Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries)

by Polonus Mucha, Susan

  She cocked her head and looked confused but dug it out of her pocket and handed it him. He scrolled until he found Dot's recent call and pressed the recall button.

  “Who're you calling?”

  “Dot,” he then held up a hand and motioned her to wait. He shook his head. “No answer.”

  Again Luis held up his hand. “Voice Mail.” Then, “Dot, this is Luis. When you get this message, if you can get to a computer, send me the contents of the flash drive as an attachment. We'll call after we read Aaron's report. Here's my e-mail address.” He gave her the address and ended the call.

  “So, we go to Connecticut.”

  “No.”

  Elia stiffened. “No?”

  He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and let them rest there, his thumbs playing over her collar bone. “No, Honey.” He said it softly and waited for an outburst. He put a finger under her chin to raise her head so he could look into her eyes. “No.”

  “Why not?” She kept eye contact. “Well, why not?” She lowered the pitch of her voice and squinted at him.

  Luis almost laughed. She looked so determined.

  “Luis. Why not?”

  “Because in the ten days we've been married you almost drowned, we were chased by a maniac on a motor scooter, we were spied on while making out nude in a swimming pool, and you almost roasted to death at the spa.”

  “And you put all that on me?”

  “I put it on me.”

  “I can take care of myself. That doesn't make sense.”

  “What makes sense is I love you. Stay safe. Please stay safe.”

  Chapter 50

  Elia and Luis took one more run over to Vicente's house to assure themselves that they had taken care of everything. They locked the door and drove the short distance to Kiawah Island Real Estate Company. The expansive lobby was a salesman's first pitch. While the receptionist called Duke Middleton's office, they spent the short wait time looking at wall-sized colored photos of the flora and fauna that flourished throughout Kiawah. They turned when Duke Middleton came quickly out of his office with outstretched hand.

  “Luis!” He said hear. “Come in. And this must be Elia.” He took her hand in both of his. “I am so happy to meet you, but so sorry about Dr. Pereda.” He ushered them into his corner office. “Coffee?” He held up his cup. “It's fresh.”

  “I'll have a cup — black,” Elia said.

  “Luis?”

  “I'll come with you, Duke. I doctor mine with a lot of milk and sugar.”

  When they left, Elia spent the time studying the office. She could see that Duke valued his family; pictures of what she assumed were of his wife and two children must have been taken years earlier, because other photos showed older children and youngsters — probably grandchildren. An award touting a hole-in-one on one of Kiawah's golf courses was on display, as well as a rock that served as a name plate, saying simply: Duke.

  “Here you go.” Duke and Luis sauntered in carrying steaming cups of coffee. “How long will you be on Kiawah?”

  “We're not quite sure” Elia said, giving Luis a look that said she wasn't finished with the subject.

  Duke leaned back in his chair. “Did Luis tell you Vicente and I played a round of golf not too long ago?” A smile spread across his face. He shook his head. “He wasn't a golfer.”

  Elia sat up straighter at this revelation. She set her coffee on the desk and started to dig in her purse. “Duke, look at this key. I think it's a locker key from somewhere here, since we found it at Vicente's. And it looks like one from the lockers at the spa where I had my massage. I assume it's from a men's locker room.” She handed over the key. “Do you think he could have used a locker when he golfed with you?”

  Duke took the key. “Sure. We played at Cassique. Let's go and see if this is one of their keys.”

  Ten minutes later Luis inserted the key into a locker. As he opened the door, he raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Here goes.” He let out a soft whistle. A stack of papers was rolled up and stuffed inside. Without looking at them he left the locker room and met Duke and Elia in the pro shop. He tapped one hand with the roll of papers.

  “Must be important to have them locked away like that,” Duke said.

  “I don't know if they're important, but his parents would probably like to have them,” Luis said casually. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When they returned to the real estate office, Luis turned down an invitation for a second cup of freshly brewed coffee, thanked Middleton and made a hasty retreat.

  They drove down Kiawah Island Parkway with Elia at the wheel. Luis devoured the papers.

  Chapter 51

  Late that afternoon, Lorraine Fegan was in her home office with a box of papers and a laptop sitting on her desk. She sat in her black leather desk chair with a small red pillow at her back. She was still wearing her black outfit; a Georgia Bulldog fan would have been happy with the color scheme. She hated football.

  She poured herself a glass of Riesling and absent-mindedly rubbed her right elbow and flexed her arm as she looked at the box on her desk. She had started going through the papers as soon as she “found” them on her back patio when she arrived home. The laptop had been at the bottom of the box.

  She picked up every sheet of paper in the box and quickly scanned each one looking for references to not only Cyptolis, but especially Pavnor. Aaron was involved in marketing, and most of his notes involved his ideas for getting Pavnor before the public. Scribbled in large letters across the top of a paper and underlined half a dozen times was the word outsourcing. In his distinctive backward lettering so like the lefty that he was he had written: China.

