She made the drive home on autopilot while she considered the practical implications of tonight’s discovery. The first thing Shannon had to do in the morning was talk with her chairman to see how this would affect her clinical responsibilities. Since the department chair was lecturing and teaching at a symposium in Greece, that meant another session in the office of Tom Waites, the vice chairman. Even though she’d kept him in the loop about what was going on in her life, this latest development was going to be a bombshell to him.
Tom had always seemed to Shannon to be more collegial than the department chair. She hoped he’d understand and be supportive. She planned to double glove before surgical procedures—a common preventive measure for the operative team when a patient was HIV-positive, but this time she’d be doing it to protect her patient—and be extra careful about hand washing. Maybe Tom would agree that was more than enough to let her continue her clinical duties.
Thoughts of Tom made Shannon think of Tom’s wife. Beneath the beautiful visage of Elena Garcia Waites was one of the sharpest legal minds in Dallas County, if not the state of Texas. With each new development in the murder of Megan’s boyfriend, Shannon moved closer to calling Elena, laying out the facts as she knew them, and engaging her services to defend her sister. Maybe now was the time to do that.
As Shannon pulled into the driveway, she saw Megan’s car at the curb. Well, they had plenty to talk about tonight.
AFTER SEEING SHANNON OFF, INSTEAD OF GOING TO HIS OWN CAR Mark went back to his office. He was a pathologist, well versed in the diagnosis of human immunodeficiency virus states, but he had only a basic knowledge of post-exposure prophylaxis, the regimen to follow when health professionals suffered occupational exposure to the virus. He’d tried to pay attention to what the infectious disease specialist said, but he wanted to make sure he had a firm grasp of the subject, now that the problem was more personal.
Almost an hour later, he closed down his computer. Mark was grateful that the Internet allowed him to read the latest information almost as quickly as it was released, in contrast with articles in print journals that were sometimes as much as a year old by the time they reached his desk.
He leaned back in his chair and tried to make sense of what he’d learned. He was relieved to learn that Shannon’s likelihood of contracting the disease was extremely small. Even had she been stuck with an infected needle, the chances of active HIV infection resulting would be less than one percent. These odds dropped another tenfold when HIV-positive blood contacted only a mucous membrane such as the eyes or nose. Since Shannon’s exposure was through blood on intact skin, and she scrubbed her hands thoroughly afterward, the risk was infinitesimal—but it was there. They couldn’t ignore it.
Mark pondered how he should act—how Shannon would want him to act—in view of these new circumstances. He knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t want sympathy. But he also recognized that the ghost of Barry Radick would haunt them both, at least for the next six months, hovering in the background, poised to strike the woman Mark loved, inflicting a potentially lethal disease.
He turned from his computer and pulled a worn leather Bible from the shelf behind his desk. The guidance he sought wouldn’t come from the Internet. Mark wasn’t sure what the end result would be, but he had no doubt he’d find the direction he needed in the Book.
MEGAN WAS SITTING IN FRONT OF THE TV SET, ENGROSSED IN some sort of game show, when Shannon came in the door. Megan muted the sound and said, “You worked late tonight. Trouble at the hospital?”
Shannon dropped her purse in a chair by the front door and eased onto the sofa beside her sister. “Lots of trouble today, but not the kind you’re thinking about.” She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. “We need to talk.”
Megan punched another button on the remote, and the image on the TV died. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Two detectives came to my office today. They’re investigating the man who got shot in front of this house on Friday night.”
“Have they found out something more?”
“Yes,” Shannon said. “Do you recall Mark mentioning the man’s name?”
“Uh, I think so.”
“And I saw recognition flash across your face. I didn’t say anything at the time, but would you like to tell me about your connection to Barry Radick?”
Megan screwed up her face as though trying hard to remember. After a few seconds, she said, “Now that I think about it, there was a guy by that name in First Step with me. Do you think it could be the same one?”
“It not only could be. It is,” Shannon said. “And I expect the detectives will want to question you.”
“Why?”
Was her sister being purposely dense? “Connect the dots. An ex-con whom you know is shot outside your sister’s house. Could he have been trying to make contact with you? Were you and he together in some sort of deal?”
Megan shook her head. “I haven’t seen Barry, haven’t even thought about him, since the day I left First Step. I’ll be glad to tell them that, but it’s all I know.”
“How did someone like Radick get into First Step anyway? It took a lot of money to pay for your treatment there.”
“Barry explained it to me once—some kind of support from the county, or the state, or . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking too clearly at the time,” Megan said.
Shannon wasn’t sure how to broach the next subject, but it had to be said—especially given her sister’s history of promiscuity. “While you were both at First Step, was there ever a time . . . a time when you were . . . when you and he were romantically—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Megan said. “No way.”
“You’re certain? This is important.”
“I don’t know why it is, but, yes, I’m certain. We saw each other in the halls. We sat at the same table for some meals. I talked with him from time to time—most of the other people there shunned him, and I felt sorry for him. But that’s as far as it went.” She hitched herself straighter on the couch. “Unlike some of the people in the facility, I was serious about getting my life straight. And hooking up with a guy who was both a criminal and a drug addict wasn’t going to get it done.”
