Of course, the cancer did not yet exist. Eldon had simply initiated a cascade of events that, left unchecked, would terminate in carcinogenesis on the cellular level. And no one was going to stop that lethal cascade for Chris Shepard. Because the only man alive who could do so was Eldon Tarver. And for Eldon, Shepard's death represented valuable research data. Alive, Shepard was useless, and in conjunction with Alex Morse, possibly even dangerous.
Eldon needed to speak to Edward Biddle.
He couldn't risk using his cell phone; the FBI might already be monitoring it. But problems like this were easy to solve. Under a stand of trees twenty yards away stood a small knot of nurses greedily smoking cigarettes. He recognized two from Oncology. With a quick glance at the hospital entrance, he crossed the open ground and addressed the smaller of the two nurses, a short-haired brunette who had always greeted him in the halls.
"Excuse me," he said. "My cell phone died, and I need to make an emergency call. It's about a patient. Would you mind if—"
The nurse was already handing him her phone.
"Thank you," Eldon said with a grateful smile. "I'll only be a minute."
He punched in the number of Edward Biddle's cell phone. The phone rang and rang, then kicked him to voice mail. Dr. Tarver hung up. Was Biddle not answering because he did not recognize the number? Was there some problem because he was airborne? That was unlikely, since he was almost certainly in a corporate aircraft. Or was there some deeper problem? Eldon dialed the number once more and got the same response.
Cursing inwardly, he gave the phone back to the nurse, then hurried across the grass to his car. He would have to risk meeting Biddle at their original rendezvous. He didn't like the idea, but when he thought back to the demeanor of Morse and Shepard in his office, he felt that the worm had not quite turned. If they had anything concrete on him—or more important, if the FBI were handling this officially—they would have played it differently. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked. Morse and Shepard had still not emerged from the hospital.
Alex put on a smile and pushed open the door of Dr. Pearson's office. The beehive lady was still at her post, but the door to the inner office was cracked open.
"Hello again," Alex said. "I forgot to ask Dr. Pearson one question."
The secretary did not hide her irritation. "I think it's better if you call with it."
Alex raised her voice, trusting to Pearson's goodwill. "It's just one question, nothing medical at all."
Dr. Pearson poked his head out of his door, like a curious cat, though not so sleek. "Hello again."
He'd at least remembered her face. "Yes, I was actually talking to Dr. Tarver a moment ago. He invited us into his office—"
Beehive lady snorted.
"—and he had some very interesting pictures on his wall. I grew up in Jackson, and one of them is really bugging me."
Pearson looked perplexed. "Well, I grew up in California, so I doubt—"
"It's a long building with glass windows, and it says FREE AIDS TESTING on a banner in front. It looks like a restaurant my dad used to take me to when I was a little girl."
Pearson's eyes lit up; he was genuinely happy to be able to help. "Yes, of course. That used to be Pullo's restaurant, until Dr. Tarver bought it."
A fillip of excitement went through Alex, almost déjà vu, but slightly different. "Dr. Tarver bought Pullo's?"
"Yes, about four years ago, I believe."
"I've been living in Washington, D.C., for quite a while now."
"I see. Well, Eldon wanted a site that would be easily accessible to the indigent residents of the city, the homeless, the poor children, the medically underserved."
"Easily accessible for what?"
"His clinic. It's a free clinic for the poor."
"Oh. I see."
"Dr. Tarver gives a great deal of time to that clinic. He tests for many of the common viruses that afflict the lower socioeconomic classes: AIDS, hepatitis C, the herpes family, human papillomavirus, all that stuff. He treats them as well. He's won a lot of grants. Of course, the records of his work are quite valuable in a statistical sense."
Alex was nodding; she felt as though she was nearing something important. "Yes, I imagine they would be. I didn't realize we had something like that in Jackson."
"We didn't for many years. But when Dr. Tarver lost his wife, he decided he wanted to make something positive out of her loss."
"Lost his wife?" Alex echoed. "What did she die of?"
