Endorphin Conspiracy, The (17 page)

Chapter 29

“Well, doc, that’s quite a story,” said Detective O’Malley as he chewed on a fresh piece of gum, the stub of his unlit cigar dangling from his lips. O’Malley leaned back in the recliner, gazed at Geoff, who was seated in the overstuffed couch opposite him.

“They say truth is stranger than fiction.”

“They do, don’t they, doc? I must admit, after twenty-two years on the force with all I seen, I’d have to agree with you. I mean, I could’ve written ten books by now. They’d all be bestsellers, nobody’d believe the stuff was true. You hear what I’m sayin,?”

O’Malley paused for a moment, glanced at his note pad, then peered up at Geoff with a slight squint. “Even so, doc, what you’re saying is far-fetched. Don’t get me wrong. You seem like a pretty sharp guy. No reason I know of to think you got a screw loose or anything like that. Still, you’ve had a busy few days yourself, to say the least.”

“That’s very true, detective.”

“There’s that word, again, doc.
Truth
. That’s really all I think we’re both after here, isn’t it?”

O’Malley turned on his recorder and placed it down on the coffee table. “Let’s recap today’s events first. Interrupt me if I say something wrong.”

Geoff nodded.

“You say you left your lady friend’s apartment about six o’clock this morning and came straight home. You didn’t stop anywhere on the way. After entering the building you took the elevator up to the third floor. You didn’t see or hear anything unusual—no sounds, no strangers, nothing out of the ordinary—except of course that there
were
no sounds, nothing going on, which you say is unusual at that hour.

“You go to open your apartment door and two things strike you: your neighbor, Mrs. Lubka, doesn’t open her door to see what’s going on as she usually does when you come home—because she’s stuffed in your broom closet with a bullet in her head—and you hear sounds in your apartment.” Again, Geoff only nodded.

“You sneak in and find a guy going through your night table and see him steal a couple of dummy vials you planted there. You sneak up on the fellah and slash his arm with your knife.”

O’Malley picked up the plastic bag containing Geoff’s standard issue combat knife and held it up. “Correct?”

“What are you doing with that?” asked Geoff, grabbing the bag, “That’s mine.”

O’Malley reached over and pulled the bag out of his hands. “Evidence, doc. I’m goin’ to have the boys in the crime lab check it out. I’ll make sure you get it back when they’re through with it.”

O’Malley leaned back in the chair. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah, so you grab the gun, face each other off. You don’t recognize him because he’s wearing a ski mask, but you
do
notice his eyes, like you’ve seen him before but aren’t sure where or when. He runs out the door. Sound about right?”

“All except the face-off. That was
before
I grabbed the gun off the floor.”

O’Malley wet the eraser with his tongue and made the correction. “Good doc, real good. But the incident does pose a number of questions that make me uneasy, as I am sure you are about this whole thing.”

O’Malley replaced the unlit stub of the cigar in his mouth. “Don’t worry, doc, I won’t light up. I never do when I make a house call.”

He removed the stub, examined it fondly, placed it back between his teeth. “Lots of people, my wife included, find these things offensive, though I’m not sure why.”

O’Malley gazed back down at his notes. “Now, if no valuables were touched in here, as you say, it’s apparent the perpetrator was after only one thing, the vials you acquired. If that’s the case, someone had to know you had them. Correct?”

Geoff exhaled loudly, briefly closed his eyes, trying to shut out the fact he knew he had to face. “To the best of my knowledge only one person knew. Suzanne Gibson, a pathologist at the Trauma Center. That’s not to say others didn’t find out.” Geoff fidgeted in his chair under O’Malley’s watchful eye.

“Of course, one never knows for sure, but let’s assume she was the only one who knew. What motive would she have to tip off a professional hit man—and that’s what he had to be judging by the methods of entry and the single bullet in the old lady’s head—to break into your apartment, steal those vials, and wait for you to arrive to knock you off the same way he neatly finished off the old lady?”