“Good.”
Megan frowned. “Why did you ask that?”
Shannon had thought about this on the drive home. If Megan was going to live with her, she deserved to know what was going on. “I just found out tonight that Radick was HIV-positive.”
“So you wanted to make sure I hadn’t been exposed?”
“That, but there’s more.” She went on to explain her own exposure through the blood of the murdered man, and the treatment she’d be on for the next month. “Let me assure you that you’re in no danger. I’ll be tested several times, I’m on medication, and there’s no chance that HIV can be passed on via saliva or touching or—”
Megan reached over and hugged her sister. “I’m not worried about me,” she said. “I’m worried about you. Do you think you’re going to be okay?”
Shannon was touched by Megan’s concern. With more confidence than she felt, she said, “I’m going to be just fine, Megan. And so are you.”
The words had hardly left her mouth when the doorbell rang. Shannon moved to the door and looked through the peephole. Then she turned to Megan with a look that she hoped reflected encouragement. “The detectives are here.”
SHANNON LOOKED AROUND AT THE GROUP ASSEMBLED IN HER LIVING room. She and Megan were on the sofa. Callaway sat at a right angle to them in an overstuffed chair. Steve Alston declined a chair with thanks, saying he preferred to stand, so he leaned against the doorframe. Outwardly, everyone seemed calm, but Shannon knew that a storm could burst forth at any moment.
As before, Callaway took the lead in the interview. If they were playing good cop–bad cop, Callaway was doing a great job as the unpleasant half of the team, with Steve Alston providing a sympathetic contrast. But Megan’s answers were consisten
t, her demeanor calm and cool, despite the occasional accusatory tone of Callaway’s questions.
Finally, Alston straightened from his position and said, “To summarize, then, you were in rehab with Barry Radick, but your contact with him was limited to occasional chats, and you haven’t seen him since your release. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Are we about done here?” Shannon asked.
“Just a few more questions,” Callaway said. “Let’s talk a little about Tony Lester.”
Shannon felt her stomach roil. She’d almost forgotten the death of Megan’s latest boyfriend for a moment. The police had said detectives would be contacting Megan. It never dawned on her the case might be assigned to the same men who were investigating the shooting outside her house Friday night.
“How did you hook up with Tony in the first place?” Callaway asked.
Megan averted her eyes. “I met him when he visited a friend of his in rehab. When I got out, my former boyfriend had moved on. I called Tony and asked if I could crash at his place. We . . . it just kept going from there.”
“Tell us about the circumstances of your moving out,” Callaway said. “Why did you do it? Was it acrimonious? What about the last time you saw Lester?” He paused, and almost as an afterthought, said, “Why did you shoot him?”
Shannon held up a hand. “Hold on. Does Megan need an attorney?”
Once more, Steve Alston stepped in. “If your sister wants to answer questions for us here and now, we can do it without an attorney. You’ll notice we haven’t even warned her of her rights. If you want to get an attorney into the mix, we’ll go down to headquarters. Your choice.”
“That’s okay, Shannon,” Megan said. “I don’t have anything to hide.” She turned to Callaway, who sat with his notebook open on his knee. “I left Tony because I think he stole some pharmaceutical samples from me and got me fired. I accused him, and he lost his temper. He did that a lot. I decided I’d had enough, so I moved out.”
“And that was the last time you saw him?” Callaway said.
“No, I went back the next day to clear my stuff out of the house. Tony was drunk. At first he was verbally abusive. I was used to that. Then he attacked the man who accompanied me. There was a struggle. I hit Tony on the head with a bottle. He was alive when I left. I didn’t shoot him, and I resent your asking if I did.”
“That’s pretty much the story you gave the police who interviewed you, but is there anything you’d like to change?” Callaway said. “You’re not under oath . . . at least, not yet. If you want to give us something different, now’s the time.”
“No. That’s the truth.” Megan clenched her jaw, and Shannon knew what that meant. She’d seen it a lot when the girls were growing up. Megan had decided to dig in her heels. “I believe I’ll take you up on that offer now. If you want to ask me the same questions over and over, maybe I’d better have an attorney. Otherwise, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Callaway opened his mouth but closed it without saying anything. He rose and shoved his notebook into his pocket. Meanwhile, Alston was already moving toward the front door.
With the door half open, Callaway turned and said, “You might like to know that the medical examiner recovered the bullet that killed Tony Lester. Right now we’re searching for the gun that fired it. When we find it, we may be back.” He touched his forehead with two fingers in a sort of salute. “Ladies, good night.”
SHANNON ROSE FROM THE KITCHEN TABLE CARRYING HER GLASS and a bowl. “Was that enough for you?”
“Plenty,” Megan said, mirroring her sister’s actions.
Shannon took her sister’s dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, along with her own. Neither had much of an appetite, so dinner had been soup, crackers, and milk. Idly, Shannon wondered if she might shed a few pounds during this ordeal. Perhaps she could market it, call it the “stress diet.”
