Robin Cook Read online

  The first part of the book served as a review. Jason was well aware that deoxyribonucleic acid, better known as DNA, was a molecule, shaped like a twisted, double-stranded string. It was made up of repeating subunits called bases that had the property of pairing with each other in very specific ways. Particular areas of the DNA were called genes, and each gene was associated with the production of a specific protein.

  Jason felt encouraged as he took a sip of his wine. The book was well written and made the subject matter seem clear. He liked the little tidbits like the fact that each human cell had four billion base pairs. The next part of the book dealt with bacteria, and the fact that bacteria reproduce easily and rapidly. Within days, trillions of identical cells could be made from a single initial cell. This was important, because in genetic engineering bacteria served as the recipient of small fragments of DNA. This “foreign” DNA was incorporated into the bacterium’s own DNA, and then, as the cell divided, it manufactured the original fragments. The bacterium with the newly incorporated DNA was called a recombinant strain and the new DNA molecule was called recombinant DNA. So far so good.

  Jason ate some of his fish and salad and washed it down with wine. The next chapter got a little more complicated. It talked about how the genes in the DNA molecule went about producing their respective proteins. The first part entailed making a copy of the segment of DNA with a molecule called messenger RNA. The messenger RNA then directed the production of the protein in a process called transcription. Jason drank a little more wine. The last part of the chapter got particularly interesting, since it explained the elaborate mechanisms that turned genes on and off.

  Getting up from his desk, Jason walked across his living room into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, he poured himself another glass of wine. Back in his study he stared out the window, seeing the lights across the square in St. Margaret’s Convent. It always amused him that there was a convent on the most desirable residential square in Boston: Give up the material world, become a nun, and move to Louisburg! Jason smiled, then looked back down at the recombinant DNA book. Sitting down again, he reread the section on the timing of gene expression. It was complicated and fascinating. Apparently, a host of proteins had been discovered that served as repressors of gene function. These proteins attached to the DNA or caused the DNA to coil, to cover up the involved genes.

  Jason closed the book. He’d had enough for one night. Besides, the section on the control of gene function was what he’d been unconsciously looking for. Reading that section brought back Hayes’s comment that his main interest was “how genes turned on and how they turned off.” Helene had said the same thing but in different words.

  Taking his wine, Jason wandered into his living room. Absently fondling the cut-glass sconces over the fireplace, he allowed his mind to consider the possibilities. What could Hayes have meant when he said he’d made a major scientific breakthrough? For the moment Jason dismissed the idea of Hayes having delusions of grandeur. After all, he was a world-class researcher, and he was working prodigious hours. So there was a chance he’d been telling the truth. If he’d made a discovery, it would be in the area of turning genes on and off, and probably have to do with growth and development. The image of the photos of the genitals clouded Jason’s mind for a moment.

  Jason was brought out of his reverie by the phone. It was the head nurse in the coronary care unit. “Brian Lennox just died. He had a terminal episode of V-tack that progressed to asystole.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Jason said. He hung up and thought of the nurse’s scientific jargon, recognizing that it was an emotional defense. Once again the shadow of death hung over him like a noxious cloud.

  4.

  The radio alarm blasted Jason out of bed. He’d turned up the volume for fear of oversleeping. He’d spent a good portion of the night consoling Brian Lennox’s wife. Retrieving his newspaper from the front steps, he shaved and showered while his Mr. Coffee performed its usual morning miracle. By the time he was dressed, the apartment was filled with the aromatic smell of the freshly brewed coffee. With mug in hand, he retreated to the den, slipping the Boston Globe out of its protective clear plastic sheath.

  Planning to turn directly to the sports section, he stopped at a front-page headline—DOCTOR, DRUGS AND DANCER. It was not a flattering article about Dr. Alvin Hayes. It played up Hayes’s shocking death and unfairly associated it with the drugs found in his apartment, even likening his affair with the dancer to the case involving the Tufts Medical School professor who had been convicted of murdering a prostitute. Along with the article there were two photos: the Time cover shoot of Hayes and another of a woman entering the Club Cabaret, captioned, “Carol Donner entering her place of business.” Jason tried to see what Carol Donner looked like, but it was impossible. She had one hand up, shielding her face. In the background was a sign that said, TOPLESS COLLEGE GIRLS. Sure, thought Jason with a smile.

  He read the rest of the article, feeling sorry for Shirley. The police reported that a significant amount of heroin and cocaine was found at the South End apartment that Hayes had shared with Carol Donner.

  Jason went to the hospital to find his inpatients generally in poor shape. Matthew Cowen, who had had a cardiac catheterization the day before, displayed odd symptoms alarmingly like the late Cedric Harring: arthritis, constipation, and dry skin. None of these would normally cause Jason much concern. But in view of recent events, they made him feel uneasy. They again brought up the specter of some new unknown infectious disease that he could not control. He had the feeling Matthew’s course was about to change for the worse.

  After ordering a dermatology consult for Cowen, Jason gloomily went down to his office. where Claudia greeted him with the information that she had pulled the executive physicals through the letter P. She had called the patients and discovered that only two complained of health problems.

