained. “For a doctor, I find that particularly unenlightened.”

“He’s trained in psychiatry,” Sheldon said as an explanation. “And he is more of a businessman than a physician.”

“I guessed as much,” Jack said. He racked his brains for additional conversational subject matter until PBS NewsHour got under way. At that point, Sheldon’s attention drifted back to the TV, and Jack was relieved momentarily of his hosting duties. For ten minutes he merely observed Laurie’s parents and their slack faces as the news droned on. Emma was also in his visual field, and Jack found himself wondering how the brain function of the three people differed. The Montgomerys weren’t rolling their heads, but their blank expressions matched Emma’s.

With a sudden flurry of welcome laughter and activity, Laurie and JJ appeared. Laurie was chasing JJ, who was squealing as if terrified. For protection he ran into Sheldon’s arms. It was a wonderful little normal interlude shattering the otherwise mausoleum-like atmosphere.

“Okay!” Laurie said with enthusiasm while clapping her hands. “What do you all say to the idea of a little dinner?”

“It’s about time,” Dorothy said. But to her credit, she got up off the couch with the intention of lending a hand.

Jack felt an irresistible urge to get out and do something, and the most accessible form of relief was basketball. With Sheldon still glued to the television and Dorothy finding things to do with Laurie, Jack went up to the bedroom and changed into his exercise gear. He knew Laurie would not be happy, but he felt it was a matter of self-preservation. He trusted she’d get over it if he didn’t participate in the meal preparations.

Ten minutes later, as Jack was crossing 106th Street, he felt like a new man. When he arrived at the playground he could see that Warren was already playing, and as usual had managed to get himself on a solid team, suggesting that he’d probably be playing the entire evening. Unfortunately, Jack had arrived too late for Warren to choose him.

Intending to run in place and do some calisthenics after he figured out how he was going to get into the game, Jack joined the group of people standing on the sidelines. Quickly he found out that Flash, his other close basketball friend, had winners. When he found Flash, who was a large, bearded, and muscular African American man, he learned that there was a spot for him.

“We got a decent team,” Flash remarked. “Well, except for you.” He high-fived Jack to emphasize that he was kidding. “We also got David, Ron, and that new girl you brought around last night.”

“You mean Aretha?” Jack asked. He went up on his tiptoes, trying to find her.

“You got it,” Flash said. “She’s hot.”

“Where is she?” Jack asked.

“She’s over at the sandbox, talking to my squeeze,” Flash said, pointing.

Without a second’s hesitation Jack jogged over to the sandbox. As he approached, Aretha saw him coming and stood.

“Sorry to interrupt, Charisse,” Jack said. He had met Flash’s newest girlfriend on several occasions.

“No problem,” Charisse said. “We were just reminiscing about college days. You probably don’t know, but I also went to the University of Connecticut. Of course, I didn’t play basketball. I didn’t even try. I’d never have made the team.”

Jack looked at Aretha. She was dressed in the same well-fitting black top and matching black shorts she’d worn the previous evening. But tonight she had added a more colorful headband, wristband, and kicks. They were an electric yellow-green that elegantly set off the burnished mahogany color of her skin. It was a striking and fun fashion statement. “You look terrific,” he said.

“Well, thank you, sir,” Aretha said brightly. “It looks like you could use a little help in that department.”

It was true. Jack’s aged workout togs were a hopeless mismatch of boring dark colors. He wasn’t even sure if his socks matched, and his sneakers looked worse for wear, with a visible hole on the outer side of the left one. When he’d been an ophthalmologist he’d cared about his clothes and shoes and even had several smart suits. But after the loss of his first family and after becoming a medical examiner and moving to New York City, he’d never given clothes much thought, especially when it came to exercise apparel. Seeing how put-together Aretha looked was a stimulus to make a little effort.

“This afternoon, just before you hung up, you enticed me to come out tonight by saying you had a surprise to tell me,” Jack said. “Well, I’m here. So what is it?”

“It’s about a piece of special equipment we have at the Public Health Laboratory. It’s called the MPS machine. Have you heard of it?”

