Chapter 24
Hamilton County, New York
“Thank you,” Jack said simply as he accepted a cold bottle of water from Mark Anderson, the owner of the American Pest Control Company.
He was sitting in the man’s utilitarian office.
Jack had just ridden his Trek the six miles from Essex Falls out from Livermore Road to the company’s location to interview the owner.
He was hoping to learn anything at all about Ethan Jameson that might be helpful since Bill Hargrove was making no progress finding the missing body.
Jack had spent most of the day vainly trying to find some kind of common “food-borne thread” in Bob’s ever expanding dementia series, with Bob having seen yet another patient that very morning that probably needed to be added.
This patient was a thirty-nine-year-old woman named Christine Stephens who’d developed an initially subtle but progressive gait problem three days previously.
Since Jack was at the office making phone calls to the involved families, Bob had invited him in to see Christine Stephens.
Jack had been shocked at both the patient’s age and the speed with which her apparent dementia had developed.
Prior to her sudden ataxia and confusion, she’d reportedly been completely well.
By two thirty in the afternoon, Jack had either visited or spoken with all fifteen involved households.
Generally, most families tried to be helpful, but it was invariably stressful and difficult for everyone, especially since it was common knowledge that three of the patients had already died and several others were not that far behind.
Despite the difficulties, it eventually had become completely clear to him that there was no common food source as he’d expected, adding another layer to the already compelling mystery.
“So, what can I do for you, Doctor?” Mark Anderson questioned.
He was a sizable man in his mid-fifties with an unruly shock of salt-and-pepper hair and a weathered face.
Not surprisingly he’d already admitted that hunting and fishing were his avowed passions.
For his part, Jack had just finished explaining he was a medical examiner from New York City visiting Dr. Bob Nielson in hopes of helping him determine the exact cause of Ethan Jameson’s death.
“I’m assuming you have heard that Ethan Jameson’s body had mysteriously disappeared,” Jack added.
“Absolutely,” Mark said. “Chief Hargrove called me yesterday. Obviously I was shocked. I’d never heard of such a thing as a body disappearing from a morgue.”
“It happens,” Jack said. “But usually only in facilities where there is a large turnover and certainly not in a small town like Essex Falls. Do you have any idea of who might be involved or why?”
“Not a clue,” Mark said with a shake of his head.
“How long had Mr. Jameson worked here?”
“Quite a few years,” Mark said. “He came looking for work even before he was finished with high school, and he’s been here ever since. He’s been a reliable worker, although a bit hot under the collar and opinionated, particularly of late.”
“How many pesticide technicians do you have?”
“Ethan was one of five. Now I’m down to four.”
“Did Ethan get along with the others?”
“Reasonably so, I’d say. He’d actually trained several of them, as he’d been here the longest. The person he bumped heads with the most is Art Sorenson, my technician supervisor. I didn’t interact with Ethan all that much. That was Art’s job.”
“Any chance I might have a word with this Art Sorenson?” Jack said. “We’re getting a bit desperate for leads. I’m assuming Art dealt with Ethan on a regular basis.”
“Many times each and every day. As I said, it was Art’s job.” Mark leaned across his desk and pressed an intercom button. Almost immediately an old-fashioned speaker crackled to life with a woman’s voice. Mark asked for Art to come in and immediately got a positive reply.
While they waited, Jack asked Mark if he had any idea of what pesticide agent Ethan Jameson might have contaminated himself with or how it might have happened.
“I’m assuming you people are very careful with these products knowing their toxicity,” Jack said.
As he spoke he extended the water bottle out from his body as he struggled to unscrew the cap.
It was difficult because the plastic bottle was so soft and pliable.
“We are extraordinarily careful,” Mark claimed. “We have very strict fail-safe rules to ensure our technicians clean themselves appropriately at the end of the day and to keep them from taking any of our products home with them by accident or otherwise.”
