because she quickly stubbed out a cigarette and put the ashtray in one of the desk drawers.
"Can I help you?" she asked. She was fiftyish with silver-gray, tightly permed hair. Her name tag said Miss Cavanagh. Reading glasses perched on the very end of her nose, their temple pieces connected by a gold chain that went around her neck.
Marissa explained who she was, adding, "It's important that I try to determine how Dr. Richter contracted his illness. To do that, I want to reconstruct his schedule for a week or two prior to his getting sick. Could you do that for me? I'm going to ask his wife to do the same."
"I suppose I could," said Miss Cavanagh.
"Did anything out of the ordinary happen that you can recall?"
"Like what?" asked Miss Cavanagh, with a blank face.
"Like his being bitten by a monkey or getting mugged in the parking garage!" Marissa's voice had a sharp edge to it.
"Those things did happen," said Miss Cavanagh.
"I realize that," said Marissa. "How about anything else odd or different."
"I can't think of anything at the moment. Wait, he did dent his car.
"Okay, that's the idea," encouraged Marissa. "Keep thinking. And by the way, did you make the arrangements for his African medical meeting?"
"Yes."
"How about the San Diego meeting?"
"That too."
"I would like to have the phone numbers of the sponsoring organizations. If you could look them up for me, I'd appreciate it. Also I'd like to have a list of all the patients Dr. Richter saw during the two weeks before his illness. And finally: do you know Helen Townsend?"
Miss Cavanagh took her glasses off her nose and let them hang on their chain. She sighed disapprovingly. "Does Helen Townsend have the same illness as Dr. Richter?"
"We believe she does," said Marissa, watching Miss Cavanagh's face. The receptionist knew something about Helen Townsend, but she seemed reluctant to speak, toying with the keys of her typewriter. "Was Helen Townsend a patient of Dr. Richter's?" Marissa prodded.
Miss Cavanagh looked up. "No, she was his mistress. I warned him about her. And there: she gave him some disease. He should have listened to me."
"Do you know if he saw her just before he got sick?"
"Yes, the day before."
Marissa stared at the woman. Helen Townsend didn't give Dr. Richter the disease; it was the other way around. But she didn't say anything. It all fit into place. She could now relate all the known cases to Dr. Richter. Epidemiologically, that was extremely important. It meant that Dr. Richter was an index case and that he, and only he, had been exposed to the unknown reservoir of the virus. Now it was even more important for her to reconstruct the man's schedule in minute detail.
Marissa asked Miss Cavanagh to start working on an outline of Dr. Richter's schedule for the last two weeks. She told the woman that she'd be back, but if needed, she could be paged through the hospital operator.
"Can I ask you a question?" said Miss Cavanagh timidly.
"Of course," said Marissa, with a hand on the door.
"Is there a chance I might get ill?"
Marissa had been suppressing the thought because she didn't want to frighten the woman, but she could not lie. After all, the secretary would have to be considered a primary contact.
"It's possible," said Marissa. "We will be asking you to restrict some of your activities during the next week or so, and I'd advise you to check your temperature twice a day. Personally, however, I think you will be fine since you haven't experienced any symptoms so far."
Back at the hospital, Marissa fought off her own fears and her developing fatigue. She had too much to do. She had to go over the clinic charts in detail. She hoped to find a reason why some of Dr. Richter's patients had gotten the disease and others hadn't. Also
Marissa wanted to call Dr. Richter's wife. Between the wife and the secretary, she hoped she could construct a reasonably complete diary of the man's activities during the two weeks before he became
"Can I help you?" she asked. She was fiftyish with silver-gray, tightly permed hair. Her name tag said Miss Cavanagh. Reading glasses perched on the very end of her nose, their temple pieces connected by a gold chain that went around her neck.
Marissa explained who she was, adding, "It's important that I try to determine how Dr. Richter contracted his illness. To do that, I want to reconstruct his schedule for a week or two prior to his getting sick. Could you do that for me? I'm going to ask his wife to do the same."
"I suppose I could," said Miss Cavanagh.
"Did anything out of the ordinary happen that you can recall?"
"Like what?" asked Miss Cavanagh, with a blank face.
"Like his being bitten by a monkey or getting mugged in the parking garage!" Marissa's voice had a sharp edge to it.
"Those things did happen," said Miss Cavanagh.
"I realize that," said Marissa. "How about anything else odd or different."
"I can't think of anything at the moment. Wait, he did dent his car.
"Okay, that's the idea," encouraged Marissa. "Keep thinking. And by the way, did you make the arrangements for his African medical meeting?"
"Yes."
"How about the San Diego meeting?"
"That too."
"I would like to have the phone numbers of the sponsoring organizations. If you could look them up for me, I'd appreciate it. Also I'd like to have a list of all the patients Dr. Richter saw during the two weeks before his illness. And finally: do you know Helen Townsend?"
Miss Cavanagh took her glasses off her nose and let them hang on their chain. She sighed disapprovingly. "Does Helen Townsend have the same illness as Dr. Richter?"
"We believe she does," said Marissa, watching Miss Cavanagh's face. The receptionist knew something about Helen Townsend, but she seemed reluctant to speak, toying with the keys of her typewriter. "Was Helen Townsend a patient of Dr. Richter's?" Marissa prodded.
Miss Cavanagh looked up. "No, she was his mistress. I warned him about her. And there: she gave him some disease. He should have listened to me."
"Do you know if he saw her just before he got sick?"
"Yes, the day before."
Marissa stared at the woman. Helen Townsend didn't give Dr. Richter the disease; it was the other way around. But she didn't say anything. It all fit into place. She could now relate all the known cases to Dr. Richter. Epidemiologically, that was extremely important. It meant that Dr. Richter was an index case and that he, and only he, had been exposed to the unknown reservoir of the virus. Now it was even more important for her to reconstruct the man's schedule in minute detail.
Marissa asked Miss Cavanagh to start working on an outline of Dr. Richter's schedule for the last two weeks. She told the woman that she'd be back, but if needed, she could be paged through the hospital operator.
"Can I ask you a question?" said Miss Cavanagh timidly.
"Of course," said Marissa, with a hand on the door.
"Is there a chance I might get ill?"
Marissa had been suppressing the thought because she didn't want to frighten the woman, but she could not lie. After all, the secretary would have to be considered a primary contact.
"It's possible," said Marissa. "We will be asking you to restrict some of your activities during the next week or so, and I'd advise you to check your temperature twice a day. Personally, however, I think you will be fine since you haven't experienced any symptoms so far."
Back at the hospital, Marissa fought off her own fears and her developing fatigue. She had too much to do. She had to go over the clinic charts in detail. She hoped to find a reason why some of Dr. Richter's patients had gotten the disease and others hadn't. Also
Marissa wanted to call Dr. Richter's wife. Between the wife and the secretary, she hoped she could construct a reasonably complete diary of the man's activities during the two weeks before he became
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