The Proteus Cure (28 page)

“Tell me about her.”

“A Negro woman developing Caucasian features.”

“That patient wouldn’t happen to be named Green, would she?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”

He allowed a smile. “I sent her to you. What have you learned?”

“Not much yet. But she’s scheduled for more biopsies and some DNA tests this morning. That should point us in the right direction.”

Oh, it will, he thought with a sinking feeling.

He quelled the rush of anxiety. The only way to link Kaplan Biologicals to VecGen was the mysterious Mr. Swann. Since Swann would be downwind when the shit hit the VecGen fan, he might want to remain mysterious.

But all that aside, Gerald’s curiosity had been piqued. He hesitated, wondering if he should push this line a little further, then decided to go for it.

“Is there a Caucasian patient at Tethys with complementary changes?”

Another widening of her eyes. “Yes! How can you know that?”

Easy when you have certain facts at your disposal.

“Have you biopsied her?”

Dr. Takamura’s face fell. “No. She died of a fall at home and the family cremated her body before I could arrange a post.”

Gerald hid his elation. This was good news for all concerned. Now, if Tanesha Green would be so kind as to step out in front of a bus …

“Most unfortunate.” Gerald glanced at his watch. “I have patients waiting. I’ve told you all I know and I hope not to see either of you ever again.”

“What are you hiding?” the man said.

Dr. Takamura opened the door and took his arm, pulling him toward it.

“Come on, Paul. That’s not going to help.”

His voice rose as he stopped in the doorway and pointed a finger at Gerald.

“You’re hiding something, Kaplan. I’m going to find out what it is, and when I do, you’re through!”

“Sorry about that,” Paul said as they walked toward the parking lot.

“It’s all right.” Sheila pulled her coat closer around her. God, the wind was cold. Gray rain clouds lidded the sky. “That man definitely knows more than he’s saying.”

“Damn right. Coog’s altered tissue DNA—he didn’t pull that out of thin air.”

Sheila agreed. But the retest had come back correct.

So why this uneasiness creeping through her? She tried to shake it off.

“Let’s concentrate on Innovation Ventures.”

Paul sighed. “I suppose we should. I guess that’s our next look-up. Maybe we can get some answers from them.”

Like last time, Sheila had made morning rounds early and didn’t have to be back on duty until two. Paul had picked her up in the Tethys lot and they’d headed for Salem. The downside of her schedule today was that she wouldn’t get off until eight. So now looked like the perfect time to hunt down Innovation Ventures.

“Your place is closer,” she said. “Let’s get there and start searching.”

She had another reason for choosing Paul’s. Coog was still home from school and that would keep them on their best behavior. Since their close encounter, whenever Sheila was alone with Paul the throbbing between her legs distracted her. Good ol’ lust. Today, though, she needed to stay focused.

At Paul’s place, he made coffee while she began the search. Coog’s interest flagged after a few minutes and he wandered off.

Innovation Ventures turned out to be almost as elusive as Lee T. Swann. But its name did pop up in articles on a number of biotech startups. For the hell of it, she linked IV with VecGen and …

“Well, will you look at that,” Paul said as he leaned over her shoulder, distracting her with his Irish Spring aura. “IV pulls the plug on Kaplan and then funds VecGen to do basically the same thing. That make sense to you?”

Sheila shook her head both to say no and to clear it. She really wanted to kiss him. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this swept away with wanting someone. She finally answered.

“It might if we had the whole picture. We need more info.”

Silence … then an idea.

“What if I call Innovation saying I’m doing an article for a financial journal? Maybe I can squeeze a little something out of them.”

Paul smiled. “What’ve we got to lose?”

Sheila got the phone number and address on the Yahoo Yellow Pages. Just a few towns over, in Andover. Coincidence?

After four rings an answering machine picked up. A creaky female voice said,
“Leave a message after the beep.”

Sheila hung up.

“Just an answering machine, and no mention of the company.”

“Maybe they’re out of business.”

“If so, why are they paying a phone bill?” She looked up at Paul. “Short drive. Want to take a look?”

