A wave of discomfort passed over Maya. ‘How do you recruit participants? How’d you recruit Anna?’
A screeching sound came from beyond the windows. Maya turned a concerned gaze toward the sound only to see a bearded, unkempt man, his ample body clad in rags, with a reddish-yellow cast to his eyes, pressing his face on the window. A cigarette on his lips, a hood covering his head, he scratched on the glass with discolored, overgrown nails.
‘Oh, that’s Arthur, our street poet.’ Cal smiled at the window. ‘He’s a regular. He’s opened my eyes to issues and even beauty I didn’t know existed. Every so often I serve him a cup of coffee and we sit and talk.’
Arthur waved at both Cal and Maya, then drifted away.
Maya met Cal’s eyes.
‘Where were we?’ Cal asked.
‘You were telling me about your recruitment process.’
Cal sat back. ‘Our website has a call for volunteers, and yes, we currently need them. We generally get a few responses every week. So many people in Seattle are dedicated to one cause or another. They find us through our website or the ad we put in the daily and they email us. I look for healthy adults and ask them to come for an in-person visit. I explain that the vaccine will not harm them. Very few actually sign up.’
‘I’d assumed they would try the vaccine on animals first.’
‘Animal trials were, indeed, the first phase.’ Cal grew animated. ‘That phase was successfully completed; now we’re on to experimental human trials, which have to have sufficient safety controls or else the FDA won’t allow them. They monitor our efforts closely.’
‘What about Anna?’
‘When I met with her for a screening appointment, we talked for quite a while.’ Now Cal gave his pitch detailing his malaria eradication campaign, presumably the same one he’d given to Anna: how important it was for a low-cost cure for malaria to reach the market, how crucial it was to test the reactions to this vaccine on a small control group, maybe even a single individual first, and what a valuable contribution a participant made to society. Besides, they’d be reimbursed for their participation and any health-care expenses should they succumb to the disease. ‘I impressed upon Anna that she might miss a few weeks’ work but she’d be serving millions by joining. You should’ve seen the glow on her face – she was such a giving person. “How amazing it’ll be to be part of this,” she told me. She immediately signed up to participate in our human malaria challenge trial – my sole recruit. Within days, she was administered the experimental vaccine.’
‘What was the next step?’
Cal frowned. ‘Well, all the public needs to know is this: the human trial involves deliberately exposing a vaccinated subject to bites of malaria-carrying mosquitoes. The vaccine prevents the disease.’
Maya leaned in.
‘The process is confidential.’ Cal lowered his voice. ‘I’ll describe it only if you sign up first.’
‘I appreciate the offer, but … look, two young women have died under suspicious circumstances. They’re linked by your malaria trial.’
Cal held his breath; he seemed shaken. ‘Are you—?’
‘No, I’m not trying to scare you but the police could very well be interested. By now they’ve checked Sylvie’s background as a scientist. How long will it be before they want to know more about the vaccine she’d come up with?’
‘Not too much escapes you, does it?’ As Cal plunged into the topic in the sure voice of authority with an occasional quiver, Maya saw the process before her mind’s eye. Anna had been vaccinated three times – prime dose and two booster doses. The vaccine was nothing but a malaria-specific protein or antigen. Minimally clothed, Anna would have lain down in the close, dark quarters of a cubbyhole called an insectary, confident that her vaccinated body, with the help of her immune system, had generated antibodies against the parasite. Anna would have heard the hum in the air, anticipated one or more bites from a cloud of mosquitoes infected with plasmodium falciparum, the dreaded malaria parasite, and before long have felt a prick on her exposed arm. That would have been followed by itchiness, swelling, a warm sensation. Rather than be scared, Anna would have nurtured a feeling of pride in herself.
When Cal stopped speaking, Maya said, ‘I suppose Anna would have been treated right away if she became infected?’
‘Of course. The nurse drew blood from Anna on a regular basis.’
