Terminal (32 page)

The call from Kevin Porter came within minutes of Brian’s arrival.

“I’m afraid I don’t have great news for you,” Kevin said. “A liquor store owner got your brother’s tag leaving the scene of a burglary.”

Brian sighed and looked at his mother. She was sitting on the very edge of a straight-backed chair with her hands clasped together in her lap. Brian was furious with Sean. Didn’t he ever consider the effects of his escapades on their poor mother?

“It’s a weird story,” Kevin continued. “It seems that a dead body was mutilated and, you ready for this…?”

“Let me have the whole story,” Brian said.

“Somebody stole the brain out of the body,” Kevin said. “And this body wasn’t some derelict. The deceased was a young woman whose father is some business bigwig up there in Beantown.”

“Here in Boston?”

“Yup, and there’s a big ruckus down here because of his connections,” Kevin said. “Pressure is being put on the police to do something. The state’s attorney has drawn up a list of charges a mile long. The medical examiner who looked at the body guessed the skull had been opened with a jigsaw.”

“And Sean’s 4 × 4 was seen leaving the scene?” Brian asked. He was already trying to think of a defense.

“Afraid so,” Kevin said. “Plus one of the medical examiners
says your brother and a nurse were at the medical examiner’s office only a few hours before asking about the same body. Seems they wanted samples. Looks like they got them. Obviously the police are looking for your brother and the nurse for questioning and probably arrest.”

“Thanks, Kevin,” Brian said. “Let me know where you’ll be today. I might need you, especially if Sean is arrested.”

“You can reach me all weekend,” Kevin said. “I’ll leave word at the station to call me if your brother is picked up.”

Brian slowly replaced the receiver and looked at his mother. He knew she wasn’t ready for this, especially since she thought Sean was alone in Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Do you have Sean’s phone numbers handy?” he asked. He tried to keep the concern out of his voice.

Anne got them for him without speaking.

Brian called the residence first. He let it ring a dozen times before giving up. Then he tried calling the Forbes Cancer Center research building. Unfortunately all he got was a recording saying that the switchboard was open Monday through Friday, eight until five.

Picking the phone back up decisively, he called Delta Airlines and made a reservation on the noon flight to Miami. Something strange was going on, and he thought he’d better be there in the thick of things.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Anne said. “It’s bad.”

“I’m sure it’s all some misunderstanding,” Brian said. “That’s why I think I should go down there and clear things up.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Anne said.

“Mother,” Brian said. “It’s not your fault.”

H
IROSHI
G
YUHAMA’S
stomach was bothering him. His nerves were on edge. Ever since Sean had frightened him in the stairwell, he’d been reluctant to spy on the man. But this morning he’d had no choice. He checked on Sean as soon as he saw the 4 × 4 in the parking lot so early in the day. When he saw
that Sean was feverishly working in his lab, Hiroshi returned to his office.

Hiroshi was doubly upset now that Tanaka Yamaguchi was in town. Hiroshi had met him at the airport two days earlier and had driven him to the Doral Country Club where he planned to stay and play golf until the final word came from Sushita.

The final word had come late Friday night. After reviewing Tanaka’s memorandum, the Sushita board had decided that Sean Murphy was a risk to the Forbes investment. Sushita wanted him in Tokyo forthwith where they would “reason” with him.

Hiroshi was not at all comfortable around Tanaka. Knowing of the man’s associations with the Yakusa made Hiroshi extremely wary. And Tanaka gave subtle hints that he did not respect Hiroshi. He’d bowed when they met, but he hadn’t bowed very low, and not for very long. Their conversation on the way to the hotel had been inconsequential. Tanaka did not mention Sean Murphy. And once they arrived at the hotel, Tanaka had ignored Hiroshi. Worst of all he did not invite Hiroshi to play golf.

All these slights were painfully obvious to Hiroshi; the implications were clear.

Hiroshi dialed the Doral Country Club Hotel and asked to speak with Mr. Yamaguchi. He was transferred to the clubhouse since Mr. Yamaguchi had scheduled a tee time in twenty minutes.

Tanaka came on the line. He was particularly curt when he heard Hiroshi’s voice. Speaking in rapid Japanese, Hiroshi got directly to the point.

“Mr. Sean Murphy is here at the research center,” Hiroshi said.

