“Well, I’ll be damned.” Jason chuckled.
“Jason!” Shirley snapped. “This is not a laughing matter.”
“I’m not laughing,” he protested. “I’m just astounded.”
“If you think you’re astounded, what’s the board of directors going to say? And to think I insisted on hiring Hayes. The man’s death alone was bad enough. This is fast becoming a public relations nightmare.”
“What are you going to do?” Jason asked.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Shirley admitted. “At the moment my intuition tells me the less we do, the better.”
“What are your thoughts about Hayes’s supposed breakthrough?”
“I think the man was fantasizing,” Shirley said. “I mean, he was involved with drugs and an exotic dancer, for God’s sake!”
Exasperated, she returned to the main part of the lab, where Detective Curran was still talking intently with Helene. The other two men and the dog were methodically searching the lab. Jason watched for a few moments, then excused himself to finish office hours. He still had a handful of outpatients to see as well as hospital rounds to do.
On the way home, even though he was more convinced than ever that Hayes had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, rather than a breakthrough, Jason stopped at the library and took out a slim volume titled Recombinant DNA: An Introduction for the Nonscientist.
Rush hour traffic was the usual dog-eat-dog Boston rally, and when Jason stepped on the emergency brake in his parking place in front of his townhouse, he felt the usual relief that he’d survived unscathed. He carried his briefcase up to his apartment, and put it on the desk in the small study that looked out onto the square. The now leafless elms were like skeletons against the night sky. Daylight Saving was already over, and it was dark outside even though it was only six forty-five. Changing into his jogging clothes, Jason ran down Mt. Vernon Street, crossed over Storrow Drive on the Arthur Fiedler Bridge, and ran along the Charles. He ran to the Boston University Bridge before turning. In contrast to the summer, there were few joggers. On the way back he stopped at De Luca’s Market and picked up some fresh, local bluefish, makings for a salad, and a cold bottle of California Chardonnay.
Jason liked to cook, and after taking his shower, he prepared the fish by broiling it with a small amount of garlic and virgin olive oil. He tossed the salad, then rescued the wine from the freezer where he’d put it to give it an icy kick. He poured himself a glass. When all was ready he carried it into the study on a tray. Thus prepared, he opened the small book on recombinant DNA and settled in for the night.
The first part of the book served as a review. Jason was well aware that deoxyribonucleic acid, better known as DNA, was a molecule, shaped like a twisted, double-stranded string. It was made up of repeating subunits called bases that had the property of pairing with each other in very specific ways. Particular areas of the DNA were called genes, and each gene was associated with the production of a specific protein.
Jason felt encouraged as he took a sip of his wine. The book was well written and made the subject matter seem clear. He liked the little tidbits like the fact that each human cell had four billion base pairs. The next part of the book dealt with bacteria, and the fact that bacteria reproduce easily and rapidly. Within days, trillions of identical cells could be made from a single initial cell. This was important, because in genetic engineering bacteria served as the recipient of small fragments of DNA. This “foreign” DNA was incorporated into the bacterium’s own DNA, and then, as the cell divided, it manufactured the original fragments. The bacterium with the newly incorporated DNA was called a recombinant strain and the new DNA molecule was called recombinant DNA. So far so good.
Jason ate some of his fish and salad and washed it down with wine. The next chapter got a little more complicated. It talked about how the genes in the DNA molecule went about producing their respective proteins. The first part entailed making a copy of the segment of DNA with a molecule called messenger RNA. The messenger RNA then directed the production of the protein in a process called transcription. Jason drank a little more wine. The last part of the chapter got particularly interesting, since it explained the elaborate mechanisms that turned genes on and off.
Getting up from his desk, Jason walked across his living room into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, he poured himself another glass of wine. Back in his study he stared out the window, seeing the lights across the square in St. Margaret’s Convent. It always amused him that there was a convent on the most desirable residential square in Boston: Give up the material world, become a nun, and move to Louisburg! Jason smiled, then looked back down at the recombinant DNA book. Sitting down again, he reread the section on the timing of gene expression. It was complicated and fascinating. Apparently, a host of proteins had been discovered that served as repressors of gene function. These proteins attached to the DNA or caused the DNA to coil, to cover up the involved genes.
Jason closed the book. He’d had enough for one night. Besides, the section on the control of gene function was what he’d been unconsciously looking for. Reading that section brought back Hayes’s comment that his main interest was “how genes turned on and how they turned off.” Helene had said the same thing but in different words.
Taking his wine, Jason wandered into his living room. Absently fondling the cut-glass sconces over the fireplace, he allowed his mind to consider the possibilities. What could Hayes have meant when he said he’d made a major scientific breakthrough? For the moment Jason dismissed the idea of Hayes having delusions of grandeur. After all, he was a world-class researcher, and he was working prodigious hours. So there was a chance he’d been telling the truth. If he’d made a discovery, it would be in the area of turning genes on and off, and probably have to do with growth and development. The image of the photos of the genitals clouded Jason’s mind for a moment.
Jason was brought out of his reverie by the phone. It was the head nurse in the coronary care unit. “Brian Lennox just died. He had a terminal episode of V-tack that progressed to asystole.”
“I’ll be right over,” Jason said. He hung up and thought of the nurse’s scientific jargon, recognizing that it was an emotional defense. Once again the shadow of death hung over him like a noxious cloud.
CHAPTER 4
The radio alarm blasted Jason out of bed. He’d turned up the volume for fear of oversleeping. He’d spent a good portion of the night consoling Brian Lennox’s wife. Retrieving his newspaper from the front steps, he shaved and showered while his Mr. Coffee performed its usual morning miracle. By the time he was dressed, the apartment was filled with the aromatic smell of the freshly brewed coffee. With mug in hand, he retreated to the den, slipping the Boston Globe out of its protective clear plastic sheath.
Planning to turn directly to the sports section, he stopped at a front-page headline — DOCTOR, DRUGS AND DANCER. It was not a flattering article about Dr. Alvin Hayes. It played up Hayes’s shocking death and unfairly associated it with the drugs found in his apartment, even likening his affair with the dancer to the case involving the Tufts Medical School professor who had been convicted of murdering a prostitute. Along with the article there were two photos: the Time cover shoot of Hayes and another of a woman entering the Club Cabaret, captioned, “Carol Donner entering her place of business.” Jason tried to see what Carol Donner looked like, but it was impossible. She had one hand up, shielding her face. In the background was a sign that said, TOPLESS COLLEGE GIRLS. Sure, thought Jason with a smile.