“I’ll mention it to her,” Josh said. “I presume you or someone from the police will be by to talk to Allison about this.”
“Probably later today.”
“Uh, while I have you on the phone, I’ve been wondering about a couple of doctors from our clinic. If you haven’t already checked them out . . .”
“Give me the names,” Warren said.
“One is Dr. Nadeel Kahn, our clinic’s managing partner.”
“We’ve looked at him already. Not a hint of any involvement.”
“How about Dr. Sixto Molina?”
“During the time frame when he could have substituted—what did you call it?—placebo for the diphtheria vaccine and later planted evidence in Lambert’s desk, he was in Puerto Rico at a convention.”
“You’re sure?”
“There’s a record showing he and his wife flew there. We’ve seen his hotel bill. And two hundred witnesses will swear he was at the meeting, where he presented a paper. I’m sure.”
Josh relaxed. His friend was innocent, and he mentally chastised himself for his suspicions. “Then there’s one more name to check. And he’s not on the staff of Preston Medical Clinic.” Josh hesitated. “Dr. Derek Johnson.”
“Why him? He’s a hero in this scenario. I mean, he put himself on the line to fly here with the miracle drug that saved Madison’s life.”
“I know this sounds far-fetched,” Josh said. “But if you check to see who Karen Marks talked with at the CDC, you’ll find it was a Dr. Gruber. Dan Gruber was a fellow in infectious disease at Parkland Hospital while Derek and I were residents. He and Derek were friends.”
“So?”
Josh shared his thoughts about Derek. He tried to do this in an orderly fashion, as he had with Rachel, but even as he related them to Warren, the scenario sounded flimsy and the coincidences were almost impossible to imagine.
“That’s quite a stretch,” Warren said. “But I’ll check into it.”
Josh ended the call. He called to Rachel, who was in the bedroom with Allison, “I’m headed for Madison’s.”
Rachel appeared in the doorway. “Don’t go quite yet. I think you need to hear what Allison just told me.”
27
Allison sat on the sofa in Rachel’s living room. Her head was bowed, and her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks were silent evidence of what she’d gone through today.
Rachel sat beside Allison and gestured Josh to an overstuffed chair sitting at right angles to the couch. Without looking at her, Rachel said, “Allison, I think it would be good if you told Josh what you’ve told me.”
“Before you say anything,” Josh said. “I just got off the phone with Detective Warren. They’ve already identified the man you shot.”
Allison looked up. “Is he okay?” she asked in a small voice.
“He’s going to need surgery on his shoulder, but he won’t die, if that’s what you’re asking. Warren says he’s a junkie, probably looking to grab something and pawn it. But the intruder tells a different story about how he was shot.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows. She looked at Allison, who didn’t say anything.
“The man you shot says he didn’t try to break in,” Josh said. “His story is that he rattled the doorknob and was about to take off when you shot him . . . without warning.”
“Not true,” Allison said, a bit louder. “I called ‘stop or I’ll shoot’ at least twice, maybe more. I can’t remember. And you can look at the front door for scratches around the lock. He was trying to get in.”
“But wasn’t it overreacting to shoot him? You’d called 911. There was a locked door between you and the prowler. You had a gun to protect yourself. Why not wait for the police?” Josh asked.
“That’s why you need to hear Allison’s story,” Rachel said. “Allison?”
Allison started out in a faint voice, but as she told the story her words became louder and more forceful. By the time she finished, she was speaking in tones that would have carried to the back of a large room. Her story of her father giving her the gun wasn’t totally accurate, she said. Yes, he’d given it to her, but not because of his fear of her being a woman alone in the city. He’d given her the pistol because he’d already seen what could happen to a woman . . . anywhere.
“I was a senior medical student, coming home from the hospital late at night,” Allison said. “A man jumped me in the hospital parking lot. He dragged me behind some parked cars, and he . . . he . . . he assaulted me at knifepoint.”
“Did you report it?” Josh asked.
“I did, but the police never caught him. Mine was the fourth in a series of these attacks, but they stopped shortly afterward.”
“Why?” Josh asked.
“The police said a number of possibilities existed. He could be in jail on other charges. He could have left town. He might even be dead. But for whatever reason, the assaults stopped.” She looked away and her voice dropped. “I guess the case is still open. I haven’t checked since I left town.”
“Tell him about the effect on your marriage,” Rachel prompted.
“My husband was devastated by what happened. After the episode he . . . he wouldn’t touch me. It was as though it had been my fault. We were both due to graduate from medical school in six months, but by the time we got our diplomas, we had already split up. He went to California for post-graduate work, so I applied to facilities in the northeast for my residency. I did my internal medicine specialization at Columbia, then accepted the offer here.”
Rachel looked at Josh, and she knew his thoughts were the same as hers. No wonder Allison seemed distant and withdrawn when people tried to initiate social contact. No wonder she’d built a virtual wall around herself. And today a strange man attempting to break into the apartment undoubtedly triggered memories and emotions strong enough to make her shoot the prowler, because she feared what he might do if he gained entrance.
