Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

Again, his laugh became a choking cough.

"What's the problem?" Athanoulos asked, still irritated and now a bit impatient as well.

"The files ain't here. It says right here on the top that they're supposed to be. In my handwriting, too."

"Could they be somewhere else?"

"If you think that, you don't know me. I'll look-it'll take some time, but I'll look."

"Do that, please," Athanoulos said. "I'll check with some of the other scientists and lab techs about this Fezler."

"And also with personnel," Rosa said. "Clete, do you know when and why Warren Fezler left BIO-Vir?"

"I'd say it was six years ago at least. Maybe more. I'm not really sure why. Except I think he got sick."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know for sure." He rubbed at his chin in a way that any one of his charges might have done. "He went from being this roly-poly guy to being not much but skin and bones. I guess that's why. The chimps stopped bouncing on him because to tell ya the truth, there was nothing much left to bounce on."

Rosa and Mulholland exchanged quick glances. The previous evening, she had shared with him the contents of Constanza Hidalgo's diary and the discovery that Hidalgo, Alethea Worthington, and Lisa Grayson had all lost massive amounts of weight.

"I shall learn what I can about this incredible shrinking man and his work," Athanoulos said as they left the storage room and headed down the hall. "And I shall get back to you as soon as possible."

"That's much appreciated," Rosa said absently.

Behind her wide glasses, Rosa's brown eyes narrowed as she worked at connecting some thoughts. They had reached the elevator when she stopped short, whirled, and called back to Cletus Collins.

"Clete, tell me something. Do you remember anything else about Warren Fezler? Anything unusual at all?"

"I don't understand what you…" The animal keeper suddenly broke into a broad grin. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I think I know what you're getting at. It was the way he talked. He couldn't get his words out-especially when he was upset or something. He… I can't think of the word for it, but you know-"

"I do know, Clete," she said intently. "He stuttered, didn't he?"

"Yeah, that's it," Cletus Collins said. "He stuttered. He stuttered like goddamn Porky Pig."

October 27

"Okay now," Sarah said, "This is one of the two delivery rooms on our unit. For those women who want it, and have no risks or complications, we also have a birthing room that's quite a bit less formal. I'll show you that later."

The three third-year medical students shifted nervously as they stared about at the monitoring equipment, the gleaming anesthesia apparatus, and the delivery table. Before their ten-week clerkship in OB/Gyn was over, each would perform an unassisted delivery from start to finish-possibly a number of them. The MCB rotation offered more responsibility and clinical opportunities than was customary at other hospitals, and therefore was very much in demand. One of Sarah's duties as the next chief resident was supervision of the med students.

"Are there any questions so far?" she asked.

"Do you do any home births?" one student asked.

"Two of us residents do home births with a staff person along just in case of problems."

There was no point in adding that she had been asked by her chief resident not to do any further home deliveries until the charges against her had been resolved.

"I've heard of you," a second said. "I have an interest in alternative therapies. Do you teach acupuncture?"

"I'm afraid I haven't time for any formal classes. But feel free to join me at the pain clinic. I'll give you my schedule later. Anything else before we move on to the outpatient department?"

"Yes," said the third student, motioning down the corridor. "The man who just came out of that room. Isn't he the Herbal Weight Loss guy from television?"

Sarah whirled. Peter Ettinger had just left Annalee's room and was stalking toward her. His fists were balled at his side. His face was crimson, and so taut with anger that he actually looked to be snarling. The medical students stepped back a pace. Sarah forced herself to hold her ground.

"Why didn't you call me?" Ettinger snapped. "Why did I have to search all over the city before I found my daughter?"

"If you'd like to speak with me, I think we should do so in the office," Sarah said.

"There's no need to do any speaking. I want my daughter released immediately from this… this poor excuse for a hospital. What in the hell are you putting into her body anyway?"

"Peter, please. Let's go someplace where we can sit down and talk about this like adults."

Ettinger glanced over at the students, whose name tags identified them all as M.S. III.

"What's the matter?" he said. "Are you worried these virginal medical minds will be soiled by learning what you do to patients? Tell them what's going on. Tell them exactly what it is you're dripping into my daughter's body. Go ahead, tell them. I'll just listen in."

Sarah bit at her lower lip and tried to think of some way out of the situation. She was no match for Peter's intensity, anger, and charisma. With his loathing for western medicine, he had honed his arguments through countless presentations and organized debates. Now he had her in a corner.

A few yards away, two nurses stopped to watch. Perhaps either recognizing Peter or sensing Sarah's discomfiture, neither made any move to intervene. Sarah took a deep, calming breath and turned to the students.

You want it, Peter? You got it.

"Mr. Ettinger's daughter, Annalee, is a twenty-three-year-old para one, gravida zero," she said evenly. "That means this is her first pregnancy. The date of her L.M.P.-last menstrual period-is uncertain. But by ultrasound and other studies, she appears to be in her thirty-fourth week. The fetus is female, approximately twenty-four hundred grams. That's about five and a half pounds. Annalee was admitted to our unit the day before yesterday in premature labor, with contractions varying from fifteen minutes apart to seven minutes. Her membranes are intact, her cervix is closed, and she is nontoxic-that is, without evidence of infection. An amniocentesis, done yesterday, has disclosed fetal surfactant levels that are slightly below normal. That means that the baby's lungs should be all right if she is delivered now. But each day we can keep the child in utero gives her that much better of a chance." She now turned a bit toward Peter, grateful that he had allowed her to get this far uninterrupted.

"Dr. Snyder, her private physician, is the chief of OB/Gyn," she continued. "He is attempting to arrest her labor with terbutaline, a beta adrenergic agonist. So far, she has responded somewhat to treatment, although she continues to have some regular uterine contractions. Now, Mr. Ettinger, if you'll excuse us, we have a visit to make to the outpatient department. Dr. Snyder is in the hospital. If you have any further questions, I suggest you contact him."

"I've called an ambulance," Ettinger said. "I have discussed the situation with my daughter. She wishes to leave this hospital immediately. I'm making arrangements for her to be evaluated at White Memorial prior to returning home with me."

Sarah was stunned. "I don't believe she would agree to that."

"Ask her yourself if you wish," Ettinger said snidely. "Beta adrenergic agonists, indeed." He looked at the three medical students with withering scorn. "The answers are not in your Physicians' Desk References, or your fancy tests, or your beta adrenergic agonists," he said. "They are in the minds and spirits of your patients. Keep your minds open to that, and as your careers progress, you will come to understand what I mean. And someday, when one of your superiors tells you to give a patient some drug or other that a pharmaceutical salesman has convinced him to use, you will turn to him and simply say 'Why?' "