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A million questions ran through her mind, but the same one kept surfacing. “Where is Michael?”
Harvey stepped toward her. “When I found out that Lieutenant Bernstein knew about George, I realized that it was just a matter of time before he got caught. I had to cut my losses. So I told George to burn down the storage house in Bangkok—something else I could blame on the right-wing conspiracy.”
His smile was back, his eyes bright and maniacal. “Don’t you see the irony, Sara? Everyone thinks that the patients were murdered by fascists who wanted to stop me from proving there was an AIDS cure. But actually, it was the opposite—the murders made it impossible to prove that there was no cure.”
Sara’s eyes bored into his. “What happened to Michael?”
Once again the smile left his face. He lowered his gaze. “He’s dead, Sara. George killed him. I begged him not to, but he hung up on—”
There was a sudden knock on the lab door. “Dr. Riker?”
A nurse.
Harvey turned to Sara, his face suddenly panicked. “If you call out, I will kill her too.”
The nurse knocked again. “Dr. Riker?”
“I’m in the middle of an experiment,” he said, his voice cracking. “Is it important?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Hold on a minute.”
He turned back to Sara. Her big green eyes were tearfilled now. There was no longer confusion or horror in them—just devastation and pure hatred.
“Get in the refrigeration room,” he whispered.
“You killed Michael.”
He glanced at the gun and then back at Sara. “Don’t make me kill the nurse too.”
She knew it was no idle threat.
“Drop the cane on the floor and move back. Now.”
With her eyes still on him, she dropped the cane and slowly backed up into the refrigeration room. Her foot bumped into something and she realized with revulsion that it was Eric Blake’s body.
“The room is soundproof so I wouldn’t try screaming,” he said. “Please don’t bring any more innocent people into this. Enough have died.”
The cold closed in around Sara as Harvey shut the refrigerator door and locked it with a padlock. Then he moved across the room, unlocked the lab door, and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
“What is it?” he asked the nurse.
“It’s Michael Silverman,” the nurse said excitedly. “He’s here.”
“What?”
“He just arrived from Bangkok.”
THE sirens blasted.
“Drive faster, Willie.”
“Jesus, Twitch, I can’t drive through cars.”
“Then drive on the sidewalk.”
“Here.” Willie handed him a pencil.
“What?”
“Suck on your pacifier and tell me what’s going on.”
“I was an idiot—that’s what’s going on.” Max tossed the pencil on the car floor. “I spent so much time trying to figure out who wanted to destroy the clinic that I couldn’t see what was so obvious.”
“What?”
“The murders were helping the clinic, not hurting it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Willie asked.
“I just got the test results. Riccardo Martino was HIV positive. Krutzer, Leander, and Singer are HIV negative.”
“Speak English.”
“Martino had AIDS. The other three don’t.”
“I thought Martino was cured by this miracle drug.”
“SR1 is not a miracle drug. It doesn’t work. Harvey Riker faked the whole thing.”
“The head of the clinic?”
Max nodded. “At first I thought it might be his assistant, Eric Blake.”
“So what changed your mind?”
“Something that happened the night Michael was kidnapped. Sara was about to go home for the night when she bumped into Eric Blake. He was heading upstairs to run an errand. Sara volunteered to do it for him, and he let her.”
“So?”
“If Eric Blake was behind the kidnapping, he would have never let Sara go back upstairs. He would have insisted on running the errand himself.”
“Let me get this straight—this Riker guy faked like he had a cure?”
“Right.”
“But he didn’t run all the tests. I thought you said the other docs ran blood tests too.”
“They did. But look at the rotation. Our three murder victims were Trian, Whitherson, and Martino. All three were admitted by Bruce Grey. That meant that Bruce Grey took a blood test, concluded that they had the AIDS virus, and admitted them. Then Riker took over. He was the one who drew the blood that was used to determine if they were cured. He must have sent the lab someone else’s blood—someone who never even had AIDS. Naturally, when the lab tested this blood, it came back negative. Ergo, they were ‘cured.’ A ‘miracle.’”
“But I still don’t get it, Twitch. Didn’t Bruce Grey do the later tests with some of the patients? And didn’t you just say the three guys Dr. Zry tested were all cured?”
Max smiled. “Krutzer, Leander, and Singer weren’t cured,” he said, “because they never had AIDS in the first place.”
“Huh?”
“All three were admitted by Harvey Riker. So what did he do? He switched the blood samples right in the beginning—except this time he switched their HIV-NEGATIVE blood for the blood of someone who had AIDS.”
“Motherfucker,” Willie exclaimed. “So it looked like they had AIDS when they never did?”
“Right. Then Harvey probably infected them with a few mild flu viruses to make it look like they were really sick. When the time came, Bruce Grey performed the blood tests. Since they never had AIDS in the first place, their tests came back negative. Ergo, they were ‘cured.’”
“Un-fuckin’-believable. When did you start putting it together?”
“When George Camron was raving about being paid late. I didn’t pay much attention at the time, but then I got to thinking—why was he paid all of a sudden? How did his boss get his hands on money so fast? Then I remembered my original question—who benefits? Who got the good press? Who put pressure on his foes to keep financing them?”
“The clinic.”
Max nodded. “And all the donations solicited from NewsFlash went directly to the clinic.”
“Riker used the money to pay off Camron?”
