happens, happens, Tomasini. Just make sure you or Joe keep me informed so I can keep the media happy.”
“Thanks.”
“Needless to say, everything else goes on the back burner if the test turns out positive. The Candoxine case would be first priority.”
“Thanks again.”
Wilthauer shrugged his beefy shoulders and snickered as he turned back toward his office, but Brady wasn’t laughing. Instead he looked at his partner as Wilthauer’s office door closed, shook his head, and said, “We’re screwed.”
NATALIE WALKED DOWN the hallway of the NYC Public Health Department, her briefcase in hand. It seemed to her that the hallways of all public institutions looked alike: paint of a nondescript color; marks on the walls and floors that were reminders of the steady traffic filing through the corridors daily; occasional chairs and end tables sporting tattered magazines in welcome areas that weren’t welcoming and in waiting areas that provided little help in passing the time. Yet the familiarity of the scene did little to settle her discomfort.
Natalie adjusted the jacket of her dark linen suit and raised a self-conscious hand to her tightly bound hair. She had arrived in the city early that morning and had barely had time to settle herself in her hotel room before she had to gather her paperwork and start out for the lab. She had purposely donned an ancient pair of reading glasses that she now used only to boost her confidence. Her shower had been rushed, and the steamy New York heat that had frizzed her determined curls had defeated her efforts to appear the consummate professional by melting off her makeup and by turning her sedate, linen suit into a mass of wrinkles.
Natalie’s lips tightened into an anxious line. Being a little less than average in height and with a slight build, shiny brown hair, big gray eyes and a damned dimple in her cheek that she could not seem to conceal made it difficult in her profession. She was intelligent, observant, competent, well-educated and experienced in her field. She reserved expressing her opinions until she was satisfied with her conclusions, but defended her conclusions adamantly and intellectually once they had been reached. Yet she had trouble being taken seriously because of her appearance. She had battled being called “kid” or “darlin’” and even “honey” all her life, and she was only too aware that she was now taking those problems with her into hostile territory.
Natalie silently groaned as she glanced down at the ID tag that had been pinned on her at the entrance of the building. She was an outside professional dispatched to oversee local professionals as they did their work—a situation she would heartily resent if she were the technician who was testing the Candoxine sample here. She had done her best to avoid the situation, but George had insisted. She hadn’t intended that her discovery in the medical journal and the subsequent research she had done on Candoxine out of professional curiosity would make George dub her the U.S. expert on the drug. Yet for all intents and purposes, she supposed she was, and George was proud of her.
So here she was. George was also equally resolved that no determinations would be made during the ensuing testing in NYC to negate her accomplishments or the accomplishments of the CDC lab. Besides being a point of professional pride with George, it was also a matter of funding—a double whammy.
Politics. George’s pride in her did not negate the fact that she was presently a pawn in the game, but she realized only too clearly that she was a necessary pawn who needed to uphold the credibility of the CDC. She was also beholden to George for his confidence in her and his support. He deserved hers in return.
Besides, George had made it clear in his own, sweet way that her future at the CDC depended on it.
Aware that she could do nothing more about the circumstances of her visit than she could about the NYC humidity, Natalie paused at the doorway of the lab, pushed it open, then stood hesitantly in the opening as a smiling, middle-aged, female technician in a lab coat approached.
“Miss Patterson?” And at Natalie’s nod, “How do you do? My name is Mildred Connors. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Waiting. Damn.
Natalie said apologetically, “It took me longer than I thought it would to get here from my hotel. I hope I haven’t messed up anybody’s schedule. I realize how important lab time is and I—”
Natalie’s apology came to an abrupt halt when she turned the corner of the corridor and saw the sober-faced group awaiting her. She stiffened her back determinedly.
Mildred Connors said formally, “Miss Patterson, I’d like you to meet Dr. Wilson Gregory, Dr. Philip Truesdale, and Dr. Phyllis Ruberg. Dr. Gregory will be conducting the test. The rest of us will be observing, including these two gentlemen, Detective Joe Stansky and Detective Brady Tomasini, who are here at the request of the New York City Police Department.”
Natalie acknowledged the introductions with quick, assessing glances. Dr. Wilson Gregory was trim, middle-aged, balding. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a spotless lab coat, and surgical gloves. Dr. Philip Truesdale, sporting a well-trimmed beard, glasses, and the traditional lab coat, appeared younger and more intense than Dr. Gregory. Dr. Phyllis Ruberg, a slender, gray-haired, female contemporary of the other two, did not pretend to smile.
Natalie’s gaze halted abruptly on the two detectives standing back a few paces from the scene. The smaller, light-haired fellow acknowledged her with a polite nod, while the other—
The other detective was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a sports jacket that had seen better days and denim trousers that had been washed enough times to mold his long, muscular legs just a little too keenly. His thick, wavy hair needed to be cut, his light eyes were deeply shadowed under brows as dark as his hair, he needed a shave and he was scowling at her as if she were the enemy. She realized abruptly that he was prepared to dislike her. That was all right, because she didn’t like the looks of him, either.
As if reading her mind, the detective raked her up and down with a look so intimately insulting that she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She turned back toward Mildred Connors when the older woman said, “Shall we begin?”
Annoyed to have been even momentarily distracted, Natalie watched as Dr. Gregory snipped off a piece of the affected liver tissue and prepared to start.
Immediately engrossed in the procedure, Natalie observed in silence. Surprised when Dr. Gregory questioned her offhandedly throughout the test about the properties of Candoxine, the purpose it served in the British lab and the procedures used in handling it, she responded knowledgeably and succinctly. She watched him intently and cautioned him without hesitation at different points in the testing when he appeared to rush a step, explaining that the peculiarities of the drug sometimes demanded a longer response time if a more thorough and precise result was to be obtained.
Natalie took a relieved breath when the testing drew to a close. The lab became somehow stifling, a condition she was annoyed to admit no doubt resulted from the realization that she was again the focus of the Detective Tomasini’s insolent gaze. Doing her best to ignore him, she turned her attention to Dr. Gregory when he said, “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow for the final results, but I’d say the tests prove pretty conclusively that Candoxine is present in these samples, and that the liver deterioration of all those affected at the Winslow barbecue was caused by Candoxine poisoning. I applaud you, Miss Patterson.”
“I think it might be best to hold off on the congratulations, Dr. Gregory.” Detective Tomasini spoke up for the first time, his deeply voiced caution falling like a pall over the smiling group as he continued gruffly, “These results are too important
