Killing The Blood Cleaner (19 page)

Jack blinked when he flipped the page to observe the result. The lab results had come back negative for HIV. Jack saw a handwritten order from Dr. Bridge to have another of the samples sent to the lab for retesting. On the margin of the first lab report she had written in garbled handwriting, “HIV test on initial entry to GMAX positive. Maybe, false-negative? Send another sample to the lab.”

The file showed the return of the second lab test to the institution a week later. It also came back negative for HIV. On this report a question mark was again scribbled in what appeared to be Dr. Bridge’s handwriting. Jack went back and forth through these documents and looked on the backs of each to see if there were any further notations or explanations. His eye then caught an entry of a name with which he was familiar. On this Notice of Results of HIV test, where Kirk once again refused to sign, his refusal was noted by the signature of Nurse Tacy Crandall on the form.

He then saw another notation in Dr. Bridge’s handwriting in the medical narrative. The note stated, “Call to CDC,” and the illegible name of the doctor to whom she had spoken. Jack looked at the name carefully and thought it easily could be a scribbling of the name of his friend at the CDC, Dr. Clayton. “Will send sample,” the note continued. The next note in the same handwriting stated, “remaining blood sample lost.” The records then continued in ordinary fashion to document the minor medical problems of Kirk as a healthy, fifty year-old male until the legally required tests for HIV caused by the rape and murder of Dr. Bridge.

Jack went over the file again to make sure that he had not been mistaken, or had missed something in his review. But the results were the same. Kirk had been found positive for HIV in two separate tests. The first, at the Fulton County Jail in Atlanta, and the second when he entered the Georgia prison system a year later. Then, ten months ago he had tested negative for HIV, and was retested, again with negative results. Dr Bridge had talked to a doctor at the CDC and was going to send them an additional sample but remaining sample had been lost. Now, after the murder of Dr. Bridge, Kirk had been tested again and the results were still negative. Somehow, over a period of years Kirk’s body had purged itself of the HIV virus. If this was correct, then Kirk was exactly the Elite HIV Controller the CDC and Dr. Clayton had been seeking for years. The Blood Cleaner.

Jack looked again at the scribbled notes by Dr. Bridge about her questions and call to the CDC. Could this have been a call to his friend, Dr. Clayton? The handwriting was abominable. He closed the file and looked at his watch. He was already late for dinner.

TWENTY-FIVE

Tacy was waiting patiently, seated in a booth, when Jack pulled into the gravel parking lot of the fabled, Maximum Pig restaurant in Lester. There was no missing the Maximum Pig with its rows of white light bulbs strung across the roof and the signature Maximum Pig, which was a twenty five foot tall, pink metal structure in the likeness of a large smiling pig, with broad horizontal prison stripes depicting a prison uniform and sporting a black mask painted on the face. The pig appeared to have been constructed from cast-off metal military parts such as airplane gas tanks and the like. Tacy watched Jack’s speeding vehicle kick up a cloud of dust from the dry gravel in the parking lot. She smiled when he exited his car looking at his watch. He seemed relieved when she waved at him through the plate glass window.

Jack entered the restaurant and noticed that the porcine décor continued inside. Each table had a ceramic pink pig light and on the walls were several large blowup photographs of hunters standing over huge hogs. Jack noticed that on one picture where the immense hog had especially large tusks, there appeared to be a dead dog to the side, apparently a victim of those tusks. Jack approached the wooden booth where Tacy was seated. “I’m sorry to be so late, Tacy. I just got interested in one of those files and forgot about the time,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. As he spoke, Jack noticed a large print of a painting showing a group of hogs killing a rattlesnake which hung on the wall by the booth, but did not comment on it.

“You’re only twenty minutes late. Besides, I was going to eat here anyway. I would have just ordered for myself after half an hour,” she said pleasantly as Jack took his seat across from her in the booth.

“So you are the new doctor that Nurse Tacy has been waiting for?” asked a tall, fortyish, black man who had just appeared next to their booth, wearing a red apron emblazoned with “MAXIMUM PIG” in large black letters. His smile revealed a magnificent gold front tooth with a small diamond insert, no doubt a sign of newfound prosperity.

“Jack, this is Ray Pitts. He owns the Maximum Pig and makes the best barbecue in the South,” Tacy said as the man smiled proudly.

“What would you to like to drink?” Mr. Pitts continued with a slight lisp in his soft voice as Jack looked quickly at the menu.

“What kind of beer you have?” Jack asked as he searched the menu.

