While they waited, Jack asked Mark if he had any idea of what pesticide agent Ethan Jameson might have contaminated himself with or how it might have happened. “I’m assuming you people are very careful with these products knowing their toxicity,” Jack said. As he spoke he extended the water bottle out from his body as he struggled to unscrew the cap. It was difficult because the plastic bottle was so soft and pliable.
“We are extraordinarily careful,” Mark claimed. “We have very strict fail-safe rules to ensure our technicians clean themselves appropriately at the end of the day and to keep them from taking any of our products home with them by accident or otherwise.”
As Mark continued talking, Jack finally managed to get the water bottle open, and once he did, the bottle bounced back to itsoriginal shape, losing a tiny splash of the water in the process. He then shook the bit of free water off his hand and apologized to Mark for what had spilled out onto the floor.
“No worries!” Mark said with a wave of dismissal. “Those damn bottles can be a bear to open sometimes.” He then went back to describing the company’s safety rules for the technicians, but for a few moments Jack was not listening. His mind had strayed elsewhere after his struggle with the recalcitrant bottle top. What had suddenly popped into his mind was the issue of water and thirst. He had suddenly remembered a comment he himself had made the day before during lunch at Ted’s Diner when he’d brought up what might be the most famous epidemiological case in the history of medicine. It was when a particularly clever physician named John Snow stopped a cholera epidemic in London by removing the handle from the Broad Street water pump, which serviced a contaminated well.
“What about water?” Jack questioned, thinking out loud. It had suddenly occurred to him that perhaps, just like that 1854 case, this current Essex Falls dementia series was waterborne. For some unknown reason he’d not thought about the possibility. In his mind’s eye he could see the Bennet Municipal Water Department building at the head of the Bennet Reservoir that he’d passed that very morning on his bike ride.
“Excuse me?” Mark said, interrupting himself mid-sentence to look askance at Jack. Jack’s sudden question was a total non sequitur.
Jack started to apologize when he embarrassingly recognized what he had done thanks to his musings and sudden realization, but he was saved by the door thudding open. In swept Art Sorenson with a particularly assertive and dynamic personality. He was relatively young, probably in his mid-forties, tall, tanned, and slender.In addition to his outgoing bearing, he was unique in regard to his apparent fastidiousness about his person and clothing. Even though he was working in a pest control company out in the boondocks, he was wearing a fresh dress shirt with a tasteful tie and his hair was carefully groomed.
Mark immediately introduced Art to Jack and vice versa and explained that Jack was there in an attempt to learn what he could about Ethan Jameson.
“Anything you might be able to tell me could be helpful, anything and everything,” Jack added. “I particularly wanted to chat with you because Mark said you were the one who interacted the most with Ethan Jameson here at the American Pest Control.”
“Every day!” Art said. “He was opinionated, occasionally argumentative and volatile, but most definitely responsible. We might have had our disagreements, but we respected each other. Workwise, he was meticulous and consistent, which is how you have to be in this business. I have to give him credit. He never cut corners, as far as I knew.”
“Do you have any idea of how he might have slipped up on this occasion to contaminate himself?” Jack asked.
“I don’t,” Art said. “After he died, Chief Hargrove had us go over the interior of his truck carefully. We found nothing amiss there nor in the house where he was living.”
“How about his relationship with his fellow technicians?” Jack asked. “Any particular vendettas there or any ill feelings that you knew of?”
“None apparent,” Art said. “My sense is that they didn’t interact during their off-hours as Ethan’s interests revolved almost exclusively around his beloved Diehard Patriots. The other four are more into hunting and fishing.”
“Okay!” Jack said, patting his knees and standing up. Having suddenly hit upon the idea of a possible waterborne explanation for the dementia series, which he berated himself for not thinking of earlier, he wanted to give it a bit of thought and follow-up. He had no clue whether prion disease could be waterborne or not, but he couldn’t think of any reason why it couldn’t be, especially given the remarkable stability of prions. “If either of you has any sudden ideas about Ethan Jameson’s illness or his disappearance that you think might possibly be significant, please let Chief Hargrove or Dr. Nielson know.”
After both men agreed to be in touch if anything came to mind that might possibly be significant, Jack took his leave. Within seconds, he was on his bike heading back toward Essex Falls. The weather was as gorgeous as ever as were the vistas. After about a mile, he began climbing one of the small mountains that ringed the town. He had the road to himself as there was almost no vehicular traffic except for a rare truck.
