The Proteus Cure (22 page)

What have I done?

Shen looked at his boy, so innocent. So full of life. And he could have died.

Because of his father’s chosen profession.

No more killing. No more.

“Fai, Pa has to do some business. You watch TV. If you need anything you go see your Ma.” He patted him on the head and walked into his bedroom.

“Jing. I have to go out and do something important. Fai is in the living room. You sleep some more. It’s still very early.”

She smiled and nodded.

Shen grabbed a large plastic trash bag from under the kitchen sink and tossed the mushroom package into it, then headed for the garage.

He unlocked his fireproof cabinet. Seeing the contents with new eyes was a slap in the face. This arsenal filled Shen with shame.

He was no better than the murdering monsters from which he had run. He always had been, and still was, nothing more than a hired killer. He pretended to have left that life in China, but he hadn’t. And his son had almost died because of it.

He picked up his brass knuckles and nunchuks and dropped them in the bag.

Fai almost died.

He grabbed the knife his father had given him when he turned thirteen. The shiny steel showed him the reflection of a murderer. His father had taught him the art of killing. He would not teach the same lessons to his boy. He turned the knife away, unable to look any longer at his own face. He dropped the knife in the bag.

Tears fell down his face. He swept all the bottles and packages on the top shelf into the bag. Poisons.

What kind of father am I? What kind of human am I?

When the cabinet was empty, he tied up the bag, grabbed his shovel, and drove to the local hiking trail. No one was there in the winter. He drove around the lake and up the big hill to the old fort. He took out the shovel and dug a deep hole. Deep enough for a grave. Ceremoniously, he lowered the bag. Li Shen did not deserve to live. If it weren’t for Jing and Fai, he would jump into the grave as well and take his own life. But he had an obligation to take care of them and love them.

Within a half hour he had replaced the dirt and covered it with twigs and wet leaves. He felt relieved to truly be changing his life. No matter what the consequences, he would never kill again.

Sheila thought about Paul while depositing a chart onto the desk.

His kissing her last night had knocked her off balance. But in a good way. Not a wake-up call—more like a wake-up jolt. Lit a flame in her. She was eager to see him. In twenty minutes he was picking her up at her house. She couldn’t help smiling as she pressed the down button on the elevator.

She realized how much she missed being part of someone’s team, the other half of a couple.

And what about her own life? How could she be thinking romance when she was in someone’s crosshairs?

If nothing else, thoughts of him offered a safe harbor from obsessing on the awful possibilities.

“Sheila?”

Ellen Bascomb, director of the center’s blood bank, bustled toward her. At five-two, and just shy of two-hundred pounds, bustle was the best she could do.

Sheila knew what this was about and did not want to deal with it today.

Should have taken the stairs, she thought.

“Hi, Ellen, I—”

“I wish you’d come to me before filing that incident report.”

Here we go.

“I had no choice. You know that.”

“We do
not
err in our DNA tests. It simply doesn’t happen.”

Sheila could feel her Irish rising. Didn’t need this today.

“Your lab’s error had someone thinking he wasn’t the father of his child. He was convinced his son was switched at birth. Do you have any idea what kind of anguish that caused him?”

Ellen cast her eyes down.

“If that’s not an error, Ellen, tell me what is.”

The little woman lost some of her steam. But not all.

“We’ve got so many safeguards in place, damn it. It couldn’t happen.”

“But it did. I had to report it.”

Ellen sighed. “I know that. I just wish we still had that sample.”

Sheila knew that they followed the typical lab policy of discarding samples after five days unless instructed otherwise.

“I labeled the second sample myself, handed it to your tech personally, to Jenny, and it showed a completely different result than the first one.”

Ellen shook her head. “Weird shit going on down there lately.”

“Such as?”

“Well, that screw-up, for one.” She looked at Sheila sheepishly. “Jenny temporarily lost the sample you gave her.” Sheila felt herself redden with rage. Ellen reached for her arm. “But she found it of course. Obviously. Jenny said she’s sure she racked it but then it was nowhere to be found. Then there it was again, a few hours later, on the rack. I don’t understand it. I’ve got a tight staff, they’re dedicated …” She shrugged.