He shrugged. “Probably a waste of time, but sure, why not?”

•

The address turned out to be a two-story Dutch colonial box with an adjacent ten-space parking lot, nearly full.

Paul pulled into one of the spaces, “Not exactly the kind of place I’d expect a venture capital company to call home.”

Sheila had to agree. Far from shabby, but it could have used some sprucing up. She pulled out the mini-recorder she’d borrowed from Paul.

“Time to get into character.”

She and Paul had discussed this on the way over and decided she’d go in alone, pretending to be a reporter doing a series for Biocentury Publications, which published newsletters on biotechs and venture capital firms.

She walked up to the front entrance where she stopped to read the directory: a real estate broker, a dentist, an accountant, and Innovation Ventures.

Inside she saw
Innovation Ventures
printed in some sort of digital font on the first door to the left. She gripped the doorknob, then hesitated.

Sheila took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Locked.

So she knocked. And knocked again. Then a third time. No answer.

What sort of business wasn’t open at ten-thirty on a weekday morning?

She headed back to Paul and the car.

“That was quick,” he said. “They shoot you down?”

She shook her head. “Nobody home.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really?” He stepped out of the car. “Something’s not kosher here. First floor?”

She nodded. “On the other side.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

“The door’s locked, Paul.”

He smiled. “I mean the windows.”

He started walking toward the building.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“What if we get caught?”

“Doing what? Not as if we’re going to break in or anything. We’re just looking to see if anybody’s home.”

Sheila followed him to the far side where he pushed aside some overgrown yews and peered in the window. Sheila did her own peering—around. She couldn’t get over the feeling of being watched, but saw no one.

After a moment Paul turned to her. “See for yourself.”

She stepped through the branches and cupped her hands against the glass for a look. The blinds were down but not completely drawn. She saw an expanse of empty, carpeted floor, bare of furniture except for a chair and single desk. And on that, an answering machine.

She backed away. “I don’t get it. It looks like they’re out of business.”

“That it does. But if so, why keep paying rent on office space you’re not using? It doesn’t add up.”

A lot of things didn’t add up. Especially Kaplan mentioning Coog’s changed DNA on that test.

“Take me back to Tethys, will you? I’ve got a few things I need to look into before I start seeing patients.”

•

“Ellen?” Sheila said as she knocked on the doorframe of the laboratory director’s office.

Ellen looked up from her desk. Her short stature and rotund figure made her look like an overweight child sitting at an adult table.

“Oh.” No smile. “Sheila.”

The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Sheila stepped in without waiting to be asked.

“You know that incident report I filed?”

“How can I forget?”

Ellen wouldn’t have Coog’s original sample—it was long gone—but …

“Do you still have the follow-up sample?”

“I know we do. It’s passed its five-day mark but I’m holding onto it.”

Thank God.

Ellen looked down at her desk. “I … I retested it myself.”

“And?”

“Still Paul Rosko’s son.”

“Could I have a look at it?”

Ellen looked up again. “Why?”

“I just want to look it over. Okay?”

Ellen’s expression turned puzzled. She looked as if she was going to make a comment, but shrugged instead.

“Check with Amisha out there.”

Sheila tracked down Amisha, a lithe Indian woman wearing a white lab coat over a red-and-yellow sari. She readily found the sample.

“Here it is,” she said as she placed the tube in Sheila’s hand.

Sheila turned it over to check the label. Her blood froze. She’d labeled the tube herself.

But this wasn’t her handwriting.

As the shock wore off she strained to understand … why would somebody relabel Coogan’s sample? Unless …

No. Unthinkable. But she had to know.

“Amisha? Dr. Bascomb mentioned a missing sample last week.”

“But I found it,” she said in melodic tones.

Could someone have switched Coogan’s sample?

Yes, they could have.

But where could they find a sample that would show him as the child of Paul and Rose?

From Coogan. Before the therapy. Someone saved some of his old tissue because they knew …

Coogan’s DNA—just like his eyes and hair and face—
had
changed after his KB26 treatment.

