"Your usual fee?"
"Actually," Nelson said, swinging off Route 3 onto the exit ramp,
"searching for the truth runs a bit higher.
Haven Darden's office and laboratory filled most of the fifth floor of the Proctor Research Building. Eric found the medical chief hunched over a microscope. A white-coated technician was at work nearby, but otherwise the huge space was deserted.
Darden glanced up at him, nodded a greeting, and then returned his attention to the scope.
"This is pig work," he said. "I could train a high schooler to do it… unfortunately, I couldn't pay him. So he.-e I sit."
"Money's tight."
"I should say." Darden made a few final notes and then pushed himself away. "So, it would appear that Dr. Marshall has placed himself into some sort of treatment facility, and out of the running for the E.R. position. I would say things look very good for you."
"I'm not counting on anything. I have reason to believe that certain people in this hospital will do whatever they must, to see that I'm out of this place as quickly as possible."
"Would you like to expand on that?"
"Soon. Soon I would very much like to do just that. But right now I have more pressing matters on my mind."
"Such as?"
"Such as getting Reed Marshall well and back at his job."
"You mean that?"
"I do."
"Well, from what I understand, Dr. Marshall has made one hell of an error."
"I'm not so sure."
"Explain."
Eric leaned against the slate edge of the laboratory bench.
"Dr. Darden, I've come up here because I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about tetrodotoxin.
" Darden's dark eyes smiled. "So, it's zombies you're after, is it?" he said.
Eric set the E.K.Gs on the counter.
"This one is from the woman Reed pronounced dead, and this is from a man I pronounced dead in February."
"I assume he did not subsequently awaken?"
"Actually, I can't tell you for sure. His body's disappeared."
"Excuse me?"
"I've been able to trace the man's body to a 'funeral home near here, but I have reason to believe the mortician is into some sort of diversion of bodies."
"Fascinating," Darden said. He folded his notebook. "So, would you like to discuss this rogue mortician, or would you like to accompany me to my office for a crash course in voodoo?"
"I'll take the lesson for now," Eric said, "but I hope I can discuss this other business with you soon."
"Of course you may. I'm a bit cramped for time right now, so I shall have to give you a pared-down course.
"That's fine."
"But let me say in advance that what you shall learn is not what you want to hear."
They walked down a row of slate benches covered with thousands of dollars'worth of idle equipment and incubators, and entered Darden's spacious office overlooking the Charles.
"I prefer this space to my office in the department of medicine," he explained.
"I can see why."
"Looking down on the passing scene has such a calming effect, don't you think?" He gazed out at the river for a moment, then turned back to Eric. "So, now we must talk some voodoo."
"Do you know it well?"
Darden smiled enigmatically.
"Does anybody? I suppose there are those who would consider me something of an expert. Although I left Haiti as a child, I have a small clinic in Port-auprince, and much family in the city of Cap-Haitien on the north coast. My wife and daughter and I return' there frequently."
"And do you believe there are zombies?"
"In Haiti, I do. I have no doubt whatsoever. Certain people, usually those who have committed some sort of offense against their fellows, are found guilty by a people's court, usually presided over by a houngan-a priest. The offenders learn that they have been condemned to a living death. So strong are their beliefs in the Haitian way and in the powers of the houngan that they are quite literally powerless to stem their fate. They are caused, in some way, to cgme in contact with a coup poudre-a mystical powder. Soon after, they fall into a helpless trancelike state, are buried for a time, and then are brought back to this world, usually in a state of diminished mental and physical capacity."
And the zombi poison, this coup poudre?"
Darden shook his head.
"I believe in hypnosis and the power of the mind," he said. "I believe that those who believe, in the very fiber of their being, that they are cursed to die can make themselves do so; and those who believe they are to lie in the state of the undead can also do so. I have seen men told under hypnotic trance that they are to be touched with a hot poker, and then raise a blister at the site where they are grazed by a pencil eraser.
I have seen yogis sealed in caskets for many hours without apparent adverse effects. But as for a poison that can accomplish the transformation from living being to zombi, I'm afraid not."
"So you see all this as psychologically based-a cultural phenomenon, and not something biochemical?"
"Tetrodotoxin is an awesomely toxic substance.
Highly trained Japanese chefs can prepare fugu dishes with a far from lethal dose. But there is no way a houngan, grinding fish in an earthen bowl or tin can, then applying the substance to a victim's skin, can approach the line of death without consistently going over it.
Perhaps he might augment the strength of his hypnotic suggestion with a bit of biochemical tingle, but not with anything like what you are suggesting! There is no controllable metabolic toxin, so There is no true zombi poison. It is as simple as that."
"Are there any studies you know of reviewing the cardiovascular effects of tetrodotoxin poisoning?"
"Ah, your E.K.GS. I would suggest that if you sit down with one of our cardiology friends, you will learn that this pattern is not at all uncommon in terminal hearts. We just don't bother to take the tracing all that often."
"Perhaps," Eric said.
'You don't sound convinced."
"There's a lot at stake. Beginning with Reed Marshall's career."
"Well, I can only tell you what I can tell you. A few years ago a Harvard ethnobotanist created a stir surrounding tetrodotoxin and zombies. Since then there has been a flood of letters and articles refuting his claims."
"That's what Dr. Blunt said."
"You spoke with him, then?"
"Yes.
"And he concurred with what I have told you?"
"Yes, he did-."
"Then when will enough be enough for you?"
Eric stood and gathered his notes.
"Not just yet," he said.
"I assure you, Eric, in this area there is a sharp drop-off around here after Dr. Blunt and myself."
"Well, sir, I have a free evening and my county Library card.
If nothing else, maybe I can close that drop-off a bit."
"Maybe you can at that," Haven Darden said, looking at him thoughtfully.
"Maybe you can."
From the day Eric first set foot in the county Medical Library, the airy, regal structure with its wide circular stairways and glassed study carrels had been a special retreat for him.
Whether he was working deep in the stacks, or in the silent coccoon of a carrel, hours often passed like minutes. At one stretch, while researching a particularly interesting case, he had been the last to leave the place so many nights that one librarian had called him an "academic barfly." It was early evening. Eric spread his notes on a reading table near the card catalogue and began to work his way through the file caras containing the extensive bibliography he had drawn up.
The approach, which would save time and trips into the stacks, was one he had worked out over his years of study in the place. He noted down the library number and location of the volumes he would need, while Organizing his cards by stack section.