"Cervical cancer. A terrible case, I believe. Seven or eight years ago—before my time here. But Dr. Tarver inherited quite a bit of money from his wife, and he wanted to put it to good use, which he certainly did. You know, Eldon was one of the first people to suggest a viral origin for cervical cancer. I saw a paper he did on it, written
years
before the idea became generally accepted. I believe he's even considered litigation over credit for that finding."
Alex had run out of words, but her mind was racing.
"Is that all you wanted?" Dr. Pearson asked.
"Um…you say he spends a lot of time at the clinic?"
Beehive woman gave her boss a pointed look, and Dr. Pearson suddenly seemed to remember that Alex was an outsider.
"Dr. Shepard told me to thank you again," Alex said with her best Southern-belle smile, then she backed out of the office.
Outside, she turned and ran to the elevator. When it was too slow in coming, she took the fire stairs. Her heart pounded as she ran, but not from the exercise. When she reached the first floor, she saw Chris standing inside the hospital entrance doors.
"Hey," he said. "I wanted to go outside, but the smoke is so thick it could choke you. There are people out there smoking through tracheostomies."
She took his arm. "Chris, you're not going to believe this."
"What?"
"That building I asked about—Dr. Tarver owns it now. Pearson told me it's a free clinic for the poor."
"What kind of clinic?"
"He tests people for viruses."
Chris's eyes flickered. "Did Pearson say which viruses?"
"AIDS, hepatitis, HPV, herpes. He also treats people there. Gets grants for the medicine. He started that clinic in memory of his wife, who died of cancer seven years ago. And guess what?"
"What?"
"He inherited a pile of money from her."
Chris's mouth fell open. "Did she die of a blood cancer?"
"No. Cervical."
"Hm."
"Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"
"I'd say yes, except that he turned around and used the money to open a free clinic in memory of his dead wife."
"Right, but that put him down in the inner city, where he could do God knows what under the guise of treating the poor for free. How much oversight do you think there is on that kind of thing?"
Chris was nodding. "Some, but it's tough to oversee what's actually going on in that kind of patient population. OSHA would have to have their own Eldon Tarver on site to understand what was really happening."
Alex nodded excitedly. "I want to go down there."
"And do what?"
"I don't know. Look around, for starters. I want to find out if there's any connection between Tarver and Andrew Rusk. Don't you?"
"I think it's worth exploring." Chris grimaced. "But right now I need to find a bathroom and a bed. I'm feeling pretty rough."
Consciousness of Chris's desperate plight rushed back into her mind like a dark tide. "I'm sorry," she said, slipping under his arm so that he could lean on her. "Let's go to the car. I'll get Kaiser on Dr. Tarver when we get back."
Chris nodded, then walked slowly through the doors.
"When I'm distracted," he said, "like upstairs, I can almost put the reality out of my head. But when I'm alone, like a minute ago…"
Alex pressed her cheek to his chest as they walked. "You're not alone. Remember that."
"Alex—" He caught his breath as they stepped over a hole in the sidewalk. "Everybody faces death alone."
She shook her head. "Not you. You have Ben, and…I'll be right beside you, no matter what happens."
He squeezed her shoulder.
"But nothing bad's going to happen," she said forcefully. "We're going to find these assholes, and we're going to get you cured. Right?"
His reply was a whisper. "I hope so."
Will Kilmer sat in his Explorer, watching Thora Shepard walk angrily up and down the block beneath the AmSouth tower. She clearly meant to ambush Rusk, even if she had to wait all day to do it. Will knew that the confrontation was imminent, since one of his operatives had called and told him that Rusk was sitting in traffic only a block away.
As though she were telepathic, Thora began to concentrate on the private parking garage from which Rusk would try to leave if he had been hiding upstairs. She obviously knew what kind of vehicle he drove, for when the gleaming black Cayenne wheeled around the nearest corner and rolled up to the bar that blocked the garage entrance, Thora sprinted over, interposed herself between Rusk's window and the card reader, and started banging on his window.
