Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt Read online

  you were free tonight." She lowered her voice, turning her back on

  Claudia's unwavering stare. "I'm having an impromptu dinner party

  tonight with several Harvard Business School acquaintances. I'd like you

  to join us. How about it?"

  Jason immediately regretted having made plans to eat with Alvin Hayes.

  If only he'd agreed to see the man for drinks.

  "I know it's short notice," Shirley added, sensing Jason's hesitation.

  "That's not the problem. The trouble is that I promised to have dinner

  with Alvin Hayes."

  "Our Dr. Hayes?" Shirley said with obvious surprise.

  "None other. I know it sounds peculiar, but he seemed almost distraught.

  And though he's hardly been friendly, I felt sorry for the man. Dinner

  was my suggestion."

  "Damn!" Shirley said. "You'd have enjoyed this group. Well, next time ..

  "I'll take a rain check," Jason said. She was about to leave when he

  remembered his conversation with Roger Wanamaker. "I probably should

  tell you I'm going to call a staff -meeting. A number of patients have

  died of coronary disease which our physicals have missed. As acting

  chief of service I thought I should look into it. Dropping dead within a

  month of receiving a clean bill of health from us doesn't make for good

  PR."

  "Dear God," Shirley said. "Don't go spreading rumors like that!"

  "Well, it's a bit unnerving when someone you've examined with all your

  resources and declared essentiary healthy comes back to the hospital

  with a catastrophic condition and dies. Avoiding such an . 44

  event is the whole purpose of the executive physical. I think we should

  try to increase the sensitivity of our stress testing."

  ",Am admirable goal," Shirley agreed. "All I ask is that you keep it low

  key. Our executive physicals play a major role in our campaign to lure

  some of the larger corporate clients in the area. Let's keep this an

  in-house issue."

  "Absolutely," said Jason. "Sorry about tonight."

  The too," Shirley said, lowering her voice. "I didn't think Dr. Hayes

  socialized much. What's up with him?"

  "It's a mystery to me," Jason admitted, "but I'll let you know."

  "Please," Shirley said. "I'm one of the main reasons GHP hired the man.

  I feel- responsible. Talk to you soon." She moved off, smiling to nearby

  patients.

  Jason watched her for a moment, then caught Claudia's stare. She

  guiltily looked down at her work. Jason wondered if the secret was out.

  With a shrug he went back to his last two patients.

  Late fall in Boston was an exhilarating season for Jason despite the

  bleak winter it heralded. Dressed in his Indiana Jones-style fedora and

  his "lived-in" Burberry trench coat, he was adequately protected fi-om

  the chilly October night.

  Gusts of wind blew the yellowed remains of the elm leaves around Jason's

  feet as he trudged up Mt. Vernon Street and passed through the columned

  passageway under the State House. Crossing the Government Center

  promenade, he skirted the Faneuil Hall Marketplace with its street

  performers and entered the North End, Boston's Little Italy. People were

  everywhere: men standing on street comers and talking with animated

  gestures; women leaning out the windows gossiping with their friends on

  the opposite side of the street. The air was filled with the smell of

  ground coffee and almond-flavored baked goods. Like Italy itself, the

  neighborhood was a delight to the senses..

  Two blocks down Hanover Street, Jason turned right and quickly found

  himself in sight of Paul Re- vere's modest wood clapboard house. The

  cobblestoned square was defined by a heavy black nautical chain looped

  between metal stanchions. Directly across from Paul Revere's house was

  Carbonara, one of Jason's favorite restaurants. There were two other

  restaurants in the square but neither was as good as the Carbonara. He

  mounted the front steps and was greeted by the maltre d', who led him to

  his table by the front window, affording him a view of the quaint

  square. Like many Boston locations the scene had an unreal quality, as

  though it were the set for some theme park.

  Jason ordered a bottle of Gavi white wine and munched on a dish of

  antipasto while waiting for Hayes to appear. Within ten minutes, a cab

  pulled up and Hayes got out. For a few moments after the cab had left,

  he just stood on the sidewalk and -peered back up North Street from the

  direction he had come. Jason watched, wondering what the man was waiting

  for. Eventually, he turned and entered the restaurant.

  As the mattre d' escorted him to the table, Jason noted how out of place

  Hayes seemed in the elegant decor and among the fashionably dressed

  diners.

  In place of his stained lab coat, Hayes was wearing a baggy tweed jacket

  with a torn elbow patch. He seemed to be having trouble walking, and

  Jason wondered if the man had been drinking.

