Miracle Cure (41 page)

“I’ll try to make contact. Teri, I didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I’m trying,” she said.

Brian set the receiver down and slumped across the couch. Five hours later, when he awoke, he was covered with a blanket. The aroma of fresh coffee and frying sausage filled the apartment.

“Hey, I’m glad you got some sleep,” Marguerite said. “Freeman’s just showering.”

“Thanks. Do you have the morning paper?”

“I do, but I’m not sure you want to see it.”

“If it’s the
Globe
, I’ll look at it. If it’s the
Herald
, I don’t know.”

“It’s the
Globe
, but the boundary between the two papers is sort of blurry with stories like this one.”

Brian poured a cup and stared down at his picture on
the front page. Ironically, it was the photo he had submitted with his application for staff privileges at White Memorial.

“And to think, when I was playing ball, I used to be upset if I didn’t get enough press coverage,” he said. “This is going to be awful for the girls.”

Freeman, in his robe, emerged from the bedroom, toweling his hair.

“So,” he said, “another day.”

“I know the old AA saw—any day you don’t drink or drug is a good one—but I have serious doubts about yesterday.”

“I know. Have you got a plan yet?”

“Not really. But I’ve got to do something.”

Freeman sat down beside him and sipped at some juice.

“Is there anyone at your hospital you can trust?” he asked.

“Only Phil.” Brian gestured toward the news photo of Gianatasio. “And maybe that egomaniac surgeon who tried to save Jack. Everybody else has an enormous professional or financial stake in Vasclear. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I know the Russian Mafia is capable of gunning down a guy in a market, or blowing up a sick old man in his apartment. But it’s a little hard to believe that all these high-powered doctors are capable of it, or even condone it.”

“Or even know about it!” Brian said suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

Brian didn’t respond right away. If Freeman was right, there might well be a chink in the Vasclear armor—someone who knew part of what was going on, but not everything, especially not the part about the murders of the Phase One patients.

“Freeman, you keep saying that whatever it is you
need, there’s a person somewhere in AA and NA who can get it.”

“That is true.”

“Well, if I gave you the name of a person with an unlisted phone number, do you think you could come up with somebody who’d get that phone number for me and the address that goes along with it?”

“You mean, like someone who works for the phone company?”

“Exactly.”

Freeman and his wife exchanged knowing grins.

“What’s the name and town?” Freeman said.

“She lives on the North Shore—Salem, Marblehead, Beverly, Gloucester—one of those. I’m not sure which.”

“And her name?”

“Dr. Carolyn Jessup.”

“I’ll see what I can do. It may take a while.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like I have anyplace to go. And Freeman, if you can manage it, there are three other things I’ll need.”

“As long as one of them isn’t a gun.”

“Actually—”

“I’m serious, my friend. If you’re thinking about going up against the Newbury people, I want you to take your chances with the police first. You get hold of a gun at this stage, and the only person I’m absolutely certain will be killed is you.”

“Okay, okay. Forget the gun.”

“In that case, just tell me what you need for your grand plan, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Nothing that exotic, actually. I need a rental car, three or four overnight-mail envelopes, and a cellular phone … plus a lot of luck.”

B
RIAN SPENT THE ENTIRE MORNING AT
F
REEMAN’S COMPUTER
, typing out a detailed report of everything that had happened from the day Jack was brought to the White Memorial ER.

The hospital charts are missing
, he wrote,
and most, if not all, of the Phase One patients are dead. But I believe a close review of the autopsy of Wilhelm Elovitz will reveal the changes of pulmonary hypertension in the arteries of his lungs, just as a careful review of the convenience-store video will show that his murder was deliberate and premeditated.…

It was almost one in the afternoon before he began printing out the eleven-page document. One copy to the
Globe
, one to the
Herald
, one for Phil Gianatasio’s parents, and the final one for Teri. He would not give a copy to Freeman and Marguerite. They had already put themselves on the line for him. As Freeman said, this was war. There was no way Brian would allow any more of his friends to become casualties.

