Helen’s chart.”
“Margaret Richmond was mad?” Janet asked.
Sean nodded. “All two hundred and fifty snarling pounds of her. She was out of control.”
“She’s always been civil with me,” Janet said.
“I’ve only seen her twice,” Sean said. “Neither time would I describe her as civil.”
“How did she know you were there?” Janet asked.
“The Marine commando was with her,” Sean said. “They must have picked me up on a surveillance camera.”
“Oh, great!” Janet said. “Something else I have to worry about. I never thought of surveillance cameras.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Sean said. “I’m the one who the head of security can’t abide. Besides, the cameras are most likely only in the common areas, not patient floors.”
“Did you get to talk with Helen Cabot?” Janet asked.
“For a moment,” Sean said. “She doesn’t look good at all.”
“Her condition’s been deteriorating,” Janet said. “There’s talk of doing a shunt. Did you learn anything from her chart?”
“No,” Sean said. “I didn’t have time. They literally chased me back over the bridge to the research building. Then, as if to cap off the afternoon, that Japanese guy appeared again, sneaking around, watching me in the lab from the stairwell. I don’t know what his story is, but this time I got him. I scared the living willies out of him by sneaking up behind him and letting out this bloodcurdling yell. He nearly dropped his pants.”
“The poor fellow,” Janet said.
“Poor fellow nothing!” Sean said. “This guy’s been watching me since I arrived.”
“Well, I’ve had some luck,” Janet said.
Sean brightened. “Really! Great! Did you get some of the miracle medicine?”
“No, no medicine,” Janet said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the computer printout and the sheet with her hastily scribbled notes. “But here’s the list of all the medulloblastoma patients for the last ten years: thirty-eight in all; thirty-three in the past two years. I’ve summarized the data on the sheet.”
Sean eagerly took the papers. But to read them he had to hold it over his head to catch the light coming from the streetlights along Ocean Drive. As he looked it over, Janet explained what she’d learned about the sex and age distribution. She also told him that the computer files were abridged and that there had been a notation to consult the charts themselves for more information. Finally, she told him what Melanie had said about obtaining those charts in as little as ten minutes providing, of course, you had the proper authorization.
“I’ll need the charts,” Sean said. “Are they right there in medical records?”
“No.” Janet explained what Melanie had said about the chart storage vaults extending beneath both buildings.
“No kidding,” Sean said. “That might be rather handy.”
“What do you mean?” Janet asked.
“It means that I might be able to get to them from the research building,” Sean said. “After the episode today, it’s pretty clear I’m persona non grata in the hospital. This way I can attempt to get at those charts without running afoul of Ms. Richmond and company.”
“You’re thinking of breaking into the storage vault?” Janet asked with alarm.
“I kinda doubt they’d leave the door open for me,” Sean said.
“But that’s going too far,” Janet said. “If you did that, you’d be breaking the law, not just a hospital rule.”
“I warned you about this,” Sean said.
“You said we’d have to break rules, not the law,” Janet reminded him.
“Let’s not get into semantics,” Sean said with exasperation.
“But there’s a big difference,” Janet said.
“Laws are codified rules,” Sean said. “I knew we’d get around to breaking the law in some form or fashion, and I thought you did too. But, be that as it may, don’t you think we’re justified? These Forbes people have obviously developed a very effective treatment for medulloblastoma. Unfortunately, they have chosen to be secretive about it, obviously so they can patent their treatment before anyone else catches on. You know, this is what bugs me about the private funding of medical research. The goal becomes a return on investment instead of the public interest. The public weal is in second place if it is considered at all. This treatment for medulloblastoma undoubtedly has implications for all cancers, but the public is being denied that information. Never mind that most of the basic science these private labs base their work on was obtained through public funds at academic institutions. These private places just take. They don’t give. The public gets cheated in the process.”
“Ends never justify means,” Janet said.
“Go ahead and be self-righteous,” Sean said. “Meanwhile, you’re forgetting this whole thing was your idea. Well, maybe we should give up, and maybe I should go back to Boston and get something done on my dissertation.”
“All right!” Janet said with frustration. “All right, we’ll do what we have to do.”
“We need the charts and we need the miracle medicine,” Sean said. He stood up and stretched. “So let’s go.”
“Now?” Janet questioned with alarm. “It’s nearly nine at night.”
“First rule of breaking and entering,” Sean said. “You do it when no one is at home. This is a perfect time. Besides, I have a legitimate cover: I should inject more of my mice with the primary dose of the glycoprotein.”
“Heaven help me,” Janet said as she allowed Sean to pull her up from the bench.
_______
TOM WIDDICOMB guided his car into the slot at the extreme end of the parking area for the Forbes residence. He inched forward until the wheels touched the curb restraint. He had pulled up under the protective branches of a large gumbo-limbo tree. Alice had told him to park there just in case someone noticed the car. It was Alice’s car, a lime green 1969 Cadillac convertible.
Tom opened the car door and stepped out after making certain no one was in sight. He pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves. Then he reached under the front seat and grasped the chef’s knife he’d brought from home. Light glinted off its polished surface. At first he’d planned on bringing the gun. But then thinking about noise and the thinness of the residence walls, he’d settled on the knife instead. Its only drawback was that it could be messy.
Being careful of the knife’s cutting edge, Tom slipped the blade up inside the right sleeve of his shirt, cupping the handle in the palm of his hand. In his other hand he carried the keys to 207.
He made his way along the rear of the building, counting the sliders until he was below 207. There were no lights on in the apartment. Either that nurse was already in bed or she was out. Tom didn’t care. Either way had its benefits and disadvantages.
Walking around to the front of the building, Tom had to pause while one of the tenants came out and headed for his car. After the man had driven away, Tom used one of the keys to enter the building. Once inside, he moved quickly. He preferred not to be seen. Arriving outside of 207, he inserted the key, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him in one swift, fluid motion.
For several minutes he stood by the door without moving, listening for the slightest sound. He could hear several distant TVs, but they were from other apartments. Pocketing the keys, he allowed the long-bladed chef’s knife to slide out from his sleeve. He clutched its handle as if it were a dagger.
Slowly he inched forward. By the light coming from the parking area he could see the outline of the furniture and the doorway into the bedroom. The bedroom door was open.
Looking into the gloom of the bedroom, which was darker than the living room due to the closed drapes, Tom could not tell if the bed was occupied or empty. Again he listened. Aside from the muffled sound of the distant TVs plus the hum of the refrigerator which had just kicked on, he heard nothing. There was no steady breathing of someone asleep.
