Five Days Later

Wednesday, June 23rd, 10:20 a.m., OCME, Farmington, CT

Jake

“Her name was Kristy Pierson. Here…”

Doctor Roberts hands me her tablet PC. We’re seated in her office, an efficient, no-nonsense space furnished with the kinds of elegant touches that mirror the woman herself. Sturdy, impeccably organized desk.  High-end Scandinavian leather chairs. Walls adorned with a couple of tasteful oil landscapes. A Bose sound system, softly tuned to classical music.

Holding the tablet, I stare at the image of a younger Kristy, probably taken when she was a teenager. By the official look of it, the image is a mug shot, labeled in the lower right corner: ‘California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.’

“That picture was taken when she was thirteen,” Roberts explains. “During intake into Juvenile Hall, a youth detention center in Orange, California. By that time, she already had a long rap sheet for charges ranging from drug possession to larceny and blackmail.”

“Blackmail?”

“Yes. That became her specialty. Even at a very young age, she traded on her looks to put wealthy men in…” She gives me a knowing look. “Compromising positions. With practice, she became very good at this, setting her sights on only the most lucrative targets. Detective Popov thinks that’s how she met Roy Caulder.”

“Only he was so impressed with her skills that he offered her a job,” I suggest.

“Exactly. Caulder hasn’t confirmed this, of course. He’s still hiding behind his army of lawyers, claiming to be just another one of her victims.”

Big surprise there. “So he’s denying everything?”

“Of course, but don’t worry. He’ll break down eventually. Now that the SEC and FBI have gotten involved in the Pulsar investigation, it’s only a matter of time. Even the CIA’s working the case from the Qatar angle. Then there’s the fact that it’ll be front page news for months.”

“But we still don’t know what really happened.”

“True…” Roberts frowns, “but we’re starting to piece things together, thanks in part to your near-death experience. The syringe of toxin we recovered from the scene has taught us some fascinating things.”

“Such as?”

“It contained a mixture of Replacidin and an endopeptidase designed to cleave the toxin chains.”

She looks up at me, gauging my reaction before continuing.

“You see, Replacidin contains long chains of tetrodotoxin molecules, coiled into nanotube delivery vehicles. The tubes are designed to break down slowly, only releasing one molecule of toxin at a time. Each molecule is linked to the next by a peptide bond. Now if only one link breaks, the amount of toxin released is tiny... just enough to weaken the target muscle. But if you mix in the right enzyme to break all the bonds simultaneously…”

I finish the sentence for her: “Then you release a lethal dose.”

“Exactly. That’s how they did it.” She reaches into her desk drawer to pull out a manila folder, which she slides toward me. “And here’s the proof.”

The folder contains a series of black-and-white electron microscopy images. The first grainy image comes from a transmission electron microscope: an imaging device that uses electron beams to magnify objects up to a million times their original size.  I’m looking at a pattern of vertical bands of white alternating with gray and black, like the stripes on a tiger’s tail.

“Notice the regular cross-striations,” Roberts narrates. “That’s a medium-power TEM micrograph of human skeletal muscle. These are myofibrils in cross section. They’re structurally similar to the metal cable bundles that hold up a suspension bridge.”

She reaches across the desk to point out more features. “These dark, evenly spaced vertical bands are called Z lines. The functional unit of skeletal muscle, called the sarcomere, extends from one Z line to the next.” She arches an eyebrow. “You following me?”

When I nod, she continues her lecture. “Within each sarcomere, we find this characteristic striped pattern of dark A-Bands alternating with light I-bands. Each band contains overlapping actin and myosin fibers, which, when stimulated by a nerve impulse, slide over one another to shorten the muscle. This is how Replacidin causes muscle paralysis: by blocking the signal that makes the muscle contract.”

“Nice review,” I say. “But what does this have to do with my patient’s death?”

“I was just about to get there. Now if you look at the next micrograph…”

I turn to the next picture.

