Miracle Cure (1991) Read online

  The file was short but potent. One page to be exact. Sara skimmed th e s heet.

  "I don't believe this," she muttered.

  "I thought you might find it intriguing."

  She read out loud.

  "Born Beth Israel Hospital, Newark, New Jersey.

  His father, Samuel Silverman, died in a car crash when he was five.

  Mother, Estelle Silverman, remarried a year later to a Martin Johnson.

  Between the ages of six and nine Michael had eight overnight hospita l s tays. His injuries were rumored to have been the result of physica l a buse at the hands of his stepfather and included several broken bone s a nd three concussions. When Michael was ten, his mother committe d s uicide by shooting herself in the forehead. Michael found her body.

  He has no brothers, no sisters. Stepfather abandoned him after th e s uicide. Only living relative was paternal grandmother, Sadie Silverman , who raised Michael until her death when he turned nineteen."

  She looked up.

  "Jesus, Larry, you want me to go after this guy?"

  "None of it has really been printed before because the details are to o s ketchy. Keep reading."

  Her eyes found the spot where she had stopped reading.

  "Michael got full scholarship to Stanford for basketball as well a s p iano." She paused.

  "The guy's a pianist?"

  Lorry nodded.

  "That part is fairly well known."

  "Academic All-American at Stanford four years in a row ... reputation o f b eing a bit of a ladies' man "

  "That's the understatement of the millennium," Larry interjected.

  "The man changes women like some men change socks." He smiled.

  "Hope you don't get sucked in."

  "Changes women like socks? Very tempting but doesn't sound like m y t ype."

  "No one is your type," Larry replied.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means," he said, "that you never date."

  "I've got too much work to do."

  "Excuses."

  "And no one interests me right now, okay."

  "Listen, Sara, I'm sixty-seven years old, have seven grandchildren, an d h ave been happily married for forty-four years."

  "So?"

  "So you're going to have to find someone else. I'm taken." She smiled.

  "Damn. You found me out."

  "And don't be so quick to judge Silverman," he added.

  "Look at his past. Would you want to get close to too many people if yo u h ad his childhood?"

  She put the file on her desk.

  "This story is beginning to sound like a piece of cheap sensationalism,"

  Sara said.

  He shrugged.

  "Depends on how you handle it. Fact is, Michael Silverman is a sport s i dol. We Jews love him because so few of us can play sports. I mean, th e l ast time there was a Jewish athlete this famous . well, you'd have t o g o back to Sandy Koufax."

  "What's your point, Larry?"

  "It's a great human interest story. A man who overcame incredibl e a dversity to become one of the world's top basketball players. And he'd b e a perfect role model for abused kids."

  "Suppose he doesn't want to be a role model."

  "Tough. He's news, Sara, big news. So the story is a bit sensational s o w hat? You're a reporter and this is a damn good story."

  "All right, all right. I get the picture. I'm on my way over there now."

  "Sara?"

  She looked up, startled.

  "I'm sorry, Eric."

  "Don't apologize. I know you've got a lot on your mind right now, bu t r emember this all Michael's problems are in the past.

  You two are going to have a baby together, and Michael has never bee n h appier in his life."

  Sara tried to smile, but it never reached more than the corners of he r m outh. She sensed that Michael's past woes were not finished with hi m y et, that they were still potent enough to reach into the present an d h urt him ... "Mind if I join you two?" "Hello, Max," Sara said.

  "Max, you know Eric Blake, don't you?" "I believe we've met," Bernstei n s aid.

  "How are you, doctor?"

  "Very well, thank you," Eric replied as the beeper on his belt went off.

  "If you two will excuse me, I have to go." "Emergency?" Max asked.

  "No. Just time for rounds."

  Max scratched his face hard, like he had fleas.

  "Can I ask you a quick question before you go?"

  Eric stopped.

  "Of course."

  "When was the last time you saw Dr. Grey alive?"

  Eric thought a moment, "The day he left for Cancun."

