Marissa expected to find the evening shift in the lab and was surprised to see that the director, a pathologist by the name of Dr. Arthur Rand, was still in his office, even though it was after 8:00 P.M. He was a pompous older man, dressed in a plaid vest complete with a gold fob protruding from one of the pockets. He was unimpressed that Marissa had been sent by the CDC, and his facial expression did
not change when Marissa said it was her clinical opinion that there was an outbreak of Ebola in his hospital.
“I was aware that was in the differential diagnosis.”
“The CDC has requested that no more lab tests be done on the involved patients.” Marissa could tell that the man was not going to make it easy for her. “We’ll be bringing in an isolation lab sometime tonight.”
“I suggest you communicate this to Dr. Taboso,” said Dr. Rand.
“I have,” said Marissa. “It’s also our opinion that the lab here should be disinfected. In the outbreak in L.A. three cases were traced to the lab. I’d be willing to help, if you’d like.”
“I believe that we can handle our own cleanup,” said Dr. Rand with a look that seemed to say, Do you think I was born yesterday?
“I’m available if you need me,” said Marissa as she turned and left. She’d done what she could.
On the first floor she made her way to a pleasant lounge with its own connecting chapel. She was unsure how she would recognize Mrs. Zabriski, but it turned out she was the only person in the room.
“Mrs. Zabriski,” said Marissa softly. The woman raised her head. She was in her late forties or early fifties, with gray-streaked hair. Her eyes were red rimmed; it was obvious she had been crying.
“I’m Doctor Blumenthal,” said Marissa gently. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you some questions.”
Panic clouded the woman’s eyes. “Is Carl dead?”
“No,” said Marissa.
“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”