George was relieved to get away from Spaulding and the lab unscathed and hoped their trespass wouldn’t be communicated to Bourse. He hustled to catch up with Pia and found her waiting for an elevator.
“Third strike you’re out with that guy, and you’re at oh-and-two. Now you really should stay away from him.”
“That’s okay,” said Pia, “I have no reason to go back to the lab. We picked up some clicks from the coffee cups, but it was hardly what I was hoping for. I don’t know if that’s going to be conclusive enough. We need more evidence.”
“I was worried you were going to challenge Spaulding about the freezer log.”
“I thought of it. He’s such an ass. He has no authority to bar me from anywhere. I have no idea if what we found in the storage facility has any relevance whatsoever. If someone used a sample of salmonella from the freezer to infect Rothman and Yamamoto, there’s no way we’re really going to know.”
“So do you really think Spaulding had something to do with Rothman’s death?”
“If he did, he was a very small part of something larger. He’s not smart enough to think that up all by himself.”
Pia thought about what that might imply, about who might possibly be involved if there was a broad conspiracy. If Spaulding had been recruited, anyone could be a threat to her, a thought that made her shudder. She felt extraordinarily vulnerable, as much as or more than anytime during her childhood. As difficult as it was, she just had to keep her nerve and find some more evidence.
“George, can I stay in your room tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Of course you can,” George said. He was pleased she was asking. He only wished the circumstances were different.
When they reached the street, George expected Pia to head back to the dorm. Instead she accompanied him toward the hospital. It was raining and the wind was blowing sideways. People were moving along with their heads down, collars turned up against the cold.
“So you’re not satisfied with the readings from the coffee cups?” George said. “You don’t think it’s enough to go to the media with?”
“I really don’t think so. The few clicks we heard might not be that uncommon. I really don’t know. The cups obviously were rinsed out, I think, but not scrubbed clean. I want to check the infectious disease ward. The killer may have been able to clean up after himself at the lab, but they wouldn’t have been able to get onto the ward. Unless they have people on a cleaning crew.”
Which was entirely possible, thought Pia.
“So that’s where we’re going?” George asked. He checked his watch. He still had time before the lecture he had to attend.
“Yes.”
They reached the ward and quickly saw the futility of the mission. There were new patients in the rooms that had been occupied by Rothman and Yamamoto. An infectious disease ward had to be kept spotless because of the nature of the illnesses and infections treated there. The hospital was always aggressive with its general precautions, here even more so.
After a couple of minutes of scouting around, Pia looked at her watch.
“We’re wasting our time here. Let’s go back to the morgue.”
They took the elevator down to the basement this time, taking the approved route. In daytime, there was slightly more activity than they had found on their visit the night before, when the place was presided over by the mortuary diener from central casting. The place itself had gained no luster. Without windows it could be day or night, still bleak and decrepit. There were several quite normal-looking men in their fifties whose job it was to handle the comings and goings of the corpses. They were helpful, seemingly appreciating a visit from live people. Pia and George asked them if they remembered handling Rothman’s and Yamamoto’s bodies. They did, because there had been quite a bit of fuss, including a warning about the possibility of typhoid and instructions about general precautions.
“We disinfected the body bags on the outside after the bodies were put inside,” the first man explained. “Of course we used full precautions the whole time.”
Pia and George could see no ID tags on the men and thought it prudent not to offer their own names.
“So which gurneys did you use? And were they treated afterward?”
“Sure they were treated,” the man said. “And they’re still where they were treated.”
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
The attendant took the two students to another old autopsy room. This one had a special ventilation system because it was used for “dirty,” or decomposing, cases. Pia proceeded to run the radiation detector around the gurneys, but she found nothing.
“What are you looking for, exactly?” the diener asked.
“One of the patients had had radioactive isotope therapy,” Pia said, thinking quickly. “We want to make sure there wasn’t any leakage. Which there hasn’t been, so thank you.”
As Pia and George made their way back to the elevator, George complimented Pia on her quick thinking in reference to the radioactive isotope idea.
“I had to come up with something. Maybe I’ll use the same story when I go to the ME’s office.” Then she added, “Nix that! I couldn’t get away with it with a medical examiner. From the autopsy they would already know neither of the men had cancer.”
Pia pondered again. “I know. I’ll say that Rothman and Yamamoto were using a radioactive alpha emitter in their research, and we want to be sure they didn’t contaminate themselves with it as well as contracting the salmonella. I’ll tell them that it’s a safety issue.”
“Sounds good,” said George.
By now they were inside the hospital lobby.
“I have to have something to eat before I go downtown. The ME’s office closes at five, I think, but I’m going to faint if I don’t eat something. I don’t even know if I ate anything yesterday. I know I haven’t today. How are you with time?”
“I’ve got a few more minutes before my lecture.”
They went to the hospital cafeteria. It was busy, even at off-hours like this, as illness and its treatment didn’t operate on a convenient nine-to-five schedule. Staff, patients, and visitors alike had to grab something to eat when they could. Pia got something substantial while George grabbed a coffee and a cookie.
“So,” George said, “what about revisiting the idea of going to the police and telling them about the clicks we got with the Geiger counter? I just can’t believe it’s a large conspiracy. Even if it was murder with polonium, I’m sure the explanation is going to be something much more banal. Something we haven’t thought of. I don’t know, perhaps he had gambling debts?”
“I couldn’t disagree more. If it was polonium, it would have to be a high-level operation of some kind. Polonium is impossible to get. It would mean there would have to have been intense planning for weeks-months, even. There has to be powerful people involved, there has to be. I essentially
George was aware that a couple of other diners, people he didn’t recognize, were looking over at them from other tables. Pia’s makeup couldn’t conceal all her bruises, especially in the harsh fluorescent light of the cafeteria. George leaned in toward her and lowered his voice.
“So what do you intend to do exactly before you give up on this thing?”
“There’s only one more place to check for significant radiation-the bodies at the OCME. If there is none or I can’t get in to check, then I’ll give up my investigation. Is that good enough?”
“How are you going to get in the door at the ME office?” George asked, remembering their conversation the previous evening with the pathology resident.
“I don’t know that yet,” she said, with a touch of irritation. “If I just tell them what I believe, they’ll think I’m crazy. ‘Remember those research guys from Columbia that were brought in here? Well, I think someone put polonium in their coffee….’ I may go with the alpha particle emitter idea I mentioned. I don’t know. I’ll see how the
