Authors: Harlan Coben

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Long Lost (Myron Bolitar) (28 page)

BOOK: Long Lost (Myron Bolitar)

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“I only have ten minutes,” she said by way of explanation.

“I thought it was fifteen.”

“I changed my mind. Thanks for the donation.”

“I need to ask you some questions about Sam Collins.”

Schneider swallowed the bite. “So your colleague said. You know all about patient-client confidentiality, right? So I can skip that speech?”

“Please.”

“He’s dead, so maybe you should tell me your interest in him.”

“I understand he committed suicide.”

“You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Is that common in patients with Huntington’s?”

“Do you know what Huntington’s disease is?”

“I know it’s genetic.”

“It’s an inherited genetic neurological disorder.” She said this between bites. “The disease does not kill you directly, but as the disorder progresses, it leads to a great deal of life-ending complications like pneumonia and heart failure and you-don’t-want-to-know. HD messes with the physical, the psychological, the cognitive. It is not a pretty disorder. So, yes, suicide is not uncommon. Some studies show that one in four give it a try with about seven percent being successful, ironic as the term ‘successful’ is when discussing suicide.”

“And that was the case with Sam Collins?”

“He had depression before being diagnosed. It’s hard to say what came first. HD usually begins with a physical disorder, but there are plenty of times it starts with the psychiatric or cognitive. So his depression could have actually been the first signs of HD misdiagnosed. Doesn’t really matter. Either way he is dead due to HD—suicide is just another life-ending complication.”

“I understand that Huntington’s has to be inherited.”

“Yes.”

“And that if one of the parents has it, the child has a fifty-fifty chance.”

“To keep it simple, I will say, yes, that’s accurate.”

“And if the parent doesn’t have it, the offspring won’t either. That’s it. The family line is clean.”

“Go on.”

“So that means one of Sam Collins’s parents had it.”

“That’s correct. His mother lived to be in her eighties with no signs of Huntington’s, so it probably came from his father, who died young and thus never had a chance to display any symptoms.”

I leaned closer. “Did you test Sam Collins’s children?”

“That’s not really your concern.”

“I’m speaking specifically of Rick Collins. Who is also dead. Murdered, in fact.”

“At the hands of a terrorist, according to the news reports.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you think his father’s diagnosis with Huntington’s disease has something to do with his murder?”

“I do.”

Freida Schneider took another bite and shook her head.

“Rick Collins has a son,” I said.

“I’m aware of that.”

“And he may have a daughter.”

That stopped her mid-bite. “Excuse me?”

I wasn’t sure how to play this. “Rick Collins may not have known she was alive.”

“You want to elaborate?”

“Not really,” I said. “We only have ten minutes.”

“True.”

“So?”

She sighed. “Rick Collins was tested, yes.”

“And?”

“The blood test shows the number of CAG repeats in each of the HTT alleles.”

I just looked at her.

“Right, never mind. In short, the results sadly were positive. We don’t consider the blood test a diagnosis because it could be years, decades even, before the onset of symptoms. But Rick Collins was already exhibiting chorea—basically, jerky movements you can’t really control. He asked us to keep it confidential. We of course agreed.”

I thought about that. Rick had Huntington’s. He had symptoms already—what would his last years have looked like? His father had asked himself that question and ended his life.

“Was Rick’s son tested?”

“Yes, Rick insisted, which I confess is a bit unconventional. There is a lot of debate over testing, especially with a child. I mean, let’s say you find out that a young boy will eventually contract this disorder—isn’t that a terrible burden to live with? Or is it better to know now so you live life to the fullest? And if you’re positive for HD, should you have children yourself who will have a fifty-fifty chance of contracting the illness—and even if you know that, isn’t it still a life worth leading? The ethics are fairly mind-boggling.”

“But Rick tested his son?”

“Yes. Rick was a reporter through and through. He didn’t believe in not knowing. The son, thankfully, was negative.”

“That must have been a relief to him.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the CryoHope Center?”

She thought about it. “They do research and storage, I think. Mostly stem cell banking and the like, right?”

“After Rick Collins came to see you, he visited them. Any clue why?”

“No.”

“How about the Save the Angels charity? Have you heard of it?”

Schneider shook her head.

“There is no cure for HD, correct?” I said.

“Correct.”

“How about through stem cell research?”

“Wait, Mr. Bolitar, let’s back up. You said Rick Collins may have a daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind explaining that to me?”

“Did he tell you that he had a daughter who died ten years ago in a car crash?”

“No. Why would he?”

I mulled that over. “When Rick’s body was found in Paris, there was blood at the scene. The DNA test showed it belonged to a daughter.”

“But you just said his daughter is dead. I’m not following.”

“Neither am I yet. But tell me about stem cell research.”

She shrugged. “Highly speculative at this stage. You could theoretically replace damaged neurons in the brain by transplanting stem cells from cord blood. We’ve seen some encouraging signs in animals, but it hasn’t been subject to human clinical trials.”

“Still. If you’re dying and desperate . . .”

A woman came into the cafeteria. “Dr. Schneider?”

