Malice by design, p.10
Malice by Design, page 10
A slender man holding an umbrella, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, approached. Tipping his umbrella back from his face, the bearded man cast a glance Haas’s way and strolled past. As he did, the dense column of smoke from his unfiltered Gauloises filled his nostrils. Between coughs, he handed the driver a fifty-euro note. He barely had time to pull his hand back before the cab bolted from the curb.
When Haas turned to walk into his building, he noticed a small white SUV parked across the street. The two poker-faced men dressed in dark blazers who were leaning against the side of the vehicle abruptly averted their eyes. Noticing the engine was running, he hiked his carry-on higher on his shoulder, entered the building, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. Once inside his studio, he walked over to the only window that overlooked the front of the building. The minivan was still there, but the two men were now seated inside.
Being totally exhausted from his long day of travel, he convinced himself not to overreact to the presence of the men. With a light shrug of his shoulders, he flopped down on his bed. Expecting to see the SUV gone when he awakened, he thought about his favorite brasserie and the prospect of enjoying a salade verte and a double order of escargot for dinner. A minute later, he was asleep.
When he awakened, it was six thirty. Feeling the usual effects of an overnight flight, he pushed himself out of bed. The first thing he did was make his way to the window. Without turning on any lights, he eased the curtain back a couple of inches. His gut tightened when he saw the same two men standing in front of the SUV. What he’d believed was probably an overactive imagination when he’d arrived was suddenly his worst nightmare come true.
Hurrying to his closet, he reached up to the highest shelf and brought down a larger carry-on than the one he’d arrived with. Ten minutes later, he was packed and making tracks down the rear corridor to the back stairs. He exited the building and, under the blanket of darkness, continued east behind three apartment buildings. By the time he emerged on the boulevard, he was sucking in one frightened breath after another. Scanning the area, he surmised he was well out of sight of the two men and only a short walk to the Porte d’Orleans metro station.
From there, he traveled to the Gare du Nord, where he purchased a first-class ticket and boarded the next Eurostar to London. It wasn’t until the train was approaching the English Channel that Haas was able to take his first relaxed breath.
Chapter 25
Anticipating their meeting with Hayden Kubicek, Madison and Jack arrived at the hospital early to make rounds and give themselves extra time to evaluate Sam’s progress. To their delight, he continued to make slow improvement. Having emerged from his coma, the consulting neurologist was cautiously optimistic that, if he recovered from LM, he would do so without significant neurological damage.
They walked through the front door of the guesthouse at nine thirty and made their way to the kitchen, where Jack poured them each a mug of coffee before joining Madison at the table.
While he was adding his customary dram of whole milk, he inquired, “Any luck locating Dr. Austin’s contact information?”
“Nope, but I can’t say I’ve had much time to try. I was hoping to give it more attention tomorrow.”
“If she worked on a research project with the hospital, shouldn’t they have her CV on file?”
“One would think, but when I checked the research protocol, her CV wasn’t there.”
“That’s a little strange,” he said. “If you get tied up tomorrow, let me know, and I’ll give it a shot.”
Their conversation had moved to the new admissions overnight when the doorbell rang. It was five minutes before ten.
“That must be him,” Jack said, coming to his feet and dumping what little coffee remained in his mug into the sink.
“He’s punctual. I’ll give him that.”
When Jack opened the front door, he was immediately stunned by the appearance of Dr. Kubicek. He was pigeon-breasted man with tired eyes and an oblong shaped face. The years had thinned out the skin on his face, revealing dozens of minute, tortuous blood vessels that framed out his pointed nose. With one hand, he supported his excess weight with a four-stand cane; in the other, he held a manila folder.
With a mixture of uncertainty and confusion, Jack pushed a cordial smile to his face. Because Hayden had told him he was two years out of medical school, Jack was understandably expecting to be shaking hands with somebody considerably younger.
“Dr. Wyatt?” he asked with a warm tone to his voice, as he looked past Jack into the foyer.
“Yes…and you must be Dr. Kubicek. Please come in,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Jack looked at his guest with continued confusion as he used his cane to navigate the two steps into the entranceway. After a brief but strained silence, he couldn’t help himself.
“Please forgive me for asking, but I seem to recall you mentioning that you were a…”
“A family practice resident?” With lips drawn into a fixed line, Jack nodded. “Let me help you out of this awkward situation. I’m Dr. Peter Kubicek. I’m Hayden’s father. I’m not a physician. My doctorate’s in metallurgical engineering.” He paused while he pulled off his leather gloves. As he was slipping them into the pockets of his parka, Madison strolled up and joined them.
“This is Dr. Peter Kubicek. He’s Hayden’s father.”
“I’m Madison Shaw,” she said, as she reached out, shook his hand, and then helped him hang up his coat. “Why don’t we sit at the dining room table?” she suggested, pointing the way. Peter’s steps were cautious and deliberate. Seeing he was relying heavily on his cane, Jack stayed shoulder to shoulder with him as they advanced into the dining room. “We just made some coffee, Dr. Kubicek. May I offer you some?”
