Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

“Well, I didn’t give up there,” Gertrude said. “Not on your life. When I get committed to something, I don’t let it rest. So I went back through all the old handwritten cards from when the library was first organized. It was frustrating, but I did find another reference more by luck than anything else except perseverance. For the life of me I cannot figure out why it wasn’t included in the main library index.”

Kim’s hopes brightened. Following the trail of Elizabeth’s evidence was like riding an emotional roller coaster. “Is the work still here?” she asked.

“Heavens, no,” Gertrude said indignantly. “If it were, it would have been in the computer. We run a tight ship here. No, the final reference I found indicated that it had been sent to the Medical School in 1826 after being here for less than a year. Apparently no one knew where to put the material. It’s all very mysterious because there wasn’t even an indication of what category it belonged to.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Kim said with frustration. “Searching for this book or whatever it might be is getting too much. It’s becoming a bad joke.”

“Buck up!” Gertrude ordered. “I went through a lot of effort on your behalf. I even called over to the Countway Medical Library and spoke to John Moldavian, who’s in charge of rare books and manuscripts. I told him the story, and he assured me he’d look right into it.”

After thanking Gertrude, Kim went back to Harvard Square and reboarded the Red Line for Boston.

It was now rush hour, and Kim had to squeeze onto the train. There were no seats so she had to stand. As the train thundered over the Longfellow Bridge, Kim began to think seriously about giving up the whole Elizabeth quest. It had been like chasing a mirage. Every time she thought she was getting close, it turned out to be a false lead.

Climbing into her car in the MGH garage, Kim started the engine and then thought about the heavy traffic she’d be facing on her way out to Salem. At that hour just getting through the Leverett Circle interchange would probably take close to a half hour.

With a change of heart, Kim turned her car in the opposite direction and headed for the Countway Medical Library. She’d decided she might as well follow up on Gertrude’s lead rather than sit in traffic.

John Moldavian seemed perfectly suited for work in a library. He was a soft-spoken, gentle man whose love for books was immediately apparent by the affectionate and caring manner he handled them.

Kim introduced herself and mentioned Gertrude’s name. John responded immediately by searching for something among the clutter on his desk.

“I’ve got something here for you,” he said. “Where in the devil did I put it?”

Kim watched him as he shuffled through his papers. He had a thin face dominated by heavy black-framed glasses. His thin mustache looked almost too perfect, as if it had been drawn with an eyebrow pencil.

“Is the Rachel Bingham work here at the library?” Kim hazarded to ask.

“No, it’s no longer here,” John said. Then his face brightened. “Ah, here’s what I wanted.” He lifted a single sheet of copy paper.

Kim silently sighed. So much for the Gertrude lead, she thought.

“I looked through the Medical School Library records for 1826,” John said. “And I found this reference to the work you’re seeking.”

“Let me guess,” Kim said. “It was sent somewhere else.”

John regarded Kim over the top of the paper he was holding. “How did you guess?” he asked.

Kim gave a short laugh. “It’s been a pattern,” she said. “Where did it go from here?”

“It went to the Department of Anatomy,” John said. “Of course today it is called the Department of Cell Biology.”

Kim shook her head in disbelief. “Why on earth would it have been sent there?” she asked rhetorically.

“I’ve no idea,” John said. “The entry I found was rather strange. It was in the form of a hastily handwritten card that had apparently been attached to the book or manuscript or drawing. I made you a copy.” John handed the paper to Kim.

Kim took it. It was hard to read, forcing her to turn herself in order to take advantage of the light coming through the window. It seemed to say: Curiosity by Rachel Bingham contrived in 1691. Looking at the word “curiosity” reminded Kim of Mary Custland telling her that a “repository of curiosities” had been lost in the 1764 fire, suggesting that the Rachel Bingham work had been a part of that collection. Thinking back to Jonathan’s letter to his father, Kim surmised that the handwriting she was now looking at was Jonathan’s. In her mind’s eye she could see a nervous Jonathan Stewart rapidly scribbling the card in a panic to get out of the tutor’s chamber where he’d surreptitiously entered to change the name to Rachel Bingham. Had he been discovered he probably would have been asked to leave the college.

“I called over to the department chairman,” John said, interrupting Kim’s ruminations. “He referred me to another gentleman by the name of Carl Nebolsine, who’s the curator in charge of the Warren Anatomical Museum. So I called him. He told me that if I wanted to see the exhibit to come over to the administration building.”

“You mean he has it?” Kim asked with disbelief.

“Apparently so,” John said. “The Warren Anatomical Museum is on the fifth floor of building A, catty-corner from the front of the library. Are you interested in going over there?”

“By all means,” Kim said. She could feel her pulse quicken at the thought that she might finally have found Elizabeth’s evidence.

John reached for his phone. “Let’s see if Mr. Nebolsine is still over there. He was a little while ago, but I believe he has several offices. Apparently he takes care of a number of the smaller museums and collections sprinkled around the Harvard community.”

John had a quick conversation in the middle of which he gave Kim a thumbs-up sign. Hanging up, he said, “You’re in luck. He’s still there, and he’ll meet you in the museum if you head over there immediately.”

“I’m on my way,” Kim said. She thanked John and quickly crossed to building A, a Greek Revival structure faced with a massive pediment supported by Doric columns. A guard stopped her just inside the door but then waved her on when he spotted her MGH identity card.

Kim got off on the fifth floor. The museum, such as it was, was tucked along the wall to the left and consisted of a series of glass-fronted display cases. They contained the usual collection of primitive surgical instruments capable of making a stoic wince, old photos, and pathological specimens. There were lots of skulls, including one with a hole through the left eye socket and the top of the forehead.

“That’s quite an interesting case,” a voice said. Kim looked up to see a much younger man than she’d expected for a museum curator. “You must be Kimberly Stewart. I’m Carl Nebolsine.” They shook hands.

“See that rod in there?” Carl said, pointing at a five-foot-long steel rod. “That’s called a tamping rod. It was used to pack powder and clay into a hole drilled for the purpose of blasting. One day a hundred or so years ago that rod went through that man’s head.” Carl pointed to the skull. “The amazing thing is that the man lived through it.”

“Was he all right?” Kim asked.

“It says his personality wasn’t as agreeable after he’d recovered from the trauma, but whose would be?” Carl said.

Kim scanned some of the other exhibits. In the far corner she spotted some books on display.

“I understand you’re interested in the Rachel Bingham exhibit,” Carl said.

“Is it here?” Kim asked.