Mutation (30 page)

     "She was pumping Philip for information in the middle of the night," VJ said. "That's the kind of behavior that disturbs me."

     After the car pulled out of the drive, Marsha went to the upstairs study and got out the Boston phone book. She sat on the couch and looked up Martinez. Unfortunately, there were hordes of Martinezes, even Orlando Martinezes. But she found one Orlando Martinez in Mattapan. Taking the phone in her lap, she called the number. The phone was answered, and Marsha was about to start talking when she realized she was connected to an answering machine.

     The message on the machine told her that the office of Martinez Enterprises was open Monday through Friday. She didn't leave a message. From the phone book she copied down the address.

     Marsha took a shower, dressed, made herself some coffee and a poached egg. Then she donned her down coat and went out to her car. Fifteen minutes later, she was on the grounds of Pendleton Academy.

     It was a blustery but sunny day with the wind roughing the surface of the puddles left by the previous day's rain. Many of the students were in evidence, most of them going to and from the obligatory attendance at chapel. Marsha pulled up as close as she could to the tiny gothic structure and waited. She was looking for Mr. Remington and was hoping to catch him out and about.

     Soon the bells in the bell tower tolled the eleven o'clock hour. The doors to the chapel opened and rosy-cheeked kids spilled out into the fresh air and sunshine. Among them were a number of adult staff members, including Mr. Remington. His heavily bearded profile stood out among the crowds.

     Marsha got out of the car and waited. Mr. Remington's path would take him right by her. He was walking with a deliberate step. When he got about ten feet away, Marsha called his name. He stopped and looked at her.

     "Dr. Frank!" he said with some surprise.

     "Good morning," Marsha said. "I hope I'm not intruding."

     "Not at all," Remington said. "Something on your mind?"

     "There is," Marsha said. "I wanted to ask you a question which might sound a little strange. I hope you will indulge me. You told me that the instructor who tried so hard to befriend VJ died. What did he die of?"

     "The poor man died of cancer," Mr. Remington said.

     "I was afraid of that," Marsha said.

     "Excuse me?"

     But Marsha didn't explain herself. "Do you know what kind of cancer?" she asked.

     "I'm afraid I don't, but I believe I mentioned that his wife is still on staff here. Her name is Stephanie. Stephanie Cavendish."

     "Do you think I might speak with her today?" Marsha asked.

     "I don't see why not," Mr. Remington said. "She lives in the cottage on the grounds of my headmaster's house. We both share the same lawn. I was on my way home and the cottage is just a stone's throw away. I'd be happy to introduce you to her."

     Marsha fell in step with Mr. Remington and they walked the length of the quad. While they were walking, Marsha asked, "Was any staff member close to my late son, David?"

     "Most of the instructors were fond of David," Mr. Remington said. "He was a popular boy. If I had to pick one, I'd say Joe Arnold. He's a very popular history teacher who I believe was close to your David."

     The cottage Mr. Remington had spoken of looked like some cottage out of the Cotswold section of England. With whitewashed walls and a roof that was made to look thatched, it appeared as if it belonged in a fairy tale. Mr. Remington rang the bell himself. He introduced Marsha to Mrs. Cavendish, a slim, attractive woman Marsha guessed was about her own age. Marsha learned that she was the head of the school's physical education department.

     Mr. Remington excused himself after Mrs. Cavendish invited Marsha inside.

     Mrs. Cavendish led Marsha into her kitchen and offered her a cup of tea. "Please, call me Stephanie," she said as they sat down. "So you're VJ's mother! My husband was a big fan of your boy. He was convinced VJ was extraordinarily bright. He really raved about him."

     "That's what Mr. Remington said," Marsha said.

     "He loved to relate the story of VJ solving an algebra problem to everyone who'd listen."

     Marsha nodded and said that Mr. Remington had told the story to her.

     "But Raymond thought your son was troubled," Stephanie said. "That's why he tried so hard to get VJ to be less withdrawn. Ray really did try. He thought that VJ was alone too much and was afraid VJ might be suicidal. He worried about the boy-oh, never academically. But socially, I think."

     Marsha nodded.

     "How is he these days?" Stephanie asked. "I don't have much occasion to see him."