“It’s Peter, and thank you. It smells wonderful.”
Jack walked over to the marble-topped credenza, poured a cup of French roast, and set it down in front of Peter, who wasted no time raising it to his narrow lips and taking an audible couple of sips.
“What time should we expect your son?” Jack asked, electing not to mention that Hayden had failed to tell him he had invited his father to sit in.
Peter’s face stiffened, and he hunched forward in his chair. “I’m sorry to tell you that my son died last week while participating in an athletic event.”
“My goodness,” Madison said in just above a hush, raising her hand to her mouth. “We’re terribly sorry to hear that.”
“Hayden was in good physical shape. His death was completely unexpected and came as a devastating shock to my wife and me.”
“Dr. Kubicek, we very much appreciate you coming today,” Jack said. “But under the circumstances, we would of course understand if you’d prefer to reschedule our meeting for—"
“My son was not one to diminish the importance of things, Dr. Wyatt. He didn’t share a great deal of details with me, other than to say that he’d come across crucial information about leukemic malnutrition and that he’d arranged an important meeting with you and Dr. Shaw to discuss it. Hayden was levelheaded, bright, and in no way prone to over-exaggeration. I have no reason to believe he viewed this meeting as anything other than urgent.”
He stopped and slid the folder he had brought with him across the table.
“I found this file on Hayden’s desk when I was going through his personal effects. It has your names and today’s date written on it. I can only assume he had every intention of bringing it with him and sharing the contents with you.”
Jack picked up the file and was quick to note how thin it was. He considered opening it immediately, but dismissed the notion to avoid diverting his attention from Peter while he was talking.
“Yesterday, I took the liberty of having a brief look at the file.” With a shake of his head, he added, “I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.”
Madison inquired, “Did Hayden mention where or how he’d acquired his knowledge of leukemic malnutrition?”
“I’m afraid not, Dr. Shaw.”
“Did your son have some connection to Oster?”
With a slow nod of his head, he answered, “Several months ago, my wife and I lost our youngest son, Max, to leukemia. He’d received all of his care right here at Oster. The boys were as close as any two brothers could be. Hayden made several trips a month to Defiance to visit Max. His treatment was going well until a few months ago when he suddenly developed a serious illness that none of the doctors had ever seen before. In addition to having no idea what was causing it, they didn’t have the first clue how to treat it.” Peter guarded his silence for a few moments before adding, “It took less than a week for the disease to ravage Max and take him from us.”
Struck speechless from the unimaginable thought of losing two children within months of each other, Jack struggled to find any words that might assuage Peter’s grief.
“I’m so sorry. Hayden never mentioned anything about his brother,” Jack said, wondering if whatever he believed he knew about leukemic malnutrition might in some way be tied in to Max’s death.
“After we lost Max, Hayden told my wife and me that he had major concerns about the circumstances surrounding his death. He said there were far too many unexplained medical events and unanswered questions. He made repeated inquiries of the physicians and administrators, but his pleas for information fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he came to believe Oster had constructed a well-orchestrated conspiracy of silence to cover something up.”
“What were some of the strange events that concerned Hayden?” Madison asked.
“As I mentioned, he didn’t go into a lot of detail, but I remember him saying that he was especially concerned about something that happened the morning Max passed away. Apparently, when he returned to his room, he encountered a rather nervous-appearing physician who was making notes at the bedside.”
“Did he ever find out who he was or what he was doing there?” Jack asked.
“I think he may have found out his identity, but I don’t think he ever discovered what he was doing in Max’s room.”
Peter stopped and briefly stirred his coffee. “If you’re interested in finding out the man’s name, you might want to speak with Robyn. She’s one of the nurses on the leukemia unit. She took care of Max more than any of the other nurses and was with him when he passed away. Hayden mentioned he spoke to her about the man.”
“Did your son ever say if somebody had helped him acquire the information about leukemic malnutrition?” Madison asked.
“Not specifically, but I think it’s possible.”
Jack placed his hand on the file. “Can you think of anything else your son might have said that could help us? Irrespective of how unimportant it might have seemed to you at the time, we’d like to hear about it.”
“I’m afraid I’ve given you all the information I have.” He regarded Jack and Madison through weary eyes and then reached for his cane. “I can appreciate how busy you two must be. Hopefully, the contents of the file will shed some light on things. So, unless you have any further questions, I should be getting back to Toledo.”
Jack and Madison stood up and accompanied him to the front door. They continued their conversation while he zipped his coat and slid his gloves on.
“We’ll walk you to your car,” Madison offered, putting her hand on his arm and escorting him outside and down the stone pathway. It was a windless morning with stacked gray clouds adding to an already dreary skyscape.