  "Did he look the same to you?"

  "The same? I don't understand."

  "I mean, was his hair still dark and did he still have a beard?"

  "Yes," Eric said without hesitation.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "No reason. Thanks, Eric."

  "Anytime, Lieutenant. I'll see you later, Sara."

  "Bye, Eric."

  Eric Blake neatly piled the garbage on his tray before leaving.

  When he brought his tray to the window, he was the only one who took th e t ime to sort his silverware.

  Sara turned to Max.

  "I called you three times today."

  "Sorry. Its been a busy day."

  "Are you getting much flak about the castration story in the news?"

  Max's whole body seemed to shrug.

  "Nothing I can't handle with a grenade launcher and tear gas."

  "I can imagine. Okay, so what have you learned?"

  He leaned forward, his right elbow on the table, his left arm throw n b ehind the back of the chair.

  "First of all, Bruce Grey had blond hair and no beard when he allegedl y j umped out the window. He also was wearing cosmetic contact lenses t o c hange the color of his eyes. I checked with several of his friends , even the limousine driver who dropped him off at the airport. Bruc e d efinitely had dark hair and the beard when he left New York."

  Sara nodded.

  "As you would say, "Interesting."

  " "To say the least. But there's more." He quickly told her about th e r est of his conversation with Hector Rodriquez at the Days Inn. Sara sa t s tunned, quietly listening.

  "Then Grey didn't commit suicide," she said when Max finished.

  "He was murdered, Sara. I'm sure of it."

  "And someone wanted to make it look like a suicide," she said.

  "Seems so," Max replied.

  "Hmmm. Bruce's murder has to be connected to the stabbings, agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  "So why did the killer want to make Bruce's death look like a suicid e w hile doing nothing to hide the fact that the other three wer e m urdered?"

  "I don't know," Max said. He stood up, circled the table for 10 apparen t r eason, and sat back down.

  "Max."

  "What?"

  "You're playing with your hair again."

  Bernstein looked up at his right hand. Strands of hair were apped aroun d h is middle finger as though it were a curler.

  untangled his finger and put his hands on the table.

  "Saves 3n a perm," he explained with a smile.

  "So what else did you learn?"

  He leaned forward.

  "This morning I went through the personal possessions found in Grey's h otel room. Everything was there wallet, ID, cash, credit cards , briefcase, change of clothe seven passport."

  "So?"

  "There was no stamp for Mexico on the passport."

  "No mystery there. You don't need to use your passport to go int o m exico. Just proof of citizenship."

  "Then why did he bring it with him?"

  She shrugged.

  "What else did you find in the passport?"

  "It's what I didn't find," he said.

  "You know those pages where the customs officials stamp the countr y y ou're visiting?"

  "Yes."

/>   "One of those pages had been neatly clipped out of Grey's passport. Yo u w ould never notice unless you looked at it closely."

  Sara looked up at the ceiling.

  "So the killer doesn't want anyone to see what was on that page. Mayb e b ruce never went to Mexico. Maybe he went someplace else and the kille r d oesn't want us to know where."

  "My thinking exactly. So I called the Oasis Hotel down in Cancun."

  "Did he check in?"

  "Yes."

  She waited for him to continue but he just sat there, smiling.

  "Max, stop playing games with me. What happened?"

  "I called your old contact at customs and immigration."

  "Don Scharf?"

  "Right. I know I should have asked you first, but time was of th e e ssence. Anyway, he remembered me from that case we did a few years bac k w here that rapist fled to Puerto Rico."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Well, it took a while but we finally traced down where Bruce went."

  "And?"

  "And Bruce did go down to Cancun first. But he flew out of Mexico th e v ery next day."

  "So where did he go?" Max smiled.

  "Bangkok."

  "There's no question about it, Eric," Winston CXConnor, chief la b t echnician at the Sidney Pavilion, said with his Alabama twang.

