Wild (16 page)

I hadn’t heard enough and flicked through the channels trying to find another local news station. I turned up the volume slightly so I wouldn’t miss anything.

“… an interview he gave several months ago about his research in the field of aging.”
The anchor man said.
“Do we have that tape? Yes? Here’s an excerpt of the interview.”
The screen switched to show Dr. Entwhistle together with a female interviewer.

“
It sounds a little like the so-called Fountain of Youth
,” the interviewer said.

 “
You are a very smart woman. Indeed, we’ve been working on gene manipulation, specifically on how to switch off the gene which controls the aging process
.” He sounded excited.

“
So, in fact, you’re trying to stop people from aging?
”

“Exactly!”

“And what have you found so far?”

“We have found the receptors of the gene and isolated them so that we can start testing different “switches” so to speak.”

The interview ended. Everything Entwhistle had said sounded like I had heard it before. I looked away from the TV to try to jog my memory, and stared at Vince who stood in the middle of the room.

It hit me: Vince had told me about his own research. It was word for word what Entwhistle had said in the interview. A look into Vince’s eyes and I knew he had listened to every word from the TV. He looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

“You stole his research?” I accused him. “You broke into this house?”

I was beside myself. How could he have lied to my like that? Was this all a setup?

“Annette, please, it’s not what you think.” He was anxious.

He didn’t deny anything. Guilt was written all over his face.

He came toward the couch and instinctively I pulled back. It made him stop in his tracks.

“I can’t believe you lied to me like that,” I was close to tears. I touched my lips and was instantly reminded of his kisses. I glared at him. “And all this, was just a game for you. All this playing hard to get, all this holding back. Oh my God, you must think me so stupid.”

I jerked up and got out of the couch, not listening to the pain in my leg as I limped to the closet.

“Annette, please, if you’ll just listen to me. It’s my research.
He
stole it from
me
.”

I looked at him. He was shameless. “Would you listen to yourself? How naïve do you think I am?” I ripped open the doors to the closet.

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

I grabbed my suitcase and threw some of my clothes into it. I could sense he stood at the door of the closet.

“Please.”

I didn’t respond. I closed the suitcase, and realized I had a second one. It didn’t matter. I stormed past him rolling my suitcase behind me. My handbag hung on a hook near the stairs. I grabbed it.

“Where are you going to go?” His voice was quiet, resigned.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and couldn’t speak.

“At least let me drive you.”

“I don’t need you.” I realized I couldn’t carry the suitcase down the stairs, not with the way my leg was hurting now, and I didn’t want his help. “I’ll send somebody to pick up my suitcases later.”

I held on to my handbag and made it down the stairs. The front door was locked. I unlocked it and opened the door. The cold air hit my face as I got outside and slammed the door behind me. I didn’t look back.

I could feel the tears streaming down my face and I lied to myself that it was because of the pain I felt in my leg. Everything he had done was a lie. The game he had played with me was cruel. The more he had held back, the more I had wanted him. Was this how he got his kicks?

I hobbled to the next corner trying to figure out where to go. I had only one choice. Maybe Carmela would help me out and let me crash on her couch for a night or two before I could sort myself out and get on a bus back to Des Moines.

That was where I belonged. I wasn’t cut out for this city. I had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Was he laughing behind my back?

The bus brought me back to Carmela’s neighborhood and I was lucky I had only one and a half blocks to walk from the bus stop to her flat. I prayed that she was home. I rang the door bell and her voice shot through the intercom a few seconds later.

“Yes?”

“Carmela, it’s me, Annette. Can I come in please?”

She didn’t answer, but the buzzer sounded instantly. She waited for me at the door, and I could tell she was surprised to see me, and even more surprised to see me in tears.

“It didn’t work out?” She was perceptive. She waved me in.

“Can I stay for a couple of days?”

“Of course, you can. I’ll make you some tea, and then I’ll have to leave for an appointment.”

I was too much in pain to be surprised by her kindness and collapsed on the couch as soon as I sat down.

12. Vince’s Pain

I couldn’t believe what had happened. I didn’t understand why Entwhistle had reported the break-in. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

She had gotten it all wrong, and I hadn’t been prepared. What could I have said?

Sorry, but the research is mine and the way to prove it, is to show you what it did to me?
That wasn’t the way to go. I had felt her pain. She was hurt. I had disappointed her. If she couldn’t live with the fact that I had broken into somebody’s house, how would she understand everything else I had done?

How could she accept what I was? I had been fooling myself into thinking she could accept me if she only got to know me. She wasn’t the one who was naïve, I was.

I knew she would leave town, but I still felt responsible for her and felt the urge to continue protecting her, even if she hated me now.

I had followed her. It hadn’t been difficult following the bus she had taken. I ran all the way. She had not looked back. I had seen how she had cried, and I felt a stabbing pain in my chest just watching her. When she had gotten off the bus, I had kept back, but watched her as she entered an apartment building.

Once I could be sure she had left the entrance hall I had gone to the door to read the names on the mail slots. I didn’t know what I was looking for until I read one name:
Carmela Franklin
. At least she hadn’t gone back to some other guy. She would be safe with her friend Carmela I hoped.

I looked up at the window not knowing behind which one she would be. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to stalk her. She deserved better. I had had less than three days with her, just enough to create a craving which would last a lifetime.

I didn’t deserve any better. I had had enough chances to tell her my secret, but I had been too much of a coward.

