All this made him even more confused. But one thought sliced through that fog. What if there are more cases?
Feeling that this situation should be brought to the attention of the state health department, Richard made the call and was soon speaking to the woman in charge, to whom he explained the events of the past two weeks.
“So, I thought I’d better let you know about this.”
“I’m glad you did, Doctor Heflin. Here’s what I’d like you to do, if you would. Write all this up in as much detail as possible and fax it to me, along with the neuropathology report.”
As she recited her fax number, Richard jotted it down.
“We’ll review the material and get back to you. In the meantime, please follow any leads you feel might be productive in pinpointing the cause of the illness.”
He’d barely put the receiver down when the phone rang.
“Doctor Heflin, this is Dale Carlson.”
The mayor.
“I just heard there’s been another death from the same kind of thing that killed that other couple. What’s going on?”
“A question I’ve been asking myself.”
“Is this going to be the end of it?”
“The latest victim knew the first ones and had often visited them without her husband, who appears to be okay. So for now, it seems to be centered around that first couple. Last week I had a few items from their home analyzed to see if they were contaminated with some sort of toxin, but they were all negative. Right now, I don’t know what’s causing this thing. And without knowing that, I can’t say what will happen.”
On Richard’s phone, the light from the other line began blinking.
“Should we contact the state health department?” the mayor asked.
“I just did. I’m going to send them a complete report.”
“Good. Look, I know that Barbara Thorstadt at the Guardian is going to call you and ask you the same things I have. It’s important that she not come away from your conversation believing that this disease will spread further, because she sure as hell will put that in the paper. I can’t tell you who the company is, but I’ve been negotiating for over a year to get a major manufacturing plant here. And right now, things look good. But if they think there’s a health risk in the area, we can forget it. So when she calls, it’d be best if you wouldn’t get into too much detail with her and would express your firm belief that this was a brush fire that’s now over.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not the truth.”
“Doctor, the truth doesn’t always set you free. Sometimes it backs you into a corner.”
“That’s where I’d be if I said it’s over and we get another one.”
There was a pause on the mayor’s end, then he said, “All right, if you can’t do what I asked, start your conversation by saying your comments will all be off the record. She’ll be mad as hell, but she’ll respect the convention. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Good man.”
Then he was gone. Richard switched to the other line. “Doctor Heflin.”
“This is Barbara Thorstadt at the Guardian. Do you have a few minutes to talk about those three patients of yours who died?”
Put that way, it sounded as if he were at fault. And if she thought that now, honoring the mayor’s request wasn’t going to help his reputation. But he had promised. “I have time, but let’s be clear on one point. Everything I say will be off the record.”
“Why?”
He hadn’t anticipated such a response. Well, he wasn’t going to lie about that either. But before he could answer, she said it for him.
“It’s Carlson, isn’t it? He just called and told you to say that. Never mind, I won’t put you on the spot. If that’s the only way I get to hear the story, I’ll take it.”
Richard went over it all again and answered each of her questions truthfully.
“Thank you, Doctor. I won’t put any of this in the paper, but I am going out back for a smoke, my first since I quit two years ago.”
As Richard hung up, the inside line began blinking.
“Yes?”
“Your ten-thirty is here.”
IN MEMPHIS, HOLLY Fisher was also on the phone. She’d been trying to contact Susan Morrison for several days, but the fertility clinic director hadn’t been at any of her usual numbers. The receptionist at the clinic had given Holly the number of the hospital where Susan’s husband was being cared for after his heart attack, but Holly hadn’t felt like bothering her there. Nor had she wanted to add to Susan’s burdens by leaving a message on her answering machine. Today, she’d found Susan at home.
“How’s Walter?” Holly asked, hoping the news was good.
“The hospital discharged him this morning,” Susan said.
“That sounds good.”
“They said he had a blockage in one of the tiniest vessels that could produce symptoms. All the other vessels were clear.”
“Is he moving around?”
“Like nothing happened. He has to stay home, though, for two weeks and avoid any strenuous activity. In a month, he’ll start cardiac rehab.”
“I’m relieved.”
“In a way it was a good thing. It got his attention and showed him he has to eat better and get more exercise, the same things I’ve been telling him for years. Where are you?”
“In Memphis.”
“Did you go to Wisconsin?”
“I was there for three days.”
“I feel terrible about canceling on you like that at the last minute.”
“You didn’t have any choice.”
“Was it a worthwhile trip?”
“There’s something very strange going on at that dairy.” Holly then related all that had happened to her, finishing her tale with her last act in Midland. “. . . so I ran.”
“Holly, I am so sorry I wasn’t there. If I had been, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“Or both of us would have ended up in the hospital.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. If I had any sense, I’d just mind my own business.”
