Part 22 (1/2)
”We need to talk, Aunt Marge.”
”Of course, dear. Of course we do.”
Without a word to the painters, she led us out of the room and down the corridor to her office, unlocking the door with a key. She kissed Stephanie on the cheek and gave me a huge smile. Walking around behind her desk, she sat heavily in a large swivel chair and invited us to sit.
36. DONOVAN CATCHES AN AWARD.
”What is it, Steph?” DiMaggio asked. ”Is Holly all right? Maybe now's a good time to talk about moving her back to the nursing home.”
”It's already arranged. She'll be there tomorrow.”
”It's for the best, don't you think?”
”Of course it's for the best. Or I wouldn't have done it. Marge, I've been phoning all morning.”
”I got your message a couple of hours ago, along with about ten others. By the time I'd worked my way through half my callbacks I figured you would be in the air. I knew you'd call again tonight when you got home, and I figured we could have a long, leisurely chat then.”
”I'm not flying anywhere. It's the syndrome. More people are coming down with it.”
”I was aware some people had been ill. Jim told me when I saw him at the hospital, but . . . I'm sorry. I've forgotten your last name.”
”Swope.”
”Aunt Marge. Jim has it, too.”
”Has what?”
”The syndrome.”
It took a few moments for DiMaggio to digest the implications of what her niece had said. ”I can't believe this. How could he have it?”
”He's got three days left. If we don't find out what's causing this and stop it, he'll be just like Holly.”
”How can you be certain?”
”We're as certain as anyone can be,” I said.
We might have said a lot of things to shock DiMaggio, but this seemed what she was least prepared for. It was half a minute before speech returned. ”I thought what happened to your sister was . . . I thought it was a freak deal. I thought . . .”
”We think Holly caught it the night she had the accident near North Bend. Holly and four firefighters. Jim will be the fifth.”
”You've tested him? You know he has it?”
”Tested and normal so far. But we found nothing anomalous in Holly's workups, either.”
”Jim looks looks fine.” fine.”
”Yes, he does.”
”I'm sorry,” DiMaggio said, turning her dark-brown eyes on me. ”If you have this, I really am so sorry.”
”Aunt Marge? Three years ago your company was involved in an investigation in Chattanooga. Several firefighters came down with a syndrome similar to this after a fire in a s.h.i.+pping facility.”
”Yes, I vaguely remember that. But I never knew the particulars. We had a small s.h.i.+pment in the building where they had the fire. So did dozens of other companies. Our involvement came about when we sent people down to help in the investigation. But these were firefighters who got sick after a fire. Holly was found in her kitchen. Holly wasn't exposed to any smoke.”
”What about her symptoms?”
”Honey, I don't recall anything about the symptoms of those poor people in Tennessee.”
”Aunt Marge, if you know something that might help, tell us.”
DiMaggio leaned forward, touched a b.u.t.ton on her intercom, and said, ”Cathy, would you send Donovan in here?”
”Right away, Ms. DiMaggio.”
She turned back to us. ”All I know is that the episode in Chattanooga was precipitated by a fire. I never was conversant with the catalog of symptoms. If I'd had any idea what happened to Holly could even be remotely connected to Tennessee . . . Had the thought even occurred to me, I would have told you. You know that.”
”I know, Aunt Marge.”
Rapping on the half-open door, a large man came in quickly, glanced at me, and then gifted Stephanie with a much longer look. He was almost as tall as I was but thicker, more powerfully built, shoulders like a gladiator, neck like a professional football player. His hair was cropped short and he had bright blue eyes. A deep tan. A man who would attract his share of female attention.
”Scott Donovan, this is my niece, Stephanie Riggs. Her friend, Jim Swope.” His handshake was as light as tissue, his voice soft and whispery. When I swung around after the handshake, I accidentally knocked a small statue off DiMaggio's desk, a gold obelisk that looked like an award.
Donovan caught it midway between the desktop and the floor, then put it back, smiling at me. The guy could move fast for someone his size, for someone anyone's size.
”Stephanie is Mr. Swope's doctor. She tells me Mr. Swope has three days before he lapses into a coma. They've come for information about the incident in Chattanooga three years ago.”
”There were two of us working on it. Me and Hardy.”
”Ah, yes. Hardy. He's gone now, isn't he?”
”Been gone awhile.”
”Would you like to fill my niece in?”
Donovan began to talk hesitantly. ”There was a fire. Three firefighters got sick. The fire had been in a busy s.h.i.+pping facility, so all together there were hundreds of products that had been exposed during the incident. Plastics, artists' paints, you name it. I could go dig up the paperwork and my notes, but we came out of it pretty much empty-handed.”
Stephanie said, ”We want to know everything you found. What we've got here is too close not to be related.”
”Okay. Sure. But we were down there for weeks. I'm not sure I even know where all my notes are.”
”Tell you what,” DiMaggio said, swiveling back and forth in her chair. ”I'm going to bring Carpenter in on this.”
”Carpenter?”
”That all right with you, Mr. Donovan?”
”Oh, sure. I think Carpenter's a good chemist. In fact, I like working with her.”