We'll Always Have Poison, page 10
“Et that may be something Williams and Harmon discovered.”
“Possibly.” I rub my temples. “I’ll call and tell her we’re interested in seeing whales in their native habitat. Who knows what we’ll find.”
“And how do you explain us?” Parker asks.
“Oh, just colleagues here for some work. JP will use his cover name, Dr. David Lavigne, and you, your journalist’s cover. Tell her you’re doing an article on whaling or something.”
They nod, and I give Sara a quick call. She tells me she’s leaving for a flyover to the Antarctic tomorrow morning and is thrilled to have company on her excursion, documenting whale feeding and migration patterns.
I turn to JP and Parker. “We’re on. I need to get organized.”
We are prepared for the thirteen-hour round trip. I introduce JP to Sara as Dr. David Lavigne, a scientist from France, and Parker as Jeremy Jones, a freelance writer doing a story on the Antarctic. No one has to go into too many details about their background since the trip is the star. Once on board, one of the crew, Eddie, gives us some background information.
“Cheers for joining us today. It’s my privilege to have visitors with us while the MWDU aquarium searches for whale pods. Dr. Wilder is our senior scientist on board.”
Sara does a little wave even though we all know who she is. Eddie starts up again.
“Antarctica is twice as big as Australia and is the world’s driest continent. It holds about 70% of the world’s fresh water. We’ll be flying over the Southern Ocean, so keep a lookout for anything interesting below.”
Sara jumps in. “I’m particularly interested in humpbacks, but fin, Antarctic minke, orca, and sperm whales have been seen here. So, shout out if you spot something.”
Parker nods and takes notes, presumably for his magazine article. He raises his head. “Can you tell us about the food sources for humpback whales and orcas?”
Sara smiles, clearly excited to have Parker shooting some questions her way. “In these waters, killer whales eat seals, minke whales, and Antarctic toothfish. They are considered apex predators and eat other marine mammals, as well as cephalopods—”
“Cephalopods?”
“Squid, for example.” Sara doesn’t lose a beat.
Parker nods enthusiastically.
“Humpback whales, on the other hand, are baleen feeders. They eat squid, too, and small fish like herring and mackerel. But their mouths have keratinaceous baleen plates that act like a sieve so they can filter their meals, allowing them to feed on krill.” She winks at Parker, his brown hair framing a rugged face.
Huh, I think those two are flirting. Sara tells us more about whales and their migration and mating patterns. Parker hangs on every word.
We’ve been flying over the ocean for several hours, and Sara’s using field glasses to spy on the waters below. I hear her gasp, and she calls me over, pointing to a shiny reflection beneath the water’s surface. I use my binoculars to scan the ocean and see what she’s pointing at. Sara asks the pilot to circle the area as low as possible so we all can get a better view. Now JP and Parker are interested, and they break out their field glasses and start looking for the object reflecting the sun. Is it a submerged ship or plane, I wonder?
“Lily, it appears like an enclosure of some kind. And it’s filled with krill.”
Sara is excited, and even without the field glasses, I can see a reflective swarm of krill. “Why would they be in a pen?” I ask her.
Sara pauses like she’s holding onto something. “No idea. It’s very unusual. My guess is this is someone’s research project. I should check with Holly when we return.”
This is strange indeed. The oversized krill Sara showed me, taken from the dead whale, likely came from here. “Sara, maybe this is the source of those unusual krill.”
She leans in closer and whispers to me. “You read my mind, Lily. And I wonder if that’s why Holly seemed so reluctant to talk about the krill. Is she conducting some kind of experiment out here?” Sara writes down the coordinates of the enclosure in her notebook.
That’s information I want for further investigation. I shoot a sideways glance at Parker. He nods. I’m trying to piece this all together. Why would someone want to grow big krill out in the ocean where hardly anyone could find them? I need to speak with Holly, too.
“Sara, I agree. We should talk to Holly when we return?”