“…you’ll see the same skeletal muscle fibers, biopsied one hour after a typical Replacidin injection.”

I stare at the image, realizing what I’m seeing isn’t a distortion. The background image of striated muscle hasn’t changed, but the bands now look like they’ve sprouted fuzz – countless tiny black hairs, arranged in parallel lines like iron filings caught in a magnetic field.

“You’re looking at tens of thousands of carbon nanotubes, bound to their actin targets on muscle,” Roberts explains. “Each nanotube contains a coiled chain made up of hundreds of cross-linked Replacidin molecules. Like I said, the nanotubes are designed to break down slowly, exposing the ends of the Replacidin chains to enzymatic cleavage. Normally, each chain should take over a year to break down. Now… look at the next image. This one’s taken by scanning EM.”

I do as I’m told, amazed by the high-resolution image. In contrast to the flat TEM micrographs, this one pops out in three dimensions, showing a massively magnified bundle of muscle fibers in cross-section. The effect is like staring down at a cut sheath of wheat or the straw end of a broom. I squint at the image, noting the Replacidin molecules clinging to the cut ends of the muscle fibers like specks of dirt. The next picture, taken at a higher magnification, makes the fibers look like massive tree stumps, each sprouting its own mossy garden of Replacidin nanotubes.

Roberts points to the image. “That picture came from Pulsar. Their Chief Scientific Officer delivered it in person last Thursday. See how each nanotube contains a coiled filament of neurotoxin.”

Sure enough, each tube contains a delicate thread, still coiled inside.

“That’s how the drug is supposed to look right after injection. Now take a look at the next image.”

This picture looks identical to the last one, except for one glaring difference.

“That image comes from our lab,” Roberts explains. “It’s a scanning EM of procerus muscle, taken from Jean Clark less than ten hours after her death, and what you’re looking at is no artifact. It’s the same in all of our images.”

I look up at Roberts, my mouth hanging open.

“As you can see,” she says, "every last one of the tubes is empty.”

*

“Here you go… two creams and two sugars.” Alice Roberts hands me a mug of coffee before returning to her seat. I must still look shell-shocked, because she reaches across the desk to cover my hand.

“It’s a lot to process, I know.”

“It’s…” I bite my lip, trying to control the rage churning up in me. “It’s unbelievable. How could anyone…?”

“Murder for money and power?” Roberts frowns. “That’s usually motive number one, Jake. Care to guess motive number two?”

“Jealousy?”

“You’ve got it. This wasn’t a crime of passion, though. From what Detective Popov told me about Caulder, he fits the profile of a cold-blooded sociopath. You can be sure he calculated everything.”

I shift in my seat. “But why go to all that trouble and then make Clark’s death look like anaphylaxis?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. My guess is Caulder wanted your study patient’s death to look like a latex allergy. He manufactured a safety scare to drive down Pulsar’s stock value, weakening it before his take-over bid. Of course, once he took over the company, those safety concerns would have to disappear.”

“And once your office determined the cause of death to be a latex allergy,” I say, “the blame would’ve fallen on me. Convenient, right?”

“Not for you. With one simple modification, Caulder turned Replacidin into a lethal toxin, capable of killing within minutes.”

“But you figured it out,” I say. “You ordered those electron microscopy images. Caulder must have assumed you wouldn’t know what to look for.”

Roberts laughs. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have just written off those EM findings as an artifact. With the Governor breathing down my neck, I might have caved and signed off on the COD as a latex allergy.”

I mirror her smile, thinking: No way. We’ll never know for sure, but I suspect Alice Roberts would have unraveled Caulder’s scheme in the end, even without our help. He underestimated her, just like he underestimated Jess and Kristy. Turns out, I’m the only one he had pegged just about right.

“You know,” Roberts says, worry lines radiating from the corners of her eyes. “It’s pretty miraculous that you survived. You were very lucky.”

I shrug. “Guess you could call it that.”

“Absolutely. Caulder hired a lethal team to do his dirty work. I already told you about Pierson, and her partner makes her look like a saint.  Rollins was a professional killer.”