An eleven-page report to the
Globe
and the
Herald
from a drug addict wanted for murder, backed up by nothing tangible, accusing the developers and manufacturers of a proven miracle drug of fraud and multiple murders—how crazy did that sound? The ramblings of a nutcase—and a dangerous nutcase at that.
No chance
, Brian thought. There was absolutely no chance anyone
would take him seriously. And if someone did, a judiciously placed bribe or threat or bullet would surely take care of matters.

Outside, the steady rain continued into a second day. Five to seven days altogether, the forecasters were predicting. The rain, the sun, autumn, the kids, his one night with Teri, Freeman and Marguerite, his patients … they all seemed so precious now. Throwing a football … listening to a heart … breathing in the seasons. Brian wondered how differently he would have approached many things in his life had he known it was the last time he would ever be experiencing them.

How many
last times
with Jack passed by unappreciated during those final, frantic weeks?

The phone was ringing. Brian hesitated, then answered it. It was Freeman. A pipe had burst in the other building. He would be home within the hour with everything Brian needed.

“Once you turn those over to me,” Brian said, “I’m out of here and you’re done.”

“Hey, if you think I’m gonna argue with you about that, you’re wrong,” Freeman replied. “I ain’t the hero type.”

Brian dressed and pulled on his still-damp sneakers. It was time to begin preparations. If he was wrong about Carolyn Jessup, if she could not be swayed, he would have to be ready to turn himself in … or to run. The one remaining thing he needed to do was speak with Teri once more. He couldn’t leave her in the dark. But neither could he expect her to risk her credibility and even her career for him. He would take care of this business himself. And if he failed, he would fail alone.

He found her at her desk.

“Teri, I’m going to overnight you a complete summary of everything I think is going on with Vasclear. I’m sending
copies to the papers up here as well. Maybe someone will sense I’m not crazy.”

“But you still have no proof?”

“No. Not really, but I’m going after that tonight. I worked with Carolyn Jessup on a difficult case yesterday, and she took care of my father before he died. She really is a very good doctor. Even though I kept refusing surgery for Jack, she kept pushing to have him operated on. I think it was because she knew the Vasclear he was getting wasn’t ever going to work. I don’t know how she’s gotten mixed up with these Newbury people, but I’m hoping she’ll come forward when she hears what they’ve been doing.”

“For your sake, I hope so, too. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Where are you staying here tomorrow?”

“I’m not. We’re flying back right after the ceremony.”

“That’s just as well. I think you’d best keep out of this anyway. Phil didn’t, and look what happened to him.”

“Brian, are you sure you’re okay? The papers down here have had some pretty unkind things to say about you.”

“I’m sure they have. Teri, I wish this weren’t happening, but unless I see it through somehow, I don’t have a chance. The envelope should be at your office by ten tomorrow. Read what I have to say, and then see how you feel.”

“I will. You take care. Don’t do anything foolish.”

Brian set the receiver down and closed his eyes. He was beginning to drift off when the sound of the key in the lock startled him. The aroma of Freeman’s pipe preceded him by several seconds.

“One cellular phone. One set of keys to a Ford Taurus,” he said, ceremoniously depositing each on the table. “Express mailers from your post office. Street address and
phone number of one Dr. Carolyn Jessup. Street-map book of metropolitan area including the town of Nahant.”

“Nahant,” Brian said. “I heard her talking about living on the North Shore, but I didn’t think Nahant.”

The one-time island was now connected to the mainland by a mile-long causeway. It consisted primarily of hilly neighborhoods of closely packed clapboard houses, but it also boasted many beautiful oceanfront homes, most with views across the harbor to Boston. Actually, now that he thought of it, Nahant—remote, pristine, interesting—seemed a perfect match for Carolyn Jessup.