Sara hesitates. “We? I will speak with her. Holly has seemed preoccupied lately. But she does clone their genes, and maybe she’s working on a species that can produce more omega-3s, particularly since krill contain phospholipid-bound omega-3s. That allows krill oil in supplement capsules to mix easily in our stomachs.”
JP and Parker are straining to hear us.
“I had trouble hearing you. What did you say about omega-3s?” Parker changes his seat so he’s closer to Sara. Hmm, is Parker interested in omega-3s or Sara?
“From krill,” Sara says.
Then he jumps up and shouts excitedly, “Thar she blows.” He grabs her hand and squeezes, clearly caught up in the moment, “Sara, what kind of whales are they?”
JP and I look out the window and see a few whales traveling together. How glorious.
“Good eye, Jeremy.” Sara cozies up next to him, and Parker doesn’t seem to mind. “Those are humpbacks.”
Sara makes more notes in her book while continuing to observe the pod. She and Parker are animated, and I see the spark in her eyes while they follow the whales and talk about who knows what.
Finally, back in Sydney, we disembark, and I overhear Sara asking Parker if he’s free for breakfast tomorrow. She would love to give him a personal tour of the aquarium. Parker accepts. I hope he remembers to answer to Jeremy, and that he has some deep knowledge about any articles he’s supposedly written. I hate deceiving Sara, but our deception is about keeping the people I care about from getting hurt.
Once we return to our hotel, JP, Parker, and I reconvene for a huddle. We get a couple of coffees and sandwiches and head back to JP’s room, where we sit near the desk under the window overlooking the harbor. JP begins while slowly unwrapping his ham and cheese.
“This krill enclosure seems suspicious, no?”
I nod and blow on the coffee, hoping to cool it down fast. “Very.”
“Graham Harmon said Daniel Williams asked him about krill. Could the changes in the ocean environment documented by these scientists affect this species? Could this have something to do with a pharmaceutical farming effort we are unaware of?” JP asks.
“Sara did mention something about the omega-3s and pharma, so that’s possible. But then where does the cookie-cutter shark fit in?” I swallow a bit of my tuna.
Parker shoots me that quizzical look. “Doc, what is it with you and the cookie-cutter shark? You’re obsessed.” He pulls the tomato off his roast beef sandwich and takes a bite.
“You’re right. I am obsessed. We should consider all the possible reasons for these scientists’ deaths.”
Parker and I glare at each other. Maybe these killings do have to do with pharmaceutical resources and who owns what parts of the oceans. Medicines are being made from the sea. Yet, I can’t help but think there’s more to it.
“Very interesting, doc. You may be on to something. Listen, I’ve got a breakfast date with Sara tomorrow,” Parker says. “I’ll find out more information.”
JP and I both take a deep breath.
“Just relax, you two. I’m the nice writer, Jeremy Jones, just getting my story.” He winks at us. “And besides, she’s cute.”
I roll my eyes but say nothing. Sara is a friend. A little older than Parker, I’m sure, not that it matters. I’m surprised she asked him to breakfast. Sara was devastated when her mentor passed away. She idolized him—I could tell—but stayed in the background and devoted herself to his, no, their work. Sara kept her distance, unlike me and my mentor. Young women are susceptible to falling into the arms of the professors they revere. So easily impressed and dazzled. Despite what most people think, it’s not about sleeping with the boss to get ahead; it’s more about wanting to be close to someone you idolize. Then again, from the man’s point of view, well, it might be the excitement of getting into the pants of a young thing.
JP’s phone rings. He mouths to us that it’s Chad. Parker and I ask that he put the conversation on speakerphone.
“So, JP, you have the gang all there. I have some follow-up from the note you found on Harmon’s desk. NovoGeneOne is a small start-up company located just outside Bruges and primarily harvests potential biopharmaceuticals from the ocean. But I didn’t see any connection with Graham Harmon, and as far as we can determine, there’s nothing suspicious about the company,” Chad says.
“Interesting. So, we do have a pharmaceutical connection. Please send me the link, Chad, so I can read any details. They didn’t have much on their public site,” I say.