Geoff sat in stunned silence, his hands clasped in front of him. He had assumed the man was there only to get back the vials. It had never crossed his mind he might have been sent for another purpose as well.

“Suzanne is the one who brought the whole thing to my attention. She discovered the strange endorphin in the patients’ brains on autopsy.”

“So, this Dr. Gibson, she drew you in, involved you more deeply?”

“I guess you could say that, but I pressed her to look for anything unusual when she did the autopsy on the girl.”

“You said the test she ran was not done routinely?”

“That’s right. It’s more of a research test. Besides, when she isolated the compound, she was genuinely excited and thought she had made a remarkable discovery, something that might win a Nobel Prize. I find it hard to believe she was acting,” said Geoff, his voice trailing off.

“Maybe so, doc, maybe so. But you haven’t convinced me she’s innocent.” O’Malley took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “Did Dr. Gibson—Suzanne as you call her—and you have any interpersonal involvement other than of a business nature?”

Geoff was caught off guard. He wasn’t sure where O’Malley was leading him. “No, not really. Not until last night.”

O’Malley’s ears perked up a bit. “In my business, that usually means yes.” He leaned forward and patted Geoff on the knee. “It’s okay, doc. This isn’t divorce court, and you aren’t married, anyway.”

“It’s not like that. We’ve worked pretty closely lately on these strange cases I’ve told you about. I was at her place to review some scans, had a bit too much to drink, and ended up spending the night. That’s all.”

“Did she suggest you break into Dr. Balassi’s lab?”

Geoff’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry, I forgot the official report said the security guard let you in, even though it was after you tried to break in and set off the alarm in the process.”

O’Malley smiled and put up his hand. “I got my sources, you know. Don’t worry, nobody’s filed any charges, so I couldn’t do anything about it even if I wanted to.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“So you came up with the idea on your own?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“The anonymous e-mailer steered me in the general direction.” Geoff felt a bit embarrassed as he said the words aloud. Had he fallen into a trap after all?

“Got any hard copies of the e-mails you’ve been sent?”

“No.”

“What else did you find in the lab?” O’Malley asked.

Geoff hesitated. “A copy of a PET scan that had been missing.”

O’Malley made a note on his pad and nodded his head in feigned disbelief. “First CAT scans, now PET scans! Are you guys takin’ care of animals or people in that place?” He leaned forward and slapped his knee. “Just kiddin’ doc, just kiddin’.”

O’Malley continued to nod his head, amused, then settled back in the chair. “So this PET scan suddenly reappears after a center wide search turns up nothing?”

“That’s right. I was able to pull it up from the computer’s data bank.”

“What did it show?” O’Malley held up his hand. “In laymen’s terms doc, if you don’t mind.”

“It was consistent with the scans on the other patients, as well as the brain chemistry studies. It showed the man’s brain was totally saturated with the endorphin Suzanne had discovered in the lab.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that was probably why he and the other patients acted as if they were crazy.”

O’Malley shook his head, unwrapped a piece of Juicy Fruit. “Lord knows he was crazy. I’ll never forget that day.” He stuffed the gum in his cheek. “Anyone else see this scan?”

“The only other place I know it existed, other than in Balassi’s computer, was on Dr. Pederson’s desk. I assume he had reviewed it. I know Dr. Balassi saw similar scans on the other patients. I think Kapinsky may have seen the one on the girl at some time before he was hanged.”

“Was hanged? Interesting choice of words, doc. We’ll return to that one.” O’Malley made another notation on his pad. “What did this Balassi say about the scans?”

Geoff sneered. “He said all the scans done that day were like that, that there was a problem in the lab and all the compounds were bad.”

O’Malley grinned broadly, his teeth clenching the cigar. “And you know that’s not true, don’t you, Detective Davis?”

“That’s right. I reviewed the day’s log, as well as the entries on the day of Romero’s scan. All the isotope compounds were fine. There was no problem in the lab. Balassi lied. He’s covering up something.”

