The Proteus Cure

by Wilson, F. Paul

  PAUL

  Paul found no sign that anyone had been in the garage. As for around the house, the rain made a reconnoiter unfeasible.

  Now he sat and stared at his phone. He owed Sheila a call. Even if he hadn’t gone to see Kaplan, he’d be expected to call. He wanted to call but …

  She’d ask a thousand questions and he didn’t know what to tell her. The truth would play right into Kaplan’s scheme—set her charging about and acting as a lightning rod. A lie … he hated the idea of lying to her.

  But he had to call and say something.

  And then it hit him: Sheila was still at the hospital. He could call her home phone and leave a message. Great. Make contact and duck questions—at least until tomorrow.

  He punched in her number. He’d tell her about the wonder of this afternoon and how lucky he felt—all true—then say something about Kaplan changing his mind about spilling the beans. He was no help … see you tomorrow …

  That would work. He hoped.

  KAPLAN

  Gerald had to sit on the second suitcase to close it.

  He checked his watch. The cab should be here soon. His flight to Florida left in two hours and he wanted to get to Logan with time to spare.

  He groaned with the weight of the suitcase as he lifted and lugged it downstairs to the front door. As he set it on the floor he sensed that he wasn’t alone.

  He turned and gasped at the sight of a soaked Asian man. His eyes were cold and black, his expression almost sad, but the baseball bat clutched in his gloved hands sent a spasm of fear through Gerald’s gut.

  He reached for his pistol but it was still upstairs.

  “Who—?”

  “I am very sorry for you,” he said as he lifted the bat.

  Gerald opened his mouth to scream, raised an arm to ward off the blow, shifted his weight away to leap aside, but too late. The impact against his skull rocked him to his toes. The world went white as he slammed back against the door. His legs turned to water and he slid toward the floor.

  He heard the voice say, “May your soul find the peace it deserves,” and then he felt another, crunching impact on the top of his head.

  After that, Gerald Kaplan felt no more.

  ELEVEN

  PAUL

  Paul was sitting in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

  He’d spent the morning agonizing over what to tell Sheila. She’d called three times already but he’d let the answering machine take it. Finally he’d decided to come clean and tell her. She deserved to know.

  The doorbell again. The clock on the kitchen wall said just a little past ten and Coog was still asleep. Who’d come knocking on a weekday morning? Jehovah’s Witnesses? He hoped not.

  Paul took his coffee with him as he headed for the front door. His heart tripped a beat when he pulled it open and saw the men on his front stoop.

  One was a uniformed cop. Paul recognized him: Evers, who’d shown up in response to Coog’s 9-1-1. The second, although dressed in a suit and an overcoat, had cop written all over him. Rain splashed them but Paul didn’t invite them in.

  They made him uneasy. More than uneasy—scared. What was going on?

  “Officer Evers,” he said. “Did my son call you again last night?”

  He’d told Coog not to call, but …

  Evers looked puzzled. “A nine-one-one? If he did, someone else must have taken it. Another prowler?”

  Paul nodded. “Thought he heard someone in the garage. But I got home a few minutes later and couldn’t find anyone.”

  “We’re here on another matter, Mister Rosko.” Evers cocked his head at the second man, mid-fifties and tired looking. Willy Loman at the end of the line. “This is Detective Winters from Marblehead PD. He’s got some questions.”

  Marblehead? The word set off an alarm in his head.

  He took a sip of coffee to hide his confusion. He sensed he’d better tread carefully here.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Paul said, “but why is a detective from Marblehead standing on my front step?”

  Winters cleared his throat and wiped water from his face. “Do you know a Doctor Gerald Kaplan?” The detective’s voice was unexpectedly soft.

  He sensed what was coming.

  “Yes, but not well. We’ve only met a couple of times.”

  “Are you aware that he was murdered last night?”

  Paul lost his grip on his coffee cup, caught it before it hit the floor, spilling coffee on his jeans.

  “Oh, God! Jesus! How—? Who—?”

  Evers said, “May we come in, Mister Rosko?”

  “Sure, sure.” Still numb, he stepped back to let them pass. “Jesus, who would do a thing like that?”

  He felt like he’d been dunked in the Copper River. Deep down he’d been hoping that Kaplan was just a paranoid head case. Dear God, someone was, as he’d put it, tying up loose ends.

  He glanced at his coffee cup and noticed it shaking. He grabbed it with his other hand to steady it. He had to say something … but what? Then he knew: Exactly how the average person would react.

  “Hey, wait a minute. Why are you coming to me about this?”

  “We talked to his staff first thing this morning. They said you had an altercation with him a few days ago.”

  “I had an argument with him and you think I killed him?”

  “We’re just checking all possibilities, Mister Rosko.”

  “Well, you can cross me off your list. I did not kill Doctor Kaplan.”

  “But you did threaten him.”

  “Like hell!”

  Winters pulled out a tattered notepad, flipped through half a dozen pages until he found what he was looking for.

