CHAPTER SEVEN
In the event Janet didn't wait to be aroused by Mary Kay Jacobs. With some considerable effort she dragged herself from her torpor and attempted to put herself back together to a semi-decent state of appearance for the photograph. Though light streamed in through the windows her room seemed dismal. She could barely see her own image in the mirror, and had to turn on a dresser-lamp to see to brush her hair. It was small wonder that Mary Kay had been concerned about her washed-out look. Her complexion was pallid, her eyes dull, expressionless and weepy. Perhaps she was coming down with some virus infection. Still feeling clammy and shaky Janet opened the door just as Mary Kay was walking down the corridor.
"That's quite a grad student you have working with you!" she exclaimed.
"Who? Oh, Doug. Yes he's turned out rather well."
"I thought his poster really superb. He has answered most of the uncertainties left by Karl's work hasn't he?"
"Well, with Doug there were probably two motivations for that. He wanted to redo some of the earlier slap- dash experiments properly, and--"
"He wanted to prove Karl wrong."
"Yes. There was a bit of bad blood there."
"Over Celia?"
Janet turned and regarded the older woman carefully. "Have you been in my lab when I didn't realize it or do you read minds?"
"Oh, I just notice things. And then Karl was not too subtle in his approach, the way he dropped Celia, or was trying to."
"I think he may have succeeded. Word was getting around about Dr. Elster. He didn't leave too many stones unturned."
"What do you think of Doug as a potential post-doc then?" enquired Mary Kay, changing the subject.
"Oh my! So he was also trying to get into your laboratory."
"Yes," laughed Mary Kay, "though in Doug's case he didn't offer to bring the cytomitin problem along with him."
"Well, thanks be for that."
" He's too totally loyal. He has some thing of a complex about you, didn't you know?"
Janet blushed, became angry that she showed her feelings, and blushed more furiously in consequence.
"Doug seems to need mothering -- or sistering. But he's an excellent worker," and Janet elaborated about his bizarre but innovative approaches. "At least," she went on, "those are some of the things he tried that worked! Goodness knows how many others he attempted that didn't. I still get strange requisitions from esoteric suppliers. But I'm sure he'd fit in well with your group."
"We can use some offbeat approaches from time to time," Mary Kay responded as they neared the grassy bank of lawn where the other participants were gathering for the picture-taking. "I imagine I may have to accommodate Celia as well," she continued, nodding toward the couple standing a few feet up the slope ahead of them. It seemed to be true that they had reunited since Karl's demise, and Margot's appearance on the scene. But there lingered a troubled expression on Celia's face. Janet determined to have a talk with the girl.
"I gather that you have a medical degree," said Janet as they returned from the portrait session.
"Many a year ago," Mary Kay responded. In my day it seemed a good idea to provide a competitive edge. Also, I wasn't at all sure that I'd find a place in academia. Medicine gave me a way out if I didn’t survive the tenure hurdle. As it turned out I’ve made use of it only once or twice-- mostly the sort of thing one could do with a good course in first aid or C.P.R.?"
"C.P.R.? "
"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. We are surrounded by ancient male crocks who need revivifying occasionally you know. If you want my medical advice incidentally, you could do with more of the same as before the photo."
"I know I should rest up, and will after a bit of lunch. No, I actually wanted some advice about diabetes."
"Diabetes mellitus?"
"Yes. If I were a diabetic, and you wanted to rid the world of me with a minimum of mess, how could you go about it?"
"I suppose someone could slip something into your insulin supply. Either that or see that you took too much which could produce an insulin shock reaction which might be interpreted as accidental or self-inflicted. Or the opposite alternative--substitute something like plain saline solution for the real insulin."
"Then you might induce a diabetic coma."
"Right. ketonuria, acidosis, hyperventilation. It would probably take a while, and the symptoms would be pretty obvious to you. I think you'd catch on before too much harm was done, unless you were a bit stupid. Who is this diabetic person you are singling out for special attention?"
Janet hesitated before replying.
"I'm sure you wouldn't buy it if I said I was simply curious."
Mary Kay smiled and shook her head.
"I didn't think so. Actually it was Karl and the circumstances around his fall," and she related her version and Doug's eye-witness account of what happened.
"Tampering with his insulin supply might have induced some strange behaviour," Mary Kay responded thoughtfully. "Did you notice any other signs of abnormality before it happened'?"
"To tell the truth I hadn't seen much of Karl at the meeting. Except for his seminar, and a tennis match the previous afternoon. He seemed too busy hustling the V.I.P.’s."
