by Mortal Fear
Jason backed up, afraid to be touched. Hayes’s son got out of his bed and began to feel his way forward, his bony, uncoordinated little arms making helpless swirling motions in the air.
The mob of children backed Jason up against the ward door and began to tug at his clothes. Frightened and nauseated, Jason pushed open the ward door and retreated into the hall. After he closed the door, the children pressed their mummylike faces against the glass, still silently voicing the word “please.”
“Hey, you!” Jason heard a rasping voice behind him.
Turning his head, he saw the attendant standing outside his office, waving his open book in astonishment. “What’s goin’ on?” the man yelled.
Jason ran across the hall to the stairwell, but he’d descended only a few steps before a second voice echoed up from below. “Kevin? What gives?”
Looking over the railing, Jason saw the guard down on the first-floor landing.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the guard said, and charged up the stairs, club in hand.
Reversing direction, Jason returned to the third floor. The attendant was still standing in the doorway of his office, apparently too dumbfounded to move as Jason sprinted across the hall and back into the ward. Some of the children were wandering aimlessly about the room; others had collapsed back on their beds. Jason frantically beckoned them over, opened the door, and as the attendant and guard appeared, they were immediately surrounded by a swarm of boys.
They tried to shove their way through the crowd, but the children clung to them, shouting their eerie, monotonous chorus of please.
Reaching the emergency door at the opposite end of the room, Jason depressed its lever which, for safety’s sake, was positioned six feet off the floor. At first the door wouldn’t open. Obviously, it had not been used for years. Jason could see that paint had sealed it shut. Putting his shoulder against it, Jason finally got it to swing free. Stepping out into the dark night, he pushed several of the boys back into the ward before closing the heavy door.
Wasting no time, he clambered down the fire escape. There was no need to be quiet now. He was at the second level when the door above him opened. Once again he heard the shrieking of the children. Then he felt the vibration of heavy boots on the fire escape.
Pulling out a pin caused the final ladder to descend with a deep thud, as it hit the asphalt of the parking lot below. Even before it had touched down, Jason was on it. The slight delay enabled the guard behind Jason to close the distance between them.
Once on the lawn, though, Jason’s running ability soon left the beefy guard far behind, and by the time Jason reached his car, he had plenty of time to start the engine, put it in gear, and pull away. In his rearview mirror he could barely see the man just reaching the edge of the road, shaking his fist in the light of a street lamp.
Jason could barely control his disgust and fury at what he’d seen. He drove directly to Boston police headquarters and brazenly left his car in a no-parking zone in front of the building.
“I want to see Detective Curran,” Jason told the officer at the desk, then identified himself.
The policeman calmly checked his watch, then called up to Homicide. He spoke for a minute, then covered the receiver with his hand. “Would anyone else do?”
“No. I want Curran. And now, please.”
The policeman spoke into the phone a few minutes more, then hung up. “Detective Curran isn’t available, sir.”
“I think he’ll talk with me. Even if he’s off duty.”
“That’s not the problem,” the policeman said. “Detective Curran is on a double homicide in Revere. He should be calling in within an hour or so. If you want, you can wait or leave your number. It’s up to you, sir.”
Jason thought for a moment. He’d been up most of the night, his nerves were shot, and the idea of a shower, a change of clothes, and food had a lot of appeal. Besides, once he got together with Curran, he would be busy for some time. He left his, home number, asking that Curran call as soon as possible.
The United flight from Seattle had been delayed considerably, and by the time it landed at Logan, Juan Diaz was in a sour mood. He’d not screwed up an assignment so badly since he hit the wrong man in New York. That fiasco was excusable, but his current one was not. He’d been within a few seconds of popping both the doctor and the nightclub puta when Jason, an amateur, had outsmarted him. Juan had no excuse and had told the contact as much. He knew he had to redeem himself or else, and he looked forward to it eagerly. As soon as he got off the plane, he went to the phone. It was answered on the second ring.
Jason drove the short distance from the police station to Louisburg Square, trying to erase the horrible image of the prematurely aged children at the school. He didn’t even want to think about Hayes and his discovery until he was safely in Curran’s presence.
When he got to his building, he drove around the block a couple of times to make sure no one was watching it. Finally, convincing himself that the guard at the school had not looked at his ID, and hence had no idea who he was, Jason parked his car, carried his luggage up to his apartment, and turned on the lights. To his relief, the place was exactly as he’d left it. When he glanced out at the square, it seemed as peaceful as ever.
Jason was about to get into the shower when he remembered the one other person he should speak to besides the detective. He dialed Shirley. She finally answered on the eighth ring. Jason could hear animated voices in the background.
“Jason!” she exclaimed. “When did you get back from vacation?”
“I got in tonight.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked, picking up on the exhaustion and worry in his voice.
“Big trouble. I think I’ve figured out not only Hayes’s discovery, but how it was being misused. It involves the GHP in a far worse way than you could ever imagine.”
“Tell me.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Then come right over. I have guests here, but I’ll get rid of them.”
“I’m waiting to speak to Curran in Homicide.” “I see … you’ve already contacted him?”