  “According to witnesses you said, ‘You’re hiding something, Kaplan. I’m going to find out what it is, and when I do, you’re through.’ ” Winters looked up. “That sounds like a threat to me. How about you?”

  Did I say that?

  He didn’t remember. This was looking bad. He felt cornered.

  “Yes, I … I guess it does sound like a threat but, Jesus, against his reputation, not his life.” He had a question of his own, but was almost afraid to hear the answer. “How … how did he die?”

  “Bludgeoned.”

  Paul winced. God knew he hadn’t liked the man, but beaten to death …

  “Can I ask with what?”

  “That’s under investigation.” Winters pencil hovered over a fresh page on the pad. “Now, just what was this disagreement about?”

  Paul coughed for time. How much should he say?

  “A professional matter.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  He decided to stick close to the truth—a version of it.

  “It had to do with a cancer treatment developed by his company. My son received the treatment and lately I’ve developed some concerns.”

  Winters scribbled, then said, “Such as?”

  “I prefer not to get into that. It’s … it’s personal.”

  “There’s nothing personal in a homicide investigation.” His pencil remained poised over his notepad. “When was the last time you saw Doctor Kaplan?”

  Here it was. The big question: Come clean or not?

  If he said last night he’d become their number-one suspect. And that meant they’d do a background check if they hadn’t already. And once they did … they’d never believe he was innocent.

  A thought struck him like a blow. Did the killer know the truth about him and set it up so he’d be a suspect?

  The smart thing to do right now was clam up and call a lawyer. But that would send Winters’s suspicions soaring.

  “That morning at his office.”

  “No contact with him since?”

  “None.”

  “Any contact before?”

  Again: truth or lie? His fingerprints had to be in Kaplan’s home. If he denied any other contact and they found the prints …

  Go with the truth.

  “Once. It
was—last week. Doctor Takamura and I had an impromptu meeting with him at his house.”

  “What about?”

  “The same subject: my son.”

  Winters stared at him for a long, uncomfortable time. Then he let out a breath that puffed his already ample cheeks.

  “Okay, Mister Rosko. One last question: Where were you between five and eight P.M. last night?”

  Paul felt as if he’d wandered into an episode of Law and Order. He saw no choice but to lie again.

  “Well, earlier I was with Doctor Takamura—in her office. Later I was home here with my son. And in between I was on my way home.”

  “Spell the doctor’s name for me please.”

  As Winters began questioning him about precise times, Paul felt himself beginning to sweat. He said he’d left Sheila around six. It had been more like four. Did he dare ask her to cover for him?

  As to what time he arrived here—

  “Wait,” he said. “Let me check my cell phone.”

  He retrieved it from his bedroom and keyed his way to the “Calls Received” list. There—the last call had been from Coog.

  “My son called me at six-seventeen while I was in transit. I was three minutes away then. That would mean that I’ve been here since six-twenty last night.”

  No way he could have been to Marblehead and back in that time—if they bought his half-true story.

  Sheila was the weak link. If they asked her what time he’d left—and he was pretty sure they would—and she told them the truth, he’d be cooked. He had to talk to her first.

  “Okay, Mister Rosko,” Winters said. “I think that’s all for now. Sorry to bother you and thanks for your cooperation.”

  Evers gave Paul a friendly nod. “Have a nice day.”

  And then they were gone. Paul leaned against the door he’d closed behind them and gasped for air.

  This can’t be happening, he thought. It can’t be.

  PAUL

  Paul felt like a heel asking Sheila to meet him outside in his car, but he couldn’t risk walking into Tethys today. Who knew who was watching? Being seen together might not be safe for either of them.

  He wished he could waltz in there with a dozen roses, two dozen, and tell her how much yesterday meant to him. Instead, he called her on his cell phone.

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning,” she said.

  He could hear the hurt in her voice.

  “I couldn’t take the calls. Believe me, if I could have I would have. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Not about us. And not in your office.”

  “What?”

  “Look, I hate to go all cloak and dagger on you, but can you meet me outside? It’s important.”

  “Come on. What happened last night? What did Kap—”

  “Don’t say his name. I know that sounds a little crazy, but just don’t.”

  A pause, then, “You’re worrying me, Paul.”

  She’s worried, he thought. I’m scared half to death.

  She sighed. “Okay. We’ll play it your way: What did our friend say?”

  “Just come outside, okay?”

  “Give me ten minutes. Where are you?”

  “Parked behind the Admin building. I’ll pick you up in front. Bring your umbrella. It’s a mess out here.”

  Ten minutes felt like forever as he waited, watching all the doors and windows for anyone suspicious. He didn’t know what he was going to say but he had to tell Sheila something. Even if they dropped the whole thing and ran away to start a new life, Paul wasn’t sure he’d ever feel safe. That had been Kaplan’s plan and look what happened to him.

  The best and worst idea was probably to act as if he knew less than he did and cool it with Sheila. Best because it would protect her. Worst because it meant not seeing her. Hurting her. She’d probably feel used. Keeping his distance might be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he saw no other way.

  He also had to put the brakes on her inquiries into VG723. But how?

  “Damn it!” He punched the steering wheel. “How am I going to do this?”

  He looked up and had to smile as she stepped out the front door. What a beauty.

  She ran full speed through the rain to reach his truck. Her hair swirled about and clung to her face. She swatted at it with one hand while she wrapped the other tightly around her coat to keep it closed.

  He sighed. She looked so small and frail in the wind and rain. She could barely make it to him without being blown away. How could she stand up to a corporation that killed people as easily as deleting line items off a budget?

  He opened the door for her and she jumped in.

  “Made it. Whew! That wind is something else. My hair must be all over the place.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Of its own accord his hand started to reach out to her, to smooth a few strands back in place. He stopped it. What he really wanted to do was cup a hand around the back of her neck, pull her closer, and kiss her. A lingering kiss. How he wanted her.

  “Sorry to drag you out here. A minute ago it was only rain.”

  “That’s all right. So, what’s the big secret? What did Kaplan say?”

  Now to begin the lies. God, he hated this.

  “Nothing. Said I wasn’t a doctor so he refused to talk to me.”

  Sheila’s face reddened. “But the list—I gave you the list of what to ask. Did you show him?”

  “I tried. I told him what you said and dangled the note in front of him but he wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t even call you. Wouldn’t say a damn thing. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, we’ll just go see him together. Tonight. We’ll get the story. What a jerk. I’m sorry you went all the way there for nothing.”

  “So am I. But for a different reason.”

  His eyes must have given something away, for she clutched his arm and stared at him.

  He said, “Kaplan is dead.”

  SHEILA

  Sheila gasped. “What? Are you serious?”

  He nodded.

  “But how?” She thought of Tanesha. “Heart?”

  “Bludgeoned to death in his home.”

  Sheila felt a wave of nausea. It made no sense … her mind wouldn’t register it. They’d seen him just a few days ago.

  Then a question worked its way through her confusion.

  “How come you know and I haven’t heard a thing?”

  “The cops told me.”

  “Cops? Paul, what’s going on! Why were the police—?”

  “Seems he was murdered not too long after I left.”

  “They can’t suspect you!”

  “Oh yes, they can. Someone told them about our little contretemps the other morning.”

  Head spinning, Sheila leaned back in the seat. What was going on in her life? Patients dying, doctors dying—

  She bolted upright—

  “I don’t believe you about Kaplan.”

  She saw Paul stiffen. “I didn’t kill him, Sheila.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean that. I meant that I think he told you something and you’re afraid of what I’ll do with the information. You’re afraid I’ll get killed. But whatever he told you doesn’t matter. There’s already been an attempt on my life. How much more dangerous could it get?”

  Paul looked away for a minute, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He glanced back at her. “You’re right, okay. There’s a lot to tell but not right now. Suffice to say, Kaplan doesn’t think the deaths of your two patients were accidental.”

  Sheila bowed her head. “Hal Silberman died today.”

  Paul grimaced. “That means four people dead who could cause problems for VG-seven-twenty-three. Kaplan was terrified because he knew too much. He was taking off. Hiding. He said if we didn’t drop the investigation, then most likely Coogan and I would be added to that list. He said whoever it is isn’t playing around and we should just look the other way.”

 
“Coogan?”

  “Kaplan says he’s evidence.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so sorry I got you two involved.”

  “I got you involved, asking for that test.”

  Oh God, the test.

  “I found out the lab samples were switched. Bill was seen around the lab. I think he took Coog’s samples from before he had the KB-twenty-six and substituted it. This sounds crazy but I think the therapy changed his DNA.”

  “It’s not crazy. You’re right. It changed him.”

  “What?”

  Paul looked frightened suddenly. “Look up there.” He didn’t point but jutted his chin in the direction of the building. “Is that Bill’s window?”

  She looked and saw two figures, watching them. She couldn’t see their faces but they were facing their way.

  “Listen Sheila, all our lives are in danger. Kaplan told me everything he knows but I can’t tell you now. I need you to go back in there and pretend we’re fighting or something. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts the police are fingering me for Kaplan’s murder.”

  “What did they think about you being there last night?”

  He looked away again. “I didn’t tell them.”

  Sheila closed her eyes. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you lied to them.”

  “I was most likely the next-to-last person to see him alive and I panicked.”

  “Next to last?”

  “Well, figure his killer was the last.”

  Oh, right. Of course.

  “But if they find out you were there when you said you weren’t, you’ll be their number-one suspect.”

  “I know.” It sounded like a moan.

  “You’ve got to tell them, Paul. Call them and tell them just what you told me: You had a contentious history with the guy and he was killed shortly after you left him, so you panicked. Now you’re coming clean.”

  “I can’t, Sheila.”

  “You’ve got to! It’ll look a lot better if they learn it from you than if they find out on their own. We should tell the police everything. All we’ve found out.”

  He shook his head. “We can’t prove anything. And with me behind bars, you and Coogan won’t be safe.”