We were too nervous to open it in the lab so we did our "trying not to run" bit back down to my office.
Janice stopped us on the way to ask a question, but we just blew right by her. She looked at us like we had lost our minds. We hustled into my office and closed the door. Harvey handed me the file. I can't look, he said.
I opened it. Trian was HIV negative. His T cell count was almost normal. My heart leapt into my throat while Harvey stood without moving. I think he was in shock.
We called in Eric and told him the news. He and I began to shout and jump around like Super Bowl champs, but not Harv. He just stood to the side and looked off at nothing. What's the matter? I asked him. We've done it.
Harv shook his head. Not so fast, he said. We have a lot still to be done.
But look at the results, I insisted. He's HIV negative.
Harvey: Yes, but for how long? It's encouraging but what do we know for sure? We have to test him again.
Me: But this is just what we need to get the place going again. We needed this boost, this kick in the ass. The PHS will give us more money now. Our grant will have to be extended.
Harvey: Timing is everything.
Me: What does that mean?
Harvey: It means that we have to keep this quiet. Can you imagine the uproar if such news got out? The press, the scrutiny? We'll lose our anonymity.
Eric said nothing.
Harvey: No, my friends, for right now, we should tell no one. We will reveal little bits enough to maintain interest and finances but not enough for anyone to know for sure. In the meantime let's make sure everything is well documented. Send the sample to Bangkok on Friday.
Jennifer could not believe what she was reading. HIV negative? They had turned someone who had been HIV positive back into HIV negative.
The disclosure hit her like a heavyweight.
They've cured AIDS.
That was probably optimistic thinking, but the evidence was right in front of her. They had done it. Somehow they had found a cure for the AIDS virus. And Harvey had never mentioned it to her.
It was all so unbelievable. The startling revelation wearied her.
She put the file down and closed her eyes. She wanted just to rest them for a few minutes before continuing to read, but exhaustion got the better of her. She slid into the cusp between consciousness and slumber and her head tilted back. One question kept gnawing at the base of her brain as she glided down into a deep, sound sleep:
Why had Bruce committed suicide right after mailing out this packet?
Ralph Edmund, the county coroner, rolled the stretcher past Max. Ralph looked like a coroner to be more precise, a mortician.
Sallow skin, tall, thin body, thin black hair, long fingers. On the other hand he never dressed like a mortician. He wore loud colors, polyester prints, and ostentatious gold jewelry. He also did not act like a mortician. Ralph was emotional, loud, uncouth as all hell. Even better, he had the charming habit of chewing tobacco and spitting the black-yellow juice wherever and whenever he saw fit.
"I want the autopsy done right away," Max whispered to the coroner.
"Is that why you called me down here personally?" Ralph asked.
Max nodded.
"Check everything."
"Okay," Ralph replied, a thick ball of tobacco bulging in his cheek.
"I'll get to it later this afternoon."
"Now. Right now. And get all the blood samples you can out of him. I want you to run a full battery of tests on him."
"Like what?"
"Well go over it later."
"Hey, Twitch, why you whispering? He's not going to wake up. Ha!"
"Hilarious. Just find out what killed him." Max turned and moved toward Harvey. The doctor looked pale and exhausted.
"Where's Martino's roommate?" v
"Kiel Davis? I had him moved to another room. He's being sedated."
'1 want to speak with him."
"Later," Harvey replied. He shook his head.
"My God, I can't believe this." "What's to believe?" Max asked, flipping through his notepad.
"There was no visible trauma, no blood, no stab or gunshot wounds, no signs of a struggle. The victim was a patient at an AIDS clinic so we can assume he was in poor health. All signs point to death by natural causes, right?"
Harvey did not reply right away.
"Ricky Martino was no angel," he said at last.
"He was an intravenous drug abuser. He used to push drugs at a local high school."
"Irrelevant. How sick was he?"
"Actually," Harvey replied, "Martino was cured."
"He didn't have AIDS?"
"Not any more. His last test showed he was HIV negative.
He was still undergoing more treatment, of course, but he was on his way to a full recovery."
"Interesting," Max said.
"To be frank," Harvey continued, "I wasn't crazy about treating Martino."
"Why not?"
"Because he was a lousy candidate. For one thing, he was a heroin addict." "Then why did you?" Sara asked.
"With so many good candidates willing to give anything a try, why would you choose Martino?"
"Because we wanted a cross section of patients not just gay men. So Bruce brought Martino in. Brace liked Martino. He believed in him." "And you didn't?" Sara continued.
Harvey shrugged.
"Intravenous drug abusers, by and large, are a rather sordid group. I confess I'm no big fan of treating IVDAs not for any moral reason but simply because they are unreliable data. Addicts cannot be trusted. On top of that, most of them are already unhealthy from a lifetime of abusing their bodies, which makes their chances of fighting the disease that much slimmer."
"Then what do you think killed him, Doctor?" Max asked.
"I don't know." He paused to gather his thoughts.
"I just don't understand it. I was in this room less than an hour ago."
"Before you got hit on the head?"
"Right before."
"And Martino appeared fine?"
"He was breathing, if that's what you mean. Look, Martino was not the healthiest man alive, but he had nothing that would have lead to an acute death like this. And with the prowler in here tonight and all... it just seems like a hell of a coincidence."
Max folded his arms across his chest, his face twisted in heavy thought.
"If Martino was murdered, it puts this whole thing in a new light."
"What do you mean?" Harvey asked.
"New M. O." for one," he answered.
"No stabbing," Sara agreed.
"But what about Brace?" Harvey said.
"He wasn't stabbed either."
Bernstein nodded slowly and began to pace.
"Let's slow down a minute. Five people are dead, four patients, one doctor. Three Trian, Whitherson, and Jenkins were stabbed to death under similar, though not identical, circumstances." "We know all this," Harvey said impatiently.
"Just bear with me, okay? What do the three patients have in common?"
"They were gay," Sara began, "and they were all being treated at the same AIDS clinic."
"Now add Martino to the list, assuming he too was murdered."
"Then we can rule out a gay basher," Harvey noted.
"Martino was heterosexual." His beeper went off.
"Damn, I have to go."
"I'll need to speak to you later," Max said.
"I also want to see your files on the murder victims."
Harvey nodded and left. Bernstein stopped pacing and looked toward Sara gently.
"You must be exhausted. Why don't you get some sleep?"
"I feel fine."
"Sara..."
"Don't start this shit with me, Max. Crying and moping around is not going to help. I need something to distract me."
Max nodded, understanding.
"Okay, where were we?"
"Riccardo Martino."
"Right. Add him into the equation and what makes them all similar?"