  O'Connor had been working for the clinic since its inception and, i n f act, had not lived in the South since entering Columbia Universit y e ighteen years ago. Still, the years had not subdued Winston's dee p s outhern accent.

  "Take another look at the Western blot. The band pattern i s u nmistakable."

  Eric swallowed and reached out his hand. The wall clock, one of thos e n oisy kinds that schools use, read 5:10 a . M. When was the last time h e h ad left the clinic? Eric did a little quick math.

  Forty hours ago. He needed sleep something terrible, but all of a sudde n h e felt wide awake.

  He glanced down at the photograph and remained silent for a moment.

  Eric knew what the readings meant, but he kept staring at them anyway , as though he could make the bands on the photograph slide lower o r h igher by just concentrating on them.

  "Let me take a look at the ELISA test."

  Winston sighed.

  "We've already looked at it twice."

  "I want to look at it again. You sure you used the right sample?"

  Winston looked at him strangely.

  "Are you kidding?"

  "I want to make sure."

  "You were standing here when I did it." Winston said.

  "I don't make mistakes on these kinds of things. Neither do you."

  Eric lowered his head.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  Winston crossed the room and opened a door that looked like it belonge d o n a refrigerator. His hand reached in and extracted a plate.

  "Here. And here's the digital read-out of the optical density."

  "Get me the T cell study too."

  "Again?"

  Eric nodded.

  "Here," Winston said a moment later.

  "What the hell you looking for, Eric?"

  Eric did not respond. He examined all the tests and studies at least a d ozen more times. Somewhere in the background he could hear Winston sig h a nd curse under his breath every time Eric asked to look at the sam e t hing again.

  "For crying out loud," Winston half-snapped, "how many times are yo u g oing to view this stuff? There's no mistake here.

  Shoot, we've never made a mistake on this test ever."

  "It can't be," Eric muttered.

  "It just can't be."

  "We've had hundreds of positive HIV tests come through here," Winsto n c ontinued.

  "Why all the double-checking on this one? I've run the ELISA and th e w estern on this guy twice now.

  There's no question about the results."

  Eric moved to a chair as though stunned by a blow to the head. He slowl y p icked up the phone and dialed.

  "Who you calling?" Winston asked.

  His voice came from far away.

  "Harvey."

  "I'll put this stuff away then."

  "No," Eric said.

  "Harvey will want to look at it too."

  "But both of us have already " "He won't believe us," Eric said.

  "He'll have to see this one for himself."

  Chapter 9.

  Harvey buttoned his shirt and smiled toward the rumpled bed. I f j ennifer could see him now ..."I still can't believe you're here," h e s aid.

  Cassandra leaned back on the bed and stretched. A thin, white sheet wa s a ll that covered her body.

  "Why not? This is Day Number Four already, Harv."

  "Happy?"

  "Blissful," she replied. And it was true. From their first kiss she ha d f elt intoxicated. It was strange, but even now she could feel her hear t s well in her chest just thinking about him.

  "No complaints?" he asked.

  "Just one," she said.

  "I don't care much for your hours." "I warned you."

  "Yeah, but two hours a night?"

  "Sorry." "Not your fault, I guess," she said.

  "Anyway, it makes me appreciate my nine to seven at the agency more."

  Harvey searched the clothes-cluttered floor, found a pair of pant s c rumpled in a corner, and put them on.

  "When are you making your presentation to the airline?"

  "Tomorrow. Northeastern Air. I have a meeting with their handsom e m arketing director. Jealous?"

  "Should I be?"

  She looked at him.

  "No."

  "Good," Harvey said with a goofy grin.

  "Because I really like you."

  She laughed.

  "God, you're corny."

  He shrugged.

  "Just out of practice," he said.

  "So what ad slogan did you come up with?" She thought a moment.

  "Fly the friendly skies of Northeastern?"

  "It's been used."

  "How about "We're Northeastern Airlines, doing what we do best'?"

  "Sorry."

  "

  "I'm Candy, fly me'?"

