Monday
The bagpipes made an eerie backdrop to the funeral procession. Six strong men, carefully matched for height and stride, carried the coffin to the graveside, set it upon the waiting trestles, then retired to watch.
“Man that is born of woman….”
Ginny shivered at the thought of mortal decay and the terrible promise of the final trump. She wasn’t sure she believed every man, woman, and child ever born would rise up, in the flesh, whole again. Was there enough raw material in the world for that? Surely some of the DNA had been reused along the way.
Professor Craig’s niece and nephew sat under the awning; his survivors and heirs. There wouldn’t be much to inherit. The salary of a librarian, even at Professor Craig’s level, was meager at best. His achievements were those of hard work and dedication. Ginny was glad his later years had been full of honors and awards from his peers. Unable to inspire affection, he had nonetheless acquired esteem.
He wasn’t a man one liked. He’d been known to condescend. More than one white haired grandmother had left the library furious at being brushed off. He simply didn’t believe the female patrons were worth wasting his time on. Ginny shook her head at the memory. Well, the old ladies could breathe easier, he wouldn’t be doing it any more.
They were lowering the coffin into the grave. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” She heard the thump of earth upon the lid, followed by a moment of silence, then the mourners began to move off, back to the realm of the living. She slipped away to go get ready for her lunch with Jim Mackenzie.
* * *
Ginny watched Jim’s car pull up in front of her house, exactly on time. When he was halfway up the sidewalk, she winked at her mother, then moved to the front hall to be ready when he rang the bell. She opened the door and ushered him into the living room.
“Mother, this is Jim Mackenzie. Dr. Mackenzie has just joined the staff at Hillcrest Regional. Dr. Mackenzie, my mother.”
Mrs. Forbes rose from her chair and stepped forward, offering her hand. “Won’t you sit down?” Mrs. Forbes gestured at the pair of wingchairs.
Ginny murmured something about getting her purse and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jim to the not-so-tender mercies of his gentle inquisitor. When she came back downstairs, she saw the unmistakable signs of conquest and her opinion of Jim rose in proportion. Her mother was no one’s fool. If Jim Mackenzie had managed to impress her, Ginny would be well advised to pay careful attention.
* * *
Jim glanced over at Ginny. She sat in the passenger’s seat, her eyes forward, her face impassive. Impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“I like her. Your mother.”
Ginny smiled. “Me, too.”
“Does she always quiz your dates like that?”
“Always. Did it make you uncomfortable?”
Jim couldn’t help thinking it did, rather. “I suppose I’m more used to doing the questioning.”
Ginny turned, shifting her gaze to his face. “Would it make you feel better if I told you she likes you?”
“Yes.” At least he hadn’t had to face her father. Her mother had been intimidating enough. “She said something about your father being killed young?”
Ginny nodded. “A tree fell on him and crushed his skull. He was only thirty-eight.”
Jim frowned in sudden concern. “How awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Sometimes, when I see other fathers, but you learn to cope. Didn’t you tell me your parents were dead, too?”
He nodded. “A car wreck, three years ago. A drunk hit them head on.”
“Oh! I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
Jim shook his head. “I asked first.”
“True. Why did you?”
“Curiosity. I want to know more about you and parents are a big part of who people are.”
She nodded. “What were yours like?”
Jim laughed. “Highly domesticated. He worked at the bank. She baked cookies for the neighborhood children. We had other people’s kids in and out of our house all day.”
“They must have been good cookies. What were they like as people, your parents, I mean?”
Jim was silent for a moment, wondering how to sum up an individual in a few words. He thought about the couple who had produced him and nurtured him, played with him and taught him, given to him and withheld from him, loved him and let him go.
“He yelled, but didn’t mean it. She forgave everything, even the crystal vase I broke. He was cheerful, she was calm. They both loved me.” He looked over and found Ginny smiling at him.
“I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“There’s so much of the opposite in the world; broken homes, unfulfilled lives, misdirected anger. It’s nice to hear someone got a decent childhood.”
“Yes. Was yours decent?”
“Mostly. I did a lot of growing up when Daddy was killed. I was only twelve and, since Mother had to go to work, I had to shoulder a lot of the household responsibilities. But I have wonderful memories of the time we had with him and, as far as I’m concerned, Mother hung the moon.”
Over lunch, they swapped more stories of childhood, laughing at garter snakes and monkey swings and Christmas tree forts. Jim smiled at the girl across the table and suddenly realized he felt as if he had known her all his life, as if she had always been there, a part of his world, just out of sight. He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup and tried not to be too obvious.
