Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

With Debbie's help, she introduced the men to Kwong. It seemed clear the herbalist had no interest in any of them beyond having them leave him alone.

Matt immediately excused Sarah, Blankenship, and himself and led them to the other side of the street.

"Does the old guy know what's happening?" he whispered.

Sarah shrugged.

"He's not addled by any stretch," she said. "I suspect he has a pretty good idea of what's going on. But I'm not sure he understands that it all has to do with me, and not with him."

"He looks like he's spent more than his share of time with his lips curled around the stem of an opium pipe."

"So what? Opium is part of his culture. Any idea where Mallon is?"

"Nope. I expected him to be late, though. It's an old legal ploy to unnerve and annoy the other side. It's survived in the law game over the ages mostly because it works." He motioned them back to Kwong and the girl. "Debbie," he said kindly, "please apologize to your grandfather for our imposing on him, and promise that we will compensate him for the trouble and inconvenience."

The girl, dressed in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, was perhaps thirteen. She had a plain face and short, jet hair. Sarah was about to suggest that Matt choose words she was more likely to understand than impose and compensate, when the teen rattled off a translation to Kwong. The old man responded with no more than a grunt and a dismissive wave of his hand.

"He says that it is his pleasure to serve you, and that you need not think about paying him," Debbie said.

At that moment, a Lincoln Town Car pulled up at the end of the street. Sarah turned to Kwong to reassure him about the new arrivals.

"The pudgy guy's Sheriff Mooney," she heard Matt say to Eli, "and that tall guy-isn't he the one from the weight loss shows on TV?"

She groaned softly and looked back at the Lincoln. Peter Ettinger, ramrod straight, towering above Mallon and the sheriff, was staring down the narrow street, straight at her. Even in the pale, indirect morning sun, his silver hair looked almost phosphorescent.

"You bastard," she muttered to herself. This must be Mallon's expert witness.

She gave Kwong, who now looked somewhat confused, a gentle touch. Then she stood back and watched as the two groups of men, like combatants in some macabre sport, approached one another for introductions. She took the moment when Matt reached across to shake Peter's hand and froze it in her mind for future reference.

The county sheriff, the MCB chief of medicine, Peter, Matt, a bewildered old Chinese man, a precocious teen. The whole affair was suddenly taking on a carnival atmosphere. In just a few minutes, when the eight of them worked their way inside, things were bound to get even more bizarre. Kwong's shop was an impressive hodgepodge, with no clearly defined aisles. Eight people would be well beyond its critical mass.

Matt led the opposition back to where she was standing. Peter allowed himself to be introduced to her. He reached out his hand, but Sarah refused to take it.

"So," he said. "It appears we've gotten ourselves in a wee bit o' trouble." His smug expression was close to the one Sarah remembered from that last horrid day in his office.

"And it appears we've become even more overbearing and unpleasant than we used to be," she replied.

This isn't the wide-eyed earth child you brought back from the jungle, Peter, she was thinking. If it's a fight you're spoiling for, you're not going to be disappointed.

"You two know each other?" Matt said.

"Dr. Baldwin once did some work for me," Ettinger said quickly.

"Hard labor would be a more descriptive term, Matt. I'm not proud of it, but we lived together for three years before I woke up and jumped the wall."

"Lived together!" Matt exclaimed. "Mallon, what in the hell?"

In the second or two before Mallon responded, Sarah could see the confusion in his eyes. Peter hadn't told him! The bastard wanted to get back at her so badly, he hadn't said a word about their past.

"He-um-Mr. Ettinger is being used to help us organize our case," Mallon said, blustering. "We-we certainly never intended having him appear in court. He is serving us strictly in an advisory capacity."

"Well, I would certainly hope you can do better than a rebuffed suitor for your expert witness," Matt said. "I'd hate to have my job made that easy. Shall we go in and get this over with?"

Mallon said nothing. But it was clear from his stony expression that Matt had drawn blood, if only a drop or two.

"Nice going," Sarah whispered. "Now please, just make sure Mallon doesn't take it out on Mr. Kwong."

The vinyl ribbons were cut away, and the combatants, led by Kwong Tian-Wen and his granddaughter, filed into the herbalist's shop. Carnivale de Baldwina, Sarah mused. Sheriff Mooney, the ringmaster, in his white seersucker suit. Jeremy Mallon, snake and charmer in one. Eli Blankenship sans leopard skin, nearly spanning the narrow doorway. Peter Ettinger, the Human Stilt, ducking to enter. Carnivale de Baldwina. Once inside, Sarah noted with some pleasure that the protruding rafters kept The Stilt in a persistent hunch.

The shop was more cluttered and more fragrant than Sarah remembered. Stalks of wild reeds and dried flowers were everywhere, interspersed with barrels of roots, various ground flours, rice, and leaves. The old glass-front counter and the shelves behind it were packed with jars of widely varying sizes, shapes, and contents. One contained desiccated scorpions; another, huge beetles; still another, an eel in preservative. A few of the jars had labels handwritten in Chinese, but many of them had none.

Two somewhat mangy, long-haired cats, one pure white, the other black as chimney soot, huddled sleepily in one corner. And standing like a totem, or perhaps an exclamation point, in the center of the disarray, was a well-stocked wire display rack of Dr. Scholl's foot products.

"I don't think parading a jury into this place will help our cause too much," Blankenship whispered.

"Let's hope it never comes to that," Sarah said.

"Well, Counselor, how do you want to proceed?" Matt asked.

Mallon, apparently unaware that his Armani suit was backed up against a thick, dusty crop of dried sunflower stalks, made a visual survey of the shop that was theatrically slow and disparaging. Clearly, he was back on track.

"We have a list of the ingredients in Dr. Baldwin's supplement," he said finally. "One at a time, we'll ask for them. Mr. Kwong's granddaughter may translate if necessary. The sample will then be placed in two labeled evidence bags. The first will be sealed by Sheriff Mooney and the seal initialed by you or Dr. Baldwin. The second will be inspected by Mr. Ettinger, who will make what notes he wishes. Beginning later today, he will be working with a team of botanists and chemists to identify each component scientifically. Does that approach meet with your approval, Counselor?"

"Sarah, Eli, is that all right with you?" Matt asked.

"As a representative of the Medical Center of Boston, I would like to examine the specimens as well," Blankenship said.

"Do you know herbal medicine?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, a bit."

His half smile suggested that, as in many areas, what he considered a "bit" of knowledge made others experts.

She motioned Blankenship and Matt into a huddle.

"There's something I ought to explain," she whispered.

"To us or to everyone?"

"To everyone." She cleared some nervousness from her throat.

"Just be very careful," Blankenship warned. "Remember, they're the enemy."

"I understand. Mr. Mallon, before you start this process, I want to explain that I brought the composition of the mixture I use back with me from Southeast Asia. It was written out in Chinese by a brilliant herbalist and healer. I have a copy of that version here. It is this list Mr. Kwong has used to prepare the tea which I dispense. Some of the names on the list you have-the one I give to my patients-are my best guesses at the English equivalent of the roots and herbs he uses."