‘Pardon my ignorance. How does that go?’ Meeting silence, she said, ‘It’s a routine procedure, right? No harm in disclosing it? In any case, I’ll never reveal to anyone where—’
‘I have to give you an explanation? OK.’ Cal now laid out the process. Maya could almost see a needle puncturing Anna’s arm, crimson fluid filling a syringe. The blood sample was transferred from a syringe to a tube marked with Anna’s identification and the date of collection and sent to the lab technician, who then prepared the results of the specimen test. The doctor at the clinic studied Anna’s test results, monitored them closely for immune reactions and checked her liver functions, of course. Everyone was ecstatic when Anna passed all the initial safety tests. ‘She didn’t develop malaria. In fact, she had no trace of the disease in her body.’
While Cal gulped down water, Maya silently went over the sequence of events. Sylvie had worked in an infectious diseases lab for decades and developed a potential remedy for malaria. Elsewhere at a malaria clinic, completely separate from the lab, arrangements were made to trial that antimalarial drug. Cal had sent out a call on the clinic’s website for fit, healthy individuals, who had never been infected by the disease, to participate in the trial. Anna had responded to the call and joined, eventually passing the test and proving the effectiveness of Sylvie’s vaccine.
‘Did Sylvie and Anna meet over the trial?’ Maya asked.
Face flushed, voice raised, Cal replied, ‘No, that’s impossible.’
Maya flinched, surprised by Cal’s reaction. ‘Are there privacy issues?’
‘You’d better believe it! Scientific and ethical standards as well. Our clinical trial is in no way related to the lab research. The scientist – Sylvie, in this case – working on the vaccine in the research institute is kept in the dark about who the trial participants are and whether anyone has successfully gone through the initial safety test. This is so the scientist has no influence over the results. We do our best to maintain a high degree of impartiality and separation. In fact, we insist on it.’
‘Well, then, Sylvie and Anna met somewhere else. Anna must have told Sylvie about her participation in the study, the fact that she’d passed the trial without developing malaria.’
‘No!’ Cal’s voice rose again. ‘Again, you’re making assumptions! Anna had signed a consent form saying that she would not reveal the trial results to anyone, except her immediate family and possibly her employer.’
Maya sat firmly in her chair. ‘Makes me wonder if anyone outside Anna’s immediate work and family environment was interested in the trial results, someone who might have wanted the two women dead?’
‘Do you read much science fiction?’
Maya shrugged off his comment and took a wild guess. ‘Has anyone ever tampered with Anna’s blood specimens?’
Cal reflected for a moment. ‘No, I mean … I’m not sure. Actually, we didn’t worry too much when …’
‘Yes, Cal, I’m all ears.’
‘Oh, no, I don’t know what I was saying.’
‘Please, Cal, what else can you tell me about the specimens?’
‘Well, a tube of blood specimen after the vaccine had been administered to Anna got lost and never reached the lab technician. He had several others specimens to work with and we forgot all about it.’
‘Goodness me. Looking at the bigger picture, I’m now puzzling over the link between the events, such as the suicide taking place not long after the trial. There’s also the issue of a lost specimen.’
‘If you’re blaming the clinic for Anna’s death, you’re wrong, dead wrong,
and you’re a troublemaker.’ Cal’s face reddened; his pink hair looked pinker. ‘We’re not responsible in any way. We’ll bring a defamation case against anyone who—’
‘Please, I’m not assigning blame to your clinic by any means. I’m simply trying to draw lines through the dots. I’m also trying to bring closure to a grieving family.’
Cal, steepled fingers beneath a small chin, blinked, regained control and went quiet. In his reflective posture, Maya detected the same doubt as hers. He, a loyal worker, simply tried to protect the clinic’s reputation, worried that its confidentiality had somehow been compromised. A blood sample got misplaced and never reached the lab.
‘Is the trial over?’
‘Only Phase One-A, with Anna as the sole participant.’ A forthcoming note was evident in Cal’s voice, as though he, too, sought resolution in this case. ‘The results of this phase inform additional research, which then leads to Phase One-B and beyond.’