She held up a finger, downed the last bite of sandwich, rose. “For the dying and desperate, yes, anything is possible. Everything from miracle cures to, well, suicide. That’s your ten minutes, Mr. Bolitar. Come back sometime and I’ll give you a tour of the facility. You’ll be surprised by the strength and good work. Thank you for the donation, and good luck with whatever you’re trying to do.”

THE CryoHope Center gleamed, like, well, the ideal blend of a cutting-edge medical facility and an upscale bank. The reception desk was high and made of dark wood. I sidled up to it, Esperanza by my side. I noticed that the receptionist, a corn-fed cutie, was not wearing a wedding band. I debated changing plans. A single woman. I could turn on the charm, and she would fall under my spell and answer all my questions. Esperanza knew what I was thinking and just gave me the look. I shrugged. The receptionist probably didn’t know anything anyway.

“My wife is expecting,” I said, nodding toward Esperanza. “We would like to see someone about storing our baby’s umbilical cord blood.”

The corn-fed receptionist gave me a practiced smile. She handed us a bunch of four-color brochures on thick-stock paper and ushered us into a room with plush seating. There were large, artistic photographs of children on the wall, and one of those diagrams of the human body that makes you think of ninth-grade biology class. We filled out a form on a CryoHope clipboard. They asked for my name. I was tempted to go with either I. P. Daily or Wink Martindale, but I stuck with Mark Kadison because he was a friend of mine and if they called, he’d just laugh.

“Well, hello!”

A man stepped in wearing a white lab coat, tie, and the same dark-framed glasses actors use when they want to look smart. He shook both our hands and sat in the other plush chair.

“So,” he said, “how far along are you?”

I looked at Esperanza.

“Three months,” she said with a frown.

“Congratulations. Is this your first?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re doing the mature thing by looking into storing your baby’s umbilical cord blood.”

“Can you tell us the fee?” I asked.

“One thousand dollars for processing and shipping. Then there are yearly storage fees. I know that may sound expensive, but this is a one-time opportunity. Cord blood contains stem cells that save lives. Simple as that. They can treat anemias and leukemias. They can fight infection and help with certain kinds of cancer. We are on the edge of research that may lead to treatments for heart disease, Parkinson’s, diabetes. No, we can’t cure them yet. But who knows what will happen in a few years’ time? Are you familiar with bone marrow transplants?”

“Somewhat,” I said.

“Cord blood transplants work better and are, of course, safer—no surgical procedure to harvest it. You need an eighty-three percent HLA match to work with bone marrow. You only need a sixty-seven percent match with cord blood. That’s now—right now. We are saving lives today with those stem cell transplants. Are you following me?”

We both nodded.

“Because here’s the key fact: The only opportunity to store cord blood is right after your baby is born. That’s it. You can’t decide to do it when the child is three years old, or maybe, God forbid, when a sibling gets sick down the line.”

“So how does it work exactly?” I asked.

“It is painless and easy. When you have your baby, the blood is collected from the umbilical cord. We separate out the stem cells and deep-freeze them.”

“Where are the stem cells kept?”

He spread his arms. “Right here, in a safe, secure environment. We have guards and backup generators and a safe room. Like you’d find in any bank. The option we work with mostly—and what I would highly recommend for you—is called family banking. In short, you store your baby’s stem cells for your use. Your baby might need it. A sibling. Even one of you or maybe an uncle or aunt. Whatever.”

“How do you know the cord blood will be a match?”

“There are no guarantees. You should know that. But of course the odds are greatly improved you’ll find a match. Plus—well, it looks like you are a couple of mixed heritage. It’s harder to find matches, so this issue may be particularly important for you. Oh, and let me point out that the stem cells we are talking about are from cord blood—they have nothing to do with the controversies you’ve read about involving embryonic stem cells.”

“You don’t store embryos?”

“Oh, we do, but that’s something totally separate from what you’re interested in. That’s for infertility issues and the like. No embryos are harmed in cord-blood stem cell research or storage. I just wanted to make that clear.”

He had a wide smile.

“Are you a doctor?” I asked.

The smile faltered just a wee bit. “No, but we have five on staff.”

“What kinds of doctors?”

“CryoHope has leaders in all the fields.” He handed me a brochure and pointed to the list of five doctors. “We have a geneticist who works with inherited diseases. We have a hematologist who works on the transplant side of things. We have an obstetrician-gynecologist who is a pioneer in the area of infertility. We have a pediatric oncologist who is doing research with stem cells to find cancer treatments for children.”

“So,” I said, “let me ask you a hypothetical.”

He leaned forward.

“I store my baby’s cord blood. Years pass. Now I get sick with something. Maybe you don’t have a cure yet, but I want to try something experimental. Could I use the cord blood?”

“It’s yours, Mr. Kadison. You can do with it what you want.”

I had no idea where to go with this. I looked at Esperanza. She offered up nothing.

“May I talk to one of your doctors?” I asked.

“Are there any questions I haven’t been able to answer?”

I tried to think of another avenue. “Do you have a client named Rick Collins?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Rick Collins. He’s a friend of mine, recommended you. I wanted to make sure he’s a client.”

“That information would be confidential. I’m sure you understand. If someone were to ask about you, I would say the same thing.”

Nowhere.

“Have you ever heard of a charity named Save the Angels?” I asked.

His face shut down.

“Have you?”