Contagion (37 page)

     George reached over and took the folder from Jack’s hands. He opened it up. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “This is the lab tech from over at the General. ,,,Sad! She was only twenty-eight. Supposed to be shot through the forehead for a TV and some cheap jewelry. What a waste.”

     “What are the other gunshot wounds?” Jack asked. For the moment he remained seated.

     George consulted his master sheet. “I’ve got a Hector Lopez, West Hundred and Sixtieth Street, a Mustafa Aboud, East Nineteenth Street, and Reginald Winthrope, Central Park.”

     “Let me see Winthrope,” Jack said.

     George handed Jack the folder.

     Jack opened it up. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but his sense of involvement made him want to check the case. The strangest thing was that had it not been for Spit, Jack himself would have been represented there on George’s desk with his own folder. Jack shuddered. He handed Reginald’s folder back to George. “Is Laurie here yet?” Jack asked.

     “She came in just before you did,” George said. “She wanted some folders, but I told her that I’d not made out the schedule yet.”

     “Where is she?” Jack asked.

     “Up in her office, I guess,” George said. “I really don’t know.”

     “Assign her the Holderness and the Winthrope cases,” Jack said. Jack stood up. He anticipated feeling dizzy again, but he didn’t.

     “How come?” George asked.

     “George, just do it,” Jack said.

     “All right, don’t get mad,” George said.

     “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I’m not mad. Just preoccupied.”

     Jack walked back through communications. He passed Janice’s office, where she was putting in her usual overtime. Jack didn’t bother her. He was too absorbed by his own thoughts. Beth Holderness’s death made him feel unhinged. Feeling guilty about his complicity in her losing her job was bad enough; the idea that she might have lost her life because of his actions was unthinkable.

     Jack pressed the button for the elevator and waited. The attempt on his own life the night before had given more weight to his suspicions. Someone had tried to kill him after he refused to heed the warning. The very same night Beth Holderness had been murdered. Could it have been in the course of an unrelated robbery or could it have been because of Jack, and, if so, what did that mean about Martin Cheveau? Jack didn’t know. But what he did know was that he could not involve anyone else in this affair for fear of putting them in jeopardy. From that moment on, Jack knew he had to keep everything to himself.

     As George had surmised, Laurie was in her office. While waiting for George to assign the day’s cases, she was using the time profitably, working on some of her uncompleted cases. She took one look at Jack and recoiled. Jack offered the same explanation he’d given George, but he could tell that Laurie wasn’t quite convinced.

     “Did you hear that Bingham is down in the pit?” Jack asked, to move the conversation away from his previous night’s experiences.

     “I did,” Laurie said. “I was shocked. I didn’t think there was anything that could get him here before eight, much less in the autopsy room.”

     “Do you know anything about the case?” Jack asked.

     “Just that it was atypical pneumonia,” Laurie said. “I spoke with Janice for a moment. She said they’d had preliminary confirmation it was influenza.”

     “Uh-oh!” Jack said.

     “I know what you’re thinking,” Laurie said, wagging her finger. “Influenza was one of the diseases you said you’d use if you were a terrorist type trying to start an epidemic. But before you go jumping off using this as confirmation of your theory, just remember that it is still influenza season.”

     “Primary influenza pneumonia is not very common,” Jack said, trying to stay calm. The mention of the word “influenza” had his pulse racing again.

     “We see it every year,” Laurie said.

     “Maybe so,” Jack said. “But I tell you what. How about calling that internist friend of yours and asking if there are any more cases?”

     “Right now?” Laurie asked. She glanced at her watch.

     “It’s as good a time as any,” Jack said. “She’ll probably be making her rounds. She can use the computer terminal at one of the nurses’ stations.”

     Laurie shrugged and picked up her phone. A few minutes later she had her friend on the line. She asked the question, then waited. While she waited she looked up at Jack. She was worried about him. His face was not only scratched up, it was now flushed.

     “No cases,” Laurie repeated into the phone when her friend came back on the line. “Thanks, Sue. I appreciate it. Talk to you soon. Bye.” Laurie hung up the phone. “Satisfied?” she said.

