Part 24 (2/2)
When the kids disappeared into the game room upstairs, I located Stephanie at the computer in the officers' room, Ben Arden's wife, Cherie, behind her, fiddling with a pot of coffee. ”I found some stuff,” Stephanie said.
I sat down, rubbing an ear to clear the ringing. Stephanie looked at me full on. ”You told them?”
”Yeah.”
”How'd it go?” When I didn't reply, she said, ”Sure. I know. But you did it, and now you can move on.”
”Right.”
”Try not to be despondent, Jim.”
”Lieutenant? We're going to stop this right here,” Cherie added vehemently. Just what we needed, a new cheerleader fresh from the wings.
40. DIG UP THE CHIEF, QUICK; HE MIGHT NOT BE DEAD.
”You heard from Donovan and Carpenter?” I asked.
”Huh-uh,” Stephanie said. ”But I think I'm on to something. For a month now I've been on various Internet medical forums asking doctors if they'd had any patients with symptoms matching Holly's. After we found out about that fire in Tennessee, I narrowed the search to the southeastern United States. This morning a general pract.i.tioner from Biloxi wrote back and said he recalled something from a couple of years ago. Two patients. Brain-dead. Waxy hands. Both much younger than your average stroke victim.”
”What'd he say about them?”
”They were patients of a doctor he'd heard speaking at a seminar, a specialist in Knoxville. He claims this specialist had a theory about what'd caused it. Also there's a man named Carl Steding from Chattanooga left a phone message for you.”
”From the fire department?”
”A newspaper guy.”
”What about this specialist?”
”I've got a call in to him.”
Cherie Arden spoke up. ”I don't understand this thing, whatever it is. I mean, if you were all exposed back in February, why didn't you get sick in February? And why isn't everybody getting sick at once?”
Stephanie said, ”People's immune systems are different. Some are strong. Some are weak. We don't know what might be affecting the way people react. As far as the lag time between exposure and onset of symptoms, apparently this syndrome has a long incubation period if exposure was minimal. I'm guessing the firefighters in Tennessee had a greater level of exposure than the people here, and that's why their symptoms came on so much quicker.”
I said, ”A guy came through town a year ago. From Montana. Exfireman. On disability. He'd had a stroke. He said they fought a fire out in the dingles somewhere in a store that carried everything you could think of: pharmaceuticals, ammunition, painting supplies, dynamite. Afterward, people who'd fought the fire started going down. In nine months four of them had strokes and three had heart attacks. They never proved it was caused by the fire, and they never got any money out of the pension system, either, even though they all knew it started with that fire.”
Cherie said, ”I never thought it would happen here. I sure hope Ben doesn't have it.”
”Me, too, Cherie.”
”I didn't mean it that way.”
”I know. I really don't want anyone else getting it.”
Two King County fire investigators in jeans and b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rts appeared in the doorway behind me, the first looking dwarflike beside the second, taller man, who had ruddy, baby-b.u.t.t cheeks on an otherwise pale face he worked hard to keep unexpressive. These were the two who'd responded to Max Caputo's place after the explosion-the short one was Shad; the taller, Stevenson. Shad didn't look tall enough to be a firefighter, but then, most departments in the area had relaxed their guidelines on height in order to recruit more women.
”Need to talk to you,” said Stevenson.
”I've got a funeral I'm about to go to.”
”And we've got a man up on the hill came down in itty-bitty pieces,” said Shad.
”We're still trying to fit it together.” Stevenson planted a wan smile on his mug, delighted at his own witticism.
Ian Hjorth came up the hallway, peered over their shoulders, and said, ”Sorry to bust in, Jim, but Karrie brought in some doctor from out of state who claims he's going to talk to the TV guys after the funeral. Says this syndrome is all in your head.”
”What?”
”That's what he says.”
”How could he know that without talking to me?”
”I don't know. He spoke to Karrie, though.”
”Karrie doesn't know her a.s.s from a sack of apples!” I glanced at the two fire investigators, who'd backed off in the face of my outburst. ”Wait in the front office. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
”Just don't be skipping out on us,” said Stevenson.
”For G.o.d's sake,” Stephanie muttered. ”Where do you think he would go? A Mexican clinic?”
Just then, Karrie walked past the doorway in her black dress uniform.
”Karrie? What's this I hear about you bringing in a doctor to debunk our syndrome?”
”Dr. Perkins. I didn't bring him in. Not actually. I found him on the Internet and called him. He said this sounded like an interesting phenomenon and would we mind if he flew out. When he showed up yesterday, I took him to see Jackie. I was just trying to help.”
”He's not even a real doctor,” Ian said. ”All he does is write books, get on talk shows, and play kiss-kiss with celebrities.”
Karrie brushed a speck of lint off her coat. ”I would think you'd be relieved. He's already proved you don't have to worry. Or hasn't anyone told you the syndrome's a figment of your imagination?” When the room and corridor had been quiet for a few seconds, she added, ”Doesn't that make you feel better?”
”It would if I thought it was true.”
”Oh, it's true.”
”Wow!” Hjorth said. ”I guess there's nothing wrong with Joel, then. And the chief must not be dead. Maybe we should go dig him up.”
I gave Hjorth a sharp look. ”Why hasn't he spoken to Dr. Riggs, who right now probably has more medical information about this than anyone?”
”He doesn't have to talk to another doctor to reach an opinion. He examined Jackie. He said as far as he could tell she was a typical head case from a car accident.”
”He saw Joel, too?”
”No. I told him about everybody else, and he says they're all within the realm of the normal.” She glanced at Stephanie, who was still seated at the computer behind me. ”He said he's almost positive this whole thing is hogwash. A sad and wonderfully ill.u.s.trative case of collective delusion.”
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