“What was your question again?”
“I want to know if Keara Abelard had a manipulation of her cervical spine.”
“Generally, we don’t divulge confidential information about our patients,” Newhouse said defensively.
“Do you keep records of what you do to patients?”
“Of course we keep records! We need to document the course of improvement. What kind of question is that?”
“I can subpoena your records, so you might as well just tell me.”
“You can’t subpoena my records,” Newhouse declared, although without much confidence. He was now more worried Jack was not quite what he’d assumed: a prospective new patient with the thought of making an appointment.
“You said Keara Abelard’s headache went away after your treatment. Did you know it came back?”
“No, I didn’t know. She didn’t call me. If she had, I would have seen her immediately.”
“The headache came back with a vengeance,” Jack snapped. “And I need to know if you adjusted her cervical spine.”
“And why do you need to know, Mr. Stapleton? Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Jack spat. “New York City medical examiner.” He flashed his badge in Newhouse’s face. “Keara Abelard died suddenly last night, without apparent cause, which makes her a medical-examiner case. I am the investigating medical examiner. I need to know if you manipulated her neck when you saw her on Friday. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to get the police over here to take you in.” Jack knew he was exaggerating his power and a bit out of control. There was no way he could have Newhouse arrested. But Jack was furious enough to make such a claim, because the man had snuffed out the life of a beautiful, promising young woman. What was really at the bottom of Jack’s over-the-top behavior—which he would have realized if he’d stopped to think about it—was his anger at his son’s illness and his inability to do anything about it.
“All right,” Newhouse shouted, after recovering from the shock of learning of Keara’s death. “I manipulated her cervical spine like I’ve done for thousands of others. And you know something? It worked. It worked because I fixed her subluxated fourth cervical vertebra. And she walked out of here a grateful, well woman, without pain for the first time in weeks. If she died, she died of something else, something that happened to her over the weekend, not because of my treatment, if that’s what you are implying.”
“Of course I’m implying your treatment killed her,” Jack yelled. “And do you know how you did it? Your thrust, as you call it, tore the delicate lining of her vertebral arteries, which in turn caused bilateral vertebral artery dissections and ultimately blockage. I trust you know what the vertebral arteries are?”
“Of course I know what they are,” Newhouse shouted back. “Now get out of my office.
You can’t prove I did anything wrong, because I didn’t. And I cannot imagine it’s okay for you to be accusing me like this. You have some nerve coming in here under false pretenses. You are going to hear from my lawyer. I can promise you that.”
“And you’ll be hearing from the DA,” Jack yelled. “I’m going to sign the death certificate as homicide. ‘Innate intelligence,’ my ass! That’s the screwiest nonsense I’ve heard in my life. You mentioned you ‘straight’ chiropractors call your colleagues mixers or traitors who restrict their work to back problems exclusively. What do the mixers call you guys, quacks?”
“Get out!” Newhouse roared, his face threateningly close to Jack’s.
It was as if a lightbulb went off in Jack’s head. He suddenly realized he was within inches of an enraged man, nearly to the point of fisticuffs. What was he doing? What was he thinking?
Jack backed up a step. He wasn’t necessarily afraid—Newhouse didn’t look especially fit—but Jack didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. What he wanted to do was get the hell out of there.
“Now that we see eye to eye, I think I’ll be going,” Jack said, reverting to sarcasm.
“Don’t bother to see me to the door,” he added, holding up his hand as if waving Newhouse off. “I’ll see myself out.”
Jack made a beeline out of the inner office. Lydia and several patients had heard at least part of Jack and Newhouse’s shouting match. All were sitting tensely, ready to bolt for safety’s sake. Their mouths were slightly open, eyes unblinking, as they watched Jack transit reception. Jack’s last gesture was to wave ’bye at Lydia before ducking through the office’s outer door.
Outside Jack went straight to his bike, fumbling with the multiple locks while glancing nervously over his shoulder. He was astonished at his behavior, marveling at how out of control he’d become with Newhouse. Of course, now that he was thinking rationally, he recognized it all went back to JJ, emphasizing how important it was for him to get a grip on that situation. It also emphasized the importance of his crusade to help in that regard, but he needed to be thinking of the forest, not the trees. He had to focus on alternative medicine in general, not just chiropractic nor Newhouse because of an emotional response to Keara Abelard’s tragedy.
Once his bike was free, Jack jumped on and sped away, heading south. Reaching speed he began to worry about the potential repercussions of his ill-considered site visit. If Bingham or Calvin got word of his latest shenanigans, it could very well cause a premature end to his nascent crusade. It might even be serious enough to get him put on administrative leave. From Jack’s perspective either outcome would be a serious problem.
10
12:53 P.M., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2008
ROME
(6:53 A.M., NEW YORK CITY)
Shawn looked out the window as the Egyptair Boeing 737-500 made its final approach into Rome’s Fiumicino airport. He could see nothing but the plane’s wing. It was as if they were in a San Francisco fog bank. They had been circling the airport for almost a half-hour.
Other than the current tension, the day’s travel had been enjoyable. They easily passed through Egyptian passport control and security. Shawn was a bit concerned because the codex was in his carry-on, wrapped in a towel in a Four Seasons pillowcase. If it had been found, Shawn would have been disappointed, although he didn’t worry about legal consequences. He was prepared to tell the truth—that he’d bought it as a souvenir—and then lie that he’d been sure it was a fake like most everything else sold in Khan el-Khalili antiquities shops.
Saturninus’s letter was a different story. Shawn had carefully covered each sheet of papyrus with clear plastic wrap he’d gotten from the Four Seasons kitchen, and then glued each between separate pages of a large, coffee table-style photography book of ancient Egyptian monuments hastily purchased in the hotel’s gift shop. Through security Shawn had carried it in full sight in his hands. If the letter had been discovered there would have been a definite problem, but Shawn felt there was little risk. To Sana he’d downplayed it completely, falsely saying he’d done it in the past without the slightest difficulty. “As long as the book goes through the scanner, they’re happy,” he’d said to reassure her.
There was a sudden hard bump that made Shawn start. The plane had dropped below the low cloud cover. Through the now-rain-streaked window, Shawn could see soggy green fields and traffic-clogged roads. Despite it being the middle of the day, most of the vehicles had their headlights on. Looking ahead, he could dimly see the airport and, more important, the oncoming runway. A moment later, the plane touched down and the engines reversed.
Shawn let out a minor sigh of relief and glanced at Sana. She smiled. “Doesn’t look like the best weather,” she commented, leaning forward so she could see out.
“It can be rainy in winter.”
“I don’t think it’s going to matter to us,” Sana said, adding a wink to her smile.
“I think you’re right,” Shawn agreed. He reached over and gave his wife’s hand a squeeze, and she squeezed back. Both were tense with anticipation.
“I’ll tell you what,” Sana said. “Why don’t I go to baggage claim, and you go get the rental car? It’s got to save us time.”
“That’s a super idea,” Shawn said. He glanced back at his wife. He was genuinely surprised and appreciative. Usually, she left all the planning to him. Now she was being proactive and offering to help. To his delight, it seemed that she was equally as excited as he was. She had peppered him with questions about early Christianity, Judaism, and even Near Eastern pagan religion throughout the flight.
“So, what do you think our schedule should be once we leave the airport?” Sana asked eagerly.
“We’ll check in to the hotel, have a bite to eat, then find a place to get some basic tools.