  She looked at her phone and nibbled on her lower lip. “Crap. Bite the damn bullet.” She picked up the phone and made a call. “Can you come over here? There's a problem.” She listened a moment before she continued. “No.” Her voice went up and octave. “It can't wait until tomorrow. And you won't want to talk about this at the office.”

  She listened and took a deep breath. “No.” She tried to sound calmer, more understanding. “You don't want me dragging this into your house; you have enough going on over there.” She held the phone tightly in her hand. “I'll wait for you.” She cut the call before she got an answer.

  Harry Millen laid the phone down as gently as he would a newborn babe. He stared out his study window hoping some of the tranquility outside would seep inside. He had left the office early to try to think. So much happening. He turned from the window and left his study and walked slowly up the stairs and entered his wife's room.

  “Would you step outside for a moment, please?” His wife's private duty nurse nodded and quietly left the room.

  Harry took his wife's thin hand, the skin as transparent as tissue paper. “Jeannie?”

  She turned her head to look at him, her eyes glassy from morphine.

  “I'm here.” She gazed at him. “What is it, Harry?” Her voice was soft, too soft, but filled him with warmth.

  He shook his head. “Work.”

  “Problem?”

  “I'm afraid so.” He took a deep breath. He looked away from his wife. “Everything's wrong.”

  “Harry, you've been spending too much time here with me.” When he looked as though he would protest, she squeezed his hand and slowly shook her head. “No. And when you're not home, you're thinking about me.”

  He put his face to her hand and gently kissed the frail fingers.

  She smiled. “You have a job to do — a responsibility to people like me. We have a plan. Take care of it. I'll be here when you get home.” She caressed his face. “I promise.”

  He kissed her, reached into her bedside drawer for her lip balm, gently applied it to her dry lips, and kissed her again.

  He smiled for the first time since he entered the room. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Put me on the straight and narrow?”

  “A gift.” She winked at him. �
�Now go and take care of business.” She reached for him. “Harry?”

  “Hmm?” He took her hand, which was so dry.

  “Straight and narrow?” She closed her eyes. “We have to see this through.” She opened her eyes and bore into him with her tired eyes. “You have to.”

  “I will.” A shadow crossed his face. “I'm so sorry about your treatment. And so angry. I promise you, this will not happen again.”

  “No anger, Harry, please. Nothing gets done when you're angry. We talked about this. Go on now. Take care of your responsibilities. Take care of Pavnor.”

  He didn't hurry to his car. He walked like a man in a trance, then drove slowly down his winding driveway, the gently sloping stone wall his guide.

  Chapter 52

  Lorraine Fegan's fingers flew through the papers in the cardboard box once, twice, a third time. She absent-mindedly reached for a pencil from a cupful on her desk. She looked at the pencil, then at the cup with her college's insignia in gold on the maroon background. She stiffened. She learned a lot in college, but she sure as hell didn't learn this business. She gripped the pencil and thrust it back in the cup. She turned her attention to the box.

  Before Millen arrived, she had calmed enough to peruse each sheet of paper. She still hadn't found what she was afraid she would. She had finished off a half bottle of Riesling by the time Millen pulled into her driveway. She stood at her window and watched him get out of his car.

  He's aged, she thought. She had worked with him since he had taken over the reins of Pavnor. She considered him a colleague more than friend, but she wasn't heartless. She knew what he was going through with his wife. Jeannie was in the final stages of cancer that had racked her body for seven years.

  “Damn you, Jeannie. If Harry had been paying attention to the company, this wouldn't have happened.” As soon as she said this, she almost felt ashamed. But not quite.

  She walked to the door and opened it before Harry knocked. “How's Jeannie?”

  He shook his head. “The same.” He looked past her to her study. “What's the emergency?”

  “Harry, let me fix you a drink.”

  “I just had one. Let's get to work.”

  She pursed her lips disgustedly and led him to her study. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the mess.

  “Please sit.” She pointed to a chair. “I have a story to tell you.”

  He almost groaned. “Cyptolis?”

  “What do you know?” She almost said, “What do you think you know?”

  “I know this drug had been on the market under another name thirty years ago. I know it causes liver problems — the same problems it caused the first go round.”

  “I didn't know you knew even that.

  “What do you mean ‘even that’”?

  She poured herself another glass of wine. Then she poured one for Millen. “Well, there's more.”

  Chapter 53

  When Dot ended the call with Elia, she set her cell phone on her son's bed. She took the flash drive out of the computer and went back downstairs. Later, she wouldn't be able to hear her phone ringing as it lay in the upstairs bedroom.

  She didn't miss the phone until early the next morning when she retraced her steps and found it upstairs. It was then she listened to Luis's message.

  “Of course. Why didn't I think of that?” In two minutes she had her son's computer up and running and the Cyptolis file attached to an e-mail to Luis. Then she erased the file from the computer and shut it down. The flash drive was safely back in her pocket.

  By the time Elia pulled in front of The Sanctuary and handed the keys to the valet, Luis had finished reading Vicente's papers. He hurried to the room, not speaking. He turned on his computer and immediately saw he had an e-mail attachment from Dot Scharff. He opened it and read Aaron's report. He took a breath and let it out slowly. “If you can stay out of trouble, how would you like to go to Connecticut?”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Vicente. Scharff. China.”