     “For the moment,” Jack said. “Listen: I asked George to assign you two particular cases this morning. The names are Holderness and Winthrope.”

     “Is there some specific reason?” Laurie asked. She could see that Jack was trembling.

     “Do it as a favor,” Jack said.

     “Of course,” Laurie said.

     “One thing I’d like you to do is look for any hairs or fibers on the Holderness woman’s body,” Jack said. “And find out if homicide had a criminologist at the scene to do the same. If there are any hairs, see if there is a DNA match with Winthrope.”

     Laurie didn’t say anything. When she found her voice, she asked:

     “You think that Winthrope killed Holderness?” Her voice reflected her disbelief.

     Jack looked off and sighed. “There’s a chance,” he said.

     “How would you know?” Laurie asked.

     “Let’s call it a disturbing hunch,” Jack said. He would have liked to tell Laurie more, but with the new pact he had with himself, he didn’t.

     He wasn’t about to put anyone else at risk in any form or fashion.

     “Now you really have my curiosity going,” Laurie said.

     “I’d like to ask one more favor,” Jack said. “You told me that you had a relationship with a police detective who’s now a friend.”

     “That’s true,” Laurie said.

     “Do you think you could give him a call?” Jack said. “I’d like to talk with him sorta off the record.”

     “You are scaring me,” Laurie said. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

     “Laurie,” Jack said. “Please don’t ask any questions. The less you know right now the better off you are. But I think I should talk to someone high up in law enforcement.”

     “You want me to call him now?”

     “Whenever is convenient,” Jack said.

     Laurie blew out through pursed lips as she dialed Lou Soldano’s number. She’d not talked to him in a few weeks, and she felt it was a little awkward calling about a situation she knew so little about. But she was definitely worried about Jack and wanted to help.

     When police headquarters answered and Laurie asked for Lou, she was told the detective wasn’t available. She left a message on his voice mail for him to call her.

     “That’s the best I could do,” Laurie said as she hung up. “Knowing Lou, he’ll be back to me as soon as he can.”

     “I appreciate it,” Jack said. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. He had the comforting sense she was a true friend.

     Jack went back to his own office just in time to run into Chet. Chet took one look at Jack’s face and whistled.

     “And what did the other guy look like?” Chet asked jokingly.

     “I’m not in the mood,” Jack said. He took off his jacket and hung it over his chair.

     “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with those gang members who visited you Friday,” Chet said.

     Jack gave the same explanation he’d given to the others.

     Chet flashed a wry smile as he stowed his coat in his file cabinet. “Sure, you fell while logging, he said. “And I’m dating Julia Roberts. But, hey, you don’t have to tell me what happened; I’m just your friend.”

     That was exactly the point, Jack mused. After checking to see if he had any phone messages, he started back out of the office.

     “You missed a nice little dinner last night,” Chet said. “Terese came along. We talked about you. She’s a fan of yours, but she’s as concerned as I am about your monomania concerning these infectious cases.”

     Jack didn’t even bother to answer. If Chet or Terese knew what had really happened last night, they’d be more than concerned.

     Returning to the first floor, Jack looked into Janice’s office. Now he wanted to ask her about the influenza case that was being posted by Bingham, but she’d left. Jack descended to the morgue level and changed into his isolation gear.

     He went into the autopsy room and walked up to the only table in operation. Bingham was on the patient’s right, Calvin on the left, and Vinnie at the head. They were almost done.

     “Well, well,” Bingham said when Jack joined them. “Isn’t this convenient? Here’s our in-house infectious expert.”

     “Perhaps the expert would like to tell us what this case is,” Calvin challenged.

     “I’ve already heard,” Jack said. “Influenza.”

     “Too bad,” Bingham said. “It would have been fun to see if you truly have the nose for this stuff. When it came in early this morning there was no diagnosis yet. The suspicion was some sort of viral hemorrhagic fever. It had everybody up in arms.”

     “When did you learn it was influenza?” Jack asked.