“Any news about the virus?” he asked.
Ginny’s smile faded. “Not directly.”
Jim crossed his arms on the table. “Tell me.”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.
“May I ask your opinion about something, without it going any further just yet?”
“Of course.”
“I mean it. I really don’t want this to get out and I don’t know whether I should trust you.”
“But you have to talk to somebody and I’m available.”
She smiled. “Something like that. Are you offended?”
“No, curious. What’s going on?”
She poked at the tablecloth with the end of her spoon. “I found something at the library yesterday. A lancet pen, the kind diabetics use to check their blood sugars.”
Jim listened as Ginny explained her find and her suspicions.
“So what I’m wondering is if it’s possible. Could someone have sneaked up on him and injected that virus into him?”
“Premeditated murder.”
“Yes.”
Jim thought about it for a moment. “It doesn’t seem likely. For starters, the patient didn’t mention being attacked by anyone and he should have. You can’t jab a needle into someone without their noticing it.”
Ginny waved the objection aside. “That’s no problem. I sneak up on people all the time. The trick is misdirection. Give them something else to focus on at the exact moment you insert the needle.”
Jim laughed. “Remind me not to turn my back on you.”
She raised her chin at him. “I get compliments on my technique.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing as he considered the problem. “Those lancet pens are sold by prescription only. They’d be traceable to the owner.”
She shook her head. “You can get them off the rack at the drug store, no questions asked. Alternatively, I could have stolen one from the hospital, a health fair, clinic, school, or any of a dozen other locations, any place that does blood sugar screenings. I don’t think it could be traced.”
Jim shrugged. “Okay, but the lancet is only a delivery device. Our attacker would have to overcome a lot of other problems.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
“One, he would have to have access to the virus and know how to handle it and store it to keep it viable until wanted.
“Two, it would have to be extremely potent for the tiny amount you could inject into the victim, using that lancet pen, to be effective. The murderer would have to be sure just dipping the tip of the lancet in the virus and inserting it subcutaneously would get enough into his victim’s system to do the trick.
“Three, he’s got to plan on getting only one chance at it. I doubt if you could ask your victim to hold still for a second attempt.
“Four, the very fact that the victim died of this rare and unexplained virus would make it look suspicious. The last thing you want, if you’re planning to kill someone, is to draw attention to yourself.”
“But is there anything you know of that definitely rules it out as a possibility?”
Jim sighed. “No. There isn’t. It just sounds too complicated to me.”
Ginny nodded. “It strikes me that way too, only the man’s dead and it’s hard to imagine how he contracted that virus if not this or some similar way.”
“Why didn’t it pass as a natural death?”
“It might have, if he hadn’t died so quickly. If he’d lasted into the second day, for instance, then it would have been up to his attending to decide whether to do the autopsy or not.”
“Who was his attending?”
“The neurologist, Armstrong.”
“Have you talked to him about this?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
Jim’s eyebrows went up. “Why not?”
Ginny looked at him, her face bland. “Discretion.”
Jim leaned back in his chair, amused. “He’s not the approachable sort?”
“He’s worried someone might think he did something wrong.”
Jim nodded. They all lived with the specter of malpractice hovering over them.
“Jim,” her voice held a note of caution. “This has to stay between the two of us for the time being.”
He looked at her across the table. “If it’s murder, even just a suspicion of murder, it has to be reported.”
She nodded. “And will be, just as soon as there’s something to report. In the meantime, I’m in contact with the CDC and working on putting a theory together that won’t be laughed out of court.”
Jim’s brow furrowed. Withholding physical evidence didn’t sound like a good idea to him. “I think you should come forward with this.”
She leaned towards him. “You just got through explaining why you don’t think the theory has any merit. If I can’t convince you, what hope do I have of convincing the police?”
He nodded. “All right. Then we have to give them something more substantial to chew on.”
“You don’t.”
Jim looked at her and suddenly felt empty. “You don’t want my help?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
He took a deep breath. “A man’s dead, and I’m the E.R. doctor of record. I’m in the same boat as Armstrong, I want to prove I didn’t overlook something. What’s more, whoever did this has frightened a lot of people and cost the government an investigation. If I can help bring that person to justice, I think I have an obligation to do it.”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled, and Jim felt as if the sun had just broken out from behind the clouds.
“Okay, partner,” she said. “The first thing we need to do is get a look at the autopsy report. Let’s go.” She picked up her purse and headed for the door.
* * *