Michael Baden - Remains Silent

“Who won?” Jake asked.

“Guess. But damn it, if I’d been the lawyer, there’d have been a different verdict.”

“I found the same army mescaline, EA-1298, developed at the Edgewood Arsenal Military Base that allegedly killed that tennis pro in your skeletons,” Hans said. “It and other variations are delineated by code numbers that mean not to be used on humans. Ha! The world hasn’t changed, only the level of the cover-ups.”

“Didn’t President Nixon order all chemical and bacteriological weapons destroyed?”

Galt’s eyes shone. “Glad you asked.” He produced a copy of a memo regarding CIA activities at Fort Detrick in Maryland, signed by Donald F. Chamberlain, Inspector General of the United States, and read it aloud: “On 25 November 1969, President Nixon ordered the Department of Defense to recommend plans for the disposal of existing stocks of bacteriological weapons. On 14 November 1970, he included all toxic weapons. It is our understanding that these materials were destroyed in compliance with President Nixon’s directives. We cannot, however, locate the records that establish this fact.”

“So for all we know, bacteriological experiments are still going on,” Jake said.

“But why?” Manny asked. “Our government’s not monstrous, at least not most of the time. And even if they were, how could they recruit the scientists to do it?”

“Self-preservation,” Hans said. “Enemies were doing mind-control experiments to get our secrets. We had to know how to counteract them. Again, it’s nothing new. In the seventeen hundreds, Lord Jeffrey Amherst gave American Indians blankets soaked in smallpox. You might argue that it led to a cure for the disease.”

“Or that it killed many Indians.” Manny was at her boiling point. She stood. “Come on, Jake. Time to go to work.”

“I don’t have to go in. Pederson’s concerned that since the mob missed me at home, they’ll try again at the office. He’s given me a few days off until they figure out what to do with me.”

“We have our own corpses to worry about. We’ll work on our investigation.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “First, though, home. I’m not going out again without makeup. Thank you, Mr. Galt. I haven’t had this much education since the autopsy.”

THEY BOUGHT CHINOS and a sweatshirt for Jake on the way home, then slept for three hours, made love, showered, dressed, and emerged into blazing sunlight. My idea of a perfect morning, Manny thought.

“Wouldn’t Pete be appalled if he knew the story behind the bones,” Jake said. “He took it hard that there was a young woman’s skeleton. Imagine how much worse if he’d realized she was poisoned.”

They were on the steps of the public library. Manny wanted to see if they could find anything in the Church Committee hearings that would lead back to Turner Psychiatric.

The librarian in the subbasement microfiche room told them she was required to log in any documents they reviewed or copied. “Courtesy of the Patriot Act,” she said. “In case you two are terrorists, the government can hunt you down.”

“The army sanctioned the mescaline and LSD experiments Hans told us about as early as 1952,” Jake said, reading through a file on the period. “Listen to this: “There is ample evidence in the reports of innumerable interrogations that the Communists were using drugs, physical duress, electric shock and possibly hypnosis against their enemies. With such evidence, it is difficult not to keep from becoming rabid about our apparent laxity. We are forced by this mounting evidence to assume a more aggressive role in the development of these techniques, but must be cautious to maintain strict inviolable control because of the havoc that could be wrought by such techniques in unscrupulous hands.

“Jesus, the guy was a physician. Hadn’t he heard of the Hippocratic oath?”

“They put LSD in cigarettes with a tuberculin needle and syringe,” Manny exclaimed, looking at the same disc over his shoulder. “Also in ice cream. They even specified the flavor: chocolate.”

“To hide the taste of the LSD,” Jake said.

Manny remembered the historical information she’d read at the Academie. “Turner had an ice cream parlor and a dairy farm. Do you think-?”

“Could be a coincidence,” Jake said. “We need more.”

They opened documents at random. Much of the information had been redacted with swipes of a black Magic Marker.

“Imagine what we’d find if we could see everything,” Manny commented. “Too bad the Freedom of Information Act doesn’t mean what it says.” She looked at Jake. He was frowning, preoccupied. “What is it?”

“I’m remembering Pete. He testified for the army in the case of a doctor accused of using curare on his patients, five of whom died. Harrigan was called by the prosecution. But under cross examination by the defense, he surprisingly said he didn’t think the curare caused the deaths. He later told me something I consider gospel: ‘Science doesn’t take sides.’ The doctor was acquitted. It says here that curare was one of the drugs the government used in experiments.

“No matter how angry you are, no matter how much it looks like there were secret experiments performed at Turner, we still need scientific evidence.”

She curtsied. “Yes, your lordship.”

They worked through the afternoon, Jake leaving only for a while, to make a brief visit to Sam. They found nothing that directly related to Turner. Jake’s cell phone rang. Manny couldn’t overhear the conversation, but Jake seemed pleased. He stood. “Commissioner Melody said I could go back home later today. There’s a mason coming to fix the wall at five. It won’t be habitable, but I’ll get some fresh clothes and pick you up for dinner around seven-thirty. Okay?”

She smiled to hide a spasm of alarm. I’ll be alone. Everyone I pass, everyone I talk to, will seem threatening now. “I’d like to meet you there instead. See that they put your house back right. We’ll eat dinner in your neighborhood then go back to my place.”

I like her place, Jake thought. “Sounds good.”

It’s as if nothing ever happened here, thought Manny, walking up the steps to the brownstone. The hole had been bricked in, the damaged cars had been removed, the air was clear of smoke, the street was quiet.

Jake opened the door before she had a chance to knock. “Looking for me out the window?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for anyone who might be looking for you. Melody released my building as a crime scene and removed the guards. This place is unprotected.”

She fought back an impulse to turn and run. “Then come home with me. My building has a doorman. We’ll be safer there.”

“Give me half an hour.”

“Why? Aren’t you scared?”

“We’ll be safe in the cellar.”

“The cellar?”

“When I saw Sam today- by the way, he’s okay and will be out of Lenox Hill in a day or two- he told me he made the sheriff wait outside for a few extra minutes before removing Harrigan’s items. As he was on the phone with me, he saw a box that caught his eye. Pete had written my name on it, so he figured it contained things he wanted me to have- mementos from our days together. So he put the box next to the safe, under the autopsy aprons. I want to go through it before we leave.”

Sometimes he can be infuriating. We’re in danger, and he wants to go through mementos? “Can’t it wait?”

“Maybe it isn’t just mementos. There may be something in it we need, some clue as to what Pete wanted to share with me before he died.”

“Why not take the box with us?”

“Too dangerous. Someone could be watching us even now. Besides, you want to walk into a restaurant carrying specimen jars?”