The Proteus Cure (19 page)

Finally Bill had put an end to this.

But Paul Rosko was still sniffing around—in more ways than one.

Bill would have to do something about him. First step would be learning about him. All he knew now was from eavesdropping. Despite what he’d told Sheila, he hadn’t done any backgrounding. Never occurred to him as he was just a volunteer.

Tethys used a security consulting firm to background every employee before hiring. He’d give them Rosko’s name along with any other data available. He seemed like an everyday working stiff, but you never knew.

Right now, though, what was Rosko so anxious to show Sheila?

He looked up at Shen. “Head down to Covington’s and see what Rosko is up to.”

“Pardon, sir, but is difficult for this one to go unnoticed.”

“Do what you can. If they spot you, say hello and pretend to be waiting for takeout. But learn something.”

Shen turned to go, then turned back. “Wish to mention that Doctor Sheila call Doctor Silberman about Tanesha Green.”

Well, that figured. Hal would be looking at the biopsy slides. No risk there.

“What was said?”

“She want to know when he expect report on Tanesha Green slides he send out.”

“Sent out? When?”

“He not say.”

This was bad.

Sheila smiled when she saw Paul through the door of Covington’s. But his jaw dropped as he neared her.

He touched her face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“A car accident.”

“When?”

“Last night. Let’s go sit down and we’ll talk about it.”

She glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. She’d kept careful watch driving, especially in her rearview, and felt sure no one had followed her. Well, pretty sure.

God, she hated this.

“I’ve never been here,” Sheila said as she slid onto the bench opposite him.

Paul was dressed in his usual lumberjack ensemble of jeans and plaid flannel shirt. He’d picked out a booth near the rear. Except for a gaggle of early drinkers at the bar, Covington’s—a locally owned Applebee’s / TGIF wannabe—was pretty much deserted. Come five o’clock that would change.

She glanced around, taking in the décor: a faux Tiffany lamp hung over each table; movie posters, old photographs of the Red Sox and the old Bradfield football team graced the walls amid scatterings of Americana—Ameri-kitsch was more like it.

All so normal … all so unlike her life lately.

“It’s Coog’s favorite place. Loves the burgers.”

“Then you should have brought him.”

Paul shook his head. “Not this time. I wouldn’t want him to see what I have to show you. But first, tell me about this
accident
.”

She glanced around, then leaned toward him. “I think someone tried to kill me.”

Paul sat back and stared. He was about to speak when a perky young waitress stopped by. Paul ordered a draft of Bass, Sheila an iced tea.

When they were alone again, he said, “Are you serious?”

She nodded and told him what had happened.

“Sheila, what is it you’re not telling me? I know something’s up with Coogan, but there’s got to be something else.”

“There’ve been other things.”

“Like what?”

“Someone broke into my house and then I found a bug in my office. I shouldn’t tell you that because I don’t want to start rumors of some kind of conspiracy at the hospital, but God, it does seem like something’s going on, doesn’t it?”

“Of course. Anyone would think that.”

“Bill had such good explanations, but if you could see how upset he’s been whenever I mention—”

“Mention what?”

“Patient information I can’t discuss, but it’s something I’m working on and none of this started until I began digging into it.”

“So you think it’s the head of Tethys trying to kill you? Doctor Gilchrist?”

She shook her head. “Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind, but you should have seen his face when I went in this morning. He was shocked, really, truly shocked, when I told him.”

“You can fake shock.”

“You can’t make yourself go white as a ghost. I’m positive he knew nothing about last night’s car crash. But still, there’s something going on with him. I don’t know what, but, well, I’ve known him for years and really look up to him. His sister has become like my adopted mother. I just don’t feel like I can trust him anymore.”

Paul reached over and held her hand and she felt her heart melting. She so needed someone she could trust right now.

“You can trust me. I’ll help you. We’ll do this together.”

Together. There was a word she missed.

She nodded and managed a small smile. “But I can’t say much about the other stuff I’m looking into. Privacy laws. And it’s unrelated.”

“For the record, I think someone did try to kill you. And despite the relationship you have with this Bill, he knows about it. And I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts the bug and the theft were related. We’ll need to watch your back, Sheila.”