  Jason reached for the charts and opened them.

  The first one was Holly Jennings, the other Paul Klingler. Both had had their physicals within a month. “Call them back,” Jason said, “and ask both to come in as soon as they can without alarming them.”

  “It’s going to be hard not to upset them. What should I say?”

  “Tell them we want to repeat some test. Use your imagination.”

  Later in the day he decided to see if he could charm some more information on Hayes out of his lab technician, but the moment he saw Helene she made it clear she was not about to be charmed.

  “Did the police find anything?” he asked, already knowing the answer was no. Shirley had called him and told him after the police had departed, saying, “Thank God for small favors.”

  Helene shook her head.

  “I know you’re busy,” Jason said, “but do you think you could spare a minute? I’d like to ask a few more questions.”

  She finally stopped working and turned toward him.

  “Thank you,” he said, and smiled. Her expression didn’t change. It wasn’t unpleasant, just neutral.

  “I hate to belabor the subject,” Jason said, “but I keep thinking of what Dr. Hayes said about a significant breakthrough. Are you sure you have no idea what it could be? It would be tragic if a real medical discovery were lost.”

  “I told you what I know,” Helene said. “I could show you the latest map he did of chromosome 17. Would that help?”

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  Helene led the way into Hayes’s office. She ignored the photos that covered the walls, but Jason couldn’t. He wondered what kind of man could work in such an environment. Helene produced a large sheet of paper covered with minute printing, giving the sequence of base pairs of the DNA molecule comprising a portion of chromosome 17. There was a staggering number of base pairs: hundreds and hundreds of thousands.

  “Dr. Hayes’s area is here.” She pointed to a large section where the pairs were done in red. “These are the genes associated with growth hormone. It’s very complex.”

&n
bsp; “You’re right there,” Jason said. He knew he’d have to do a lot more reading to make any sense of it all.

  “Is there any chance this mapping could have led to a major scientific breakthrough?”

  Helene thought for a moment, then shook her head. “The technique has been known for some time.”

  “What about cancer?” Jason asked, giving the idea a shot. “Could Dr. Hayes have discovered something about cancer?”

  “We didn’t work with cancer at all,” Helene said.

  “But if he was interested in cell division and maturation, it’s possible he could have discovered something about cancer. Especially with his interest in the switching on and off of genes.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Helene said without enthusiasm.

  Jason was sure that Helene was not being as helpful as she could be. As Hayes’s assistant, she should have had a better idea of what Hayes was doing. But there was no way he could force the issue.

  “What about his lab books?”

  Helene returned to her spot at the lab bench, Opening the second drawer at the table, she pulled out a ledger. “This is all I have,” she said, and handed it to Jason.

  The book was three-quarters filled. Jason could see it was only a data book without experimental protocols, and without those, the data was meaningless.

  “Aren’t there other lab books?”

  “There were some,” Helene admitted, “but Dr Hayes kept them with him, especially over the last three months. Mostly he kept everything in his head He had a fabulous memory, especially for figures….” For a brief moment Jason saw a light in Helene’s eyes and thought she might open up, but it didn’t last.

  She trailed off into silence. She took the data bool from Jason and replaced it in its drawer.

  “Let me ask one other question,” Jason said, struggling over the wording. “As far as you could tell, did Dr. Hayes act normally over the last few weeks? He seemed anxious and overtired when I saw him.” Jason deliberately understated Hayes’s condition.

  “He seemed normal to me,” said Helene flatly.

  Oh, brother, Jason thought. Now he was sure Helene wasn’t being open with him. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. Thanking her and excusing himself, he retreated from Hayes’s lab. He descended in the elevator, avoided being seen by Sally, crossed to the main building, and rode up to pathology.

  He found Jackson Madsen in the chemistry lab, where there was a problem with one of the automated machines. Two company reps were there, and Jackson was happy to return to his office with Jason to show him the slides of Harring’s heart.

  “Wait until you see this,” he said as he positioned a slide under his microscope. He peered through the eyepiece, moving the slide deftly with his thumb and index finger. Then he stepped back and let Jason take a look.

  “See that vessel?” he asked. Jason nodded. “Notice the lumen is all but obliterated. It’s some of the worst atherosclerosis I’ve seen. That pink stuff looks like amyloid. It’s amazing, especially if you say his EKG was okay. And let me show you something else.” Jackson substituted another slide. “Take a look now.”

  Jason peered into the microscope. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “Notice how swollen the nuclei are,” Jackson said. “And the pink stuff. That’s amyloid for certain.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s as if the guy’s heart was under siege. Notice the inflammatory cells.”

  Unaccustomed to looking at microscopic sections, Jason hadn’t noticed them at first, but now they jumped out at him. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. How old did you say this guy was?”

  “Fifty-six.” Jason straightened up. “Is there any chance, in your estimation, that we are seeing some new infectious disease?”