My lies were inexcusable, but at the same time I told myself that even if I had told her the full truth, she would have left me. I consoled myself that at least this way she would just hate me, rather than be disgusted by me, or frightened. Wasn’t that much better for her? Wouldn’t she get over it much faster thinking I was a liar and a cheat?

After staring at the building for a long time, I walked back to my place. I was in no hurry to get home. Nothing was waiting for me. Nobody smiled at me when I entered.

The air was still heavy with her scent. In the bathroom I found the sweater she had worn the day before. I buried my face in it, soaking in her smell, remembering how I had kissed her while she was wearing it. I replayed the events of the last few days in my head wondering what I could have done differently. I came up empty. It wasn’t meant to be.

I had to pull myself out of my dark mood and do something productive.

I needed to find out what had really happened. How had Entwhistle been able to get a hold of my research papers? A break-in into my tightly secured home was impossible, which only left one other possibility: it had to have happened before I had brought my records here, which meant it had to have happened over thirty years ago.

I remembered Entwhistle’s face and guessed he was in his late thirties. He had to have been a boy back then.

This meant I had to find out who had both access to my files back then and knew Entwhistle.

Over the years so many people went in and out of my lab that it could have been anybody, even the janitorial crew that emptied the garbage bins at night. Just figuring out who had access was not enough. I had to narrow it down to those with both access and motive if I wanted to find the culprit.

As to motive, I could only come up with two strong motivating factors for anybody to copy my research: revenge or ambition. Ambition would narrow my search to all those PhD candidates who worked with me over the years and weren’t confident or bright enough to master their own research. It would be easy enough to track down what they were doing now and whether they had connections to Entwhistle.

However, ambition didn’t explain why they themselves hadn’t used the research after my disappearance and claimed it as their own. Why wait thirty years and then have somebody else take credit for it?

I would pursue this route nevertheless. Most people didn’t act logically and maybe there was a good reason why the notes had been hidden away for so long.

The second motive, revenge, was also plausible. I had been such an arrogant prick back then, completely self-absorbed and egotistic, that I was sure I had pissed off a fair number of people.

There was no way I could find all of them, since I wasn’t even aware of how many people I could have alienated enough for them to want to take revenge. I had to concentrate on those who had the closest contact with me and would have felt my daily annoyances most. Certainly my lab personnel, post-docs, interns and admin personnel came to mind.

My lab had been like a revolving door when it came to personnel. Many had left of their own accord because they couldn’t keep up with my unreasonable demands. My ambition had been unparalleled and I had demanded absolute loyalty and dedication from my staff. Unfortunately the environment at UCSF hadn’t given me the tools to reward my employees accordingly and underpaid employees didn’t show the same dedication to my work as I did.

There were of course always those who could have never gotten a job in the outside world and would therefore hang on for dear life.

Those had been the ones I had had to fire, a process which was long and tedious because of the stifling bureaucracy at the University.

This meant a disgruntled employee knew well in advance when he or she would be fired, and would continue to come to work, have access to all files and could copy them to their heart’s content.

I couldn’t rule out anybody, however small the possibility was. I started by making a list of all lab staff, post-docs, secretaries and interns, anybody whose name I could vaguely remember. It helped that I could look through my original records and associate events in the lab with it: somebody’s birthday party, an award, a trip to a conference. It all helped jog my memory and remember the names.

I put them into two different categories, revenge and ambition. Some I had to put into both.

Once I had my list, I counted them. Over thirty-five people were too many to check up on. I had to narrow them down considerably.

The easiest were the post-docs. Just by googling their names I was able to find out what they were doing now. Most had published research papers either as the lead PI or in collaboration with others and seemed to be rather successful in their field. I was confident to eliminate those post-docs from my list immediately.

Many were now successful researchers or physicians in other cities and a few had even become chiefs of medical departments at prestigious hospitals.

With the elimination of most of the post-docs my list shrunk down to nineteen. It was still too large. I spent hours searching for the names of the remaining people on my list.

A few had died. I read Mabel’s obituary. She had been my secretary until she had asked for a transfer. She had died of heart disease in the early 80s. I remembered her to be a heavy set woman, but she had barely been in her late forties when she had worked for me.

I felt bad that I hadn’t treated her better back then. Had I known she had only a few years left, but there was no use dwelling on it. I couldn’t change what I had done back then.

Several accidents later my list was down to fourteen, most of them on the revenge side of my list. I was struggling to find other criteria by which to eliminate suspects from my list.

I assumed that whoever had given or sold the papers to Entwhistle was still in the US or had strong ties to this country. Maybe I could eliminate those from my list who left to return to their own country?

Several of my staff had been foreign nationals. It was possible they had gone back home. I found four who had returned to the Philippines and Europe, respectively, and started up businesses there. They even had their own websites. Their elimination brought my list down to ten.

I read through the list again and again. Was there anybody else I could eliminate? Had everybody really had access to all the notes?

I had to go back to look at them again. Which notes did Entwhistle have? Where had I kept them back then? And who was aware I had written them?

I leafed through the photocopies I had taken from Entwhistle’s house the night before and sorted them chronologically. I started reading them. It took me back to the time when I had thought I was so close to finding the fountain of youth. It took me back to the time when I wasn’t aware of my biggest mistake yet, when I still thought I was on the right track.

I stared at the dates of some of the notes and realized that only a few short months later my world would collapse.

The animal trials I had been conducting at the time had been extremely successful. I had been so confident I had applied for human subjects approval in order to conduct clinical trials. I had been crushed when I had received the rejection, and my lab staff had had to deal with my anger for weeks.