Fright banged around inside my chest. Something terrible was wrong with me. Enough to make them test for MS. I knew I felt like death on a hot pad, but for them to look at me and know I was that sick.
My head moved a fraction of a shake. "I have Lyme."
He regarded me. "How do you know?"
"I . . . just know."
He drew a deep breath. "Well, the lab's running a test for that disease. They're speeding things up for you. We may have those results by the end of the day."
"So I'm not going home today?"
"No, afraid not. We'll finish up testing you by the end of the afternoon. But you're in no shape to go home. We'll want to keep you around until all the results come in."
Brock called around 4:30, asking how I was doing.
"No better. Maybe worse. I don't know. Where's L-Lauren?"
"Maria picked her up with Katie after school. She's going to spend the weekend with them."
"The whole weekend? Why won't you just get her after work?"
"Jannie, she's fine there. I'll want to come see you during the weekend. Plus I have work to do at the office and lab. It's easier if Lauren's taken care of."
"You could bring her. Here, I mean. To see me."
He breathed annoyance over the line—a clear indication the subject was closed. "I've talked with Jud. They are going to place taps on our phone."
"Fine." My voice sounded dull. I was still fixated on spending another night away from home, and the fact that Lauren was staying at Katie's all weekend. Somehow that just didn't sit right. What was Brock not telling me?
Brock cleared his throat. "I'll come see you around 7:00."
I hung up the phone and stared at the closed blinds on the window. They'd been shut against the bright sun all day. Dark suspicions and unease roiled in my chest. The world out there tripped on while I was stuck in this bed.
I would fix this. Somehow. I'd make sure Stalking Man was caught. And like a Siren crooning her song I would woo back the attentions of my husband.
But right now I needed to rest.
My eyes closed, and I drifted off. Sometime later a presence by my bed awakened me. Dr. Belkin. "Hi." His hands were in his white coat pockets. "How you feeling?"
"Hanging in there."
He nodded. "Wanted to tell you we've got results from your blood and urine tests. I won't bore you with the long list of details. But I will say we looked for all kinds of poisons and heavy metals and found nothing unusual in your system. We also did a complete blood workup. We looked at all your systems—endocrine, thyroid, checked your pituitary gland, did liver panels and the rest—and found everything to be in the normal range. Your white blood cell count is a little high but nothing to cause considerable alarm. We did not find signs of viral or bacterial infection. In short, at this point I'm sorry to say we still don't know what's going haywire in your body."
My brain took a moment to process the news. "But . . . Lyme. You promised me you'd test for it."
"We did, Mrs. McNeil. Knowing the claims of this man who's been calling you, we surely wanted to cover that possibility. If you were infected months ago, as he said, antibodies would show up on the test by now. But they didn't. The results were negative."
I stared at him. "Negative?"
He shook his head. "The simple truth is—you don't have Lyme."
Chapter 9
AT 9 A.M. DETECTIVE JUD MAXWELL STRODE INTO THE STANFORD building that held the business offices for the Department of Medicine. Jud's visit to the McNeil house the previous evening had plagued his sleep, waking him more than once. This case was one of the most bizarre he'd ever encountered. Someone putting infected ticks on a sleeping woman because of her husband's work? How crazy was that? And yet how cunning, when he thought of the planning involved. This was no typical criminal Jud sought.
This was someone with a brilliant, strategic mind.
In the early hours of the morning, Jud had finally given up on sleep and dragged himself to his home computer. There he researched the medical issues surrounding Lyme. He'd had no idea such a war over the disease was raging between doctors and patients. Although his wife, Sarah, was a receptionist in Dr. McNeil's department, she hadn't known that much either.
Now as Jud climbed the steps to the second floor, his mind cycled through the myriad questions he wanted to ask McNeil's lab assistants.
Jud walked through the door that led to the central reception area, and his gaze fell on Sarah behind her wide desk. She looked up and gave him a wan smile. Sarah's brown eyes were usually bright, her mouth upturned. Not today. She'd been stunned to hear Jud's news of the McNeils last night. Sarah thought Jannie McNeil a very sweet woman. And Sarah was very loyal to Brock McNeil. They got along well—but then, Sarah got along with everyone. Truth was, Jud never had liked McNeil very much. Whenever they'd talked at office Christmas parties over the years he'd found the man quite arrogant.
"Hey." Sarah spoke in low tones as Jud stopped before her desk.
"Hi. You all right?"
She tilted her head. "We're all pretty much in shock. 'Course, folks here are just hearing the news as word spreads. At least I've had since last night to process."
Jud didn't make a habit of talking to Sarah about his cases, but last night he hadn't been able to keep quiet about this one. Besides, she was in a position to possibly help.
"Anyway, Alicia and Dane are ready to meet with you," Sarah pushed back from her desk. "They don't seem to think they can be of much help. But they'll do whatever they can."
Jud nodded. "And Dr. McNeil's out till 11?"
"Yeah, he just left for class." She rose. "Who do you want to talk to first?"
"Alicia."
His wife shot him a knowing look. "I'll take you back."
She ushered him down a hall, knocked on the door of a cubicle, and poked in her head. "Jud's here."