“Can’t say I have,” Jack said.

“It stands for Massive Parallel Sequencing. It’s a technology that takes advantage of what is called high-throughput. It’s also called second-generation DNA sequencing.”

“You’ve lost me already,” Jack said. “Why is this a supposed surprise for me?”

“Because not everyone has access to it, including me,” Aretha said. “To use it, I had to put in a formal application, which I did yesterday. Today I learned I got permission.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jack said.

“I can use the MPS machine to determine the unknown virus,” Aretha explained. “In the past characterizing a new, unknown virus has been a laborious process. The MPS machine will do billions of short-segment DNA reads, which I can then run through BLAST.”

“It’s like you’re speaking to me in a foreign language,” Jack complained. “What the hell is BLAST?”

“Oh, sorry.” Aretha laughed good-naturedly. “I forgot you went to school in the previous century. BLAST stands for Basic Local Alignment Search Tool. It’s a bioinformatics software method for analyzing the billions of short segments of DNA produced by the MPS. It can search through an enormous database of known viral genomes for matches. That means that within days I could be able to identify our unknown virus. Without the MPS and BLAST, it could take literally weeks, even months.”

“Okay!” Jack said. “Wow! Now I get it. Sounds great. Obviously, the sooner we have a virus nailed down, the better.”

“That I am aware,” Aretha said. “As a backup I sent off a couple samples to Connie Moran, who heads up the viral pathogen discovery team at the CDC.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack said. He made a face, as if he were suddenly pained. He explained: “My boss, the chief medical examiner, specifically ordered me not to involve the CDC at this stage of this case.” He didn’t mention his boss was also his wife.

“Why not?” Aretha asked. She was surprised. “This is right up the CDC’s alley. They have a whole Department of Viral Diseases as well as a Respiratory Virus branch. This is what they do, and they are better at it than I.”

“My boss is afraid of causing a disruptive and costly panic here in NYC until we have a firm diagnosis. And there is reason for her position. There’s been so much worry and preparation and even agency-wide exercises for a new, deadly flu pandemic here in the city that she is afraid the response that was generated could not be controlled if it was a false alarm. So far, she has been correct. There hasn’t been another case. Anyway, she has chosen not to let the Department of Health know about this case. Consequently, she doesn’t want the CDC prematurely contacting the media or, worse yet, sending an army of CDC epidemiological investigators up here.”

“Okay,” Aretha said. “I understand. Well, I didn’t provide any details. All I said was it was an unknown virus. Nothing else. I didn’t even say the patient died.”

“Good,” Jack said. “That sounds innocuous enough. Hey, I think we are going to be on the same team tonight.”

“Great,” Aretha said, and she high-fived Jack.

Jack said he’d give her a yell when they were ready for her and headed back to the basketball court. His timing was near perfect. As Jack reached the court the final basket was made by Warren’s team to win the game. Turning around, he yelled for Aretha to come over to the court on the double. She waved back to indicate she had heard.

As the disappointed losers slunk off the court, Jack, Flash, Ron, and David walked on. They were eager to take a few practice shots. But before he took any shots, Jack approached Warren and took him aside.

“I need to ask a favor, my friend,” Jack said, talking quietly. “I’d like to borrow your wheels tomorrow. I need to drive out to Dover, New Jersey.”

“Why Dover?” Warren questioned. Perspiration glistened on the well-defined muscles of his Greek-statue-like body, which always made Jack feel decidedly inadequate. “There’s nothing out there but a bunch of little lakes and green mountains. Well, not really mountains. More like green hills.”

“It’s a complicated story. I want to visit a hospital, a pharmaceutical company, and a farm, which are all connected to a young woman I autopsied. She died yesterday morning on the subway with a flu-like illness.”

“You’re too much, Doc,” Warren said. “You always have some weird shit happening. Sure! You can use my Escalade. It’s on the south side of 106th Street, down near Columbus Ave. You’ll need to gas it up. The thing is a thirsty mother.”