“Who else?” Max asked again.
“Dr. Raymond Markey.”
“Who’s he?”
“An Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services. We report to him directly.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Not much. He’s always been more of a politician than a doctor.”
“But he knew Bradley Jenkins was in here?”
“No. We hid it from him.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I lied.”
“How?”
Harvey shrugged. “I just left Bradley’s name off the patient list I sent Markey.”
“And this Markey guy never questioned it?”
“No.”
“Does he know you’ve found a cure?”
“Yes and no. We tell him just enough so he can’t pull back the money.”
“And he just accepts your word?”
Harvey half chuckled. “Hardly. We always back up our claims with irrefutable evidence. A good researcher always guards against a charge of tampering with results. Just the accusation of falsifying data could bring down an entire clinic like ours. That’s why I set up a system where at least two doctors work on each case — always at separate times. It prevents any hint of wrongdoing.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Take the blood work.”
“The blood work?”
“The taking and handling of blood. If I did the original examination on a patient, Bruce or Eric would do the testing during the latter stages of the treatment and vice versa. Let me give you an example. I diagnosed Teddy Krutzer as having the AIDS virus three years ago. As a result, Bruce was the one who handled the blood work when we tested to see if Krutzer had actually become HIV negative. Another example. Scott Trian, the first murder victim, was first diagnosed with AIDS by Bruce Grey four years ago so—”
“So you or Eric ran the blood test to see if he had been cured or not.”
“Exactly. This way, we are able to head off anyone who might want to slow us down by throwing out false accusations of tampering.”
Max shook his head. “This case just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“Not so weird,” Harvey said.
“Oh?”
“I think it’s pretty simple.”
“Then why don’t you let me in on it?”
Harvey stopped playing with the files and looked up. “Someone is trying to destroy this clinic. Someone has found out what we have discovered here and wants to prevent us from showing the world. It’s what I’ve suspected all along. It’s why I set up all these internal safeguards.”
“But—”
“Look, Lieutenant, it’s like I told Sara in the beginning. If I wanted to prove to you that I could cure AIDS, what would be the most convincing thing I could show you? Cured patients, right? Eliminate the cured patients and all I have is charts and graphs and tests and files that don’t add up to a thing. I’d have to start all over again. A vaccine could be delayed years.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Bernstein said without breaking stride. “But let me ask you this. How many good test cases are still alive?”
“Three.”
“Three cured patients left,” Max repeated. “Well, then, all three need protection. They should be moved to a safe house where no one will know where they are.”
“I agree,” Harvey said.
“Then I have a suggestion for you, Doctor, that you might not like. I want to put them in a
“I don’t understand.”
“If this conspiracy is as big as you suspect, then anyone could be involved in this plot. They’ve already gone to extreme lengths and they probably won’t stop now. I think it safest if no one, not even you, knows where they are. The less everyone knows, the less that can slip out. Or be forced out.”
“Do you really think—”
“Five men have been murdered already,” Bernstein interrupted.
“But these patients have to be watched by a qualified doctor.”
“I have a doctor who has made a living keeping his mouth shut. You tell him what to do and he’ll do it. If you need to see them yourself, I’ll take you to the safe house. Blindfolded.”
Harvey nodded. “Okay, sounds reasonable. But I want your word that the patients won’t be touched without specific permission. If your doctor were to give them the wrong medication or take unnecessary tests—”
“He won’t — you have my word. I’d also like to go through the medical records of the four victims.”
“Of course, Lieutenant, but let me ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“If this conspiracy is so powerful, how do I know you’re not a part of it?”
Bernstein stopped pacing, looked up, and twirled his hair around his middle finger. “Interesting question,” he replied. And then he walked out the door.
Jennifer Riker woke up on the couch. The contents of the packet were scattered around her.
She sighed, carried the bowl back into the den, and sat on the couch. She glanced at the file she had read yesterday. Unbelievable. Harvey and Bruce had done it. Cured AIDS. Turned an HIV positive into an HIV negative. Historic.
Jennifer picked up Scott Trian’s file and fingered through the pages until she arrived at the spot where she had left off. She scanned down the page. There. The spot where Trian became HIV negative. She read on. Trian’s condition progressed nicely now, though not without some setbacks. Bruce noted:
There are times when Scott is made so weak from the injections of SR1 that I fear for him. Harvey and I talked about it last night. We both agree that we have to do something to lessen the side effects. Still, the alternative — death from AIDS — is far worse than what we are seeing in Trian.
The file held no more surprising revelations, just a few scattered notes about Trian’s reaction to SR1. Bruce’s last note read:
DNA? A vs. B
What did that mean? She shrugged, put down the file, and picked up another. Whitherson, William. His file was very much like Trian’s. Whitherson had also been transformed to HIV negative, but he had other problems:
Bill’s family is so damn unsupportive. His father won’t speak to him, and his mother feels trapped between her husband and her son, afraid to talk to Bill because her husband would see it as some sort of betrayal. Horses’ asses, both of them. The funny thing is Bill still loves them like mad. He calls them all the time. I hear him pleading over the phone in a hushed, defeated voice. “But don’t you understand? I’m dying.” Still nothing.
And the same last note:
