F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (32 page)

 
          
"Silly
me," she said. "The water was right here all along." She filled
a glass and watched him drink as she cast about for a way to go.

 
          
Should
she tell him? Tell him that his surgeon had just placed a toxin-filled implant
in his thigh?

 
          
She
studied Senator Marsden's bleary expression. He wasn't in any condition to
listen or comprehend. So where could she turn? Who could she go to?

GERRY

           
GERRY HAD JUST RETURNED FROM LUNCH.
HE WAS ADMIRing Martha's latest Crayola masterpiece, freshly pinned to the wall
of his cubicle, when Gin's call came in. He was glad she was calling him for a
change.

 
          
She'd
been strangely distant all week.

 
          
"Gerry,
I need your help." Not a good start. She sounded frazzled.

 
          
"Sure.
What's wrong?"

           
"It's about
Duncan
." Gerry suppressed a groan.

 
          
Not
that again. He wished he'd never mentioned that conspiracy theory to her.

 
          
"What
about him?"

           
"He put a toxic implant in
Senator Marsden."

           
Gerry didn't reply immediately.
Couldn't . . . too shocked to speak.

 
          
"He
did, Gerry. I know he did."

 
          
"Gin,"
he said, finally finding his voice. "We've been through all that. We
tested the solution, that secret sauce or whatever you call it, and it turned
out to be,''

           
"I'm not talking about the
secret sauce. This is something else. This is a drug no one's ever heard
of."

 
          
"How'd
you find out about it?" Now she paused. "I found it in one of his
desk drawers."

 
          
"He
leaves it where anybody can find it?" Another pause. "No. He keeps it
locked up."

           
"So then how did you,?"
And then it hit him.

 
          
"Oh,
no. You didn't."

 
          
"I'm
sorry, Gerry, but I had to."

 
          
"Gin,
you used the Bureau's pick to break into someone's office?"

 
          
"Gerry,
you've got a right to be angry, but please don't be. This is too important. I
didn't break into his office, only the lock on his desk drawer."

 
          
"Same
thing. You could have been caught, arrested, maybe worse."

 
          
"Look,
I knew you'd react like this if I told you. That's why I didn't. But I had to get
into that drawer."

 
          
"I
don't believe this. You,"

           
"Gerry, two people may be dead
because of him. Two others are crazy. This drug causes psychotic reactions. You
saw the tape of Senator Vincent on the first day of the hearing, didn't
you?"

           
"Of course. Who didn't?"

           
"Was he acting sane just
before he convulsed?"

           
"No," he admitted
grudgingly. "I guess not." He reached for a pencil. "What's the
name of this drug?"

           
"Triptolinic
diethylamide." She spelled it for him. "TPD for short."

 
          
"And
it makes you crazy?"

           
"According to the FDA it does.
Research was discontinued because of psychotic reactions in primates."

           
"So if Lathram is dosing
people with this stuff, why hasn't some medical examiner picked up on it?"

           
"Because nobody's looking for
it. Nobody even knows it exists. Gerry, thousands upon thousands of compounds
are tested every year. Maybe one out of ten thousand ever reaches the public.
It was an investigational drug that was dropped because of side effects. That's
it. Goodbye. Sayonara. On to the next compound, and nobody gives the losers
another thought."

           
"So how'd Lathram get hold of
this . . . " He glanced at the sheet. "TPD?"

           
"His brother. Oliver used to
work for the company that was investigating it."

           
Gerry straightened and leaned
forward in his chair.

 
          
All
the old suspicions he'd been trying to put to rest were dancing through his
head again.

 
          
"And
you think he dosed Marsden with this stuff?"

           
"I know it!"

           
"Did you see him do it?"

           
"No, but I saw the puncture
wound in his thigh." She went on to tell him about seeing the bottle of
TPD on Lathram's desk this morning along with an implant and something called a
trocar.

 
          
"But
couldn't Lathram have simply given him a shot of something?"

           
"Not there. And
Duncan
never gives injections. He has one of the
nurses do it. I tell you, Gerry, Senator Marsden is lying down the hall with an
implant full of TPD in his right thigh. I've got to get it out!"

           
"Okay. Slow down for a second
here and let me think." He leaned back again, trying to remain calm, to
contain the excitement racing through him. This was heavy. A prominent, well-connected
area surgeon and a very visible
U. S.
senator. Headline-grabbing stuff. It had
the makings of a major case. Or a major embarrassment.

 
          
If
only Gin had actually seen
Duncan
insert the implant.

 
          
"Do
you think Marsden's in any immediate danger?"

