Adverse Events, page 2
Kate rolled her eyes and picked her way across the room. She ignored dirty looks from reporters who’d established their territory before she got there and staked her claim to a gap in the crowd near the front of the room. The man standing next to her huffed out a drawn-out sigh every thirty seconds, crossing and uncrossing his arms and checking his watch. Kate leaned over to ask him how long he’d been there when the University of Texas Medical Branch press representative strode to the podium and gave a five-minute warning.
Flipping open her notebook, Kate scanned the questions she’d scribbled in advance. She’d tried to get an interview before the press conference with Dr. Aaron Newhouse, or even his ever-present sidekick, Emily Gibson, but the hospital kept a tight rein on its two stars. The vaccine development was the biggest thing to happen to UTMB in decades. As long as the trial succeeded, and based on the early reports there was no reason to think it wouldn’t, Texas’ oldest medical school soon would be a household name.
Newhouse and Gibson had already made the rounds of major television networks, giving interviews to all the nightly news programs. Kate’s male colleagues made crude jokes about the relationship between the doctor and his researcher. They couldn’t see past her shimmering red hair and bright green eyes. But the woman’s intelligence and passion for her work crackled through every interview. She gave direct answers to the interviewers’ questions and appeared totally focused on her work, not the attention it brought her. When she frankly, but kindly, told one television anchor she wanted to stop talking about the vaccine and get back to the lab to start testing it, Kate’s heart swelled with every ounce of feminist pride she possessed. Despite her coworkers’ jokes, she doubted Emily Gibson would be stupid enough to get involved with her boss. She cared too much about her work.
The chatter filling the room hushed abruptly when men in white coats filed out of a side door and made their way toward the podium. The press representative did a quick sound check and made sure the cameras were rolling before introducing the medical school president, Stephen Phillips.
“Thank you all for coming today. This is an important day not only for UTMB or this country but for the whole world. I knew when we recruited Dr. Aaron Newhouse from Johns Hopkins University he would be an immensely valuable asset to our staff. Little did I know the role he would play in saving so many lives from this terrible disease. We are honored to have him, and I am proud to pass the microphone to him now.”
The much-vaunted doctor flashed a Cheshire-Cat grin as he shook hands with Phillips and took his place behind the microphone. He had good reason to look like he’d swallowed a canary. The Ebola vaccine had cemented his place in medical, if not world, history. He had the admiration of his colleagues and the satisfaction of being a future savior to millions of people. Tall and trim, with wire-rimmed reading glasses hanging from a gold chain around his neck, Newhouse exuded quiet confidence. In the interviews Kate had watched, he appeared just slightly condescending, as though only willing to answer questions about his work for the greater good. With black hair swept high across his forehead and dark brown eyes, Newhouse was academically attractive. But Kate found nothing about his manner appealing.
“I have dreamed of this day for many years,” Newhouse began. “When I started researching hemorrhagic diseases, they were a relatively rare scourge affecting only Africa. Today, the specter of Ebola overshadows the entire globe. No one is safe from its deadly threat. But our vaccine has the possibility to protect millions from an almost certain, excruciating death.”
Behind Newhouse stood a group of his colleagues, hospital administrators, and local officials. Kate frowned as she scanned the crowd. Emily Gibson was not among them.
“After years of research, the vaccine is ready for human trials. I am grateful to FDA officials, who fast-tracked our request and approved this vital next step. As quickly as possible, I plan to be back here before you, announcing the vaccine’s mass production.”
As Newhouse finished his prepared remarks, the press representative returned to the microphone.
“Dr. Newhouse has agreed to take a few questions now. I’m sure he won’t have time to get to all of you, but we’ll try to take as many as possible.”
Two dozen hands shot into the air, fingers wiggling in eager supplication. Kate did her best to catch the doctor’s eye, but she didn’t really expect him to pick her first. He knew his audience. Beaming, Newhouse acknowledged the reporter from The New York Times.
“How long do you expect human trials to take, and what are the risks to participants?”
The questions went on and on. Kate crossed them off in her notebook as the other reporters made all the queries she had thought up in advance. Newhouse answered each one carefully, giving away little new information. By the time she finally caught his eye, Kate couldn’t think of anything about the vaccine trial left unasked.
“Yes, the representative from our local paper,” Newhouse said, pointing at Kate.
She paused for a moment in panic. The only question that came to mind was the one she’d been wondering through the entire press conference.
“Where’s Emily Gibson?”
“Ah.” Newhouse cleared his throat. “Ms. Gibson was ... not feeling well this morning and couldn’t join us. She has been a very important part of this team, and I’m sorry she couldn’t be here to share this moment with us. Next question.”
Kate frowned. She doubted Emily Gibson would miss this press conference unless she had some kind of debilitating illness. And even then, she had shown the force of will to overcome anything that might keep her from such an important event.
Newhouse took several more questions, all about the vaccine’s development. No one else seemed interested in his researcher’s absence. When the press representative returned to the microphone to thank everyone for coming, Kate headed for the door.
