Acceptable Risk (10 page)

“Who in heaven’s name is it?” Edward asked.

“It’s Stanton Lewis,” Eleanor said. “He cracks me up every time he comes in here. This time he told me he wants me to invest in a new chemistry magazine to be called Bonding with a foldout Molecule of the Month. I never know when he’s serious.”

“He’s not serious,” Edward said. “He’s flirting with you.”

Edward quickly glanced through his mail. There was nothing earth-shattering. “Any problems in the lab?” he asked Eleanor.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “The new capillary electrophoresis system which we’ve been using for micellar electrokinetic capillary chromatography is being temperamental again. Should I call the rep from Bio-rad?”

“I’ll take a look at it,” he said. “Send Stanton over. I’ll take care of both problems at the same time.”

Edward attached his radiation dosimeter to the lapel of his coat and wound his way over to the chromatography unit. He began fiddling with the computer that ran the machine. Something definitely wasn’t right. The machine kept defaulting to its original setup menu.

Absorbed in what he was doing, Edward didn’t hear Stanton approach. He was unaware of his presence until Stanton slapped him on the back.

“Hey, sport!” Stanton said, “I’ve got a surprise for you that’s going to make your day.” He handed Edward a slick, plastic-covered brochure.

“What’s this?” Edward asked as he took the booklet.

“It’s what you’ve been waiting for: the Genetrix prospectus,” Stanton said.

Edward let out a chuckle and shook his head. “You’re too much,” he said. He put the prospectus aside and redirected his attention to the chromatography unit computer.

“How’d your date with nurse Kim go?” Stanton asked.

“I enjoyed meeting your cousin,” Edward said. “She’s a terrific woman.”

“Did you guys sleep together?” Stanton asked.

Edward spun around. “That’s hardly an appropriate question.”

“My goodness,” Stanton said with a big smile. “Rather touchy I’d say. Translated that means you guys hit it off, otherwise you wouldn’t be so sensitive.”

“I think you are jumping to conclusions,” Edward said with a stutter.

“Oh, come off it,” Stanton said. “I know you too well. It’s the same way you were in medical school. Anything to do with the lab or science, you’re like Napoleon. When it comes to women you’re like wet spaghetti. I don’t understand it. But anyway, come clean. You guys hit it off, didn’t you?”

“We enjoyed each other’s company,” Edward admitted. “In fact, we had dinner Friday night.”

“Perfect,” Stanton said. “As far as I’m concerned that’s as good as sleeping together.”

“Don’t be so crass.”

“Truly,” Stanton said cheerfully. “The idea was to get you beholden to me and now you are. The price, my dear friend, is that you have to read this prospectus.” Stanton lifted the brochure from where Edward had irreverently tossed it. He handed it back to Edward.

Edward groaned. He realized he’d given himself away. “All right,” he said. “I’ll read the blasted thing.”

“Good,” Stanton said. “You should know something about the company because I’m also in a position to offer you seventy-five thousand dollars a year plus stock options to be on the scientific advisory board.”

“I don’t have time to go to any damn meetings,” Edward said.

“Who’s asking you to come to any meetings,” Stanton said. “I just want your name on the IPO offering.”

“But why?” Edward asked. “Molecular biology and biotech are not my bailiwick.”

“Chrissake!” Stanton said. “How can you be so innocent? You’re a scientific celebrity. It doesn’t matter you know dit about molecular biology. It’s your name that counts.”

“I wouldn’t say I know dit about molecular biology,” Edward said irritably.

“Now don’t get touchy with me,” Stanton said. Then he pointed to the machine Edward was working on. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a capillary electrophoresis unit,” Edward said.

“What the hell does it do?”

“It’s a relatively new separation technology,” Edward said. “It’s used to separate and identify compounds.”

Stanton fingered the molded plastic of the central unit. “What makes it new?”

“It’s not entirely new,” Edward said. “The principles are basically the same as conventional electrophoresis, but the narrow diameter of the capillaries precludes the necessity of an anticonvection agent because heat dissipation is so efficient.”

Stanton raised his hand in mock self-defense. “Enough,” he said. “I give up. You’ve overwhelmed me. Just tell me if it works.”

“It works great,” Edward said. He looked back at the machine. “At least it usually works great. At the moment something is wrong.”