It was midafternoon when Brian sealed the last of the envelopes and left them on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks for all you’ve done for me, Freeman,” he said, taking his sponsor’s hand. “And look, you’ve been a total success. Through everything that’s happened, I haven’t touched a drug or a drink.”

“Just don’t lose that priority,” Sharpe said. “You’ve always got a place here, my friend. And I expect a call as soon as you’ve seen this woman on Nahant. Use that phone, then keep it as long as you need to. And as for the car, well, I signed up for all the insurance waivers and also took the liberty of having an extra key made. That leaves me with the original set in case someone happens to steal the poor thing. And here, just in case it’s not safe for you to hit a money machine.”

He passed over an envelope.

“I owe you,” Brian said without looking inside it. “Big time, I owe you.”

“Just don’t get killed. That’ll be payment enough.”

Brian packed his gym bag with some clothes, the cell phone, and the street-map book.

“If this doesn’t work out,” Freeman asked, “are you planning on turning yourself in?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll rent
The Fugitive
, then decide.”

“At your size, you’re a little more conspicuous than Harrison Ford.”

“Tell me about it.”

Brian hugged his sponsor and held the embrace for a time.

“The car’s right out front,” Freeman said finally. “I thought you’d want black.”

“Perfect.”

“Just remember, pal, God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”

“Freeman, pardon me for saying it,” Brian replied, “but with my father and my friend both dead, and me wanted for murders I did and didn’t commit, this isn’t such a great time to be talking to me about God.”

T
HROUGHOUT THE FORTY-FIVE-MINUTE DRIVE TO
N
AHANT
, made in early rush-hour traffic, Brian was on high-tension alert. The slightest fender bender or illegal lane change could mark his last minutes of freedom.

Would he really have to go on the run? Once he started running, he knew there would be no sudden salvation, no triumphant vindication as the credits rolled. Vasclear would be released—or rather, some harmless, chemically related placebo
labeled
Vasclear. Years and maybe billions of dollars later, Vasclear would simply slip from the marketplace, another promising drug that just didn’t pass the test of time. But hey, no harm, no foul … except, of course, for Jack Holbrook, Bill Elovitz, Phil, and a few others.

Brian headed up the Lynnway, a two-mile eyesore of automobile dealerships, restaurants, car washes, power lines, and gas stations. It was after four now and, for the
moment at least, the rain had yielded to a pale wash of late-afternoon sun. Even the Lynnway looked fresh. An apartment complex, one final restaurant, and he was at the causeway to Nahant. A cruiser sped up behind him, strobes on, sirens blaring. Brian felt his heart stop dead. He meekly pulled over, ready to surrender, as the black-and-white sped past. This was how it was going to be for the rest of his life if he ran.

Thanks to Freeman’s map, he had no trouble negotiating the tangle of narrow streets that made up most of the town. Carolyn Jessup’s place was on the water at the end of a small side street on the southeast end of the peninsula. The lot was modest, but completely secluded from her neighbors and much of the street by carefully trimmed eight-foot-high hedgerows. The house itself, a ranch with a single-car garage attached, was back from the road, on a small promontory above the water. The street-side windows of the place were unimpressive, but Brian suspected that those facing the harbor and the city skyline provided a spectacular view.

Unwilling to stay too long in one place, he made several passes around the town. By the time the streetlights winked on, he had found a dark side street where he could leave the Taurus without the local police taking undue notice. A face-to-face meeting was the only chance he had of getting the truth from Jessup.

The causeway was a problem. If Jessup was determined to protect herself and Newbury, and she knew he was nearby, one call to the police would have the mainland end of the mile-long road sealed off before he could ever get off the peninsula. Another problem was his reluctance to stay in the car on the side street. A routine patrol wouldn’t pay any attention to the Taurus unless they noticed someone inside it. For the next hour, he cruised onto the mainland and back several times, once risking a stop
at a burger place for takeout. Twice he passed a Nahant cruiser.