“No system is foolproof.”

“You don’t believe me.” She looked hurt. Not defensive, just hurt.

The elevator doors opened and Sheila fairly leaped to escape.

“Gotta go. Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

She meant that. Ellen was tops.

So how come her department screwed up?

Paul pulled up to Sheila’s house and smiled. Quaint. Not a word he used often, but it fit. Early New England. Light gray, weathered shingles, white shutters on all the windows. He imagined yellow tulips sprouting in the spring. The dormant lawn looked well tended. He figured Tethys mowed it for her. They gave their employees a lot of perks.

Sheila stepped out of the house before he shut off his car. Too bad. He was hoping to see the inside, check out her bedroom. He laughed to himself. Maybe she was a little out of his league, but he could hope. Anyway, he had some big issues at hand.

“Hi,” she said when she reached the car.

“Hey. Did you eat yet?”

“No, just coffee.” She opened her door and got in. “I thought maybe we could pick something along the way.”

“No need. I’ve got two Starbucks real coffees, not the dessert kind for wimps, and two scones.”

Sheila reached for the small brown bag. “You wouldn’t happen to have a maple scone in here …”

Paul grinned. “Yep. Two of them. I went out on a limb, assuming everyone likes them as much as I do.”

“Like? I
love
these. It’s the only kind I like enough to justify the calories. Thanks.”

“It’s the only kind worth buying.” He winked and put the car in drive, balancing his own scone on his lap. “We should reach Manchester in about forty minutes if we don’t encounter much school-bus residua.”

Sheila munched a bite of walnuts and maple icing.

“That’s some vocabulary, Paul.”

He grinned. “You sure this is okay with your boss?”

“Absolutely. Made morning rounds and don’t have outpatients until two-o’clock. I normally catch up on my charts during this stretch, but they can wait.”

“I really appreciate this.”

She seemed flustered by his gratitude. “De nada.”

He pointed. “So, cute little house you have there. Cozy.”

She smiled. “I like it. Love it, really. All those years living in dorms or apartments makes you really appreciate having your own house.”

“So this is your first?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

Paul was surprised. He had started his grownup life so much younger. This was his fourth house if you counted that condo. And here was Sheila, only a little younger than he, never married, no kids, first house.

Wait. Right before Coogan got hit …

“Sorry to jump around but I just remembered the conversation we were having right before Coog’s accident. You were just about to explain your last name.”

“Look, shouldn’t we first talk about what we’re going to say to this trustee?”

She was stalling. He didn’t want to talk about his life either but hoped she’d reveal a little about herself.

“We have plenty of time. Come on, tell me about you. It will get my mind off the paternity thing.”

“All right. Maiden name was Donnelly. Both parents Irish. They died years ago. And I married a nice Japanese boy right out of college. Hideki Takamura. Everyone just called him Dek.”

Paul watched her smile as she recalled what he could tell was a happy time.

“We had our future all planned out. He’d get a job then I’d finish med school. I’d go into a residency, complete it, and then we’d have two little Amer-Asian children, a boy and a girl. Dek Jr., and Mary after my grandmother.”

She paused, smiling. He wondered what else she was remembering.

“We were right on track. I was completing a great residency at BU Medical Center. Dek worked for JCAHO, a government body that approves hospitals and nursing homes. He was gearing up for a promotion and was knee deep in an investigation. Some kind of conflict of interest. Not sure what, exactly, but Dek was excited. He said as soon as he sent in his report, he knew he’d get promoted. We were both thrilled. It was like things couldn’t get any better.”

Paul smiled along with her. He was a little jealous. He remembered when he had felt that kind of boundless enthusiasm. When life couldn’t get any better. Lucky girl. Perfect life, compared to what he’d gone through.

“And then it was all over. Dek was dead. I was working over at BU when I got the call. His motorcycle had skidded off the road and he was gone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He’d never dreamed she was a widow.

