Fever Dream

'Avian flu? You mean, bird flu?'

'That, I believe, is the disease that laid Audubon low, that nearly killed him, and that was responsible for his creative flowering. His symptoms--high fever, headache, delirium, cough--are all consistent with flu. A flu he no doubt caught dissecting a Carolina Parakeet.'

'Slow down. How do you know all this?'

In reply, Pendergast reached for a worn, leather-bound book. 'This is the diary of my great-great-grandfather Boethius Pendergast. He befriended Audubon during the painter's younger days.' Opening the journal to a page marked with a silken strand, he found the passage he was looking for and began to read aloud: Aug. 21st. J. J. A. spent the evening with us again. He had amused himself throughout the afternoon in the dissection of two Carolina Parakeets--a curiously colored but otherwise unremarkable species. He then stuffed and mounted them on bits of cypress wood. We dined well and afterward took a turn around the park. He took leave of us around half past ten. Next week he plans to make a journey upriver, where he professes to have business prospects.

Pendergast closed the journal. 'Audubon never made that journey upriver. Because within a week he developed the symptoms that would eventually land him in the Meuse St. Claire sanatorium.'

Hayward nodded at the journal. 'You think your wife saw that passage?'

'I'm sure of it. Why else would she have stolen those specimens of Carolina Parakeet--the very ones Audubon dissected? She wanted to test them for avian flu.' He paused. 'And do more than simply test them. She hoped to extract from them a live sample of virus. Vincent told me all that remained of the parrots my wife stole were a few feathers. I'll head over to Oakley Plantation in the morning, retrieve those remaining feathers--carefully--and have them tested to confirm my suspicions.'

'But all that still doesn't explain how those parakeets are linked to the Doane family.'

'It's quite simple. The Doanes were sickened by the same disease that struck Audubon.'

'What makes you say that?'

'There are simply too many similarities, Captain, for anything else to make sense. The sudden flowering of creative brilliance. Followed by mental dissolution. Too many similarities--and Helen knew it. That's why she went to get the bird from them.'

'But when she took the bird, the family was still healthy. They didn't have the flu.'

'One of the diaries in the Doane house records--in passing--the family coming down with the flu shortly after the bird arrived.'

'Oh, my God.'

'And then, rather quickly, they manifested signs of creative brilliance.' He paused again. 'Helen went there to get the bird away from the Doanes--I'm sure of that. To keep it from spreading the disease further, perhaps. And to test it, of course, to confirm her suspicions. Note what Karen Doane wrote in her diary about the day Helen took the bird. She wore leather gloves, and she stuffed the bird and its cage into a garbage bag. Why? Initially, I assumed the bag was simply for concealment. But it was to keep herself and her car from contamination.'

'And the leather gloves?'

'Worn no doubt to conceal a pair of medical gloves beneath. Helen was trying to remove a viral vector from the human population. No doubt the bird, cage, and bag were all incinerated--after she'd taken the necessary samples, of course.'

'Incinerated?' Hayward repeated.

'Standard procedure. Any samples taken would also have been ultimately incinerated.'

'Why? If the Doane family was infected, they could just spread it to others. Burning the bird would be like shutting the barn door after the horse has escaped.'

'Not quite. You see, avian flus jump easily from bird to human, but they have great difficulty passing from human to human. The neighbors would be safe. Of course, for the Doane family it was too late.' Pendergast took a last sip of coffee, then put the cup aside. 'But this still leaves us with a central mystery: where did the Doanes' parrot escape from? And, even more importantly, how did it become a carrier?'

Despite her skepticism, Hayward felt herself intrigued. 'Perhaps you're wrong. Maybe the virus lay dormant all this time. The parrot caught it naturally.'

'Unlikely. Recall the parrot had been banded. No: the viral genome would have been painstakingly sequenced and rebuilt in a laboratory--using viral material from the stolen Carolina Parakeets. And then live birds were inoculated with it.'

'So the bird escaped from a lab.'

'Precisely.' Pendergast stood up. 'The biggest question of all remains: what does this have to do with Helen's murder and the recent killings and attacks on us--if anything?'

'Isn't there another question you're forgetting?' Hayward asked.

Pendergast looked at her.

'You say Helen stole the parrots Audubon studied--the ones that supposedly sickened him. Helen also visited the Doane family and stole their parrot--because, as you also say, she knew it was infected. By inference, Helen is the common thread that binds the two events. So aren't you curious what role she might have had in the sequencing and inoculation?'

Pendergast turned away, but not before a look of pain lanced across his face. Hayward almost regretted asking the question.

A long pause settled over the library. At last, Pendergast turned toward her again. 'We must pick up where Vincent and I left off.'

' 'We'?'

'You're going to grant Vincent's request, I assume. I need a competent partner. And as I recall, you're from