by Robin Cook
With _some misgivings about the possible consequences, Jason drove back to the Combat Zone. In contrast to the rest of the city, it was still very much awake. He drove past the Club Cabaret once, then circled and backed into a side street and parked. He switched off the motor. There were some unsavory types lingering in doorways and on the side street who made Jason feel uncomfortable. He made sure all his doors were locked.
Within a quarter hour of his arrival, a large group of people emerged from the club and went their separate ways. About ten minutes later, a group of dancers appeared. They chatted together in front of the club, then split up. Carol was not among them. Just when Jason had begun to worry that he’d missed her, Carol came out with one of the body-builders. He wore a leather jacket over his T-shirt, but it was not zipped up. They turned right, heading up Washington Street toward Filene’s.
Jason started his car, unsure of what to do. Luckily there was plenty of traffic, both cars and pedestrian. To keep Carol in sight, he nudged out into the street, staying to the side. A policeman saw him and waved him on. Carol and her friend turned left on Boylston Street, walked into an open parking lot, and got into a large black Cadillac.
Well, at least he’ll be easy to keep in sight, Jason thought. But, never having followed anyone, he discovered it wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined, especially if he didn’t want to be observed. The Cadillac skirted the edge of the Common, went north on Charles Street, then made a left on Beacon, passing the Hampshire House. Several blocks later, the car pulled over to the left side of the street and double-parked. This was an area of town called Back Bay, composed of large, turn-of the-century brownstones, most of which had been converted into rental units or condos. Jason passed the Cadillac as Carol alighted. Slowing, he watched in the rearview mirror as she ran up the steps of a building with a large bay window. Jason turned left on Exeter, then left on Marlborough. After waiting about five minutes, he rounded the block. Arriving back on Beacon Street, he looked for the black Cadillac. It was gone.
Jason parked in front of a fire hydrant half a block from Carol’s building. At three A.M. Back Bay was peaceful — no pedestrians and only an occasional passing car. Turning into the walk leading to Carol’s building, Jason surveyed the six-story facade and saw no lights in any of the windows. Entering the building’s outer foyer, he scanned the names opposite the buzzers. There were fourteen. To his disappointment there was no Donner listed.
Stepping back outside, Jason debated what he should do. Remembering there was an alley running between Beacon and Marlborough, he walked around the block, counting the buildings until he located Carol’s. There was a light in the window on the fourth floor. He guessed that had to be Carol’s since it was unlikely anyone else would be up.
Intending to go back to the entrance and press the appropriate buzzer, Jason turned and headed back up the alley. He saw the lone figure immediately, but he kept walking, hoping the man would merely pass by. As the distance between them closed, Jason’s steps slowed, then stopped. To his dismay he realized it was the body-builder. His leather motorcycle jacket was unzipped, showing a white T-shirt stretched tight across powerful muscles. It was the same individual who had thrown him out of the Club Cabaret the night before.
The man kept coming at Jason, his fingers flexing in apparent anticipation. Jason guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, with a full face that suggested he took steroids. It obviously spelled trouble. And Jason’s hope that the man might not recognize him was banished as the goon growled, “What the fuck you doing, creep?”
That was all Jason needed. He spun on his heels and started for the other end of the alley. Unfortunately, his leather-soled loafers were no competition for the body-builder’s Nikes. “You goddamn pervert!” he shouted, pulling Jason to a stop.
Jason ducked a roundhouse left hook and grabbed the goon’s thigh, hoping to trip him. Unfortunately, it was like grabbing a piano leg. Instead, Jason was jerked upright. The unevenness of the match was already apparent to Jason, who decided he’d prefer some kind of dialogue. “Why don’t you find someone your own size!” he yelled in exasperation.
“Because I don’t like perverts,” the body-builder said, practically lifting Jason off his feet.
Twisting to one side, then the other, Jason wriggled out of his jacket and shot off down the alley, knocking over a garbage can as he fled.
“I’ll teach you not to come sniffing around Carol!” the goon shouted, kicking aside the garbage can as he started off after Jason. But Jason’s years of jogging paid off. Although the body-builder was quick despite his size, Jason could hear the man’s breathing becoming increasingly labored. Jason was almost at the end of the alley when he skidded on loose pebbles, momentarily losing his balance. He scrambled back to his feet just as a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
CHAPTER 7
“Hold it! Police!” A voice shattered the stillness of the Boston night. Jason froze and so did the body-builder. The doors of an unmarked police car parked next to the mouth of the alley suddenly opened and three plainclothesmen leaped out. Once again Jason was ordered, “Up against the wall. Feet apart!” He obeyed, but the body-builder thought about it for a moment. Finally he growled to Jason, “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.” He then complied.
“Shut up!” a policeman yelled. Jason and his pursuer were quickly searched, then turned around and told to put their hands behind their heads. One cop took out a flashlight and checked their identification.
“Bruno DeMarco?” questioned the man holding the light on the body-builder. Bruno nodded. The light switched to Jason.
“Dr. Jason Howard?”
“That’s correct.”
“What’s going on here?” the policeman asked.
