'Start with this,' he said. 'Where did this person get the virus to begin with? Not exactly something you order through the mail.'
'I don't know. To my knowledge there are only two places in the world that keep archival smallpox. CDC and a laboratory in Moscow.'
'So maybe this is all a Russian plot,' he said, sardonically.
'Let me give you a scenario,' I said. 'The killer has a grudge, maybe even some delusion that he has a religious calling to bring back one of the worst diseases this planet has ever known. He's got to figure out a way to randomly infect people and be sure that it can work.'
'So he needs a guinea pig,' Marino said.
'Yes. And let's suppose he has a neighbor, a relative, someone elderly and not well. Maybe he even takes care of her. What better way to test the virus than on that person? And if it works, you kill her and stage her death to look like something else. After all, he certainly can't have her die of smallpox. Not if there is a connection between him and her. We might figure out who he is. So he shoots her in the head, dismembers her so we'll think it's the serial killings again.'
'Then how do you get from that to the lady on Tangier?'
'She was exposed,' I simply said.
'How? Was something delivered to her? Did she get something in the mail? Was it carried on the air? Was she pricked in her sleep?'
'I don't know how.'
'You think deadoc lives on Tangier?' Marino then asked.
'No, I don't,' I said. 'I think he picked it because the island is the perfect place to start an epidemic. Small, self-contained. Also easy to quarantine, meaning the killer doesn't intend to annihilate all of society with one blow. He's trying a little bit at a time, cutting us up in small pieces.'
'Yeah. Like he did the old lady, if you're right.'
'He wants something,' I said. 'Tangier is an attention-getter.'
'No offense, Doc, but I hope you're wrong about all of this.'
'I'm heading to Atlanta in the morning. How about checking with Vander, see if he's had any luck with the thumbprint.'
'So far he hasn't. It's looking like the victim doesn't have any prints on file. Anything comes up, I'll call your pager.'
'Damn,' I muttered, for the nurse had taken that, too.
The rest of the day moved interminably slowly, and it wasn't until after supper that
Fujitsubo came to say goodbye. Although the act of releasing me implied I was
neither infected nor infectious, he was in a blue suit, which he plugged into an air line.
'I should keep you longer,' he said right off, filling my heart with dread. 'Incubation, on average, is twelve to thirteen days. But it can be as long as twenty-one. What I'm saying to you is that you could still get sick.'
'I understand that,' I said, reaching for my water.
'The revaccination may or may not help depending on what stage you were in when I
gave it to you.'
I nodded. 'And I wouldn't be in such a hurry to leave if you would just take this on instead of sending me to CDC.'
'Kay, I can't.' His voice was muffled through plastic. 'You know it has nothing to do with what I feel like doing. But I can no more pull something out from under CDC than you can grab a case that isn't your jurisdiction. I've talked to them. They are most concerned over a possible outbreak and will begin testing the moment you arrive with the samples.'
'I fear terrorism may be involved.' I refused to back down.
'Until there is evidence of it - and I hope there won't be - we can do nothing more for you here.' His regret was sincere. 'Go to Atlanta and see what they have to say.
They're operating with a skeleton crew, too. The timing couldn't be worse.'
'Or perhaps more deliberate,' I said. 'If you were a bad person planning to commit serial crimes with a virus, what better time than when the significant federal health agencies are in extremis? And this furlough's been going on for a while and not predicted to end anytime soon.'
He was silent.
'John,' I went on, 'you helped with the autopsy. Have you ever seen a disease like this?'
'Only in textbooks,' he grimly replied.
'How does smallpox suddenly just reappear on its own?'
'If that's what it is.'
'Whatever it is, it's virulent and it kills,' I tried to reason with him.
But he could do nothing more, and the rest of the night I wandered from room to room in AOL. Every hour, I checked my e-mail. Deadoc remained silent until six o'clock
the next morning when he walked into the M.E. room. My heart jumped as his name appeared on screen. My adrenaline began to pump the way it always did when he talked to me. He was on the line, it was up to me. I could catch him, if only I could trip him.
DEADOC: Sunday I went to church bet you didn't SCARPETTA: What was the homily about? DEADOC: sermon
SCARPETTA: You are not Catholic. DEADOC: beware of men
SCARPETTA: Matthew 10. Tell me what you mean. DEADOC: to say he s sorry
SCARPETTA: Who is he? And what did he do? DEADOC: ye shall indeed drink of the cup that I drink of
Before I could answer, he was gone, and I began flipping through the Bible. The verse he quoted this time was from Mark, and again, it was Jesus speaking, which hinted to me, if nothing else, that deadoc wasn't Jewish. Nor was he Catholic, based on his comments about church. I was no theologian, but drinking of the cup seemed to refer to Christ's eventual crucifixion. So deadoc had been crucified and I would be, too?
It was my last few hours here and my nurse, Sally, was more liberal with the phone. I
paged Lucy, who called me back almost instantly.
'I'm talking to him,' I said. 'Are you guys there?'
'We're there. He's got to stay on longer,' my niece said. 'There are so many trunk lines, and we got to line up all the phone companies to trap and trace. Your last call was coming in from Dallas.'
'You're kidding,' I said in dismay.
'That's not the origin, just a switch it was routed through. We didn't get any farther because he disconnected. Keep trying. Sounds like this guy's some kind of religious nut.'
Chapter Eleven
Later that morning I left in a taxi as the sun was getting high in the clouds. I had nothing but the clothes on my back, all of which had been sterilized in the autoclave or gassed. I was in a hurry, and guarding a large white cardboard box printed with PERISHABLE RUSH! RUSH! and IMPORTANT KEEP UPRIGHT and other big blue warnings.
Like a Chinese puzzle, my package was boxes within boxes containing BioPacks. Inside these were Bio-tubes of Lila Pruitt's liver, spleen and spinal fluid, protected by fiber-board shields, and bubble and corrugated wrap. All of it was packed in dry ice with INFECTIOUS SUBSTANCE and DANGER stickers warning anyone who got beyond the first layer. Obviously, I could not let my cargo out of sight. In addition to its well-proven hazard, it could be evidence should it turn out that Pruitt was a homicide. At the Baltimore-Washington International airport, I found a pay phone and called Rose.
'USAMRIID has my medical bag and microscope: I didn't waste time. 'See what you can do about getting them shipped overnight. I'm at BWI, en route to CDC.'
'I've been trying to page you,' she said.
'Maybe they can return that to me, too.' I tried to remember what else I was missing.
'And the phone,' I added.
'You got a report back that you might find interesting. The animal hairs that turned up with the torso. Rabbit and monkey hairs.'
'Bizarre,' was the only thing I could think to say.
'I hate to tell you this news. The media's been calling about the Carrie Grethen case. Apparently, something's been leaked.'
'Goddamn it!' I exclaimed as I thought about Ring.
'What do you want me to do?' she asked.
'How about calling Benton. I don't know what to say. I'm a little overwhelmed.'