cpatricia.unnaturalexposure-第58部分

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ing　a　pale　blue　hat　and　holding　a　cat　as　he　grinned　around　a　corncob　pipe。
　'My　father；'　Crowder　said。　'This　was　where　my　parents　lived；　and　my　mother's　parents　were　here　before　that。　That's　them　there。'　She　pointed。　'When　my　father's　business　started　doing　poorly　in　England；　they　came　here　and　moved　in　with　her　family。'
　'And　what　about　you？'　I　said。
　'I　stayed　on；　was　in　school。'
　I　looked　at　her　and　did　not　think　she　was　as　old　as　she　wanted　me　to　believe。
　'You're　always　trying　to　make　me　assume　you're　a　dinosaur　pared　to　me；'　I　said。　'But　somehow　I　don't　think　so。'
　'Maybe　you　just　wear　the　years　better　than　I　do。'　Her　feverish　dark　eyes　met　mine。
　'Is　any　of　your　family　still　living？'　I　asked；　perusing　more　photographs。
　'My　grandparents　have　been　gone　about　ten　years；　my　father　about　five。　After　that；　I　came　out　here　every　weekend　to　take　care　of　Mother。　She　hung　on　as　long　as　she　could。'
　'That　must　have　been　hard　with　your　busy　career；'　I　said；　as　I　looked　at　an　early　photograph　of　her　laughing　on　a　boat；　holding　up　a　rainbow　trout。
　'Would　you　like　to　e　in　and　sit　down？'　she　asked。　'Let　me　put　this　in　the　kitchen。'
　'No；　no；　show　me　the　way　and　save　your　strength；'　I　insisted。
　She　led　me　through　a　dining　room　that　did　not　appear　to　have　been　used　in　years；　the　chandelier　gone；　exposed　wires　hanging　out　over　a　dusty　table；　and　draperies　replaced　by　blinds。　By　the　time　we　walked　into　the　large；　old…fashioned　kitchen；　the　hair　was　rising　along　my　scalp　and　neck；　and　it　was　all　I　could　do　to　remain　calm　as　I　set　the　stew　on　the　counter。
　'Tea？'　she　asked。
　She　was　hardly　coughing　now；　and　though　she　might　be　ill；　this　wasn't　why　she　initially　had　stayed　away　from　her　job。
　'Not　a　thing；'　I　said。
　She　smiled　at　me　but　her　eyes　were　penetrating；　and　as　we　sat　at　the　breakfast　table；　I　was　frantically　trying　to　figure　out　what　to　do。　What　I　suspected　couldn't　be　right；　or　should　I　have　figured　it　out　sooner？　I　had　been　friendly　with　her　for　more　than　fifteen　years。　We　had　worked　on　numerous　cases　together；　shared　information；　miserated　as　women。　In　the　old　days；　we　drank　coffee　together　and　smoked。　I　had　found　her　charming；　brilliant；　and　certainly　never　sensed　anything　sinister。　Yet　I　realized　this　was　the　very　sort　of　thing　people　said　about　the　serial　killer　next　door；　the　child　molester；　the　rapist。
　'So；　let's　talk　about　Birmingham；'　I　said　to　her。
　'Let's。'　She　wasn't　smiling　now。
　'The　frozen　source　of　this　disease　has　been　found；'　I　said。　'The　vials　have　labels　on　them　dated　1978；　Birmingham。　I'm　wondering　if　the　lab　there　might　have　been　doing　any　research　in　mutant　strains　of　smallpox；　anything　that　you　might　know　。　。　。　？'
　'I　wasn't　there　in　1978；'　she　interrupted　me。
　'Well；　I　think　you　were；　Phyllis。'
　'It　doesn't　matter。'　She　got　up　to　put　on　a　pot　of　tea。
　I　did　not　say　anything；　waiting　until　she　sat　back　down。
　'I'm　sick；　and　by　now；　you　ought　to　be；'　she　said；　and　I　knew　she　was　not　referring　to　the　flu。
　'I'm　surprised　you　didn't　create　your　own　vaccine　before　you　started　all　this；'　I　said。　'Seems　like　that　was　a　little　reckless　for　someone　so　precise。'
　'I　wouldn't　have　needed　it　if　that　bastard　hadn't　broken　in　and　ruined　everything；'　she　snapped。　'That　filthy；　disgusting　pig。'　Enraged；　she　shook。
　'While　you　were　on　AOL；　talking　to　me；'　I　said。　'That's　when　you　stayed　on　the　line　and　never　logged　off；　because　he　started　prying　open　your　door。　And　you　shot　him　and　fled　in　your　van。　I　guess　you　just　went　out　to　Janes　Island　for　your　long　weekends；　so　you　could　passage　your　lovely　disease　to　new　flasks；　feed　the　little　darlings。'
　I　was　beginning　to　feel　the　rage　as　I　spoke。　She　did　not　seem　to　care；　but　was　enjoying　it。
　'After　all　these　years　in　medicine；　are　people　nothing　more　than　slides　and　petri　dishes？　What　happened　to　their　faces；　Phyllis？　I　have　seen　the　people　you　did　this　to。'　I　leaned　closer　to　her。　'An　old　woman　who　died　alone　in　her　soiled　bed；　no　one　to　even　hear　her　cries　for　water。　And　now　Wingo；　who　will　not　let　me　look　at　him；　a　decent；　kind　young　man；　dying。　You　know　him！　He's　been　to　your　lab！　What　has　he　ever　done　to　you！'
