Robin Cook - Vector

Laurie wondered what he truly meant, but from previous experience, she knew better than to try to get him to explain. Besides, it was late. Instead she said, “I thought about Connie Davydov on the way home.”

“Did you come up with any new ideas?”

“I did,” Laurie said. “I thought of something else you could have Peter look for.”

“Good. What is it?”

“Botulinum toxin,” Laurie said. “It would have to be a high level, meaning she’d gotten a big dose.”

There was a silence.

“Jack, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jack said. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Laurie said. “What do you think about botulism as the cause of death?”

“To use your words, it seems far-fetched,” Jack said. “There were no cranial nerve or bulbar symptoms or, for that matter, any symptoms reported suggestive of botulism. Supposedly she walked into the bathroom and collapsed.”

“But botulinum toxin certainly depresses respiration and would cause cyanosis,” Laurie said.

“Yeah, but how many cases are there in a year?”

“More cases than of anthrax,” Laurie said. “And you just had one of those.”

“Okay, I get your point,” Jack said. “I’ll add it to the list along with the nitrates, nitrites, and sulfonamides that I’ll give to Peter in the morning.”

“Thanks for being there for me tonight,” Laurie said. “It meant a lot to me.”

“Hey, any time!” Jack said.

Laurie hung up the phone and snuggled briefly with Tom-2. The thought went through her mind that Jack would be so wonderful if he... if he didn’t act like Jack. Laurie laughed at the absurdity of the thought and got up to get ready for bed.

Wednesday, October 20

5:30 a.m.

Jack could not remember a time in his life when he’d been more preoccupied by so many disparate problems. First, there was Laurie, who confused him both in her behavior and his own reaction to it. After she’d left early that morning, he’d had a devil of a time getting to sleep. He kept mulling over everything she’d said and done in the previous forty-eight hours. He’d still been feeling guilty about his jealous reaction to her engagement news and angry at her response to his attempt at apology, when she’d arrived on his doorstep unannounced. He didn’t know what to make of it all.

And second, there were the two mysterious cases. Try as he might, he’d not been able to come up with an explanation of the grossly contaminated tiny star. As far as Connie Davydov was concerned, his strong suspicion that she’d been poisoned with a respiratory-depressant drug had been shot full of holes by the toxicology department, and despite several hours of reading and even more hours of thinking, he’d not been able to come up with a replacement theory. Laurie’s suggestion of methemoglobinemia was the only idea that he thought had even a slight chance of being correct.

The last problem that was weighing on Jack was the need to come up with some justification for his behavior at both the Brooklyn ME’s office and Strickland’s Funeral Home. Bingham had just bawled him out the day before for something that was tame by comparison. If and when Bingham got wind of what had happened in Brooklyn, he’d be livid, and would demand an explanation Jack was ill-prepared to give. For the first time in his career at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, he truly thought that come evening, he might be on forced administrative leave.

Not only did Jack have trouble getting to sleep, he also woke up earlier than usual. Still trying to come to terms with his various dilemmas, he bicycled to work just as dawn was breaking. That gave him an hour to work in his office before going down to the ID room.

When he arrived, Vinnie Amendola was in the process of making coffee, and Dr. George Fontworth had just begun looking over the cases that had come in during the night.

“Excuse me, George,” Jack said. “What kind of day does it look like autopsy-wise: heavy or light?”

George’s sleepy eyes ran down his list.

“I’d say the light side of normal.”

“Good,” Jack said. “I’d like to take a paper day if you wouldn’t mind.” A paper day was when one of the medical examiners chose not to do any autopsies, but rather, took the time to catch up on his never-ending paperwork. Normally paper days were scheduled in advance.

“What’s the matter?” George asked. “Are you ill?”

George wasn’t being sarcastic. It was well known around the office that Jack was a glutton for punishment when it came to doing postmortems. He did more than anyone else, and by choice. When anyone asked why, he said that keeping himself busy kept him out of trouble.

“Health-wise, I’m fine,” Jack said. “I’ve just got a lot of things piling up.”

“I don’t see it being a problem,” George said accommodatingly. “Of course, it might be a different story if someone calls in sick at the last moment.”

“If that happens,” Jack said, “just give a shout.”

Jack walked over to the coffeepot.

“Are you finished yet, maestro?” Jack asked Vinnie.

“You can have a cup in two seconds,” Vinnie said.

“Do you have any idea when Peter Letterman usually arrives?” Jack asked.

“The toxicology lab opens officially at nine,” Vinnie said. “But I happen to know that Peter gets in early, usually before eight.”

“Gosh, he spends a lot of time here,” Jack commented.

“You should talk,” Vinnie said.

With coffee in hand, Jack went back to the elevator to return to his office. He was surprised to run into Laurie, who was just arriving. Jack looked at his watch. He was amazed to see her.

“This is early for you, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It is,” Laurie admitted. “I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going to concentrate on work for a while. It’s something I always do when I’m upset about something.”

“I see,” Jack said. He wasn’t sure if he should ask her what she was upset about or not.

“I want to thank you again for last night,” Laurie said. “You really helped.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Jack said.

“You were there and you made me feel comfortable,” Laurie said. “You acted like a friend, and that was what I needed.”

They boarded the elevator. Jack pushed the button for the fifth floor.

“Do you want to tell me what happened at your dinner last night?” Jack asked hesitantly.

Laurie smiled. “Not yet. I’ve got to process it a bit more myself. But thanks for asking.”

Jack smiled weakly He shifted his weight. It was amazing how easily Laurie could make him feel uncomfortably awkward.

“Are you going to work on your mystery cases today?” Laurie asked.

“I’m going to try,” Jack said. “Any other ideas for me about Connie Davydov?”

“Only what I gave you last night,” Laurie said.

“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to tell me,” Jack said. “I might need it to keep the bounty hunters at bay.”

Laurie nodded. She knew what Jack was referring to.

They walked down the corridor together. When they got to Jack’s door they stopped.

“There is one thing I’d like to say,” Laurie offered. “I want to apologize for the way I acted when you and Lou told me about Paul yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t happy to hear it, but as you suggested, I was taking it out on the messengers. You two were right to tell me, although I’m not sure Lou was right to look it up in the first place.”

“Jealousy makes people do strange things,” Jack said. “And I’m speaking for myself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Laurie said. “And good luck today.”