Josh stood, but a brief shake of Rachel’s head warned him to keep his distance. “I . . . I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m going to check the front door for scratches around the lock, and I’ll take a picture with my cell phone camera to document them. Will you tell the police this story when Corporal Daley comes back?”
Allison nodded. “I hope the man is okay, but if I had it to do again . . .”
“I know,” Rachel said. She nodded to Josh, who eased out of the room, closing the door behind him.
***
Jerry Lang met Josh at the front door of the Madison home. “Sorry you had to work your way past all that security,” he said as he ushered the doctor inside. “But I think you understand the need for it.”
“No problem,” Josh said. Although he’d seen the home from the outside, this was his first glimpse inside the Madison residence. He was a bit surprised to find that, although it was larger than most houses in which he’d been a guest, it was by no means opulent. However, occasional glimpses of men in suits, with wires leading to their ears and slight bulges beneath their coats, reminded him this was no ordinary home.
“Mr. Madison is in here,” Lang said. He tapped twice on a door before opening it.
Josh entered a room that appeared to be what he’d heard called a den or a library. In his parents’ modest home there had been no such room, probably because his father had no time to read. He’d been too busy working to feed and clothe his family. But Josh had heard about rooms like this, and seeing one now made him want one in his own home.
Bookshelves lined two of the walls, filled with books that appeared to be much more than simply decoration. These were books that had been read, then shelved—haphazardly in some cases—ready to be read again. Several comfortable leather chairs in one corner surrounded a large, round table. In another corner, a well-worn recliner sat beside an end table stacked with three books, each with a bookmark in it. A reading lamp was arranged so its light shined over the shoulder of the person sitting in the recliner.
David Madison, dressed in a sport sh
irt and jeans, sat in that chair, an open book in his lap. “Josh, thank you for coming. I feel fine, but I’m certain you want to check me over to make sure of that.” He closed the book and laid it on top of the others on the side table. “How do you want to do this?”
Josh had brought a small leather bag, one he hadn’t used since he was a medical student doing physical exams as a part of his training. From it he extracted a stethoscope and said, “Let’s start by listening to your chest.”
A few minutes later Josh stowed the last instrument. “Mr. Madison, you seem to be doing well. Have you had your last injection of RP-78?”
“About half an hour ago,” Madison said. “Matter of fact, you just missed the nurse who gave it. Will there be any need for her to come back?”
“No, sir,” Josh said. “Obviously, I want to hear from you if you have any problems. Otherwise, I’ll want to see you in my office in another week or so. We’ll get some lab tests at that time to be certain there’s no problem with your liver, kidneys, blood count, any organ system. After that, you probably should be checked once or twice more, since we have no idea of the long-term safety of RP-78. But there’s no evidence of any recurrence of the Bacillus decimus infection. I may be a bit overly cautious, but I think you can resume normal activities in another week.”
Madison looked up at Josh, who was still standing. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. Are you certain you won’t reconsider serving as my personal physician?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the role,” Josh said. “Have you decided who you are going to choose?”
“I have some thoughts but nothing final yet.”
Josh picked his bag off the end table. Then he took the hand Madison extended. “Sir, I’m glad I could help.”
***
Shortly after Josh left for Madison’s, Corporal Daley rang Rachel’s doorbell and spent half an hour with Allison, getting the true story of the shooting and the woman’s emotional state that contributed to it. “I don’t imagine you have anything to fear from a Grand Jury,” she told Allison. “You were defending your home—well, Ms. Moore’s home—but the principle is the same.”
“What about her pistol?” Rachel asked.
“Even though there’s no question of who shot the prowler,” Daley said, “the lab will fire a comparison round and match it to the bullet the surgeon removes from the man’s shoulder. We’ll need to hold the weapon until everything’s settled.”
After Daley left, Allison gave Rachel her last injection of RP-78. Now the two women sat together in the living room. “Penny for your thoughts,” Rachel asked the silent Allison.
“I was thinking about that pistol,” Allison said. “I thought I’d feel helpless without it, but I’ve decided that maybe I don’t need the gun after all. I’ve taken a couple of self-defense classes. I carry Mace in my purse. And . . .” She hesitated. “And I don’t feel so alone anymore.”
“You’re not alone,” Rachel said. “Actually, you never were.”
“I know,” Allison said. “You and Josh have been friends. I know there are others who’ve tried to get close to me, but I kept shutting them out. But maybe I can change that.”
“That’s good,” Rachel said. “But I’m talking about someone else. I don’t know how long you’ve been shutting Him out, but I do know this. God’s there for you. And when you decide to let Him into your life, you’ll find He’s been there all along.”
Allison shook her head, opened her mouth, then closed it without saying anything.
Rachel wasn’t sure what it would take to fully breach the defenses Allison had thrown up around her. But whatever it took, and however long it required, she was determined to be there to help.
***
Josh made sure he stood well back from the door to Rachel’s apartment after he rang the bell. He’d seen Corporal Daley take Allison’s pistol with her, but he decided it was better to be safe than sorry.
He saw the frosted glass panel beside the door darken. Josh knew it was impossible to distinguish faces through it, so he held both arms wide as though to signal, “I’m harmless.” In a moment, the security chain rattled and Rachel opened the door.
