* * *
"Hello, Farouk?"
"Yes, this is Dr. Imran."
"Hi. Ted Hubert here. Remember me?"
"Of course. I called you yesterday."
"And you sounded terrible. How’s your jaw?"
"Sore," Imran said into the receiver, rubbing his cheek where the fat kid punched him two days ago, "but getting better."
"Good. Listen, I’m calling because I need to tell you something—and ask you something. I would’ve brought it up yesterday, but you were so hopped up on Percocets I didn’t think you’d have been much help."
"I only took one this morning."
Hubert inhaled deeply, then dove right in. "Well, we knew by Sunday afternoon that the dog we found in the O’Brien yard had rabies. The brain lit up like a roman candle under the fluoroscope. That came as no surprise. We also found out the same evening that the kid who hit you, Hector Graham, was tested for rabies at Methodist Hospital. He’s negative, by the way—or he tested negative. He’s still getting the series, of course."
"Of course," Imran agreed. "But not by me. I’m not going anywhere near him. I wish you would have told me all of this yesterday, Ted. I know I was a little out of it…"
"No, you were a lot out of it. It would have been pointless telling you in that state."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So you had a question for me."
"Oh, yeah," Hubert said into the line. "What’s the deal with your sheriff down there? Sheriff Price. He’s been giving us the runaround since the get-go"
"What do you mean?"
"For starters, he’s overshooting his authority as sheriff. He’s withholding information from us."
"What kind of information?"
"Like what happened in Riley yesterday. I don’t know if you heard, but a dog, or a coyote, something rabid—excuse me: potentially rabid—ripped an old lady’s throat out. Bit most of her face off, too. And this Price guy neglected to tell our field team, who still happen to be in town, anything about it, even though it clearly concerns the CDC. Let’s face it, given what went down this weekend, Price should have at the very least given us a call."
"Maybe the circumstances were different."
"See, I don’t buy that. Those circumstances alone—dead lady with missing throat and face—warrant at least a phone call. Don’t you think? If she was murdered—let’s say she was murdered—then my guy in charge down there, Greg Franklin, would have heard about it from one of the policemen working guard duty, felt bad about it for a while, and then returned to his business with the O’Brien case—which is nearly finished, by the way—without giving it a second thought. Instead, he picks up a copy of today’s Riley Courant and reads about it there. Get this, the reporter got a quote from Price. When asked if he thought Rhoda Baker’s death—that was the woman’s name—and the mutilated animals at the O’Brien place were related, he said, and I am quoting him here: ‘There is no evidence to suggest that. We’re working on several leads right now and none of them involve a make believe rabid animal running loose through the streets of Riley. I want to kill that rumor right now. In my line of work, the simplest explanations are usually the correct ones. The sad truth is somebody killed a whole bunch of animals. Even sadder is somebody killed a helpless old lady.’"
"Maybe she was murdered," Imran said.
"No. Something rabid is out there. I had Greg drive over to the woman’s house, and it doesn’t back up to the woods, per se, but it comes pretty close. The fences separating the backyards are only about waist-high, and the paper said the front door was wide open when the police arrived. The paper was mum, however, on who discovered the body. Add it all together, boom boom boom, and what do you get?"
"I don’t know. What?"
"Something that stinks. That’s what. As the virus spreads, it’s just going to become more difficult to contain. I happen to know for a fact that even small-town rubes love their pets. And if I’m right about this, then somebody’s going to have to take the blame when Fido and Rex start walking into walls and literally biting the hand that feeds. I just don’t want that person to be me. Or the CDC."
"It won’t be, Ted," Farouk consoled. "As my kids say: ‘I’ve got your back.’"
"Thanks—really, I mean that—but just to be on the safe side, I’m going to push for a meeting with this Price character. You know, I still haven’t spoken with him directly. I’ve tried his office, but his secretary keeps telling me he’s out on call. Since when do county sheriffs go out on calls? I thought they were figureheads, elected officials who push paper, not perps."
"They are," Imran said, "but this one—Price—ran on a platform of personal involvement. I remember all over town he had campaign posters that read ‘Price Won’t Leave You Hangin,’’ with a picture of him running out an open office door. The picture had been intentionally blurred to make it seem like he was running really fast. Long exposure photography, I think it’s called. I thought it was deceptive, but I guess enough people thought it was clever. He won the election."
"Well, good for him," Hubert said. (Imran didn’t think he sounded exactly sincere with the sentiment.) "But maybe he needs to back off a little bit. Maybe not get so involved. He’s hiding something from me, Farouk. I know it."
"He probably doesn’t want the county to panic. The word ‘rabies’ scares a lot of people. You’re a doctor, Ted; you used to be in private practice; you know how people are. Plus, I’m sure he has other factors to weigh."
"You’re right. Of course you’re right. Maybe a little panic would do some good, though—make people bring in their pets and tend more carefully to their livestock. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little scared right now. Do you have a dog, Farouk?
"Yes—he’s my kid’s, actually."
"Keep him inside."
"Already am."
"Good. This is going to get worse before it gets better." Hubert paused, then continued in a lighter tone. "Or it may disappear altogether. Who the hell knows?"
"What do you think is really going to happen?" Imran asked, getting to the heart of the matter.
Hubert replied, "Hard to say. I’ll talk to the coroner, and if he gives me slack, I’ll go over his head and talk to the judge. But I’ve got a feeling that all three of them—the judge, the coroner, and Price—are going to give me the runaround. They’re probably old hunting buddies, and you know how that goes…"
Imran grunted knowingly.
"If that’s the case, I’ll just go over all their heads. There are still reasonable people of power in the state of Alabama—lots of them, actually—and the CDC pulls enough weight to sway them into serving their citizenry’s highest interest. One way or another, I’m getting a look at that body. And if I see what I think I’m going to see—a kill bite from a dog or a wolf—the first thing I’m doing is calling that sheriff and getting him to enforce some strong preventative measures to contain the virus."
"What kind of measures?"
"It’s so basic, Farouk."
"Keeping your pets inside?" Imran guessed.
"That goes a long way. Believe me. Besides, it’s pets that people are most worried about anyway. Cats, dogs: they’re the ones that usually get infected, not humans.
Imran started to say something, but Hubert cut him off.
"I know: it is weird. You’d never believe it, but I’m in the process of writing a report saying a Bloodhound—an ancient one at that—caught rabid, killed and gutted two hundred and seventy-eight squirrels, snakes, birds, raccoons, foxes, and rabbits, dragged them underneath a chain-link fence, then strewed them all over a residential backyard. So how do you think I feel? I don’t merely report the facts; I’m expected to explain them. How do you explain that one hundred and seventy-nine of those animals were various species of hares, some not even indigenous to the American Southeast?"
"All I can say, Ted, is that sometimes things happen for reasons we can’t comprehend. That doesn’t mean we’ll never comprehend them, only that
the truths are blind to us for the time being."
"You’re a wise man, Farouk. I know I’ll figure this out eventually. It’s that Price guy—he really chafes my ass, pardon my French."
"You’re pardoned."
"Thank you," Hubert said. "Coming from you that means a lot. I’ve got to let you go now. Someone’s been trying to call on the other line for the past five minutes."
"Go ahead, take it. Don’t let me stop you from doing your job."
"Alright, goodbye now," Hubert said, "Oh, and Farouk…"
"I know, keep Pepper inside."
"Pepper?" Hubert said, laughing.
Imran hung up.