“This little creep was trying to bother my girlfriend,” Bruno informed him in an outraged voice. “He followed her.”
The policeman looked back and forth between Jason and Bruno, then walked over to the car, opened the door, and took something from the back seat. When he returned, he handed Bruno his wallet and told him to go home and get some sleep. At first Bruno acted as though he hadn’t understood, but then he took his wallet.
“I’ll remember you, asshole!” he shouted at Jason as he disappeared toward Beacon Street.
“You,” the policeman said, pointing to Jason. “In the car!”
Jason was stunned. He couldn’t believe they let the bouncer go and not him. He was about to complain when the policeman grasped his arm and forced him into the back seat.
“You are becoming one big pain in the ass,” Detective Curran said. He was sitting stolidly, smoking. “I should have let that hunk work you over.”
Jason was at a loss for words.
“I hope you have some idea,” Curran continued, “of just how much you are screwing up this case. First we have Hayes’s apartment covered. You blew that. Then we’re watching Carol Donner and you blow that. We might as well bag the whole operation. We’re certainly not going to learn anything from her at this point. Where the hell is your car? I presume you came in a car?”
“Just around the corner,” Jason said meekly.
“I suggest you get in it and go home,” Curran said slowly. “Then I suggest you get back to doctoring and leave this investigation to us. You’re making our job impossible.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason began. “I didn’t think…”
“Just leave!” Curran said with a wave of dismissal.
Jason climbed out of the police car, feeling pretty dumb. Of course they’d be watching Carol. If she had been living with Hayes, she was probably involved with drugs too. In fact, with her line of work, it was almost a given. Getting into his own car, Jason thought about his jacket, said the hell with it, and drove home.
It was three-thirty when he trudged up the stairs to his apartment and dutifully called his service. He hadn’t taken his beeper with him when he left to follow Carol Donner, and he hoped there had been no calls. He was too tired to
handle an emergency. There was nothing from the hospital, but Shirley had left a message asking him to call the moment he got in, no matter what time. The page operator told him it was urgent.
Perplexed, Jason dialed. Shirley answered on the first ring. “Where on earth have you been?”
“That’s a story in itself.”
“I want you to do me a favor. Come over right now”.
“It’s three-thirty,” Jason pleaded.
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
Jason put on another jacket, returned to his car, and drove out to Brookline, wondering what emergency couldn’t have waited a little longer. The only certainty was that it involved Hayes.
Shirley lived on Lee Street, a road that curved around Brookline Reservoir and wound its way up into a residential area of fine old homes. Her house was a fieldstone building of comfortable proportions with a gambrel roof and twin gables. As Jason entered the cobblestone driveway, he saw that the house was ablaze with light. He pulled up across from the entrance, and by the time he was out of the car, Shirley had the door open.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, giving him a hug. She was dressed in a white cashmere sweater and faded jeans and seemed, for the first time since Jason had met her, totally distraught.
She led him into a large living room and introduced him to two GHP executives who also seemed visibly upset. Jason shook hands first with Bob Walthrow, a small, balding man, and then Fred Ingelnook, a Robert Redford lookalike.
“How about a cocktail?” Shirley asked. “You look like you need it.”
“Just soda,” Jason said. “I’m dead on my feet. What’s going on?”
“More trouble. I got a call from security. Hayes’s lab was broken into tonight and practically demolished.”
“Vandalism?”
“We’re not sure.”
“Hardly,” Bob Walthrow said. “It was searched.”
“Was anything taken?” Jason asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Shirley said. “But that’s not the problem. We want to keep this out of the papers. Good Health can’t take much more bad publicity. We have two large corporate clients on the fence about joining the Plan. They might be scared off if they hear that the police think Hayes’s lab was searched for drugs.”
“It’s possible,” Jason said. “The medical examiner told me Hayes had cocaine in his urine.”
“Shit,” Bob Walthrow said. “Let’s hope the newspapers don’t get ahold of this.”
“We’ve got to limit the damage!” Shirley said.
“How do you propose to do that?” Jason asked, wondering why he’d been called.
“The governing board wants us to keep this latest incident quiet.”
“That might be difficult,” Jason said, taking a sip of his soda. “The papers will probably get it from the police blotter.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Shirley said. “We’ve decided not to tell the police. But we wanted your opinion.”
“Mine?” Jason asked, surprised.
“Well,” Shirley said, “we want the opinion of the medical staff. You’re a current chief. We thought you could quietly find out how the others felt.”
“I suppose,” said Jason, wondering how he’d go about polling the other internists and still keep the episode undercover. “But if you want my personal opinion, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all. Besides, you won’t be able to collect insurance unless you inform the police.”
“That’s a point,” Fred Ingelnook said.
“True,” Shirley said, “but it’s still minor in relation to the public relations problem. For now we will not report it. But we’ll check with insurance and hear from the department chiefs.”
“Sounds good to me,” Fred Ingelnook said. “Fine,” Bob Walthrow said.
The conversation wound down and Shirley sent the two executives home. She held Jason back when he tried to follow, suggesting he meet her at eight o’clock that morning. “I’ve asked Helene to come in early. Maybe we can make some sense out of what’s going on.”