“We are BYOB. I don’t have any beer or liquor. Couldn’t get a license, since I had some convictions. Tacy may have told you I had a little problem with the law a few years back,” he said with a wink to Tacy. “But Miss Tacy always has her own, back in the locker.”

“Ray, I think we will have two of my lite beers from the back,” she quickly replied. Jack looked at her quizzically and nodded his agreement.

“So what files had you so fascinated that you were late for your big night out in Lester?” Tacy asked.

“The one that got my attention was Henry Kirk,” Jack said, noticing the pained look in Tacy’s eyes at the mention of Kirk’s name. “He tested positive for HIV years ago at the Fulton County Jail in Atlanta and then again when he arrived in the State prison system. In the last year he has now had two separate negative HIV tests. There was one when he raped that white inmate ten months ago. Dr. Bridge sent another sample back for a second test which was also negative. The latest negative test was done when he murdered Dr. Bridge,” Jack replied.

“I hate to even think about that man. He’s so evil. I do remember Dr. Bridge saying something about HIV with him. But I don’t remember anything else other than the horror of that day,” Tacy said.

“The medical notes show her reviewing the two previous negative HIV tests and calling a doctor at the CDC. She may have called someone I know. She looked for the third blood sample to send to the CDC, but it was missing. You signed the Notice that was delivered to Kirk about the results of the HIV test,” Jack replied.

“I remember now. We both looked in the refrigerator for the other sample. It was gone. Dr. Bridge said that the results were very unusual. But about that time, we had a mini riot between two gangs. There were about fifteen inmates stabbed and two officers seriously injured. The prison was on lockdown for three days. Medical was packed. I know she meant to follow up, but I don’t think it ever happened,” Tacy said. “Dr. Bridge did mention it may have been just as well the sample was lost since it would have been ethically and legally dicey for her to send the sample to the CDC without his permission, since the required legal testing had been done and was completed with the forms and all,” she continued.

“She may have a point there. The Georgia HIV testing law was upheld in Federal Court. But once you have an accurate test you’re supposed to destroy the remaining samples,” Jack replied.

“And you can forget about Henry Kirk agreeing to anything. You probably saw the Use of Force Report on what it took to get the samples after he killed Dr. Bridge. The samples we got from his attack on Dr. Bridge are long gone. I destroyed them myself, once we got the results of the first one back.”

“Still, this is a very unusual situation. The CDC and a bunch of other research groups have been looking for a Blood Cleaner like this for years. They call them Elite HIV controllers. They are usually white men and they are extremely rare. Usually, it turns out that the first test was a false positive or the second test is a false negative. And even on the ones that test out there is no one yet that totally cured themselves down to a zero viral load of HIV virus. But with Kirk, there are two clear positives and then a negative test years later with a second sample resubmitted and now a recent negative test,” Jack said.

“It does look like his body cured itself, somehow,” Tacy replied.

“No kidding. But I hope we don’t have to wait for him to rape or murder someone else again to get another sample for the CDC,” Jack said.

“Well, considering how well liked Dr. Bridge was by the inmates and staff, it wouldn’t surprise me if some day we were treated to his entire blood supply courtesy of one of the inmates or officers Kirk has messed with over the years,” she said.

“I do know that my friend at the CDC, Dr. Clayton, has worked on this for years and has counseled on something called the National HIV Controllers Panel. The people that can stop the virus from replicating on its own are called controllers and the best of them are called Elite Controllers. These Elite Controllers are extremely rare, but I think Mr. Kirk is in a class by himself. Apparently, these Elite Controllers have some connection to something called major histocompatibility complex, MHC for short. They are still trying to figure it out,” Jack said.

“If they do, will it lead to a vaccine for AIDS?” Tacy asked.

“Exactly. But it would be more than just preventative. It would be a shot that could be given to people who are sick with the virus now, to train their blood to stop the virus from replicating and make them well,” Jack said.

“And a jerk like Kirk could be the key to stopping AIDS all over the world?” Tacy asked.

“The Lord does work in mysterious ways,” Jack replied. As he spoke, Mr. Pitts reappeared with two large frosty glasses.

“Your beers from Miss Tacy’s special stash have arrived,” he announced.

Jack looked at the white froth at the top of his icy blue glass and gave his drink a taste. “Tacy, do you really have a locker back there loaded with cold beer?” Jack asked. “And since you’re the homeboy here I’m going let you order my dinner,” Jack continued.

“Ray, I think we will have two orders of your ribs, two bowls of Brunswick stew and two sides of your homemade creamed corn,” Tacy quickly announced and Mr. Pitts was off with their order.

