by Robin Cook
Scrambling to his feet, Jason raced down the hallway toward the stairs, thankful that this area of the house again had lights. He grabbed the banister and used it to catapult himself up the first steps. That was when he heard the dull pop. Simultaneously he felt a pain in his thigh and his right leg crumbled beneath him. Pulling himself upright, he hopped up the rest of the stairs. He was almost at the foyer; he could not give up.
His right leg dragging, Jason struggled over to the front door. Below, he heard someone start up the stairs.
The dead bolt opened and Jason stumbled out into the raw November night. He knew he’d been shot. He could feel the blood from his bullet wound running down his leg into his shoe.
Jason only got as far as the center of the driveway when Juan caught up to him and knocked him to the cobblestones with the butt of his pistol. Jason fell to his hands and knees. Before he could rise, Juan kicked him over onto his back. Once again, the pistol was pointed directly at Jason’s head.
Suddenly, both men were bathed in brilliant light. Keeping the gun on Jason, Juan tried to shield his eyes from the glare of two high-beam headlights. A second later, there was the sound of car doors opening, followed by the ominous sound of shotguns being cocked. Juan backed up several steps like a cornered animal.
“Hold it, Diaz,” called a voice unfamiliar to Jason. It was thick with a South Boston accent. “Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want trouble with you or Miami. All we want you to do is walk to your car nice and easy and leave. Can you do that?”
Juan nodded. His left hand was still vainly trying to shield his eyes from the light.
“Then do it!” commanded the voice.
After taking two or three uncertain steps backward, Juan turned and fled to his car. He started the engine, gunned it, then roared out of the driveway.
Jason rolled onto his stomach. As soon as Juan left, Carol Donner ran out of the circle of light and dropped to her knees in front of him.
“My God, you’re hurt!” A large bloodstain had formed on Jason’s thigh.
“I suppose,” said Jason vaguely. Too much had happened too quickly. “But it doesn’t hurt too much,” he added.
Another figure emerged from the glare; Bruno came up hefting a pump-action Winchester shotgun.
“Oh, no!” said Jason, trying to sit up.
“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He knows you’re a friend now.”
At that moment, Shirley appeared on her front porch. Her clothing was disheveled and her hair spiked up like a punk rocker. For a second, she took in the scene. Then she stepped back and slammed the door. Locks were heard being engaged.
“We have to get him to a hospital,” said Carol, pointing to Jason.
A second body-builder appeared. Gingerly they picked Jason up.
“I don’t believe this,” said Jason.
Jason found himself carried behind the glare of the lights. The vehicle turned out to be a white stretch Lincoln with a “V”-shaped TV antenna on the rear deck. The two muscle men eased Jason into the back seat where a man with dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and an unlit cigar was waiting. It was Arthur Koehler, Carol’s boss. Carol jumped in after Jason and introduced him to Arthur. The muscle men got in the front seat and started the limo.
“Am I glad to see you two,” said Jason. “But what in God’s name brought you here?” Jason winced as the car bumped out of the driveway.
“Your voice,” explained Carol. “That last time you called, I knew you were in trouble again.”
“But how did you know I was here in Brookline?”
“Bruno followed you,” said Carol. “After you called, I called my lovable boss here.” Carol slapped Arthur’s leg.
Arthur said, “Cut it out!” It had been his voice that had terrified Juan Diaz.
“I asked Arthur if he would protect you and he said he would under one condition. I have to dance for at least another two months or until he finds a replacement.”
“Yeah, but she got me down to one month,” complained Arthur.
“I’m very grateful,” said Jason. “Are you really going to stop dancing, Carol?”
“She’s a goddamn brat,” said Arthur.
“I’m amazed,” said Jason. “I didn’t think girls like you could stop whenever you wanted.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Carol indignantly.
“I’ll tell you what he means,” laughed Arthur, reaching forward and returning Carol’s slap on the thigh. “He thinks you’re a goddamn hooker.” Arthur collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that changed to coughing. Carol had to pound him on the back several times before he got control of himself. “I used to have more fits like that when I lit these things,” said Arthur, holding up his cigar. Then he looked at Jason in the half-light of the car. “You think I would have let her go to Seattle if she were a prostitute? Be reasonable, man.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I just thought…”
“You thought because I was dancing at the club I was a hooker,” said Carol with somewhat less indignation. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely unfair. A couple of them are. But most aren’t. For me, it was a great opportunity. My family name isn’t Donner. It’s Kikonen. We’re Finnish and we’ve always had a healthier attitude to nudity than you Americans.”