She kept talking, as if she needed to keep going. “I was destroyed. I wasn’t raised in a very emotional home. My parents weren’t demonstrative or affectionate. You were always supposed to hold everything close to the breast. ‘Never let ’em see you cry,’ ” she said in a harsh Irish accent.

Paul was stunned. He’d been raised that way too. He’d seen her as Snow White, Pollyanna. Perfect, sunny, and happy all the time. He’d envisioned her singing as she did house work. And now to hear all this …

Maybe she wasn’t out of his league. Maybe she
would
understand his circumstances … accept him and his past. Even if the Kaplan trustee couldn’t help, this talk was making the drive worthwhile.

“I was good about holding things in. Very good. Mum died of lung cancer and Da of heart disease a year apart. Damn chain-smoking. Thank you, Philip Morris. They made it to my graduation from medical school. They were so proud. At least they saw that. Then they were gone. I had to deal with their deaths and keep up with my residency, but I held it together.”

He could see Sheila clenching her jaw, reliving the sadness.

“I managed by clinging to Dek with everything I had. He
was
everything I had. Training and Dek. They were my life. When he died, it was too much. I fell apart. I looked fine, but inside I felt like I’d died too.”

Paul swallowed hard. He knew exactly how that felt, to watch everything in your life fall apart, and then to try to go on. The world expected it.

Easier said than done. If anyone knew that, Paul did.

He reached over and touched her hand, squeezed it, gently. She squeezed back. Paul thanked God he didn’t drive a standard and could hold her hand as long as she’d let him.

“Bill Gilchrist saved me. Head of the whole hospital and he interviewed me personally. He was the only one who understood what was wrong, but he hired me anyway. He gave me a lot of leeway those first few months. Really took me under his wing.”

What chance did he have? A cable installer who reads books to terminal patients, writes unpublished novels, and lives on the Milltown border in a tired colonial?

She said, “Bill Gilchrist … I was so intimidated back then, and now … he’s just a regular person after all.”

Sheila took a deep breath let it out. He could hear the whoosh, feel her grip relax. She took back her hand and wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just dumped all that on you. I didn’t mean to. I just—you’re a good listener.”

“Well, I’ve only seen you at work. I wondered about the rest of your life, your past mostly. Now I know.”

“Now you know.” She nodded. “Okay, your turn. Let’s hear your past. Hope it’s sunnier than mine.”

If only his were one tenth as sunny. But now was not the time.

He saw the sign for Manchester.

“Hey look, we’re here.”

That was close.

Paul parked in front of a white shingled house that sported a navy blue wooden swinging sign. Gold letters read
Alfred B. George, Attorney at Law
.

“Here’s the place. He’d better be more helpful than that idiot Kaplan.”

Sheila grimaced. “We can only hope.”

They walked up the wooden steps. Sheila noticed that all the houses on the street looked old but well preserved. Painted wooden shingles, white trim, shutters. A seaside Stepford village.

“Come on, let’s go meet this guy.”

Alfred B. George had an appropriate name. Seeing him, Sheila guessed he’d been a nerdy know-it-all kid who’d remained that way when he grew up. Skinny and balding, he wore a light blue button-down shirt with a plain navy blue tie, and spoke in a whine.

“Have a seat please. Hmm, let’s not waste any time. You called about Kaplan Biologicals?” He looked at his watch and tapped his pen on his desk. Mont Blanc. Tap-tap-tap. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Sheila saw he was in a hurry. “We want to know who bought the assets.”

“Lee T. Swann.”

“Who?”

Alfred B. George pointed to a piece of paper.

“Right here. Lee T. Swann. He bought all the assets. That’s what you wanted to know, that’s what I got for you. If you want a list of all the creditors who didn’t get paid, I can get you that. But you specifically asked for the name of the party who purchased the assets of Kaplan Biologicals.”

Sheila and Paul looked at each other.

“Yes,” Paul said. “That’s all we need. What was his name again?”

“Lee T. Swann. Two N’s. Want his address?”

Paul scribbled down the name and poised his pen. “Yes, please.”

“160 Milk Street, Suite two-five-seven, Boston 02109.” Alfred B. George rose. “Will that be all? I hate to rush but I’ve got clients waiting.”