Josh felt a tap on his shoulder. Furbee made a telephone with her thumb and pinkie finger and mouthed, “Allison.” Josh signaled Jimmy Mayes to start the press. It was 3 p.m. Thursday. Right on time. He followed Furbee from the pressroom and picked up a wall phone in the hallway.
“Spike’s jewelry is radioactive. We have to tell Chief Holt.” Allison sounded rattled.
“Slow down.”
Allison took a breath and started over, adding details of the MediScan findings, her return trip to Dunn’s and her tests on the jewelry.
Josh listened patiently. The notion of radioactive jewelry fell into the category of what had been known during his heyday in Atlanta as The Two-Minute Mile Rule.
The Two-Minute Mile Rule had been named for an apocryphal news story reporting that a human had run a mile in less than two minutes—almost twice as fast as the world record. The rule held that if something seemed too fantastic to be true, it probably wasn’t true. Tough editors invoked the rule to head off time-wasting reporting forays and prevent embarrassing mistakes at the expense of the newspaper’s credibility. A loss of credibility was the ultimate newspaper sin, he knew too well.
Radioactive jewelry sounded about as believable as a report of a mile being run in two minutes. Still, he couldn’t think of an alternate explanation for what Allison was describing. She was a scientist—analytical, cool, careful, objective, never prone to speculation or hyperbole. He wanted to know more.
“I’m due in Columbus this evening to see about getting some relief on Katie’s hospital expenses,” he said. “Maybe we can get together after that.” He told her about the conversation with Mrs. Dunlap and his intention to pursue all options including Pepper’s suggestion that they talk with the hospital about moderating the bills.
Allison felt terrible. She wondered if Josh had any idea of the expenses he was facing. The immediate cost of Katie’s treatment was likely to exceed one hundred thousand dollars. And the bills would keep coming for a long time.She didn’t say so but she felt his trip was likely to be futile. Providers weren’t known for taking voluntary pay cuts. And the insurance company, not the hospital, was behind the no-pay ruling. On top of everything else, Josh could be looking at financial ruin.
Why was it that so many bad things had happened—were still happening—to such a good man? It wasn’t fair.
“Maybe I can help,” she said. “Advise you about what to pursue, what to ask for. There are research budgets to tap, grants to apply for. We can start with the Sparrow Foundation. I’m going with you.”