“Ray can’t get a beer or liquor license but no one seems to mind this faux BYOB setup. He has a secret recipe for barbecue sauce on the ribs. We all know it has something to do with honey and bourbon, but he won’t tell. His Brunswick stew is full of local okra and tomatoes and is a little spicy. The creamed corn is fresh corn with thick cream and butter sauce topped with black pepper. It is probably a hundred calories an ounce,” Tacy explained.

“Are the ribs from these giant hogs I see on the walls? I remember seeing that painting of the hogs killing the snake at the Chicago Art Institute. And aside from barbecue and chain gang, what else is there to do around here?” Jack asked with a smile as he looked directly at Tacy while pointing at the print and one of the faded hunting photographs.

“No, the pork is just good old farm fresh. These woods hogs are too hard to hunt for any steady supply and they are really dangerous. They are huge because long ago the wild hogs mated with domestic stock to produce these monsters. They have killed lots of dogs and hunters and they are especially aggressive when their piglets are around. You can see from that picture, hogs can even kill rattlesnakes. But for entertainment, there is gambling and fishing on the river. Most of the men and a lot of the women hunt deer during the season,” she replied slyly.

“What do you mean, gambling?” he replied, taking the bait.

“I will take you gambling sometime soon,” she replied mysteriously. Jack’s mind conjured up images of rural dog fighting and back room poker games.

“Will I need my pistol?” he asked.

“No, I think you will find it very genteel,” she said mysteriously, erasing the poker and dog fighting images from his mind immediately.

“Tell me about the fishing on the river. I love to fish,” he said.

“The big river is the Altamaha. That is where I fish. You can catch bass, sea trout, catfish and mullet. There are also lots of alligators. Everyone has their own secret recipe for smoking the mullet,” she said happily.

“Any time you want to get your boat out, I am ready,” Jack responded as Mr. Pitts arrived with their dinner. After setting the plates before them, with a grand gesture and a flash of his gold and diamond tooth, Mr. Pitts presented Jack with a keychain which had attached a plump plastic pig, complete with prison stripes and mask like the model outside.

“With my compliments to the new doctor,” Mr. Pitts said as he squeezed the plastic pig. A loud squeal could be heard throughout the restaurant as the light in the plastic pig’s mouth sent a beam of light toward the ribs on Jack’s plate.

“Wow, that thing is loud. It really sounds like a piggy in distress,” Jack said, examining his new present. “The flashlight will come in handy also.”

“I hope it will remind you to come back to the Maximum Pig. Just don’t be squeaking it in the woods or you might be looking at some angry tusks,” Mr. Pitts said as he made his exit.

“You are now officially part of Lester society. We all have several of these,” Tacy said as she reached in her purse and pulled out an identical striped piglet with her keys attached. “So if you are serious about fishing, could you come by at seven on Saturday? We can get the boat launched and have a mess of fish before noon,” she continued.

“Do you mean seven in the morning?” Jack asked, knowing full well that all serious fishing began early in the morning.

“Of course, you Atlanta slugabed. By noon all the fish will have eaten a pound of bugs and will be happily sleeping in the bottom of the river instead of being in our boat,” she said.

“All right, I will be there,” he assured her, picking up a well roasted rib and gesturing for effect.

She smiled and turned her attention to her dinner, starting with a ladylike poke at the creamed corn with her fork. “There is one restriction. I don’t want any discussions about Henry Kirk. I want to enjoy our day on the river,” she said seriously, looking directly at Jack.

“Yes ma’am,” Jack said obediently as he bit into the succulent rib. “These are really good,” he said, a little surprised with the quality of the country cuisine. “I think he must have some kind of secret sauce, maybe just a trace of Spanish moss or something in here. What do you want me to bring to the boat and what sort of attire should I wear?” Jack asked.

“You can bring a cooler and some drinks. I will take care of lunch, bait and everything else. Bring your bathing suit. For fishing and the boat, jeans, tee shirt and a windbreaker with tennis shoes,” she said.

“And when we do the gambling, are you sure I won’t need my pistol?” he asked.

“I am sure there will be several of those in the parking lot, along with some assault rifles. That would be standard South Georgia,” she said.

“And exactly where do you live?” Jack asked.

“Take a left at the Courthouse and go a mile. Then take a left at the sign for Altamaha Marsh Road. It is the third house on the left. You will see my green truck in the driveway. Remember, you bring the drinks, and no Henry Kirk.”