The Miracle Strain (29 page)

Earlier, Tom had examined the shadow on his daughter's brain scans. The scans had told him that Holly's cancer had not only started but was accelerating at an alarming rate. It had become even more imperative that Jasmine identify the match she'd found. But whatever happened on Cana, and whenever it happened, Holly couldn't wait for it. It was important now that she be told what was wrong with her, and what was required to help her. He'd informed patients of serious illness countless times before--he hoped with compassion and humanity. But telling his own precious child was different and once again he wished that Olivia were here to guide him.

After breakfast the next day he walked with his daughter in the garden. It was a clear spring morning in mid-April, with dew still on the lawn. The bulbs Olivia had planted last autumn were in full flower--a riot of reds and yellows. There was a freshness to the air that spoke of life and rejuvenation.

The gardener was tending the rosebushes at the far end of the lawn. He looked up from his work and smiled from under his faded Boston Red Sox baseball cap.

"Morning."

"Morning, Ted," said Holly and Tom in unison.

Long since retired, Ted had helped Olivia out in the garden once a week for almost seven years. But after Olivia's death he had come around most days to carry out the seeding plans they had discussed together. Tom often tried to pay him for his time but Ted always refused. Taking off his cap and scratching his short grizzled hair, he'd give a sad smile and say: "Thanks all the same, Dr. Carter, but I ain't got much else to do at my age. And anyway, this is my way of keeping close to Olivia. You understand?"

Tom did understand. But he also knew that the widower was not averse to Marcy Kelley's company either.

Tom held Holly's hand as she walked with him to the other end of the garden, the bottoms of her over-baggy jeans damp from the dew-laden grass.

"Do you know why you get your headaches, Hol?" Tom asked.

She kicked the wet lawn with her Day-Glo trainers. "Isn't it the computer?"

"No, Holly, it's not."

She looked up at him, her forehead creased in thought. It was an expression he'd seen before. "What is it, then?"

Tom stopped walking and crouched down beside her on the grass. Holly's hazel eyes were watching him very closely now.

He smiled at her. "First of all, Holly, don't be frightened. We are going to stop the headaches, and you're going to be okay. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Dad," she replied in a quiet voice. Her wide eyes looked at him with such complete trust that it squeezed his heart.

"Do you remember the checkup you had with Grampa yesterday?"

"Uh-huh."

"You know that it's a scan that checks if everything's okay in our heads. Well, on the last scan you were fine as usual. Except for a tiny bump."

Holly's forehead creased in incomprehension. "Bump?"

"Yeah. Do you remember that time when I knocked my head on the larder door at Grampa's and I got that big lump on my head."

Small smile. "And Mom called you cone-head?"

Tom gave a mock frown. "You all called me cone-head."

The smile broadened. "No, Grampa called you rhino skull."

"Anyway, your bump's special because it's on the inside. My bump hurt because it was like a big bruise. But yours hurts because it puts pressure on your brain. This gives you headaches at times, and makes you feel sick and dizzy."

Holly frowned, but nodded slowly. "How did I get it?"

"Well, with my bump it was my fault, because I banged my head into the top of the doorway. But your bump isn't your fault at all. You've been very unlucky. Something has gone wrong with some of the cells inside your head that makes them form a bump."

"Why?"

"Imagine all the cells in your body are like school kids that have to behave in order to keep the body healthy. Occasionally, for no real reason, some of these kids disobey their teacher or parent. When this happens they disrupt all the other kids and cause a disturbance in our body..."

"And we get sick?"

"Right."

"When will the bump go away?"

"Well, Holly, it won't go away by itself. And because it's inside it's difficult to get rid of. But don't worry, we will get rid of it. First of all, we're going to give you medicines to reduce the swelling and limit the effect these bad kids are having. And then we might have to take the bump out."

"Like sending the bad kids out of school?"

"Exactly. But you're going to have to be brave. The treatment isn't easy. And you'll have to stay in the hospital for a while."

Holly cocked her head to one side. It was exactly the same mannerism Olivia used to adopt whenever she was thinking hard about something. "Are you going to give me all the treatment?" she asked.

"If you like. Others will help, but I'll be your doctor."

"And I can stay in the special hospital at your work?"

"Of course."

She seemed to weigh up this information before giving a satisfied nod. Not only did she seem unafraid, she was even a little excited. She'd always visited him at work. And had often gone into the ward to meet the patients. Now in a perverse way she seemed to look forward to being one of those special patients she'd seen him devote so much time to. This absolute trust made telling her easier, but at the same time the very real possibility of betraying that trust terrified him.

"It's not going to be easy," he said again. Usually he had to urge patients to be positive after giving them the bad news, but in Holly's case he felt the need to temper her optimism.

She asked, "Can Jennifer and Megan visit?"

"Sure."

"And I can still use the computer?"

"Of course you can. As long as you feel up to it. We'll make sure you're fully connected with the best computer stuff Jazz can get hold of."

