which now looked pretty wet from the rain. Prek knew he was taking a chance that Neri might bump into one of the real security guards, but he had been willing to risk it. Prek wanted as much notice as possible when either Pia or George appeared, heading in their direction on their way to the dorm. Nevertheless Neri had been ordered back inside the vehicle.
Prek was as content as he could be given the situation. He was certainly keyed up as he always was before a hit, especially with a couple of Red Bulls under his belt. He had another beside him just in case he needed it. The radio in the van was playing heavy metal with the volume turned low. As he sat and waited, Prek methodically rubbed the scar on his upper lip. It was a habit that he wasn’t even aware of. It was now almost five-thirty.
Aleksander Buda had called to check in at five o’clock, and Prek had to explain that they had spotted the girl but lost her in the subway. When Buda exploded with a string of choice expletives in Albanian questioning the virtue of Prek’s mother and parentage, Prek had held the phone away from his ear and even blushed slightly. Neri, who could hear Buda clearly even though he was sitting on a milk crate in the back of the van, let out a chuckle before he could stop himself, earning a scowl from Prek. As soon as Buda’s volcano subsided, Prek held the phone to his ear again.
“Was she carrying anything, like an overnight bag?”
“No. Just a shopping bag and an umbrella. I’m sure she’s coming back.”
“She better be…. What about the guy?”
“No sign of him yet. He may be in class or whatever it is medical students do. They’re just getting out now, streaming by the van. Of course he could be in his dorm room having passed by before we got here. But from watching her like we did, I’m sure they’ll meet up. And we’ll be here.”
“Don’t fuck this up,” Buda said, and ended the call.
Prek looked around the floor of the van by his feet and picked up one of the empty Red Bull cans he’d dropped there and hurled it into the back of the van in the direction of Neri.
“You ass, you think this is funny? Get the dry hospital security uniform on. You’re going back out for a walk.”
The command-performance radiology lecture George Wilson had made a point of attending had finally finished. Unfortunately it hadn’t been great. The speaker had a soporific voice, and George and the rest of the attendees had had a difficult time staying awake. Late lectures were a problem in that regard for most people, especially when the lights dimmed for the de rigueur slides. Halfway through the talk, George’s mind had wandered to what Pia was finding downtown and whether or not she was safe and keeping out of trouble. George knew that if she caused trouble and the OCME called Bourse to complain, it would probably be the end of Pia’s medical school days, at least at Columbia. As the lecturer had droned on, George found himself wishing he’d gone with her.
George got his stuff together and exited the lecture hall. He certainly hadn’t learned anything. Reaching the street, he donned his coat and turned up the collar. It wasn’t raining so much as drizzling. He had a knot in his stomach from worrying about Pia. He was worried that he’d allowed her to go on her own and wondered when he’d hear from her.
Along with a large clot of first- and second-year students, George walked through the early-evening air toward the dorm and past a young security guard who seemed to be patrolling the front of the building. George looked at him quickly, as he had no umbrella and his black fake-leather coat with its fake-fur collar appeared soaked. He looked about seventeen, and George paid him no mind. He walked into the dorm building and waited with the throng of students for an elevator. For the fiftieth time, George checked his phone. There was no text message from Pia, no call or e-mail.
When he reached his room, George flopped down on the bed, exhausted and hungry. He suddenly felt alone and afraid. He knew he wasn’t nearly as tough as Pia. Armed with what little he knew of her upbringing, he was aware of how much she’d been through in her life. It was so much more than he had ever experienced. Sure, his dad died when he was young, and there hadn’t been a lot of money around when he was growing up, but his mother had always made sure he was loved and looked after. She paid attention to his education-made sure he studied and guided him through high school and college and on to medical school. She was always there, making sure he worked hard enough to justify the scholarships he needed to attend Arizona State University and then Columbia Medical School. All in all George had had support and security all his life, exactly the opposite of Pia. Vaguely he wondered where he would be today had he shared Pia’s experiences. Probably in something like a hamburger joint slinging hash.
Suddenly George missed hearing a friendly voice. He called his mom but got the ancient answering machine she still insisted on using. He didn’t leave a message. Then he looked at his watch and called his grandmother Sally Mason in Phoenix. He thought the middle of the afternoon would be a good time to catch her, but it was not meant to be. This time he left a message.
After George had passed by and entered the dorm, Neri went to the driver’s-side window of the van. Prek lowered the window and looked at the rookie and felt sorry for him. He looked bedraggled with his dark hair plastered against his forehead. “Okay,” Prek said. “Get back in the van but stay in the uniform.”
“Thanks,” Neri said, and meant it. He quickly entered through the van’s sliding door.
Prek watched him in the rearview mirror as he pulled off the wet jacket. Genti was tapping a pencil against the dash in time to the music.
“Did the George fellow look at you?” Prek asked, still watching the underling in the mirror. It was easier than turning around.
“He did. He looked me right in the eye. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Can’t imagine,” Prek said. “I was hoping they’d be together, but what can you do. When you finish getting settled, bring that milk carton up to the front and sit between us. I want you to look out the windshield for the Grazdani girl along with us. Six eyes are better than four.” The trickle of medical students had swelled to a horde. Like livestock returning from the pasture on their way back to the barn.
The van was parked on the west side of Haven Avenue facing southeast. Prek et al. were facing the medical students coming from the medical center complex, passing the van on the passenger’s side.
“We have one bird in the nest. Now, where the hell is the other one? Where the devil did she go?”
50.
OFFICE OF THE CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER 520 FIRST AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY MARCH 25, 2011, 5:30 P.M.
Chet McGovern waited with anticipation for the beautiful med student sitting in front of him to tell him if there was anything she wanted him to ask Jack Stapleton, who had performed the autopsies on the dead researchers she was interested in. McGovern tried to read her face. She’d looked crestfallen a few minutes earlier when he told her the bodies were gone, but now she seemed to have brightened. After a few moments’ contemplation, something seemed to have occurred to her.
“Well, maybe there is something you could ask,” Pia said.
“What? What would you like me to ask him?” McGovern said. He tried to mask his eagerness, worried it might scare her off.
Pia remembered Rothman’s rebound tenderness, which she had been the first to find. It heralded the peritonitis, which bore witness to what was going on in Rothman’s gut. Typhoid’s target organ was the small intestine. From her recent research she knew that the gut was also sensitive to radiation, particularly the cells that lined the gut. But it was the whole gut, not just the small intestine. If polonium was involved, then the whole gut would have been damaged.
“I’d like to know if the autopsy findings were typical for typhoid fever.”