“I’m going to take a hot shower, then try to relax. I might even take advantage of that TV set in the guest bedroom,” Megan said.
Alone in the living room, Shannon considered the two phone calls she needed to make. She decided to leave the hard one for last. Having made the decision, she lifted the receiver and dialed.
Mark answered on the first ring. “I was thinking about calling you, but wasn’t sure you’d want to talk tonight.”
“When I left the medical center, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to talk with anyone again. I felt like digging a hole and pulling the dirt in over me.”
“How are you doing now?” Mark asked.
“If you mean do I have any ill effects from my first dose of medicine, no. If you want to know how I’m doing in general, I feel as though I’ve been dropped into a mixer set to high speed. The detectives just left.” She told him about their visit. “So I really haven’t had much time to feel sorry for myself about the exposure to Radick’s HIV-positive blood.”
“I’ve been researching that. The chances of your becoming infected are extremely slim.”
“Unless they’re zero, I’m afraid I’m going to worry. I suspect that for the next six months, I’ll be running to the infectious disease specialist with every sniffle and cough.”
“And you shouldn’t hesitate to do that.” Mark paused. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything that anyone can do for me,” she said.
“There’s one thing,” Mark said. “I’ll pray.”
SHANNON WAS STILL SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM, STARING INTO space, when she heard Megan come into the room. Her sister was wearing a set of scrubs Shannon had given her a couple of years ago. She was barefoot. Her hair was still wet from the shower. Scrubbed clean of makeup, Megan’s face was that of an innocent eighteen-year-old. Shannon wished she could turn back the clock to that time in both their lives.
“Everything okay with Mark?” Megan asked.
Shannon nodded. “I’m glad you’re in here. I was about to phone Mom. Let me get her, then I’ll put the call on speakerphone.”
She wanted to call her mom when her dad wasn’t home, and the window of opportunity was closing. It was the first Tuesday of the month, time for the regularly scheduled church elders meeting. It would be ending about now, but customarily the pastor went out for coffee with the chair and vice chair after the meeting. He’d be home soon, though, so Shannon couldn’t put off the call any longer.
Her mother answered after a couple of rings. “Hello?”
“Mom, this is Shannon.”
“Is anything wrong, dear?”
How bad was it that Shannon’s call were so infrequent that her mom’s first thought would be that something was wrong? She made up her mind to remedy that in the future. “No, we’re doing fine.” Not really, but there was no need to burden her parents with the details of all her problems. “It’s just that Megan said she thought Dad had lost some weight. I guess I hadn’t noticed, but I thought I should call and check it out.”
The silence on the other end of the line went on much too long for Shannon’s comfort. She was hoping for a quick answer, something like, “His doctor put him on a diet,” or “No, his weight hasn’t changed.” Finally, she heard a sigh. “He insisted that we not bother you girls with this—that was his word, ‘bother’—so we decided not to mention it until we had to.”
Shannon felt as though she couldn’t get enough air. Her throat seemed to be closing. She swallowed twice before she could say, “So what is it?”
“It appears that your dad has cancer.”
NINE
IN AN INSTANT, SHANNON SWITCHED FROM A CASUAL CONVERSATION with her mom to full-on doctor mode. “Cancer? What kind? When was it diagnosed? What do they plan to do?”
“Take it easy, dear. By the way, is Megan on the line, too?”
Shannon looked across the room at her sister, who was frowning, obviously wondering what was going on. “No, I intended to put this on speakerphone, but I haven’t done it yet.” She punched
a button and laid the receiver on the desk. “Okay, now you have us both.”
“Mom, what’s wrong? Is something going on with Dad?” Megan’s brow was furrowed, and her voice quivered a bit.
“We don’t know all the details yet. It started when Robert found himself tiring easily. He noticed his clothes fitting more loosely, which at first pleased him, but later it became worrisome enough for him to respond to my urging to see his doctor.”
“And what did they find?” Shannon asked.
“When Ralph . . . Dr. Gutekind did a complete physical, he found some prominent lymph nodes. Robert’s spleen was also enlarged. The blood test showed a high white cell count. Ralph sat down with us and said it was probably a form of leukemia.”
“Let me call and set up an appointment for him to see a specialist,” Shannon said.
“We already have an appointment at the medical school for the end of next week,” her mom said. “After we see the specialist, when we know more, I’m sure your father will want to call you both and tell you. Until then, though, I don’t think he wants to worry you. If—” In the background, a car door slammed. “That will be Robert now. I have to hang up.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?” Megan asked.
“You can do the same thing we’re doing—trust God.”
SHANNON SAT IN THE SURGEON’S LOUNGE AND BLEW ACROSS THE surface of her third cup of coffee of the morning. She yawned and wondered if she’d ever again get a good night’s sleep. The conversation with the detectives hadn’t been conducive to pleasant dreams. Instead, it left her feeling unsettled, waiting for the police to find the gun that killed Tony Lester and wondering if it was the same one she’d taken from Megan. That weapon would have her sister’s fingerprints on it—it would have Shannon’s as well.
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