‘But you still don’t see a possible link?’
‘Between the suicides and the vaccine trial? For the last time, no, no, no!’
Maya rose. Hearing a sharp screech behind her, she peered out the window, saw a blue sedan flowing past but caught only the letters AMH on the license plate. She memorized the letters, glanced at the statue of Buddha and then at Cal.
Cal got up from his chair as well. ‘I didn’t mean to be curt with you. I teach my sons not to lose their temper like I tend to do. Do you know what my middle son suggested? “Dad, get pink hair – everything will look different.” He’s that age when you know everything. So I went pink. And still …’
‘Could we talk another time? We might be able to help each other, even though we’d have to kick up waves doing so.’
Cal nodded, came around the table and shook Maya’s hand, as though confirming they’d established a working relationship. Maya expressed her gratitude and walked out. A fact Cal had supplied remained stuck in her mind. A blood sample got misplaced and never reached the lab.
Who was responsible for the safe-keeping of the blood samples? She should have asked Cal. The late afternoon sun in her eyes, she saw a giant knot of a problem before her which would be painful to untangle but which she must do. Would Cal help her? She couldn’t be sure. Did she trust him? She couldn’t be sure of that, either.
As Maya rushed toward her car, a suspicion sliced through her: she might be under surveillance. She checked every movement on the block; didn’t see a soul. Then she spotted Arthur, the street poet, standing at a corner and smoking a joint, saying, ‘Screw you,’ to another figure further away. A grocery cart overflowing with Arthur’s belongings was parked nearby. He turned, saw Maya and gave her a sly smile.
‘How’re you doing?’ she asked, feeling unsettled. Wrong question, perhaps.
‘Never better. A dead rat on the sidewalk, a schoolboy getting stabbed on the block ahead and two restaurant-goers shooting each other over a parking space not far from here.’ Without waiting for her reply, Arthur picked up a snack package from the cart, removed the joint from his lips and popped a few potato chips into his mouth.
She wouldn’t be able to engage Arthur in a long chat, that much was certain. She waved, turned and heard him say, ‘Hope to see you again soon, miss.’
As she jogged the block and climbed into her car, Maya sensed the invisible presence of a pair of eyes on her back. They weren’t Arthur’s.
ELEVEN
That Friday, at 1 p.m., Maya arrived at the trails of Green Lake, at the spot where Ivan had said he’d meet her, and waited. It distressed her as the minutes ticked by. She saw a mother pushing a stroller, a skateboarder going backwards, a leash-free puppy galloping and barking and a jogger weaving through a knot of pedestrians.
As she took a few steps along the periphery of the lake, a rare variety of a gray-barked black walnut tree came to view. She gave it a look of admiration. Beyond the tree, next to a jungle of wild roses, she spotted Ivan. Though she’d met him only once, she recognized the fine features and a physique the envy of professional athletes. His mass of red hair looked trimmed and had golden highlights; he’d made a visit to a salon. Maya stepped toward him.
‘Oh, Maya.’ He gave her a warm look, pecked her on both cheeks. ‘Have you been well?’
‘Thanks for meeting me again,’ she said, still startled by his effusive greeting style. They started walking, exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes. Unable to wait any longer, she said, ‘I want to talk about Sylvie, why she killed herself.’
Eyes on a stand of vigorous white-trunk birch, Ivan burst out, ‘My mother goes wild over birch. She hugs them because they heal. I used to tell Sylvie that instead of meditating she should be outdoors, hugging trees.’
‘I’ve never been able to meditate for a long period. I prefer hugging trees, too. But Sylvie—’
‘Well, she got into meditation to destress from her job but it made her more introspective. Who knows what sorts of stuff they feed your mind? Let me warn you. Don’t ever get into a weird cult like the one—’
‘A weird cult?’
Ivan’s gaze skittered over ducks paddling in unison and gliding in his direction.
