Tainted Read Online Free PDF Page A

tapping her notepad with her pen. “The Patels are strict vegetarians. I know the family. Mrs. Patel is a fanatic. Reads the labels on everything.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. Was the husband just as strict?”
    She nodded. “He always seemed the type who’d keep peace in the family at any cost. Just like my dad.”
    Stale coffee churned in Zol’s stomach. “Damn. So much for our blame-it-on-English-beef solution.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said with an embarrassed smile. Then she added quickly, “One thing, though. The Patels
did
live in England for a while. Before they came to Canada. I’m not sure when, but I can find out.”
    “Okay! So we might still have our English connection.” He lifted the file folder and waved it in the air like a flag. “I’ll be grateful for every bit of insight you can offer.”
    “We can plot the epidemiological curve,” Natasha said with bright notes of optimism in her voice. “Let’s see . . . the deaths occurred June twenty-second, June twenty-eighth, and September fifteenth, so the curve looks like this.” She sketched a graph on her notepad, then looked enquiringly at Zol, as if the visual depiction of the deaths and the dates might have cracked some sort of code. When he didn’t say anything, she shrugged and frowned. “Doesn’t tell us much, does it?”
    He stood and gazed through the window. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalk, their coats fastened and necks wrapped against the November wind. For a moment, he longed for their humdrum office jobs — predictable hours, nothing more at stake than shipments of hamburger buns, toilet seats, and paper clips. “You know,” he said, turning away from the window and shaking himself out of his daydream, “a traditional epi curve might not be much use. CJD ’s incubation period is ten or fifteen years. That’s too long to let us link these cases together in time or place.”
    “Unless,” said Natasha, her voice rising, “this cluster is the first indication of some brand-new kind of variant CJD .”
    He felt a tightness in his throat. Was this some new form of rapid-onset CJD ? A Canadian variant? Hamish had said they should be prepared for other cases to turn up, already dead or still alive. But how many more?
    “That’s a bold thought, Natasha. But not one I’m ready to swallow at this point,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his palms. “Our best hope is to discover that their lives intersected at a common factor — a decade ago and a continent away. As far away from Hamilton as possible.”
    Natasha drew her fingers through the curls at the back of her neck. “Where do you want me to start?”
    “By interviewing Mrs. Patel. In her home. See what you can digup.” He smiled. “That Croatian wedding case showed you’re an expert at digging toxins out of nibbles.”

    Two hours later, after scanning his bookshelves for articles about CJD in the back issues of the
New England Journal of Medicine
and the
Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report
, Zol sat at his computer searching public-health databases on the Internet. Bit by bit, a blend of lime and cedar insinuated itself into the office, like an unexpected guest. Hamish had splashed on that unmistakable scent last evening before arriving for dinner. And now he was standing in the office doorway, wearing the expectant face of someone hoping to be noticed. He’d unbuttoned his winter coat and was clutching his briefcase to his chest, quietly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It was obvious he’d discovered some important facts about the case: his eyes were smiling, and his lips formed a satisfied smirk, like Cory the cat depositing a freshly killed mouse at Zol’s feet.
    “You’ve got some good news,” Zol said, rising from his chair. At six-foot-two, he was a head taller than Hamish. “I can see it written all over your face.”
    Hamish smiled, thrust his gloves into his