“After what they did to you? I’m sorry. I had no right to say that.”
“It’s okay. I haven’t forgotten what they did. It’s just that the situation is so unmanageable. I can’t hand it off to the authorities up there because I don’t really know anything, including who to trust. It’s very unnerving to be in a place like that. I felt like everyone was in on it, and that I was being watched wherever I went. But I’m definitely not proud of myself for giving up. Of course, it’s a lot easier to be critical of past behavior when you’re no longer facing the heat.”
“Sounds like you’ve got some thinking to do.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“I’d like to be kept apprised of any new developments.”
“Glad to hear it, because I’ve needed a sympathetic ear.”
“I want to be more than that. Call me again.”
In Jackson, Susan hung up and sat wondering how she might have influenced what had happened to Holly. Would she have sensed before the truck rammed Holly’s car that it was up to no good? Maybe not, but at least there would have been a second pair of eyes and another perspective in the car.
Susan thought about Walter and how much she loved him, how empty her life would be without him. At least once a year they’d make a trip out west to go fossil hunting. On those trips, the change that took place in Walter reminded her of the desert that had come alive with flowers no one had seen in a hundred years after El Nino brought the rain. He walked with a lighter step and he talked faster, showing her bits of bone, pointing out geologic strata,
his eyes alert and shining. The older the rock in his hand, the more youthful he seemed.
She had clearly belonged at Walter’s side the day Holly had gone to Wisconsin. But if she could have been in two places at once, she’d have taken that plane. Because she’d promised she would and because she’d longed for a crack at the arrogant thugs who had tricked her. And she still did.
WHEN RICHARD HEFLIN was finished with his ten-thirty appointment, he called his grief counselor in Boston and got a recommendation for one in Madison. He left that name and number on Ryan Moore’s answering machine, then worked for a while on his report for the health department. At noon, he went out front, where he found Connie putting on her coat to go home for lunch.
“I’m booked from one to two-thirty, right?”
She agreed.
“Okay, see you then.”
From the office, Richard headed to Arneson’s for lunch. As he walked through the door, he saw his sister, Jessie, and her boyfriend, Artie Harris. Artie motioned him to their table.
Walking over, Richard was struck once more by the contrasts between the two. Where Jessie was a dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty with a sophisticated way of carrying herself that scared a lot of men, Artie bore a resemblance to the country singer Glen Campbell, so that seeing them together reminded Richard of the sleek big-screen TV in the Johannsons’ early-American living room. A doctor in neuropharmacology and a life insurance salesman. What did they find to talk about? But he had to admit, Artie was a likable guy, and sometimes he’d surprise you with what he knew.
“Join us,” Artie said.
“You’re not going to be holding hands and exchanging adoring glances, are you?”
“We’ll try to hold back,” Jessie said.
Richard pulled out a chair opposite Jessie and filled it.
“When’s Katie coming home?” Jessie asked.
“Not for another week.”
“How are grandma and grandpa holding up?”
“I think they’re having as much fun as she is.”
“She is a doll.”
Richard turned to Artie. “So how’s the life insurance business? Everybody you’ve written policies for staying healthy?”
“Enough to keep the company solvent.”
“I’ve been thinking that I need some more insurance. The way college costs are rising, I want to be sure that if anything happens to me, Katie will be covered. What do you say, want another customer?”
“Sorry, Richard. I don’t do business with friends.”
“An insurance agent refusing a commission?” Richard said. “Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”
“It’s just a policy I have,” Artie said, grinning at his own joke.
Jessie looked at Richard. “I heard another of your patients died.”
“She was actually in someone else’s care when it happened,” Richard said. “But I certainly didn’t help her any.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m basically in the dark. But the latest case knew the first couple, so there’s an association between them that I’m hoping means it’s over.”
“Is it some kind of virus?” Artie asked.
“I don’t think so, at least not one whose behavior I understand. One member of each household where the disease struck appears okay—the wife’s brother in the first home, and the husband in the second. Of course, it may be too early to proclaim either one totally in the clear.”
Richard interrupted his comments to give his order to the waitress. When she moved off, he said, “A neuropathologist who examined the first couple’s brains . . .” He looked at Artie. “Does this bother you?”
“Not at all.”
“This guy thought it might be a prion disease.”
Being involved in the R&D of depression-altering and other neuroactive drugs, Jessie knew what this was. But Artie said, “What’s that?”
“A class of diseases in which neural degeneration occurs because of the accumulation in the brain of an abnormally folded version of a protein that’s a normal component of nerve cells. One of the best-known examples is Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Artie said. “I thought it was caused by a virus.”