     "I'm afraid he still doesn't have many friends. He's not very outgoing."

     "I'm sorry to hear that," said Stephanie.

     Marsha gathered her courage. "I hope you don't think me too forward, but I'd like to ask a personal question. Mr. Remington told me your late husband died of cancer. Would you mind if I asked what kind of cancer?"

     "I don't mind," said Stephanie. There was a sudden tightening in her throat. "It was a while before I could talk about it," she allowed. "Ray died of a form of liver cancer. It was very rare. He was treated at Mass. General in Boston. The doctors there had only seen a couple of similar cases."

     Although Marsha had expected as much, she still felt as though she'd been hit. This was exactly what she was afraid of hearing.

     As tactfully as she could, Marsha ended the conversation, but not before enlisting Mrs. Cavendish's aid in getting an invitation over to Joe Arnold's house.

     He wasn't the sort of stuffy history professor-type Marsha had expected. His warm brown eyes lit up when he opened the door to greet her. Like Stephanie Cavendish, he seemed about her own age. Between his swarthy good looks, empathic eyes, and somewhat disheveled clothing, Marsha could see he had a beguiling demeanor. He was no doubt an excellent teacher; he had the kind of enthusiasm students would find infectious. No wonder David had gravitated toward this man.

     "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Frank. Come in, please come in." He held the door for her and led her into the book-lined study. She looked around the room admiringly. "David used to spend lots of afternoons right here."

     Marsha felt unbidden tears threaten to appear. It saddened her a little to think how much of David's life she didn't know. She quickly composed herself.

     After thanking Joe for seeing her on such short notice, Marsha got to the point of why she was interested in seeing him. She asked Joe if David had ever discussed his brother VJ.

     "On a few occasions," Joe said. "David admitted to me that he'd had trouble with VJ from the first day that VJ had arrived home from the hospital. That's normal enough, but to tell you the truth, I got the feeling it went beyond the usual sibling rivalry. I tried to get him to talk about it, but David would never elaborate. We had a strong relationship, I think, but on this one subject he wouldn't open up."

     "He never got more specific about his feelings or what the trouble was?"

     "Well, David once told me that he was afraid of VJ."

     "Did he say why?"

     "I was under the impression that VJ threatened him," Joe said. "That was as much as he'd say. I know brothers' relationships can be tricky, especially at that age. But quite frankly, I had a funny feeling about David's trouble with VJ. David seemed genuinely spooked-almost too afraid to talk about it. In the end, I insisted he see the school psychologist."

     "Did he?" Marsha questioned. She'd never heard about that, and it added to her guilt.

     "You bet he did," Joe told her. "I wasn't about to let this thing drop. David was very special . . ." For a moment, Joe choked up. "Whew, sorry," he apologized after a pause. But Marsha was touched by such an obvious display of feeling. She nodded, moved herself.

     "Is the psychologist still on staff?" Marsha asked.

     "Madeline Zinnzer?" Joe asked. "Absolutely. She's an institution around here. She's been here longer than anybody else."

     Marsha made use of Joe Arnold's hospitality to get herself invited over to Madeline Zinnzer's home. Marsha couldn't thank him enough.

     "Anytime," said Joe, giving her hand an extra squeeze. "Really, anytime."

     Madeline Zinnzer looked like an institution. She was a large woman, well over two hundred pounds. Her gray hair had been permed into tight curls. She took Marsha into a comfortable, spacious living room with a picture window looking out over the Pendleton Academy quad.

     "One of the benefits of being on the staff so long," Madeline said, following Marsha's line of sight. "I finally got to move into the best of the faculty housing."

     "I hope you don't mind my stopping by on a Sunday," Marsha began.

     "Not at all," Madeline insisted.

     "I have some questions about my children that maybe you can help me with."

     "That's what Joe Arnold mentioned," Madeline said. "I'm afraid I don't have the memory he does of your boy, David. But I do have a file which I went over after Joe called. What's on your mind?"

     "David told Joe that his younger brother, VJ, had threatened him, but he wouldn't tell Joe much more than that. Were you able to learn anything more?"