“He’s out on a case, but he should be calling shortly.”
“Then why don’t I come to your apartment? You’ve got me really terrified now.”
“Welcome to the club,” Jason said with a short, bitter laugh. “You might as well come over. You probably should be present when I talk to Curran.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Oh, one other thing. Do you remember who’s currently medical director at the Hartford School?”
“Dr. Peterson, I believe,” Shirley said. “I can find out for certain tomorrow.”
“Wasn’t Peterson closely involved in Hayes’s clinical studies?” Jason asked, suddenly remembering that Peterson was the. doctor who had done the physical on Hayes.
“I think so. Is it important?”
“I’m not sure,” Jason said. “But if you’re coming, hurry. Curran should be calling any minute.”
Jason hung up and was again about to take his shower when he realized Carol too might be in danger. Picking up the phone again, he dialed her number.
“I want you to be sure to stay at home,” he said the moment she answered. “I’m not fooling. Don’t answer your door—don’t go out.”
“Now what is it?”
“The Hayes conspiracy is worse than anything I could imagine.”
“You sound anxious, Jason.”
In spite of himself, Jason smiled. Sometimes Carol could sound like a psychiatrist.
“I’m not anxious, I’m scared to death. But I’ll be talking with the police shortly.”
“Will you let me know what’s going on?” Carol demanded.
“I promise.” Jason hung up and finally went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
16.
The buzzer sounded and Jason ran downstairs to see Shirley smiling at him through the glass side panel of his front door. He stepped back to le
t her in, admiring her usual impeccable dress. Tonight she was wearing a black leather miniskirt and a long, red suede jacket.
“Has Curran called?” she asked as they walked upstairs.
“Not yet,” Jason said, carefully double-locking his apartment door.
“Now fill me in,” Shirley said, slipping out of her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a soft cashmere sweater. She sat on the edge of Jason’s sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, and waited.
“You’re not going to like this,” Jason said, sitting next to her.
“I’ve tried to prepare myself. Shoot.”
“First let me give you a little background. If you don’t understand the current research on aging, what I’m about to say may not make much sense.
“In the last few years, scientists like Hayes have spent a lot of time trying to slow the aging process. Most of their work has focused on cells in cell cultures, although some work has been done with rats and mice. Most of the researchers have concluded that aging is a natural process with a genetic basis regulated by neuroendocrine, immune, and humoral factors.”
“You’ve lost me already,” Shirley admitted, lifting her hands in mock surrender.
“How about a drink, then?” Jason suggested, getting to his feet.
“What are you having?”
“A beer. But I have wine, hard stuff, you name it.”
“A beer might be nice.”
Jason went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out two cold Coors.
“You doctors are all the same,” Shirley complained, taking a sip. “You make everything sound complicated.”
“It is complicated,” Jason said, sitting back down. “Molecular genetics concerns the fundamental basis of life. Research in this area is scary, not just because scientists might accidentally create a new and deadly bacterium or virus. It is just as scary if it goes right, because we are playing with life itself. Hayes’s tragedy was not that he failed; the problem was that he succeeded.”
“What did he discover?”
“In a moment,” Jason said, taking a long drink of beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let me put the story another way. We all reach puberty at about the same time, and if disease or accident doesn’t intervene, we all age and die in about the same life-span.”
Shirley nodded.
“Okay,” Jason said, leaning toward her. “This happens because our bodies are genetically programmed to follow an internal timetable. As we develop, different genes are turned on while others are turned off. This is what fascinated Hayes. He had been studying the ways humoral signals from the brain control growth and sexual maturation. By isolating one after another of these humoral proteins, he discovered what they did to peripheral tissues. He was hoping to find out what caused cells to either start dividing or stop dividing.”
“That much I do understand,” Shirley said. “It’s one of the reasons we hired him. We hoped he’d make a breakthrough in cancer treatment.”
“Now let me digress a moment,” Jason said. “There was another researcher by the name of Denckla, who was experimenting on ways to retard the aging process. He took out the pituitary glands of rats, and after replacing the necessary hormones, found that the rats had an increased life-span.”
Jason stopped and looked expectantly at Shirley.
“Am I supposed to say something?” she asked.
“Doesn’t Denckla’s experiment suggest something to you?”
“Why don’t you just tell me.”
“Denckla deduced that not only does the pituitary secrete the hormones for growth and puberty, but it also secretes the hormone for aging. Denckla called it the death hormone.”
Shirley laughed nervously. “That sounds cheerful.”
“Well, I believe that while Hayes was researching growth factors, he stumbled onto Denckla’s postulated death hormone,” Jason said. “That was what he meant by an ironic discovery. While looking for growth stimulators, he finds a hormone that causes rapid aging and death.”
“What would happen if this hormone were given to someone?” Shirley asked.
