Intervention

“How so?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking Saturday night,” he said with a shake of his head. “I must have been bombed outta my freaking mind. That woman was the size of a horse.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Jack said. “So, I guess she’s not going to be ‘the one’ after all.” Chet made a gesture as if waving away a noisome insect while chuckling derisively.

“Mock me!” he challenged. “I deserve it.”

“I want to ask you about that VAD case of yours you mentioned yesterday,” Jack said, trying to rein in his enthusiasm for his crusade concerning what he thought was the irrational popularity of alternative medicine. He was now even more convinced it was generally ineffective beyond the placebo effect as well as being expensive: a bad combination. And as if that wasn’t enough, he now knew it was, at times, dangerous. In fact, he felt personally embarrassed that forensic pathology had not taken a more responsible stand on the issue.

Jack’s opinion had hardened after the site visit he’d made to Ronald Newhouse’s office the previous afternoon, even though, in retrospect, he admitted it had been a mistake, as he had allowed his fragile emotions to get the better of him. Later in the day he’d done an Internet search and had found an enormous amount of information, which would have precluded the need to confront Newhouse. He’d been unaware of the thousands of

“studies” that had been done to prove or disprove the efficacy of alternative or complementary medicine. His search also highlighted what he saw as the Internet’s biggest drawback: too much information, with no real way to evaluate the bias of the sources.

By chance he’d come across a number of references to the book, Trick or Treatment, he’d earlier put on hold at Barnes & Noble. A check of the authors’ credentials left him unquestionably impressed. One was an author of a book that he had enjoyed several years earlier, called Big Bang. The man’s grasp of science, particularly physics, was awe-inspiring, and Jack was duly encouraged he’d trust the man’s opinions concerning alternative medicine. The second author, educated as a conventional medical doctor, had taken the time and effort to train in some types of alternative medicine, and had had the experience of practicing both. Such a background could not have been better to evaluate and compare without prejudice the two approaches. Duly encouraged, Jack had decided to give up on the Internet and had left work early to pick up the book.

When Jack had arrived home the previous evening, he’d been disappointed to find both Laurie and JJ fast asleep and a note on the console table by the front door: “Bad day, lots of tears, no sleep but asleep now. I have to get mine when I can. Soup on the stove.

Love, L.”

The note had made Jack feel guilty and lonely. He’d not called all day for fear he’d wake them, which had happened in the past. Although he always encouraged Laurie to call him when she could, she never did. He hoped the reason wasn’t out of resentment that he got to go to work while she remained at home, but even if it was, he knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

But his guilt wasn’t just about not calling—it was because he actually didn’t want to know what was going on at home. Sometimes, he didn’t even want to go home. Being in the apartment made the tragedy of his son’s illness and Jack’s inability to affect it unavoidable. Although he’d never admitted it to Laurie, just holding the suffering infant was a strain on his emotions, and he hated himself for it. At the same time he understood what was behind his feelings: He was vainly trying not to get too attached to the child.

The unspeakable reality lurking in the recesses of his mind was that JJ was not going to survive.

Jack took advantage of the house’s peacefulness by diving into Trick or Treatment.

When Laurie awoke four hours later, she found him so completely absorbed that he’d forgotten to eat.

Jack listened while Laurie recounted her day. Just like every other day, the more he heard, the more he felt she was a saint and he the opposite, but he let her get it all out.

When she’d finished, they’d gone into the kitchen, where she insisted on heating up some soup for the two of them.

“It’s ironic that you brought up trying alternative medicine this morning,” he’d said as they’d eaten. “I can tell you one thing, we might be desperate, but we are never going to use alternative medicine.” He told her about Keara Abelard and his decision to look seriously into the alternative-medicine issue. As physically and mentally exhausted as she was, she listened to his impassioned lecture with only half an ear until he got to the fatal case of the three-month-old dying from chiropractic cervical manipulation. From that point on, Jack had had her full attention. He described how Trick or Treatment was opening his eyes to all the mainstream alternative-medicine fields, including homeopathy, acupuncture, and herbal medicine, in addition to chiropractic.

When Jack had finished his mini-lecture, Laurie’s response was to congratulate him on finding a worthy subject to occupy his mind while the family was treading water regarding JJ’s treatment. She even confessed to some jealousy, but that was as far as it went. When Jack again brought up the subject of getting her back to work with the aid of round-the-clock nurses, she’d again refused, saying she was doing what she needed to do. She then went on to mention three cases of alternative-medicine fatalities that she’d had herself. One was a case of an acupuncture victim who’d died when the acupuncturist inadvertently impaled the victim’s heart with an acupuncture needle right in the area of the sinoventricular node. Two others died from heavy-metal poisoning from contaminated Chinese herbs.

Jack was pleased to get Laurie’s cases and had admitted he’d sent out an e-mail to all their M.D. colleagues, asking for similar cases, to try to estimate the incidence of alternative medicine- induced deaths in New York City.

“Hey!” Chet called out while giving Jack’s arm a forceful nudge. “What are you having, a psychomotor seizure?”

“Sorry,” Jack said, shaking his head as if waking from a trance. “My mind was someplace else.”

“What did you want to ask me about my VAD case?” Chet asked. He had been waiting for Jack to finish his question.

“Could you possibly get the name or accession number of that case so I can get the details?” Jack said, but he didn’t listen for Chet’s response. His mind was back, remembering that morning when he’d awakened at five- thirty, still in his clothes, still sitting on the living-room couch. On his lap was Trick or Treatment, open midway through the appendix.

The book had solidified his negative feelings about alternative medicine and boosted his interest in the issue. Although there were certain sections of the book that he’d skimmed, for the most part he’d read the entire volume, even underlining certain key passages. Its message surely meshed with his own stance on the subject, and he felt the arguments the authors used to justify their conclusions were clear and unbiased. In fact, Jack felt they had bent over backward to try to make a case for alternative medicine, but in their summary all they could say was that homeopathy provided only a placebo effect; acupuncture, besides placebo, might have an effect on some types of pain and nausea, but it was minor and short-lived; chiropractic, besides placebo, showed some evidence of efficacy in relation to back pain, but conventional treatments were usually equally beneficial and far less expensive; and herbal medicine was mostly placebo, with products of little or no quality control, and for those products with a pharmacological effect, drugs that contained just the active ingredient were decidedly more safe and more efficacious.

Having slept just a couple of hours, Jack thought he’d be exhausted. But, at least initially, that hadn’t been the case. After an exhilarating cold shower and a bite to eat, Jack had cycled to the OCME in near-record time.

As keyed up as he was with newfound knowledge about alternative medicine, Jack immersed himself in his work, signing out several pending cases before grabbing an unwilling Vinnie to start work in the autopsy room. By the time Jack had come by Chet’s office he’d finished three autopsies, which included a shooting at a bar in the East Village and two suicides, one of which Jack found definitely suspicious and about which he’d already put in a call to his buddy, Lieutenant Detective Lou Soldano.

“Hey,” Chet called out again. “Anybody home? This is ridiculous. It’s like having a conversation with a zombie. I just told you the name of that VAD case of mine, and you look like you’re back having another petit mal seizure. Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, squeezing his eyes together and then blinking rapidly. “You’re right about me not