“When will he be back?” Jack demanded. Bingham’s being unavailable was adding to his frustration.
“I just don’t know,” Mrs. Sanford said. “But I’ll be sure to tell him you want to speak with him.”
“What about Dr. Washington?”
“He’s at the same meeting,” Mrs. Sanford said.
“Oh, great!”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Mrs. Sanford asked.
Jack thought for a moment. “How about a piece of paper,” he said. “I think I’ll leave a note.”
Mrs. Sanford handed him a sheet of typing paper. In block letters Jack wrote: LAGENTHORPE HAD ROCKY MOUNTAIN SPOTTED FEVER. Then he drew a half dozen large question marks and exclamation points. Beneath that he wrote: THE CITY BOARD OF HEALTH HAS BEEN NOTIFIED BY THE CITY MICROBIOLOGICAL REFERENCE LAB.
Jack handed the sheet to Mrs. Sanford, who promised that she’d personally see to it that Dr. Bingham got it as soon as he came in. Then she asked Jack where he’d be if the chief wanted to speak with him.
“Depends on when he gets back,” Jack said. “I plan to be out of the office for a while. Of course, he might hear about me before he hears from me.”
Mrs. Sanford regarded him quizzically, but Jack didn’t elaborate.
Jack returned to his office and grabbed his jacket. Then he descended to the morgue and unlocked his bike. Bingham’s exhortations notwithstanding, Jack was on his way to the Manhattan General Hospital. For two days he’d had the suspicion that something unusual was going on over there; now he was sure of it.
After a quick ride, Jack locked his bike to the same sign he’d used on his previous visits and entered the hospital. With visiting hours just beginning, the lobby was jammed with people, particularly around the information booth.
Jack wormed his way through the crowd and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He went directly to the lab and waited in line to speak with the receptionist. This time he asked to see the director, even though his impulse was to march right in.
Martin Cheveau made Jack wait for a half hour before seeing him. Jack tried to use the time to calm himself. He recognized that over the last four or five years he’d become less than tactful in the best of circumstances; when he was upset, as he was now, he could be abrasive.
A laboratory tech eventually came out and informed Jack that Dr. Martin Cheveau would see him now.
“Thanks for seeing me so promptly,” Jack said as he entered the office. Despite his best intentions he couldn’t avoid a touch of sarcasm.
“I’m a busy man,” Martin said, not bothering to stand up.
“I can well imagine,” Jack said. “With the string of rare infectious diseases emanating from this hospital on a daily basis, I’d think you’d be putting in overtime.”
“Dr. Stapleton,” Martin said in a controlled voice. “I have to tell you that I find your attitude distinctly disagreeable.”
“I find yours confusing,” Jack said. “On my first visit you were the picture of hospitality. On my second visit, you were just the opposite.”
“Unfortunately I don’t have time for this conversation,” Martin said. “Is there something in particular you wanted to say to me?”
“Obviously,” Jack said. “I didn’t come over here just for abuse. I wanted to ask your professional opinion about how you think three rare, arthropod-borne diseases have mysteriously occurred in this hospital. I’ve been cultivating my own opinion, but as the director of the lab I’m curious about yours.”
“What do you mean three diseases?” Martin asked.
“I just got confirmation that a patient named Lagenthorpe who expired here in the General last night had Rocky Mountain spotted fever.”
“I don’t believe you,” Martin said.
Jack eyed the man and tried to decide if he was a good actor or truly surprised. “Well then, let me ask you a question,” Jack said. “What would I accomplish by coming over here and telling you something that wasn’t true? Do you think of me as some sort of health-care provocateur?”
Martin didn’t answer. Instead he picked up the phone and paged Dr. Mary Zimmerman.
“Calling in reinforcements?” Jack asked. “Why can’t you and I have a talk?”