“Is it plugged in?” Stanton asked.

Edward shot him an exasperated look.

“Just trying to be helpful,” Stanton joked.

Edward raised the top of the machine and peered in at the carousels. Immediately he saw that one of the capped sample vials was blocking the carousel’s movement. “Well, isn’t this pleasant,” he said. “The thrill of the positive diagnosis of a remedial problem.” He adjusted the vial. The carousel immediately advanced. Edward closed the lid.

“So I can count on you to read the prospectus,” Stanton said. “And think about the offer.”

“The idea of getting money for nothing bothers me,” Edward said.

“But why?” Stanton said. “If star athletes can sign on with sneaker companies, why can’t scientists do the equivalent?”

“I’ll think about it,” Edward said.

“That’s all I can ask,” Stanton said. “Give me a call after you read the prospectus. I’m telling you, I can make you some money.”

“Did you drive over here?” Edward asked.

“No, I walked from Concord,” Stanton said. “Of course I drove. What a feeble attempt at changing the subject.”

“How about giving me a lift over to the main Harvard campus,” Edward said.

Five minutes later Edward slid into the passenger seat of Stanton’s 500 SEL Mercedes. Stanton started the engine and made a quick U turn. He’d parked on Huntington Avenue near the Countway Medical Library. They traveled around the Fenway and then along Storrow Drive.

“Let me ask you something,” Edward said after a period of silence. “The other night at dinner you made reference to Kim’s ancestor, Elizabeth Stewart. Do you know for a fact that she’d been hanged as a witch, or is the story a family rumor that has been around so long that people have come to believe it?”

“I can’t swear to it,” Stanton said. “I’ve just accepted what I’d heard.”

“I can’t find her name in any of the standard treatises on the subject,” Edward said. “And there is no dearth of them.”

“I heard the story from my aunt,” Stanton said. “According to her the Stewarts have been keeping it a secret since time immemorial. So it’s not as if it’s something they’ve dreamed up to enhance their reputation.”

“All right, let’s assume it happened,” Edward said. “Why the devil would it matter now? It’s so long ago. I mean I could understand for a generation or so, but not three hundred years.”

Stanton shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “But I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. My aunt will have my head if she hears I’ve been bantering it about.”

“Even Kim was reluctant to talk about it at first,” Edward said.

“That’s probably because of her mother, my aunt,” Stanton said. “She’s always been a stickler for reputation and all that social garbage. She’s a very proper lady.”

“Kim took me out and showed me the family compound,” Edward said. “We even went inside the house where Elizabeth was supposed to have lived.”

Stanton glanced at Edward. He shook his head in admiration. “Wow!” he said. “You work fast, you tiger.”

“It was all very innocent,” Edward said. “Don’t let your gutter imagination carry you away. I found it fascinating, and it has awakened Kim’s interest in Elizabeth.”

“I’m not sure her mother is going to like that,” Stanton said.

“I might be able to help the family’s response to the affair,” Edward said. He opened a bag he had on his lap and lifted out one of the plastic containers he and Kim had brought back from Salem. He explained to Stanton what it contained.

“You must really be in love,” Stanton said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be taking all this time and trouble.”

“My idea is that if I can prove that ergotism was at the heart of the Salem witch craze,” Edward said, “it would remove any possible remaining stigma people felt who were associated with the ordeal, particularly the Stewarts.”

“I still contend you must be in love,” Stanton said. “That’s too theoretical a justification for all this effort. I can’t get you to do squat for me even with the promise of lucre.”

Edward sighed. “All right,” he said. “I suppose I have to admit that as a neuroscientist I’m intrigued by the possibility of a hallucinogen causing the Salem affair.”

“Now I can understand,” Stanton said. “The Salem witchcraft story has a universal appeal. You don’t have to be a neuroscientist.”

“The entrepreneur as a philosopher,” Edward remarked with a laugh. “Five minutes ago I would have considered that an oxymoron. Explain to me the universal appeal.”

“The affair is ghoulishly seductive,” Stanton said. “People like that sort of stuff. It’s like the pyramids of Egypt. There has to be more to them than mere piles of stone. They are a window on the supernatural.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Edward said as he put away his dirt sample. “As a scientist I’m merely searching for a scientific explanation.”

“Oh, bull,” Stanton said.