Jason nodded, still wondering why Shirley couldn’t have told him all this on the phone. But he was too tired to care, and after giving her a brief kiss on the cheek, he staggered back out to his car, hoping for two or three hours’ sleep.
CHAPTER 8
It was just after eight that Saturday morning when Jason, bleary-eyed, entered Shirley’s office. It was paneled in dark mahogany, with dark green carpet and brass fixtures, and looked more like it belonged to a banker than to the chief executive of a health care plan. Shirley was on the phone talking to an insurance adjuster, so Jason sat and waited. After she hung up she said, “You were right about the insurance. They have no intention of paying a claim unless the break-in is reported.”
“Then report it.”
“First let’s see how bad the damage is and what’s missing.”
They crossed into the outpatient building and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. A security guard was waiting for them and unlocked the inner door. They dispensed with the booties and white coat.
Like Hayes’s apartment, the lab was a mess. All the drawers and cabinets had been emptied onto the floor, but the high-tech equipment appeared untouched, so it was obvious to both of them that it had been a search and not a destructive visit. Jason glanced into Hayes’s office. It was equally littered, with the contents of the desk and several file cabinets strewn about the floor.
Helene Brennquivist appeared in the doorway to the animal room, her face white and drawn. Her hair was again severely pulled back from her face, but without her usual shapeless lab coat, Jason could see she had an attractive figure.
“Can you tell if anything is missing?” Shirley asked.
“Well, I don’t see my data books,” Helene said. “And some of the E. coli bacterial cultures are gone. But the worst is what’s happened to the animals.”
“What about them?” Jason asked, noting that her usually emotionless face was trembling with fear.
“Maybe you should look. They’ve all been killed!”
Jason stepped around Helene and through the steel door into the animal area. He was immediately confronted with a pungent, zoolike stench. He turned on the light. It was a larger room, some fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. The animal cages were organized in rows and stacked one on top of the other, sometimes as many as six high.
Jason started down the nearest row, glancing into individual cages. Behind him the door closed with a decisive click. Helene had not been exaggerating: all the animals that Jason saw were dead, hideously curled in contorted positions, often with bloodied tongues as if they’d chewed them in their final agony.
Suddenly Jason stopped short. Staring into a group of large cages, he saw something that made his stomach turn: rats the likes of which he had never seen. They were huge, almost the size of pigs, and their bald, whiplike tails were as thick as Jason’s wrists. Their exposed teeth were four inches long. Moving along, Jason came to rabbits the same size, and then white mice the size of small dogs.
This side of genetic engineering horrified Jason. Although he was afraid of what he might see, morbid curiosity drove him on. Slowly, he looked into other cages, seeing distortions of familiar creatures that made him sick. It was science gone mad: rabbits with several heads and mice with supernumerary extremities and extra sets of eyes. For Jason, genetic manipulation of primitive bacteria was one thing; distortion of mammals was quite another.
He retreated back to the central part of the lab, where Shirley and Helene had been checking the scintillation cultures.
“Have you seen the animals?” Jason asked Shirley with disgust.
“Unfortunately. When Curran was here. Don’t remind me.”
“Did the GHP authorize those experiments?” Jason demanded.
“No,” Shirley said. “We never questioned Hayes. We never thought we had to.”
“The power of celebrity,” Jason said cynically.
“The animals were part of Dr. Hayes’s growth hormone work,” Helene said defensively.
“Whatever,” Jason said. He was not interested in any ethical argument with Helene at the moment. “At any rate, they’re all dead.”
“All of them?” Shirley questioned. “How bizarre. What do you think happened?”
“Poison,” Jason said grimly. “Though why anyone searching for drugs would bother to kill lab animals beats me.”
“Do you have any explanation for all of this?” Shirley said angrily, turning to Helene.
The younger woman shook her head, her eyes darting nervously about the room.
Shirley continued to stare at Helene, who was now shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Jason watched, intrigued by Shirley’s suddenly aggressive behavior.
“You’d better cooperate,” she was saying, “or you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. Dr. Howard is convinced you’re keeping something from us. If that’s true and we find out, I hope you realize what that can do to your career.”
Helene’s anxiety was finally apparent. “I just followed Dr. Hayes’s orders,” she said, her voice breaking.
“What orders?” Shirley asked, lowering her voice threateningly.
“We did some free-lance work here…”
“What kind?”
“Dr. Hayes moonlighted for a company called Gene, Inc. We developed a recombinant strain of E. coli to produce a hormone for them.”
“Were you aware that moonlighting was specifically forbidden under Dr. Hayes’s contract?”
“That’s what he told me,” Helene admitted.
Shirley glared at Helene for another minute. Finally she said, “I don’t want you to speak of this to anyone. I want you to make a detailed list of every animal and item missing or damaged in this lab and bring it directly to me. Do you understand?”
Helene nodded.
Jason followed Shirley out of the lab. She had obviously succeeded where he had failed, in breaking through Helene’s facade. But she hadn’t asked the right questions.