  "Might work if you show some cleavage." "No problem," Cassandra said.

  "I majored in cleavage in college."

  "I bet." He found a red tie crumpled into his loafer.

  "I probably won't be back here until the day after tomorrow."

  "I have to go home anyway. I'm running out of clothes."

  "And leave my palatial penthouse?"

  Cassandra glanced around Harvey's sloppy, one bedroom dump on 158t h s treet. She looked at him skeptically.

  "Okay," he admitted, "Versailles it's not."

  "A human dwelling it's not."

  "Granted, it might need a little work."

  "It might need a bulldozer."

  "You are spoiled rotten." Cassandra smiled.

  "Bet your ass." She sat up and put the pillow behind her head.

  "Harv, is it true? Do you really have a cure for AIDS?" "Not a cur e e xactly," he said, tying his tie and then loosening it.

  "More like a treatment."

  "I had a good friend die of AIDS," she said slowly.

  "He was my ad partner at Dunbar Strauss. God, he was so creative, s o m IRACLE CURE a live. I remember visiting him at the hospital until he was in so muc h p ain he wouldn't let anyone see him."

  Harvey nodded.

  "It's an ugly disease, Cassandra."

  "How does your treatment work?"

  He stopped.

  "You really want to know?"

  "Yes."

  Harvey sat on the edge of the bed and held her hands.

  "AIDS," he began, "or Acquired Immuno-Deficiency Syndrome, does not, i n a nd of itself, kill people. You see, the AIDS virus, known as HIV, attacks the immune system. It causes the immune system to break down t o t he point where the patient is readily susceptible to illness an d i nfection. Eventually these illnesses or infections become fatal. Wit
h m e so far?"

  "I think so," she said.

  "You're saying that the AIDS virus tears down the wall that protects yo u f rom disease."

  "Exactly. How the HIV destroys the immune system is a bit complicated s o i 'll try to be as nontechnical as possible."

  "I'm listening."

  "Okay. The HIV attaches itself onto what are called T cells.

  It then crawls inside the cells and destroys them. Still with me?"

  Cassandra nodded.

  "The part of the cell where the HIV first attaches itself is called th e t receptor. In other words, the HIV searches around and is attracted t o t receptors. Then it latches onto the receptors and moves in for th e k ill."

  "Got it," Cassandra said.

  "What we do at the clinic is inject our patients with a powerful , addictive drug we've created called SRI S and R stand for Sidney Riker , my brother. The negative side effects with SRI are many an d u nfortunately the patient needs to take larger and larger doses over a l ong period of time." "What does SRI do?" she asked.

  Harvey squeezed her hand.

  "Again, it's complicated, so let me try to cut through all the medica l j argon. In the human body SRI greatly resembles T receptors, so the AIDS v irus is drawn to the phony T receptors." "So," Cassandra said, "the HI V a ttaches itself onto the SRI T receptors rather than the real T r eceptors."

  "Something like that, yes. It's almost like SRI is wearing a mask an d d isguising itself as a T receptor. The HIV is drawn to it, latche s i tself onto it "

  "And then the SRI kills the HIV."

  Harvey shook his head.

  "I wish. One day it might happen that fast, but we're still years awa y f rom anything like that."

  "So what happens?"

  "Well, after the HIV latches itself onto the SRl's T receptors, the y s truggle. It's almost like a tug of war inside the immune system. A t f irst, the HIV is really pissed off by all this. The SRI is actuall y a ctivating the virus, stirring it up. We give additional and escalatin g d osages of SRI until the drug begins to wear down the virus.

  For a while the effects of AIDS are put into a holding pattern.

  Eventually, after a long, hard struggle, the HIV dies."

  "SRI wins the tug of war."

  He nodded.

  "We believe so, yes. Several long-term patients have actually change d f rom HIV positive to HIV negative."

  "Amazing."

  "The problems are obvious. Aside from the dangers and addictive factor s i n SRI, we can save only the immune system.