Contagion (43 page)

     “Don’t get upset,” Jack said soothingly. “I apologize. I’m afraid I’m handling this badly.” Jack had not wanted to draw anyone else into the web of his suspicions for fear of their safety, yet at the moment he didn’t seem to have any choice. Kathy was right: the humidifiers had to be taken out of service.

     “Listen, Kathy,” Jack said. Then, as succinctly as possible, he explained his theory about the recent illnesses being intentionally spread. He also told her there was a possibility Beth Holderness had been killed because he’d asked her to search the microbiology lab for the offending agents.

     “That’s a rather extraordinary story,” Kathy said haltingly. Then she added: “It’s a little hard to swallow all at once.”

     “I’m not asking you necessarily to subscribe to it,” Jack said. “My only interest in telling you now is for your safety. Whatever you do or say to anyone, please keep what I have told you in mind. And for God’s sake, don’t mention my theory to anyone. Even if I’m right, I have no idea who’s behind it.”

     “Well,” Kathy said with a sigh. “I don’t know what to say.”

     “You don’t have to say anything,” Jack said. “But if you want to help, there is something you could do.”

     “Like what?” Kathy asked warily.

     “Get some bacterial culture medium and vital transport medium from the microbiology lab,” Jack said. “But don’t tell anyone why you want them. Then get someone from engineering to open the elbow drain below the sink in the storeroom where the humidifiers are kept. Put aliquots from the trap into the two mediums and take them to the city reference lab. Ask them to see if they can isolate any one of the five agents.”

     “You think some of the microorganisms would still be there?” Kathy asked.

     “It’s a possibility,” Jack said. “It’s a long shot, but I’m trying to find proof whatever way I can. At any rate, what I’m suggesting you do is not going to hurt anyone except possibly yourself if you are not careful.”

     “I’ll think about it,” Kathy said.

     “I’d do it myself except for the reception I invariably get over there,” Jack said. “I was able to get away with visiting your office, but trying to get bacterial samples out of a trap in central supply is another thing entirely.”

     “I’d have to agree with you there,” Kathy said.

     After he hung up, Jack wondered about Kathy’s reaction to his revelations. From the moment he’d voiced his suspicions she’d sounded subdued, almost wary. Jack shrugged. At the moment there wasn’t anything else he could say to convince her. All he could do was hope she’d heed his warnings.

     Jack had one more call to make, and as he dialed the long-distance number he superstitiously crossed the middle and index fingers of his left hand. He was calling Nicole Marquette at the CDC, and Jack was hoping for two things. First, he wanted to hear that the sample had arrived.

     Second, he wanted Nicole to say that the titer was high, meaning there were enough viral particles to test without having to wait to grow it out.

     As the call went through Jack glanced at his watch. It was nearing seven P.M.. He scolded himself for not having called earlier, thinking he’d have to wait until morning to reach Nicole. But after dialing the extension for the influenza unit, he got Nicole immediately.

     “It arrived here fine,” Nicole said in response to his query. “And I have to give you credit for packing it so well. The refrigerant pack and the Styrofoam kept the sample well preserved.”

     “What about the titer?” Jack asked.

     “I was impressed with that too,” Nicole said. “Where was this sample from?”

     “Bronchiole washings,” Jack said.

     Nicole gave a short whistle. “With this concentration of virus it’s got to be one hell of a virulent strain. Either that, or a compromised host.”

     “It’s a virulent strata all right,” Jack said. “The victim was a young healthy male. Besides that, one of the nurses taking care of him is already in the ICU herself in acute respiratory distress. That’s in less than twenty-four hours after exposure.”

     “Wow! I’d better do this typing immediately. In fact, I’ll stay here tonight. Are there any more cases besides the nurse?”

     “Three others that I know about,” Jack said.

     “I’ll call in the morning,” Nicole said. Then she hung up.

     Jack was mildly taken aback by the precipitous end to the conversation, but he was pleased that Nicole was as motivated as she’d apparently become.

     Jack replaced the phone receiver, and as he did so, he noticed the tremble of his hand. He took a few deep breaths and tried to decide what to do. He was concerned about going home. He had no way of gauging Warren’s reaction to Slam’s death. He also wondered if yet another assassin would be sent after him.

