“Dr. Stapleton,” Aretha said brightly, the moment she picked up.
“Let’s skip the formality. Jack is fine. After last night we should be on a first-name basis!”
“Fair enough,” Aretha said. “Thank you again for introducing me to your friends and getting me into the game. It was really fun.”
“You impressed the lot of them,” Jack said. “Ultimately, you didn’t need my help in the slightest.” Aretha had proved herself to be personable as well as a gifted player. Jack was certain from then on she would be in high demand whenever she showed up at the playground.
“I disagree,” Aretha said. “From experience, I know something about the sociology of street basketball. Anyway, I’m sure you aren’t calling about last night’s game. You want to know what’s up with your samples, am I right?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d love it.”
“Here’s what I can say at this point. There is a suggestion of cytotoxicity with one of the inoculated tissue samples. It’s the one with human kidney cells. I used a variety of different tissue cultures, as viruses can be choosy. The reason I didn’t call you is that it’s not absolutely definitive. Not yet. But in my mind, it is mighty suggestive. I should know more bythis afternoon. If it turns out to be true cytotoxicity, it would be considered a rapid reaction, meaning the virus has to be quite pathogenic or in a very high titer or both.”
“I wish you could just out-and-out tell me.” Jack was aware the comment sounded perilously close to a complaint.
“Sorry,” Aretha said. “Working with viruses is a tricky but fascinating business, which is why I ended up majoring in the field. People mistakenly think viruses are primitive, but they’re not. Not by a long shot. They have been evolving for millions upon millions of years.”
“I’m glad you’re a fan,” Jack said. “But for me, at the moment, I see them as the enemy. What I need to know is whether a virus killed this woman. And if it did, what kind of virus it is and whether it’s planning on killing a whole bunch more people.”
“I’m on your side,” Aretha said. “I’ll be checking these tissue cultures on a regular basis. As soon as I know something, I’ll call. If there is a virus, the next step will be to try to identify it. Let’s touch base this afternoon.”
“Much appreciated,” Jack said.
“Will you be playing tonight?”
“That I can’t say. Depends on what’s happening on the home front.”
“I hope your daughter is doing okay.”
“That remains to be seen,” Jack said noncommittally before ending the call.
Jack had reached his office with plans to work on his many outstanding cases, but the conversation with Aretha had reenergized him. Hearing that some cytopathic effects were potentially showing up in less than twenty-four hours in tissue cultures of human cells certainly increased the chances that a lethal virus was loose in the city. It might not be influenza, but influenza wasn’t the only bad guy in the viral hall of horrors.
Grabbing his leather jacket, as the weather was a bit cooler, Jack went back down to the basement level and got his Trek. Just as he had done the day before, he took the short ride down to 26th Street. When he arrived, he went directly up to the fifth floor.
“You look all charged up,” Bart Arnold said, the moment Jack appeared.
“I am,” Jack admitted. He mentioned the possible evidence a virus was involved with the subway death, even though all the rapid viral tests had been negative. “I also learned something else surprising, if not shocking. John DeVries in Toxicology ran a screen overnight for immunosuppressants. The woman had none on board. Zero!”
“How can that be if she recently had a heart transplant? I mean, you are sure she had a heart transplant, aren’t you?”
For a few beats Jack just stared at Bart, expecting the man to laugh. It seemed absurd for him to pose this question at all, let alone to one of New York’s most seasoned MEs. With some difficulty Jack suppressed the urge to make one of his cuttingly sarcastic responses. Without immediately responding, he got one of the stools on wheels from a neighboring desk, as he had on his last visit, and sat down.
“I’m going to assume that was a rhetorical question,” Jack said. “Let’s cut to the chase. Did Janice mention that I popped in here on my way in to work today? I was so sure it was an oversight that I hadn’t been called during the evening. Instead I learned there hadn’t been any calls about a missing, attractive, elegantly dressed woman. In particular, no calls from an apparent partner or wife named Helen.”
“Janice did tell me,” Bart said. “And she told me the time. You certainly were early.”
“What’s happened since I visited? Have there been any calls into Communications about the case that could lead to an identification?”
“I’m afraid not,” Bart said.
“That’s disappointing, to say the least. So what are you doing to solve this situation?” Jack couldn’t keep the touch of sarcasm from his tone. He knew they were doing nothing. “You said that no one gets concerned until at least eight hours or even twenty-four hours go by. Well, for your edification, we are rapidly closing in on the twenty-four-hour marker. We need an identification! Especially if it turns out to involve some sort of alethal virus, containment is going to be the number one priority. To do containment, an ID is absolutely essential. Have you spoken with Sergeant Murphy or Hank Monroe?” Sergeant Murphy was a New York City police officer attached to the NYPD Missing Persons Squad of the Detective Bureau. Hank Monroe was the director of the relatively new Identification Department. Prior to the 9/11 catastrophe, there hadn’t been such a department; but after 9/11, when identification had been an operational nightmare, it was deemed essential.
“Not yet,” Bart admitted.
“How about with the DNA people? Have you spoken with them this morning? Any results yet?”
“No, I haven’t spoken with them. It is much too early for any results. Same with histology and serology.”
