“Even when Charles saw those papers, including a letter from Kelly that implied she’d been having an affair, his plan of action appeared limited to finding a fall guy on whom he could pin the murder. According to those same henchmen, their only instructions at the time involved monitoring my calls and keeping an eye on me in the hope I’d discover the identity of Kelly’s lover. Again, a careful, shrewd approach, calling for subterfuge rather than violence. And as soon as he rooted out the secret behind the mortality-morbidity reports, he had an even better scapegoat at hand in Melanie Collins. So why would a man supposedly intent on a nuanced, sophisticated strategy to conceal the truth once more resort to the clumsy art of murder?”
He glanced toward the woman sitting beside Dan. “Talk of killing, Braden’s thugs told us, came only after Charles listened in on the last phone conversation I had with Victor Feldt.” For those who didn’t know, Mark quickly outlined the events leading up to Victor’s firing and followed them through to the fateful call. “Victor couldn’t unravel all the corporate layers that we now know were Charles Braden’s doing to keep his role as CEO from becoming public knowledge. And what Victor thought he’d found – hiring and firing irregularities at companies where the executive health plans subjected employees to genetic screening – had nothing directly to do with Braden. It was Victor’s interest in the few dozen New York physicians who used the lab for their private patients that meant trouble for him. For here Victor drew perilously close to the very pieces of evidence that Braden knew would reach back over twenty-seven years and point at his baby-swapping business.
“So when Victor later left me a message, stating that he’d hacked into the computer where the results sent to those New York doctors were stored and found something peculiar, well…”
He had to stop and compose himself. “Tragically, I didn’t realize the danger he’d put himself in until it was too late. But thanks to a very special friend and colleague of Victor’s, who came forward with the files he’d entrusted to her, I finally pulled everything together.”
Dan’s dark-haired companion flushed deeply.
Mark opened a briefcase at his feet and pulled out three folders. From each he took out several lab reports that included graphs with numbered vertical spikes of varying heights along a horizontal line. “For those of you who are interested, these are the results Victor found.” He stood and spread them over the table.
Roy and a few others picked them up, studying them with puzzled expressions.
“You’re looking at genetic screening on three pairs of sisters, all with a positive family history for breast cancer. To a trained eye, differences in the DNA reveal that none of them are biological siblings – Braden’s prediction that the coming age of genomic medicine would mean a whole new level of headache for him made manifest. And over time, as more of the individuals he’d substituted underwent screening for one reason or another, there’d be increasing disclosures of nonsiblings, all involving so-called offspring whom Charles had supposedly delivered. Obviously, he couldn’t allow that to happen.”
“Were these other doctors in cahoots with his cover-up?” Roy asked, laying aside the graph he’d been studying.
“No, they were unwitting dupes.”
“Didn’t they miss the reports Braden intercepted?”
“Oh, they got a report. Braden’s flagging these results was part of a program where the computer would then generate simple typewritten responses stating whether the genes that had been tested for were present or not, then eliminate the graphs. We checked the other labs he owned and found similar systems in place. The doctors weren’t aware they’d missed anything. Most only want the final answer of a test anyway – less paper.”
“Why did they all use his labs in the first place?”
“As one of them said to me, ‘We didn’t know they were owned by Braden. Representatives approached us offering first-rate, competent service at a special price, then delivered – an offer too good to refuse.’ ”
Mark waited for more questions. No one had any. He glanced once more toward the end of the table. Chaz retained the quiet equilibrium Mark had noticed at the start of the meeting. Maybe witnessing a public dissection of his father’s crimes would help him get out from under the weight of the old man’s legacy. In fact, maybe it had already started to happen, and that’s what seemed different about him.
Mark knew that he should now state for the record the events leading to Victor’s death: That Charles Braden III, having learned Victor gave Lucy O’Connor a tour of the genetic-screening facility, must have seen her as a special threat. That Charles knew she already suspected he had something to hide about the home for unwed mothers because of all the records he’d so conveniently lost in a fire there. That finding her nosing around the laboratory, he probably jumped to conclusions. Assumed that she’d somehow found out about the screening results. Mistakenly concluded that she knew they would unmask his secret and had set out to get her hands on them.
So Charles cut off her access to the place by having Victor fired.
Then Victor found the reports, and paid with his life.
But looking at Lucy’s frail face, Mark hadn’t the heart to make her hear those words.
Wednesday, December 5, 4:00 P.M.
Hampton Junction
Mark turned left at the end of his driveway and settled into an easy stride. He hadn’t had a decent run since Lucy went into hospital. The air in Manhattan saw to that.
Dusk hung over the hills, the sun already behind them, and the late-afternoon light had a blue quality to it, typical for the end of day during the weeks leading up to winter’s longest night. In the distance toward town he saw tiny clusters of reds, greens, and amber where people had already hung their outside decorations. He smiled, having just dug out of the basement tree lights and ornaments that he hadn’t bothered with since Aunt Margaret died. The boxes lay stacked in the living room, ready for the weekend. That’s when Lucy would be discharged from hospital, an early release into his care.
His house would soon be a busy place. Lucy’s parents and brothers were coming for the holidays. It had been impossible to reach any of them until she’d recovered enough to provide e-mail addresses. They’d literally been scattered all over the globe, and all were ready to run to her side the instant he reached them, but Lucy insisted they hold off until the holidays, “Now that the worst is over.”
Mark turned west onto the uphill portion of his route. Traces of wood-smoke wafted through the twilight.
Lucy and he had discussed other plans as well. Again he smiled. As things stood, she would join him in Hampton Junction when her residency ended in June.
“Wonderful,” Janet Graceton had said when, as they made their good-byes after the meeting yesterday.
Earl had asked, “So what are you two going to do?” and Lucy told him. He couldn’t have looked happier for them, or congratulated them more enthusiastically.
Janet had chuckled. “Two doctors living under one roof? Believe me, it’s a hoot making that work.” She gave Lucy a hug. “If you need any advice, call me.”
He increased his speed, making his calves burn.
This morning he’d visited Nell in Saratoga General, the first time he’d seen her since that terrible night.
She’d been off the respirator for over a week, and her skin, though it had blistered here and there, confirming his initial impression of first- and second-degree burns, bore none of the deeper, third-degree damage that he’d hoped she would be spared. Most important, she escaped the need for painful skin grafts entirely.
Even with the upper side of her body still swathed in protective dressings, she’d managed to look indignant when he showed up, giving a haughty sniff. “Look at me. I’m done up like some a damned mummy.”