     The unexpected ring of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the phone but didn’t pick it up while he tried to think who it could be. As late as it was, he had to shake off some irrational thoughts, like the worry it might be the man who’d tried to kill him that afternoon.

     Finally, Jack picked up the phone. To his relief, it was Terese.

     “You promised you would call, she said accusingly. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you forgot.”

     “I’ve been on the phone,” Jack said. “In fact, I just this second got off.”

     “Well, all right, Terese said. But I’ve been ready to eat for an hour. Why don’t you come to the restaurant directly from work?”

     “Oh, jeez, Terese,” Jack voiced. With everything that had happened he’d totally forgotten about their dinner plans.

     “Don’t tell me you are going to try to cop out,” Terese said.

     “I’ve had a wicked day,” Jack said.

     “So have I,” Terese countered. “You promised, and as I said this morning, you have to eat. Tell me, did you have lunch?”

     “No,” Jack said.

     “Well, there you go,” Terese said. “You can’t skip dinner as well as lunch. Come on! I’ll understand if you have to go back to work. I might myself.”

     Terese was making a lot of sense. He needed to eat something even if he wasn’t hungry, and he needed to relax. Besides, knowing Terese’s persistence he didn’t expect she’d take no for an answer, and Jack did not have the energy for an argument.

     “Are you thinking or what?” Terese asked impatiently. “Jack, please! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. We can compare war stories and have a vote whose day was the worst.”

     Jack was weakening. Suddenly having dinner with Terese sounded wonderfully appealing. He was concerned about putting her at risk simply through proximity, but he doubted anyone was trailing him now. If they were, he could certainly shake them on the way to the restaurant.

     “What’s the name of the restaurant?” Jack asked finally.

     “Thank you,” Terese said. “I knew you’d come through. It’s called Positano. It’s just up the street from me on Madison. You’ll love it. It’s small and very relaxing. Very un-New-Yorkish.”

     “I’ll meet you there in a half hour,” Jack said.

     “Perfect,” Terese said. “I’m really looking forward to this. It’s been a stressful few days.”

     “I can attest to that,” Jack said.

     Jack locked up his office and went down to the first floor. He did not know how to ensure that no one followed him, but he thought that he should at least glance out the front to see if anyone suspicious was lurking there. As he passed through communications he noticed that Sergeant Murphy was still in his cubbyhole talking with someone Jack didn’t recognize.

     Jack and the sergeant exchanged waves. Jack wondered if there had been an unusual number of unidentified dead over the last several days. Murphy usually left at five like clockwork.

     Reaching the front door, Jack scanned the area outside. He immediately recognized the futility of what he was doing. Particularly with the homeless facility next door in the old Bellevue Hospital building, there were any number of people loitering who could have qualified as suspicious.

     For a few moments Jack watched the activity on First Avenue. Rush hour was still in full swing with bumper-to-bumper traffic heading north.

     The buses were all filled to overflowing. All the cabs were occupied.

     Jack debated what to do. The idea of standing in the street, trying to catch a taxi, had no appeal whatsoever. He’d be too exposed. Someone might even attack him right there, especially if they had been willing to try to shoot him in a drugstore.

     A passing delivery van gave Jack an idea. Turning back into the building, he descended to the morgue floor and walked into the mortuary office. Marvin Fletcher, one of the evening mortuary techs, was having coffee and doughnuts.

     “Marvin, I have a favor to ask,” Jack said.

     “What’s that?” Marvin asked, washing down a mouthful with a gulp of his coffee.

     “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this,” Jack said. “It’s personal.”

     “Yeah?” Marvin questioned. His eyes opened wider than usual. He was interested.

     “I need a ride up to New York Hospital,” Jack said. “Could you take me in one of the mortuary vans?”

     “I’m not supposed to drive—” Marvin began.

     “There’s a good reason,” Jack said, interrupting Marvin. “I’m trying to duck a girlfriend, and I’m afraid she’s outside. I’m sure a good-looking guy like you has had similar problems.” Marvin laughed.

     “I suppose,” he said.

