“As a matter of fact, my daughter, Emily, showed me a video of the fall on YouTube. It was just awful, and at the time I saw it, there had already been something like two or three million views.”

“Well, the girl was cared for at White Memorial Hospital in Boston, which as you know is as good as any hospital in the country. A week or so after her open repair, she developed an infection with an unusual bacteria. As you may know, with very rare exceptions, all bacteria are classified as either Gram positive, or Gram negative, depending on whether they become purple or pink when stained.”

Inwardly, Lou groaned. This was introduction to undergraduate microbiology stuff. He nodded, keeping his expression blank. Puchalsky had to be allowed to do it his way.

“Please go on,” he said.

“What is unusual about this germ is that it appears to fluctuate between the two states. There is no pattern that we can discern to this fluctuation. Nothing we can find that is cause and effect. But the result is an organism that isn’t consistently sensitive to any antibiotics.”

Lou went cold. The Doomsday Germ. He had read a newspaper article about it, but had seen nothing in the medical literature, and had categorized it in his mind as a variant of MRSA—methicillin-resistant staph aureus.

“What happened to the girl?” he asked.

“She lost her arm, and then one leg. She was extremely ill at the time of that operation, and she died on the table.”

Jesus. Cap was in isolation because of a nosocomial infection—a germ he had caught from simply being in the hospital.

“Have there been many other reported cases?”

“Some. We had one at this hospital about six months ago—an elderly diabetic woman who came in for treatment of a foot ulcer and got a secondary infection with the bacteria. She died quite rapidly and unpleasantly.”

“What do the sensitivities of Hank Duncan’s cultures tell you?” Lou asked.

Apparently Puchalsky liked the way the question was phrased. His impatient demeanor lightened just a bit.

“The antibiotic sensitivities are inconsistent and not encouraging. We’ve tried methicillin and two different carbapenems, individually and in combination. Next will be vancomycin. But so far nothing seems to be working. At the present moment, I am not entirely sure how to battle this particular germ. I have no idea of its origin, how it managed to infect your friend, or how many people may be at risk for exposure now. We’ve contacted the CDC of course, and are working at it in my lab over in the Smith Pavilion.”

“What’s the current situation?” Lou asked, his voice breaking in spite of himself.

“The infection is getting worse. Mr. Duncan’s surgeons have put in drains, but we’re contemplating opening the incision.”

“And your investigation?”