"Oh, okay."
Sarah threw Jud a glance and left him to his work. He stepped to the threshold of Alicia Mays's work area.
"Detective Maxwell." Alicia held out her hand. "Let's go across the hall where there's room for you to sit down. You can meet with Dane in there as well."
"Thanks. And I appreciate your seeing me."
She led Jud into an empty office and motioned to a small table. At least this place had a window. They took seats across from each other. Jud set his recorder down and turned it on. Pulled out his notepad and pen.
No doubt about it—Alicia was a looker. Shimmery dark hair and eyes, a lithe figure, and tanned, oval face. Decked out in a red dress-to-kill at last year's Christmas party, she'd been stunning. Now the woman sat back in her chair, trying to look relaxed.
Jud sensed she was anything but.
He spoke the date, time, and place for the recording's sake. "Interview with Alicia Mays." He nodded to her. "First, tell me about your background. Where you graduated from, how long you've worked here."
Alicia clasped her slender fingers on the table. "I graduated from here, Stanford, seven years ago. Then went on to get my masters. Dr. McNeil and Dr. Segal were among my professors. And I was at the top of my class, so when I graduated the job as a lab assistant was offered to me almost immediately. I was thrilled to stay right here and work."
Ah, yes, Dr. Segal. Jud knew one thing from Sarah—despite their surface cordiality, Segal and McNeil were long-time rivals. Apparently one department was too small a place for two raging egos.
"Tell me about what you do here."
Alicia gestured with her head. "I work on research projects in the lab—down the hall. Much of the time I'm there. But for online research and to write notes, whatever, I'm in my little office space."
Alicia's voice had a musical, alluring quality. Even if her answer seemed a bit evasive. She gazed at Jud directly
as she spoke, her chin slightly raised.
"What are your hours?"
"During the day. Pretty much nine to five, but we're in and out."
Jud made a note. "By we you mean Dane Melford, Dr. McNeil's other lab assistant?"
"Yes."
"Does Dane also assist both doctors McNeil and Segal in the lab?"
She shook her head. "He mostly works with Dr. McNeil. Sometimes he assists other professors in the department when they're shorthanded."
Jud tapped his pen against the paper. "Tell me about your research with Dr. McNeil."
Her eyes flicked away for a moment. "Of course it can get quite technical. But in simple terms, for example, we're studying the transmission of Borrelia burgdorferi—the bacteria that cause Lyme—from tick to potential host. It appears that a strain of Borrelia deficient in a certain gene product is not able to be transmitted, even though the tick itself is indeed a carrier."
"So without this particular gene, say, if an infected tick bites a human, that person wouldn't get Lyme?"
"Yes."
"And what's the practical application of knowing about that gene?"
"The delineation of a certain gene needed for transmission could lead toward the development of a Lyme vaccine."
A vaccine. "I imagine anyone who develops a vaccine for Lyme could make a lot of money. There must be quite a bit of competition to be the first to accomplish that."
Alicia lifted a shoulder. "Yes, I suppose. Actually a vaccine was developed before, but in 2002 it was pulled off the market. But no doubt many researchers across the country are continuing to try to develop an effective one. There are a lot of complexities involved in succeeding."
"Is Dr. McNeil close?"
She shifted in her chair. "Nowhere near."
What wasn't she telling him? "Might competitors think you're close?"
Alicia gave him a sideways look. "I don't see why they would."
Jud thought about Janessa McNeil's recounting of the threatening phone conversations. The man had made it sound as if he wanted Brock McNeil to reverse his opinion on chronic Lyme. But what if that was just a ruse? What if the guy was a competitor of McNeil's and wanted to upend his research? If millions of dollars were at stake . . .
"What about Dr. Segal's research? Is he also working on Lyme?"
Alicia shook her head. "No. His research is in cancer cells."
"And he's in class this morning?"
"Yes, afraid so."
Jud would have to speak with him another time.
For the next hour Jud questioned Alicia about her thoughts of who could be behind the McNeil's break-in. She claimed to have no idea. Despite her apparent willingness to answer questions, a vague evasiveness continued to coat her responses.
Perhaps Alicia Mays did have something to hide.
But it may have nothing to do with this case.
"Alicia, you obviously work with infected ticks in the lab. Have any gone missing?"
Her eyebrows rose. "From our lab? No. Believe me, if your suspect placed ticks on Mrs. McNeil they didn't come from here. There are labs all over the country where Borrelia is researched. And maybe they didn't come from a lab at all. It's not as if every infected tick is created through research."
Time was slipping by, and Jud still needed to talk to Dane Melford. He wrapped up the interview and turned off the recorder. Thanked Alicia as he gave her his card. "Please call me if you think of anything. Anything at all."
"I certainly will. I'll go get Dane for you now."
Jud had little time to ponder Alicia's answers before Dane appeared, clad in a lab coat. Jud had chatted with Dane at last year's Christmas party and liked the man. As he remembered, Dane was around forty and a confirmed bachelor. He'd worked with McNeil for a couple years. Dane stood tall and thin, his face a long egg shape, his skin pale.