     “A couple of hours ago,” Bingham answered. “Just before we started. It’s a good case, though. You want to see the lungs?”

     “I would,” Jack said.

     Bingham reached into the pan and lifted out the lungs. He showed the cut surface to Jack.

     “My God, the whole lung is involved!” Jack commented. He was impressed. In some areas there was frank hemorrhage.

     “Even some myocarditis,” Bingham said. He put the lung back and lifted up the heart and displayed it for Jack. “When you can see the inflammation grossly like this, you know it’s extensive.”

     “Looks like a virulent strain,” Jack said.

     “You’d better believe it,” Bingham said. “This patient’s only twenty-nine years old, and his first symptoms occurred around six last night. He was dead at four A.M. It reminds me of a case I did back in my residency during the pandemic of fifty-seven and fifty-eight.”

     Vinnie rolled his eyes. Bingham had a mind-numbing habit of comparing every case to one that he’d had in his long career.

     “That case was also a primary influenza pneumonia,” Bingham continued. “Same appearance of the lung. When we looked at it histologically we were amazed at the degree of damage. It gave us a lot of respect for certain strains of influenza.”

     “Seeing this case concerns me,” Jack said. “Especially in light of the other diseases that have been popping up.”

     “Now, don’t head off into left field!” Bingham warned, remembering some of Jack’s comments the day before. “This isn’t out of the ordinary, like the plague case or even the tularemia. It’s flu season. Primary influenza pneumonia is a rare complication, but we see it. In fact we had a case just last month.”

     Jack listened, but Bingham wasn’t making him feel any more comfortable. The patient in front of them had had a lethal infection with an agent that had the capability of spreading from patient to patient like wildfire. Jack’s only consolation was the call Laurie had made to her internist friend who’d said there were no other cases in the hospital.

     “Mind if I take some washings?” Jack asked.

     “Hell no!” Bingham said. “Be my guest. But be careful what you do with them.”

     “Obviously,” Jack said.

     Jack took the lungs over to one of the sinks, and with Vinnie’s help prepared some samples by washing out some of the small bronchioles with sterile saline. He then sterilized the outside of the containers with ether.

     Jack was on his way out when Bingham asked him what he was going to do with the samples.

     “Take them up to Agnes,” Jack said. “I’d like to know the subtype.”

     Bingham shrugged and looked across at Calvin.

     “Not a bad idea,” Calvin said.

     Jack did exactly what he said he would. But he was disappointed when he presented the bottles to Agnes up on the third floor.

     “We don’t have the capability of subtyping it,” she said.

     “Who does?” Jack asked.

     “The city or state reference lab,” Agnes said. “Or even over at the university lab. But the best place would be the CDC. They have a whole section devoted to influenza. If it were up to me, I’d send it there.”

     Jack got some viral transport medium from Agnes and transferred the washings into it. Then he went up to his office. Sitting down, he placed a call to the CDC and was put through to the influenza unit. A pleasant sounding woman answered, introducing herself as Nicole Marquette.

     Jack explained what he wanted, and Nicole was accommodating. She said she’d be happy to see that the influenza was typed and subtyped.

     “If I manage to get the sample to you today,” Jack said, “how long would it take for you to do the typing?”

     “We can’t do this overnight,” Nicole said, “if that’s what you have in mind.”

     “Why not?” Jack asked impatiently.

     “Well, maybe we could,” Nicole corrected herself. “If there is a sufficient vital titer in your sample, meaning enough viral particles, I suppose it is possible. Do you know what the titer is?”

     “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Jack said. “But the sample was taken directly from the lung of a patient who passed away from primary influenza pneumonia. The strain is obviously virulent, and I’m worried about a possible epidemic.”

     “If it is a virulent strain, then the titer might be high,” Nicole said.

     “I’ll find a way to get it to you today,” Jack promised. He then gave Nicole his telephone number both at the office and at home. He told her to call anytime she had any information.

     “We’ll do the best we can,” Nicole said. “But I have to warn you’ if the titer is too low it might be several weeks before I get back to you.”

     “Weeks!” Jack complained. “Why?”