‘You must have a lot bottled up inside you.’ Maya gave him a look of sympathy. ‘Would it at all help to talk? About her guru, I mean?’
‘That scumbag – how else can I say it? He’s an assassin.’
Passing by the wading pool, half-listening to children shrieking, Maya said, ‘You mean she’d still be alive if it weren’t for him?’
Silently, Ivan viewed an approaching jogger taking his dog for a spin.
Maya persisted. ‘What did you notice that made you—?’
‘To have to sit in the lotus pose for three excruciatingly long hours? Chant words you can’t pronounce? Don’t you see? They try to break a person down, make them do what they’d like them to do.’
‘And her guru …?’
‘Someone who downloads instructions from heaven? Give me a break. I told the cops to arrest Padmaraja. He’s the criminal who instigated the whole thing but they haven’t locked him up yet.’
Maya was still waiting for an appointment with the guru. In order to formulate her next question, she mentally changed her focus onto the sad case of Anna. The über sweet-maker, another Tibetan-American, had fallen in with shady characters. Anna’s employer, Jeet, had noticed behavioral changes in her. Did a similar transformation occur in Sylvie?
‘Sylvie’s family might have missed signs of coercion,’ she said to Ivan, ‘but I don’t imagine you did.’
‘Correct. About six weeks before her death, Sylvie had a private audience with that crafty man. She came back changed, like a switch had been flipped. He must have talked her into killing herself.’
‘Really? What changes did you notice?’
‘She went inside herself. Family issues were also on her mind. She told me how much she loved her mother but despised her sister, how she didn’t want to see her ever again. She called her a monster.’
Maya almost took a pace back. Veen would go to pieces if she heard this. Maya would have to keep it under wraps as best as she could. ‘Veen didn’t get the last text message from Sylvie. Maybe you … did you?’
Ivan shook his head.
For a moment, Maya saw a white-robed Sylvie stepping toward her death: the blaze, the lilies, the sounds of chanting, the stench and her last cry.
Ivan, peering into the branches of trees, swallowed hard. ‘Quite honestly, we’d split up and were no longer in touch. I was sound asleep in my apartment when she … That morning, I went out for coffee. By then, the news was everywhere.’
‘I don’t mean to pry into your private life, but how long had you been separated?’
‘Oh, weeks. Happened gradually. She got weird after meeting with the guru. She’d always been clingy. Made a big deal if I even looked at another woman.’
‘What about Tibet? Neither Veen nor I have the slightest notion how Sylvie’s interest in Tibet bega
n, how it might have pushed her over the edge.’
Ivan turned away, either to gaze at a canoe floating by or to keep her from noticing his expression. ‘It was a surprise for me, too. Suddenly it was only Tibet, Tibet, Tibet. She was born there but left before she was two. How much could she remember?’
Maya watched a squirrel hurriedly cross the trail. ‘Her allegiance to Tibet—’
‘Oh, yes. Tibet, if you ask me, is a lost cause.’ Ivan spoke more rapidly now, as though the explanation were bottled up inside him. ‘China will never hand it back to the Tibetans. What is there on that plateau anyway besides yaks, prayer flags, Buddha statues and steep mountains?’
Maya brushed past a bamboo grove, stopped for a moment and picked up a fallen bamboo leaf. As she rose, she noticed Ivan staring at her. Did he suspect she didn’t trust his words, especially his attempt to downplay the significance of the Tibetan movement for self-rule?
‘OK,’ she said. ‘So Sylvie was idealistic. Could it be that she might have felt a genuine attraction for her ancestral land?’
‘She liked to hyphenate.’ His voice was emphatic. ‘Isn’t that the current fashion? Tibetan-American sounds grand, but what did it buy her?’
A teenager rollerbladed past. Maya moved to the side, her leg brushing against Ivan’s, and the tingling sensation gave her a feeling of quick embarrassment. ‘I imagine you guys had discussed the Tibet issue.’
Season of Sacrifice Page 9