“Fear of competition?” Parker asks.
“Maybe. The literature on marine pharmacology is only growing. Did you know that Ziconotide was the first drug of marine origin to be approved to treat pain?”
“That escaped me.” I swear JP rolls his eyes.
Chad ignores me, then says, “Seems that India’s coastline is the latest to be proposed for a source of new drugs.”
“Patel? Was she the connection?” Parker asks.
“It’s not clear. You should plan to ask the CEO, Ilse Knight.”
JP tilts his head to one side, his eyebrows raised.
Chad continues. “Ilse Knight is the CEO of NovoGeneOne. Remember, she was formerly a scientist turned politician before assuming the position of Climate Council Chair. Stepped down from that role maybe a year or so ago, and it reverted to Hans Lundberg.”
“Sounds like we need to get to Belgium sooner than expected,” Parker says.
“We do. And we said there are no coincidences.” I bite my lower lip and think about the current Chair. “So, Harmon knew something about NovoGeneOne, or maybe Williams told him something about NovoGeneOne. Either way, these scientists were on to something.”
Parker stuffs the rest of his roast beef sandwich into his mouth and nods. I make a face.
“Chad, does Hans Lundberg have security? We’re facing an accomplished, calculated killer who’s murdered three people.”
“If so, Robinson, it’s someone who can easily move between Australia and South Africa.” Chad’s breath is amplified over the phone.
“And someone with access to poisons,” I add.
“It’s time you got to Brussels. The conference will begin in a week, and we need to catch the assassin before he gets to anyone else.”
Chad hangs up, and I brace myself for what’s to come. I feel the vibration of my phone. A text message from Kelley. He wants to run a case by me if I can give him a quick call. I excuse myself from JP and Parker and step to the side.
“Dr. Robinson, good to hear from you. Are you enjoying your time off?”
“Yes, Kelley. A little R&R while I see some old friends.” Another lie. “And catching up with some old colleagues. Before we review the case, how’s Rose?”
“She’s amazing, Dr. Robinson. She’s finally emerging from the gloom and enjoying all her courses. Any time she feels too much pressure, I’m here for her to decompress.”
“Wonderful. So, what’s going on?”
“This case falls into the oddball category. A twenty-five-year-old male had drinks in the bar with a couple of his friends—guys and gals—and soon after had a burning sensation in his gut. He passed blood in his urine and presented to the ED with priapism.”
“Priapism? An erection that wouldn’t go away?”
“Exactly. The ED docs were able to help, and he’s doing fine now. The toxicology service was contacted because they felt his drink might have been spiked. I ran a date rape panel looking for GHB, Rohypnol, ketamine, some of the drugs we normally see, but it came up negative, so I thought I’d ask what you think.”
Kelley’s right. This is an unusual case and makes me think we are dealing with something old, not new. “And you said he felt like his insides were burning. Kelley, see if you can find a lab that tests for cantharidin.”
“Never heard of it. What’s that?”
“Cantharidin is a powerful irritant that causes blistering and a burning sensation in the body, including the urinary tract. It’s been known to cause a long-lasting erection, and that’s how it gained a reputation as an aphrodisiac.” Parker’s ears perk up, and he walks over to where I am.
Kelley still can’t place it. He’s quiet. Thinking. “Why doesn’t this sound familiar?”
“You would have heard of it as Spanish fly, notoriously used by the ancient Romans and Louis XIV. The Marquis de Sade was accused in the poisoning deaths of prostitutes he fed Spanish fly.”
“Ouch. Our victim had a fly in his drink?”
“Not exactly. Spanish fly is neither a fly nor from Spain. I recall that the male emerald blister beetle, Lytta vesicatoria, is the source. People ground up the beetle and put it into food and drink, expecting remarkable things to happen.”
“And the burning?”