Twenty blissful minutes later and after an exciting downhill ride, Jack entered the far western end of Main Street and allowed his speed to drop considerably. Sitting back on his seat, Jack even allowed himself to travel for several blocks no-handed. He was feeling rather good about his idea of a possible waterborne explanation, although it would mean everybody in town was at some degree of risk, including him and Laurie. Yet with not one case outside of the downtown area, he wasn’t overly concerned although he thought it prudent until proven otherwise to encourage everyone when in town to drink bottled water, which he planned to suggest to Bob. What was particularly tickling his intellectual fancy was that if this possible-prion dementia problem was being spread by drinking water, how similar the situation would be to the case solved by JohnSnow nearly two hundred years ago. The difference, of course, if it turned out that it was waterborne, was that the source would most likely involve contamination by an animal rather than human waste like in nineteenth-century London.
At the far end of Main Street, he coasted and then banked. After passing the hulking and empty Bennet factory, he rode into the small parking lot in front of the Bennet Municipal Water Department building. Similar to the mill, the structure had some interesting architectural flourishes, including a series of Lancet arches along its lengthy front façade.
After a short moment of indecision of what to do with his bike, Jack maneuvered it inside one of the double entrance doors and leaned it up against an interior wall. In contrast to the moderately decorative exterior, the interior was devoid of any decoration whatsoever and in need of a coat of paint. As a consequence, he doubted if anyone was going to complain about the Trek. Besides, there was no one in sight.
About ten feet away was a closed, opaque-glass door with the wordOfficepainted in old-fashioned lettering. Although Jack was eager to go into the office and find a knowledgeable person to question, he couldn’t help but see down the wide hallway to where it opened up about fifty feet away. Plainly visible was an enormous, open water storage tank.
With no one in evidence to suggest he wasn’t welcome, Jack wandered down to the end of hallway and just stood for a moment, gazing out at the impressive, acre-sized interior filled with a number of expansive water tanks. There were five of them in a row, serving as a study in perspective. He could now understand why the building occupied such a large footprint. Continuous, deep-throated water pumps could be heard but not seen, and the air wasunderstandably humid. In the middle distance, at the third tank several men in coveralls were working. Whether they saw Jack or not, he didn’t know, but if they had, they ignored him.
Jack walked directly up to the nearest tank and looked in. He guessed it was about ten feet deep. The water was crystal clear and constantly on the move. There was a slight chlorine odor. At somewhere around a hundred-feet square, he wondered just how many gallons the tank might contain. He had no way of guessing, but imagined it had to be a lot.
After standing there for a minute or two, Jack turned around and returned to the office and tried the door. As expected, it was unlocked, and he entered. Inside, the combination of the furniture and the décor appeared like the set for a movie taking place a hundred years ago. Front and center was a worse-for-wear secretary’s desk. At the desk was a middle-aged, full-figured woman with her hair piled on top of her head. She was wearing old-fashioned, oversized eyeglasses and a nondescript dress. Her name was Pat Skinner, as indicated in block letters set into a small wooden, triangular stand on her desk. Although her furniture appeared ancient, she was typing into a modern computer monitor. She smiled pleasantly as Jack approached and removed a single earphone. “Can I help you?” she asked cheerfully. Jack had the feeling they didn’t get too many visitors.
“I have some questions about the water department,” Jack said pleasantly. “Might there be someone who could give me some basic information?”
“Hmmm,” she mused. “Perhaps, Lachlan Harper, our municipal utilities director, would be willing to talk with you. Let me see if he’s available.” She replaced her earphone then pressed a button on an old-fashioned phone.
While he waited, Jack’s eyes roamed around the room. There were four individual offices each with a glazed door emblazoned with the occupants’ role in the same antique lettering as the office door. There was aDirector,aFinances,and twoWater Operators. As he thought about how little he knew about the civil engineering of municipal water, he marveled that whenever he turned the water on wherever he happened to be, he’d never thought very much about where it came from and what went into making it safe to drink.
“Excuse me!” Pat called out to get Jack’s attention. “Mr. Harper wants to know if you are a resident of Essex Falls.”
“I am not,” Jack said. “Tell him I’m a medical examiner from New York City, and I am here at Dr. Robert Neilson’s request to lend a hand at investigating a possible outbreak that could be waterborne.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Pat exclaimed before going back to her telephone call. A moment later she removed her earphone and pointed for Jack’s benefit at the closed office door across from her desk. “Director Harper will see you now.”
Jack thanked the woman before striding over to the indicated door. It was unlocked, and he walked directly in. The inside office appeared the same as the outside just with a few personal touches like photographs and knickknacks, but all the furniture was from the same era. As for Lachlan Harper, he was a burly, full-bearded, late-middle aged, muscular Scotsman with pale skin that was mildly erythematous, particularly along the sides of his rather bulbous nose and across his cheeks. His eyes were a shocking blue and his hair had a definite reddish tint.