　She　was　unmoved；　her　anger　flashing；　too。
　'You　left　Lila　Pruitt's　Vita　spray　in　one　of　the　cubbyholes　where　she　sold　recipes　for　a　quarter。　Tell　me　if　I　don't　get　it　right。'　My　words　bit。　'She　thought　her　mail　had　been　delivered　to　the　wrong　box；　then　dropped　off　by　a　neighbor。　What　a　nice　little　something　to　get　for　free；　and　she　sprayed　it　on　her　face。　She　had　it　on　her　nightstand；　spraying　it　again　and　again　when　she　was　in　pain。'
　My　colleague　was　silent；　her　eyes　gleaming。
　'You　probably　delivered　all　of　your　little　bombs　to　Tangier　at　once；'　I　said。　'Then　dropped　by　the　ones　for　me。　And　my　staff。　What　was　your　plan　after　that？　The　world？'
　'Maybe；'　was　all　she　had　to　say。
　'Why？'
　'People　did　it　to　me　first。　Tit　for　tat。'
　'What　did　anybody　do　to　you　that's　even　close？'　It　was　an　effort　to　keep　my　voice　controlled。
　'I　was　at　Birmingham　when　it　happened。　The　accident。　It　was　implied　that　I　was　partly　to　blame；　and　I　was　forced　to　leave。　It　was　pletely　unfair；　a　total　setback　to　me　when　I　was　young；　on　my　own。　Scared。　My　parents　had　left　for　the　United　States；　to　live　here　in　this　house。　They　liked　the　outdoors。　Camping；　fishing。　All　of　them　did。'
　For　a　long　moment；　she　stared　off　as　if　there；　back　in　those　days。
　'I　didn't　matter　much；　but　I　had　worked　hard。　I　got　another　job　in　London；　was　three　grades　below　what　I　had　been。'　Her　eyes　focused　on　me。　'It　wasn't　fair。　It　was　the　virologist　who　caused　the　accident。　But　because　I　was　there　that　day；　and　he　conveniently　killed　himself；　it　was　easy　to　pin　it　all　on　me。　Plus；　I　was　just　a　kid；　really。'
　'So　you　stole　the　source　virus　on　your　way　out；'　I　said。
　She　smiled　coldly。
　'And　you　stored　it　all　these　years？'
　'Not　hard　when　every　place　you　work　has　nitrogen　freezers　and　you're　always　happy　to　monitor　the　inventory；'　she　said　with　pride。　'I　saved　it。'
　'Why？'
　'Why？'　Her　voice　rose。　'I　was　the　one　working　on　it　when　the　accident　happened。　It　was　mine。　So　I　made　sure　I　took　some　of　it　and　my　other　experiments　with　me　on　my　way　out　the　door。　Why　should　I　let　them　keep　it？　They　weren't　smart　enough　to　do　what　I　did。'
　'But　this　isn't　smallpox。　Not　exactly；'　I　said。
　'Well；　that's　even　worse；　now　isn't　it？'　Her　lips　were　trembling　with　emotion　as　she　recalled　those　days。　'I　spliced　the　DNA　of　monkeypox　into　the　smallpox　genome。'
　She　was　getting　more　overwrought；　her　hands　trembling　as　she　wiped　her　nose　with　a　napkin。
　'And　then　at　the　beginning　of　the　new　academic　year；　I　get　passed　over　as　a　department　chairman；'　she　went　on；　eyes　flaming　with　furious　tears。
　'Phyllis；　that's　not　fair　。　。　。'
　'Shut　up！'　she　screamed。　'All　I've　given　to　that　bloody　school？　I'm　the　senior　one　who　has　potty…trained　everyone；　including　you。　And　they　give　it　to　a　man　because　I'm　not　a　doctor。　I'm　just　a　Ph。D。；'　she　spat。
　'They　gave　it　to　a　Harvard…trained　pathologist　who　is　pletely　justified　in　getting　the　position；'　I　flatly　stated。　'And　it　doesn't　matter。　There's　no　excuse　for　what　you've　done。　You　saved　a　virus　all　these　years？　To　do　this？'
　The　teakettle　was　whistling　shrilly。　I　got　up　and　turned　the　burner　off。
　'It's　not　the　only　exotic　disease　I've　had　in　my　research　archives。　I've　been　collecting；'　she　said。　'I　actually　thought　I　might　do　an　important　project　someday。　Study　the　world's　most　feared　virus　and　learn　something　more　about　the　human　immune　system　that　might　save　us　from　other　scourges　like　AIDS。　I　thought　I　might　win　a　Nobel　Prize。'　She　had　gotten　oddly　quiet；　as　if　pleased　with　herself。　'But　no；　I　wouldn't　say　that　in　Birmingham　my　intention　was　to　one　day　create　an　epidemic。'
　'Well；　you　didn't；'　I　replied。
　Her　eyes　narrowed　like　evil　as　she　looked　at　me。
　'No　one's　gotten　sick　except　for　those　people　suspected　of　using　the　facial　spray；'　I　said。　'I've　been　exposed　several　times　to　patients；　and　I'm　okay。　The　virus　you　created　is　a　dead　end；　affecting　only　the　primary　person　but　not　replicating。　There's　no　secondary　infection。　No　epidemic。　What　you　created　was　a　panic；　disease　and　death　for　a　hand