Again she thought about this and nodded. "And I'll see more of you?"

"Sure you will," he said. "Whenever you want me. Night or day. I'll be there."

A week later, Boston Detention Center

April 24. Maria had been in custody at the Boston detention center for less than two weeks, but already she hated it. It wasn't so much the trial and probable death sentence--she even found the interrogations by Karen Tanner a welcome diversion. What she hated was the loss of control. In her cell she couldn't keep the light on, exercise properly, or shave her head. And because she wasn't allowed access to sharp edges of any kind she couldn't even relieve her stress with her customary bloodletting. So she kept herself together by focusing on her one imperative: getting out and stopping Dr. Carter.

Her ankle manacles chafed as she shuffled into the interview room to speak with her expensive lawyer. She took her seat opposite Hugo Myers and stared at his styled silver-gray hair and matching silver-gray suit. The man was in his forties and looked like an extra from some TV show, but the attorney was supposed to be good at what he did. Even if all he'd done so far was explain how little he could do without her cooperation. He had approached her only hours after her arrest, offering his services in exchange for nothing more than the attendant publicity. She hadn't even needed to dip into her Chase Manhattan account, set up for just such emergencies.

The guards manacled her hands to the ring on the table in front of her. She smiled at that. She may have lost control, but they, at least, still showed her respect.

After greeting her, Hugo Myers hammered away with the same question he'd been asking all week--the same question Special Agent Karen Tanner had been asking her.

"So," he said, leveling his muddy eyes at her with the best sincerity money could buy, "have you considered whether you're going to make the deal?"

"How can I? Like I told the FBI. I don't know what they're talking about."

Hugo Myers raised an immaculate eyebrow, then made a steeple with his hands. "Look, Maria, in case the Federal Bureau of Investigation wasn't explicit enough at the last meeting, let me clarify a few things. Scotland Yard has taken the Bureau to visit your London apartment. They've seen your unusual collection of weaponry, and the wigs and the makeup. But most important, they've read your neatly stacked pile of manila folders, containing detailed files on homicide victims over the last thirteen or so years.

"They've also got your custom-made pen nib and testimony from the only guy in your files who's still alive. This Dr. Carter is a respected scientist who has given a statement outlining how you tried to kill him on two occasions, and how you killed his wife during the first attempt. This statement is corroborated by another eminent scientist, his colleague, Dr. Washington. Okay, so you weren't actually seen killing the four guards at GENIUS, but the bullets match your gun.

"Tomorrow you're going to have your DNA read at the FBI scanning facility. And if your genetic profile matches the DNA found at the Fontana murder scene, then the feds can tie you to the Preacher's kills. Are you getting the picture here? I'm your lawyer, and even I think things look pretty bad. Basically, unless we do a deal, you're gonna fry. From the detailed files the FBI found at your apartment they think you must have had some help. In fact they're convinced you were working for someone. And if you tell them who gave you the files, the D. A. has said he'll cut a deal."

"But I wasn't working for anybody. Only God."

Hugo Myers clenched his jaw and nodded slowly, plainly trying to maintain his composure. "Maria, have you heard the sound bite: 'Make the criminal pay, not the taxpayer'? It's the President's tag line for his Crime 2000 initiative. His war on crime was a big vote winner and most state governors have embraced it. Do you realize that ninety-eight percent of all murder trials since March 2000 have been completed on fasttrack? That means they've taken less than two weeks. Your trial starts the day after tomorrow, and will be over in ten days or less.

"But what should most concern you is the innovation over death row. The liberals have always branded waiting ten years or more to be killed as inhumane, and the far right has long squealed about the costs of keeping these 'dead' people alive. So now everyone's happy. The longest stay on the row since the new law was passed two years ago is thirty-seven days. This is justice McDonald's-style. It's fast, satisfying, the same everywhere, and people love it." Myers paused and leveled his muddy eyes at her again.

"Unless you cooperate, you could be dead within two months. Just tell them who you were working for, and I can probably do a deal to get you life."

Maria frowned. She wouldn't betray the Brotherhood to these unbelievers. However weak Ezekiel had been, the Brotherhood was the only family she had known, and it still represented the only hope for protecting the righteous and finding the New Messiah. Betraying them wouldn't help her finish Dr. Carter. Silently she called to her God for guidance.

"What if I plead not guilty?" she asked, enjoying the effect her question had on the frustrated counselor.

The lawyer's eyes rolled and a sigh issued from his thin lips. "Are you innocent? Despite all the evidence?"

"Innocent? In the eyes of God. Completely."

"If your DNA scan tomorrow proves positive, then that is not how you'll be seen in the eyes of the state of Massachusetts."

"I thought you were meant to defend me. Not just explain what might happen. Of course, if you don't want this high-profile case I can always find another lawyer."

A resigned shrug from the silver padded shoulders. "Not guilty, huh?"

"I was never the guilty one. Certainly never as guilty as those I'm charged with killing. Anyway, I don't really care what the jury decides."