Miracle Cure
“NEED some help?”
Max Bernstein looked up at Sara. “Yeah, come on in. Where’s Michael?”
“Being treated,” Sara replied. “Are those the patient files?”
Max nodded, a fresh pencil in his mouth. “This sucker just gets weirder and weirder.”
Sara sat down, unsnapped her brace and rubbed her leg. “I’m listening.”
“Okay,” Max began. “Here are the medical files for all the victims. Let’s start with Trian. He was one of the first patients, admitted almost three years ago. Whitherson came in about the same time. Same with Martino, the intravenous drug abuser.”
“And Bradley?”
“That’s just it. Bradley is the oddball out. He was in here less than a year. He was in the middle of treatment. He was doing well, but he had not yet turned HIV negative. It doesn’t fit. Did Harvey fill you in on our talk?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you about his theory about someone trying to destroy the clinic?”
Sara nodded. “It made sense to Michael and me.”
“Made sense to me too, but there are so many holes. Take Bradley Jenkins, for example. Let’s assume that these conspiracy guys are out to get rid of the cured AIDS patients—the proof, to use Harvey’s word. Then why kill Bradley Jenkins? He was a new patient at the clinic. And why move his body behind a gay bar? And another thing. If you’re out to do serious damage to a place and you don’t care about killing a few people in the process, why pussyfoot around? Why not go all out? Why not burn down the Pavilion? Why not just kill Harvey and Eric and destroy their records?”
“I see your point.”
“I don’t know, Sara. Something just doesn’t fit. Why did the killer make the murders so obvious?”
“He’s a psycho.”
“A psycho who has penetrated the inner sanctum of this hospital? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he wanted to distract everyone by making them think he was just targeting the gay community,” Sara said.
“How so?”
“His first two victims were blatant homosexuals killed in a gruesome manner,” Sara explained. “The press was bound to pick it up. The killer knew that. He also knew that the world would immediately assume the murders were the work of a psychotic homophobe. No one looked deeper than that pat explanation at first. The world searched for the Gay Slasher, a man who murders homosexuals randomly, not a calculating killer intent on exterminating patients at a confidential clinic.”
“But the press didn’t go after the story that much until . . .”
“Until they killed the son of a famous senator,” Sara finished. “Which explains why he killed Bradley. It attracted media attention. Everyone finally focused in on the Gay Slasher.”
Max scratched his face, thinking. “I see what you’re saying, but it still doesn’t jibe. Why did the killer move Bradley’s body behind the gay bar?”
“So the world would know he was gay,” Sara tried. “The killer wanted everyone to think he was the Gay Slasher, a man who terrorized the gay community. Trian and Whitherson were known homosexuals. Bradley’s sexual preference, on the other hand, was a well-kept secret. What better way to reveal the truth than to dump Bradley’s body behind a gay bar in the Village?”
“Okay,” he said, “that’s theory one. I’m not sure I buy it, but let’s move on.”
“I don’t completely buy it either,” Sara said, “but let me throw something else out at you. Could the killer just have been after Bradley?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, could the killer have murdered Trian and Whitherson to make it look like a serial killer when the real target was Bradley all along? Could someone have been out to destroy Senator Jenkins by—”
“Forget it. I thought about that already. It makes no sense. Why kill Ricky Martino after the fact? Why break into the lab? And what about the clinic connection? Are you just going to write that off as a coincidence? And what about Grey’s supposed suicide—”
“Enough already,” she interrupted. “I get the point. Forget I mentioned it.”
“Sorry.” He stacked the files and pushed them away. “Nervous about tonight’s press conference?”
“Terrified. But I’m a lot more afraid of this disease.”
Max nodded. “Michael’s strong, Sara. Harvey will cure him.”
HARVEY Riker picked up his private line. “Hello?”
“Hello, handsome,” Cassandra said. “I’d like to rip your clothes off.”
“I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”
“All the better,” she replied.
“How did your meeting go with Northeastern Air?”
“It’s not over yet. How’s your day been?”
He considered telling Cassandra about Michael’s condition but quickly dismissed the thought. It was not his place to say anything. “Not good. We lost a patient last night. Murdered, we think.”
“Another one?”
“Yes.”
Cassandra hesitated. “Do you really think that Reverend Sanders is connected to this?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“And my father?”
Harvey weighed his words carefully. “It seems strange to me that the same day your father denied knowing Sanders personally, you hear them arguing in his study. Why did he lie to us? What was he trying to hide?”
Harvey’s intercom buzzed before she could answer. “Hold on a second, Cassandra.” He pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”
“Dr. Riker?”
“Yes,” Harvey replied.
“There’s a call for you on line seven.”
“I’m in the middle of something here. Is it important?”
There was a small pause. “It’s Dr. Raymond Markey.”
Harvey felt afraid. The Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services never called unless it was bad news. “Hold on a second.” He pressed a button. “I’ll call you back, Cassandra.” He pushed another button. “Dr. Markey?”
“Hello, Dr. Riker. How are you this morning?”
“Not very well.”
“Oh?”
“Another one of our patients died last night. He may have been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Markey repeated. “My God, Riker, how many does that make?”