We. He had said “we.”

“You think I’m still in danger?”

“Until they catch whoever drove that other car, yes, you are in danger.”

“But why? I don’t know anything.”

She looked over her shoulder. Everyone looked safe but how could she really tell?

“Could be someone’s afraid of what you
might
dig up.” Paul pulled a stack of photos from his breast pocket and laid one on the table before her. “Coog at three.”

She saw a chubby little guy that she never would have recognized as the boy she’d seen skateboarding last week.

Then another photo next to the first. Looked like a mini Paul.

“Coog at four.”

And so on. Snapping them down like a blackjack dealer, Paul placed them one after another, announcing Coog’s age with each. In the end, twelve photos, one for each of the last ten years of his life except age six—left as an empty space—lay before her like a Tarot array.

He tapped the empty spot in the middle.

“That was the year of his leukemia. Look at how he was developing before, then at what he’s become.”

Puzzled, Sheila studied the display. She soon saw what Paul was getting at. The post-leukemia boy didn’t look anything like the pre-leukemia toddler.

Sheila shrugged. “Quite a change. But kids do change as they grow up. Adolescent growth spurts can wreak all sorts of havoc.”

“Does their hair change?”

“Sometimes. And so does the hair pattern on their scalp.”

“You mean they can develop a widow’s peak where they never had one before?”

“Maybe.”

“How about color and texture?” He tugged at his own thick, dark brown hair. “Can it go from this bear pelt to that?” He tapped the latest photo.

Coog’s hair had gone from an exact match of Paul’s to a finer, thinner, lighter brown.

Odd. Very odd. Something like—

Oh, God! Kelly and Tanesha! Their hair had changed too.

At least Coog’s skin had remained the same.

“And here’s the kicker,” Paul said. “I didn’t see it until I started arranging these in chronological order.” He tapped one of the earlier shots. “This is his kindergarten photo. What color eyes do you see?”

Sheila squinted. “Brown.”

“Now take a look at the latest.”

She did—

And saw blue … Coog’s eyes were now Paul Newman blue …

Something cold crawled through her gut.

She shifted her gaze back and forth between the photos, but the evidence was undeniable.

“I’m seeing but not believing.”

Paul’s expression was grim. “Believe it. I’ve heard of a baby’s blue eyes turning brown, but not a grown boy’s brown eyes turning blue. Have you?”

Sheila shook her head. “No. Can’t happen. Blue is a recessive trait. Brown always wins in the phenotype.”

The waitress returned then with their drinks.

She saw the pictures and smiled. “Cute kids.”

Sheila took a sip of her iced tea and wished it were a Cosmo.

“Let me ask you,” Paul said when the waitress was gone. “When a brown-eyed kid becomes blue-eyed, doesn’t that indicate a change in his genes?”

Sheila didn’t answer. Too many thoughts colliding. Change in genotype—a new set of genes would explain what Tanesha was experiencing. And what had happened to Kelly … and to Coog …

Finally she found her voice. “But it’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” An edge crept into Paul’s voice. “Hey, it’s staring you right in the face, Sheila. Don’t say ‘impossible’ until you can come up with another explanation.”

Could it be? All three cases had one thing in common: cancer therapy. And not just cancer therapy, the same
kind
of cancer therapy.

Stem cells … administered by Tethys.

“I feel it in my gut, Sheila.” His clenched fists bracketed his beer. “That therapy, that KB-twenty-six changed Coog’s genes.”

“But that’s im—” She caught herself in time. An automatic response. She couldn’t help it. “Look, if KB-twenty-six changed genotypes, wouldn’t there be a parade of parents dragging their kids back to Tethys demanding an explanation?”

“Maybe there will be, maybe not. Maybe the parents just haven’t noticed yet. The changes are so gradual, maybe they’ll never notice. I’ll bet none of those fathers discovered that they were married to a cheating wife. If I didn’t know what I know about Rose, I’d be blowing off Coog’s changes. You can make up a million reasons. But not when you’ve been cuckolded. Makes you wonder if the infidelity you know about was the only time. Add to that a son who looks nothing like you, you can’t help start wondering.”