"Touché" Mary Kay replied. "But you noticed nothing anomalous while you were playing tennis?"
"Aside from the fact that he became frustrated, overhit the ball and made a lot of errors".
"Which could have been due to his state of aggravation?"
"I think so. There was nothing wrong with his stamina or his co-ordination that I can recall."
"Then I would think it unlikely that he had an insulin-related problem, or it should have shown up when he was exercising. It sounds more like some acute toxic reaction, infection, food-poisoning which could have upset his equilibrium. You know the organs of balance are the most sensitive to toxic agents in the body."
"You don't need to try too hard to convince me!" said Janet miserably. "The room was rotating slowly around me a short time ago, while I was lying on my back."
"Which is where you should be right now," said Mary Kay sternly. "Doctor's orders!" She paused for a moment, then changed the subject. "You knew incidentally that Karl had written to me?"
"No, but in light of what you told me earlier he had no reason to keep me in the picture about his future plans."
"He conveyed that he was looking for a position in the next few months. That he wanted to discuss problems of mutual concern."
"He wasted no time about doing that," Janet muttered.
"No. But in the letter he noted our work with proteases and mentioned a new inhibitor you had both been using-- proteastatin."
"That's the super-potent protease inhibitor from Cunningham's lab."
"He had a private source of supply, so he said."
"From Margot no doubt."
"No doubt. And he had tried it in your lab, shown it to be several orders of magnitude more potent than DFP on serine proteases."
"If he did he said nothing about it to me, which doesn't surprise me really."
"He was pointing out the problems with sending it in the mails and indicated he could bring me a sample at the conference. I suppose this was some sort of inducement to impress me."
"And did it?"
"Not yet anyway. Like his manuscript he seems to have left it behind. It's no great loss. For what we're doing the standard agents are good enough, and we can get some in due course from Sir Reggie. But you might have a good look round when you get back to the lab. If Karl was as careless in storing as you describe for his handling of these toxic compounds, somebody could be at risk from accidental exposure. It sounds like a particularly nasty substance to me !"
By this time they had reached the shade of the lodge building. The contrast of dazzling sunshine with dim light inside the building struck Janet as she parted from Mary Kay and made her way rather unsteadily toward her room. Her eyes were adjusting poorly to the semi-da
rkened room, and she still felt woozy bending over to turn down the bed-covers. Just as tipsy as Karl was, she thought stupidly as she stumbled over her suit case, and sank into the bed. She knew some how that it was no ordinary infection that she was suffering from, but her mind was fuzzy and incapable of concentrating on the problem. There was something that Douglas had said earlier that stirred her interest, but she could not focus on it and soon fell asleep.
Several hours later when she finally came to Janet found the shades of evening gathering around. Although still a bit unsteady, she was able to get up and perambulate the room. She wasn't feverish, she concluded. The dinner hour had obviously come and gone but she had little interest in food anyway. The odour from her discarded orange drew her attention to the waste-basket which had not been emptied since early this morning. A couple of dead flies lay alongside at the bottom of the basket. She wondered how many more days they would sit there before somebody removed the trash from her room.
As Janet left the lodge for a stroll and a breath of fresh air, she noted several groups of conferees leaving the dining hall. There was still nearly an hour until the final evening wrap-up session. Douglas and Professor Antwhistle, deeply absorbed in conversation, were among the first to emerge. Good, she thought, the gentle Celia may be on her own and I may get a chance to find out what is ailing her. She lingered for a while in the shadows watching the stream of people making for the conference hall. After several minutes Celia came out accompanied by Linda. Janet set off across the grass and intercepted them half-way on the path. The two girls seemed oblivious of the fact that Janet had been hors de combat for the afternoon, but carried on their discussion of the workshops they had just attended. Before they had reached the building Celia excused herself to get something from her room. Seizing the opportunity Janet accompanied her in the same direction. She was pondering how to lead the discussion when Celia unexpectedly invited her into her room.
" I'm not sure how much of this you already know, Dr. Gordon."
"Janet, please."
"Janet. I'm sorry but it's hard to begin," she said hesitantly. Janet waited nodding encouragingly. She had hardly exchanged more than a dozen words with the girl on any occasion in the past. Celia had always been indecisive in her manner; this evening she was virtually paralysed.
"I've been living through a nightmare this week!" she blurted out at last "I really thought I knew Karl, but I didn't. Not at all."
"Meaning his wife for example?"
"That came later," Celia replied bitterly. "No, I meant about the situation in your lab. Doug had tried before to clue me in-- how Karl was using people. I guess I just thought it was jealousy on his part and didn't take it seriously. Then it came clearer, that afternoon when we finished the tennis match, it was obvious even to me."
