“Who was behind these threats?” Bingham asked.
“One of the New York crime families,” Laurie said. “Lieutenant Louis Soldano offered to fill you in on it as well as talk to you about a possible mole for the crime family here in the medical examiner’s office. We think we have figured out how Franconi’s body was taken from here.”
“I’m listening,” Bingham said. He put the mail down and leaned back in his chair.
Laurie explained the story, emphasizing that the Spoletto Funeral Home had to have been given the accession number of the unidentified case.
“Did Detective Soldano think it wise for you two to leave town?” Bingham asked.
“Yes, he did,” Laurie said.
“Fine,” Bingham said. “Then you’re out of here. Am I supposed to call Soldano or is he calling me?”
“It was our understanding that he was going to call you,” Laurie said.
“Good,” Bingham said. Then he looked directly at Jack. “What about the liver issue?”
“That’s up in the air,” Jack said. “I’m still waiting on some more tests.”
Bingham nodded and commented: “This case is a goddamned pain in the ass. Just make sure I’m informed cf any breaking news while you’re away. I don’t want any surprises.” He looked down at his desk and picked up the mail. “You people have a good trip and send me a postcard.”
Laurie and Jack went out into the hall and smiled at each other.
“Well, it looks good,” Jack said. “Bingham was the major potential stumbling block.”
“I wonder if we should have told him we’re going to Africa because of the liver issue?” Laurie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “He might have changed his mind about letting us go. As far as he’s concerned, he wishes this case would just disappear.”
Retiring to their separate offices, Laurie phoned the Equatoguinean Embassy about the visas, while Jack called the airlines. She quickly learned that Esteban had been right about the ease of getting a visa and that it could be done that morning. Jack found Air France happy to make all the arrangements, and he agreed to stop by their office that afternoon to pick up the tickets.
Laurie appeared in Jack’s office. She was beaming. “I’m beginning to think this is really going to happen,” she said excitedly. “How’d you do?”
“Fine,” Jack said. “We leave tonight at seven-fifty.”
“I can’t believe this,” Laurie said. “I feel like a teenager going on my first trip.”
After making arrangements with the travel and immunization office at the Manhattan General Hospital, they called Warren. He agreed to get in touch with Natalie and meet them at the hospital.
The nurse practitioner gave each of them a battery of shots as well as prescriptions for antimalarial drugs. She also urged them to wait a full week before exposure. Jack explained that was impossible. The nurse’s response was to say that she was glad they were going and not she.
In the hall outside the travel office, Warren asked Jack what the woman meant.
“It takes up to a week for these shots to take effect,” Jack explained. “That is, except for the gamma globulin.”
“Are we taking a risk, then?” Warren asked.
“Life’s a risk,” Jack quipped. “Seriously, there’s some risk, but each day our immune systems will be better prepared. The main problem is the malaria, but I intend to take a hell of a lot of insect repellant.”
“So you’re not concerned?” Warren asked.
“Not enough to keep me home,” Jack said.
After leaving the hospital, they all went to a passport photo place and had snapshots taken. With those in hand, Laurie, Warren, and Natalie left to visit the Equatoguinean Embassy.
Jack caught a taxi and directed it to the University Hospital. Once there, he went directly up to Dr. Peter Malovar’s lab. As usual he found the aged pathologist bent over his microscope. Jack waited respectfully until the professor had finished studying his current slide.
“Ahhh, Dr. Stapleton,” Dr. Malovar said, catching sight of Jack. “I’m glad you came. Now, where is that slide of yours?”
Dr. Malovar’s lab was a dusty clutter of books, journals, and hundreds of slide trays. The wastebaskets were perennially overflowing. The professor steadfastly refused to allow anybody into his work space to clean lest they disturb his structured disorder.
With surprising speed, the professor located Jack’s slide on top of a veterinary pathology book. His nimble fingers picked it up and slipped it under the microscope’s objective.
“Dr. Osgood’s suggestion to have this reviewed by Dr. Hammersmith was crackerjack,” Dr. Malovar said as he focused. When he was satisfied, he sat back, picked up the book, and opened it to the page indicated by a clean microscope slide. He handed the book to Jack.
Jack looked at the page Dr. Malovar indicated. It was a photomicrograph of a section of liver. There was a granuloma similar to the one on Jack’s slide.
“It’s the same,” Dr. Malovar said. He motioned for Jack to compare by looking into the microscope.
Jack leaned forward and studied the slide. The images did seem identical.
“This is certainly one of the more interesting slides you have brought to me,” Dr. Malovar said. He pushed a lock of his wild, gray hair out of his eyes. “As you can read from the book, the offending organism is called hepatocystis.”
Jack straightened up from looking at his slide to glance back at the book. He’d never heard of hepatocystis.
“Is it rare?” Jack asked.
“In the New York City morgue I’d have to say yes,” Dr. Malovar said. “Extremely rare! You see it is only found in primates. And not only that, but it is only found in Old World primates, meaning primates found in Africa and Southeast Asia. It’s never been seen in the New World and never in humans.”
“Never?” Jack questioned.
“Put it this way,” Dr. Malovar said. “I’ve never seen it, and I’ve seen a lot of liver parasites. More important, Dr. Osgood has never seen it, and he has seen more liver parasites than I. With that kind of combined experience, I’d have to say it does not exist in humans. Of course, in the endemic areas, it might be a different story, but even there it would have to be rare. Otherwise we’d have seen a case or two.”
“I appreciate your help,” Jack said distractedly. He was already wrestling with the implications of this surprising bit of information. It was a much stronger suggestion that Franconi had had a xenotransplant than the mere fact that he’d gone to Africa.
“This would be an interesting case to present at our grand rounds,” Dr. Malovar said. “If you are interested, let me know.”
“Of course,” Jack said noncommittally. His mind was in a whirl.
Jack left the professor, took the hospital elevator down to the ground floor, and started toward the medical examiner’s office. Finding an Old World primate parasite in a liver sample was very telling evidence. But then there were the confusing results that Ted Lynch had gotten on the DNA analysis to contend with. And on top of that was the fact there was no inflammation in the liver with no immunosuppressant drugs. The only thing that was certain was that it all didn’t make sense.
Arriving back at the morgue, Jack went directly up to the DNA lab with the intention of grilling Ted in the hope that he could come up with some hypothesis to explain what was going on. The problem as Jack saw it was that Jack didn’t know enough about current DNA science to come up with an idea on his own. The field was changing too rapidly.
“Jesus, Stapleton, where the hell have you been!” Ted snapped the moment he saw Jack. “I’ve been calling all over creation and nobody’s seen you.”
“I’ve been out,” Jack said defensively. He thought for a second about explaining what was going on then changed his mind. Too much had happened in the previous twelve hours.
“Sit down!” Ted commanded.
Jack sat.
Ted searched around on his desktop until he located a particular sheet of developed film covered with hundreds of minute dark bands. He handed it to Jack.