"Dr. Fox. How about a little help?" Fox didn't budge. He shook his head. "I can't! I . . . I've never practiced."
"Great," Gin muttered.
Suddenly Senator Marsden was at her side.
"The E.M.Ts are on their way. What do you want me to do?" Gin gave him a quick, grateful smile. "Just grab his arms and steady them. Don't try to pin them down, just blunt the wild movements, keep him from flailing around too much and breaking a bone."
"Will do." It took another minute or so, it seemed much longer, before the seizure abated and Senator Vincent's limbs relaxed. His body slumped, his eyes closed. He began to snore.
"Does he have a history of seizures?" Gin asked Senator Marsden as they released their hold.
"Not that I know of. But then again, that's not something you broadcast in public life." Right. Voters were probably funny about voting for an epileptic. But what about the bizarre paranoid behavior just before the seizure?
The E.M.Ts arrived then. As they started an IV drip and loaded Senator Vincent on the stretcher, Gin told them he'd suffered a grand mal seizure and suggested they call ahead and have a neurologist waiting.
"Have ten milligrams of diazepam ready to go IV push if he starts again," she told them as they were leaving.
She turned to Senator Marsden. "Thanks for your help." He nodded absently, then surveyed the milling, murmuring crowd around the dais.
"Nothing like starting off with a bang," he said with a sigh.
"Are you going to call a recess?"
He nodded. "An indefinite one."
"What do you mean?"
His expression was bleak." I opened the hearings this morning two members short. Now I'm three short. I've got half a committee now. Even if Senator Vincent recovers soon, I don't see him appearing before the cameras again for quite some time. Do you?"
"No. Can't say as I do."
"So I'm going to have to wait until at least one of those empty seats is filled."
"How long will that take? " Gin said, her heart sinking. She'd just started this job last week, now it was evaporating before her eyes.
"Could be a while." Gin's expression must have revealed her dismay.
He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry. I want you around doing background during the hiatus. I like the way you handle yourself. And who knows? We may not have a long wait if I can get the president involved. He wants this bill before the end of the year. Maybe he can twist a few arms." He returned to his seat on the dais, banged his gavel twice, and announced that hearings were suspended until further notice.
Gin suddenly thought of Duncan. She searched the crowd for him but he was gone.
Twice now, Duncan had been present when some catastrophe had befallen one of his legislator patients.
What had he said to Senator Vincent down on the. floor . . . minutes before the senator went crazy?
Gin had a strange feeling that he'd told him to remember someone named Lisa.
Later, Gin returned to the Hart Building via the underground shuttle and was surprised to find Gerry waiting for her in the atrium.
"Am I glad to see you." She needed someone to talk to, needed to ventilate the morning's events. She gave him a hug and felt the tension in his muscles. Gerry didn't seem to be in a listening mood.
"We need to talk," he said. His expression was serious, almost grim.
"Is something wrong?"
"Something might be. Can I tell you about it over lunch?"
"Nothing about Martha, is it?"
He stared at her, then put his arm around her shoulder. "No. Nothing at all to do with Martha."
They walked down to Mass. Gerry tried to make small talk but didn't do a very good job.
Summer wasn't letting go just yet. The sun was high and the air warm. Gerry pointed to an array of red-and-white Tecate umbrellas on a patio in front of a converted brownstone about a block and a half down from Union Station.
"How about T-Coast?" Gerry said.
Gin looked at the sign, Tortilla Coast. Mexican food. "It's not a Taco Bell, but I guess we can make do." She was too wound up to eat, but just sitting in the sun would be good.
They took a corner table near the sidewalk.
"So what's the problem?" she said as the hostess left them with their menus.
"I heard about Senator Vincent."
"It was terrible."
"You realize, don't you, that he's the third member of your committee to bite the dust."
"Yes. Senator Marsden and I were just discussing it. But what,?"
"I did some quick background on him. Checked if he'd had any surgery recently." He paused, staring at her. "You know what's coming next, don't you." It wasn't a question. What was he getting at? Why was the FBI interested?
"Duncan."
"Right. That makes four."
"Four what?"
"Four dead or disabled legislators, two senators, two congressmen, all Lathram patients. Three of them on the Guidelines committee. Could your Dr. Lathram have it in for that committee or something?" Gin suddenly felt a little queasy.
He was echoing her own crazy thoughts.
The waitress arrived then. Gin agreed to share Gerry's nacho platter and ordered a Pepsi. Considering what the morning had been like, she could have done with a brew, she'd acquired a taste for Dixie while at Tulane, but she didn't want to show up at the senator's staff meeting this afternoon with beer on her breath.
"He was there this morning, you know," she said when they were alone again.
"Who?"
"Duncan. And he was on the Capitol steps when Allard took his fall."
"You were there? You never told me. How close was he?"
"You mean, did Duncan push him? Come on. But he . . . " She hesitated, wondering if she should mention it, then plunged ahead. "Duncan's last words to Allard were something about Lisa."
"His daughter? The one who,?"
"Committed suicide. I think so. He said something about an eighteen-year-old named Lisa. Had to be her."