     “It will only take a second,” Jack said. “We shoot up First and cut over to York. You’ll be back here in a flash, and here’s a ten-spot for your trouble.” Jack laid a ten-dollar bill on the desk.

     Marvin eyed the bill and looked up at Jack. “When do you want to go?”

     “Right now,” Jack said.

     Jack climbed into the passenger-side door of the van and then stepped back into the van’s cargo area. He held on to whatever handhold he could find while Marvin backed out onto Thirtieth Street. As they waited for the light at the corner of First Avenue, Jack made sure he stayed well out of sight.

     Despite the traffic they made good time to New York Hospital. Marvin dropped Jack off at the busy front entrance, and Jack immediately went inside. Within the lobby he stood off to the side for five minutes.

     When no one even vaguely suspicious entered, Jack headed for the emergency room.

     Having been in the hospital on multiple occasions, Jack had no trouble finding his way. Once in the emergency room he stepped out on the receiving dock and waited for a cab to bring in a patient. He didn’t have to wait long.

     As soon as the patient got out of the cab, Jack got in. He told the cabdriver to take him to the Third Avenue entrance of Bloomingdale’s.

     Bloomingdale’s was as crowded as Jack assumed it would be. Jack rapidly traversed the store’s main floor, emerging on Lexington where he caught a second cab. He had this taxi drop him off a block away from Positano.

     To be a hundred percent certain he was safe, Jack stood within the entrance of a shoe store for another five minutes. The vehicular traffic on Madison Avenue was moderate, as was the number of pedestrians. In contrast to the area around the morgue, everyone was dressed nattily. Jack saw no one he would have thought was a gang member.

     Feeling confident and patting himself on the back for his ingenuity, Jack set out for the restaurant. What he didn’t know was that two men sat waiting inside a shiny black Cadillac that had recently parked between the shoe store and Positano. As Jack walked past he couldn’t see inside because the windows were tinted dark enough to make them appear like mirrors.

     Jack opened the door to the restaurant and entered a canvas tent of sorts designed to keep the winter chill away from the people seated near the entrance.

     Pulling a canvas flap aside, Jack found himself in a warm, comfortable environment. To his left was a small mahogany bar. The dining tables were grouped to the right and they extended back into the depths of the restaurant. The walls and ceiling were covered with white lattice into which was woven silk ivy that looked astonishingly real. It was as if Jack had suddenly walked into a garden restaurant in Italy.

     From the savory aroma that informed the place, Jack could tell that the chef had the same respect for garlic that he had. Earlier Jack had felt he wasn’t hungry. Now he was famished.

     The restaurant was crowded but without the frenzied atmosphere of many New York restaurants. With the lattice on the ceiling the sounds of the patrons’ conversations and the clink of the china were muted. Jack assumed that the peacefulness of the place was what Terese had meant when she said it was un-New-Yorkish.

     The maitre d’ greeted Jack and asked if he could be of assistance. Jack said he was to meet a Ms. Hagen. The waiter bowed and gestured for Jack to follow him. He showed Jack to a table against the wall just beyond the bar.

     Terese rose to give Jack a hug. When she saw his face, she paused. “Oh, my!” she said. “Your face looks painful.”

     “People have been saying that my whole life,” Jack quipped.

     “Jack, please,” Terese said. “Don’t joke. I’m being serious. Are you really okay?”

     “To tell you the honest truth,” Jack said, “I’d totally forgotten about my face.”

     “It looks like it would be so tender,” Terese said. “I’d like to give you a kiss, but I’m afraid.”

     “Nothing wrong with my lips,” Jack said.

     Terese shook her head, smiled, and waved her hand at him. “You are too much,” she said. “I considered myself adept at repartee until I met you.”

     They sat down.

     “What do you think of the restaurant?” Terese asked as she repositioned her napkin and moved her work aside.

     “I liked it immediately,” Jack said. “It’s cozy, and you can’t say that about too many restaurants in this city. I never would have known it was here. The sign outside is so subtle.”

     “It’s one of my favorite places,” Terese said.

     “Thanks for insisting I come out,” Jack said. “I hate to admit you were right, but you were. I’m starved.”