“So if you’re really committed,” Simonov continued, “go to the OCME. Just don’t count on getting any answers. As for calling, you might as well call three-one-one.” Simonov was referring to the citizens’ help line-people called to report a cat stuck up a tree or a loud movie set on the street. Simonov checked his watch and picked up his coffee.
“If you decide to call three-one-one, tell them there’s still a big pothole on my street. Been there since Thanksgiving.”
Back out in the rainy night, Pia and George slogged along 168th Street, keeping as far away from the curb as they could. Every time a yellow cab zipped by, it splashed water up onto the sidewalk.
“Well, that was almost useless,” Pia managed against the wind.
“I’m not sure I’d write it off as useless. He reminded us about the politics involved. He also emphasized that there’s undoubtedly going to be a thorough investigation as a prelude to any legal action. I think that’s information you should take to heart. It’s time to drop all this, Pia.”
“Dreamer,” Pia said. “I’m in this until I get some answers.”
“You are impossible,” George commented, as a sudden gust of wind came down from Haven Avenue, halting their forward progress for a moment. They had reached Fort Washington Avenue. Looking to the side, Pia realized they had come abreast of the Black research building.
“What time is it?” Pia asked.
George managed to glance at his watch. “It’s after ten. Time for us to be in bed.” For George the idea of bed had immediate appeal. It brought up the fact that they had had sex that day, or at least Pia had had sex. Ever the optimist, he wondered if just maybe, after his accompanying her back over to the hospital to check on the autopsy, she might consider a continuation. George closed his eyes and screwed up the courage to speak.
“Do you want to come to my room? Stay the night? Or we could go to your room, whichever you prefer.”
“What for?” Pia asked, blankly.
“Well, for one thing, we ended things a little quickly this afternoon. Maybe if we had more time . . .”
“That’s a thought,” Pia said in a preoccupied fashion. “Have you noticed where we’re standing?”
George looked up. In truth he hadn’t been particularly aware of the immediate surroundings.
“We’re just outside the Black building,” Pia added. “It’s after ten, as you said. I want to go up to the lab for another quick visit to check out that damn micro storage locker. I’m not going to be satisfied until I do it, and this is the best time. I’ve been in there fifty times at night like this.”
“No, Pia!” George said firmly. “It’s too big a risk.”
“I don’t think there’s any risk whatsoever. You head back to the dorm. It’ll only take me twenty minutes at most.”
George looked ahead at the dorm looming in the misty night. It beckoned as a haven of warmth and security. He looked back at Pia. She was smiling up at him, confident as usual. Most important, she hadn’t said no to his suggestion that they sleep together. “You really think it’ll be safe, that no one will suddenly pop in?”
“Absolutely. Twenty minutes it’ll take me. I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the dorm.”
“And you remember that whatever you find out, it won’t prove anything?”
“I’m aware of that.”
George’s mind went into overdrive. Maybe it was a good idea. Maybe if she got the damn micro storage locker out of her mind, she’d give up on her self-destructive investigation.
“All right,” George said with sudden resolve. “I’m coming with you. Maybe I can help speed things up.” He grabbed her hand and started to pull her toward the Black building entrance.
Pia resisted. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” George said. In his mind’s eye what he could see mostly was them climbing into bed, holding each other tightly.
Pia shrugged. “It might be quicker with two people. All right, let’s do it.”
Without another word, Pia and George ducked into the Black building. The security man knew Pia well and didn’t bat an eye. Pia used her key to open the main door, a key Spaulding had not asked for. The logbook was back where she expected it would be, in Spaulding’s desk. Inside the biosafety unit she used Rothman’s spare key from his office to open the storage locker. They worked quickly and efficiently.
George wouldn’t have wanted a physician to check his blood pressure at any point during the visit, but Pia seemed icy cool and focused.
Pia had George read out to her how many of each sample were recorded in the logbook while she counted the actual samples. As Pia suspected, there were three samples missing from the storage freezer, at least according to the book. There were supposed to be thirty samples of the zero-gravity salmonella typhi, divided evenly between what was called alpha S. typhi and beta S. typhi. One of the missing samples was from the beta salmonella strain and the other two were the alpha strain, which was the strain that had infected Rothman and Yamamoto. Out in the main part of the unit near the hoods, Pia found a small collection of six labeled petri dishes in the incubator. Each was labeled with either an alpha or a beta.
After Pia and George had left the biosafety unit and removed their protective clothing, Pia found two of the same type of stoppered containers used in the storage facility without labels sitting next to Spaulding’s sink.
After replacing the logbook and the spare key, Pia said to George, “Okay, we’re done.”
George’s heart rate calmed down once they had exited the lab without incident.
“What does all this mean, Pia?” George asked as they rode down in the elevator.
“I don’t know,” Pia admitted. “It might not mean anything, but information is information. What I’d like to do is go over the discrepancies with Spaulding if I can figure out how.”
“Good luck with that,” George said.
Pia and George fought their way through the weather back to the dorm. Though he was exhausted, George felt strangely exhilarated. He and Pia had actually worked together. George knew he’d been useful and was acutely sensitive to Pia’s gestures, like the way she had put her hand on the small of his back to encourage him to precede her through the outer dorm door. She was obviously pleased with what they had accomplished. They stopped in the lobby and pushed the elevator button. Both cars were on upper floors.
Pia stared at the elevator’s slow-moving floor indicator. George cleared his throat to speak, but Pia didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She just wanted to get to her bed and try to sleep.
“Pia, you must know how I feel about you. I’ve tried to tell you a hundred times. More than that. Pia, would you look at me?”
Pia reluctantly turned to George. He had that earnest look.
“You know I worry about you because of my feelings for you. I love you, you must know that. I think about you constantly.”
On hearing the words, something in Pia’s brain fizzed into life. A laboratory animal learns to stop engaging in a certain behavior, like touching a red button, if it gets a painful shock every time, even if previously it got a reward, like a piece of food. In Pia’s mind, there was a connection between protestations of affection and pain. She had learned that the people who said those words would cause her pain, and should be avoided, like an electric shock.
Pia pressed the elevator button again, as it appeared that the car was stuck on the eighth floor. She said nothing.
“Our relationship can’t be totally one-sided.”
“What do you mean, ‘relationship’ . . . ? Look, George, this isn’t the time or the place for this.”
“When is the time, Pia? I’ve wanted to tell you I love you for years.”
The elevator finally arrived, the doors opened, and a cluster of students noisily piled out. A party had started in someone’s room and now was moving to a bar up on Broadway.