“Come in. I was wondering if you were coming back this evening.” She pointed to the couch. “Let’s sit here. Allison is resting in the bedroom.”
Josh sat down, squirmed a bit, then pulled his phone from his pocket. “Let me just put this on the end table here next to yours.”
“Why don’t you take it and Ms. Moore’s phone and toss them to the other side of the room?” The voice was familiar, and it sent a chill through Josh.
Dr. Andres Chavez stood in the bedroom door. His left arm was around the neck of Allison Neeves. In his right hand he held a semiautomatic pistol, the barrel of which was pressed against Allison’s right temple.
28
How did you get in here?” Rachel asked.
“I suppose there are advantages to having a ground floor apartment,” Chavez said, “But I must tell you it’s not difficult to get past window locks like yours. A little maneuvering with a stout blade of a pocket knife, and I was into the bedroom before Dr. Neeves roused from her nap.”
As soon as Josh saw Chavez with the gun, the image sent a message to his midbrain, triggering a fight-or-flight reflex. But before he could act, his frontal lobe, the reasoning part of his brain, intervened. He felt his muscles relax. Not yet. Stay calm. There’s got to be a way out of this.
“What do you want?” Rachel asked.
“Ultimately, to carry out my orders and kill David Madison, of course,” Chavez said.
“So it was you who . . . ,” Josh said.
“Yes. I paid a local man to disguise himself as a female kitchen worker and infect Madison and Ms. Moore. I also paid him to go into the church bathroom and inject Dr. Lambert with aconite, killing him while simulating a heart attack.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, he didn’t live to spend the money he received.”
“Why kill Lambert?”
“Haven’t you heard the saying that ‘dead men tell no tales’? Lambert gave assurances he wouldn’t say anything about his role in the scheme, but—face it—there was only one sure way to guarantee his silence.”
I’ve got to keep him talking. “Did you kill Barbara Carper?” Josh asked.
Chavez laughed dryly. “I bribed her to steal the RP-78 from Madison’s room after his last dose the night before he left the hospital. She was to give it to me in exchange for the other half of the money I promised, but she wanted more. I pulled a pistol, intending to frighten her, but she fought me for the gun. It discharged, and she died. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the drug with her, so I had to improvise the rest of my little scheme.”
“But you tested negative for gunshot residue,” Josh said.
“I’m neither simple nor stupid,” Chavez said. “The gloves and the shirt I was wearing when I shot her are in separate dumpsters, along with the gun I used.”
“If you wanted to kill Madison, why did you offer to come to the United States with more RP-78?” Josh asked.
“Since I couldn’t kill Madison long distance, this was a chance to get close to him, while ingratiating myself with everyone concerned.”
“So now you’ve put some distance between you and the person who gave you your orders,” Josh said. “Give me the gun. Maybe I can help you work something out with the authorities.”
“No, I’ve merely bought some time. My mission is still to kill David Madison,” Chavez said. “And that’s what I plan to do next.”
“You’ll never get past Madison’s security,” Josh said.
“Not alone,” Chavez said. “I’m sure the Secret Service and police think they have Madison protected. But I doubt they’ll stop the car driven by his personal physician. And I’ll be on the floor of the car behind you, covered with a blanket. You’ll get me in.”
“I can’t—”
“You can and you will.”
Chavez indicated his pistol. “There are seventeen hollow-point bullets in this Glock. And if you say anything to anyone who stops the car, right after I kill him I’ll shoot you. They may catch me, but you’ll be dead.”
Chavez moved the gun from Allison’s temple and shoved her away. “It’s a shame I have to kill the two women first, but I can’t leave them here. What do they call this in wartime? Oh, yes. Collateral damage.” He gestured with the gun. “Go over there beside Ms. Moore.”
“Please don’t,” Allison said as she backed away from Chavez.
“I agree it’s a pity. But if I were squeamish I wouldn’t have gotten this far, would I?” Chavez motioned once more with the pistol. “Now I want you ladies to turn around and kneel. I promise you this will be swift and painless.”
Josh knew it was now or never. He gauged the distance to Chavez. It was doubtful he could cover it before the first gunshot, yet he had to try. Rachel and Allison were already turning. Josh couldn’t stand by idly, not without some attempt at resistance.
Then the sound of a passing car caught Chavez’s attention and he looked up. The gun moved slightly, following his eyes.
Josh hadn’t played football since high school, but he still remembered the fundamentals. He launched himself at Chavez, covering the ground between them in three quick steps and a leap. He heard two gunshots and felt a hot, stinging pain in his left shoulder, but he didn’t stop. His right shoulder hit Chavez in the mid-section, causing a loud woof of expelled air. Josh tried to reach up with his left hand to grab Chavez’s gun, but his arm wouldn’t move. He crossed his right hand over and managed to deflect the weapon just as it fired two more shots. Josh didn’t feel anything. Maybe the bullets went wild.
Josh struggled for a few moments before it became clear he couldn’t hold out much longer. He was basically fighting one-handed against a man with a pistol. He decided to risk everything on one more move—one he’d read about in a Lee Child novel, but never practiced.
Miracle Drug Page 24