And someone wanted to keep that a secret.

But who would have had a sample of Coogan’s before KB?

Kaplan? He’d mentioned it this morning. He’d suspected it or why would he have asked? But he couldn’t have made the switch. He’d only been provided control numbers, no patient IDs. Anyway an outsider couldn’t just waltz in here and start fiddling with the samples.

One of the techs?

No motive.

Bill. She’d thought it odd that he’d known about Coogan’s DNA probe. Could he …?

“Has Doctor Gilchrist visited the lab lately?”

Amisha shook her head. “Not on my shift.”

She had to get out of here. But first … just to be extra sure, she popped her head back through Ellen’s doorway.

“Had any visits from Bill Gilchrist recently?”

Ellen shook her head. “Not personally, but someone on the late shift mentioned he’d been down here nosing around.”

The back of her neck crawled. “When?”

“Last week.” Her tone turned frosty. “Anything else?"

Speechless, Sheila turned and walked away, trying not to stagger.

Bill … somehow, some way, Bill had been involved all along.

She had to get back to her office … lock herself in so she could be alone and think. The one thing she wanted to do—get another sample from Coog and bring it to an outside lab for processing—was out of the question. Because she couldn’t do it without telling Paul. Who knew what he’d do? If she told him that she suspected someone of falsifying Coog’s results … he was already a ticking timebomb.

No, she had to find another way. One that didn’t involve Paul.

Out of habit, the first thing Sheila did when she reached her office was check her voicemail. She found a message from Bill.

“Sheila? Bill. Meet late afternoon? Call me.”

How could she sit across from him without his sensing something wrong? It was all circumstantial, yes, but the pieces fit together too well. And what if he asked how her investigation was going? What’s new with Tanesha? No, she’d have to make up an excuse and hope she didn’t sound phony.

With a shaking finger she punched in his extension. Marge picked up and told her he was out.

Thank you, God.

She left her regrets. Tied up. Sorry. She’d take a raincheck.

Marge said it would have to be next week then, as Bill was leaving for Switzerland on business.

Sheila was shaking when she hung up. Switzerland. Good. Having him away would make her feel a lot safer. She didn’t trust him anymore.

She needed evidence. All she had at this point was speculation.

She headed for the clinic where Tanesha Green would be waiting … but wasn’t. So Sheila waited. Half an hour late. Then an hour. With any other patient, she wouldn’t have worried. But Tanesha was not only a sick patient with an undiagnosed problem, she was evidence.

Sweating now, Sheila dialed the woman’s phone number. This wasn’t like Tanesha. She was concerned, wanted answers, and wanted them now. No way she’d skip out on a biopsy.

“Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

“Tanesha, this is Doctor Takamura. I just spoke to—”

“This ain’t Tanesha. This her sister.” Mean Aunt T, no doubt.

“Oh, sorry. You sound alike. Can I speak—?”

“Tanesha’s dead.”

A wave of shock slammed through Sheila.

“Wh-what? How?”

“Heart attack.”

“When?”

“Last night. She dialed nine-one-one but by time they got here she was just about gone. They kept her going till they got her to the ’mergency room, but then she was done for. After twenty minutes, she was gone. They couldn’t bring her back.”

Sheila sat stunned. How could this be?

“You said you was her doctor?” the sister said.

“What? Yes.”

“Then how come you didn’t see this comin’?”

Good question. Tanesha had been overweight, but her blood pressure had been good and her cholesterol only borderline high. She’d never had a single cardiac-related complaint. But then, angina in women is often silent.

“She never gave me any reason to suspect a heart problem. She came to me about her skin and hair.”

“
That
what killed Tanesha—all her stressin’ ’bout her skin. Her wires was pulled as tight as tight can be. They finally broke.”

Sheila felt dazed. She’d known it had to be something serious to make Tanesha miss her biopsies, but never dreamed it would be—

“Where was she taken?”

“What?”

“The funeral home. I want to ask them about the autopsy. Where—?”