As Mark continued talking, Jack finally managed to get the water bottle open, and once he did, the bottle bounced back to its original shape, losing a tiny splash of the water in the process.
He then shook the bit of free water off his hand and apologized to Mark for what had spilled out onto the floor.
“No worries!” Mark said with a wave of dismissal.
“Those damn bottles can be a bear to open sometimes.” He then went back to describing the company’s safety rules for the technicians, but for a few moments Jack was not listening.
His mind had strayed elsewhere after his struggle with the recalcitrant bottle top.
What had suddenly popped into his mind was the issue of water and thirst. He had suddenly remembered a comment he himself had made the day before during lunch at Ted’s Diner when he’d brought up what might be the most famous epidemiological case in the history of medicine.
It was when a particularly clever physician named John Snow stopped a cholera epidemic in London by removing the handle from the Broad Street water pump, which serviced a contaminated well.
“What about water?” Jack questioned, thinking out loud.
It had suddenly occurred to him that perhaps, just like that 1854 case, this current Essex Falls dementia series was waterborne.
For some unknown reason he’d not thought about the possibility.
In his mind’s eye he could see the Bennet Municipal Water Department building at the head of the Bennet Reservoir that he’d passed that very morning on his bike ride.
“Excuse me?” Mark said, interrupting himself mid-sentence to look askance at Jack. Jack’s sudden question was a total non sequitur.
Jack started to apologize when he embarrassingly recognized what he had done thanks to his musings and sudden realization, but he was saved by the door thudding open.
In swept Art Sorenson with a particularly assertive and dynamic personality.
He was relatively young, probably in his mid-forties, tall, tanned, and slender.
In addition to his outgoing bearing, he was unique in regard to his apparent fastidiousness about his person and clothing.
Even though he was working in a pest control company out in the boondocks, he was wearing a fresh dress shirt with a tasteful tie and his hair was carefully groomed.
Mark immediately introduced Art to Jack and vice versa and explained that Jack was there in an attempt to learn what he could about Ethan Jameson.
“Anything you might be able to tell me could be helpful, anything and everything,” Jack added. “I particularly wanted to chat with you because Mark said you were the one who interacted the most with Ethan Jameson here at the American Pest Control.”
“Every day!” Art said. “He was opinionated, occasionally argumentative and volatile, but most definitely responsible. We might have had our disagreements, but we respected each other. Workwise, he was meticulous and consistent, which is how you have to be in this business. I have to give him credit. He never cut corners, as far as I knew.”
“Do you have any idea of how he might have slipped up on this occasion to contaminate himself?” Jack asked.
“I don’t,” Art said. “After he died, Chief Hargrove had us go over the interior of his truck carefully. We found nothing amiss there nor in the house where he was living.”
“How about his relationship with his fellow technicians?” Jack asked. “Any particular vendettas there or any ill feelings that you knew of?”
“None apparent,” Art said. “My sense is that they didn’t interact during their off-hours as Ethan’s interests revolved almost exclusively around his beloved Diehard Patriots. The other four are more into hunting and fishing.”
“Okay!” Jack said, patting his knees and standing up.
Having suddenly hit upon the idea of a possible waterborne explanation for the dementia series, which he berated himself for not thinking of earlier, he wanted to give it a bit of thought and follow-up.
He had no clue whether prion disease could be waterborne or not, but he couldn’t think of any reason why it couldn’t be, especially given the remarkable stability of prions.
“If either of you has any sudden ideas about Ethan Jameson’s illness or his disappearance that you think might possibly be significant, please let Chief Hargrove or Dr. Nielson know. ”
After both men agreed to be in touch if anything came to mind that might possibly be significant, Jack took his leave.
Within seconds, he was on his bike heading back toward Essex Falls.
The weather was as gorgeous as ever as were the vistas.
After about a mile, he began climbing one of the small mountains that ringed the town.
He had the road to himself as there was almost no vehicular traffic except for a rare truck.