  Jackson thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think there’s enough inflammation for that. It looks more metabolic, but that’s all I can say. Oh, one more thing,” he added, putting in another slide. While he focused he said: “This is part of the red nucleus in the brain. Tell me what you see.” He leaned back for Jason. Jason peered into the scope. He saw a neuron. Within the neuron was a prominent nucleus as well as a darkly stained granular area. He described it to Jackson.

  “That’s lipofuscin,” said Jackson. He removed the slide.

  Jason straightened up. “What does it all mean?”

  “Wish I knew,” said Jackson. “All nonspecific, but certainly a suggestion that your Mr. Harring was a sick cookie. These slides could have belonged to my grandfather.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard something like that,” said Jason slowly. “Can’t you give me anything more specific?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jackson. “I wish I could be more cooperative. I’ll be running some tests to be sure these deposits in the heart and elsewhere are amyloid. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” said Jason. “What about the slides on Hayes?”

  “Not ready yet,” said Jackson.

  Jason returned to the second floor and walked over to the outpatient area. As a doctor he’d always had questions about the efficacy of certain tests, procedures and drugs. But he had never had reason to question his general competence. In fact, in most situations he’d always thought of himself as well above average. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Such misgivings were disturbing, especially because he’d been using work as his major sense of self since Danielle’s death.

  “Where have you been?” demanded Sally, catching up to Jason as he tried to slip into his office. Within minutes Sally had Jason buried beneath a host of minor problems that thankfully absorbed his attention. By the time he could catch his breath, it was just after twelve. He saw his last patient, who wanted advice and shots for a trip to India, and then he was free.

  Claudia tried to get him to join her and some other secretaries for lunch, but Jason declined. He retreated to his office and brooded. The worst part for Jason was the frustration. He felt something was terribly wrong, but he didn’t know what it was or what to do about it. A loneliness descended over him.

  “Damn,” said Jason, slapping the top of his desk with his open palm, hard enough to send unattached papers flying. He had to avoid slipping into a depression. He had to do something. Changing from his white coat to his jacket, he grabbed his beeper and descended to his car. He drove around the Fenway, passing the Gardner Museum and then the Museum of Fine Arts on his right. Then, heading south on Storrow Drive, he got off at Arlington. His destination was Boston Police Headquarters.

  At police headquarters a policeman directed Jason to the fifth floor. As soon as he got off the elevator, he saw the detective coming down the hall, balancing a full mug of coffee. Curran was jacketless, with the top button of his shirt open and his tie loosened. Under his left arm dangled a worn leather holster. When he saw Jason he seemed perplexed until Jason reminded him that they’d met at the morgue and at GHP.

  “Ah, yes,” Curran said, with his slight brogue. “Alvin Hayes business.”

  He invited Jason into his office, which was starkly utilitarian with a metal desk and metal file cabinet. On the wall was a calendar with the Celtics’ basketball schedule.

  “How about some coffee?” Curran suggested, putting his mug down.

  “No, thank you,” Jason said.

  “You’re smart,” Curran said. “I know everybody complains about institutional coffee, but this stuff is lethal.” He pulled a metal chair away from the wall and motioned to it for Jason to sit.

  “So what can I do for you, doctor?”

  “I’m not sure. This Hayes business disturbs me. Remember I told you that Dr. Hayes said he’d made a major discovery? Well, now I think there’s a good chance he did. After all, the man was a world-famous researcher, and he was working in a field with a lot of potential.”

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t you also tell me you thought Hayes was having a nervous breakdown?”

&n
bsp; “At the time I thought he was displaying inappropriate behavior,” Jason said. “I thought he was paranoid and delusional. Now I’m not sure. What if he did make a major discovery which he hadn’t revealed because he was still perfecting it? Suppose someone found out and for some reason wanted it suppressed?”

  “And had him killed?” Curran interrupted patronizingly. “Doctor, you’re forgetting one major fact: Hayes died of natural causes. There was no foul play, no gunshot wounds to the head, no knife in the back. And on top of that, he was dealing. We found heroin, coke, and cash in his Southie pad. No wonder he acted paranoid. The drug scene is a serious world.”

  “Wasn’t that anonymous tip a bit strange?” Jason asked, suddenly curious.

  “It happens all the time. Somebody’s pissed about something so they call us to get even.”

  Jason stared at the detective. He thought the drug connection was out of character, but didn’t know why. Then he remembered that Hayes had been living with an exotic dancer. Maybe it wasn’t so out of character after all.

  As if reading Jason’s thoughts, Curran said, “Listen, doctor, I appreciate you taking the time to come down, but facts are facts. I don’t know if this guy made a discovery or not, but let me tell you something. If he was dealing drugs, he was taking them too. That’s the pattern. I had the Vice department run his name through their computers. They came up with zip, but that just means he hadn’t been caught yet. He’s lucky he got to die of natural causes. In any case, I can’t justify spending Homicide time on the death.”

  “I still think there’s more to it.”

  Curran shook his head.

  “Dr. Hayes was trying to tell me something,” Jason persisted. “I think he wanted help.”

  “Sure,” Curran said. “He probably wanted to pull you into his drug ring. Listen, doctor, take my advice. Forget this affair.” He stood up, indicating the interview was over.