“Okay. If you say so.”

“Good.” Lawhon smiled again. “Now, tell me everything.”

Chapter 16

Georgetown University Medical School

THE MOMENT THEY were given the go-ahead, Fletcher and Sam got into his car and made the short drive to the Georgetown University campus. The dean of the medical school, Dr. Nate Simpson, and Sam’s immediate boss, Dr. Hilary Stag, were waiting for them in the dean’s office.

Hilary looked genuinely upset; the smile lines around her usually merry eyes were set and grim. The dean looked no better—a happy, rotund man with a white goatee and wire-rim glasses, Sam had always thought he looked a bit like Santa Claus, minus the red suit, but this morning he was frowning and dour.

What, exactly, had Tommy Cattafi done?

After the introductions were made, Dean Simpson settled down to business. “No sense beating around the bush. If Cattafi survives, and I do hope he does, despite all of this, you can ask him yourself what he was up to.”

Hilary crossed her long legs. She was wearing sheer hose that made a shurring noise each time she moved. “He was found in the gross anatomy lab, Samantha. In a state of undress. One of the corpses had been...interfered with.”

The expression on Fletcher’s face was priceless. Sam wasn’t quite as fazed; it happened, more than people realized. Whether a natural proclivity toward necrophilia, or an attachment formed during the semester, Cattafi wouldn’t be the first student caught diddling a corpse, nor would he be the last.

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Sam asked. She was teaching a new class of forensic gross anatomy to the first years. It was part of the new pathology program.

“It wasn’t in your lab, to start with—it was Dr. Wilhelm’s. And we chose to handle it internally because we had no real evidence that the boy had been doing anything of a...sexual nature.”

“Then why was he undressed?” Fletcher asked.

“We asked Mr. Cattafi the same thing. His shirt was unbuttoned—we asked why. He refused to answer.”

Sam sat forward in her chair. “If it wasn’t sexual, Hilary, what exactly was he caught doing? You need to tell us everything.”

The dean glanced at Hilary, then nodded.

“Please understand, we must ask that you keep this confidential. If word got out, it could severely damage the reputation of the school.”

Fletcher started to say something, but Sam put a hand on his arm. “No problem. We’ll keep this just between us, unless it becomes absolutely necessary to the investigation. Deal?”

“He was taking tissue samples from the reproductive organs, the brain, the heart, the liver. We saw this on film, of course, after he was caught. When the janitor walked in on him, Mr. Cattafi’s bags were packed, his shirt was open and he had a needle in Mr. Anderson’s vas deferens.”

Sam saw Fletcher glance at his crotch and bit back a smile.

“How new to the program is Mr. Anderson?”

“I believe he arrived only a few days before the incident.”

Fletcher looked blank. Sam said, “We use fresh cadavers. There is a regular supply.”

“I see,” Fletcher said, grimacing.

“Was Cattafi going after sperm, do you think?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” the dean said. “Why would he be?”

“I’m wondering, Dean, if Cattafi was as advanced as everyone says. Perhaps he was simply experimenting.”

“Or he’s some sort of freak, and we didn’t weed him out early enough.”

Hilary put a hand on the dean’s arm. “I hadn’t thought of it before, this situation has been so alarming and unsettling. But I think Samantha might be on to something. I knew Thomas. He didn’t strike me as the aberrant type. He was very interested in stem cells and regeneration. He’d done work in the field, even landed a plum internship last summer at Stanford in their Regenerative Medicine program. He’s interned for several prestigious firms.”

The dean was anything but mollified, but he backed down. “Be that as it may, as I said before, Mr. Cattafi refused to speak to us about the matter. We told him if he didn’t defend himself, he’d be expelled, and he simply shook his head and shrugged. I found it highly perplexing. Mr. Cattafi was one of our finest students. He had another two years of research ahead before he came back for his clinical work, yes, but I have no doubt he would have graduated at the top of his class when all was said and done. He already had offers from research teams, from residency programs—the Pasteur Institute wanted him. He was something special, and everyone who came in contact with him knew it.”

“I’ve been hearing this all morning. What exactly was so special about him?” Sam asked.

The dean scratched his chin. “He is...a genius. Ahead of his time. Conceptually, experimentally. As Dr. Stag said, he had a fascination with regeneration—of cells and tissue, but eventually, whole body. He was applying his talents to a cancer vaccine, and from what I know, was damn close to having a breakthrough. He believed he would eventually conquer death itself, and I have to tell you, Dr. Owens, I believed him. If anyone could, it was Thomas Cattafi. The boy’s as talented as any I’ve seen in my tenure at this school.”

“Yet you kicked him out.”

The dean’s face whitened, his hand gripped the arm of his chair. “I had no choice. He refused to defend his actions, to explain his rather unorthodox situation. And now he’s been stabbed, and might not live. Trust me, Dr. Owens, I’ve been rethinking my decision since the day it happened.”

Fletcher closed his notebook, crossed his legs, spoke conversationally. “Between us chickens, do you have any idea what Cattafi would be doing with cholera and E. coli and a few other unsavories in a refrigerator at his house?”

They both looked startled, and Sam knew that was news. It started her thinking, though. From all she’d heard, it sounded as if Cattafi was stealing tissue samples, bone marrow and semen and the like, not trying to get his jollies with the corpse. If he believed in regeneration, maybe, just maybe, he’d hit on something that he thought could be used to prevent the illnesses he had in his refrigerator. Or something in his cancer work was applicable to the pathogens he had.

Dr. Frankenstein.

You’re making leaps again, Owens. Keep that to yourself. You’re not in a bloody science-fiction film.

“Did Thomas have any benefactors here in town? People who were helping him, off campus?” she asked.

Hilary nodded. “He’d recently accepted a fellowship with David Bromley, at GW’s med school. They were in Africa until just before the semester started. You know we’ve been working hard to cross-pollinate the two universities for a massive International Medicine program. Bromley took one look at Cattafi and began his seduction. From all accounts, they were inseparable.”

“What’s Bromley’s specialty?” Sam asked.

“Virology,” Hilary answered. “He’s one of the preeminent virologists in the world.”

Sam’s mind started spinning. Maybe she wasn’t as far off as she’d first thought.

Fletcher glanced at his watch. “I hate to do this, but we have another meeting. Thank you so much for your time. I will do my best to respect your wishes about keeping this incident private, but please understand, if it becomes necessary, I will have to include it in the files.”

The dean stood and extended his hand. “We understand, Lieutenant. Thank you for coming.”

Hilary rose, as well. “Samantha, Stephanie and I would be happy to cover your classes for the next couple of days, if you need to see to this.”

Sam was tempted to protest, but knew it would be for the best. Between this and Baldwin’s new cases, she might just be out of pocket for a little while.

“Thank you, Hilary. That would be a great help.”

* * *

The rain had pushed through by the time they finished. The skies were lightening in the west. A fresh breeze swept Sam’s hair off her shoulders. Virology, an undercover FBI agent, a student playing with fire. Fletcher’s instinct had been right on the money—there was something more here than met the eye.