"A good theory, except that if the bug was carrying a bug, some of the victims surely would show soft-tissue damage in the mouth. And I didn't find any cold sores. Cooties, yes. Periodontal disease, also. But their mouths were clean of viral infection."
"That brings us back to the no-bug theory."
"Except there is something killing these people that suggests a virus. If not a virus, perhaps a communicable disease on the order of Lyme disease or a lethal toxin like paralytic shellfish poisoning. Those possibilities are real enough. But I don't know enough about these things to say how they might work or not work inside the body. The HELP agent doesn't appear to be of a type that could kill a full-grown adult inside of forty-eight hours."
"Why not?"
"Because there are no discernible symptoms or effects. The person just becomes very tired one day, and starts wasting until he dies. In order for a virus to kill, there must be physical symptoms, wouldn't you think?"
"I guess," said Remo.
"After all, warts are a symptom of one kind of virus. Chicken pox and mumps have their signature symptoms. Other viral infections settle in major internal organs, such as the heart or the lungs. None of these organs have been affected in any way I can find. HELP victims waste away and they die. But they don't seem to die of the wasting process."
"Kinda like a stealth virus."
"A good way of putting it." Esterquest gestured toward the body on the slab. "You know, I was about to open this man up."
"Be my guest," said Remo.
Esterquest eyed Remo doubtfully. "You have the stomach for seeing me remove this man's stomach?"
"I was in Nam. I've seen everything."
"If you faint, I'm just going to leave you there."
"Don't sweat it," Remo said. "I only faint at election returns."
As Remo watched, Esterquest made a lateral incision from the breastbone down to the pubic bone, without getting anything in the way of blood. He poked around happily.
"Since I see no external signs," he mused, "I'm going to look at this man's major organs. Examine the stomach contents. Perhaps it was something he ate."
"Like thunderbugs?"
"I hear it's a fad now." Esterquest shook his rumpled head in disbelief. "What is this country coming to?"
Remo shrugged. He watched as the dead man's limp liver-colored stomach was excised, sliced open, and the contents removed and set on a stainless steel tray. It was a milky mass that looked like nothing remotely edible.
"If the virus kills after forty-eight hours, will you find any bugs?" Remo asked.
"Probably not. Carapace material is usually impervious to stomach acid, but that damn bug is almost one hundred percent digestible." Esterquest was picking the mass apart and smearing samples on a glass slide. He looked at it through a microscope.
"No bug parts that I can see."
"Then he didn't eat the bugs."
Esterquest looked up and smiled knowingly.
"Oh, there's still the bowel contents to look at, yet."
Remo's face fell. "That part I think I can skip."
"Everyone has their limitations. Myself, I'd prefer to forgo a bowel incision. Even with a face mask, built-up gasses are the worst."
Remo started to go.
Esterquest called, "Oh, there is one other thing."
Remo turned. "Yeah?"
"Even though there was no viral agent in their stomachs, there was something funny in their blood."
"What?"
"I don't know. Never saw anything like it before. And without an electron microscope, and a whole range of testing dyes and the like, I can't pursue it any further."
"Oh," said Remo.
As he started to go, the man called after him, "Next time you're in town, drop by again. Maybe we can compare notes some more. Lord knows an old poison oaker like me could use the company."
Remo noticed the man's colorless eyes flick to a framed picture of a smiling young woman with curly hair.
"Wife?" Remo asked.
Esterquest nodded. "Be gone six years in October."
"Sorry."
"I'm used to death in my business."
"Ever figure her out?"
Esterquest didn't look up. His no was barely audible.
"Catch you around," said Remo, shutting the door after himself. A hissing of released gas came distinctly through the door and Esterquest, his voice once more buoyant, exclaimed, "Gahh! I hate this part. But it'll be worth it if you give up all your secrets, my silent gray friend."
Remo left the funeral parlor in a better mood than when he had gone in. It was good to come upon unexpectedly, someone who was really excited about his work. Even if the nature of that work wasn't always so pleasant. Funny how someone who deals in death all the time should find in that a way to make his life more interesting.
Remo reflected that he and the undertaker were in the same business. Death. Except Remo was more of a manufacturer and the undertaker a packager of the final product.
The town was pretty quiet once Remo got out into the fresh air. There was no sign of the press and Remo wondered if they had simply camped out at Nirvana West. He wasn't looking forward to going back to that clowns' nest.
On the other hand, maybe Nalini would be there.
As Remo started for his car, from down the road came the blare of rock music. It was loud. It was very loud. And it was coming this way fast. It sounded like some idiot teenager had his car stereo cranked up to one-hundred-fifty decibels.
As Remo got his motor going, he saw in his rearview mirror a big RV barreling through town. It was painted red, white, and blue and the too-loud rock was blaring from a loudspeaker mounted on the roof.