           
Gin hesitated, then, "No.
Duncan
's gone for the day. I think he wants to
choose a specific time and place. Remember how both Allard and Vincent had
their mishaps while the cameras were rolling. I think that's what
Duncan
might be waiting for."

 
          
"But
why, Gin? We're missing a motive here. Why should he want to do this?"

           
"He hates the Guidelines
committee and what it's trying to do."

 
          
"So
do lots of other doctors. But they're not,"

           
"No. Listen. It's personal
with
Duncan
." She went on to tell him about the
stories in the Post and the Banner, and told him that Schulz had been on the
original Guidelines committee.

 
          
Bingo!

 
          
That
was the link he'd been searching for to connect the four legislators. She also
told him of her call to the Virginia Board of Medical Examiners.

 
          
By
the time she finished he was convinced, but that wasn't enough.

 
          
He'd
have to convince Ketter.

 
          
"Okay,
look. Since the senator's in no immediate danger, we can take a little time to
build a case here."

           
"Gerry,"

           
"Hear me out. We'll have
someone keep an eye on the senator's home, make sure nobody's nosing around it.
Meanwhile, don't you do anything to alert Lathram."

           
"Don't worry."

           
"Don't give him a chance to
cover his tracks. I want him to think he's in complete control, that
everything's status quo. And you keep your distance. No more Nancy Drew stuff.
Leave the rest to me." He wanted Gin out of harm's way. No telling what
Lathram would do if he felt cornered.

 
          
"Okay.
But are you sure the senator's going to be all right?"

           
"Gin, " he said, "right
now I'm not sure of anything. But I want to get moving on this and I don't make
these decisions. I've got to build a case and bung it to the SSA, and he may
have to take it higher. And the sooner I get moving on it, the better."

           
She gave him the year and the
months when the newspaper articles appeared, then said, "Keep me informed,
okay?"

           
"Don't worry. But one thing
that can't be mentioned, now or ever, is how you got into Lathram's locked
drawer. Understand?"

           
"I got it. And I'm sorry.
Really."

 
          
"Accepted.
Talk to you later." He sat for a long while after he hung up, making
notes, organizing his facts, consulting his computer for the personal database
he'd built on Dr. Lathram.

 
          
Gerry
was wired. He knew this could mean big things for him. He wasn't going to let
this one get away from him, either. This was his baby. It meant a lot of extra
work in the short run, but in the long run . . . breaking a case of this
magnitude could make a career.

 
          
And
it looked pretty solid. The good doctor had access and opportunity.

 
          
Gerry
had to document his motive.

 
          
He
put in a call to research for any information anywhere on Duncan Lathram, MD,
with special attention to links between Lathram and any of the fallen
legislators. Gerry wanted those clippings in hand when he brought the case to
Ketter.

 
          
Gerry
was surprised when an interoffice envelope from research appeared on his desk
less than half an hour later. So soon?

 
          
Quickly
he shuffled through the sheets, mostly photocopies of old newspaper articles
with Lathram's name highlighted along with those of Lane, Allard, Vincent . . .
and Schulz.

 
          
Here
they were, villain and victims, all neatly cross-referenced in the pages of the
Post. A long way from an open and-shut case, but these plus Gin's statement
about the neurotoxin ought to be enough to get things rolling.

 
          
He
headed for Marvin Ketter's office.

 
          
Ketter
stood at his window, staring down at the rush hour traffic on
EYE Street
. His brow was furrowed in concentration,
drawing his bushy eyebrows into a continuous line. Gerry knew he was trying to
make up his mind.

 
          
A
cautious man, Ketter. Too cautious. Afraid of making a mistake.

 
          
But
no way was Gerry going to let him take a pass on this one.

 
          
"Look,"
Gerry said, wandering the room, looking for a way to tilt the SSA his way.
"Lathram has motive, means, and opportunity. What else do we need?"

           
"It's all circumstantial."

           
"Four members of the old
committee are down or out. Dr. Panzella all but saw Lathram stick one of these
implants of his into Senator Marsden. How long do we wait?"

           
"All but saw isn't quite the
same as seeing. You know that, Gerry. And Marsden wasn't a member of the
original committee. So there goes your motive."

 
          
"But
he's chairing the new committee. Gin's right. I know she is."

 
          
Ketter's
eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Gin?"

           
"Dr. Panzella. We went to high
school together." He didn't want Ketter to know it was more than that.
"That's why she came to me. Look, don't tell me you don't know in your gut
there's something wrong here." Ketter patted the sprawl of papers Gerry
had put before him.

 
          
"Trust
me, Gerry. There's nothing I'd like better than to uncover something like this.
It would be good for both of us."