Victor hung up the phone. He wasn’t about to confide in Marsha, at least not about his latest suspicions: that the Hobbs and Murray kids might have been deliberately killed.
And that VJ could be killed the same way if anyone introduced cephaloclor to his system. With these thoughts in mind, he returned to the slides of the rat brains that he had drying and began to examine them in one of the light microscopes. As he expected, they appeared very similar to the slides of the children’s brains. Now there was no doubt in his mind that the children had indeed died from the cephaloclor in their blood. It was how they got the cephaloclor that was the question.
Removing the slides from the microscope, Victor went back to where Robert was working. They’d worked together so long, Victor could join in and help without a single word of direction from Robert.
After making herself a second cup of coffee, Marsha sat down at the table and looked out at the rainy day with its heavy clouds. It felt good not to have to go to the office, although she still had to make her inpatient rounds. She wondered if she should be more concerned than she was about Victor’s arranging for a bodyguard for VJ. That certainly sounded ominous. At the same time, it sounded like a good idea. But she was still sure there were facts that Victor was keeping from her.
Footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of both VJ
and Philip. They greeted Marsha but were much more interested in the refrigerator, getting out milk and blueberries for their cereal.
“What are you two planning on doing today?” Marsha asked when they’d sat down at the table with her.
“Heading in to the lab,” VJ said. “Is Dad there?”
“He is,” Marsha said. “What happened about the idea of going to Boston for the day with Richie Blakemore?”
“Didn’t pan out,” VJ said. He gave the blueberries a shove toward Philip.
“That’s too bad,” Marsha said.
“Doesn’t matter,” VJ said.
“There is something I want to talk to you about,” Marsha said. “Yesterday I had a conversation with Valerie Maddox. Do you remember her?”
VJ rested his spoon in his dish. “I don’t like the sound of this. I remember her. She’s the psychiatrist whose office is on the floor above yours. She’s the lady with the mouth that looks like she’s always getting ready to kiss somebody.”
Philip laughed explosively, spraying cereal in the process. He wiped his mouth self-consciously while trying to control his laughter. VJ laughed himself, watching Philip’s antics.
“That’s not very nice,” Marsha said. “She is a wonderful woman, and very talented. We talked about you.”
“This is starting to sound even worse,” VJ said.
“She has offered to see you and I think it would be a good idea. Maybe twice a week after school.”
“Oh, Mom!” VJ whined, his face contorting into an expression of extreme distaste.
“I want you to think about it,” Marsha said. “We’ll talk again. It is something that might help you as you get older.”
“I’m too busy for that stuff,” VJ complained, shaking his head.
Marsha had to laugh to herself at that comment. “You think about it anyway,” she said. “One other thing. I just spoke to your father. Has he said anything to you about being concerned about your safety, anything like that?”
“A little,” VJ said. “He wanted me to watch out for Beekman and Hurst. But I never see those guys.”
“Apparently he’s still worried,” Marsha said. “He just told me that he has arranged for a man to be with you during the day. That man’s name is Pedro and he’s on his way over here.”
“Oh, no!” VJ complained. “That will drive me nuts.”
After finishing her inpatient rounds, Marsha got on Interstate 495 and headed west to Lowell. She got off after only three exits, and with the help of some directions she’d written on a prescription blank, she wound around on little country roads until she found 714 Mapleleaf Road, an ill-kept, Victorian-style house painted a drab gray with white trim. At some time in the past it had been converted into a duplex. The Fays lived on the first floor. Marsha rang the bell and waited.
Marsha had called from the hospital so the Fays knew to expect her. Despite the fact that their daughter had worked for her and Victor for eleven years, Marsha had only met the mother and father at Janice’s funeral. Janice had been dead for four years. Marsha felt odd standing on her parents’
porch, waiting for them to open the door. Knowing Janice so intimately for so many years, Marsha had come to the conclusion that there had been significantly disturbing emotional undercurrents in her family, but she had no idea what they could have been. On that issue, Janice had been completely noncommunicative.
“Please come in,” Mrs. Fay said after she’d opened the door. She was a white-haired, pleasant-looking but frail woman who appeared to be in her early sixties. Marsha noted that the woman avoided eye contact.
The inside of the house was much worse than the outside.
The furniture was old and threadbare. What made it particularly unpleasant was that the place was dirty.
Wastepaper baskets were filled to overflowing with such things as beer cans and McDonald’s wrappers. There were even cobwebs in one corner up near the ceiling.
“Let me tell Harry that you’re here,” Mrs. Fay said.
Marsha could hear the sounds of a televised sporting event somewhere in the background. She sat down, but kept to the very edge of the sofa. She didn’t want to touch anything.
“Well, well,” said a husky voice. “About time the fancy doctor paid us a visit is all I can say.”
Marsha turned to see a large man with a huge belly and wearing a tank-top undershirt come into the room. He walked right up to her and stuck out a calloused hand for her to shake. His hair was cut severely in a military- style crew cut. His face was dominated by a large, swollen nose with red capillaries fanning the side of each nostril.
“Can I offer you a beer or something?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Marsha said.
Harry Fay sank into a La-Z-Boy armchair. “To what do we owe this visit?” he asked. He burped and excused himself.
“I wanted to talk about Janice,” Marsha said.
“I hope to God she didn’t tell you any lies about me,”
Harry said. “I’ve been a hardworking man all my life. Drove sixteen-wheelers back and forth across this country so many times I lost count.”
“I’m sure that was hard work,” Marsha said, wondering if she should have come.
“Bet your ass,” Harry said.
“What I was wondering,” Marsha began, “is whether Janice ever talked about my boys, David and VJ.”
“Lots of times,” Harry said. “Right, Mary?”
Mary nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Did she ever remark on anything out of the ordinary about them?” There were specific questions she could have asked, but she preferred not to lead the conversation.
“She sure did,” Harry said. “Even before she got nuts about all that religious bunk, she told us that VJ had killed his brother. She even told us that she tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Janice never tried to warn me,” Marsha said, color rising in her cheeks. “And I should tell you that my son David died of cancer.”
“Well, that’s sure different than what Janice told us,”
Harry said. “She told us the kid was poisoned. Drugged and poisoned.”
“That’s patently preposterous,” Marsha said.
“What the hell does that mean?” Harry said.
Marsha took a deep breath to calm herself down. She realized that she was trying to defend herself and her family before this offensive man. She knew that wasn’t the reason that she was there. “I mean to say that there