“But the DNA—”

“A lab test. Letters on paper. Letters that seem to change the more you look into this.” He swept a hand over the photos. “Here’s the real truth.” He sighed. “Look, Sheila, I don’t believe it myself—I don’t want to believe it—but it’s there. The boy after KB-twenty-six isn’t the boy before KB-twenty-six. He’s my boy and I’m goddamned grateful for that. But they changed something inside of him. Changed him into someone else and I want to know why.”

And so do I, she thought, then stiffened.

How many people knew about Kelly, Tanesha, and Coog? How many people could connect them? Only one.

Me.

And maybe Bill.

And her missing photos of Kelly … the stolen camera.

Of
course
it was all connected. God, she was so stupid. Whoever bugged her office must have heard her talk about the pictures of Kelly. Damn! If it wasn’t Bill—and she couldn’t rule out his involvement as much as she’d like to—then who?

She seemed to be the nexus of too many tough questions … questions someone might not want answered. And one sure way to keep them unanswered was to remove the questioner.

But who could she go to? The cops? It was all so flimsy. They already seemed to think she was a little nuts.

Maybe she was. Last night already seemed like a dream. If not for the wrecked car and her scratched-up face, she’d wonder if it really happened.

And Kelly’s death … she couldn’t help wondering now if it really was an accident.

No-no-no. Don’t go there. If someone were killing everyone talking down VG723, Tanesha Green would not be walking around. So as long as Tanesha stayed healthy—

“Where did Tethys get the KB-twenty-six?” Paul said.

Sheila shook herself out of her ramblings and gave him a short version of what Bill had told her.

Paul leaned back. “Out of business, dead and gone. I wonder.”

“Well, Gerald Kaplan might still be around. Let’s see.”

She pulled out her Blackberry and turned it on. She made a wireless connection to the Internet and then to the state’s online directory of licensed physicians. She entered “Kaplan” and the little screen filled with hits. But only one Gerald.

“Hey. He practices in Salem—in a multi-specialty group. If he’s on today, maybe we can catch him.”

“Salem, New Hampshire or Mass?”

“Mass.”

She dialed the number and found herself talking to a receptionist at Rolling Hills Medical Associates.

Yes, Dr. Kaplan was in today but leaving soon. Last appointment at 5:30.

“This is Doctor Sheila Takamura. I can be there in half an hour. I’d like to consult with him about a mutual patient.”

The receptionist said she would pass that on.

Sheila slid out of her seat and reached for her coat.

“Come on.”

•

They were fifteen minutes late.

Sheila hurried up the front walk toward the two-story glass-and-steel building that housed Rolling Hills Medical Group.

“I hope he’s still here.”

Rush hour traffic heading south had been a bit slow but once they got into Salem the streets were clogged. The witch town always had tourists driving too slowly, peering at the witches as they walked down the street in black robes or at the House of the Seven Gables. They’d taken Paul’s navy blue Explorer and he’d muttered frustration at the other drivers and had all but fogged the windows as they’d crawled along.

Paul paced her. “He’ll wait, won’t he? I mean, as a professional courtesy?”

Sheila shrugged. “He doesn’t know me and if he has somewhere else to go, he’ll go. This was arranged on the fly without consulting him.”

A thin, pale, sharp-featured man stepped through the doors and approached them. He had graying hair and horn-rimmed glasses, and was tucked into a blue stadium coat that looked too big for him. He made no eye contact as he passed.

Sheila hoped he wasn’t Kaplan. She was tempted to ask him but his remote demeanor made her hesitate, and then he was past.

Paul held the front door for her—a gentlemanly gesture she always appreciated. Once inside she bustled across the marble floor to the central desk where three women manned the phones. The middle one looked up.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Doctor Takamura. I called earlier about meeting with Doctor Kaplan. Is he—?”

“Oh, you just missed him. Didn’t you see him on your way in?”

“We’ve never met. The man in the blue coat?”

“That’s him.” Her tone told Sheila that Dr. Kaplan was not one of her favorites. “He waited a few minutes, then told me to have you call him tomorrow.”