“About three or four weeks. His bedsore had just begun to heal when, out of nowhere, it … ,” she searched for the right description, “erupted.”

“Which is typical for flesh-eating disease,” Lopez said.

“So I’ve been told.” Carlyle put the paper down on the bed beside her. “I hear that Dad picked up his infection from a girl named Tonya Jackson who was in the room next door. Something to do with the staff not properly washing their hands between patients.”

Lopez began to halfheartedly defend the nurses. “Mrs. Carlyle, the staff couldn’t have known that—”

“Oh, I’m not blaming them,” Carlyle said. “They were wonderful to Dad. And you’re right—How could they know? Even if they had …” She flushed and looked away. “Look at me. I was perfectly aware, and I still foolishly exposed myself to the organism.”

“It happens,” Lopez said. “You mentioned Tonya Jackson. Did you ever meet her?”

“Oh, yes.” Carlyle nodded emphatically. “Poor Tonya. She was such a gaunt little thing. Couldn’t have weighed ninety pounds. And she suffered so much in her short life.” She shook her head and sighed. “You should have heard the stories. Sexually abused by her father. Living on the street when she was only thirteen. It went on and on.”

Lopez cocked her head. “Sounds like you got to know her.”

Carlyle laughed. “I’m a comptroller by profession, but Dad always said I should have gone into social work. He said that from the get-go I was always attracted to the runt of the litter.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Tonya didn’t get any other visitors. So, when Dad was sleeping, I used to drop in on her … before she became so sick.” She sighed. “Tonya loved to talk. And she was so open, too. I never had the feeling she was making any of it up. She never portrayed herself as a victim.”

Lopez shook her head. Too often she had heard variations on the same story when she worked at a vaccination clinic with street kids in downtown Atlanta. “Mrs. Carlyle, did Tonya ever mention why she ended up in the hospital?”

Carlyle nodded solemnly. “She had this awful sore on her left elbow. Apparently, because she was HIV-positive and used a lot of cocaine, she was prone to them. One of the nurses told me that this was where the infection began. She must have touched it before touching her mouth and … .”

Lopez wondered if Carlyle was reflecting on the similarities to her own predicament. She began to rise from her chair. “That’s very helpful—”

Carlyle’s eyes narrowed. “Tonya believed someone meant to make her sick.”

“What?” Lopez said, dropping back into the chair.