by Robin Cook
“What about this clairvoyant feeling?” Stanton asked.
“I’d like to think that is a reflection of an increase in overall brain function,” Edward said. “In that sense perhaps it could have some antidepressant effect.”
“Music to my ears,” Stanton said. “Tell me, what’s the next step with this compound?”
“First we’ll concentrate on its chemistry,” Edward said. “That means structure and its physical properties. Once we have the structure we will work out the drug’s synthesis to obviate our reliance on extracting it from the mold. Then we’ll move on to physiological function as well as toxicity studies.”
“Toxicity?” Stanton questioned. He blanched.
“You had a minuscule dose,” Edward reminded him. “Not to worry. You’ll have no problems.”
“How will you analyze the drug’s physiological effects?” Stanton asked.
“It will be a multilevel approach,” Edward said. “Remember, most compounds with a psychedelic effect function by imitating one of the brain’s neurotransmitters. LSD, for example, is related to serotonin. Our studies will start with single-cell neurons, then move on to synaptosomes, which are ground-up, centrifuged live brain preparations, and finally involve intact neural cell systems like the ganglions of lower animals.”
“No live animals?” Stanton asked.
“Eventually,” Edward said. “Mice and rats most likely. Also perhaps some monkeys. But that’s down the line. We’ve got to look at the molecular level as well. We’ll have to characterize binding sites and message transduction into the cell.”
“This sounds like a multiyear project,” Stanton said.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Edward said. He smiled at Eleanor. Eleanor nodded in agreement. “It’s damn exciting, though. It could be a chance of a lifetime.”
“Well, keep me informed,” Stanton said. He got to his feet. He took a few tentative steps to test his balance. “I have to say, I do feel great.”
Stanton got as far as the door to the lab when he turned around and returned. Edward and Eleanor had already begun work. “Remember,” he said. “You promised to read that damn prospectus, and I’m going to hold you to it no matter how busy you are.”
“I’ll read it,” Edward said. “I just didn’t say when.”
Stanton made his hand into a pistol and put it to his head and pretended to shoot.
“Kim, you have a call on line one,” the ward clerk called out.
“Take a message,” Kim shouted back. She was at the bedside of a particularly sick patient, helping the nurse assigned to the case.
“Go take your call,” the nurse said. “Thanks to you, things are under control here.”
“Are you sure?” Kim asked.
The nurse nodded.
Kim scooted across the center of the surgical intensive-care unit, dodging a traffic jam of beds. Patients had been coming and going all day. She picked up the phone, expecting either the chemistry lab or the blood bank. She had calls in to both places.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?” a voice asked.
“Who is this?” Kim demanded.
“George Harris, your Salem contractor. I’m returning your call.”
“I’m sorry,” Kim said. She’d forgotten she’d placed the call several hours earlier. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“I apologize for taking so long to get back,” George said. “I’ve been out at the site. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to know when the trench will be filled in,” Kim said. The question had occurred to her the day before and had produced some anxiety. Her concern was what she’d do if the trench was filled in prior to Elizabeth’s head being returned to her coffin.
“Probably tomorrow morning,” George said.
“So soon?” Kim exclaimed.
“They’re laying the utilities as we speak,” George said. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Kim said quickly. “I just wanted to know. How’s the work going?”
“No problems,” George said.
After cutting the conversation short and hanging up, Kim called Edward immediately. Her anxiety mounted as the connection went through.
Getting Edward on the phone was no easy task. At first the secretary refused even to try to locate him, saying she’d take a message and Edward would call back. Kim insisted and finally prevailed.
“I’m glad you called,” Edward said the moment he came on the line. “I’ve got more good news. We’ve not only separated the alkaloids, but we’ve already determined which one is psychoactive.”
“I’m happy for you,” Kim said. “But there is a problem. We have to get Elizabeth’s head back to Salem.”
“We can take it up on the weekend,” Edward said.
“That will be too late,” Kim said. “I just spoke with the contractor. He told me the trench is to be filled in the morning.”
“Oh, jeez,” Edward exclaimed. “Things are moving here at breakneck speed. I hate to take the time off. Can’t they wait and fill the trench after the weekend?”
“I didn’t ask,” Kim said. “And I don’t want to. I’d have to have a reason, and the only reason would involve the coffin. The contractor is in touch with my father, and I don’t want him to have any notion that the grave has been violated.”
“Damn it all,” Edward said.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“You promised you’d have that thing back ASAP,” Kim said finally.
“It’s just the timing,” Edward said. Then, after a slight pause, he added: “Why don’t you take it up yourself?”
“I don’t know if I could,” Kim said. “I didn’t even want to look at it, much less handle it.”
“You don’t have to handle it,” Edward said. “All you have to do is take the end of the coffin off and stick the box inside. You don’t even have to open the box.”
“Edward, you promised,” Kim said.
“Please!” Edward said. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. It’s just that I am so busy at the moment. We’ve started to analyze the structure.”