He took the seat Alicia had vacated, leaning forward to place both arms on the table. "I hope I can give you something. But this"—he spread his hands—"what's happened is beyond me."
"I'll bet. But you never know how some little detail you recall may lead to something."
Dane tilted his head in a hope so gesture.
Jud restarted his recorder and stated the details of the interview. "Dane, tell me about your background."
He gave a self-effacing smile. "Nothing as illustrious as Alicia's top-of-the-class performance, I'm afraid." He'd attended San Diego State and graduated in '93. Had lived in California all his life.
"Still not married?"
"Nah. Won't happen."
"Oh, yeah? You may be surprised."
Something flickered across Dane's face. "My parents never got along. I'm talking huge fights, even though they stayed together. And all my uncles and aunts—none of them were happy. I vowed as a kid I'd never get married. Just don't need the stress."
Jud nodded. "I see." But he felt sorry for the man. Sarah—and their two kids—were the most important part of his life.
Jud talked with Dane about his work, how he had eventually moved to northern California and found a job at Stanford. Two years ago he switched to the Department of Medicine and began working with McNeil.
"Dr. McNeil is brilliant. Just so focused. Has long-term vision. I'm glad I get to work with him almost exclusively."
With McNeil's overbearing confidence, Melford was probably a good choice for an assistant. He wasn't the kind of man who would get in the doctor's way. He'd be able to take McNeil's need for control in stride.
"Tell me about your research with Dr. McNeil."
Now this was a subject that brought Dane to animated life. He explained in more detail McNeil's research, how they worked toward the goal of one day creating a vaccine. "I hope to stay with the doctor for years. If anyone can crack this, he will."
Jud asked Dane if he knew of anyone who would want to do Dr. McNeil harm. Perhaps some competitor of McNeil's.
Dane could think of no one. He frowned. "But aren't you looking in the wrong place? As Dr. McNeil described it this morning, the man who did this is part of the Lyme community. Someone who wants to force the doctor's hand regarding his findings on Lyme."
"Do you know much about these Lyme wars, as they're called?"
Dane pushed his lips together. "Not really. I know a little. But mostly we just don't pay attention to their clamor. We've got work to do in our research, and we do it. We can't be swayed by outside opinion." He shook his head. "I'm sure Dr. McNeil is far more aware of what's going on, however. He's the one who's out there in public, speaking in symposiums. And I know he's been verbally attacked. But he doesn't talk about it much. Like I say, he's just really focused."
Jud gazed out the window. "So if you were in my shoes, where would you look for this suspect?"
Dane leaned back and regarded the ceiling. "I'd look at the most vocal advocates in the Lyme community. Who among them may have some criminal background, be capable of such a heinous thing."
"Any thought where someone like that would get hold of an infected tick?"
He thought about it. "He could go into any woods where Lyme-infected ticks are known to be endemic and catch them in a dragged net, as forest researchers often do."
"He wouldn't know they were infected for sure."
Dane shrugged. "True. But good chance they would be."
The visual picture of dragging a net to catch infected ticks chilled Jud to the bone. It stayed with him as he drove away from Stanford—and pulsed in his mind as he returned to his own office.
Chapter 10
THAT EVENING BROCK CAME TO SEE ME AS PROMISED, striding in with the vim of the outside world. He'd come straight from work, he told me, hadn't stopped for dinner. Brock reached for my hand, brushed my forehead with his fingers. But I sensed little warmth in his
actions. It's the sickness. Men—even doctors—just didn't know how to handle illness in their own families.
"I don't have Lyme." The words burst from me. News of the test's negative results had throbbed in my veins for the past few hours. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Stalking Man was nothing but a liar. A con man, set out to skew my husband's scientific studies. Or so I wanted to believe.
But if I didn't have Lyme, why was I sick?
"I heard." Brock let go of my hand. "I also heard that before those results came in you insisted to every doctor and nurse you saw that you have Lyme."
"I—"
"Doesn't sit very well, Jannie. You intimating to my colleagues that you know more than I do about the very disease I've studied for years."
His words stung. "I'm sorry."
Brock gazed at me—not a warm look. "I talked to Dr. Belkin about all your results."
"So . . . what now?"
"That guy who called you is certifiably nuts. I still want the police to catch him. But now I don't believe he was ever in our house."
Hope lifted its head. "But he knew the layout of our b-bedrooms." I was beginning to stutter again.
"Jannie, we had interior painting done two months ago, remember? Lauren's room and the guest bedroom. We had painters in and out of our house for a number of days. Any one of them could tell you what those rooms looked like."
"You think it was one of those m-men? But what would painters know or even care about your work?"
"I don't know. At any rate I mentioned it to Jud."
My eyes closed in weighted relief. Of course. The painters. Why hadn't I thought of them?
Still . . .
"But he knew our unlisted phone number. And my cell number. He knew Lauren's name."
"Those workers would have been given our numbers when we hired them for the job. As for Lauren, she has numerous items in her room with her name on them."
I stared at the blank TV unit hanging from the wall. Every imagining I'd endured about that man being in our home now replayed itself. I so wanted to believe Brock's words. The man hadn't broken into our home. Our house was safe.
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