“That may be true, doc. But let’s get back on track here for a moment. This pathologist friend of yours, Dr. Gibson, says she discovers a new compound, arousing your interest and pointing you in a very clear direction. All the makings of a set-up, if you ask me. She drew you in, then got you to do her dirty work for her.”

“You’re forgetting one important thing. She knew I was going to give her the endorphin vials later this morning. Why would she go to all the trouble to send someone to break into my apartment to get something she was going to be handed hours later?”

“Think about it, doc. You’re a smart fella’.” He paused for a moment staring at Geoff. “This Gibson’s a smart gal. My guess is she didn’t want to take any chances with you or the vials.”

Geoff sat stiffly in his chair, annoyed at O’Malley’s cockiness. As if the New York cop understood what a goddamned endorphin or a PET scan really was!

“Hey, Doc, don’t get defensive about your lady friend. I gotta ask certain questions, ya know, chase down every possible connection.”

“Sorry.”

“How well do you think you know her?” O’Malley asked.

Geoff thought of their night together, Suzanne’s baby picture, her pained expression when he asked about her family. “We work together, and we’ve become friends lately. Fairly well, I guess.”

O’Malley sat back in his seat and flipped pages back and forth, then rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to make sense of it all. “Let’s move on to the big picture now. I want to be sure I have this right, because the chief’s gonna’ look at me like I’m a loony toon—and maybe I am—but I gotta have my facts in order here. Interrupt me if I say something wrong. Science ain’t exactly my strong point. Fact is, I flunked biology in high school.”

Geoff nodded, wondering why he had wasted his time trying to explain it all to this fool.

O’Malley flipped the pages back to the beginning once again. “In a nutshell, you say there’s some kind of secret experiment going on at the New York Trauma Center—the foremost medical center of its kind in these United States of America—where patients, including that little girl and maybe the cop who jumped out the window, are being injected with a new chemical that makes them crazy, then kills them.”

O’Malley paused for a moment and looked up at Geoff. “Is this statement accurate so far?”

“That’s correct.”

“Further, you say Dr. Josef Balassi, Director of Research, and unknown others, possibly including Dr. Pederson, Head of Neurosurgery, are involved in the project, as you call it, or in a cover-up of some kind.”

Geoff nodded in agreement.

“You also state you believe Dr. Howard Kapinsky did not commit suicide but was murdered.”

“He was too much of a self-centered asshole to commit suicide,” Geoff responded with conviction.

O’Malley looked up at Geoff and said in an amused voice, “Doc, even assholes commit suicide. Besides, there was a suicide note that appeared to be written in his own hand, full of talk about some homosexual relationship and rejection. A pretty standard note. So, you have another reason? Because if you do, I’d like to know.”

“Howard Kapinsky, gay? I don’t believe it. He was about as sexual as a eunuch.”

“Believe it, doc.”

“Has the note been analyzed by a graphologist?”

“It’s in the process.” O’Malley voice hardened. “Do you realize if it turns out to be a homicide, you’re at the top of the list of suspects? I’m aware of the nature of your relationship with Kapinsky, the fact you two couldn’t stand each other and that the day before he was found dangling from the rafters like a side of beef you came close to punching him out in front of several witnesses.”

“My feelings toward Howard Kapinsky were no secret, but I think he was onto something. He had developed a theory of a mercy killer at the medical center. I thought he was crazy at the time. He was acting anxious, and his medical decisions had become erratic. I think he was murdered by the people behind the experiments, to send me a signal to stay away, or to make me a suspect and keep me from getting any closer. Either way, they’d achieve their goal.”

“That they might have, doc.” O’Malley eyed him up and down, as if committing Geoff’s body language to memory. “You would certainly be high on the list of suspects, though my instincts tell me you probably couldn’t do it. Well, let’s move on here.”   O’Malley made a few corrections on his pad. “You suspect one Jesus Romero, the crazy Puerto Rican who held that little girl hostage at the zoo, was given the same drug when
he
was a patient at the Trauma Center, months before the incident, and that’s what made a previously normal Joe flip out and do such a terrible thing.”