“All right,” Kim said. When someone close to her asked her to do something, it was hard for her to say no. It wasn’t that she minded the drive to Salem. She knew she should check the progress at the construction site as often as possible. Maybe slipping the box into the coffin wouldn’t be that bad.
“How am I going to get the box?” she asked.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Edward said. “I’ll send it over to you by messenger so you’ll have it before you finish work. How’s that?”
“I’d appreciate it,” Kim said.
“Call me here at the lab when you get back,” Edward said. “I’ll be here at least until midnight, probably longer.”
Kim went back to work, but she was preoccupied. The anxiety she’d felt when she’d heard that the trench was to be filled in so soon had not abated. Knowing herself, she guessed it would remain until she’d returned the head to the coffin.
As Kim scurried back and forth between the beds caring for her patients, she felt irritated that she’d allowed Edward to take the head in the first place. The more she thought about her putting it back, the less she liked it. Although the idea of leaving it in the cardboard box had seemed reasonable when she’d been on the phone, she’d come to realize her sense of propriety wouldn’t allow it. She felt obligated to return the grave to a semblance of what it had been before it had been disturbed. That meant dispensing with the box and handling the head, and she was not looking forward to that in the slightest.
The demands of Kim’s job eventually pushed her concerns about Elizabeth into the back of her mind. There were patients to be taken care of, and the hours flew by. Later, as she was concentrating on a reluctant intravenous line, the ward clerk tapped her on the shoulder.
“You’ve got a package,” he said. He pointed toward a sheepish messenger standing next to the central desk. “You’ve got t
o sign for it.”
Kim looked over at the messenger. He was intimidated by the SICU’s environment. A clipboard was clasped to his chest. At his elbow stood a computer paper box tied with a string. In an instant, Kim comprehended what was in the box and her heart fluttered.
“The front desk tried to get him to take it to the mail room,” the clerk said. “But the messenger insisted his instructions were to deliver it to you in person.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kim said nervously. She started toward the desk with the clerk following at her heels. To her horror a bad situation suddenly got worse. Kinnard stood up from behind the desk where he had been writing in a chart and was looking at the receipt. She’d not seen him since their confrontation at the compound.
“What do we have here?” Kinnard said.
Kim took the clipboard from the messenger and hastily signed.
“It’s a special delivery,” the clerk explained.
“I can see that,” Kinnard said. “I also see that it is from Dr. Edward Armstrong’s lab. The question is, what can be inside?”
“It didn’t say on the receipt,” the clerk said.
“Give me the box,” Kim said sternly. She reached over the counter to take it from Kinnard, but Kinnard stepped back.
He smiled superciliously. “It’s from one of Ms. Stewart’s many admirers,” he told the clerk. “It’s probably candy. Pretty clever putting it in a computer paper box.”
“It’s the first time anyone on the staff ever got a special delivery package in the SICU,” the clerk said.
“Give me the box,” Kim demanded again. Her face flushed bright red as her mind’s eye saw the box falling to the floor and Elizabeth’s head rolling out.
Kinnard shook the box and intently listened. From across the desk Kim could hear the head distinctly thumping against the sides.
“Can’t be candy unless it’s a chocolate soccer ball,” Kinnard said, assuming a comically confused expression. “What do you think?” He shook the package close to the clerk.
Mortified, Kim came behind the desk and tried to get hold of the package. Kinnard held it above his head, out of her reach.
Marsha Kingsley rounded the desk from the opposite end. Like most of the rest of the staff in the unit she’d seen what was happening, but unlike the others she came to her roommate’s rescue. Stepping behind Kinnard, she reached up and pulled his arm down. He didn’t resist. Marsha took the box and handed it to Kim.
Sensing that Kim was upset, Marsha led her into the back room. Behind them they could hear Kinnard laughing with the clerk.
“Some people’s sense of humor is sick,” Marsha said. “Someone should kick his Irish ass.”
“Thank you for helping,” Kim said. Now that she had the box in her hands she felt much better. Yet she was visibly trembling.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with that man,” Marsha continued. “What a bully. You don’t deserve that kind of abuse.”
“His feelings are hurt because I’m dating Edward,” Kim said.
“So now you’re defending him?” Marsha questioned. “Hell, I’m not buying the spurned lover role for Kinnard. Not in the slightest. Not that Lothario.”
“Who’s he dating?” Kim asked.
“The new blonde in the ER,” Marsha said.
“Oh, great!” Kim said sarcastically.
“It’s his loss,” Marsha said. “Word has it she was the role model for those dumb-blonde jokes.”
“She’s also the one with the body that doesn’t quit,” Kim said forlornly.
“What do you care?” Marsha said.
Kim sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I just hate bad feelings and discord.”
“Well, you sure had your share with Kinnard,” Marsha said. “Look at the difference with the way Edward treats you. He doesn’t take you for granted.”
“You’re right,” Kim repeated.
After work Kim carried the computer paper box out to her car and put it in the trunk. Then she vacillated what to do. She’d had plans to visit the statehouse before the issue with Elizabeth’s head came up. She considered postponing the visit until another afternoon. Then she decided there was no reason she couldn’t do both, especially considering that her job at the cottage had to be done after all the workers left.