Gerry was silent a moment, then, "On the subject of Lisa, I dug a little deeper after reading her death certificate. Got a copy of the coroner's report."
Gin's heart kicked its rhythm up a notch. "You have it with you?"
"No. It's back at my office. But I read it through a couple of times. It summarized her whole medical history. Let me tell you, Lisa Lathram was one troubled kid."
"You mean she tried it before?"
He nodded. "Twice. Once with pills. Once with a razor to the wrists."
Gin slumped in her chair. "How awful."
"Apparently neither attempt was that serious."
"But she got it right the third time"
"That was the real tragedy. According to the report, Lisa had been doing extremely well on Prozac, which I understand was pretty new at the time Then suddenly, boom, something happened and she went over the edge. Gulped all the old antidepressants she'd squirreled away over the years. But the worst part was she didn't take enough to kill her. Just enough to make her dopey and clumsy. She toppled over a balcony and landed on a hard the floor. Doctor Lathram came home and found her."
"Oh, God. Poor Duncan." That explained it then, the sudden radical change in Duncan's life. Everything must have fallen apart for him.
But it didn't explain his mentioning Lisa to Allard two weeks ago.
"Any hint in the report of a connection between Lisa and Congressman Allard?"
Gerry shook his head. "Not that I saw. Of course, I wasn't looking for one. I'll make you a copy. But in the meantime . . ." He leaned forward." I understand Lathram's putting some sort of implants into his patients."
"How . . . how'd you know about that?"
He shrugged. "It's no secret. The FDA has him down as approved to do a clinical study. What's in those implants anyway?"
"Just some enzymes and such to reduce scarring."
"Well, could there be something wrong with,?"
She gave
in to a sudden urge to defend Duncan. "Gerry, he does a dozen or more cases a week. Very visible people. If there were something wrong with the implants, there'd be nobody left to go to all those embassy parties."
"What if he puts something different in certain implants . . . so he can get to certain people . . . ?"
"Do you hear yourself, Gerry? Dr. Duncan Lathram is lacing his implants with some mystery substance that causes people to get drunk and wreck their car, commit suicide, fall down steps, or have seizures. That's one hell of a versatile drug."
"Who says it has to be one drug?"
"All right. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on that. But let's take Senator Vincent today. You're saying that Duncan has such control over whatever drug he supposedly used that he can make it go into effect on command, right in the middle of a committee hearing. Is that what you really think?"
Gerry leaned back in his chair. Gin could feel the frustration pouring out of him.
He sighed. "Does sound pretty far Out, doesn't it?" He was silent for a while, then he leaned forward again. "But something doesn't smell right, Gin. I can't tell you how I know, or why, but my gut tells me something's going on here."
"I know what you mean, but it's just a string of coincidences. Duncan has his eccentricities, but he's not . . . he isn't . . . "
"Look, just to shut me up, could you bring me a sample of whatever it is he puts in those implants?"
"No, Gerry. I can't. That's Oliver Lathram's concoction and it's not patentable. What do you want to do, have it analyzed?"
"Just to see if there's anything toxic in it."
"I can assure you there's nothing toxic in that solution."
"Ever hear of a binary poison?" Gerry said.
"No. I don't know much about poisons."
"They come in two parts. Neither half is toxic by itself, but when they meet in the bloodstream and bind, wham."
"Very interesting. But I'm still not getting you a sample. I couldn't. It would be a breach of trust."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. I can respect that. But keep your eyes open up there. And be careful. I don't want anything happening to you."
Something happen to her? Absurd.
Gin tried to lighten the mood by smiling and saluting him. "Aye, Captain Queeg. And how would you like your strawberries, sir?"
Finally a smile broke through. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"No crazier than I."
"See? We were made for each other. Have dinner with me tonight?"
"Sure. How about my place? I'll cook."
His eyes lit. "Really?"
"Bring Martha."
A little of that light faded in his eyes. "Oh. I thought maybe you,"
"Surely you've figured out by now that I only put up with you so I can see Martha."
"I can live with that," he said. "Whatever it takes."
Gin was touched. She reached across and laid her hand on his. He gripped her fingers.
And then the nachos arrived.
But as Gina watched Gerry pile his plate, she heard, Could your Dr. Lathram have it in for that committee or something?
Why had those words come back? Duncan did have it in for the Guidelines committee. He ranted against it at every opportunity.
But at one time or another, Duncan ranted against just about everything and everyone in the government. That didn't mean he was waging war on it.
Did it?
She shuddered briefly. An absurd thought.
Not Duncan. Even if it were possible. And it wasn't. So why even consider it?
But come to think of it, Duncan had disappeared right after Senator Vincent's seizure. With no offer of help. Just like when Allard had fallen. No imagining there. Those were facts.
And they bothered her.
17
GINA
FRIDAY GINA WAS BACK IN THE Lathram OFFICE. SHE’D spent most of the morning assisting Duncan with a particularly difficult composite rhytidectomy, in which all the underlying facial tissues are lifted as one piece. Normally it would take five or six weeks for the facial swelling to resolve from such an extensive procedure. With the help of Oliver's implants, this particular sixty-two-year-old Washington doyenne would be back in the social whirl well before then.
