Robin Cook - Terminal

With the assistance of a harried resident in the emergency room who’d given them directions, it did not take Sean and Janet long to find the pathology department. Once there, Sean sought out another resident. He told Janet that between the residents and the nurses you could find out anything you wanted to know about a hospital.

“I’m not doing autopsies this month,” the resident said, trying to rush away.

Sean blocked his path. “How can I find out if a patient will be posted?” he asked.

“You have the chart number?” the resident asked.

“Just the name,” Sean said. “She died in the ER.”

“Then we probably won’t be autopsying the case,” the resident said. “ER deaths are usually assigned to the medical examiner.”

“How can I be sure?” Sean persisted.

“What’s the name?”

“Helen Cabot,” Sean said.

The resident graciously went over to a nearby wall phone and made a call. It took him less than two minutes to ascertain that Helen Cabot was not scheduled.

“Where do bodies go?” Sean asked.

“To the morgue,” the resident said. “It’s in the basement. Take the main elevators to B1 and follow the red signs with the big letter M on them.”

After the resident hurried on, Sean looked at Janet. “You game?” he asked. “If we find her then we’ll know her disposition for sure. We might even be able to get a little body fluid.”

“I’ve come this far,” Janet said with resignation.

Tom Widdicomb felt calmer than he had all day. At first he’d been dismayed when Janet had appeared with a young guy in a white coat, but then things took a turn for the better when the two went directly to the Miami General. Having worked there, Tom knew the place from top to bottom. He also knew that Miami General would be crowded with people at that time of day since formal visiting hours had just started. And crowds meant chaos. Maybe he would get his chance at Janet and wouldn’t even have to follow her home. If he had to shoot the fellow in the white coat, too bad!

Following the couple within the hospital had not been easy, especially once they went to pathology. Tom had thought he’d lost them and was about to return to the parking lot to keep an eye on the 4 x 4 when they suddenly reappeared. Janet came so close, he was sure she’d recognize him. He’d panicked, but luckily hadn’t moved. Fearing Janet would scream as she had in the Forbes residence, he’d gripped the pistol in his pocket. If she had screamed he would have had to shoot her on the spot.

But Janet glanced away without reacting. Obviously she’d failed to identify him. Feeling more secure, Tom followed the pair more closely. He even rode down in the same elevator with them, something he’d not been willing to do when they’d gone up to pathology.

Janet’s friend pushed the button for B1, and Tom was ecstatic. Of all the locations in Miami General, Tom liked the basement the best. When he’d worked at this hospital, he snuck down there many times to visit the morgue or to read the newspaper. He knew the labyrinthine tunnels like the back of his hand.

Tom’s anxiety about Janet recognizing him returned when everyone else but a doctor and a uniformed maintenance man got off on the first floor. But even with so slim a crowd to lose himself in, Janet failed to remember him.

As soon as the elevator reached the basement, the doctor and the maintenance man turned right and walked quickly away. Janet and Sean paused briefly, looking in both directions. Then they turned left.

Tom waited behind in the elevator until the doors began to shut. Bumping them open, he stepped out and followed the couple, keeping at a distance of about fifty feet. He slipped his hand in his pocket and gripped the gun. He even put his finger between the trigger and its guard.

The farther from the elevators the couple walked, the better Tom liked it. This was a perfect location for what he had to do. He couldn’t believe his luck. They were entering an area of the basement few people visited. The only sounds were their footfalls and the slight hissing of steam pipes.

“This place feels appropriately like Hades,” Sean said. “I wonder if we’re lost.”

“There haven’t been any turnoffs since the last M sign,” Janet said. “I think we’re okay.”

“Why do they always put morgues in such isolated places?” Sean said. “Even the lighting is getting lousy.”

“It’s probably near a loading dock,” Janet said. Then she pointed ahead. “There’s another sign. We’re on the right track.”

“I think they want their mistakes as far away as possible,” Sean quipped. “It wouldn’t be good advertising to have the morgue near the front entrance.”

“I forgot to ask how you made out with the medicine I got for you.”

“I haven’t gotten very far,” Sean admitted. “What I did was start a gel electrophoresis.”

“That tells me a lot,” Janet said sarcastically.

“It’s actually simple,” Sean said. “I suspect the medicine is made up of proteins because they have to be using some sort of immunotherapy. Since proteins all have electric charges, they move in an electrical field. When you put them in a specific gel, which coats them with a uniform charge, they move only in relation to their size. I want to find out how many proteins I’m dealing with and what their approximate molecular weight is. It’s a first step.”

“Just make sure you learn enough to justify the effort for getting it,” Janet said.

“I hope you don’t think you’re off the hook with this one sample,” Sean said. “Next time I want you to get some of Louis Martin’s.”

“I don’t think I can do it again,” Janet said. “I can’t break any more vials. If I do, they’ll be suspicious for sure.”

“Try a different method,” Sean suggested. “Besides, I don’t need so much.”

“I thought by bringing the whole vial you’d have plenty,” Janet said.

“I want to compare the medicines from different patients,” Sean said. “I want to find out how they differ.”

“I’m not sure they differ,” Janet said. “When I went up to Ms. Richmond’s office to get another vial, she took it from a large stock. I got the feeling they are all being treated by the same two drugs.”

“I can’t buy that,” Sean said. “Every tumor is distinct antigenically, even the same kind of tumor. Oat cell cancer from one person will be different antigenically from the same type of cancer from another. In fact, if it arises as a new tumor even in the same person it will be antigenically distinct. And antigenically distinct tumors require different antibodies.”

“Maybe they use the same drug until they biopsy the tumor,” Janet suggested.

Sean looked at her with renewed respect. “That’s an idea,” he said.

Finally they rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a large insulated door. A metal sign at chest level read: Morgue. Unauthorized Entry Forbidden . Next to the door were several light switches.

“Uh oh,” Sean said. “I guess they were expecting us. That’s a rather formidable bolt action lock. And I didn’t bring my tools.”

Janet reached out and yanked on the door. It opened.

“I take that back,” Sean said. “Guess they didn’t expect us. At least not today.”

A cool breeze issued from the room and swirled about their legs. Sean flipped on the lights. For a split second there was no response. Then raw fluorescent light blinked on.

“After you,” Sean said gallantly.

“This was your idea,” Janet said. “You first.”

Sean stepped in with Janet immediately following. Several wide, concrete supporting piers blocked a view of the entire space, but it was obviously a large room. Old gurneys littered the room haphazardly. Each bore a shrouded body. The temperature, according to a gauge on the door, was forty-eight degrees.