Will climbed out of his Explorer and hurried across the street. Thora was hammering the Porsche's window with her fists, while Rusk gaped in shock. His only option was to back up and flee, but a Cadillac had already pulled into the lane behind him. At last, Rusk lowered his window and hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Give me your key card," Thora demanded.
"What?"
The Cadillac honked behind them.
"Give me your card!"
"Get out of here!" Rusk snarled. "Don't you know what's at stake?"
"You have to call it off! This instant!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the lawyer said woodenly.
The Cadillac honked again.
Thora leaned down to the window, but by now Will was only a few feet away. "He
knows,
" she hissed. "Chris knows
everything.
"
"You're crazy."
"If you don't call it off, I'm going to—"
Rusk thrust his key card past her and tried to slip it into the slot.
To Will's amazement, Thora sank her teeth into the lawyer's forearm with enough force to compel a scream. Rusk yanked back his arm, and Thora grabbed the card. When the driver of the Cadillac opened his door and got out, Rusk realized how dangerous the scene was.
"Get in, you crazy bitch!" he snapped. "Hurry!"
Thora ran around the Cayenne's hood and climbed into the passenger seat. Rusk took the card from her and jammed it into the slot. When the barrier rose, he screeched into the parking garage.
Will took out his cell phone and called Alex, but again he got no answer.
CHAPTER 43
Chris was vomiting in the bathroom of their room at the Cabot Lodge when Alex's cell phone began to ring. She had only plugged it in a moment ago, and now she was supporting Chris while he puked.
"You can get it," Chris croaked, dry-heaving over the commode. "I'm okay."
"You're far from okay."
"This is just side effects from the medicine. Go."
Alex let go of his shoulders and ran into the bedroom. The caller ID listed Will's phone. The detective sounded ten years younger when he answered her callback.
"Kid, I've been trying to reach you all morning. This thing's breaking wide-open."
"What's happened?"
"Thora Shepard just confronted Rusk on the street below his office. She's lost her mind. Stood right in front of his car, screaming at him to call off the hit on her husband."
"Jesus! Where are they now?"
"Up in Rusk's office, I think."
Alex thought quickly. She had already called Kaiser about checking out Eldon Tarver, but she didn't want to wait for answers. "Can you get someone to take your place and stay on Thora? I want you to meet me somewhere else."
"I guess so. Where are we going?"
"The old Pullo's restaurant."
"That place closed years ago."
"I know. It's a free clinic now."
"And you need me there because?"
"There's a small chance it could get dicey."
"How small?"
"Ten percent. But you never know, right? Isn't that what you tried to teach me?"
Will chuckled. "Okay. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes."
"Let's meet a few blocks away. The park behind the Governor's Mansion?"
"I'll be there."
When Alex turned toward the bathroom, she found Chris sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.
She didn't want to lie, but she wasn't about to tell Chris that his wife was running amok on the streets of Jackson. Not in his present state. "Will almost got into an accident," she said.
Chris gave her a sidelong glance. "You said, ‘Where are they now?'"
"I meant the people who almost hit him." Alex pulled back the bedclothes and motioned for Chris to get under them. "You need rest. Come on, get in."
He looked back at her with hollow eyes, but rather than protest, he let himself fall onto the sheet and shoved his feet under the covers.
Alex set the hotel phone beside him, within easy reach. "If it gets worse, call 911 and demand to be taken to UMC."
He nodded weakly.
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll be back soon to check on you." As she straightened up, he caught hold of her wrist with surprising force.
"Be careful, Alex," he said, his dark eyes intense. "These people don't care about anybody. Don't throw your life away."
"I know."
He jerked her wrist, hard. "Do you?"
At last his concern penetrated the buzz of excitement in her brain. "I think so."
"Good."
When Chris let go of her arm, she removed the borrowed Sig-Sauer from the shoe box in the closet, slipped it into her waistband at the small of her back, and hurried into the hall.
Andrew Rusk stopped the elevator one floor short of his office. He wasn't about to drag a hysterical Thora Shepard past Janice. Besides, he no longer felt safe discussing anything sensitive in his office.