“If it were given in isolation, probably not much. The subject might experience some symptoms of aging, but the hormone would probably be metabolized and its effect limited. But Hayes wasn’t studying the hormone in isolation. He realized that in the same way the secretion of the sex and growth hormone is triggered, there had to be a releasing factor for the death hormone. He was immediately drawn to the life cycle of salmon, which die within hours of spawning. I believe he collected salmon heads and isolated the death hormone’s releasing factor from the brains. This was the free-lance work I think he did at Gene, Inc. Once he had isolated the releasing factor, he had Helene reproduce it in quantity by recombinant DNA techniques at his GHP lab.”
“Why would Hayes want to produce it?”
“I believe he hoped to develop a monoclonal antibody that would prevent the secretion of the death hormone and halt the aging process.” All at once Jason realized what Hayes meant about his discovery becoming a beauty aid. It would preserve youthful good looks, like Carol’s.
“What would happen if the releasing factor were given to someone?”
“It would turn on the death gene, releasing the aging hormone just the way it is in salmon—with pretty much the same results. The subject would age and die in three or four weeks. And nobody would know why. And this brings me to the worst thing of all. I believe someone obtained the artificially created hormone Helene was producing at our lab and started giving it to our patients. Whoever it is must be insane—but that’s what I think has been happening. Hayes caught on—probably when he visited his son—and was given the aging factor himself. If he hadn’t died that night, I think he’d have been killed some other way.” Jason shuddered.
“How did you find out?” Shirley whispered.
“I followed Hayes’s experimental trail. When Helene was murdered I guessed that Hayes had been telling the truth both about his discovery and the fact that someone wanted him dead.”
“But Helene was raped by an unknown intruder.”
“Sure. But only to mislead the police as to the motive for her murder. I always felt she knew more than she was telling about Hayes’s work. When I learned that she’d been having an affair with him, I was sure.”
“But who would want to kill our patients?” Shirley asked desperately.
“A sociopath. The same kind of nut who puts cyanide in Tylenol. Tonight at the clinic I had the computer print out survival curves and death curves. The results were incredible. There’s been a significant increase in the death rate at GHP for patients over fifty who are chronically ill or who have high-risk lifestyles.” Suddenly Jason stopped. “Damn!”
“What’s the matter?” Shirley asked, looking about nervously, as if the danger were just around the corner.
“I forgot something. I printed the curves month by month—I didn’t look at them doctor by doctor.”
“You think a physician’s behind this?” Shirley asked incredulously.
“Must be. A doctor-or maybe a nurse. The releasing factor would be a polypeptide protein. It would have to be injected. If it was administered orally, the gastric juices would degrade it.”
“Oh, my God.” Shirley dropped her head into her hands. “And I thought we had troubles before.” She took a breath and looked up. “Isn’t there a chance you could be wrong, Jason? Maybe the computer made a mistake. God knows, data processing breaks down often enough….”
Jason put his hand on her shoulder. He knew that her hard-won empire was about to come crashing down. “I’m not wrong,” he said gently. “I also did something else tonight. I saw Hayes’s son at Hartford.”
“And … ?”
“It’s a horror. All the kids on his ward must have been given the releasing factor. Apparently it acts more slowly on prepubescent subjects, so the boys are still alive. There must be some kind of hormonal competition with growth hormone. But they
all look one hundred years old.”
Shirley shuddered.
“That’s why I wanted to know the name of the current medical director.”
“You think Peterson’s responsible?”
“He’d have to be a prime suspect.”
“Maybe we should go to the clinic and double-check the computer. We could even rerun your survival curves by doctor.”
Before Jason could answer, the door buzzer shattered the silence and made them both jump. Jason got to his feet, his heart pounding.
Shirley dropped her drink on the table. “Who could that be?”
“I don’t know.” Jason had told Carol not to leave her apartment, and Curran would have called before coming over.
“What should we do?” Shirley asked urgently.
“I’m going downstairs and have a look.”
“Is that such a good idea?”
“Got a better one?”
Shirley shook her head. “Just don’t open the door.”
“What do you think I am—crazy? Oh—and one thing I didn’t tell you. Someone tried to kill me.”
“No! Where?”
“In a remote country inn east of Seattle.”
He unlocked his apartment door. “Maybe you’d better not go down,” Shirley said hurriedly.
“I’ve got to find out who it is.” Jason went out to the railed landing and looked down at the front door. He could see a figure through one of the glass panels.
“Be careful,” Shirley said.
Jason silently started down the stairs. The closer he got, the bigger the shadow of the individual in the foyer became. He was facing the nameplates and angrily hitting the buzzer. Suddenly he whirled around and pressed his face to the glass. For a moment, Jason’s and the stranger’s faces were only inches apart. There was no mistaking the massive face and tiny, closely set eyes. Their visitor was Bruno, the body-builder. Jason turned and fled back upstairs as the door rattled furiously behind him.
“Who is it?”
“A muscle-bound thug I know,” Jason told her, double-locking his door, “and the only person who knew I went to Seattle.” That point had just occurred to him with terrifying force. He ran into the den and snatched up the phone. “Damn!” he said after a minute. He dropped the receiver and tried the one in the bedroom. Again, there was no dial tone. “The phones are dead,” he said with disbelief to Shirley, who had followed him, sensing his panic.