"That he was using you also?"
Celia nodded and pursed her lips.
"I was pretty cut up by some of the things he said to me. I guess I was a bit of a disappointment to him, or maybe there just wasn't anything more in it for him, anyway, Karl made no bones of the fact that things were over between us. He was through with Essex U, with me, you, all of us. He was moving on to bigger things, publishing his part of the story on his own. I knew he would too if he had the chance. So when I found that I had his manuscript I just thought I'd- get rid of it."
"You had his manuscript! How in the world-- "
"It started as an accident. Then when I thought better of it, it was too late," said Celia distractedly, and proceeded to fill in the gaps: how they had their final talk in Karl's room; how in her state of confusion Celia had picked up the wrong note-case; how she had discovered her mistake later that evening when she found the manuscript inside; how she had determined to destroy the paper in hopes that Karl would have only the one copy.
"I knew he could rewrite the paper later. I wasn’t thinking too straight when I disposed of it. Then when he died the next morning I forgot about it in the shock. But it came back to haunt me when I realized they were planning to publish the conference proceedings, maybe without Karl's paper."
"Perhaps this was only the draft and there's a publishable version," offered Janet, grasping at straws.
"There were two versions together, one that he must have read from with slides all marked in, the other had bibliography, everything. I was just so angry to see how phony it was, with no recognition of you or Doug, and I ripped it to shreds, both copies."
"Have you told anyone about this?"
"Only Doug. He thought I should let you know what had happened. I know the way he presented the work wasn't fair to you but I still feel terrible about what I did."
Janet was beginning to feel like a mother-confessor. Perhaps she was maturing early, or aging prematurely; there was no generation gap between her and Douglas or Celia and yet she was becoming increasingly in loco parentis. She tried to be reassuring to the girl and explained how she and Mary Kay had come to realize and adjust for the disappearance of the manuscript.
"It’s as well that you did clear the air about it. At least it removes suspicion from some innocent party. In any case there’s no real harm done. After all that transpired at the conference I doubt the organizers could have published his paper as it was. In the end you may have helped find a solution to a very awkward situation!" She went on to describe the plan to print a collaborative paper on the joint aspects of Karl’s work in her laboratory. "And we do have records of the slides he had made, and can go back to the photography shop for copies from the negatives."
"Including the infamous twin peaks."
"To tell the truth I did think it was Doug who had interfered with the manuscript as well. By the way there is something else. You didn’t by chance come across a small chemical sample in the same way?"
"l haven’t noticed. What was it in? I have the note-case still here," and she opened the desk drawer. There were no names or other distinguishing marks on the outside of the brown plastic folder, one of which had been distributed to each conferee at the registration desk. Janet could readily accept Celia's explanation of her mistaken removal of Karl's note-case.
"Let’s see," said Celia as she dumped the contents of the case on the desk-top. The inventory was fairly short: a map of the conference site; a list of the participants; small note- pad; pencil and pen.
"No sample that I can see. What was in it?"
"Some inhibitor that Karl was supposed to be bringing for one of the other participants."
"I suppose that would have been the proteastatin inhibitor."
"So you knew about that?"
"I knew about it all right," responded Celia emphatically. "In fact I had set up the protease assays in our lab. Karl wanted somebody to collaborate on that work. I guess that meant I was to do the experiments and he was to write it up for publication. He implied it was pretty hot stuff because other people were working on it, and we would have to really hustle to get it out first. He didn't want me to discuss it with anyone else. And now I find he's bringing samples for some other group. No doubt he has a paper in the press somewhere on 'our' work."
"When the proofs come back I'll get Professor Antwhistle to write a covering letter explaining your role to the editor, and asking that your name be added as co- author if it isn’t already. Have you seen a draft of this paper?"
CeIia. shook her head.
"Well it may be necessary to discuss this with Margot to see if some others from their lab should share in the credit. That’s where Karl obtained his supply you know."
"No, I didn’t know. But now it doesn’t surprise me really. Nothing about Karl would surprise me now. At any rate I feel better after talking to you."
"It has helped me also. Though I would like to know where the sample got to. Perhaps he forgot to bring it."
"I hope so. It’s pretty nasty! I did some toxicity tests with cells. It must penetrate the membranes very easily. The killing dose is orders of magnitude lower than any of the othe
r agents like it."
"Well , that's one of the unsolved mysteries," sighed,” Janet.
"If we hurry," she noted, glancing at her watch "we can just catch the final session," and they set off together for the conference hall.
Death of the Magpie Page 7
