Mutation

“As soon as you can send someone,” Victor answered. “This morning, if possible. My son is at home.”

“No problem. I have just the person. His name is Pedro Gonzales and I’ll send him on his way.”

Victor hung up and called Marsha at home.

“How did you sneak out without waking me this morning?”

she asked.

“I never got to sleep last night after all the excitement,” Victor said. “Is VJ there?”

“He and Philip are still sleeping,” Marsha said.

“I’ve just made arrangements to have a security man stay with VJ all day. His name is Pedro Gonzales. He’ll be over shortly.”

“Why?” Marsha questioned, obviously surprised.

“Just to be one hundred percent sure he is safe,” Victor said.

“You’re not telling me something,” Marsha warned. “I want to know what it is.”

“It’s just to be sure he’s safe,” Victor repeated. “We’ll talk more about it later when I come home. I promise.”

Victor hung up the phone. He wasn’t about to confide in Marsha, at least not about his latest suspicions: that the Hobbs and Murray kids might have been deliberately killed.

And that VJ could be killed the same way if anyone introduced cephaloclor to his system. With these thoughts in mind, he returned to the slides of the rat brains that he had drying and began to examine them in one of the light microscopes. As he expected, they appeared very similar to the slides of the children’s brains. Now there was no doubt in his mind that the children had indeed died from the cephaloclor in their blood. It was how they got the cephaloclor that was the question.

Removing the slides from the microscope, Victor went back to where Robert was working. They’d worked together so long, Victor could join in and help without a single word of direction from Robert.

After making herself a second cup of coffee, Marsha sat down at the table and looked out at the rainy day with its heavy clouds. It felt good not to have to go to the office, although she still had to make her inpatient rounds. She wondered if she should be more concerned than she was about Victor’s arranging for a bodyguard for VJ. That certainly sounded ominous. At the same time, it sounded like a good idea. But she was still sure there were facts that Victor was keeping from her.

Footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of both VJ

and Philip. They greeted Marsha but were much more interested in the refrigerator, getting out milk and blueberries for their cereal.

“What are you two planning on doing today?” Marsha asked when they’d sat down at the table with her.

“Heading in to the lab,” VJ said. “Is Dad there?”

“He is,” Marsha said. “What happened about the idea of going to Boston for the day with Richie Blakemore?”

“Didn’t pan out,” VJ said. He gave the blueberries a shove toward Philip.

“That’s too bad,” Marsha said.

“Doesn’t matter,” VJ said.

“There is something I want to talk to you about,” Marsha said. “Yesterday I had a conversation with Valerie Maddox. Do you remember her?”

VJ rested his spoon in his dish. “I don’t like the sound of this. I remember her. She’s the psychiatrist whose office is on the floor above yours. She’s the lady with the mouth that looks like she’s always getting ready to kiss somebody.”

Philip laughed explosively, spraying cereal in the process. He wiped his mouth self-consciously while trying to control his laughter. VJ laughed himself, watching Philip’s antics.

“That’s not very nice,” Marsha said. “She is a wonderful woman, and very talented. We talked about you.”

“This is starting to sound even worse,” VJ said.

“She has offered to see you and I think it would be a good idea. Maybe twice a week after school.”

“Oh, Mom!” VJ whined, his face contorting into an expression of extreme distaste.

“I want you to think about it,” Marsha said. “We’ll talk again. It is something that might help you as you get older.”

“I’m too busy for that stuff,” VJ complained, shaking his head.

Marsha had to laugh to herself at that comment. “You think about it anyway,” she said. “One other thing. I just spoke to your father. Has he said anything to you about being concerned about your safety, anything like that?”

“A little,” VJ said. “He wanted me to watch out for Beekman and Hurst. But I never see those guys.”

“Apparently he’s still worried,” Marsha said. “He just told me that he has arranged for a man to be with you during the day. That man’s name is Pedro and he’s on his way over here.”

“Oh, no!” VJ complained. “That will drive me nuts.”

After finishing her inpatient rounds, Marsha got on Interstate 495 and headed west to Lowell. She got off after only three exits, and with the help of some directions she’d written on a prescription blank, she wound around on little country roads until she found 714 Mapleleaf Road, an ill-kept, Victorian-style house painted a drab gray with white trim. At some time in the past it had been converted into a duplex. The Fays lived on the first floor. Marsha rang the bell and waited.