     Madeline made a tent with her fingers and leaned back in her chair. Then she cleared her throat. "I saw David on a number of occasions," she began. "After talking with him at length, it was my opinion that David was using the defense mechanism of projection. It was my feeling that David projected his own feelings of competition and hostility onto VJ."

     "Then the threat wasn't specific?" Marsha asked.

     "I didn't say that," Madeline said. "Apparently there had been a specific threat."

     "What was it about?"

     "Boy stuff," Madeline said. "Something about a hiding place that VJ had that David found out about. Something innocuous like that."

     "Could it have been a lab rather than a hiding place?" Marsha asked.

     "Could have been," Madeline said. "David could have said lab, but I wrote hiding place in the file."

     "Did you ever talk with VJ?" Marsha asked.

     "Once," Madeline said. "I thought it would be helpful to get a feeling for the reality about the relationship. VJ was extremely straightforward. He told me that his brother David had been jealous of him from the day VJ had arrived home from the hospital." Then Madeline laughed. "VJ told me that he could remember arriving home after he was born. That tickled me at the time."

     "Did David ever say what the threat was?" Marsha asked.

     "Oh, yes," Madeline said. "David told me that VJ had threatened to kill him."

     From the Pendleton Academy Marsha drove to Boston. Much as she resisted putting the pieces together, she felt utterly compelled to assemble them. She kept telling herself that everything she was learning was either circumstantial, coincidental, or innocuous. She had already lost one child. But even so, she knew she couldn't rest until she found the truth.

     Marsha had taken her psychiatric residency at the Massachusetts General Hospital. Visiting there was like going home. But she didn't go to the psych unit. Instead, she went directly to Pathology and found a senior resident, Dr. Preston Gordon.

     "Sure I can do that," Preston said. "Since you don't know the birthday, it will take a little searching, but nothing else is happening right now."

     Marsha followed Preston into the center of the pathology department where they sat at one of the hospital computers. There were several Raymond Cavendishes listed in the system, but by knowing the approximate year of death, they were able to find the Raymond Cavendish of Boxford, Massachusetts.

     "All right," Preston said. "Here comes the record." The screen filled with the man's hospital record. Preston scrolled through. "Here's the biopsy," he said. "And here's the diagnosis: liver cancer of Kupffer cell of reticuloendothelial origin." Preston whistled. "Now that's a zebra. I've never even heard of that one."

     "Can you tell me if there have been any similar cases treated at the hospital?" Marsha asked.

     Preston returned to the keyboard and began a search. It took him only a few minutes to get the answer. A name flashed on the screen. "There has only been one other case at this hospital," he said. "The name was Janice Fay."

     Victor tuned his car radio to a station that played oldies but goodies and sang along happily to a group of songs from the late fifties, a time when he'd been in high school. He was in a great mood on his drive home, having spent the day totally engrossed and spellbound by VJ's prodigious output from his hidden basement laboratory. It had turned out to be exactly as VJ had said it would be: beyond his wildest dreams.

     As Victor turned into the driveway, the songs had changed to the late sixties, and he belted out "Sweet Caroline" along with Neil Diamond. He drove the car around the house and waited for the garage door to open. After he pulled the car into the garage, he sang until the song was over before turning off the ignition, getting out and skirting Marsha's car, heading into the house.

     "Marsha!" Victor yelled as soon as he got inside. He knew she was home because her car was there, but the lights weren't on.

     "Marsha!" he yelled again, but her name caught in his throat. She was sitting no more than ten feet from him in the relative darkness of the family room. "There you are," he said.

     "Where's VJ?" she asked. She sounded tired.

     "He insisted on going off on his bicycle," Victor said. "But have no fear. Pedro's with him."

     "I'm not worried about VJ at this point," Marsha said. "Maybe we should worry about the security man."

     Victor turned on a light. Marsha shielded her eyes. "Please," she said. "Keep it off for now."

     Victor obliged. He'd hoped she'd be in a better mood by the time he got home, but it wasn't looking good. Undaunted, Victor sat down and launched into lavish praise of VJ's work and his astounding accomplishments. He told Marsha that the implantation protein really worked. The evidence was incontrovertible. Then he told her the pièce de résistance:  solving the implantation problem unlocked the door to the mystery of the entire differentiation process.