  Without acknowledging Jason's presence, Hayes threw himself into the

  empty seat and stared out the window, again looking up North Street. A

  couple had appeared, strolling arm in arm. Hayes watched them until they

  disappeared from view down Prince Street. His eyes still appeared

  glassy, and Jason noted that a web of new, red capillaries had spread

  out over his nose like a sea fan. His skin was pale as ivory, not too

  dissimilar to Harring's when Jason had seen him in the CCU. It seemed

  certain that Hayes was not well.

  Fumbling in one of the bulging pockets of his tweed jacket, Hayes

  brought out a crumpled pack of unfiltered Camels. He lit one with

  trembling hands and said, his eyes glittering with some strong emotion,

  "Someone is following me."

  Jason wasn't sure how to react. "Are you sure?"

  "No doubt," Hayes said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. A

  smoldering ash fell onto the white tablecloth. "A dark guy, smooth-a

  sharp dresser, a foreigner," he added with venom.

  "Does that make you concerned?" Jason asked, trying to play

  psychiatrist.

  Apparently, on top of everything else, Hayes was acutely paranoid.

  "Christ, yes!" Hayes shouted. A few heads turned and Hayes lowered his

  voice. "Wouldn't you be upset if someone wanted to kill you?"

  "Kill you?" Jason echoed, now sure Hayes had gone mad.

  "Absolutely positive. And my son, too."

  "I didn't know you had a son," Jason said. In fact, he hadn't even been

  aware Hayes was married. It was rumored in the hospital that Hayes

  frequented the disco scene on the rare occasions he wanted distraction.

  Hayes_ mashed out his cigarette in the ashtray, cursed under his breath,

  and lit another, blowing the smoke away in short, nervous puffs. Jason

  realized that Hayes was at the breaking point and he'd have to tread

  carefully. The man was about to decompensate.

  "I'm sorry if I sound dumb," Jason said, "but I would like to help. I

  presume that's why you wanted to talk to me. And frankly, Alvin, you

  don't look too well."

  Hayes leaned the back of his right wrist on his forehead, his elbow on

  the table. His lit cigarette was dangerously close to his dishevele
d

  hair.

  Jason was tempted to move either the hair or the cigarette; he, didn't

  want the man lighting himself- like a pyre. But fearful of Hayes's

  distraught state, he did neither.

  "Would you gentlemen like to order?" asked a waiter, silently

  materializing at the table.

  "For Christ's sake!" Hayes snarled, his head popping up. "Can't you see

  we're talking?"

  "Excuse me, sir," the waiter said, bowing and moving off.

  After taking a deep breath, Hayes returned his attention to Jason. "So I

  don't look well?"

  "No. Your color isn't good, and you seem exhausted as well as upset."

  "Ah, the clairvoyant clinician," Hayes said sarm castically. Then he

  added, "I'm sorry-I don't mean to be nasty. You're right. I'm not

  feeling well. In fact, I'm feeling terrible."

  "What's the problem?"

  "Just about everything. Arthritis, GI upset, blurred vision. Even dry

  skin.

  My ankles itch so much they're driving me insane. My body is literally

  falling apart."

  "Perhaps it would have been better to meet in my office," Jason said.

  "Maybe we should check you po out.

  "Maybe later-but that's not why I wanted to see you. It may be too late

  for me, anyway, but if I could save my son ..." He broke off, pointing

  out the window. 'There he is!"

  Twisting in his seat, Jason barely caught sight of a figure disappearing

  up North Street. Turning back to Hayes, Jason asked, "How could you tell

  it was him?"

  "He's been following me from the moment I left GHP. I think he plans on

  killing me."

  With no way to tell fact from delusion, Jason studied his colleague. The

  man was acting weird, to put it mildly, but the old cliche "even

  paranoids have enemies" echoed in his brain. Maybe someone was in fact

  following Hayes. Fishing the chilled bottle of Gavi Erorn the ice

  bucket, Jason poured Hayes a glass and filled his own. "Maybe you'd

  better tell me what this is all about."

  Tossing back the wine as if it were a shot of aquavit, Hayes wiped his

  mouth with the back of his hand. "It's such a bizarte story ... How

  about a little more of the wine?"

  Jason refilled the glass as Hayes continued. "I don't suppose you know

  too much of what my research interests are ..."I have some idea."

  "Gr-owth and development," Hayes said. "How genes turn on and off. Like

  puberty; what turns on the appropriate genes. Solving the problem would

  be a major achievement. Not only could we potentially influence growth

  and development, but we'd probably be able to 'turn off' cancers, or,

  after heart attacks,'turn on'cellular division to create new cardiac

  muscle.

  Anyway, in simplified terms, the turning on and off of growth and

  development genes has been my major interest. But like so often in

  reseamh, serendipity played a role. About four months ago, in the

  process of my reseamh I stumbled onto an unexpected discovery, ironic

  but astounding. I'm talking about a major scientific breakthrough.