“Thank you again for making the trip,” Jack said when they reached Peter’s car. “It was a pleasure meeting you. If you think of anything else that might help us, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“Of course. And if you have any questions after you’ve had a look at the contents of Hayden’s file, please call.” He slowly maneuvered into the front seat of his car. Before closing the door, he said, “My wife and I are too old and in far too much emotional pain to continue where Hayden left off. But please, don’t believe for a second that we have any intention of abandoning the matter if somehow new information comes to light.”
“We understand, and thank you for making the trip,” Madison said.
Peter pulled the door closed and lowered his widow.
“If Max was truly the victim of a rare, overwhelming illness, we’ll find a way of accepting it. But if there are facts that have been intentionally concealed from us or manipulated in any way, that’s an entirely different matter.” A look of resolve solidified on his face, and his voice became grave. “We understand the truth isn’t always easy to come by, but we’re willing to wait as long as it takes. I don’t claim I’m possessed of the wisdom of the ages, but I do believe two things. I’m convinced that there are those at Oster who continue to intentionally conceal information about Max’s death. I also believe if you can discover what Hayden knew about leukemic malnutrition you’ll be able to cure this terrible disease.”
Peter raised his window, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb. Jack and Madison watched as he disappeared down the street.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, but for a parent who’s lost two sons over the course of a few months, he struck me as calm and rational. My gut feeling is not to dismiss his or Hayden’s concerns. It’s just possible they’re correct in their suspicions that Oster hasn’t been entirely forthcoming regarding Max’s passing.”
“That sounds like a not-so-lightly veiled accusation.”
“I’m not trying to sound like a conspiracist, but it’s not as if things like this haven’t happened before. There have been some pretty prestigious hospitals who have chosen to use alternative truths to explain away an embarrassing or possibly litigious medical outcome,” she said, taking him by the arm. “C’mon, let’s take a look at the file and see what Hayden was so anxious to show us.”
Chapter 26
The Oster Children’s Hospital guesthouse had been specifically designed to accommodate visiting professors, physicians, and other academicians. The den, which was fashioned in the style of a nineteenth century English library, was the centerpiece of the house. It boasted an ornate L-shaped oak bookcase that stretched to the ceiling and was meticulously crowned with a handcrafted mahogany molding. The matching library ladder with its highly polished brass wheels and rails ran the entire length of the bookcase. Jack pulled up a chair and joined Madison at the antique kidney-shaped desk.
“Okay, keep your fingers crossed,” he said as he opened the file. “Hopefully, whatever’s in here will open a door or two.” Jack removed the items from the folder. His skepticism when he’d first accepted the file from Peter was confirmed when he saw its contents consisted of six pages secured together by a small paperclip.
He swung a pessimistic look in Madison’s direction.
“Hard to imagine this will turn out to be a treasure trove of information,” she said.
Jack shuffled through the pages. “These are all photocopies—nothing original here. This keeps getting worse.”
Madison reached for the pages and laid them out on the leather desk pad in an orderly arrangement. They each took a few minutes to have a cursory look at them.
“So, it appears there are two separate items here,” Madison said. “One’s a copy of an article from an old medical journal, and the other looks like four photocopied pages from a scientific log describing some type of medical research.”
They gathered the pages, held them up, and took a few minutes to read them.
“This looks like well-organized research, but from the vocabulary and content, I’d guess this work was done at least fifty years ago,” Jack said.
“All the entries were made with a fountain pen,” she said, pulling one of the pages a little closer. “Look at the painstaking organization of the graphs and tables and the flawless handwriting. I’d love to see what the original log looks like. These descriptions may be old, but it appears to be elegant scientific work for its time.”
“The scientific description isn’t detailed enough to pinpoint exactly what they were working on. But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say they were comparing groups of chemical substances…maybe plasma proteins or complex enzymes.”
Madison pointed to a small notation in the bottom right corner of each page. “These are obviously random page numbers. One seventy-four is the highest one. This proves they have to be part of a much larger log or journal.”
Jack turned sideways in his chair. “Which naturally begs two rather important questions: Did Hayden have the entire journal? And if he did, was it the holy grail of information he relied upon to claim he’d discovered the cause of leukemic malnutrition? He told me on the phone he was in possession of an extensive body of medical information that led him to his theory.”
“I’d hardly call four non-consecutive pages extensive. I’d bet anything he had the entire journal.”
“If you’re right, why did he make photocopies to show us? Why wasn’t he planning on bringing the entire journal with him?”
“I don’t know, but from what little we know about him, I suspect he had a method to his madness,” she said. “Maybe he assumed these photocopies were proof enough of what he had, and he wanted to see our reaction before he laid all his cards on the table.”
Coming to his feet, Jack strolled over to the bookcase and absently ran his fingertips down the spines of the books. A minute later, he returned to the desk and picked up the two-page medical article.
“Let’s shift gears a sec and take a closer look at this.”
As they had done with the photocopies, they took a few minutes to review the article. It was a straightforward summary presented at a medical conference on the topic of proteins. The last page was a photo of three serious-looking men and a woman in white coats seated at a long table. The caption read: Conference Directors: Doctors Melbourne, Hartmann, Gillman, and Obenhauer.”
