10
Saturday Morning
It was still windy and rainy when Victor went out to the garage and got in his car. He’d breakfasted, showered, shaved, and dressed, and still no one else had stirred. After leaving a note explaining that he would be at the lab most of the day, Victor had left.
But he didn’t drive straight to the lab. Instead he headed west and got on Interstate 93 and drove south to Boston. In Boston he got off Storrow Drive at the Charles Street and Government Center exit. From there it was easy to drive onto the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and park in the multistory parking garage. Ten minutes later he was in the pathology department.
Since it was early Saturday morning none of the staff pathologists were available. Victor had to be content with a second-year resident named Angela Cirone.
Victor explained his wish to get a tumor sample from a patient that had passed away four years previously.
“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Angela said. “We don’t keep—”
Victor politely interrupted her to tell her of the special nature of the tumor and its rarity.
“That might make things different,” she said.
The hardest part was finding Janice Fay’s hospital record, since Victor did not know Janice’s birthday. Birthdates were the major method of cross-referencing hospital records. But persistence paid off, and Angela was able to find both the hospital record number as well as the pathology record. She was also able to tell Victor that a gross specimen existed.
“But I can’t give you any,” Angela said after all the effort they’d expended to find it. “One of the staff members is up doing frozens this morning. When he gets through, we can see if he’ll give authorization.”
But Victor explained about his son David’s death of the same rare cancer and his interest in examining Janice’s cancerous cells. When he tried to, he could be charming in a winning way. Within the space of a few minutes, he’d persuaded the young resident to help.
“How much do you need?” she asked finally.
“A tiny slice,” Victor said.
“I guess it can’t hurt,” Angela said.
Fifteen minutes later, Victor was on his way down the elevator with another small jar within a paper bag. He knew he could have waited for the staff man, but this way he could get to work more quickly. Climbing into his car, he left the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and headed north for Lawrence.
Arriving at Chimera, Victor called Able Protection. But he got a recording — it was Saturday, after all — and had to be content to leave his name and number. With that done, he searched for Robert, finding him already deeply involved with the project that Victor had started the night before, the separation of the section of David’s tumor DNA that differed from his normal DNA.
“You are going to hate me,” Victor said, “but I have another sample.” He took out the sample he had just gotten at Mass. General. “I want this DNA fingerprinted as well.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Robert said. “I like doing this stuff. You’ll just have to realize that I’m letting my regular work slide.”
“I understand,” Victor said. “For the moment this project takes priority.”
Taking the rat specimens that he’d prepared the night before, Victor made slides and stained them. While he was waiting for them to dry, a call came through from Able Protection. It was the same deep-voiced man whom Victor had dealt with earlier.
“First, I’d like to commend Mr. Norwell,” Victor said. “He did a great job last night.”
“We appreciate the compliment,” the man said.
“Second,” Victor said, “I need additional temporary security. But it’s going to require a very special person. I want someone with my son, VJ, from 6 A.M. until 6 P.M. And when I say I want someone with him, I mean constantly.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” the man said. “When do you want it to start?”
“As soon as you can send someone,” Victor answered. “This morning, if possible. My son is at home.”
“No problem. I have just the person. His name is Pedro Gonzales and I’ll send him on his way.”
Victor hung up and called Marsha at home.
“How did you sneak out without waking me this morning?” she asked.
“I never got to sleep last night after all the excitement,” Victor said. “Is VJ there?”
“He and Philip are still sleeping,” Marsha said.
“I’ve just made arrangements to have a security man stay with VJ all day. His name is Pedro Gonzales. He’ll be over shortly.”
“Why?” Marsha questioned, obviously surprised.
“Just to be one hundred percent sure he is safe,” Victor said.
“You’re not telling me something,” Marsha warned. “I want to know what it is.”
“It’s just to be sure he’s safe,” Victor repeated. “We’ll talk more about it later when I come home. I promise.”
Victor hung up the phone. He wasn’t about to confide in Marsha, at least not about his latest suspicions: that the Hobbs and Murray kids might have been deliberately killed. And that VJ could be killed the same way if anyone introduced cephaloclor to his system. With these thoughts in mind, he returned to the slides of the rat brains that he had drying and began to examine them in one of the light microscopes. As he expected, they appeared very similar to the slides of the children’s brains. Now there was no doubt in his mind that the children had indeed died from the cephaloclor in their blood. It was how they got the cephaloclor that was the question.
Removing the slides from the microscope, Victor went back to where Robert was working. They’d worked together so long, Victor could join in and help without a single word of direction from Robert.
After making herself a second cup of coffee, Marsha sat down at the table and looked out at the rainy day with its heavy clouds. It felt good not to have to go to the office, although she still had to make her inpatient rounds. She wondered if she should be more concerned than she was about Victor’s arranging for a bodyguard for VJ. That certainly sounded ominous. At the same time, it sounded like a good idea. But she was still sure there were facts that Victor was keeping from her.
Footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of both VJ and Philip. They greeted Marsha but were much more interested in the refrigerator, getting out milk and blueberries for their cereal.
“What are you two planning on doing today?” Marsha asked when they’d sat down at the table with her.
“Heading in to the lab,” VJ said. “Is Dad there?”
“He is,” Marsha said. “What happened about the idea of going to Boston for the day with Richie Blakemore?”
“Didn’t pan out,” VJ said. He gave the blueberries a shove toward Philip.
“That’s too bad,” Marsha said.
“Doesn’t matter,” VJ said.
“There is something I want to talk to you about,” Marsha said. “Yesterday I had a conversation with Valerie Maddox. Do you remember her?”
VJ rested his spoon in his dish. “I don’t like the sound of this. I remember her. She’s the psychiatrist whose office is on the floor above yours. She’s the lady with the mouth that looks like she’s always getting ready to kiss somebody.”
Philip laughed explosively, spraying cereal in the process. He wiped his mouth self-consciously while trying to control his laughter. VJ laughed himself, watching Philip’s antics.
“That’s not very nice,” Marsha said. “She is a wonderful woman, and very talented. We talked about you.”
“This is starting to sound even worse,” VJ said.