She had a busy day ahead. The story about today’s press conference would anchor tomorrow’s front page, and she had to write a separate version for the website. Ben Denison, the paper’s main cops reporter, had a trial to cover, so Kate was stuck checking the daily police reports. Thankfully, they hadn’t included any major crimes in the last few days, just the regular spate of arrests for drugs, disorderly conduct, and domestic violence. As she drove back to the newspaper office, she punched Detective Peter Johnson’s number into her cellphone.
“Hey.” The tension in his voice snapped through the speaker like a rubber band pulled too tight.
“Everything okay? You sound a little stressed.”
“Well...” Johnson paused, and Kate’s pulse ticked up with every second that went by.
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Look, I can’t talk right now, but I may have something for you later. Give me a few hours.”
“Okay. That will give me time to get my press conference story written. Is your thing a page three story, or is it going to bump my Ebola vaccine story off the front page?”
“I would tell your editor to save a spot next to it.”
Excitement crackled across Kate’s body. Every nerve ending tingled. But she tried to feign only mild interest.
“Oh yeah? I bet it’s not that interesting. You guys always think even minor drug busts are worth a front-page story.”
Johnson’s wry chuckle tickled her ear, spreading warmth across her face.
“Suit yourself. If you guys want to rearrange the whole paper right before deadline, it’s no big deal to me. How was the news conference?”
Kate laughed at his attempt to change the subject. “Boring. Totally scripted. No new information. I could have written the story last night. The only interesting thing was that Newhouse’s researcher, Emily Gibson, wasn’t there.”
“Yeah...”
“Wait, what do you mean, ‘yeah?’”
“Did anyone ask about her?”
“I did. Newhouse said she was sick and couldn’t make it. Seemed more than a little strange.”
“Hmmm...”
Kate’s pulse pounded in her ears. “That’s all you’ve got? What’s going on? Did you know she wasn’t going to be at the news conference? That can’t be good.”
“Call me in a few hours. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait!” Dead air swallowed Kate’s appeal. Johnson had already hung up. She tossed the phone into the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Apprehension burrowed its way into her chest, a greedy prospector tapping a reservoir of dread.
Johnson knew Emily Gibson would not be at the press conference. If the police were involved, the researcher obviously wasn’t sick. What had happened to her?
Johnson tucked his phone back in his pocket and looked at the mess around him. Overturned books and loose papers covered the floor of Emily Gibson’s apartment. All her dresser drawers were open, as though they had voluntarily vomited the lacy underwear, T-shirts, and scrubs piled in front of them. Her mattress teetered half off its box springs. Long gashes tore across two pillows, their fluffy white stuffing covering the bed in a snowy blanket.
Someone had tossed the place good. What were they looking for?
“Detective, have you found anything?”
Johnson sighed and looked over his shoulder through the open front door into the hall, where David Knowles had been pacing for the last half hour. The poor guy had gone from the agony of thinking his girlfriend had drowned to the fear something even worse had happened to her. Sympathy pricked Johnson’s heart. Still, he wished Knowles wasn’t so underfoot.
“Nothing yet,” he said, stepping carefully over Emily Gibson’s possessions and out of the apartment. “My guys are taking pictures and lifting fingerprints. Hopefully, we’ll get something to go on.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why would someone do this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Had Emily acted nervous in the last few weeks? Did she seem worried about anything?”
Knowles raked his fingers through his hair. “Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed preoccupied. I chalked it up to all the hype leading up to the vaccine trials. She was doing a lot of interviews on top of her work. There was just a lot going on.”
“But you weren’t worried about her?”
“Worried? No. Not exactly.”
Johnson raised an eyebrow. Knowles fidgeted.
“I mean, we’d been arguing a lot recently. She spent a lot of time with Newhouse. I couldn’t shake the suspicion that something was going on between them. She always denied it, but recently the denials had been a lot less emphatic. She seemed evasive whenever I asked her about work. It’s like she didn’t even want to talk about it. Overall, I just felt her pulling away from me.”
“Okay.” Johnson looked back into the apartment, more to hide his face from Knowles than to survey the mess again. This morning, he thought of Emily Gibson’s boyfriend as a bystander to be pitied. Now, he had to be considered a suspect, along with everyone else in the woman’s life. But what motive would he have for trashing her apartment?
“Do you think she’s still alive?” Knowles asked quietly, hope thinning his voice into a whine.
“I don’t know, David. Right now, anything is possible. Whatever happened here might have nothing to do with her disappearance last night. It’s still possible she went for a swim and didn’t make it back to shore.”
“But why would someone do this to her apartment?”
Johnson shook his head and shrugged. “Was there anything in her life, other than her work, that might have been a source of trouble? Family? Old boyfriends? Shady acquaintances?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
Over Knowles’ shoulder, Johnson watched an older woman with shiny copper hair, clutching a big purse in one hand and a wad of tissues in the other, walk toward them. When she got closer, he could make out her red-rimmed eyes and hear her sorrowful sniffing.
“David?” she warbled, her voice thick with tears.