“We now know that’s wrong. There are several ways someone can get CJD, but all of them depend on the remarkable discovery that each molecule of abnormal protein that makes up the infectious prion particle can convert lots of the normal form into the lethal version. One way this whole process can begin is by a random mutation in the pertinent gene of just one neuron, so that it begins making the abnormal protein. The abnormal molecules then spread over the brain, altering normal ones they encounter.”
“And each altered molecule is capable of spreading the effect,” Artie said, enhancing his reputation as an astute listener. “So you can die from only one mutation in one cell. You wouldn’t think a single little mistake could cause so much trouble.”
“Or, the illness can begin by the spontaneous folding of a normal molecule into an abnormal one,” Richard said.
“Oh, that’s encouraging,” Artie replied.
“Abnormal molecules can also be acquired by eating an infected animal.”
“Is that what they call mad cow disease?” Artie said.
“Yes.”
“But nobody here can get it that last way because we’ve kept contaminated animals out of the country.”
“Exactly,” Richard said.
“That’s not altogether true,” Jessie said.
“What do you mean?” Richard asked.
“Where do you suppose English cows got mad cow disease?”
“I believe it was from meat and bone meal feed supplements that contained infected tissue from other cows and sheep. It’s my understanding that prior to the big outbreak in the mid-eighties, the disease was almost unknown. Before the outbreak, rendering plants in England used a processing technique that destroyed any prions in infected carcasses. Then, because of new government regulations for the solvents the plants had been using, they switched to a new processing technique that left prions infectious.”
“Okay, so that spread the disease,” Jessie said. “But where did the animals in the infected feed get it?”
Richard shrugged. “I suppose by random mutation of the prion gene in a few animals, or by spontaneous abnormal folding of the prion protein, like in humans.”
“And you really think English cows are more susceptible to that sort of thing than ours are?”
“We don’t have mad cow disease here, so maybe that’s right.”
“Or maybe we do have it here, but it occurs at a very low incidence and just hasn’t spread for some reason.”
“Do you have any data to support that?”
She raised her eyebrows and paused for effect. “In nineteen eighty-five, thousands of breeders on a mink farm in Stetsonville, Wisconsin, died from prion-induced neural degeneration. And the meat in their diet came almost exclusively from fallen and sick cattle within a fifty-mile radius of the mink ranch.”
“You’re suggesting that my patients ate prion-infected beef?”
“Is that so crazy?”
“In one way, it makes sense. The third victim spent the day at the first couple’s home, so she probably ate there.”
“Surely grocery stores don’t sell meat from sick animals,” Artie said. “Please, tell me they don’t.”
Jessie looked at him through the tops of her eyes. “Who knows?”
“Let’s not get too carried away with this idea,” Richard said. “We’re forgetting a huge fact. The onset and course of the illness that killed those people is not like any known prion disease. It has to be something else . . . a toxin.”
The waitress brought their food, and for a few minutes
conversation flagged. Then Artie said to Richard, “If you really want to know what caused those people to die, why don’t you go over to that couple’s house and look around?”
“I already did.”
“Maybe one of them brought it home from work in their clothes, like asbestos,” Artie suggested. “Did both work?”
“She was a bank teller and he drove a truck for”—Richard tried to remember who Ronnie’s employer was. Oh yeah—“Premier Industries.”
“What’s their business?” Artie asked.
“They sell dog food,” Richard replied.
“No they don’t,” Jessie said. “They make dog food . . . from downer cows.”
19
“YOU SAID THE husband drove a truck for the company. Did he pick up dead animals for them?” Jessie asked.
“I don’t know. I thought he delivered dog food.”
“Suppose he did pick up dead animals,” Artie said. “Why on earth would anyone eat meat from a cow like that?”
“It’s beyond me,” Richard said. “But this is all too suggestive to ignore. Especially since I remember seeing a freezer full of meat in their home.” He shoved his chair back. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”
At that moment, the quietest spot in the place was the opposite end of the counter with the cash register. Richard didn’t know the Johannsons’ number, so when he reached the counter, he called his cell provider’s directory assistance center and asked them to connect him.
While waiting for an answer, he thought about Dennis saying that Ronnie’s parents were going to sell the house. Was the meat still there? Surely they hadn’t thrown it away, or Lord, maybe they took it themselves, or Dennis had given it to the neighbors. “Come on, Dennis, answer,” he muttered.
But no one was there.
“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Ted Arneson said, from behind the counter. “But you trying to find Skye Johannson’s brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Check the video arcade over on Jackson.”
“I will. Thanks. Might as well pay my bill while I’m here. Just put all three on it.”
The Lethal Helix Page 16
