The Viper

“Yes. Right now. I’m not going to postpone my life, just because you refuse to let go of this wretched case.”

HALF AN HOUR later, Gurney was arranging things in his campsite tent. He hooked the portable heater up to the propane tank, made room for the contents of the two tote bags by pushing his sleeping bag to one side, and opened a small folding chair that he had brought along. He was planning to stay there for an hour or so, at least until his annoyance subsided. He turned on the heater and adjusted its thermostat to fifty degrees. He settled down into the folding chair and tried to think about something other than his growing conflict with Madeleine.

The subject that finally held his attention was the hematology-oncology group in the Capital District Office Park. Although HIPAA regulations would prevent them from telling him whether Lerman had been a patient, he could at least learn more about the focus of their practice. Since he was out of range of the house wifi, he decided to use his phone as a hotspot to access the internet on his laptop.

He went first to the Capital District Office Park website and checked the list of their tenants for the exact name of the medical group—Stihl and Chopra Hematology-Oncology Associates. He then went to their website, where he found extensive bios of Dr. Jonathan Stihl and Dr. Eliza Chopra. Of particular interest to Gurney were their specialties: malignant meningiomas, glioblastomas, and leptomeningeal metastases.

All three, he discovered, were deadly forms of brain cancer. For one of them, survival from the time of diagnosis could be as little as six weeks—a discovery that fit neatly into his illness-based theory of Lerman’s trips, depression, and willingness to embark on a venture as reckless as extortion.

Aware of the warping influence of his desire to be right, he decided to test the validity of his theory. He composed an email outlining his educated guesses regarding Lerman’s trips, his probable diagnosis, and his motivation. He urged that a full clinical autopsy be performed as soon as possible on the man’s remains—with special attention to the spinal cord, where metastatic traces of brain cancer would most likely be found—emphasizing that this could establish a scientific underpinning for the man’s out-of-character moods and willingness to engage in high-risk behavior.

He addressed the email to Dr. Kermit Loeffler, Medical Examiner, whose contact information he retrieved from the county website. His hope was that the ME might be interested enough to push for an exhumation order and influential enough to prevail over Stryker’s likely reluctance. He reread the draft of the email, corrected a couple of typos, and sent it.

PUTTING THE EXHUMATION ball in Loeffler’s court temporarily cleared Gurney’s mind—freeing up space that was soon filled with questions concerning the demise of Charlene Vesco.

Homicide by anticoagulant was not unheard of, but the few cases he was aware of involved an extended process of internal bleeding. In one instance, the beneficiary of an octogenarian’s will had hastened his benefactor’s death by increasing his doses of a therapeutic blood thinner, a process that took a period of weeks. The Vesco case was nothing like that. So, what was it?

The howling of a coyote pack broke his train of thought. He put his laptop aside, pushed himself up out of the chair, and closed the tent flap. The howling stopped as abruptly as it had begun. It was dark now, past five o’clock. The only sources of illumination in the tent were the orange glow of the heater and his laptop screen. He eased himself back into the chair, wincing at the stab of pain in the back of his neck, and started an internet search for information about anticoagulants.

The howling began again, followed by the sharp yips of a hunting pack on the move. The sounds seemed to be getting closer, although in those hills it was hard to tell. Then, once more, all was suddenly silent.

Gurney forced his attention back to his search. Most of the articles he found focused on the effects of various types of anticoagulants. Others examined their therapeutic and rodenticidal applications. The final article he came upon listed the naturally occurring sources of these chemicals. At that point his eyes were stinging from the dryness of the heated air in the tent. He was about to stop reading when, at the bottom of the list of anticoagulant sources, he saw two words that produced an instant frisson.

Snake venom.

64

HE CALLED ALBANY GENERAL HOSPITAL TO GET AN UPDATE on Hardwick’s condition and was transferred to the ICU nursing station, where a female voice asked him to wait a moment.

A male voice came on the line. “Mr. Hardwick’s condition is unchanged. Are you a member of the family?”

He recognized the tone of a suspicious cop who was trying without much success to sound friendly. Gurney ended the call and turned off his phone.