“Mrs. Gibson!” The younger man opened his arms, and she collapsed into them. A stab of compassion knifed Johnson in the gut and he looked away. Constant proximity to other people’s pain made it impossible to avoid some of the emotional shrapnel.
When Mrs. Gibson finally pulled away, mopping tears from her cheeks, she looked through her daughter’s open door and gasped.
“What happened?”
Johnson took a step toward her and extended his hand. “Mrs. Gibson, I’m Detective Peter Johnson, with the Galveston Police Department. We’re trying to figure that out.”
“But David said Emily disappeared last night after saying she was going for a swim!”
“She did. But when David came back to her apartment this morning to meet you, he found this.”
“Oh!” She hiccuped out a half sob and clutched her tissues to her face. “But I don’t understand. Where’s my daughter?”
“We don’t know, Mrs. Gibson, I’m sorry to say. But we’re trying to figure that out. As I’ve already told David, it’s possible whatever happened last night had nothing to do with this. The timing could be coincidental.”
The bewildered woman peered at him beseechingly. Johnson’s heart sank. He had no idea what had happened to Emily Gibson, but he doubted she would suddenly waltz back into her life as though her absence was all a big joke.
“Right now, we consider your daughter a missing person. There’s no sign anything bad has happened to her, but I don’t think she would have missed this day voluntarily.”
Mrs. Gibson shook her head vigorously and sniffed noisily. “Oh, no! She worked so hard for this, and she was so excited to start the vaccine trials. Please find her, detective. Please!”
Johnson groaned inwardly. The hardest part of his job was the inability to undo whatever horror had beset the victims of the crimes he investigated.
“We’re doing everything we can,” he said quietly. “I know this is difficult, but I’ll need both of you to go to the police station so we can get your fingerprints to exclude them from whatever we find in the apartment. I’ll also need to talk to you, Mrs. Gibson, about the last time you talked to Emily. As soon as my men are done, you’ll be free to go in.”
Mrs. Gibson nodded. “I’ll start cleaning up. I don’t want Emily to come home to such a mess.”
“I’ll help.” Knowles said, squeezing the older woman protectively around the shoulders.
Johnson stifled a sigh. He understood why people tried to keep acceptance at arm’s length, but it never made reality any easier to deal with when it finally evaded all avoidance tactics and came crashing in.
Kate stared at the clock on her phone, waiting for the minute to roll over. Her fingers twitched with anticipation. She’d written her stories on autopilot, handing them over to editor Hunter Lewis in near record time. For the last thirty minutes, she hadn’t done anything but wonder about Emily Gibson. She selected Johnson’s number from her favorites list.
“Okay. I’ve given you two hours and four minutes. Spill.”
Johnson’s exasperated sigh didn’t bother her a bit.
“Sometimes I wonder why I even answer the phone when I know it’s you.”
“Quit avoiding the question.”
“You’re like a little bulldog. A mean one.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“Ha! Well, you can quit chewing on my ankle. I’m prepared to make a statement.”
“A statement?! Whatever happened to our nice, comfortable chats? Do you plan to share this statement with others?”
“I’m sure as soon as you post your story, I’ll get inundated with calls. So, yes. But I’m giving you the exclusive. Like usual.”
“You know I appreciate it.”
Johnson snorted. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Okay, okay. I need to work on my source management skills. What have you got for me?”
Twenty minutes later, Kate hung up the phone, surprise, excitement, and dismay still swirling in her head. Four hours ago, she had chafed at being upstaged by the reporters from the big national papers, who got the interviews with Newhouse and Gibson that she couldn’t get. Now they’d be following her on an explosive update to a story they thought they owned. Anticipation galloped up her spine and raced down her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps. It had been months since she’d had a really good story to dig into. But underneath the exhilaration, a twinge of sadness perched like a hungry seagull that refused to take its beady eyes off a kid with a cracker.
She had rooted for Emily Gibson to succeed, to make her mark as a strong woman in a man’s world. Now she probably wouldn’t ever get that chance. She was a missing person for now, but not likely for long. Her body would turn up eventually. Johnson said it remained possible she drowned, but Kate would bet her next paycheck the woman’s disappearance was no accident. She gritted her teeth as the familiar burning desire for justice caught fire in her gut. Last time she had a hunch about a story, she’d had to let it go. This time, she would not stop digging until she figured out what happened to Emily Gibson.
Ebola researcher missing
Police look for clues in disappearance of UTMB vaccine team’s lead member | By Kate Bennett
Emily Gibson, the lead researcher working on the Ebola vaccine with Dr. Aaron Newhouse, disappeared last night, hours before the serum was set to start human trials.
Gibson, 25, was staying for the weekend at a West End beach house with friends. When they decided to go for a swim after dinner, she left the house ahead of everyone else. By the time they walked down to the water, she was gone.
Police at first thought she waded into the water alone and drowned. But several hours later, Gibson’s boyfriend discovered someone had ransacked her apartment.
“At the moment, we’re treating this as a missing persons case,” Det. Peter Johnson said. “We have no evidence of foul play. But we’re asking anyone who might have seen Ms. Gibson or anything suspicious to come forward.”