Duncan had been in a particularly chipper mood through the surgery, humming, joking. "No jeremiads about the lamentable state of the nation today, ladies, " he'd said, sounding apologetic. No one had complained.
Later Gin wandered into Oliver's lab with a cup of coffee, looking to kill a little time before starting on her presurgical exams for next week's cases. She noticed he had a tray of large implants sitting on the counter. The empty syringe and the bottle of normal saline solution sitting next to the tray explained why the implants looked full.
She bent over the tray for a closer look. Were these the new model Oliver had mentioned? Looked just like the old model.
'"Hi there, Gin." She looked up. Oliver was coming through the doorway, pushing a wheeled cart ahead of him.
"What've you got there?"
"An ultrasound unit." She gave it a closer look. Not the diagnostic or imaging kind used in pregnancy. This type was for deep-heating subcutaneous tissues. A big difference in power, the former measured output in megahertz, the latter in watts.
"Going into physical therapy as a sideline?" He chuckled.
"No. Just testing out the latest batch of the new, improved implants."
He'd lost her. "With ultrasound?"
"Sure. Just give me a second to set up and I'll show you." He set the unit on the counter, plugged it in, adjusted a few dials, then picked up the handle.
"Watch." Oliver took the implant from the end of the row and moved it away from the rest, placing it on the counter a couple of feet from the tray. He positioned the ultrasound head over it and pressed the button on the handle. Immediately the implant began to quiver, an instant later it dissolved, leaving a spreading puddle on the counter.
He placed another implant in the puddle and held the ultrasound head farther back. The implant dissolved, the saline puddle enlarged.
He did this repeatedly, each time backing farther away with the handle, each time enlarging the puddle until finally it ran over the edge and dripped onto the floor.
Gin watched in wonder. "That's incredible," she said.
She stepped to the counter for a closer look. Only minute shreds of the implant membranes remained floating in the puddle.
"How does it work?"
"I altered the crystal-protein matrix," Oliver said as he unplugged the ultrasound unit. "I made it more stable, more resistant to the body's tissue enzymes, but I rigged it so that at a certain ultrasonic frequency, the crystals vibrate and dissolve the matrix. As a result, the implant membrane collapses and releases its contents."
"Brilliant."
"Duncan's idea, actually." Somewhere in the rear of Gin's mind, a bell chimed a sour note.
"Duncan's?"
"Yes. He wants more control over when the implants dissolve. As he says, why leave the ending up to the vagaries of the circulatory system and the tissue enzymes? Let's develop implants that empty when we tell them to." She remembered what she'd said to Gerry after the Guidelines hearing earlier in the week. And not only can this miracle toxin do all these different things, but Duncan has such control over it that he can make it go into effect on command.
It had sounded so absurd then, but the means were staring her in the face.
"Is . . . is Duncan using these yet?"
"Oh, no. The FDA approved us to do clinical trials with the original implants only." He flashed a smile. "The Original Recipe, you might say. We'll have to go through the whole approval process again for the new membrane."
"Oh. So these are brand new." That's a relief, Duncan couldn't have used the new implants if they hadn't existed at the times of the surgeries.
But the relief was short-lived.
"Not really," Oliver said. "I've been working on them for most
of the year. And they're still not perfected yet."
Gin swallowed. "Looks like they work pretty well to me."
"Not good enough yet for Duncan. He wants a more stable membrane, one that will last almost indefinitely until hit with the right ultrasound frequency."
"Do you see any clinical purpose in that?" Oliver shook his head.
"No. But Duncan's the doctor, not me. He knows what he wants." Gin helped Oliver mop up the saline with paper towels, but all the while her thoughts were looping in wild circles. She slowed them down, straightened them out. She had to approach this logically, like a diagnostic puzzle. Lay out the facts first, then draw conclusions.
All right, Duncan did have the means to implant a toxin of some sort inside his patients and release it at will.
No, not at will. He had to zap it with ultra-high-frequency sound.
If Duncan had been responsible for what had happened to Senator Vincent, he'd have had to wheel an ulttasound machine into the hearing room and point it at the senator.
Ridiculous.
Still, the ultrasound demonstration left a residue on her thoughts, a sour mental aftertaste.
She went looking for Duncan. She'd forgotten to check with him about putting in a few extra hours here until the hearings got underway again.
And she needed to talk to him, to reassure herself.
"Oh, he's gone," Barbara told her as Gin went to knock on Duncan's office door.
"Out with the mysterious Dr. V., I suppose?"
"No. Dr. V.'s not due back for a while. Dr. D. said he was heading for the golf course."
"Damn. I wanted to catch him before he left."
"He's not gone all that long. I'll try his car phone." Barbara punched in some numbers, waited, then hung up. "No luck there. I can page him for you."
"No. I don't want him coming off the golf course just to talk to me. It's not that imporrant. What's the number of his club? Maybe he's still in the clubhouse."
"Want me to call for you?"
"No, thanks. I'll call him myself." Barbara looked it up and wrote it down.