  Chapter 54

  Millen had spent a restless night after his talk with Lorraine. When his phone rang first thing in the morning he groaned.

  “Harry, Luis Echevarria.”

  Millen sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He answered in a low voice; Jeannie was sleeping in the adjoining room, her night nurse watching over her.

  “We'll be in Greenwich later on today; do you think we can stop at your office?”

  “Greenwich?” He frowned.

  “We're coming up to see Dot Scharff. Her house was broken into yesterday.”

  “No! How is she?” He felt like saying, “Tell me something I don't know.”

  “She's okay, but Aaron's papers and laptop were taken.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing else, that she can see right now.”

  “That's strange.”

  “Right. That's why we want to see you. We think we know what was on the laptop.”

  “How could you?”

  “Aaron's flash drive wasn't taken.”

  Millen wiped the sweat off his face. “And?”

  “And Dot e-mailed the contents.”

  “I take it this has to do with Pavnor.”

  “It looks that way.” Luis switched the phone to his left hand and picked up a pen. “What's a good time to run up to Stamford?”

  “I don't have my schedule in front of me; call when you get up here.” He ended the call and stared at the phone.

  He peeked in at his sleeping wife and nodded to the nurse. After a quick shower, he dressed and went quietly downstairs.

  “Life was better when I was in control,” he mumbled to himself as he made the coffee. He felt like throwing the pot across the room, but he looked toward the ceiling and thought of his sleeping wife.

  Jeannie's right, he thought. We have to see this through. See it through for her. He drank a cup of coffee and had another thought. He muttered aloud, “I may be losing control, but maybe it's better this way.”

  Chapter 55

  “Elia, promise me you won't play cop.” They had flown into White Plains and Luis was behind the wheel of a rental car.

  “I don't play cop.” There was an emphasis on “play.”

  “I mean it. No more. You get into too much trouble.”

  “I get into trouble?” She shifted in her seat to glare at him. “Plural pronoun, please.”

  Luis didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the road. “Check the Garmin. What exit do we get off?”

  Elia glanced at their GPS. “Port Chester.”

  Luis nodded. His lips were pressed tight.

  “I repeat. I get into trouble?”

  Luis took an obvious deep breath. “Yes, you.” He glanced at her and frowned. “Ever since Vicente died, you've — okay— we've had trouble.” He recited the litany. “That's trouble.”

  “Do I have to hear this again? You keep going over every little mishap.” She again turned in her seat to stare at him. “And you were involved in some of the mishaps.”

  “Mishaps?” He began in an accusatory tone, but ended on a conciliatory one. “How about this: Let's be careful.”

  Elia noticed the change of tone, and willed herself to calm down. She was raised by a Peruvian mother and knew how protective Peruvians could be. She couldn't understand it but came to accept it. Now married to a Peruvian, she asked herself if she had expected anything different. She had lived independently since her parents died; now she had to learn new ways. But, she thought, they both had to. Her musings were interrupted by the Garmin giving verbal directions to their exit. Once they were off the highway, Elia spoke up.

  “Then what are we doing here if we're not going to play cop?”

  “Uh huh! You admit it.” Luis took his eyes off the road for a second and grinned at his wife. “We're here because I want to see what's going on with Vicente's drug.”

  “Fair enough. Let's talk. What do we know?”

  “What I got from Vi
cente's paper. Six points. For starters, number one, Cyptolis causes liver damage.” As Luis spoke, Elia ticked off points with her fingers. “Two, this drug has almost the same components of a drug that was prescribed widely in the seventies for countless numbers of paraplegic Vietnam veterans to treat spasticity. Three, the same side effects that they experienced then are being experienced today. Four, a good number of the patients today receiving the drug are Iraq War veterans.”

  “A connection.”

  “I don't think there's a conspiracy against veterans, if that's what you mean.”

  Elia shrugged. “So what is the connection?”

  “There are a lot of soldiers coming home paralyzed.” Luis was quiet for a moment. “A lot less than Vietnam. This war causes more head injuries and amputated limbs than paralysis, but we still have a lot of soldiers coming home paralyzed.”

  “Sounds like a conspiracy to me.”

  “Huh uh. The general public has been getting the drug, but the percentage of paraplegics in the service versus the general population is naturally much greater.

  “But there's another problem that Vicente touched on that didn't show up during the Vietnam era of the drug.”

  Elia turned in her seat. “You hadn't mentioned another problem.”

  “I found it buried in his report. He couldn't figure it out and said he was going to investigate further.”

  He drove in silence.

  “Well? I'm on number four. Are you going to share the fifth point?”

  “Oh, sorry. Just thinking about it.”

  “Luis, what is it?”

  “Number five, there seems to be a lot of bleeding.”

  “Bleeding? Where?”

  “The liver. The liver damage associated with Cyptolis and the earlier drug mimics hepatitis, but what is showing up is hemorrhaging.”

  “The liver is hemorrhaging?”