“Thank you,” Tanaka said. “The plane is on its way. All is in order. We will be at Forbes this afternoon.”

S
EAN HAD
started the morning off in high spirits. After the initial ease of identifying the immunoglobulin and the three
cytokines, Sean had expected just as rapid progress in determining exactly what kind of antigen the immunoglobulin reacted to. Since it reacted so strongly with the tumor cell suspension, he reasoned that the antigen had to be membrane-based. In other words, the antigen had to be on the surface of the cancer cells.

To assure himself of this assumption as well as confirm that the antigen was at least partially a peptide, Sean had treated intact cells from Helen’s tumor with trypsin. When he tried to see if these digested cells reacted with the immunoglobulin, he quickly learned they did not.

But from that moment on, Sean had run into trouble. He could not characterize this membrane-based antigen. His idea was to try innumerable known antigens and see if they reacted with the antigen binding portion of the unknown immunoglobulin. None reacted. Using literally hundreds of cell lines grown in tissue culture, he spent hours filling the little wells, but he got no reaction. He was particularly interested in cell lines whose origins were from neural tissues. He tried normal cells and transformed or neoplastic cells. He tried digesting all the cells with detergents in increasing concentration, first to open the cell membranes and expose cytoplasmic antigens, then to open nuclear membranes to expose nuclear antigens. Still nothing reacted. There wasn’t a single episode of immunofluorescence in any of hundreds of tiny wells.

Sean couldn’t believe how difficult it was turning out to be to find an antigen to react with the mysterious immunoglobulin. So far he hadn’t even gotten a partial reaction. Just when he was losing patience, the phone rang. He walked to a wall extension to answer it. It was Janet.

“How’s it going, Einstein?” she asked brightly.

“Terrible,” Sean said. “I’m not getting anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Janet said. “But I’ve got something that might brighten your day.”

“What?” Sean asked. At the moment he couldn’t imagine anything except the antigen he was seeking. But Janet certainly wouldn’t be able to supply that.

“I got a sample of Louis Martin’s large vial medicine,” Janet said. “I used your idea.”

“Great,” Sean said without much enthusiasm.

“What’s the matter?” Janet questioned. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am pleased,” he said. “But I’m also frustrated with the stuff I have; I’m at a loss.”

“Let’s meet so I can give you this syringe,” Janet said. “Maybe you need a break.”

They met as usual in the cafeteria. Sean took advantage of the time to get something to eat. As before, Janet passed Sean the syringe under the table. He slipped it into his pocket.

“I brought my overnight bag, as requested,” she said, hoping to lighten Sean’s mood.

Sean merely nodded as he ate his sandwich.

“You seem a lot less excited about our trip than you did this morning,” Janet commented.

“I’m just preoccupied,” Sean said. “I never would have guessed I’d not find some antigen that would react with the mysterious immunoglobulin.”

“My day hasn’t been so great either,” Janet said. “Gloria is no better. If anything, she’s a little worse. Seeing her makes me depressed. I don’t know about you, but I’m really looking forward to getting away. I think it will do us both some good. Maybe a little time away from the lab will give you some ideas.”

“That would be nice,” Sean said dully.

“I’ll be off sometime around three-thirty,” Janet said. “Where shall we meet?”

“Come over to the research building,” Sean said. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer. If we leave from that side, we’ll miss the shift-change crowd in the hospital.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” Janet said brightly.

S
TERLING REACHED
over the seat and nudged Wayne. Wayne, who’d been sleeping in the back, sat up quickly.

“This looks promising,” Sterling said. He pointed through
the windshield at a black stretch Lincoln Town Car that was parking at the curb midway between the hospital building and the research building. Once the car stopped, a Japanese man got out of the rear and gazed up at the two buildings.

“That’s Tanaka Yamaguchi,” Sterling said. “Can you tell how many people are in the limousine with your glasses?”

“It’s difficult to see through the tinted windows,” Wayne said, using a small pair of binoculars. “There’s a second man sitting in the back seat. Wait a sec. The front door is opening as well. I can see two more. That’s four people total.”

“That’s what I’d expect,” Sterling said. “I trust that they’re all Japanese.”

“You got it, man,” Wayne said.