Leaving her car in the hospital garage, Kim walked up Beacon Hill and headed for the gold-domed Massachusetts Statehouse. After being cooped up all day, Kim enjoyed the outdoors. It was a warm but pleasant summer day. There was a slight sea breeze and the smell of salt in the air. Walking by the Common, she heard the complaint of sea gulls.
An inquiry at the statehouse information service directed Kim to the Massachusetts State Archives. Waiting her turn, Kim faced a heavyset male clerk. His name was William MacDonald. Kim showed him the copies she’d made of Ronald’s petition and Magistrate Hathorne’s negative ruling.
“Very interesting,” William said. “I love this old stuff. Where’d you find this?”
“The Essex County Courthouse,” Kim said.
“What can I do for you?” William asked.
“Magistrate Hathorne suggested that Mr. Stewart should petition the Governor since the evidence he sought had been transferred to Suffolk County. I’d like to find out about the Governor’s response. What I’m really interested in finding out is what the evidence was. For some reason it’s not described in either the petition or the ruling.”
“It would have been Governor Phips,” William said. He smiled. “I’m a bit of a history buff. Let’s see if we can find Ronald Stewart in the computer.”
William used his terminal. Kim watched his face since she couldn’t see the screen. To her chagrin he kept shaking his head after each entry.
“No Ronald Stewart,” he said finally. He looked again at the ruling and scratched his head. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried to cross-reference Ronald Stewart with Governor Phips, but I get nothing. The trouble is, not all the seventeenth-century petitions survived, and those that did are not all properly indexed or catalogued. There’s a wealth of such personal petitions. Back then there was a hell of a lot of disagreement and discord, and people were suing each other just as much as they are today.”
“What about the date?” Kim asked. “August 3, 1692. Is there some way you can use that?”
“I’m afraid not,” William said. “Sorry.”
Kim thanked the clerk and left the statehouse. She was mildly discouraged. With the ease she’d found the petition in Salem, she’d had high hopes of finding a follow-up ruling in Boston that would have revealed the nature of the evidence against Elizabeth.
“Why couldn’t Ronald Stewart have described that damn evidence?” Kim wondered as she stalked down Beacon Hill. But then the idea occurred to her that maybe it was significant that he didn’t. Maybe that was some sort of clue or message in and of itself.
Kim sighed. The more she thought about the mysterious evidence, the more curious she became. In fact at that moment she began to imagine it might be associated with the intuitive feeling she had that Elizabeth was trying to communicate with her.
Kim reached Cambridge Street and turned toward the Mass General garage. The other problem that her failure at the statehouse presented was that she was being thrown back to the impossibly large collection of papers in the castle, a daunting task at best. Yet it was apparent that if she were to learn anything more about Elizabeth, it would have to be there.
Climbing into her car, Kim headed north for Salem. But it was not an easy nor quick trip. The visit to the statehouse had put her in the height of rush-hour traffic.
As she sat in the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Storrow Drive, trying to get through Leverett Circle, she thought about the blond woman Kinnard was dating. She knew it shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Yet such thoughts made her especially glad that she’d invited Edward to share the cottage with her. Not only did she truly care for Edward. She liked the message that her living with Edwa
rd would send to both Kinnard and her father.
Then Kim remembered Elizabeth’s head in her trunk. The more she thought about Edward’s failure to come along to Salem that evening, the more surprised she was, especially since he’d promised to take responsibility for the head and was fully aware of her distaste for handling it. It was behavior at odds with his attentiveness and, along with everything else, it disturbed her.
“What is this?” Edward asked angrily. “Do I have to hold your hand continually?” He was talking to Jaya Dawar, a brilliant new doctoral student from Bangalore, India. Jaya had been at Harvard only since the first of July, and he was struggling to find an appropriate direction for his doctorate thesis.
“I thought you could recommend to me more reading material,” Jaya said.
“I can recommend an entire library,” Edward said. “It’s only a hundred yards away.” He pointed in the general direction of the Countway Medical Library. “There comes a time in everybody’s life when they have to cut the umbilical cord. Do a little work on your own!”
Jaya bowed his head and silently exited.
Edward redirected his attention to the tiny crystals he was growing.
“Maybe I should carry the burden with the new alkaloid,” Eleanor suggested hesitantly. “You can look over my shoulder and be the guiding light.”
“And miss all this fun?” Edward said. He was using a binocular microscope to observe crystals forming on the surface of a supersaturated solution in the well of a microscope slide.
“I’m just concerned about your normal responsibilities,” Eleanor said. “A lot of people around here depend on your supervision. I also heard the undergraduate summer students complained about your absence this morning.”
“Ralph knows his material,” Edward said. “His teaching will improve.”
“Ralph doesn’t like to teach,” Eleanor said.
“I appreciate what you are saying,” Edward said, “but I’m not going to let this opportunity slip away. We’ve got something here with this alkaloid. I can feel it in my bones. I mean, how often does a billion-dollar molecule fall into your lap?”