“You found out about him too?”

“With some difficulty. Detective Popov finally identified the name as an alias for James Sullivan, an enforcer for the Irish Mob. Boston PD had him on their wanted list for five murders, and they think he may be responsible for at least a dozen more. Just over one year ago, he disappeared from their radar. We now know where he went.”

“To work for Caulder.”

“Right. He and Pierson made a deadly team.”

“But…” I look down at my hands, which still feel weaker than normal from the lingering effects of the Replacidin. “She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t…”

“A killer?” Roberts shakes her head. “Now try and tell that to the other victims. Some of their targets survived, but most… let’s just say the suspected body count is growing. Miss Pierson knew what she was doing, Jake. Whenever Rollins eliminated one of Caulder’s enemies, who do you think set it up? They worked as a team.”

“Not in the end,” I say, stating the obvious. “She turned on him.”

“Yes. Clearly, she was in over her head.”

“It sounds like she was in over her head for most of her life.”

I pick up the tablet to study Kristy’s childhood picture again. Her pixie haircut and angelic face. Those troubled eyes, eyes that said, even at thirteen, that nothing the world threw her way could surprise her anymore. Scrolling down to her history, I realize she’d told me the truth about Laguna Beach. She spent at least her early childhood there. Then I notice another detail.

The same date I’d seen etched beneath her tattoo.

“It says here that her parents died in a motor vehicle accident on June 5, 1992. She was five years old at the time, and the accident left her an orphan.”

I close my eyes, picturing the tattoo on her lower back. The phoenix, rising from ashes. Sadly, she never rose far. That loss was something she never overcame.

“She told me that was the day she was born,” I say. “I guess she was right. That tragedy defined her, didn’t it?”

Roberts nods slowly, taking back the tablet to look at Kristy’s picture. When she looks up at me again, there’s sympathy in her eyes. Sympathy and wisdom.

“She lived a tragic life, Jake. That’s true, and we should feel some sadness for that. But don’t feel too sorry for her. We all face tragedy at some time. You know that all too well. In the end, Miss Pierson’s life was what she made of it.”

Not having the right words to answer, I glance out the window in silence.

She’s right, of course. But then again, Jess and I are only alive right now because of Kristy.  Thanks to her, our children won’t have to grow up without us.

“Now, tell me…” Roberts says, her voice brightening to change the subject. “What’s in the future for Jake Goodwin?”

“Well, Doctor Roberts –”

“Please… call me Alice. After what we’ve all been through together, we’re more like old friends, wouldn’t you say?”

I look into her eyes, touched by the warmth I see there.

“Well, Alice…” I say, sharing her smile. “That depends on how broad you want to make the question. As soon as I leave here, I’m headed to Stamford to check on Erin. And this afternoon, I have a meeting with the Greenbecks.”

Alice’s eyes narrow. “Given what’s happened, are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

“Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to hearing what they have to say.”

 “As am I,” she agrees, lips pressing into a line. “Please keep me updated.”

I promise that I will.

“And what about your wife? How is she holding up?”

“She’s doing well, considering the hell she just went through. To be honest, I’m not sure what’s been going on in her mind since the attack. We, um… we haven’t been talking all that much. We’re in the process of getting a divorce. That’s something that was in the works even before this nightmare began.”

Alice frowns, telling me she’s sorry to hear the news.

“Yeah, well… I should be too, but right now, I just feel lucky to be alive. When I saw my kids this week, that’s all I could think: that I came so close to losing them.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, rising from her desk to show me to the door. “You are very lucky. Things could’ve gone very differently. You know…” She draws out her words with the hint of a Southern accent. “You should’ve trusted me with the truth, Jake. I might’ve surprised you.”

“I know,” I admit, “but would you really have believed me?”

I look into her eyes, asking for an honest answer, and that’s exactly what I get.

“Probably not.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand. “I wouldn’t have believed me either.”

***

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