“What can I do for you, Phil?” Gorman was in his early sixties and would retire soon, never having been the head of the department he had been a part of for nearly forty years. Still, he harbored no ill will towards Phil and actually enjoyed the intellectual stimulation Phil offered. Most of their work was fairly cut and dried, and before Phil had taken over, complacency had infected the entire staff — sadly, including himself.
“About a month ago, you told me that you had a case of viral encephalitis that was sent on to the CDC. Do you remember it?” Phil respected Gorman’s opinion. He was a very experienced pathologist, and in this case, he had the advantage of actually having worked on it from the beginning. “I’m looking at the slides now, and I have never seen anything like this before.”
“I remember the case well. I took a pretty close look at what was left of the brain, which wasn’t much. He had a nine-millimeter entrance wound in his left frontal bone, and I found the bullet in the right occipital lobe. I took a lot more sections than usual because I couldn’t see a young father going crazy like that without a reason. He had all these inclusion bodies in the walls of his ventricles that were definitely pre-morbid. So I figured he had an encephalitis, right, probably viral, most likely an arbovirus. I know — there are no mosquitoes around in January, but by this point, I was grasping at straws. Did you see the electron micrographs?”
“Yes, I’m looking at them now,” Phil said, not entirely comfortable with Gorman’s familiarity.
“Well, those, my friend, are not arboviruses, either in season or out of season. I sat on the case for a week while I researched it, but I couldn’t find shit. Nothing ever published looks like that sucker. I thought it might be a new species, or some radical mutation of a herpes virus.”
Phil was about to ask Gorman why he had not consulted him about it, but then he thought better of it. If this did turn out to be a new species, or even a new dangerous mutation, Gorman would be credited with the find, and in today’s culture of instant fame, the credit could be considerable. This was one of the rare moments when Phil was happy that he was not burdened with the usual human nature. “I see,” he said. “So you sent it on for identification.”
“Yeah. We got an answer pretty quick. Let me see if I can find that.” Phil listened quietly as Gorman rummaged through his desk. “Oh hell, let me just look it up. .” His voice trailed off as he began to type at his keyboard. “Got it. Arboviral encephalitis. Signed, sealed, and delivered by the gods of the CDC, Special Pathogen Division.”
“They were wrong,” Phil said simply, staring at an electron micrograph of a six-sided viral particle.
“You think they just rubber-stamped it?” Gorman asked, with a subtly more professional tone. “It never sat well with me. I was hoping for something more interesting, and I have to admit that I was somewhat disappointed that they didn’t find it. Maybe my objectivity wasn’t as reliable as it should have been from the start, and after the CDC came back with arbovirus, I convinced myself that I was seeing things that weren’t there — the proverbial zebra in a herd of horses. So, I let it go. But there’s been this little voice in the back of my head that keeps screaming ‘bullshit’ whenever I roll that case around in my mind.”
Phil was quite familiar with little voices in his head, but the profanity made him wince. “Have you thought of anything else that might help shed some light on this case?”
“No, I haven’t. What’s your initial impression?”
Phil paused for a moment. He remembered being asked by Greg Flynn a month earlier if he knew of anything that might help to explain the recent social unrest. He had mentioned that they had found an unusual case of viral encephalitis, this very case, in fact, but until now, he hadn’t made the connection. Phil recalled that Greg had reacted strangely to the mention of a virus, but as it wasn’t important at the time, Phil had simply filed the encounter away. He glanced down at his schedule and confirmed what he clearly remembered, that Greg had called this morning asking for an urgent meeting. “Do you remember a conversation you and I had four weeks ago about the increase in homicides and suicides since the first of the year?”
“I remember having the discussion, but none of the specifics. I gather you think that this upswing in violent death may be related to our little friend here.”
“This virus is unprecedented. Your initial instincts were correct. It is either a mutation of an old pathogen, or a new pathogen altogether. This upswing in violent death is also unprecedented. I cannot look past the possibility that they are related.”
Gorman thought in silence. “I think you’re probably right. We’d better start broadening our search for this virus.”
“Yes, we should. Please let everyone know. Also, remind them to adhere closely to the rules of universal precautions. We don’t know how this virus is transmitted, so everyone coming in contact with tissue is potentially at risk. Thank you, Dr. Gorman. We will speak again later.” Phil ended the conversation no more abruptly than usual. He picked up his ancient Dictaphone and had started to dictate a letter to the department when his phone rang. “Yes, Mrs. Miller?”
“Dr. Rucker, something has happened.” There was a slight break in her voice, and Phil waited for the bad news. Linda Miller was never emotional. “The Governor has been shot. He’s dead.” She waited for a reaction, but Phil was still waiting for her to tell him how this news affected the department.
“Was he here in Colorado Springs?” he finally asked.
“No, goddamn it, he was in Pueblo,” she screamed. “For God’s sake, he was your father’s best friend. You do remember that, don’t you?”
Grief! Phil admonished himself for missing the social cue . “I know who he was, and it’s a terrible loss. I don’t know what else to say.” He was going to add something about being sad, but thought it would sound a little over the top.
Linda wrestled with her emotions. She should quit right here and now. If this couldn’t provoke a human reaction from him, nothing would. He was a machine, devoid of emotion and feelings, and she wasn’t going to work for a machine. She counted to ten and calmed down ever so slightly. “Dr. Rucker, I know you don’t understand situations like this, but very soon there are going to be a lot of people focusing on you, evaluating you and your reaction to this ‘terrible loss,’” she said, mocking his words. “I am going to write out some quotes for you to use when you’re asked for a comment. I sincerely hope that your utter lack of emotion is mistaken for a feeling of overwhelming loss. After that, I am going home. I don’t think I should be around you any more today.”
Chapter 15
Crystal Heller wheeled her Suburban into a parking spot that normally had the word Compact stenciled across the front. Today, however, a Suburban was as compact as anyone was going to get. Besides, the parking lot was less than a quarter full. She opened the door, and a gust of wind almost blew her door off. Her daughter laughed from the back seat as her mother struggled with the heavy door.
“That’s enough out of you, young lady—” A wave of nausea cut her off, and she swayed in the wind. It took a moment for her to regain control of her stomach. “Okay, let’s get you inside before we both freeze to death.” Crystal unbuckled her fragile little snow bunny and carried her into the clinic. It was a miracle that they were open today, but Crystal couldn’t imagine waiting another day for the test results. They were greeted at the door by Samantha Wood, one of the clinic’s nurses.
“Get in here, Miss Karen, and bring your mom, too, before you both catch pneumonia.” Samantha had that infectious smile that all good pediatric nurses should have.