Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

“Anything quicker?”

“We’ve got some floppies and CD-ROMs back at headquarters programmed to search for passwords,” the woman said as she packed away her supplies. “I could give them a try. But we’d need a warrant.”

The prospect of learning what Victor had found out, like scent to a hound, unleashed a rush of adrenaline in Mark. “Great. I’ll come with you-”

Victor’s phone beside the computer started to ring. They all looked at each other. Mark took the initiative, and picked up the receiver. “Victor Feldt’s residence.”

“Victor?” It was a woman’s voice. She sounded young, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Who’s speaking, please?”

“I need to speak with Victor.”

“I’m Dr. Mark Roper. Can I know who’s speaking?”

“Dr. Roper? Is Victor all right?” She sounded alarmed.

“Can I know who’s speaking, please?”

“Oh, God, what’s happened?”

“Are you family-”

He was cut off by a dial tone.

He tried *69 to get the caller’s number.

It had been blocked.

“Don’t get too excited about our CD program helping you,” the technician said on her way out the door. “Whoever was at the keyboard after Victor might have gotten in and already trashed everything, or worse, substituted new data for old, which means the original is really gone.”

3:40 P.M.

Hampton Junction

A low gray sky had slid over the valley, as oppressive as a slab of cement.

“Earl, it’s Mark. How are you feeling?” He’d asked Lucy to drive so he could use the phone.

“Mark? Frankly, I don’t feel too good.”

He sounded groggy as hell. “I’m not surprised. Melanie told me what happened to you. Are you able to talk? It’s urgent.”

“Talk’s about all I can do.”

“You’re sure you’re able? I could call back.”

“Now you’ve got me dying of curiosity. Shoot!”

Mark briefly explained who Victor was and everything that had happened to him.

“You think he was killed because of what he discovered?” Earl asked at the finish. His voice had become hard-edged, with none of its previous languor.

“If so, it was very cleverly staged. Even the lividity matched how we found him.” The purplish discoloration where venous blood pooled, then clotted in the lowest points of the body during the first hours after death was an indelible record of the person’s position when he died. A pattern that didn’t conform to how the body lay would indicate someone had subsequently moved or repositioned the corpse. “I’ve arranged to do an autopsy on him tomorrow morning at Saratoga General, so I’ll be able to pick up obvious signs of foul play. And I’m going to screen his blood for every drug I can think of that could precipitate an MI. The lab people are going to scream, but I’m on my way there now to make sure I’ll have everything I’ll need. But there may be no signs or drugs to find.”

“And you’ve no idea what he turned up?”

“Nope.”

Earl exhaled into the phone. “How can your man and whatever he found have anything to do with Kelly’s murder?”

“I’ve no idea yet. We’re going to try and get into his computer.”

Silence reigned on the line.

“Earl?”

“I’m here. Just thinking, to see if I can put any of this together.”

“What you ought to be thinking about, with opportune comas and heart attacks going around, is if someone made you sick as well.”

More silence.

Finally, Earl said, “To be honest, I’ve started to wonder the same thing. My end of the investigation has sure as hell been sidelined, if that’s the motive.”

“I’m afraid it might not end at that.”

Again more silence.

“Anyone try to get near you who shouldn’t?”

“You mean like Braden? No.”

“Earl, get somebody you can trust to stay in your room. Can Janet join you?”

“I’m not putting her in danger.”

“Then hire a guard. Jesus, man, if we’re right, you’re a sitting duck.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re sure? Why don’t I make the arrangements?”

“I said I’ll take care of it. Got to hang up now. Goddamn nature calling!”

The line went dead.

“How is he?” Lucy asked.

“Not so good.”

“Hiring a guard, now that’s a good idea. Do you think he’ll do it?”

“I don’t know. But if he hasn’t by later tonight, I will.”

The Braden mansion came into view, all its parts coated in gleaming white, again reminding him of a bird, but iced over this time, trapped in midflight. And the limousines were gone. The lack of tracks in the drive meant they’d left during the night.

“Hunting season over?” Lucy said.

She drove in silence after that, her lips drawn in a tight line. As he watched her profile in the thin winter light, her skin seemed pale, translucent even. The tiny furrows at the corners of her eyes narrowed. “Mark, may I give you some advice?”

He smiled. Whenever a woman asked if she could give him advice, he inevitably got it, wanted or not.

“ You better take care,” she continued, without waiting for his permission.

“In what sense?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“How do you mean?”

“If you’re right about Bessie, Victor, and Dr. Garnet, you could be next.”

3:45 P.M.

New York City Hospital

Mark’s phone call and the news about Victor Feldt galvanized Earl, made him realize the extent this business might be a killing game. It sent his mind racing through possible scenarios – when he wasn’t writhing in pain.

If he’d been deliberately poisoned, and the bug was indeed E. coli 0157:H7 , then the normal incubation before the onset of symptoms was three to nine days, but sometimes as short as two. It could have been slipped into his food or drink anytime since he arrived in New York last Saturday up to Tuesday evening.

The reception? Unlikely, since no one else was sick – unless someone hired a rogue waiter to do the job. The same went for the hotel. But why increase the chances of getting caught by bringing in an outsider who might later blab everything to the police? The smart thing would be to act alone.

So when?

In the bustle of the hospital cafeteria? Someone could have been close to him in line, slipped something into his food or drink. But that raised other questions. How would the person have transferred the organism to his food? The easiest way to transport it would have been in water. But he would have noticed if someone had soaked his plate – unless it was added to an already full cup or glass. Or was in such a small quantity he wouldn’t have detected it. Still, the pouring move would be tricky, since the person would likely have used a sort of container and acted when nobody was looking. With a lot of people around, somebody else might easily see. No that wasn’t it-

“Dr. Garnet?” Tanya Wozcek poked her head in the door, greeting him with a big smile. “How are you feeling?”

The pain only lapped at his innards for the moment, temporarily spent. “Okay, I guess.” As she approached his bedside, he tensed.

She eyed his IV bags and checked the rate of flow. “Everything still what you’d expect?”

“Pretty much. Except I’m more goddamned weak than ever.”

She frowned. “I peeked at your test results. Potassium, lytes, and hematocrit – they all seem fine.”

“Well, I sure don’t.”

She studied him, her overly intense gaze flicking to the IV bottle and back to him again. The movement made him uneasy, and a chill swept through him. What did he know about her, anyway? He’d taken her word about her devotion to Bessie McDonald. What if the opposite were true? As Bessie’s nurse, she’d have had an easy time secretly injecting her with anything, including a dose of short-acting insulin. And what better way to mislead him, loudly voicing her suspicions and concern? No, it didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t have had to voice anything to cover up what happened to Bessie. Yet Tanya had raised his own doubts about the coma. If she just kept quiet, most likely he would have dismissed it as an unfortunate but plausible outcome for a woman with a history of strokes, exactly the way everyone else had. Then again, that could all have been a clever way of winning his trust, so she could get close to him.