“I’m surprised they’re here at Forbes,” Sterling said. “Tanaka’s preferred technique is to abduct people in an isolated location so there will be no witnesses.”

“They’ll probably follow him,” Wayne suggested. “Then just wait for the right spot.”

“I imagine you are right,” Sterling said. He saw a second man get out of the limousine. He was tall compared to Tanaka. “Let me have a look with those binoculars,” Sterling said. Wayne passed them over the seat. Sterling adjusted the focus of the glasses and studied the two Orientals. He didn’t recognize the second one.

“Why don’t we go over there and introduce ourselves?” Wayne suggested. “Let them know this is a risky operation. Maybe they’d give up the whole plan.”

“That would only serve to alert them,” Sterling said. “It’s better this way. If we announce ourselves too soon they’ll merely operate more clandestinely. We have to catch them in the act so we have something we can use to bargain with them.”

“It seems like such a cat-and-mouse game,” Wayne said.

“You are absolutely correct,” Sterling said.

R
OBERT
H
ARRIS
had been sitting in his car a few doors down from Tom Widdicomb’s home on Palmetto Lane in Hialeah
since early that morning. Although he’d been there for over four hours, Harris had seen no sign of life except that the lights had all gone out. Once he thought he saw the curtains move the way they had the night before, but he couldn’t be certain. He thought maybe in his boredom his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Several times Harris had been on the verge of giving up. He was wasting too much valuable time on one individual who was suspicious only because of a career switch, the fact that he kept all his lights on, and because he wouldn’t answer his doorbell. Yet the idea that the attack on the two nurses could be related to the cancer patient episodes gnawed at Harris. With no other current ideas or leads, he stayed where he was.

It was just after two
P.M.
, and just when Harris was about to leave to deal with hunger and other bodily needs, that he first saw Tom Widdicomb. The garage door went up, and there he was, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Physically, Tom fit the bill. He was of medium height and medium build with brown hair. His clothes were mildly disheveled. His shirt and pants were unpressed. One sleeve of his shirt was rolled up to mid-forearm, the other was down but unbuttoned. On his feet were old, lightweight running shoes.

There were two cars in the garage: a huge, vintage lime green Cadillac convertible and a gray Ford Escort. Tom started the Ford with some difficulty. Once the engine caught, black smoke billowed out of the exhaust as if the car had not been started for some time. Tom backed it out of the garage, closed the garage door manually, then got back into the Escort. When he pulled out of the driveway, Harris let him build up a lead before following.

Harris did not have any preconceived plan. When he first saw Tom the moment the garage door opened, he considered getting out of the car and having a conversation with the man. But he’d held back, and now he was following him for no specific reason. But soon it became apparent where Tom was headed, and Harris got progressively interested. Tom was heading for the Forbes Cancer Center.

When Tom entered the parking lot, Harris followed but purposefully turned in the opposite direction to avoid Tom’s noticing him. Harris stopped quickly, opened the door, and stood on the running board as he watched Tom cruise around the parking lot and finally stop near the entrance to the hospital.

Harris got back into his car and worked his way closer, finding a vacant spot about fifty feet from the Escort. What was going through his mind was the possibility that Tom Widdicomb might be stalking the second nurse to be attacked, Janet Reardon. If that were true, perhaps he’d been the one who had attacked her, and if he had, maybe he was the breast cancer patients’ killer.

Harris shook his head. It was all so conjectural, with so many “ifs” and so contrary to the way he liked to think and act. He liked facts, not vague suppositions. Yet this was all he had for the moment, and Tom Widdicomb was acting strange: staying in a house with every light on; hiding out most of the day; now loitering in the hospital parking area on his day off, especially when he was supposed to be home sick. As ridiculous as it all might have sounded from a rational point of view it was enough to keep Harris sitting in his car wishing he’d had the foresight to bring sandwiches and Gatorade.

W
HEN
S
EAN
returned from his meeting with Janet, he changed the direction of his investigations. Instead of attempting to characterize the antigenic specificity of Helen Cabot’s medicine, he decided to determine exactly how Louis Martin’s medicine differed from hers. A rapid electrophoresis of the two showed them to be of approximately the same molecular weight, which he’d expected. An equally rapid ELISA test with the anti-human immunoglobulin IgGI confirmed it was the same class of immunoglobulins as Helen’s. He’d also expected that.