  Believe me: it is Nobel material."

  Jason was willing to suspend disbelief, although he wondered if Hayes

  was exhibiting symptoms of a delusion of grandeur to go along with his

  paranoia.

  "What was your discovery?"

  "Just a moment," Hayes said. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and

  pressed his right hand against his chest.

  "Arr. you all right?" Jason asked. Hayes appearrd to have become a shade

  grayer, and a line of perspiration had formed at his hairline.

  "I'm okay," Hayes assured him. He let his hand drop to the table. "I

  didn't report this discovery because I realized it was the first step

  toward an even bigger breakthrough. I'm talking about something akin to

  antibiotics or the helical structure of DNA. I've been so excited I've

  been working around the clock. But then I found out my original

  discovery was no longer a secret. That it was being used. When I

  suspected this, I ..." Hayes stopped in midsentence. He stared at Jason

  with an expression that started out as confusion but rapidly changed to

  fear.

  "Alvin, what's the matter?" Jason asked. Hayes didn't reply. His right

  hand again pressed against his chest. A moan escaped from his lips,

  then both hands shot out and gripped the tablecloth, clawing it toward

  him. The wine glasses fell over. He started to get to his feet but he

  never made it. With a violent choking cough, he spewed a stream of blood

  across the table, drenching the cloth and spraying Jason, who jumped

  backward, knocking over his chair. The blood didn't stop. It came in

  successive waves, splattering everything as nearby diners began to

  scream.

  As a physician, Jason knew what was happening. The blood was bright red

  and was literally being pumped out of Hayes's mouth. That meant it was

  coming directly from his heart. In the seconds that followed, Hayes

  remained upright in his chair, confusion and pain replacing the fear

  in his eyes. Jason skirted the table and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  Unfortunately there was no way to staunch the flow of blood. Hayes was

  either going to exsanguinate or drown. There was nothing Jason could do

  but hold the man as his life flowed out of him.

  When Hayes's body went flaccid, Jason let it slump to the floor.

  Although the human body contains about six quarts of blood, the amount

  on the table and floor appeared to be considerably more. Jason turned to

  a neighboring table that had been vacated and took a napkin to wipe his

  hands.

  For the first time since the initial 'catastrophe, Jason became aware of

  his surroundings. The other patrons of the restaurant had all leaped

  from their tables and were crowded at the other end of the room.

  Unfortunately, several people had gotten sick.

  The mattre d' himself, with a green complexion, was swaying on his feet.

  "I've called for an ambulance," he managed to say through a hand clamped

  over his mouth.

  Jason looked down at Hayes. Without an operating room right there, with

  a heart and lung machine primed and ready to go, there was no chance of

  saying him. An ambulance at this point was futile. But at least it

  could take the body away. Glancing again at the still body, Jason

  decided the man must have had a lung cancer. A tumor could have eroded

  through his aorta, causing the bleeding. Ironically, Hayes's cigarette

  was still lit in the ashtray that was now full of frothy blood. A bit of

  smoke languidly rose to the ceiling.

  In the distance Jason heard the undulating sound of an approaching

  ambulance. But before it arrived, a police cruiser with a flashing blue

  light pulled up outside, and two uniformed policemen came bounding into

  the dining room. They both pulled up short when confronted by the bloody

  scene.

  The younger one, Peter Carbo, a blond-haired boy who looked about

  nineteen, immediately turned green. His partner, Jeff Mario, quickly

  sent him to interview the patrons. Jeff Mario was Jason's age, give or

  take a couple of years. "What the hell happened?" he asked, astounded at
r />   the amount of blood.

  "I'm a physician," Jason offered. "The man is dead. He bled out. There

  was nothing that could have been done."

  After squatting over Hayes, Jeff Mario gingerly felt for a pulse.

  Satisfied, he stood up and directed his attention to Jason. "You a

  friend?"

  "More a colleague," said Jason. "We both work for Good Health Plan."

  "He a physician also?" Jeff Mario asked, motioning toward Hayes with his

  thumb.

  Jason nodded.

  "Was he sick?"

  "I'm not certain," Jason said. "If I had to guess, I'd say cancer. But I

  don't know."

  Jeff Mario took out a pad and a pencil. He opened the pad. "What's the

  man's name?"

  "Alvin Hayes."

  "Does Mr. Hayes have a family?"

  "I guess," Jason said. "To tell you the truth, I don't know too much

  about his private life. He mentioned a son, so I presume he has a

  family."

  "Do you know his home address?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  Officer Mario regarded Jason for a moment, then reached down and

  carefully searched Hayes's pockets, coming up with a billfold. He went

  through Hayes's cards.

  "The guy doesn't have a driver's license , Jeff Mario said. He looked at

  Jason for confirmation.