“And she’s my wife’s sister’s kid,” said Arthur. “So I gave her a job.”
“You two are related?” asked Jason, amazed.
“We don’t like to admit it,” said Arthur, starting to laugh again.
“Come on,” Carol said.
But Arthur continued, saying, “We hate the idea of any of our people going to Harvard. It hurts our image.”
“You’re going to Harvard?” asked Jason, turning to Carol.
“For my doctorate. The dancing covers my tuition.”
“I guess I should have known Alvin would never have lived with your average exotic dancer,” said Jason. “In any case, I’m grateful to you both. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I know the police will take care of Shirley Montgomery, but I wish you hadn’t let Juan go.”
“Don’t worry,” said Arthur with a wave of his cigar. “Carol told me what happened in Seattle. He won’t be around for long. But I don’t want trouble with my people in Miami. We’ll deal with Juan through channels or I can give you enough information for the Miami police to pick him up. They’ll have enough stuff on him down there to put him away. Believe me.”
Jason looked at Carol. “I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”
“I have a few ideas,” she said brightly:
Arthur had another laughing fit. When he was finally under control, Bruno lowered the glass to the front compartment.
“Hey, pervert,” he called with a chuckle. “Where do you want us to take you? GHP emergency?”
“Hell, no,” said Jason. “For the moment, I’m a little down on prepaid health care. Take me to Mass General.”
EPILOGUE
Jason had never enjoyed ill health, as the saying goes, but currently he was loving it. He’d been hospitalized for three days following surgery on the wound in his leg. The pain had lessened significantly and the nursing staff at General was superbly competent and attentive. Several of them even remembered Jason as a resident.
But the best part of his hospitalization was that Carol spent most of each day with him, reading out loud, regaling him with funny stories, or just sitting in companionable silence.
“When you’re all better,” she said on the second day as she rearranged flowers that had come from Claudia and Sally, “I think we should go back to the Salmon Inn.”
“What on earth for?” Jason said. After their experience, he couldn’t imagine wanting to revisit the place.
“I’d like to try Devil’s Chute again,” Carol said cheerfully. “But this time in daylight.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Really. I bet it’s a gas when the sun’s shining.” A soft cough m
ade them turn to the doorway. Detective Curran’s disheveled bulk looked distinctly out of place in the hospital. His large hands were clutching a khaki rain hat that looked as if it had been run over by a truck.
“I hope I’m not bothering you, Dr. Howard,” he said with uncharacteristic politeness.
Jason guessed that Curran was as intimidated by the hospital as Jason had been by the police station.
“Not at all,” Jason said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Come in. Sit down.”
Carol pulled a chair away from the wall and positioned it next to the bed. Curran lowered himself into it, still clutching the hat.
“How’s the leg coming?” he asked.
“Fine,” Jason said. “Mostly muscle injury. Not going to be a problem at all.”
“I’m glad.”
“Candy?” Carol asked, extending a box of chocolates that the GHP secretaries had sent.
Curran examined them carefully, chose a chocolate-covered cherry, and plopped it whole into his mouth. Swallowing, he said, “I thought you’d like to know how the case is developing.”
“Absolutely,” Jason said. Carol went around to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge.
“First of all, they picked Juan up in Miami. He has a sheet a mile long. You name it. He’s one of Castro’s gifts to America. We’re going to try to get him extradited to Massachusetts for Brennquivist’s and Lund’s murders, but it’ll be tough. Seems four or five other states want the creep for similar capers, including Florida.”
“Can’t say I feel very sorry for him,” Jason said.
“The guy’s a psychopath,” Curran agreed.
“What about GHP?” Jason asked. “Have you been able to prove that the releasing factor for the death gene was introduced into the eyedrops used by the ophthalmological office?”
“We’re working closely with the DA’s office on it,” Curran said. “It’s turning out to be quite a story.”
“How much do you feel will be made public?”
