“What was the toxin, anyway?” Ashton queried. “Did they ever find out what was causing the deaths?”
“Yes, the forensic pathologists did. It’s actually a medicine, one of the virulosins,” Demetrius said. “Used for very rare diseases, and occasionally for rare types of injuries. In this particular instance, it was developed for Griggs-Andersen Syndrome, or G.A.S., ‘gas,’ where the bodily organs don’t know how to use glycogen correctly. So they have to be modified at the genetic level to utilize it properly, and they use a particular virulosin to do it. The doctors therefore refer to the medication as G.A.S. virulosin. The thing is, like most powerful medicines, you have to be careful and really nail the diagnosis, because in a healthy person, the virulosin can actually end up killing the organs by destroying their ability to use glycogen for fuel.”
“So...it kind of...creates the syndrome...in somebody that doesn’t already have it…” Ames pondered.
“Something like, yes,” Demetrius confirmed. “Only it’s accelerated, because of the viral nature of the virulosin. Whereas someone with G.A.S. might take five years to die in the absence of the cure, someone without it, given the virulosin, might last only a week. If that.” He paused, then added, “I’m told it’s hell to watch.”
“Damn,” Compton muttered.
“Exactly,” Gorski agreed.
“Isn’t the usual method of administering a virulosin via eyedrops?” Ashton asked, as they headed for the office building where the latest victim had fallen unconscious, hopping the commuter train to go under the Imperial Park in the process. They boarded from the IUS Imperial Center station, and would debark in the Imperial Park East station.
“It depends,” Demetrius said, offhanded, with a shrug. “I’m no expert by any means, but on the last go-round of the Sandman, I had occasion to learn a lot, because I was working under Jill Amundsen. It seems to depend on what, exactly, is being affected by the disease it’s intended to treat. Now, Melsbach Syndrome, yeah, it goes in the eyes, because it follows the optic nerves to the brain, and that’s where the problem is. Other virulosins might treat the stomach, or the digestive tract, or the lungs. For those, you might drink it, or breathe it in in a mist, or something like that. The doctors told me you could inject it, put it in an intravenous drip, all kinds of things like that.”
“So it could have been put in a drink, or in food, or even in a humidifier,” Ashton speculated, thoughtful, as they exited the train at the Imperial Park East stop.
“Yes, but the humidifier would have affected a lot more people, unless it was a personal, room thing,” Gorski pointed out.
“Hm.”
“Exactly.” Demetrius paused at an elevator, activating it in VR. “An added complication, though, is that most virulosins need to be kept cold – even frozen – right up until they’re administered, in order to remain viable. Although it’s possible to heat them right before administration, if the situation requires; at that point, they’re pretty sturdy little buggums.” He shrugged. “It’s really just about preservation until it’s time to administer.”
“Damn, it just gets harder and harder,” Ashton grumbled, as they entered the elevator and took it up to street level.
“Now you see why we never caught him the first time around,” Gorski noted.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the office building where Lana Rounder had passed out. Now hospitalized as her liver failed and other organs threatened collapse, she had worked in a restaurant chain’s headquarters, as head of marketing for the chain.
“Oh, you’re the detectives to investigate what happened to Ms. Rounder,” the receptionist in the lobby said when they showed her their credentials; her desk sign read Amani Hayden. “I’ll call Mr. Witte at once. I can’t imagine what happened! Lana – she told me to call her Lana; she always stopped and chatted with me – was so friendly and generally well-liked; I just can’t understand why anyone would want to kill her.”
“So you already know it was a murder attempt?” Gorski asked, shooting a surreptitious, concerned glance at Demetrius and Ashton.
“Oh, Yes, sir! Mr. Witte has already called the hospital to find out her condition. They...” the little receptionist broke off, looking like she might cry. “They said she’s...dying, and the doctors can’t stop it. Mr. Witte was shocked, and he put out word for people to be sending up prayers and good thoughts for her, just in case they can find a way to stop it.”
“Those are all good things to do, ma’am,” Demetrius said in a gentle, quiet voice. “Miracles do happen. And perhaps we can find out who did it, and put an end to it.”
“O-okay,” Hayden sniffled, fighting tears. “I’ll call Mr. Witte. His executive assistant said he was fairly pacing the floor, waiting for you.”
Jack
