“Maybe I should talk with Wendy’s husband,” Robert said. “He sounds like a kindred soul.” He took the kettle back to the stove.

“Great idea,” Wendy agreed.

“All I can say is that the meeting was extremely rewarding for me,” Marissa said. “Not only did I meet Wendy, we happened to learn that four of us have the same odd diagnosis.”

“Are you talking about the TB stuff?” Robert asked.

“Exactly,” Wendy said. “I’m one of the four.”

“No kidding?”

Marissa launched into breathless explanation of exactly how unusual the number of cases was. “It’s so unexpected, we have to look into it. Tomorrow we’ll go to the Women’s Clinic to launch our official investigation.”

“What do you mean your ‘official investigation’?” Robert asked.

“We want to know how many cases like ours have been seen. We want to find out if Rebecca Ziegler had the same problem. We already know she had blocked tubes.”

“The Women’s Clinic is not going to give you that kind of information.”

“Why not? It could be important,” Marissa said. “For all we know it might have serious public health consequences. We could really be on to something . . . something along the lines of toxic shock syndrome.”

Robert looked at Marissa, then at Wendy. He found their ardor unsettling, especially in view of Marissa’s recent outburst at the Chinese restaurant. No doubt Wendy was strung out on the same hormones.

“I think you guys ought to calm down,” Robert told them. “Even if you get to the bottom of this, it’s not like it’s going to reverse your condition. And I seriously doubt you’ll get very far with the clinic. It would be highly unethical, even illegal, for them to disclose information about their patients without the patients’ consent.”

But Marissa would hear none of it. “This TB issue has bothered me from the start. I mean to get to the bottom of it. I don’t care what it takes. I just talked to Cyrill Dubchek and he can put the authority of the CDC behind it.”

Robert just shook his head. He clearly disapproved. “Well then,” he said curtly, “I’ll leave you two sleuths to your plotting.”

With that, he picked up his mug and walked away.

Wendy broke the uncomfortable silence once his steps were out of earshot. “He is right,” she said. “We may have a problem getting access to those medical records.”

“We have to give it a try. Maybe we can muster some authority as doctors. You know, take the professional approach. If that doesn’t work, we’ll just think of something else. You are with me, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Wendy said. “United we stand.”

Marissa smiled. She could hardly wait for morning.

6
March 29, 1990
9:30 A.M.

Struggling with their umbrellas in the wind, Marissa and Wendy passed into the courtyard of the Women’s Clinic.