“At this point we aren’t certain. Some will have to come out. The Hartford School’s closed and the parents of those kids aren’t blind. Furthermore, as the DA points out, there’s a slew of local families with million-dollar lawsuits to file against the GHP. Shirley and her crew are finished.”
“Shirley…” Jason said wistfully. “You know, there was a time, if I hadn’t met Carol, I might have gotten involved with the lady.”
Carol shook a playful fist at him.
“I guess I owe you an apology, doctor,” Curran said. “At first I thought you were just a pain in the ass. But it turns out you’re responsible for busting the deadliest conspiracy I’ve ever heard of.”
“It was mostly luck,” Jason said. “If I hadn’t been with Hayes the night he died, we doctors would have thought we were battling some new epidemic.”
“This guy Hayes must have been a smart cookie,” Curran said.
“A genius,” Carol said.
“You know what bugs me the most?” Curran said. “Until the end Hayes thought he was working on a discovery to help mankind. Probably thought he’d be a hero, like Salk. Nobel prizes and all that. Save the world. I’m not a scientist, but it seems to me Hayes’s whole field of research is pretty damned scary. You know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jason said. “Medical science has always assumed its research would save lives and reduce suffering. But now science has awesome potential. Things can go either way.”
“As I understand it,” Curran said, “Hayes found a drug that makes people age and die in a couple of weeks — and he wasn’t even looking for it. Makes me think you eggheads are out of control. Am I wrong?”
“I agree,” Jason said. “Maybe we’re getting too smart for our own good. It’s like eating the forbidden fruit all over again.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to get kicked right out of paradise,” Curran added. “Incidentally, doesn’t Uncle Sam have watchdogs overseeing guys like Hayes?”
“They don’t have a very good record on this sort of thing,” Jason explained. “Too many conflicts of interest. Besides, both doctors and laymen tend to believe all medical research is inherently good.”
“Wonderful,” snorted Curran. “It’s like a car barreling down the freeway at a hundred miles an hour with no driver.”
“That’s probably the best analogy I’ve ever heard,” Jason said.
“Oh, well.” The detective shrugged his huge shoulders. “At least we can deal with GHP. Formal indictments are coming down soon. Of course, the whole pack is out on bail. But the case has broken wide open, with all the principals stabbing each other in the back and trying to plea bargain. Seems that friend Hayes originally approached some guy by the name of Ingelbrook.”
“Ingelnook. He’s one of the GHP vice presidents,” Jason said. “I think he’s in finance.”
“Must be,” Curran said. “Apparently Hayes approached him for seed capital to front a company.”
“I know,” Jason said.
The detective looked hard at him. “Did you, now? And just how did you know about that, Dr. Howard?”
“It’s unimportant. Go on.”
“Anyway,” Curran said, “Hayes must have told Ingelnook that he was about to develop some kind of elixir of youth.”
“That would have been an antibody to the death-hormone releasing factor,” Jason said.
“Hold it a minute,” Curran said. “Maybe you should. be telling me this stuff rather than vice versa.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “It’s all finally making sense to me. Please — go on.”
“Ingelnook must have liked the death hormone better than the elixir of youth,” Curran continued. “For some time he’d been racking his brains about lowering costs at GHP to keep them competitive. So far the conspiracy only involves six people, but there may be more. They’ve been responsible for eliminating a lot of patients they thought were going to use more than their fair share of medical services. Nice, huh?”
“So they killed them,” Carol said with horror.
“Well, they kept telling themselves that the process was natural,” Curran said.
“Some excuse for murder — we’re all going to die anyway,” Jason commented bitterly. The faces of some of his recently deceased patients rose to haunt him.
“In any case, it’s the end of GHP,” Curran said. “The criminal charges notwithstanding, malpractice claims are through the roof. GHP is already filing for Chapter Eleven. So I think you’ll be looking for a job.”
“Looks like it.” Then, looking up at Carol, Jason added, “Carol’s finishing her studies in clinical psychology. We thought we’d open an office together. I think I want to get back to private practice. No more corporations for a while.”
“That sounds cozy,” Curran said. “Then I can get my head and my ticker fixed at the same place.”
“You can be our first patient.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: 6cd494b3-0605-4017-99e9-c4d1d288bdf5
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Document creation date: 21.3.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.23, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Robin Cook
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