“The toxin causes a loss of cellular connections allowing tissues to fall apart and, following oral ingestion, causes ulceration of the gastrointestinal and genitourinary tracts and electrolyte disturbances. GI bleeding and kidney necrosis can lead to death.” This is really old school. “I would investigate whether someone bought this online and didn’t realize how dangerous it could be. People have died using it.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to present this case at Grand Rounds.” I hear Kelley sigh and expect he’s thankful the puzzle is likely solved.
“Take care, Kelley, and give Rose a hug and a kiss for me.” I let out a big, deep breath as I hang up. I do miss the tox service. I miss Rose.
Parker is hanging over my right shoulder. “Shit, doc. I never knew Spanish fly was a ground-up green beetle.”
“I don’t think many people do. Behave yourself with Dr. Wilder.”
“I’m the perfect gentleman.” Parker wrinkles up his nose and walks away.
The next day, we make the arrangements for Brussels. The conference is in less than a week. I called Sara to see if I could connect with her, and then Holly, before we leave Sydney. Sara wasn’t sure Holly had come in for work but said she’d leave a message. She also said she’s excited about having Jeremy Jones come by for breakfast. Oh boy. Parker left earlier wearing his best khaki pants, a light blue shirt, and a navy sports jacket for his date and tour of the aquarium with Sara. I have never seen this man fuss this much with his clothes. He is truly smitten.
What would it be like if Parker and Sara found love with each other? Parker has never spoken about his personal life. But then, none of them do. JP has been an enigma for all the years I’ve known him. A quiet man, but one I think, who harbors deep emotions. I remember our first meeting.
Newbury Street in Boston’s Back Bay, with its beautiful 19th-century brownstones, was an old shopping haunt for me—shoes, fashionable clothes, and charming coffee shops. I first met the dark-haired man at a small café on Newbury Street, steps away from the Public Garden. A man whose essence would seep into my own, a man whom I discovered was a soulmate. He looked handsome, with blue-green eyes, gentle crow’s feet, and a crease in his cheek that told of worry and loneliness. These characteristics have only deepened in the years we’ve known each other. A function of time and the constant surge of adrenaline that comes with danger.
Would I even consider Sophie’s ask? I had reminded myself that, first and foremost, I was a physician sworn to do no harm, and yet there I was, being asked to conspire in a murderous plan. Shocked that my thoughts would even go there, I had pushed aside the folder and placed a heavy book on top, pretending it had disappeared.
I struggled to put Sophie’s dossier out of my mind. That night, after reviewing the target’s medical history, I came back to my Boston apartment and tried to remember the details of my last trip to Colombia, but I had no memory of it. My mind always drew a blank. I learned the truth decades later, and all of it just recently. But twenty-plus years ago—I was blind. It had been Sophie Martin who offered her sympathy over my daughter’s death, and now I wonder if she covered up the actual circumstances of the massacre just to have me join her team. Given my despair, feelings of guilt, and loneliness, I had decided to help her with her cause, never realizing that once you cross the line, no matter how righteous you think you are, you are now on the other side.
Once I had agreed to help Sophie Martin with her dilemma, a wave of nausea swamped me—a feeling that continues to plague me during troubled times in my life. Yet, I rationalized. And rationalized. Sophie had told me that the Cambridge scientist had betrayed his country, which had cost innocent lives. I could only help.
“Bonjour, Dr. Robinson. It is my pleasure to meet you. Sophie has told me about you. I am impressed by your academic achievements,” JP had said.
He had a twinkle in his eyes that sucked me in from the very moment we met. I do believe in love at first sight—that telltale tingle that fans over your body. “Nice to meet you, too. I confess I find it awkward talking to you out in the open like this. Aren’t you worried you will be seen?”
“Mais no. I am having a cup of coffee with a beautiful woman. There is no crime in that.” He smiled, sat back in his seat, shoulders relaxed, and sipped his coffee. The cheek!
Our eyes met, and I felt him flirting with me. “I got it. A meet and greet. N’est-ce pas?” I tried some French, thinking it could relax me, followed by a simple question. “You know about me, but I don’t know anything about you. Who are you exactly?”