Stanton dropped Edward off on Divinity Avenue in Cambridge. Just before Edward closed the door he reminded him once more about the Genetrix prospectus.

Edward skirted Divinity Hall and entered the Harvard biological labs. From a departmental secretary he got directions to Kevin Scranton’s lab. He found his thin, bearded friend busy in his office. Kevin and Edward had gone to Wesleyan together but hadn’t seen each other since Edward had returned to Harvard to teach.

They spent the first ten minutes rehashing old times before Edward got down to the reason for his visit. He put the three containers on the corner of Kevin’s desk.

“I want you to see if you can find Claviceps purpurea,” Edward said.

Kevin picked up one of the containers and opened the lid. “Can you tell me why?” he asked. He fingered a small amount of the dirt.

“You’d never guess,” Edward said. He then told Kevin how he’d obtained the samples and the background concerning the Salem witch trials. He didn’t mention the Stewart family name, thinking he owed as much to Kim.

“Sounds intriguing,” Kevin said when Edward finished his story. Kevin stood up and proceeded to make a wet mount of a small sample of the dirt.

“I thought it could make a cute little paper for Science or Nature,” Edward said. “Provided we find spores from Claviceps.”

Kevin slipped the wet mount under his office microscope and began scanning the sample. “Well, there are plenty of spores in here, but of course that’s not unusual.”

“How’s the best way to see if they’re Claviceps or not?” Edward asked.

“There are several ways,” Kevin said. “How soon do you want an answer?”

“As soon as possible,” Edward said.

“DNA would take some time,” Kevin said. “There are probably three to five thousand different fungal species in each sample. Besides, the most definitive method would be if we can grow some Claviceps. The problem is, it’s not that easy. But I’ll give it a shot.”

Edward stood up. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”

Taking a minute to collect herself, Kim raised her gloved hand so that her bare forearm could push her hair off her forehead. It had been a typically busy day in the surgical intensive-care unit, rewarding yet intense. She was exhausted and looking forward to getting off in another twenty minutes. Unfortunately her moment of relaxation was interrupted. Kinnard Monihan came into the unit with a sick patient.

Kim as well as the other nurses who were momentarily free lent a hand getting the new admission settled. Kinnard helped as did an anesthesiologist who’d come in with him.

While they worked, Kim and Kinnard avoided eye contact. But Kim was acutely aware of his presence, especially when their efforts on the patient’s behalf brought them side by side. Kinnard was a tall, wiry man of twenty-eight with sharply angular features. He was light on his feet and agile, more like a boxer in training than a doctor in the middle of a surgical residency.

With the patient settled, Kim headed for the central desk. She felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look up into Kinnard’s dark, intense eyes.

“You’re not still angry?” Kinnard asked. He had no trouble bringing up sensitive issues right in the middle of the intensive-care unit.

Feeling a wave of anxiety, Kim looked away. Her mind was a muddle of conflicted emotion.

“Don’t tell me you’re not even going to talk to me,” Kinnard said. “Aren’t you carrying your hurt feelings a bit too far?”

“I warned you,” Kim began when she found her voice. “I told you that things would be different if you insisted on going on your fly-fishing trip when we’d planned to go to Martha’s Vineyard.”

“We never made definite plans for the Vineyard,” Kinnard said. “And I hadn’t anticipated Dr. Markey offering to include me on the camping trip.”

“If we hadn’t made plans,” Kim said, "how come I had arranged to have the time off? And how come I’d called my family’s friends and arranged to stay in their bungalow?’ ‘

“We’d only mentioned it once,” Kinnard said.

“Twice,” Kim said. “And the second time I told you about the bungalow.”

“Listen,” Kinnard said. “It was important for me to go on the camping trip. Dr. Markey is the number-two man in the department. Maybe you and I had a little miscommunication, but it shouldn’t cause all this angst.”

“What makes it even worse is that you don’t feel contrite in the slightest,” Kim said. Her face reddened.

“I’m not going to apologize when I don’t think I did anything wrong,” Kinnard said.

“Fine,” Kim said. She started for the central desk again. Kinnard again restrained her.

“I’m sorry you are upset,” Kinnard said. “I really thought you’d have calmed down by now. Let’s talk about it more on Saturday night. I’m not on call. Maybe we could have dinner and see a show.”