As far as he could see, the answer was that she was the best the CDC had to offer.
And…it was damned hard to admit that he had been wrong.
Stansky interrupted Brady’s thoughts to say, “That’s right, that CDC chick. You know damned well who I’m talking about.”
“Oh, you mean the CDC woman you agreed was a ‘hot little number?’”
Stansky sneered. “Right. That one. You know, the same woman who tested the Winslow barbecue food this week and discovered traces of Candoxine in the lemonade.”
“After both our lab and the Health Department lab tests failed to reveal any contaminants.”
“So she found Candoxine when our labs couldn’t. So what?”
“So you should’ve been at the Health Department lab the day the specimens were confirmed. You would’ve thought she’d won the Nobel Prize the way those doctors acted.”
Stansky retorted, “Your reaction to Natalie Patterson is unreasonable, Brady, and you know it. I don’t know why she strikes a sour note in your mind, but did it ever occur to you why those doctors may have made such a fuss over her discovery? Dr. Gregory wanted her to be temporarily assigned to his lab so the heat would be off them when the press came calling, and he didn’t want her objecting. That was pretty smart of him, if you ask me.”
Brady did not respond and Stansky said, “Just forget it, will you? What does that fax say?”
“Nothing—except that Natalie Patterson probably solved the case for us, too.”
“Give me that fax!”
Stansky read the fax, then looked up. “Maybe this Patterson cookie does deserve the Nobel Prize. I’d say this is pretty cut-and-dried. This guy Dr. Hadden Moore met Mattie Winslow in the States when he was sent here by Manderling. If everything this fax reports is true, it all went south from there. He stalked her to the extent that she signed a restraining order against him.” Stansky took a breath, then added, “You’re right. Natalie Patterson did just about solve the case for us. All we have to do now is find out if this Moore guy is still in the country. If he is, we’ll find him and Wilthauer will be happy, the Commissioner will be ecstatic and this case will be history.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“Wilthauer wants us to keep ‘the babe’ informed on our progress in the case.”
“Us?”
Brady stared at him.
“Who’s the principal on this case?”
“Me.”
“So—the job’s all yours.”
“Maybe not.” Brady stood up abruptly. “Let’s go talk to Wilthauer.”
NATALIE WALKED ALONG the crowded New York street, weaving between loitering office workers determined to soak up as many rays as possible during a limited noon break on a sunny summer day. She avoided collision with determined street vendors selling all manner of wares—hot dogs and pretzels, knockoff jewelry and handbags, “rare” and used books, “original works of art” or anything else a wandering tourist or a willing New Yorker might buy.
She was neither a New Yorker nor a wandering tourist, but she should’ve known better than to expect to make time when traffic was at its height and taxis were unobtainable. She had finally caught a bus and had ridden as far as she could before getting off to walk the rest of the way to the police precinct assigned to the Winslow case.
She also should have known better than to wear shoes that weren’t completely broken in.
Natalie grimaced as she continued walking. It was only a few more blocks, but she was sweltering in her sober brown suit, she was hungry and every corner where crowds converged to await the signal to cross a street added to her irritation.
Chuck had called her the previous evening to say he missed her and that the days dragged without her. She had been miserable in her lonely hotel room where the droning of the TV was the only sound that broke the silence. Talking to him had lifted her spirits to the point where she sincerely began questioning her former feelings. Chuck was such a great guy. When she was new and uncertain at the CDC, he had been gracious and willing to help her with every problem. There had never been a hint of condescension in his voice or mockery in his gaze—unlike her brief encounters with the obnoxious Detective Tomasini.
Natalie stared at the flashing street signal, then finally admitted to herself the true source of her irritation. George had committed her to completing all the lab work connected with the Winslow case and she had spent the past week conducting tests on samples of the Winslow barbecue food. She had known what to expect, yet the discovery of Candoxine residue in the lemonade had made her flesh crawl. With that grisly finding behind her, she had spent her spare time at the Health Department lab occupying herself with studies regarding the ongoing West Nile virus problem in NYC and its environs. She was enjoying her participation in that important project. The work was intriguing. It took her mind off the Winslow case, and she was pleased with Dr. Gregory’s reaction to her initial efforts; yet as far as she was concerned, she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the rapidly developing murder investigation as possible.
Also, if she were totally honest, she would have to admit that she was dreading another session with the odious detective in charge of the Winslow case.
Natalie waited impatiently for the signal to change as swiftly moving street traffic roared past and the crowd built up on the corner behind her. The image of Detective Tomasini’s mocking expression returned to mind, and her irritation swelled. Captain Wilthauer had insisted that her presence was necessary at this meeting so she could be brought up to date on the most recent information received on the case. He had also explained that he needed her help in alerting all his detectives to specific information regarding the properties of Candoxine that were essential at this point in the case. The call was a testament to her credibility—yet her discomfort did not abate.
Dr. Ruberg’s reaction to Detective Tomasini still mystified her. She simply could not fathom how such an intelligent woman could find a man like him appealing. Tomasini was—
Natalie gasped as whispered words and a lightning fast thrust in the middle of her back sent her lurching forward into the street.
Her horrified scream was simultaneous with the screech of an approaching limo’s brakes and the sharp, breathtaking burst of pain that sent her spiraling into darkness.
“A CONCUSSION…needs to rest…needs to be careful for the next week, at least…”
Mumbling and disjointed phrases in soft tones roused Natalie to wakefulness. She attempted to open her eyes, but the light hurt, and she squeezed her eyes shut again.
Finally peering out from between slitted eyelids, she saw an attractive woman in a lab coat move into her line of vision. The woman questioned, “How do you feel, Natalie? My name is Dr. Weiss. I’ve been taking care of you since your accident.”
Accident? No. It wasn’t an accident. She knew that because—
The pounding in her head started again and she couldn’t remember.
The doctor cautioned, “Lie still, please. You have a concussion. Bystanders pulled you out of the path of an oncoming car just in time when you fell into the street, but you struck your head on the curb. Headaches, scraped knees and a general soreness notwithstanding, you should be all right in a few days. You were lucky. The accident could have been fatal.”
“Not an accident…”
The doctor turned to a shadowed figure near the doorway that mumbled something in response. Natalie strained to see the person, but her vision blurred and she closed her eyes.
“What did you say, Natalie?” The doctor’s voice again. “I couldn’t understand you.”
Her